The half-orc blinks, "Will it? I've never tried. Was more thinking it was a big enough piece to bring him back to life. Could take a foot if you think it's something sinister. I mean, a finger would do, but I'd hate to lose it to rot on the way."
He shrugs at the elf's comments, "The word yet does a lovely job of making the threat, doesn't it?"
He looks at each of you, and then over at Fiona, then says, "I talk, then I leave. With my gear. And a ha-- foot, sorry." He pauses, "Since I imagine you wouldn't trust me and what I might be drinking -- some sort of evil potion of escape, no doubt -- could I borrow a waterskin from someone?"
He pauses a moment, then starts, "I am called Harn Mantongue." He holds up a hand, "I know, I know. Think how it feels growing up being called that... amongst a race of people who think humans are weak, soft, effete." He sighs, "Anyhow, won't bore you with those details, fun as they are - though it did end up with me having to kill a few budding warriors who got ideas in their heads -- but, I did it my way, which wasn't to be accepted, so I fled. Outcast. Bounced around, kind of aimlessly."
"Near the end of last summer, started hearing whispers of something interesting. Someone, a Warchief, was looking for outcasts and misfits. Not to pick on, but to be a part of something. Seemed like a load of Aurochs dung, but... then I met a most unfortunate fellow -- or so I thought. He was a fullblood, but his shield-arm was shrivelled and pretty much useless -- the size of a very young child's, but looking more like that of an orc unfortunate enough to die of old age. The sort of orc that would have been killed for his weakness and yet, instead, he led a warband. Sure, a small one, could count them all on a single hand - even his - but he was in charge. So I asked him, and he retold the tale of the new Warchief, and his new ways - we would stop running headlong into dwarven axes and dying for Gorum's glory. Instead, we would learn to wage war, proper war, and embrace the tactics that have been used to keep us contained in this little slice of the world. Most important, though, was that anyone who would join was welcome, and would be treated as an equal. Outcast, warrior, pureblood, planetouched, by the Abyss, even females."
The bard shrugs, "That seemed way better than continuing to approach groups of orcs and offering to sing for my supper -- and to fighting them off when they decided I should provide a different sort of entertainment instead. Less likely to scar, at least."
"So, I signed up. Small camp, maybe four days ride from here. They seemed very interested in the fact that I could do magic, and instead of trying to break me and hammer me into some mold, they said my quick mind and body would be useful, made me Haar's second, and well, here we are. I mean, a few months later."
"Haar was -- and will be -- a good sort -- but born under a bad omen. As a result, he wasn't allowed to be a warrior in his clan -- but they let him hunt, like a child. Ridiculous thing about that is that he truly embraced the bow out of spite -- and honestly, was probably worth a dozen of the warriors who claimed to be superior. Didn't take much convincing to join the 'new way'."
He pauses, "So, about that drink? I mean, it doesn't have to be water."
Eloen takes a waterskin off of her saddle and tosses it to the half-orc.
Fiona narrows her eyes at the orc's terms. What, and let you go back and tell the rest all about us? As she glares at the enemy and considers her response, the others accept the offer, and the tall warrior bites her tongue... and restrains her arms, which seem to have developed a sudden strong urge to swing the polearm in an orc-killing fa[lc|s]hion.
She snorts at Merlin's suggestion that orcs can understand honor, but otherwise listens in silence, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts — at first. They're resurrecting their dead... every single one we kill, brought back by vile magic paid by the blood of the innocent races. And now they're going to know all about our group, our numbers, who we are...
Her expression tightens as the orc continues, and her knuckles whiten slightly on the haft of her weapon.
Merlan shrugs as the tale begins.
"I thought it was a perfectly fine name. No accounting for taste, I suppose."
At the glares from his companions he manages to stifle his tongue. Long enough to get to the part where the Skald asks for a drink.
"So, you have a charismatic, and not-short-sighted leader who is gathering orcs under his banner with respect and using his followers strengths, instead of brow-beating them into submission until someone stronger comes along. Respectable. But, WHY? For what purpose? And if it's not YOU and your 'friends' who are raiding the farms and towns, then who is?"
Inwardly, the wizard's mind races furiously. If only Fiona could sense his thoughts she might be a tad more impressed with the diminutive mage.
'Wait, they have a cleric who can resurrect the fallen from body parts, not an entire corpse? And from the number of missing hands we've found,... they can supposedly perform this miracle at will. Even IF only a limited number of times a day, winning against even a small force like that, having to keep defeating the same enemy over and over,... This conflict just jumped up to Epic proportions.'
The half-orc takes the offered waterskin and takes a deep pull, then nods his head in thanks, "Better. And, yes, small wizard, exactly that. The man does have a certain... presence... combined with a vision, and intelligence. It's small wonder that he's led so many to turn away from Gorum, or even Rull, to his winged war-god... they'd probably worship whomever he suggested... Abyss, honestly, some probably worship him as if he were divine."
He shrugs, then says, "Me, I don't buy into that. Man bleeds, like any other, and if he's too quick with a blade to kill in battle, then it'll be a knife in the back instead of a sword to the throat. Still, there's something appealing about forging a place where the outcasts and rejects don't just belong, but are valued. And taking that place from those that cast you out like so much garbage in the first place makes it that much sweeter... especially when you're doing it by turning their own ignorance against 'em. I imagine that'd be your why, really."
He takes a pull, then says, "As for raiding around here? Could be anyone. I imagine it's the Bloodies feeling the push of the other, larger clans from the other side, trying to shore up their strength and supplies. Or shows of strength to try to scare off the others - not that we fear them, or their weak leader." He then narrows his eyes, and adds, "Though, if word's out that they can't hold their lands - maybe from reports of scouting partied like ours - it could be one of the other clans testing them. Or tauning them."
"An interesting story. So what exactly were you all doing here under cover of magical darkness? You said scouting—scouting what, exactly?" says Eloen neutrally.
The skald nods, then starts bobbing his head back and forth, "More searching than scouting. We're looking for an old buried rail -- not exactly exciting, but Haar insisted it was important... He didn't say why, but, given that old rusty steel isn't spit, I'm thinking that it's to guide us to the real prize -- on one end or the other."
Sandy growls softly; "Well you aren't going to do that anymore. I respect a good hunter, but people that come too far into my territory..."
He sighs; "As fellow warrior, I respect you. But your leader, well he goes too far - entering our territory... when the dispute is amongst your clans."
Sandy's thoughts drift off slightly; 'The rail must lead to the mine we are looking for....the sooner we get rid of the orc, the sooner we find it!'
"You know where these steel beams are?" He asks pointedly.
Merlan nods as Harn speaks, and some of the puzzle pieces start to click together in his head.
"So, the 'Bloodies' are one of the tribes NOT following the new warchief? Makes sense. Raiding the locals, whether to prove their continued strength in this new situation, or because they are growing more desperate for supplies as the new warlord consolidates his followers,... Yes, it makes sense. OK,..."
"So, How did Haar know about these rails? Did he actually know where they are, Or how to find them,? Or did he just plan on sweeping the ground for a few hundred miles til they were revealed?" Merlan asks wryly.
The half-orc shrugs, "Was a new idea of how -- or where -- to look. Been almost a week since we got those orders -- was in response to new intel, but I have no idea about that. Maybe your leak can tell you more. I will say there's been whispers of rewards for old information, stuff from before the wall was overrun."
He takes a pull of the waterskin, "So, with that, we -- our group -- took a minute and thought about the problem. Figured, we know where the collapsed main entrance is -- so the other side can't be too far -- probably not a full day's walk. And we know where the town is. So, either there's a straight-line from town to the other side, or, we'd track back the old main rail and find a branch."
He chuckles, "I admit, most of those ideas were mine, but Haar's clever enough to understand and go with it. So, here we are."
He taps a sack on his belt, "Trio of enchanted lodestones here. Supposed to help miners find ore, but figured it'd work to find a metal rail, too... Figured the rewards and glory for finding it was worth the cost of the item. Anyhow, we only dug where we got a hit."
He then tosses the empty waterskin back to Eloen, "Thanks," then turns to Sandy, "Didn't know you'd claimed this territory, but the Bloodtalon would disagree with you."
Eloen takes back her waterskin and affixes it to her saddle.
"We won't stand for the townsfolk near here being killed or having their farms raided," she says evenly. "Feel free to pass that along. We don't want to make enemies but we also aren't going to sit on our hands while warbands move into the area and threaten the farmers here."
"What's the story with the other two bands moving under cover of darkness? More of your people?"
The man nods, "As far as I know, we're just search parties -- our supplies have come from other orcs, not usually willingly -- but I can pass it along. As for darkness, it's to help the fullbloods in the sun. I'd say it's likely us, as we're more likely to use magic -- and I know that different groups are looking for different things -- but, then, the Bloodies have a shaman with apprentices, so it could be them." He shrugs, "Honestly, I get the feeling we're more worried about him than their Chieftan."
The itty-bitty-wizard nods his head, enthusiastically enough to make his giant hat flop and cause his familiar to hiss alarmingly.
"Scouting parties wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves. Raiding farms would be, counter-productive." Merlan says aloud thoughtfully. He glances apologetically at Eloen.
"These Bloodies, erm, Bloodtalons, their Shaman and his apprentices particularly, What do you know about them? Why the concern over a tribal shaman? No offense." Merlan adds brightly.
Harn shrugs, "What offense? I'm no shaman, I'm a warchanter. A skald. But, to answer, I'm not a Bloodtalon, so I don't know their internal whatevers -- but it seems the Shaman has vision, and followers -- both things their Chieftan is said to be in short supply of. More, he's got actual power - more than the usual Gorumite or whatever calling on favour in battle."
The half-orc pauses, then adds, "And, I've heard whispers that some of his plans may have gotten in the way of some of ours... and that's a reason there are so many of our little hunting parties pushing now..." He pauses, then adds, "But then, I also hear that groups not reporting in might be a cause of that."
That last was a little more probing -- you think he's trying to get a read on your reaction to it.
"Yeah, that would do it too." Merlan agrees brightly.
"Hrm,... A Leader with wit and cunning, and a Shaman with vision. And both with loyal followers. THIS has all the makings of a REAL party!" He addresses the last part to the reptile perched on his hat, looking over the wide brim at it's master with reptilian disdain.
Fiona grunts at the uninteresting news of the orcs' internal affairs. They're orcs, they need to die; what do we care if they kill each other or we kill them?
Glancing around at the rest of her group, she tries to determine whether they're indeed serious about letting this monster go.
Sandy pauses trying to think if there's other ways to use the fellow or if they should let him leave. He glances to Fiona, with some hesitancy. "Seems like, if we allow him to leave - well he knows that there's people here that will stop our territory being encroached and that it's best to look within for conflict."
Merlan looks around at his companions, bright eyes questing for ,... something.
"Well. We made an agreement. And you seem to to have kept up with your half of it. I DO have one more question for you if I may?" the halfling asks the half-orc.
Merlan looks at Harn, almost seeming to actually see the skald for a moment. Or maybe see through him,...?
I'm just wondering,... What is it that YOU want out of all this Harn?" The diminutive wizard looks up at the Half-orc (Both seated, Harn still towers over the mighty mageling).
"I mean, You've told us about where you're from, I get it, not easy being raised by folk that aren't like yourself. And you've told us about what your leader offers. And I'll admit, the deal he's giving you seems to be a far sight better than where you were. But when all is said and done, No matter who wins, what is it that YOU want out of it? Revenge? Retribution? To prove something? To rule a small kingdom? A large kingdom? To have a farm?"
The halfling shrugs.
"I mean, I'd understand almost anything, even if it's not something that I'd do myself or agree with. But if what you want isn't directly related to rampaging the countryside, I'd have to wonder if there isn't a better way to get it than,... this,...?" Merlan gestures at his own bloodstained shirt, and at the half-orcs fallen companions nearby.
The halflings grins suddenly, and waves a hand in the air.
"I'm not really trying to change your mind. Not really. I'm no bard or anything. And I'm pretty certain that we're ALL pretty set in our ways, yah?" Merlan looks at his own companions for a brief moment. His grin infectious and odd at the same time.
"But I AM genuinely curious. And as long as we're being all friendly-like, a little food for thought never hurt. Right?"
Merlan takes a swig from his own waterskin, and offers it Harn.
Harn pauses, his face darkening, as he looks across the horizon... and his gaze falls on his fallen leader before he sighs, "Well, I did agree to answer your questions, I suppose."
He takes the waterskin, then says, "For the record, we weren't rampaging. We were looking for things. You know, using knowledge and tactics and all that to bring us past the idea of being a mindless rampaging hoarde."
He returns the waterskin, not having taken a drink, then says, "Which is what I'm looking for. A way forward for my people that accepts other types of strengths, like mine. I mean, let's be honest, it'll feel great to give back a little to those who tormented me, and there are times that the pain and hatred is a key motivator... But, I can also see the bigger picture, and that's what I'm here for."
He stands, reaching down for his belt, and drawing a single dagger, saying, "I'll collect the rest in a minute - just didn't want anyone to think I was doing anything threatening," as he walks over to the corpse of the archer and begins to work with the dirk to take off the left foot.
Merlan nods, thoughtfully, his hat swaying gently and his familiar with it.
The wizard looks at the others.
"Unless any of you have any more enlightening questions,... A deal is a deal. Right?"
With the smile of a predator and a sharp nod; "Yes."
"He is free to leave the area, without harassment."
Severed foot in hand, the skald collects the rest of his gear, placing the foot in a sac before hanging it off his belt, then begins to walk north.
Eloen remains mounted as she watches the half-orc go. Once he is a good distance away, she says without turning, "I suppose we shall discover the veracity of his statements through further investigation."
"I don't like this. Multiple competing tribes of orcs threatening the village? And apparently one is powerful enough that they can resurrect the dead, or else why take a body part from each of them? Unless as a memorial trophy for the survivors."
Merlan nods after the departing half-orc, still visible in the distance.
"I believe our chatty 'friend'. I think he was telling the truth. Not ALL of the truth, certainly, but being truthful nonetheless. His folk seem far too,... practical, to keep one-ups-manship trophies just to brag about surviving. I think they have access to resurrection magics."
Merlan turns to face the rest, an unusually serious look on his usually dimpled face.
"Which makes this entire situation far more than the usual 'Battle of Armies', or 'Waiting til the orcs get tired and go home'. THIS is a 'War of Attrition'. And with the ability to bring back the dead, it is a war that the poor farmer folk of the region have NO chance of winning. Unless 'someone' stops it."
Sahar finishes mending and turns in, asking to be awakened early so she and Costin don't miss the pre-breakfast meeting with Lord Kalthun, rehearsing the important points to tell their employer.
Fiona watches the orc prepare to leave, her hands twitching slightly on her weapon as she considers the ramifications among the rest of her group if she ignores their promise and kills him anyway. Eventually her indecision makes the decision for her as the orc walks away, leaving the tall warrior with a deep, burning urge to kill something. With a roar of frustration, she embeds her falchion deeply into a nearby log and glares at the departing orc's back. Why in the world would we release not one, but two scum just so we have to fight them again? And now they know all about us, too. Arrogance and stupidity, all in the same package.
Tugging her weapon from the fallen tree, she wipes it down and silently sheathes it before whistling for her horse, frowning the while. When her horse's reins are once again in her hand, she finally turns to the group. "We need to patch our wounds and then go after the other orc groups. If they find out we're here—" she pauses, not saying because we let one of them go "—we lose surprise."
"This was something of a disaster. If that skald spoke truthfully, we just struck down potential allies against other, more vicious orc groups. If he lied, he just walked away with much more knowledge of our capabilities," says Eloen evenly as she tugs at the horse's reins.
"But we've confirmed that groups are heading for the old mine... which means we can set traps and ambushes. We know where they're going."
You awaken, your head mercifully clear as you had the good sense to refuse at least some of the many drinks you were offered, making your way back to the central keep to meet with Kalthun. However, when you arrive, his Lordship is not there -- but you are greeted by a familiar, somewaht grizzled face -- Marquan.
"I bear his Lordship's apologies, seems he needed to go off galavanting on Shrike for some reason or other -- but he didn't want you held up, especially since there were only two of you. He also asked me to get out your employment contract to show you the burn..." He pauses, then looks at Costin, "You.... haven't signed the contract..." He shakes his head, "Seems the Lord-Martial's hastiness is rubbing off on me. I imagine I should hear your tale, and plans, before rushing ahead with these."
Merlan nods thoughtfully. He seems almost serious as he also watches the half-orc fading into the distance.
"Yes. Well. That COULD have gone better. But it also could have gone much worse." The halfling says, rubbing absently at his recently received and healed wound.
"I won't say that perhaps brushing up on our negotiation skills isn't a good idea. BUT even the Skald did not seem inclined to listen to reason before we were forced to strike down his companions."
Merlan shrugs, jostling his hat and familiar as he does so.
"They may be the less vicious of the 2 groups, but that DOESN'T make them our friends. I ran into a group of soldiers once, taught me a lot actually. The captain had a long, unusual list of rules and proverbs he had collected. One I recall is; 'The enemy of my enemy, ... is my enemy's enemy. Nothing more, nothing less.' Heh. Another one was, 'That which does not kill me,... has made a grave tactical error.' Heheh."
Merlan looks at the others. "Sorry. My POINT is, we may want to try and talk to this one,... sect? of orc bloods. But that doesn't mean they want to talk to us. MAybe there is a way we can use their obvious animosity for each other to our advantage, but I will hold off on hoping we can make a peace treaty with either group. At least for now. Still,... the possibilities are intriguing,..." The wizard rubs his round chin thoughtfully.
Fiona turns her glare on Merlan as he starts to speak, but after a moment closes her eyes and tries (mostly unsuccessfully) to keep from grinning at his second-hand wisdom. Shaking her head at her own amusement, she chuckles softly. "You're smarter than you look, Merlan," she acknowledges, then adds, "You're dead-on right; we might wish we could get them to kill each other off, but the only things we have that they want... we aren't giving them. Let's all remember that."
Turning to the rest, she asks, "Well? Do we leave the other two groups to find the mine, or take them out and find it ourselves?"
"You're smarter than you look, Merlan,"
"Thank you!" Merlan beams at the 'compliment'.
Turning to the rest, she asks, "Well? Do we leave the other two groups to find the mine, or take them out and find it ourselves?"
"WEELLlllllll,..." Merlan rubs his chin thoughtfully.
"In a perfect world, we'd find the mine FIRST. Take what they're looking for. And leave them to fight over an already empty hole in the ground. Sadly, the world isn't perfect."
Then the Halfling grins with unsuppressed enthusiasm.
"BUT,... We'll never know if we don't try!"
"I'm a little tired and I don't know how well we'd fare in another confrontation right now," says Eloen. "I'll do it if we have to, but I could really use a little time to recuperate."
"If we can find the mine entrance, though, I can perhaps set a few traps, if I have a few days to make some."
"Between Hakkar's eyes, Krusses nose and my senses...I hope we could find the rail before the orcs...that'd be ideal. Then your traps could be good." Sandy agrees with the others.
"I know I'm not going to be great in another confrontation." He says in understated tones.
Merlan raises his hand, then speaks without waiting for anyone to notice it.
"We are tired, and injured, and generally not at our collective best. I suggest that we rest for the night, regain our favors and spells, and heal back up. THEN we start searching for these tracks and find the mine. The others should be headed back from selling the loot by now. Hopefully they can catch up to us. Or we can detour and head back to meet them. But I really would like to find the mine before any of these other groups do. AND avoid any more unpleasant encounters if we can avoid it, This last one is gonna sting for a bit." Merlan adds, rubbing gently at his recently -healed wound.
Sahar smiles at the older gentleman and offers her hand. "Marquan, I am delighted to see you! Lord Kalthun may be sorry he missed the briefing. No matter, I have it written out for you as well."
She settles into a chair, takes a deep breath, and launches into her report, glancing from time to time at the papers she holds, so she doesn't forget anything.
We set out in good time from Castle Firrine. Slightly before noon, we spotted a thread of smoke from the nearby trees. We debated going straight on to Rustknoll, but decided it might be something orc-related that was too far away for the villagers to know about. Investigating orc activity seemed useful, so we did that.
We found a party of seven Bloodtalon orcs that had been slaughtered by another party of three orcs lead by a half-orc. The half-orc was a priest of Szuriel - the Horseman of War. His comrades set him on a pyre when they left, but the fire failed to burn him completely. He had his weapon, holy symbol, and garments, but not a left hand. The hand was removed deliberately.
The dead Bloodtalons were in a pit which had been dug around a great silver acorn, split open and poisoned. Our mage was determinedly interested in the magic acorn, and he and our oracle and druid were able to remove the tainted metal wedge holding it open, heal the putrid parts within the acorn, and seal the split. We reburied it so it could continue to work its magic, which seemed to be powerful growth magic for the surrounding orchards.
Sahar grimaces at Costin. "I should have stopped on the way here to see if it was unmolested." She continues,
We proceeded to Rustknoll with no further issues. There we were briefed by Rickan and Hamish, who gave us interesting background about the area. When the two arrived in the village, they found that the village seemed built on the bones of a larger dwarven settlement. The area seemed to be avoided by other orc tribes because of some curse, involving brass dwarves, a molten dragon, and an immortal sorceress. The last exists, but not in the Rocknoll area. The others are just talk, so far.
In the last year and a half, the Bloodtalons have replaced their shaman with a masked witch doctor and developed some real magic. They added a party of a War Drummers since then. Around midwinter, they became more active. Their leader is pressured by younger orcs and the new arrivals, so he has to make himself look dangerous to keep control. Other orc tribes have been settling nearby, ignorant and uncaring of the Bloodtalon leader's rules for raiding Rustknoll. That's bad news for Rustknoll.
On top of that, there are a new kind orc in the area, the Outcasts. They take in the orcs with defects, poor warriors, failures, females, and have build their own tribe. They may be weak for orcs, but there are a lot of them about. They are smart and well-organized; they fight together instead of for individual glory. They have some dwarven weapons, and there is talk amongst them of a second Dwarven Forge somewhere near Rustknoll. The known entrance was completely blocked by a severe rockfall, but they believe a second entrance was in the area. The orcs were discussing getting blasting powder - "stump powder" - from Rustknoll's farmers and trying to blast through the rockfall, as well as searching for the second, hidden entrance.
Rickan suspected the Outcasts of having message drops in the area. He led us to the first one that first night. We found it and its contents to be sophisticated - an actual hole in the ground, covered by a rock with a rune of destruction on it. An orc party - led by a half-orc - arrived, and we ambushed and killed them. An inking kit was hidden in the leader's shoe, along with an unusual smoked glass. We dug around the blasting rock cap, fearing it would incinerate the contents. Inside, we found leather strips with markings on them only seen when viewed through the smoked glass from the leader's shoe - symbols, not a clear message. We also discovered that the hafts of the two orcs that lead the party coming to the message drop had inscribed leather wraps, and that these new leather strips fit around them, so we took the hafts, along with other loot. When we returned to town, we recorded the contents of the strips, then tried to decipher them. It took a long time, because they were in several languages. The group of orcs at the drop called themselves "Blacktusk," possibly a grouping within the Outcasts or what the Outcasts call themselves, and their leader was a half-orc, like the warband by the Acorn. The half-orc leader also worshipped Szuriel.
The next day, Hamish and Rickan helped decipher the strips and a couple of maps we found on skins. We assumed the maps were to other drop locations. After helping Rickan clean out a nasty and apparently deliberate bunch of mold in his basement, we set off for the second drop: Rickan's wife's family farmstead, burned to the ground 13 years ago and abandoned.
We encountered a group of raptors and and ash drake who had been baited to a signal fire by a Quickling, who had apparently been tormenting us since we arrived. He warned us to return to Lastwall.
At the farmhouse, we found the ground littered with various traps and guarded by a tiefling orc alchemist - a guess - and a half-orc caster. We also found Costin here, who had been trapped in the barn, hiding. He told us his guide was captured and still in the house. Once we killed the guards, we found the guide being transformed, probably alchemically, with strips of various hides - including undead - grafted to his body and face. He was suffering and dying, so -with his agreement -I gave him the coup and Costin took his hand for reincarnation, at his request. We found quite a number of fun strap erasing and writing toys, some clever magic devices, and more straps in the pedestal of a table. The house, rebuilt since it burned, seemed to be a way station for the Outcasts, a place for their alchemist to brew whatever they needed, and for them to experiment on captives. Eloen found us there with her letter and joined our party. The warning you sent about Lani was an hour late; she had just 'joined the chorus' and walked off from us, debating amongst herselves? She is gone, anyway. Xia was poisoned and disabled there, as well. (She is with a healer on a farm, trying to regain her strength. OR We brought her back with us, for healing her is beyond our ability.) It took us until nearly dark to burn the dead - the guide in honor, and the other two so they could not be reincarnated. It was far into the night watch when we arrived in town with all our acquisitions.
The next day, we heard from Hamish's scholars about the topics they had been researching. The closed mine apparently had green ore that the orcs sought, as well as a Runic Hammer. The Hammer could be a formula for forging formidable weapons, or an actual Hammer of Torag. The claw symbol we found was also used by a famous half-orc pirate, Blacktusk, who terrorized Lake Encarthane up until 60 years ago. Blacktusk recruited the weak, deformed, and unwanted for his crew, much like the Outsiders do, which could mean their name is no coincidence. we debated going to the third message drop, seeking the hidden mine entrance, or pretending to leave. We opted to go to the third drop, and had to rescue a child - used as bait - from a pair of landsharks, goaded on by a voice we couldn't see. It was doubtless the damned Quickling again. The boy had been out watching goats when he fell asleep, along with his goats, and woke up in the middle of this field. He froze and hid when he heard something thump up from under the rocks.
We took the lad along when we visited the third drop, found more leather strips, and hid messages of our own. We told them the "Lastwall war party" - us - was leaving town because the leader was killed. No more raiding farmsteads, switch to searching for the entrance. And that "the dwarf" - their contact within the village - had been misleading them, to kill the dwarf.
We brought the lad back to the search parties and the messages back to town to decode, but then got wrapped up in preparations for yesterday's travels and plans. I believe our Mage has them and may be decoding them even now. The rest of the group peeled off the road into the countryside around Rustknoll to patrol and protect the town.
We also found there is a fox enrolling awakened trees to watch the village, protecting it. The fox watched us for a time without offering to attack, but I sent it off so our more, uh, defensive party members didn't slay it. A Quickling is definitely our enemy, and we can't see or stop it. We are very unpopular with certain factions in town who seem to be actively undermining us... seem? By Sarenrae, they are!
Sahar takes a moment to calm herself, then continues:
"In summary, we believe:
* The nearby mine still had something of value within when it was shut down 3 centuries ago, something the orcs seek.
* The Outcasts/Blacktusks are the remainders or descendants of Blacktusk's crew, who kept the tradition of claiming outcasts and focusing on fighting smart, not ferociously. They are the ones seeking the mine.
* Whatever is in the mine, the Blacktusks think it will allow them to make better weapons, the better to kill everyone with. Szuriel is not particular about who dies, just that it's done in correct, smart military fashion. If they are bound together by Szuriel worship, this could be a very large effort.
* The Blacktusk search parties are operating independently and use the message drops to communicate between the groups and recieve orders from their commanders.
* The Blacktusks have alchemists to brew weapons for them, as well as to experiment on grafting onto the living to change them. They may also have been involved in polluting Rickan's cellar with the toxic mold and injecting his cat with poison... well, at least the mold part.
* The Blacktusks have druids or shamans, someone who can reincarnate their dead into a new form. This would help build loyalty and make spies who can walk among us without notice. They may have been spreading among the people here for years without us being any the wiser.
* The Bloodtalons have changed since the arrival of the new, masked witch doctor. It was daring to try to steal the magic of something as powerful as that Acorn. The new shaman may be a force to be reckoned with.
* The Pax Rickan has gone by the wayside since the witch doctor's - Helgu, I think - arrival and the normal pressures of new orc tribes entering the area.
* We don't know why villagers or the quickling are against us, unless... We should probably speak Orcish to Norfin - the innkeeper's malicious assistant - and see if he responds to it automatically. I could certainly see him being a reincarnated orc!
I have always been glad orcs were ferocious and quarrelsome amongst themselves, and that they were not very bright. The Blacktusks may be the orc clan I didn't even want to think about."
Sahar takes a deep breath and sits back in her chair. With a half-smile at Costin, she says, "Did I miss anything? Besides all the fighting? Oh, and did you wish to join us, formally?"
Sahar slides over a written copy of her report, as well as a copy of the messages from the drops:
Leather Straps, from burrow:
Aklo: dwarf made contact - says the mine was collapsed, but there's another way in
?: a Runic Hammer in the deep forge. Take it, and all the ore you can carry.
Skald: --- through the Clanhome, which was sealed but not collapsed --Three straps from Asha's kitchen table
Heart of the Forest unusable - broken by Bloodtalon
Caught a shaman's whelp trying to bleed it, killed them all
Lost Mozark -- preserved hand, still whole week since we left itFive straps from Asha's kitchen table, wavy mirror, red script
Warning: contact says Lastwall sending warband
Start raiding farms -- make messes, plant gloves
Will be well rewarded for giving up trophies
Should keep humans busy and looking in wrong place
Farms have stump-powder, take, will blast through collapseStraps from the tree stump drop
oopsStraps left at the tree stump drop, for to mislead yon enemie
Contact says warband broken, leader killed. Warband to Lastwall for supplies.
No raiding farms. Search for mine entrance.
Dwarf making us look in wrong place. Kill them.
Marquan's eyes narrow at the report, "Things are... much worse than we'd expected. I'll have the archivists here do more looking into this old dwarven mine and 'green ore' .... However, it may be that this Hamish has more information, or access to it, given his own racial histories."
He nods, "Well, do your best. I imagine that identifying the players -- and what they want -- will be your highest priority, to see if there's some way to bring stability to them."
He frowns for a moment, then adds, "Given the danger they're in... do you think they would be likely to accept more overt aid? To rejoin the nation, as it were? I don't want us to be seen as terrible opportunists, but at the same time, it would be a shame to allow their little town to fall."
Sahar rests her hand on her holy symbol and bows slightly to Marquan. "We have much selling and buying to do today. We could return in the evening to pick up whatever offer you would like to make to Rickan and get Costin to sign the pact, if you and he are willing. We must ride early tomorrow to make a stop to fulfill an oath, then back to Rustknoll and see how the others are doing." A thought strikes here. "Are there any old maps - 3-4 centuries - that might show that area Rustknoll area and any Dwarven Clanhold nearby? The second entrance to the Foundry is supposed to be through the clanhold, which is now sealed and lost. Or is it unreasonable to find a map that old?"
Marquan says, "I have the contract here, if Costin is ready to sign. As with the others, you'll get your monthly expense allowance for items. A Line of Credit worth 250 Crowns at any of the merchants here. As for the rest of the remuneration, it was written for the group, so there's naught I can do to change it."
He pauses, then shrugs, "I know that Kalthun dug for old maps and found nothing -- sadly, I would imagine that any such map that we had is probably lying fallow in one of the forts we were forced to abandon as the orcs pushed us back. Still, I can look into it."
He then sighs, "As for an 'offer' -- well, there isn't one to make. Either they accept our protection, and their place as part of Lastwall, or they don't. While I would love to see Kalthun protect everyone and push back the orcs without the need for such, we're already stretched very thin -- and, I'm inclined to agree with him, that we're doomed to fail if nothing changes."
In the Middle of Nowhere,...
Merlan peers around the field, now littered with dead orcs, and a large hole.
"Well. Time waits for no one. Not even Wizards! At least, not yet. Have we already taken everything of value off the orcs? Then I say toss 'em in the hole, and lets get the 'hole' outta here!" The short wizard says emphatically.
"How badly are we collectively hurt? I advise healing BEFORE running into any more aggressive representatives. Of ANY of the apparently multiplying Orc bands roaming the area!"
Merlan rubs his chin thoughtfully. "They may have been onto something there. We could start searching for cart tracks, and hope we find them first. But I can't help but wonder,... is there an even better way? An easier or faster way? Something everyone has overlooked? It is sometimes difficult to see the tree for the forest."
After detecting magic and grabbing the stuff worth taking from the orcs, Merlan suggests dumping the corpses into the large hole exposing an old, rusty metal rail.