|
Xia cocks her eye as the youth begins speaking. When he finishes, she has a few more questions.
How, or why, did Rik-an shame chief? Alone in small town, orcs everywhere, no Lastwall guards, is reason why Rik-an shamed chief?
Also, well-equip orcs. Is normal orc weapon? Or is from somewhere else?
Daven nods, answering and focusing on Xia even as the others start to arrive around him, "That was exactly it. Rickan killed the last chief to try to stop the raids - and when the new one came to retaliate -- well, he was just a warband leader at the time -- Rickan started taunting him... goading about how easily he could beat him - stripping away his weapons and armour as he taunted him. In the end, Rickan was wearing a linen shirt and breeches, using a rock in one hand and a broken arrow in the other, and he managed to humiliate Grolthk so much that the orc killed his warband to avoid the tale of his defeat being brought back to the tribe with him. In fact, he had to take the bloody glove from one of his dead warriors, after Rickan took his. At least, that's the story." The boy -- well, young man -- with his elven blood, he's probably seen seventeen or eighteen winters -- beams with pride at the story, then adds, "And so, for about a decade since then, the orcs have pretty much only raided the outer silos that we built for them. We put up a token defense before 'fleeing before their might', and they're attacking the larger target at each homestead... and any enterprising warband leader who thinks he can do better runs into a fully-armed Rickan... and none of them have managed to get back to their camp before he's caught them."
He pauses, the smile fading quickly, "But something changed this year, since midwinter.... and I should let Rickan tell you about that so I don't mess anything up."
He seems a little crestfallen, but then perks up, happy to have come up with a way to help Xiaruau and adds, "I've only heard bits when Rickan and Hamish are talking and I'm supposed to be somewhere else, but they're worried that some of the gear seems to be dwarven... and they said something about a second Foundry."
The boy seems to debate saying more then shrugs, and turns to face the others, "Well met. I am Daven, and here to lead you over the hill here to Rustknoll."
Having heard the last little bit as he rode up, Merlan has questions,... but he also has a tired riding dog, and a Pterosaur verging on cranky. So in a fabulous display of self-control, Merlan doesn't ask any questions. Yet.
Merlan beams at the boy instead.
"Well met Daven! I am Merlan SilverHearth, and these are my new friends!" Merlan says cheerfully, indicating the rest of the group.
"I can't tell you whose happier to see you. Our bums, or our mounts. But we're ALL happy, so that's what matters!" he chuckles.
|
|
Xia tries to follow the fast talking youth, and manages to catch most of what he says. Nodding and smiling at the boy as she watches.
You say second foundry? Is there first foundry? Also, who is Hamish? Friend of Rik-an? Seem strange orc use dwarf gear. I think orc and dwarf normally worst enemy, not friend.
Xia notices the others arriving and smiles at them:
Daven says Rik-an kill old war chief. New war chief challenge Rik-an, Rik-an defeat new chief with broken arrow. New chief turn red, look funny on green orc, and then kill war band so no tell other orcs lost to human no weapons.
Sound truce for years. Now, new orcs use dwarf weapons. Where get dwarf weapons? Daven say might be second foundry. Learn where first foundry is?
She then waits for the others to chime in with questions now that she seems to have the youth wrapped around her finger.
Merlan practically bounces in his saddle, riding -sores apparently forgotten.
"Oh?, You don't say?! THAT sounds like a GREAT story! Do you think you could tell us about that while you lead us to Rustknoll?"
"Dwarf weapons? Foundry? Interesting. I have a few questions for Rickan. Can't wait to meet him!"
Merlan rustles through his busy brain, trying to see if he can recall any knowledge of 'Foundries', Dwarven or otherwise.
As Daven leads the group towards their destination, Sahar drops back to the rear to help chivvy the sore and tired critters along, making sure none of them fall behind.
Fiona asks a few pertinent questions as the group moves toward the vill, pulling as much information about the situation as she can from the boy. Between that, she listens to the others' questions, donning a grim expression at the news of orcs using dwarven weapons.
There are tales of a place in the Kodar mountains that makes arms and siege weapons for all the tribes.
The Foundry, and there's only one that you know of, used to be a dwarven fortress. Its current occupants aren't an Orcish tribe - but a Cult, called the Steel Eaters.
As they ride slowly onward to Rustknoll, led by their new friend, Merlan looks thoughtful. He turns to the side to address the group as best he can on puppy-back.
"Another Foundry? The only 'Foundry' that I know of used to be a Dwarven fortress. But it's not controlled by the Orcs. It's current occupants are a Cult. The Steel Eaters."
"Another Foundry location would be, an incredible find. An incredibly BAD find if it WERE under Orcish control, to be certain."
Daven takes you over a small hill, and says, "Here we are. Rustknoll.", motioning toward the oval-shaped depression before you - about a quarter-mile long, and maybe 800 or 900 feet wide -- and the four large stone -- or mostly stone, at least -- buildings that lie in the centre -- roughly 60 feet apart. As you descend the hill, and into the depression that mostly hides the buildings, you note several mounds of stone, and before you can ask, Daven nods, "We think it was part of a wall - but it must have been destroyed before the Hoardeline fell... Rickan and Hamish ended up using a lot of the stones to restore the livery's forge."
At that, he stops and points at each building in turn.
The first is the closest to you, the southeastern 'corner' of the four buildings, were you to draw a square.
The building is made of stone and looks old, though well maintained, and you'd guess it to be about 50 feet by 60 feet - large, but a single storey. "That's Assorted Goods, the town's shop. Pretty simple, and more of trading post, though Rickan's been able to get some goods brought in from time to time since he took over 12 years ago." He then quickly adds, "It's also Ricken and Asha's house... even with the warehousing, the store's nowhere near that large. We'll be heading there after a stop at the Blackened Shoe... that's the livery stable."
As he calls it out, he points to the building immediately to the north of the shop , though he really didn't need to - the fenced pen for grazing and upper (half-height) loft made the building's purpose obvious. The building is L-shaped, with the longer part clearly meant to stable animals, and looking like it could hold a score or so, plus any animals left out in the fenced pen. At the front of the building, to the east is a newer-looking addition, about 25' per side, which is partially open to allow the ventilation of the forge.
He points past the stable to the building behind it, another L-shaped, building - the only two-storey building in town. "That's the Feather and Tankard, though we all just call it Taran's tavern... I think you'll be the first guests at the inn since the Harnons, after the orcs burned down half their farm." He points to the shorter part of the L, the one running east-west, roughly 50 feet long and 25 feet wide, saying, "Taran lives in an apartment above the taproom, and the rest," "are the guest rooms. You can't see 'em, but the baths are in a few small buildings behind the inn."
He points to the last building - the smallest of the four -- only 40 by 50, but made of the same old stone as the others, "And that's Hamish's place. Both his home and the school he's been running for the farmer's kids over the winters. I'm sure you'll meet Hamish when you meet Rickan."
His 'tour' complete, Daven falls silent over the last couple of hundred feet, leading you to the stables. His charges safely delivered, he calls out, "Byrn! Byrn! You've got some beasts to stable! What's the matter, hammering shoes all day make you deaf?" A man in his mid-twenties, about a hand short of six feet but broader than Daven emerges, rubbing his hands on a leather apron before adjusting his short-cropped black hair, "I was eating, Daven. Figured I had time, since a bunch of his Lordship's wallers'd probably get lost on the way."
Daven shakes his head, "Well, they're here. I guess your sandwich'll just have to wait."
With that, Daven turns to you (well, mostly to Xia), and nods his head again, "I'll leave you to it. I've no doubt Rickan heard me yelling at Byrn, and he'll be with you before you're done stabling your mounts." His tone is almost apologetic as he adds, "I'm on night patrol - the downside of being the only one around here that can see past the end of his nose in the moonlight."
"Orc-meat? Wallers? Get lost on the way?" Sahar glares at the two men from where she's been leading Sharisa and the gentle donkey. "Tell me, is everyone in this town a snob, or is it only you two?"
"If you showed yourself at the meanest tent of my country, you would be greeted with hospitality and courtesy. If you were oath-bound to protect your hosts, you would be treated with great respect, not insults to you and your commander." Steam seems to rise from her almost as much as it rises from the tired animals in the cooling air.
"I would think that people brave and tough enough to live here and spit in the face of the orc threat would be wise enough not to judge strangers without having taken their measure."
She glares at the smith. "Return to your sandwich. I'll stable my own beasts. You'll not put your hands on them. Who knows what those who insult guests right off would do to helpless creatures with no voice?"
Daven blinks, then quickly shakes his head, "No, no. I only said if you didn't see the farms in your way in... It wasn't meant as..." he trails off, the last of the sunlight highlighting the concern on his face, and he looks at Xia, almost pleading, "I never meant to offend..."
Byrn shrugs, and starts to turn away, muttering under his breath, when a level tenor from behind you says, "It's not who you are, my lady, but who you represent that is the problem... and, I'm shamed to admit, you'll likely hear worse, even from those that agreed I should send for you..Let alone those who opposed the idea. It's not fair to you, I about, but the feelings of abandonment band resentment are two centuries old."
The figure sighs, and you see an older human in his mid-fifties you'd guess, his cropped hair and beard have both lost the battle against grey, leaving only a few patches of dark brown. He's wearing a breastplate, carrying at least a half-dozen weapons, and wearing a holy symbol of Erastil. "Daven, go. Patrol. Byrn, the lady's right - they may risk their lives for us, and deserve your respect. Apologize. Now."
Daven seems to want to object, looking one more time at Xia before slinking off.
Byrn, keeps muttering, then stops, and shakes his head... not in refusal, but disbelief, "I'm sorry. Rickan's right, I should know better."
Rickan nods, then turns back to you, "I am Rickan.. let me help with your horses."
|
|
Xia, initially smiling appreciatively at Daven, suddenly feels the vibrations from the low tone that Sahar is using and turns to hear the warrior priest using her most undiplomatic technique. Hoping to mend any fences that the charging horsewoman may have knocked down, Xia addresses the farrier.
I apol-gize for my friend words. Is long ride dusty ride. We all tired. Also, she and horse best friends. If you can help with my and other horses. I greatly appreciate.
With that, she pats her horse on the flank, as she assumes a caring horse person would, and hands the reins to Byrn.
”Thank you, Rickan!” Lani says as she hops off her pony and rubs her sore bottom. ”Now, I believe there was also talk of sandwiches?”
Sahar watches the interplay among the hosts, then gives Byrn a nod of gratitude. "Apology accepted. I thank you." She offers her hand to the man, sorry that Daven has scampered off so quickly.
She bows to Rickan in greeting. "I am Sahar. I will not apologize for speaking the truth, and none need apologize for me. But we are not here to bear the burdens of centuries of ill will. We are here to help, with our lives, if necessary. For now, courtesy is sufficient. We will prove ourselves worthy of your respect. Then let us move forward rather than focusing on the past."
She cocks her head curiously at she looks Ricken up and down. "Though I admit to being at a loss as to how we can help one who defeats an orc chieftan unarmored and nearly unarmed. That is a feat worthy of story and song."
She starts her mount and the pack animals moving towards the stable. "A meal would be most welcome, along with information, then some time before sleep. We have captured orc armor to clean and mend tonight. Not our doing, sadly, but we would not leave such resources to be taken back by them."
Rickan smiles, and nods his head, "I can't offer you Byrn's dinner, but Taran was asked to have something ready for you when you arrived..." He trails off for a moment and says, "But we'd best look after your mounts first, in any case. I can see that some of them are looking a little worse for wear... as are some of you."
Rickan's a little apprehensive about whether or not Taran will have anything ready...
He laughs at the comment and says, "That's a story that's grown in its retelling, I'm sure... and, it happened a while ago when my blades were a little lighter in my arms, there was less grey in my beard and the straps on my breastplate weren't so tight." His voice drops as he adds, "And, I can't be everywhere at once... but we can talk about that more later."
He leads one of your packbeasts into the stable, continuing, "I was sort of planning to to give you a bit of the lay of the land as you ate, to talk about how things were and how they're changing... and then lead you out to something interesting I'd found after dinner... but I can see it's been a long day already... and I was going to ask about the orcish gear you're carrying."
He pauses, then says, "Probably better to set the oxen outside in the pen after we unload them."
He seems torn, then finally says, "How about I give you a half-hour to rest and refresh, while I go see Taran about your dinner... and we can see how you feel about an excursion at that point. If nothing else, a full belly and a rested mind should help you absorb any information I can provide... And hopefully between washing away the dust and a nice pot of tea, we won't need to worry about snoring at the table if Hamish starts lecturing."
Sahar resumes moving the pack animals along after she listens to Rickan. "An excursion on foot would be a good idea. We have many in our company unused to spending a day on horseback. The walk would be good for our legs."
She disappears into the stable.
Sahar settles Sharisa herself, unsaddling the mare, brushing the dust from her hide, rubbing her legs, and seeing that she has food, water, and bedding. Giving the mare a kiss on her soft nose, she sighs and seeks out Bryn before turning her hand to the other animals.
"Bryn, I... She grimaces. "What I said, about hurting animals? I went too far. That was unjust and unkind and untrue. I am sorry for those words."
She returns to the oxen, loading all the armor onto one beast, leading it to the inn, and unloading their spoils onto the ground in front of the inn before leading Thur back to the corral.
Merlan's tired pooch is bringing up the rear, (other than possibly Fiona, who seems to take her job as rear guard very seriously.) SO he misses some of the early exchange. As the pooch pads within easy earshot he observes the older gentleman entering the conversation. He continues to watch for a few more moments. Not because he has nothing to say (His new companions already know that's highly unlikely) but rather, he seems to be observing, Seeing how the situation plays out. (whether he's 'observing' his own comrades, or this Rickan, is undetermined.)
But at mention of taking care of the animals, and food, and stretching their legs, and food,... Merlan hops off of his riding dog to join Lani.
"That sounds wonderful!" he says cheerfully. He is wincing slightly as he starts to get feeling back into his bum and legs, but otherwise his infectious (or annoying, depending upon your point of view) enthusiasm seems undimmed.
"Well, I for one cannot wait! I want to hear that story! Exaggerations are fine. they give you something to live up to! The diminutive wizard says conspiratorially to Rickan.
"And after you catch us up on what's really going on out here, I think we might have some information for you. But I think it would be best if YOU start. It might help Put what we ran across into perspective. Shed some light, so to speak."
The halfling stops, looking confused, then aghast. he promptly extends his short arm fully to Rickan.
"Terribly sorry! Most rude of me! I'M Merlan Silverhearth! The lizard is Squeaky. Watch out, he bites when he's tired and cranky. Pleasure to meet you Sir!"
After introducing himself, Merlan leads his pooch inside the stable to get the saddle off of him, give him a good brushing, and get him some water and a dried meat treat. 'Tiny' promptly heads to a grassy spot out side the stable, turns circles on it twice, plops down, and shortly begins snoring.
Fiona listens to the exchanges, evaluating their hosts' attitudes and gathering what information she can from what is said. When Rickan suggests a briefing, she nods in agreement. "Yes, that would be very helpful. In addition, it may be worth speaking about your night guard — some of us might be able to help there."
In the stable, Fiona tenses, nostrils flaring momentarily. With a frown of concentration, she continues settling her horse, surreptitiously taking a look around when Rickan isn't looking.
Bryn nods his head to acknowledge the apology, then stops and says, "Rickan's right... I should know better, and I meant the apology.... but he's also right the feeling about 'wallers around here. It's reflex to assume that anything coming from Vigil is effete, cowardly and useless."
He takes a breath and holds out his hand, "Let's start again and forget the last 10 minutes. I'm Bryn. I'm the town's smith and part-time stablehand. Most of my work these days are horseshoes, cart wheels and barrel coops, but I was trained to make blades that weren't for hoeing, too."
You spend the next 15 minutes unsaddling, brushing and ensuring your mounts and packbeasts are well-set up, and when you turn back, you see that Bryn has put all of your captured goods on a handcart. "Wasn't sure where you wanted them -- you can leave them here and I'll keep an eye on them, certainly -- but that's not a long term solution."
You've just about finished making sure the beasts are fed when you see Rickan coming back toward you, devouring the distance with long strides.
That is not the walk of a happy man.
He stops outside the stable, shakes his head, and then steps forward, saying, "Change of plan. Seems Taran was convinced you weren't going to make it today either - she's not made enough food and didn't set up rooms for you. Seems Hamish was clever enough to expect that, and made a huge pot of stew for himself and his foundlings -- more than enough for you as well... and so, you're invited there for dinner, and we can have our little chat... and then head out for our little trip from there. Sadly, I think the best I can offer you would be to sleep in the stable tonight, Taran claims even the common room isn't habitable... but it's been made most clear to her that she'll be serving you breakfast tomorrow - and to be ready to serve any other meals for your stay."
He motions for you to follow him, walking the diagonal to Hamish's, when he sighs and adds, "And she's been reminded that you're invited guests - so you should only be paying for what you drink... and the hot baths, if you use them. Either way, I'll go with you when we set you up in inn tomorrow morning."
You cross to the other building, stone like all the others, with a heavy iron door, and Rickan knocks. "Hamish?", he calls even as the door opens, and a girl of about thirteen steps out from behind it. She looks at Rickan and smiles warmly, then turns to you, clearly curious. You can almost see the questions behind her eyes, but she says simply, "I'm Shala, one of Hamish's strays. Come in."
Behind the door is a vast room, with a number of stone desks or worktables all facing left, to the outer wall, where large, unevenly-cut pieces of slate hang. A small, violent flame dances at each desk, making up for the lack of natural light from windows. Rickan says softly, "The classroom... at least, now it is. We think it used to be used for craftsman."
Shala nods and adds, "...Hamish is still trying to figure out what they would have been making... This way ," she says, directing you through a door leading to a large study with an entire wall of books, and through another door into a large dining room, dominated by a massive stone table that would probably seat a score of diners -- and currently seated are a half-dozen human children - well, mostly adolescents, dressed in old, but well-mended and cared-for clothing, and a grey-haired dwarf in similar garb. He stands when you enter, exclaimng, "Ah, there they are!", and rushes forward to shake your hand - moving much more quickly than any dwarves that you're used to. As he closes, you note he's not as broad as most dwarves, and much more graceful - and he has strands of pale red and blond in his hair and beard -- he may be old by human standards, but he's likely closer to his prime than Rickan -- something that's echoed by the brightness in his grey eyes. "I'm Hamish. Welcome to my home. Sit, sit. I think we've much to talk about -- enough that I've tapped a new cask of actual dwarven stout."
As they walk to Hamish's, Sahar remains uncharacteristically silent.
She steps forward in her turn to tell their new host, "I am Sahar of Qadira, and it is a delight to meet you and your wards. I for one am grateful for your hospitality and for a chance to learn how we may serve the people of Rustknoll, as well as a chance to learn more of our enemy so we may more effectively oppose them."
Fiona finishes currying her horse and gives one last look around the stable, before turning to put the brush away and wait for Rickan's return. When he mentions sleeping in the stable, she nods. "Slept in many a stable before; dry and warm, as long as the roof doesn't leak too badly and the... vermin... aren't too friendly." She gives a short laugh, though it sounds a bit forced.
The tall woman perks up at the sight of the dwarf, though her eyes wander over the children, a bemused expression on her face. When the dwarf offers a dwarven stout, though, Fiona relaxes visibly. The smile on her face, while not wide, is quite genuine. "Hamish, stone-brother — my thanks for your hospitality," she intones formally, before her smile quirks into a grin. "I am Fiona, and I have come to offer my assistance in subduing your dwarven stout."
Hamish whistles, "Qadiran... far from home, and devoted. Glad to meet you." He closes a fist and bows at the Fiona's greeting, then turns toward the table, "Seat, eat. It's simple fare - still early in the season - but there's a lot of it. Salad of fresh greens and mint, some raw cheese, oat rolls, mushroom tarts and an elk stew."
Once you've all taken a seat he nods, "The tarts and rolls are particularly good. Shala's an excellent baker."
Rickan, still standing, looks at the dwarf, and Hamish nods at the unspoken message, "Thank you, everyone. Dinner was delightful. You can go, rest, or do your reading ahead of tomorrow's lessons. I'll clean up tonight."
The younglings look a little disappointed, but they stand, nodding a farewell to you, and leave, and Rickan sits at Hamish's right hand. They wait a moment, Rickan closing his eyes, and cocking his head before whispering, "Marcan.... ", to which Hamish responds, "..and his sister," before switching to a louder tone, "Marcan, Lauris, given that you're clearly interested in helping with the clean up, why not start with everyone's dishes? I'll bring you these when our new friends are done eating."
The dwarf stands, and says, "Friends, eat, please. And start at the beginning, Rickan. I'll go pour," walking over to a sidetable upon which sits the aforementionned cask, and starts to draw tankards.
Rickan pauses, as if trying to determine where to begin, then says, "I came to Rustknoll... we came to Rustknoll... about thirteen years ago. I'd never heard of the place, honestly, but we were escorting a girl of seventeen that we'd rescued from a cult back to her home - only to find that the home -- a farmstead about a league and a half from here -- no longer existed. Her name was -- is --- Asha."
He looks down at the tankard he's just been handed, and shrugs, "The girl was taken in an orcish raid on her family's farmstead -- something that was actually not as common as you'd think back then -- and what she didn't know was that the rest of her family was killed or taken at the same time she was. Normally, a comely young girl doesn't do well in an orcish raid, but it seems that they had a buyer for a pure maiden -- the Cultists -- and the price was high enough that they didn't want to overly damage the prize. I imagine the others, being less inherently valuable, weren't so lucky."
He takes a pull from his tankard and says, "Anyhow, Hamish and I were curious about this place that we'd never heard of before, with old dwarven stonework buildings - ones clearly built for a much larger settlement -- one that seemed to be surviving, despite being in Belkzen -- and while people here were stoic, strong, stubborn... they also aren't grim like the folks in Trunau and ready to kill themselves in a moment's notice."
Hamish walks back to the table, sliding a tankard in front of Sandy and Fiona, and adds, "..and it didn't hurt that the girl was a comely lass, did it?"
Rickan chuckles slightly and adds, "Well, it didn't hurt that we'd grown a little fond of each other on the journey to bring her home... I'll admit to that much."
He takes another pull of his tankard and continues, "From what I gathered, at the time, Rustknoll largely survived by being small. Individual farms would be hit - to various degrees -- sometimes they were lost, other times not -- orc raids were almost viewed the way other areas talk of storms... Dangerous, maybe deadly, but also generally manageable if you had some warning, and kind of inevitable. Families would mourn, and rebuild... and in the occasions when there was a complete loss, a daughter would return to her family's homestead with her new husband, and they'd rebuild..."
Rickan shakes his head, as if realizing that he was drifting off-topic, and says, "It probably helped a great deal that the local orcs area thought this area was cursed..."
Hamish, delivering tankards to Xia and Merlan, adds, "Aye, and digging into the why and what of the curse-legend has been interesting. We've found orcish tales of brass dwarves, a molten dragon, an immortal sorceress... That last one, incidentally, seems to be true - but in the Fangwood, not here."
Rickan nods, "So the area wasn't exactly seen as valuable to the orcs, leaving a relatively weak tribe, the Shattered Spear, to claim it... and, as they were seen as weak, they spent most of their energy defending it... until, one day, the whole tribe just... vanished... into Orcdeath Cave -- or, what's now called that, anyway. With that, there was a vaccuum that led to a number of tribes -- and outcast groups -- fighting over the territory -- leading to more raids and attacks than usual, including the one that captured Asha."
Hamish delivers the last of the tankards and sits next to Rickan, "You're going in circles. This isn't Trellian's Labrynth."
Rickan laughs at the joke - probably a shared memory, and nods, "Right, sorry. So, anyway, that's what things were like when we showed up. Tribes fighting for the land, raiding increasing as a result - and that's when I did what I did -- started hunting down and killing the chiefs and warleaders of each of the area tribes. Because of how they were fighting each other, that led to most of them being destroyed, until only one remained -- the Bloodtalon. So, I killed their Chief -- figured it was only fair -- and I believe that Daven told you a pretty, embellished version of what came next. "
He takes a drink again, then says, "Grolthk was young, then. Strong, ambitious, nasty -- but not terribly bright. I figured that I'd done the best possible thing - put another weak tribe in power in the area -- and, taken it a step further by giving them restrictions -- rules to live by. That's why every farm has a larger 'outer' silo now -- to give the orcs a rich-looking target to raid, while the most valuable things are within wooden fences and palisades. Raids generally follow the rules, hitting what the farms leave out for them and not taking slaves. For the first, there's always a good show of defending - and there have been deaths - but generally, the orcs don't press the attack when the weak humans flee, beaten... especially because Grolthk has told his warriors that the curse protects the humans here."
Hamish laughs and nods, "..what he's not told them is that the curse is a middle-aged ranger and a handsome monk who go around protecting the countryside and caravans..."
Rickan nods, "Yes, that's number two on Grolthk's list of things not to say, after what happened to his warband and glove. Anyhow, this worked well - mostly. Anyone who wanted to challenge Grolthk would generally do it by trying to hit the buildings here, after we'd restored them, or by going too far in their raiding -- and those leaders and their small bands never made it back to the tribe. Grolthk looks wise, challengers cease to exist, his position remains strong in the tribe, and keeps up our... equilibrium."
The man's face darkens and says, "Problem is, Grolthk isn't young and dumb anymore. He's become... well... cunning... and he's started posturing himself like a stronger tribe would - believing... correctly... that I would need to step in to prevent such conflicts from destroying the Bloodtalon. And so, his reputation and power have been growing based on my actions, locking us both in a cycle -- and, let's be honest, I'm not getting any younger - and killing Grolthk would just make things worse -- and he knows it. But the 'weak tribe' is getting stronger, and attracting new followers."
He looks up and says, "It was about a year and a half ago when Grolthk replaced the tribal shaman with Helgu, a masked witch doctor, and the tribe started having some real magic -- war parties often had Helgu's apprentices for support... and the band of War Drummers joined the tribe soon after."
He sighs, "Still, if that was all, it would be my mess, and I'm sure that between Hamish and I, we'd figure out a way to clean it up... and then he'd make me ask him very nicely to help me do just that."
Hamish chuckles and says, "Aye, I'd make you name your firstborn Hamish, if you'd ever get around to having one."
Rickan chuckles a little, then turns serious again, "It started around midwinter - maybe a little before - that the Bloodtalon started getting active. There's too much new blood who want to prove themselves to Grolthk, or to set themselves up to replace him, and so things are off-balance. But, what's more, Grolthk's made himself -- and his territory -- look like a rich target - and so, now, he's being pressed, and we're seeing new orcs that don't know the rules."
Hamish adds, "Aye, well, orcs aren't known for 'restraint', are they?"
Rickan nods, "So, we have a tribe that's too big for its britches, other tribes probing the area, looking to take over... but what made me call was the last new development. The outcasts."
Hamish interjects, "Orcs are a tribal lot, and all about strength. Orcs that aren't strong, those that fail, ones that have defects, females who don't want to become male... uh, well, basically anyone that's not a powerful, nasty warrior, is not welcome and cast away... and, since they're not part of any tribe, they're generally feral and get by on whatever they can scavenge."
Rickan chuckles, "Thank you, professor. Did you want to draw a diagram too? Surely you've a small slate in here for such an occasion?"
The dwarf shakes his head, "Can't believe I wasted the good stout on you...", as Rickan continues, "These outcasts, though, they're... not like that. Yes, they're usually weaker, or half-bloods, or misshapen -- that part's still true -- but there are more than just a few of them, and they're well-equipped - as if they managed to capture a cache or caravan of dwarven weapons... And well-organized. They fight well, and generally fight together... and, that organization seems to extend to message-drops, which, incidentally is what I wanted to take you to tonight... I think they're looking for something... something around here, but I have no idea what."
Hamish shakes his head, "If it's something old, you mayflies will have had enough generations that nobody remembers a damned thing. The only dwarf around here before me is Taran, and she's only been here like 10 years longer than we have..."
Rickan finishes his drink and says, "But, either way, maybe we can get some clues to help us figure it out from their message-drop. It's a bit of a walk, so eat up, you'll need your strength."
Hamish shakes his head, "And if you've any questions, now's the time to ask, before you're out there alone with this one when he's being all silent and stoic..."
Sahar sets her spoon down and listens carefully as Hamish and Rickan describe the two orc tribes. When they finish, she exchanges a glance with Sandy and, knowing the woodsman's usual silence and stoicism, asks about the scene they had tracked that morning.
"Would three of these outcast orcs and one half-orc be able to take down an orc warband of seven, including a shaman? And quite quickly? We came upon a battle site in a grove about two hours out from Castle Firrine. Fiona, Sandy and I read the tracks around the seven dead orcs we found and determined three other orcs left the area after building a pyre for their fallen half-orc holy man."
She pulls the single left glove she had kept from the spoils and the smoked holy symbol from her belt pouch and sets them on the table - away from the food. "The dead orcs all wore these gloves on their left hands. These are unfamiliar to me. The possibly-an-outcast half-orc - who was laid out with honor on a pyre - wore this symbol of Szuriel. From the tracks and wounds, it seemed like the dead were killed quickly and very efficiently. Then two of the survivors built a pyre for their fallen while the third stopped by each of their dead enemies and knelt, as if examining them. Yet the gear of the dead was left intact... as far as we could tell. The apparent leader of the dead war party wore a horrid mask." Her nose wrinkles in disgust at the memory of the thing.
|
|
Xia watches as Rickan speaks, having tried to find a seat across from them man and the dwarf. Having been provided with yet another feast which she is sure a king would envy, Xia wolfs down the salad and oat rolls, taking small bites of the sharp cheese in between, and then savoring the mushroom tart. Complementing the baker as she does.
When Rickan finishes, she misses part Sahar's response, having been seated adjacent to her.
Yes. And we find holy nut in trees. Orcs try steel or poison magic in nut. Think we fix and clean. But nasty poison metal hard to cure. Trees look sick when we find. Hope trees get healthy now metal out of nut. Think dead orcs using magic from nut? Maybe stealing?
<When Rickan comes back to the barn>
Merlan smiles as he gives his already sleeping pooch a final pat.
"Quite alright my good man! Our contract didn't promise 5-Star accommodations or any special royal treatment. We're here to do a job after all! Merlan assures Rickan amiably.
When they reach 'Hamish's house', The wizard grins at the young girl answering the door, and is immediately distracted by the interesting work tables on one wall, and then by the stack of books on the other. He hastens back and forth, examining them and making excited noises at his discoveries.
As they are escorted further into the building and introduced to Hamish and his 'clan', Merlan's smile threatens to burst his face.
"Finally! NORMAL sized people!" The miniscule mage declares ecstatically, pumping Hamish's hand vigorously and immediately climbing up onto a bench at the table, where he begins ingratiating himself with the children.
As the kids are dismissed, Merlan makes a point to thank them for entertaining him during the dinner. (Where he ate a halflings share, but only after making sure the kids all had seconds and more than plenty. Even going so far as to add food to a small child's plate himself at one point.)
Waggling his small pipe with a questioning glance at their host for permission before lighting it, Merlan settles back on one of the now-empty benches, legs stretched out, using his large backpack as a backrest, and puffs his pipe contentedly. He takes a deep, slow drink of the offered brew, and looks like he is in halfling heaven. He stays there, puffing and drinking contentedly, as he listens to Rickan and Hamish tell their tale.
As the two finish their story, Merlan looks into his now-empty mug, as if wondering where his drink went.
"Yes, Yes!" Merlan cries as he stands up on the bench, putting him more-or-less on eye-to-eye level with everyone else at the table.
"I have LOTS of questions!,..." He begins enthusiastically, then sees the glances some of his companions throw his way.
"Well, a few important ones at least." he continues, only slightly less enthusiastically. He continues rapidly before any of the others can stop him,...
"You mentioned several rumors and stories of magical things and people that are tied to this region. 'Cursing' it. Do any of them have to do with a magical acorn? The orcs obviously know about it, and seemed to be harvesting it for it's magical potential as far as I could tell. Oooh,... from what little I know about crafting, the magical essence harvested from that nut could easily be used to craft items, which might explain where these orcs are getting their new equipment from? Presuming they didn't actually rob a caravan or find another Foundry, DO you think they found a Foundry?! THAT would be a discovery! Oh, are any of those stories actually written down? or are they all just tales passed down? I'd love to research those, they sound fascinating. And most 'old tales' are usually based at least a little in fact! You said that this witch doctor has apprentices? Well, That sounds interesting, and potentially unpleasant. Wait, so we're actually dealing with TWO primary problems here,... Both your Orcs that have 'claimed' the territory, AND these outcasts?! Who seem to be organizing and equipping themselves to be their own force in the region. But their goals clearly aren't identical."
Merlan takes a breath and continues at a slower pace,
"Think about it, the presumably 'outcast' orcs that killed the other warband, they didn't continue to harvest the nut's magic, and they didn't cover it up. SO they didn't care about it at all one way or the other. And they didn't take any of the fallen orcs equipment. We can presume because they didn't NEED it. The only thing that we know they took with them was their fallen comrades gauntlet. So we can presume that it had importance to them. Whether symbolically or otherwise."
"SO, we 'know', more or less what the local tribe wants. More power. Over the area, in their ranks with the other tribes, whatever. And your tricky situation there is your losing your previous equilibrium and 'truce'. You can't let them get stronger, because they will get worse. And you can't retaliate too much, because they will get stronger. A very tricky wagon wheel to balance. But what do the OUTCASTS want? They seem to be as intent on attacking the tribe orcs as bothering you? What are they trying to accomplish?"
Merlan looks at his now-extinguished pipe and still-empty mug sadly.
Sahar laughs as Merlan finishes his long lecture. "Breathe, mage! Much of what you say is obvious. But you did miss one thing. Our hosts said the outcasts were looking for something. If the outcasts did indeed kill the warband we found, left the gear, but knelt by each of the bodies, then..." She makes a rolling gesture with one hand, inviting the halfling to continue, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Would three of these outcast orcs and one half-orc be able to take down an orc warband of seven, including a shaman? And quite quickly? We came upon a battle site in a grove about two hours out from Castle Firrine. Fiona, Sandy and I read the tracks around the seven dead orcs we found and determined three other orcs left the area after building a pyre for their fallen half-orc holy man."
Rickan nods at Sahar's question, saying, "Probably. Depends on which three and which seven. I mean, three against seven doesn't seem long odds to me -- usually it's just Hamish and I. Good tactics and good gear does much to balance the odds. "
Hamish interjects, "At least for you lazy folk who use that sort of thing."
Rickan smiles, then his eyes narrow as he realizes the rest of Sahar's words, "Two hours?? Then the Bloodtalon are claiming a much larger territory than ever before... larger than some of the, shall we say, more established, ones. Small wonder we're seeing other tribes looking in."
"The dead orcs all wore these gloves on their left hands. "
Rickan nods, "The glove is the mark of a Bloodtalon warrior. Apparently, it's part of the ritual when you become a warrior of the tribe - and after that, it's a way to keep trophies. I have Grolthk's in a chest at home. But cutting off the hand, that's not something I'm familar with."
Hamish says, "Maybe symbolic? A pound of flesh?"
Rickan shrugs, "Could be... but to one's allie--- wait, a pound of flesh? Like an intact piece of the body?"
Hamish slaps the table, "No. No. It's bad enough we have to kill them once without some idiot reincarnating them. Orcs would never agree to that, anyway. Might come back as something weak and hated, like and elf or something."
Rickan shrugs, "Even if they're already outcasts?"
Hamish opens his mouth, then closes it, muttering, "I'm supposed to win these arguments. You'd better not be right, ranger."
"The possibly-an-outcast half-orc - who was laid out with honor on a pyre - wore this symbol of Szuriel.
Rickan blinks, and shrugs, even as Hamish leans forward to look at the symbol. He looks up at his friend, then says, "Aye, suddenly you need the professor, don't you? Szuriel. Horseman of War.... Whereas Gorum's about personal glory and battle, Szuriel's ... not. It's not war for the sake of anything, other than the war itself."
Rickan says, "So... fighting efficiently, then?"
Hamish sighs, "Aye, like that."
Sahar laughs as Merlan finishes his long lecture. "Breathe, mage! Much of what you say is obvious. But you did miss one thing. Our hosts said the outcasts were looking for something. If the outcasts did indeed kill the warband we found, left the gear, but knelt by each of the bodies, then..." She makes a rolling gesture with one hand, inviting the halfling to continue, eyes twinkling with amusement.
Merlan waggles a finger,
"Oooh,.. good point. I had originally presumed that they knelt by each of the fallen to ensure they were dead. But if they are looking for a supernatural 'somethingorother', Which is presumably NOT a giant Acorn, Oh for the sake of Dragon eggs, WHAT could possibly be 'more' than a giant acorn filled with MAGIC?!?" The mage says with exasperation.
Then the halfling taps his chin thoughtfully,
"Or,... More to the point. WHAT are they looking for? And WHY did they presume that one of the Bloodtalon Orcs might have it on them?!"
Merlan looks to Rickan and Hamish curiously.
"We may be able to do more with that. If they examined bodies, it was something that could be carried or worn. They had to kneel to check, so it was not something large and obvious, like a large weapon, shield, helm, armor, and the like. It was something they expected a war party might have, so probably something of use to a warrior. And not too small or easily concealed, or the bodies would have been stripped. So... possibly a piece of jewelry that would be on a wrist or neck and easily found? And magic that makes trees to grow is not of much use to one who worships the Horseman of War."
Sahar shrugs. "We may be leaping to conclusions as the lion upon the gazelle, of course."
"Yes. I read a pamphlet or three once, by this one fellow. TERRIBLY smart and observant. If a trifle full of himself at times. He did warn of the dangers of trying to fill in the blanks of a puzzle too quickly. One is then in danger of trying to make the facts fit the theories, instead of the other way around." Merlan says thoughtfully.
"Still! Your theory is sound! Let us keep 'something that could be carried or worn' and 'not large and obvious', and I propose 'something that that the Bloodtalon orcs are also looking for', so if found they would be carrying it back to their chief. Ergo, the outcasts were making sure THESE particular orcs had not found said 'doo-dad'." Merlan grins.
"Or they were looking for the magical doo-dad and found it," Sahar suggests.
Merlan actually looks, concerned, for a moment.
"Oooo, I hope not. The terms 'Orcs' and 'Magical Doo-Dads' do NOT belong together! Not in a sentence, and not in the world!" The mage says emphatically.
|
|
Xia listens as the discussion bounces from one person to another. She picks up little of what Merlan says, as he is speaking so fast that his words run together. However, what Rickan and Hamish say raises an idea.
Gloves are symbol of Blood-talon group you say? Is possible is bounty on Blood-talon orcs? Outcast get money, or respect, for each glove. Possible half-orcs and small group only want award for kill seven orcs, no interest, or knowledge, in what else big orcs party does?
The apparent leader of the dead war party wore a horrid mask.
Hamish says, "Doubt we're lucky enough that it was Helgu.... probably one of the apprentices."
Think dead orcs using magic from nut? Maybe stealing?
Rickan says, "If Helgu's stealing magic, the question is what he's using it for. Burning it all to look powerful and keep his position -- or is he making magic for the tribe?"
You mentioned several rumors and stories of magical things and people that are tied to this region. 'Cursing' it. Do any of them have to do with a magical acorn?
Hamish shakes his head, "No, that's a new one. Though, to be fair, it doesn't sound like the sort of thing that orcs would be scared of."
I know about crafting, the magical essence harvested from that nut could easily be used to craft items, which might explain where these orcs are getting their new equipment from?
Rickan shakes his head, "Wrong orcs, though -- from what you said, the Bloodtalon were the ones harvesting magic."
Presuming they didn't actually rob a caravan or find another Foundry, DO you think they found a Foundry?! THAT would be a discovery!
Rickan says, "It would... but I don't think I'd be so excited about another source of weapons in the hands of the orcs."
Hamish nods, "So many records lost in what happened back then... there could be another fortress like the Ironhearth Foundry out there -- but dwarves aren't likely to abandon such a place -- and if orcs drove them out, then you'd think there'd still be orcs there.... so I'm mostly thinking that it's just a legend... but then, there's often truth behind legends."
Wait, so we're actually dealing with TWO primary problems here,... Both your Orcs that have 'claimed' the territory, AND these outcasts?! Who seem to be organizing and equipping themselves to be their own force in the region. But their goals clearly aren't identical.
Rickan says, "That's pretty much what I was saying."
Hamish adds, "Two if you could the Bloodtalon and the instability - specifically the other tribes - as a single problem. I mean, even if we fix the Bloodtalon, the others will need to be dealt with."
But what do the OUTCASTS want? They seem to be as intent on attacking the tribe orcs as bothering you? What are they trying to accomplish?
Hamish nods, "Aye, that's the question, isn't it?"
Rickan says, "And what are they looking for -- which, if we're lucky, the message drop will help figure out."
Rickan nods at both Sahar and Merlin's comments, but then asks, "Did they take anything? A tooth, an ear? Could have been collecting trophies."
Lani listens to the conversation as she happily shovels food into her mouth. She is only able to partially focus on the words, though, as once more she cocks her head and whispers softly to herself, her eyes getting a faraway look. Fortunately, the others are asking all of the pertinent questions, and the sorceress knows she'll be ready when the time comes for action.
|
|
Xia pipes in after Rickan and Hamish respond to Merlan's inquiries.
So. Question. You want attack? Spy? Infiltrate? I can sneak in to orcs. Not sure of others.
A moment later, Xia form shifts and a moment later where previously a young lady was seated, there is now a rather homely green skinned orc, but still wearing Xian's clothes.
Innate ability to use Disguise Self - changing appearance to a generic female orc.
In orcish: Bet orc not suspect orc spy.
In common: If orc suspect, CAN BE MEAN LIKE ORC.
After resuming her normal nondescript appearance, Xia sighs.
Not sure others as good at sneak and disguise, but useful for get information.
Rickan tenses, and Hamish whistles, saying, "That could be helpful. Though female orcs, if they want status, need to ... well... become... male."
Rickan nods, "They're often the meanest ones - making sure that they're seen as fully male, and thus, able to hold status."
He shudders a bit at that, then stands, "So, what do you think? Are we up for our little excursion -- or do you need to rest and try tomorrow night?"
When Xia does her 'disguise' trick, Merlan claps enthusiastically.
"I LIKE that trick! Endless fun at parties! Useful for spying too, I suppose."
At Rickan's words, Merlan swiftly stifles a large yawn.
"Oh yes. I'm quite ready! We should certainly investigate this 'drop' location tonight! Thank you for your hospitality Master Hamish! It was quite good!" Merlan hops down from the bench, grabs his backpack, and makes as if ready to leave.
Then he pauses. He Sliiiiiiiides slowly back over to the table, and nabs one of the remaining cakes.
"For the road!" he says cheerfully.
Sahar nods. "We should use our legs some, warm the muscles, before sleeping tonight. We'll all be happier about it tomorrow."
You say your goodbyes to Hamish, who calls the two would-be eavesdroppers in to clear your plates as you make ready... and then, back outdoors. While you were eating and talking, the sun finished its descent - leaving only a few trailing beams of pink light peeking out behind the mountains to the west, lighting an indigo sky... one that's rapidly darkening, with only a waning crescent moon to light it.
Rickan looks up at the sky and frowns, "Leaving a little later than I'd hoped... I was hoping to avoid needing to light ourselves in order to see where we're going." He draws a dagger and unscrews its pommel, then pulls a small stone that burns with a cool flame from his sack. He places the stone in the dagger's hilt, narrowing the stone's light to a narrow beam, then screws the crystal pommel back on, widening the beam slightly - creating a cone of light like that of a bullseye lantern.
"Directed light's a little harder to see from a distance... and this is more useful in a fight than a lantern," he explains.
...
Rickan leads you out of town, staying in the middle of your group to allow the light in his hand to light the way of those of you who can't see in the dark. Still, despite the difficulty of navigating in the grass in poor light, you feel like you're making excellent time -- almost as if Rickan were leading you down an established trail, instead of over rocky scrubs and low hills. About half-an-hour into your trip, Rickan stops to get his bearings, then gets a strange look on his face and sighs. "There is one other detail I should give you -- something that I haven't even yet told Hamish. But, the other reason that I sent the bird to Firrine is that I won't be able to do this anymore. I promised Asha that I'd stop taking these sorts of risks... so that she doesn't have to raise our child alone. So, no more going into orc camps to kill their warchiefs..."
He takes a pull from his waterskin, then says, "We're waiting another month before we tell everyone - including Hamish." He places the skin back on his belt, then spins the dagger in his hand to project its cone of light forward once more, then motions with the beam, "This way, let's go."
....
After roughly an hour from that break, he stops -- the terrain has almost completely finished its shift from grassland to rocky crag -- here, there's stone everywhere and the patches of grass and weed are the exception (essentially the opposite of what you saw in area around the town's buildings). He waits a moment, looking at each of you, as if to ensure to himself that you're okay, before he motions. "That rockpile, the one that looks like a cairn? There's a burrow underneath it - a stone fox's den. One of the warbands of outcasts -- seven of them, led by a half-orc with a Warcat of Rull -- keeps coming back to this area - and when I came by two days ago, the hole to the burrow was hidden by a flat rock... which I suppose could have been a coincidence, except that the rock was enchanted. Necromantic and Abjuration -- I'm guessing a glyph. Didn't feel like getting zapped to find out though. That'd be the sort of thing I promised Asha that I'd stop doing."
He shrugs, "I'd like to know what's in there, and what the orcs are doing... but," he smiles, "...I guess it's your problem now."
He pauses, and then says, "Any questions before I go back to my nice warm bed and pregnant wife?"