Brental accepts Kesten's dismissal of honorifics with a bit of gratitude. He doesn't know much more about this man other than his House name, but anyone who takes the opportunity to eschew formality curries favor with the druid. He has had enough hierarchy with the Oakstewards. There is a time and place to stand on formalities, and knowing the dance of the courts has its benefits, but treating together as people is always a good pace. Brental visibly relaxes, especially as Signy's plea for Vlad's life is met positively.
She has a real knack for that...
As Svetlana greets them warmly, Brental smiles to spy the flame still burning above their threshold. He washes his hands and eagerly begins enjoying the dinner. He would be very interested in the moonlight radish stew once Svetlana got around to preparing that. If they ranged out the next day, it would be good to arrive back here by the evening.
Brental holds his tongue regarding further knowledge of the Stag Lord's location. Hadn't their most recent quarry told them that the Fort was on the northeast shore of the Tuskwater? Perhaps Signy and Meneas had reason to keep this tidbit to themselves for now. He would ask them about it later.
As Signy explains their overall tactics, Brental nods along in agreement. "The usual justice of Brevoy has its place," he adds thoughtfully. "And the law of the land can only be respected and upheld if it is meted out with an even hand. But I agree with Signy. This Stag Lord has fashioned himself a ruler in this area, and he has an army of followers drawn to his philosophy. They think of themselves as free under his rule so long as they meet his demands. We must weaken his position if we are to make a direct attack. If we are to foment rebellion within his ranks and encourage desertion, we need to offer options other than death."
Kesten nods slowly as his deep brown eyes scan across each party member as they do their best to explain the situation to him. "I understand the need for consistent messaging and thus I will do my best to not undermine the position you're attempting to establish yourselves in but I am, first a foremost, a servant of Restov and as such there may come certain situations where I will be forced to act in a manner counter to your aims. However," The man pauses to take a deep swig of his ale.
"I believe that our goals will match up in the long term. And that we will find each other's presence beneficial for everyone involved. Now, onto this information you've gathered. The kobolds and mites we were aware of before, they seem to be of little concern but still our employer would like this situation handled. If they can be dealt with peaceably, I imagine, that would be the solution everyone would prefer. The information about the Stag Lord is new to me though. You say he is located in a fortified position of some sort but you're unsure of exactly where. Do you have any means of finding out? And, more importantly, do you have a plan of attack for an assualt on a fortified position? It wont be as simple as an open engagement I can tell you that."
Kesten pauses as Svetlana comes by again with a round of fresh drinks for everyone and accompanying honey cakes. She stops to dab some dirt off Brental's face and comment on how jealous she is of Signy that she always manages to keep her hair looking so perfect despite the perils of adventuring before she takes off again to leave them to their discussions.
"A lovely woman." Kesten murmers looking after Svetlana who was noticeably silent towards the man. "I'm afraid we started out on the wrong foot with her when my men and I rounded up the young bandit but I hope she'll soon see that we're only here for their protection... I'm here to do a job and see the rule of law prevail here in these wild lands nothing more." He leans back on the bench and lays his hands out on the table, his eyes meeting Signy's directly.
"With that in mind... I was hoping I could ask you for a favor of a more... personal nature. You see, I'm looking for an older Varisian man with a long unkempt beard by the name of Falgrim Sneeg. He's an ex-mercenary I used to work with some time ago until he robbed us and departed to the Greenbelt to join the Stag Lord. I would be personally, very grateful if you could bring this man in to me alive to face justice back in Restov. I would see to it that you were fairly compensated, I could have four masterwork weapons of your desire forged and delivered to you here, though I would only be willing to offer you two if he's dead. I realize this is outside of your origional contract but, as you've said, I see that you could make rather capable allies here in the Stolen Lands. The decision is yours to make."
"Falgrim Sneeg... do you have any idea where he might be hiding?" Meneas says finally, after a long period of simply watching and waiting for a chance to speak. He looks to the others, flexing his gloved fingers once more. "If we come across him, we'll strive to take him alive."
The man just shakes his head morosely. "I'm afraid that all I know is that he's serving the Stag Lord somewhere in the Greenbelt. That's the best I can do for you I'm afraid."
Brental nods along with Kesten's continued explanations. He knows he does not yet have a specific plan for an assault on the Stag Lord's fort, but he also hopes to gather more information before even attempting such a feat.
"I have no concrete plans for such an assault yet. For now I believe that if we whittle away at his holdings around the Greenbelt, taking out his lieutenants and causing desertion to his cause, we may gain both valuable information and make some manner of assault feasible. But that will take time."
When Kesten brings up Falgrim Sneeg, Brental's brow furrows curiously. "Do you happen to have a sketch of this Falgrim? And can you tell us anything more about him and his habits? What manner of warrior is he? I am happy to keep an eye out for him as we continue to fulfill the terms of our charter."
"A keep is no easy thing to assault." Meneas agrees. "Especially if it can call reinforcements from outside. Even a precision strike - absent any armies - would struggle against such odds. It's best to start by demoralizing and depleting the Stag Lord's bandits, and making the Greenbelt a bit safer for everyone involved."
Signy leans back in her chair, relaxed and satisfied with Keston's reply.
"If there's mutual understanding and good will I'm sure we can all handle the small things that might come up well enough. Sure, we'll bring him to you alive if we can."
An idea comes to Signy. She takes the dueling sword from her belt and lays it on the table.
"Hey Keston, would you be up for a little practice, maybe tomorrow morning after breakfast?"
Patting the sword, Signy tells him "This was sent to me as a birthday present. I've no idea who it's from. But, since they went to all the trouble of sending it to Taldor for me, I figure the least I can do is learn to use it well. I've picked up a few things since I've been here, but it's still new to me. In the past I've always counted on Yob Knocker here for any up close and personal unpleasantness."
Signy pulls out the club tucked into her belt. It's not some crude heavy cudgel, but a carefully shaped and lacquered stick, showing the wear of long use.
"It may be wise to begin thinking on a method for your eventual approach but I agree it's probably a good idea to whittle his forces down. It may even draw the man out of his hole if you manage to tick him off enough, but who's to say?"
Coughing into his gloved hand with a trace of embarrassment Kesten goes on. "I haven't much a hand when it comes to art but... how do you feel about stick figures? In all seriousness I'll have a sketch for you in the morning but don't expect anything pretty. Whay I can tell you is that he is an older Varisian man, bald, with a wild beard. As far as his mannerisms, well he's a well trained soldier and apart from that all I can tell you is that he has a discomforting calmness anout him in the face of violence."
His attention now drawn back to Signy he seems to appraise her and her blade for a moment before giving a half-smile, showing his pearly white teeth for the first time since the party's arrival. Clearly this was a man that took stock in his image as the face of the Restov guard. "What could it hurt? But that blade of yours is a fine instrument. I wont have you go whacking around with it like that club of yours. But with a little time and training I'll have it singing for you in no time..." With that Kesten rose from his seat and began to walk back to his men waving as he went. "I wake at sunrise so don't keep me waiting."
"It's nothing like that for Yob Knocker. I used to work the floor at the Ale-Church in Oppara where I grew up. It was for the overly unruly, aggressive, or lecherous. Usually a solid jab to the stomach or laying it hard across their shins would do the trick. They were customers after all and we wanted their return business. They were just done for that night."
Signy is appalled and immediately complains.
"But that's before breakfast!"
Meneas looks at Signy, his amusement palpable even from beneath his hood. "It's only before breakfast if you don't eat breakfast before dawn." He points out dryly.
He eyes the dueling sword for a moment, before shaking his head silently. I couldn't help her, I think. Not skilled in the sorts of combat she'd probably do better at.
Signy's eyes dart to Meneas and give him a "what's wrong with you?" stare.
"A simple sketch will be fine. I don't think we would randomly accost every bald, bearded Varisian man we came across, but it would be nice to have a reference so that we need not be overly suspicious."
Brental leans back in his chair, satisfied with the food and enjoying the interplay between Signy and Meneas. He was often up with the sun as well, so he would enjoy watching a bit of Signy's training before going off to be one with nature. If he made a habit of staying at this fort, he would need to actually begin cultivating a grove nearby...
"If you would like moral support, Signy, I am happy to observe." He smirks.
Meneas shrugs at Signy's look, but his voice is amused. "It's true!" After a moment, he pauses. "Next, we should look to where the mites are based, no? When do you want to set out? I imagine that you, Signy, want to stick around and practice a bit before we return to the road."
Oleg returns and welcomes the party and Svetlana is eventually given the Moonlight radishes. She is extremely grateful for the gesture and returns the favor by producing another 250 gold pieces for the party.
Before dawn has come a tingling smell meets their nostrils and guides the party up from their beds where they are greeted by the sight of Oleg already slurping down his forth bowl of soup while Svetlana rushes about placing a bowl down for everyone. "Well well rise and shine sleepy heads I've been working away all night to surprise you all with this, it's an old family recipe I've written down for you Signy dear. Now please eat! You have a big day ahead of you!"
The soup itself has an airy translucent color to it and you can see, along with the chopped up radishes there are rice noodles, hardboiled eggs, green onion, and sprigs of bean sprouts throughout. The soup tastes wonderful, it's surprisingly refreshing like mint and sends cool shivers along your tongue and the backs of your throats but is strangely a hearty meal nevertheless.
After finishing the meal Kesten invites Signy to train with him just outside of the trading post where he has set up an impormptu dummy of hay, sticks, and a bucket. There they train for a few hours. Kesten is surely an accomplished swordsman trained in the high courts of Brevoy. He is a hard instructor and within their training it isn't long before Signy has worked up a good sweat but he is patient and praises Signy for how quickly she is catching on.
"Alright, that's enough for now. A good start Signy, you're progression is impressive but don't let it go to your head. Remember the basics are the foundation of swordplay and will save your skin more than any flashy maneuver ever could. I have to attend to my duties now but we'll pick this up another day." Kesten gives a slight smile and waves as he heads back to the small camp his men have erected outside the trading post.
"I need to stay and see how the moon radish dish is made to I can show the kobolds. After that I'm ready to go."
Signy unhappily shows up at the barbaric time Kesten set for the next morning.
Early in the morning, Meneas and Veil scout out around the area of the Trading Post, keeping out an eye for anything of note.
Brental eats the moonlight radish ramen with fascination and delight. He had had all of the ingredients before, of course, but never in this fashion with this taste profile. He had grown far more accustomed to roughing it with wild nuts, berries, wild greens, and mushrooms with some game roasted over a fire. But Brental is no great cook. He compliments Svetlana effusively.
Brental stays to watch the onset of Signy's training. It had been a while since he had watched of the Aldori swordplay with any close eye. It's not something he has any facility with, but he notices brief instances where he thinks the famed Sirian Aldori or his followers could have incorporated moves borrowed from animals. The prideful dance of the peacock, the swift savagery of the mongoose, and the deadly grace of a hunting lion. Or maybe that was just what he wanted to see.
After observing for a bit, and recognizing that this training could take much of the morning, Brental excuses himself to begin his morning preparations. He stops by the stables where Vodnykel is munching on something that Svetlana has put in front of all the animals.
"Good morning, friend. I don't know that you would appreciate the moonlight radish dish, but you might enjoy munching on some raw ones. I'll ask Svetlana if there are any remaining."
He rubs behind the mastodon youngling's ear and checks on the wound from the day before. He looks fully healed now between Brental's vigil and the coaxing of primal magic. He checks the kit of bandages and ointments he purchased from Oleg and Svetlana, knowing that they could get into another battle soon. It would be good to have some extra supplies, but he certainly hoped to avoid such deadly wounds going forward.
After checking his new supplies and feeling a good deal richer than he had in years, Brental leaves the fort and finds the spot where he had prepared the morning of the fight with Happs. The stones are still there, mostly undisturbed in their circle. He watches as a pair of squirrel chase each other around a nearby tree before closing his eyes to listen to the lilting song of a chime of wrens. He focuses on the needs for the day. Better to be prepared than to be caught wanting.
1st-Level: cure light wounds, entangle, shillelagh
Orisons: detect magic, grasp, guidance, light
He daily preparations complete, Brental goes to join Signy, Meneas, and Lorna for their expedition to find the mites.
It had been a fun idea, maybe just maybe a slightly flirty idea, when Signy had thought of and suggested a little practice. Keston turning her idea, which was supposed to be a little bit of fun sparring after breakfast, into sword master bootcamp was not fun.
She finishes Keston's ordeal (the practice dummies were entirely too much) winded and with an extremely tired right arm. She appreciates Kesten's compliment and tells him so, but she would rather have had a bit of fun really.
Signy goes inside to ask for another bowl of the moon radish soup.
Svetlana is more than happy to show Signy how to make the moonlight radish soup and chatter about the new arrivals as well as her long morning practice session with the handsome guard captain. She laughs at Signy's confession of more flirtatious intent commenting how she had a feeling that Signy had ideas of working up a different kind of sweat this morning. Signy is graciously saved from Svetlana's recounting of her and Oleg's amorous adventures in the past by the arrival of Brental requesting radishes for his stalwart animal companion which she happily parts with.
After he leaves, Svetlana giggles at Signy raises a brow suggestively. "My, my the life of a beautiful young adventurer sure must be exciting. Travel, gold, action, and such handsome men boldly standing beside you along the way. Loooong nights on the road, cold nights by the campfire."
Meneas explores around the trade post dutifully and is fortunately greeted by nothing other than the pleasant chittering of birds and the sight of Brental finishing his rituals. That is, until he catches sight of Kesten stood on the road just in front of the trade post speaking with an elf woman with gorgeous long black hair cascading down past her shoulders.
Approaching the situation Meneas hears the grizzled man questioning the woman. "I understand your desire to express your gratitude for the clearing of the Thorn River Camp but you must understand MY position as well." He explains with a hint of exhaustion in his voice his tired eyes shifting over to Meneas for a moment waving him to join in before continuing. "You are an unknown entity to me miss and these are decidedly dangerous times as you, yourself must be well aware. The Stag Lord is quite dangerous and has many assets to his name therefore this vetting process is unfortunately quite necessary."
Signy laughs a snorty laugh because she doesn't exactly want to just laugh at what Svetlana says, but she can't keep from laughing.
"It isn't all that Lana. They're both very serious" she says with an accompanying mock-serious face. "And I think they both like their animals a little more than they like people. I almost adopted a nice stick as my permanent fire poking stick a couple of nights back so I'd always have a good one. There's not much else to do while they talk about hiking routes and mileage, and scouting, and provisions... Brental keeps showing me plants and telling me their names like I should be memorizing them. Meneas is very busy looking forbidding and mysterious."
Signy sighs.
"They're good people, but it is what it is. And that's generally pretty dull by the way."
"Oh but a man who loves animals is always a plus in my opinion. Shows that they have a warm heart. And as far as keeping busy... Well, let's just say Oleg and I kept very busy on those long nights he was 'teaching me how to keep the books'. Needless to say not a lot of studying was accomplished back then." Svetlana blushes at recalling a fond memory and turns back to her work on the next batch of soup.
"He's a very passionate man you know... Anyways, I won't go pressing my nose into you business further just saying enjoy your youth while it's here."
It’s been a long morning already, Hyalinnea muses as she dickers with a stubborn guard at the gate to Oleg’s outpost. She’s pushed herself hard into the night yesterday, ever since she came across the bloody remains of a bandit camp straddling the Thorn that someone saved her from stumbling into just in time, and got up early to pick the rest of her way in their wake. She’s not much of a woodswoman – she can get by on her own, mostly, but not much more than that – so she half followed the track of whatever tore through the encampment (but had the civility to bury the dead) and half pressed nonchalantly on to Oleg’s, hoping to catch up with the adventurers she’s looking for too. Including Gurev’s daughter. I hope she’s alright. Odd family, but I think they do care, in their way.
She’s not likely to find out standing around, and as a dark-cowled knight approaches behind the man holding her up, the elf draws herself out and calls out (again) in Elven (and bemused frustration) so that her voice can be heard through the courtyard and on top of the towers, “ οἱοστισοῦν ἀνὴρ ὁ πυλαωρός;”
“‘What man is the gate-keeper?’” She switches back, helpfully, to Common. “‘If you open the gate, well then. But if you don’t open it…’”
Her tone is playful, and she’s obviously quoting something, but it’s also clear that she has a very loose understanding of law and order, and happy to insinuate that whoever’s in charge around here, she’s sure it isn’t this Kesten fellow.
She sighs dramatically and reaches to her side…
“… could you at least announce my arrival to the Lady Medvyed?”
From inside the stables where he feeds a small moonlight radish to Vodnykel (who trumpets and shimmies with apparent delight at the taste), Brental ears the unmistakable timbre of Elven. It's not a dialect that he immediately recognizes, but he had only recently felt that he was beginning to gain a command of the language. The tongue had enough features in common variously with Sylvan, Draconic, Celestial, and even Druidic that it came together interestingly for him. The druid leaves his mastodon with the rest of the radishes and goes out to the front of the Fort where he sees an Elven woman arguing with Kesten.
"Γεια. Ψάχνετε για κυρία Lorna Medvyed? Γιατί? Ποιος είσαι?"
Brental approaches genially enough, suddenly self-conscious that his pronunciation might be considered awful by a native speaker, or at least obviously inflected by his other languages with similar roots. Lina sees a very tall, unarmored, tanned, broad-shouldered man with starkly white hair stride forward.
"Δεν νομίζω ότι έχουμε -- πώς είπες 'gatekeeper'? -- αλλά ο Kesten είναι ένας φρουρός που έχει ανατεθεί εδώ."
After her chat with Lana, Signy goes on out into the courtyard of Oleg's place. She takes a spot in the center and magically fills her tankard with ale. First raising it high and then taking a gulp, she begins her devotional loudly.
A new song more or less every day leads to some fairly janky and odd performances of Signy's faith. But really that's the point, no staleness and maximum gusto. The Accidental God doesn't ask for finely tuned perfection; he asks that one be ready, on the spot, to do what needs to be done.
Oh I beg you, can I follow?
Oh I ask you, why not always?
Be the ocean, where I unravel
Be my only, be the water where I'm wading
You're my river running high
Run deep, run wild
I, I follow, I follow you
Deep sea baby, I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you
Bright boom honey, I follow you
He a message, I'm the runner
He the rebel, I'm the daughter waiting for you
You're my river running high
Run deep, run wild
I, I follow, I follow you
Deep sea baby, I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you
Bright boom honey, I follow you
You're my river running high
Run deep, run wild
I, I follow, I follow you
Deep sea baby, I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you
Bright boom honey, I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you
Deep sea baby, I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you
Bright boom honey, I follow you
Kesten is about to reply to the elven woman when Brental strides up behind him. "Ah yes, master Brental. It's good to have you here as well. This woman claims to know miss Medvyed but in these uncertain times I thought it best she be throughly vetted. She-"
"Lina?!" A voice cries out in surprise from within the post as Lorna strides up to the gathering at the front of the old fort. "What in Pharasma's name are you doing here?! Oh no... don-t tell me father sent you to check up on me? We're doing just fine as it stands I'll have you know." the young Medvyed pouts puttong her hands on her hips and shaking her head at Kesten.
"Sir Kesten I believe she will be fine to enter. I know this woman, I just would like to know why she's followed me here?"
Kesten bows deeply to Lorna and Lina. "Of course, my apologies ladies. You can't be too careful im these strange times.
Meneas returns to the Trading Post after completing his early morning patrol. "A guest?" He asks, looking at the newly arrived elf woman. And one that Lady Medvyed knows... most curious. He dismounts, sliding gracefully to the ground. "What's happened?" He asks Brental, his hood turning slightly to face the aasimar.
Hyalinnea is gratified to see that her fuss is attracting more attention, including by other speakers of Elven. “ναί, ἡ ξένη τοῦ ταύτης πατρός εἰμί. κατ᾽ ἐπιτυχίαν, φαίης ἄν.”
The wanderer’s eyes sparkle with a mixture of delight and confusion as she briefly clarifies for Brental, “ὁ πυλαωρός; ὅς τὰς πύλας ὅραι ἢ σκοπεῖ;”
“Hyalinnea Kyrithra, at your service. The swordlords and lord mayor of Restov seem to have thought to themselves that a mage might be helpful in exploring Telvurin – the Shifting Lands, I should say. That one of your number is a Medvyed, and that the head of that house happened to know a wandering mage was … a welcome coincidence. One might be surprised by how some people can’t just disappear.”
She laughs softly to herself, as if privately remembering another story. It’s far too clear and gentle to be at all a cackle, but that, along with the strange elf’s circumspect elision of her particular branch of magic, her mismatched eyes, and her certainly-not-a broom fairly scream witch.
"Lina?!" A voice cries out in surprise from within the post as Lorna strides up to the gathering at the front of the old fort. "What in Pharasma's name are you doing here?! Oh no... don-t tell me father sent you to check up on me? We're doing just fine as it stands I'll have you know." the young Medvyed pouts puttong her hands on her hips and shaking her head at Kesten.
"Sir Kesten I believe she will be fine to enter. I know this woman, I just would like to know why she's followed me here?"
Lina brightens to see a familiar face, though it’s been a few years and they never really got to know one another: that Lorna’s parents kept a deplorably close watch over their daughter after some unspecified magical incident is about all Lina knows, not that they learned their lesson generally, given what happened afterwards.
“It’s good to see you too, Lorna,” she says, trying to extricate herself from another family’s drama as tactfully as possible. “Honestly, I don’t think he thought it through that far. As I was telling your friends here, your patrons decided they wanted a mage too, put the word out, your father got wind of it, and since he wanted to do me a good turn… And I’ve always loved exploring the forests and rivers! I didn’t mean to get underfoot, and certainly not to tell tales. I think we could put him off with my thanks and the news that you’re well, if that would be best.”
"A mage, hm? You would be helpful, certainly." Meneas says after a moment. "I'm Meneas, called the Cowl by some, and this is Veil." He indicates his red-furred horse. "I hope we get along."
He flexes his fingers on one hand. "I don't suppose you've had any chance to scout out around the Greenbelt?"
After Signy finishes her song she chugs down the remaining ale in her tankard. She sees the elf woman arrive, which is interesting and exciting. Signy has crossed paths with very few elves in her life, and never for more than a passing exchange of words.
It seems the elf knows Lorna, so Signy decides to wait until they've had a little time together before saying hello. She needs to take Vlad his breakfast anyway.
Lorna grumbles most unhappily about how she's sure that this is all just some scheme cooked up by her over-protective father. "He never trusts me with anything I swear. Not that it's your fault at all Lina but rest assured he will be hearing from me shortly. I have some business I need to attend back home anyways. I'll return shortly, and now that Lina is here she can help you deal with this kobold and mite business. I should be back before we launch the final battle against the Stag Lord."
Lorna turns to Brental and Meneas and bows apologetically. "I'm terribly sorry to have to run out like this but trust me the matter is most urgent and I'm leaving you in capable hands. I do hope you'll understand."
Brental blanches at Lorna's sudden mention of departure after the series of quick--and somewhat tense--exchanges between her and this new person Hyalinnea.
"Oh," he says softly. Perhaps a letter had arrived in the night, or perhaps it had something to do with the strange violent thing that emerged from Lorna whenever there was a battle. Or maybe she was that furious at having this elf sent after her that she intended to travel back to her family's residence to speak to them directly about a perceived insult. It felt like none of his business. They had only known each other briefly to this point. "Please do take care, then. Safe travels."
Brental knows that she is certainly capable of taking care of herself, so he doesn't put up much in the way of protest or fuss. Instead he turns his attention to this newcomer. He wonders for a brief moment if this elf had any opinions about the druidic occupation of the Sevenarches. It had been millennia, but still...Best not to bring that up. At least not right away.
And a mage, at that! Brental had met a handful of those with arcane learning, but they were admittedly few and far between among druidic circles. One in particular came to mind: an aasimar like himself (but much older) who seemed to draw on insights from his celestial heritage to fuel theurgy between the primal magic of druidic practices and powerful arcana. From Garund, as he recalled. Brental had always met strange and interesting people at the Moot of Ages.
But his mind had gone to wandering! He gives a gracious bow in response to Lina's curtsey. "I am Brental Fenson," he says simply with a smile, leaving out any additional titles. "It's good to make your acquaintance."
He pauses and looks towards Signy, who had just heard singing a lovely song moments ago. This Fort had certainly gotten lively!
Lorna grumbles most unhappily about how she's sure that this is all just some scheme cooked up by her over-protective father. "He never trusts me with anything I swear. Not that it's your fault at all Lina but rest assured he will be hearing from me shortly. I have some business I need to attend back home anyways. I'll return shortly, and now that Lina is here she can help you deal with this kobold and mite business. I should be back before we launch the final battle against the Stag Lord."
“Of course. Until next we meet,” Lina says, sympathetically wondering what it must be like to be from a family that involves so many obligations and so much pushing and pulling back and forth.
"A mage, hm? You would be helpful, certainly." Meneas says after a moment. "I'm Meneas, called the Cowl by some, and this is Veil." He indicates his red-furred horse. "I hope we get along."
He flexes his fingers on one hand. "I don't suppose you've had any chance to scout out around the Greenbelt?"
Turning to Meneas and Brental, she asks, “Kobolds and mites? I’m afraid I haven’t had opportunity to do much scouting: I thought I’d try to catch up first and see what’s doing here. Came up the Thorn, and I’m sure I have you to thank for dealing with that bandit camp, and not a day too soon. It would have been dreadfully embarrassing for me to have to be ransomed back from our quarry.”
She smiles self-deprecatingly, but there is a faint shadow of worry in her eyes as she glances at the charter in her hand. “It’s gotten a lot more dangerous along the Shrike lately: few open camps along the shore, fewer boats than I would have expected. You’d think they’ve never heard of the River Freedoms. Or are focusing on the wrong ones. I’ve always thought ‘You have what you hold’ is interpreted far too freely. Robbery is a blight, even as its devotees puff themselves up for it.”
“But that’s matter for time when. Any happier news of explorations and discovery? Things change so quickly here, and so much has been lost…” She gives her head a small shake. “If I can help with illusions, enchantments, and herbs, I will.”
Brental's brow furrows solemnly as he hears Hyalinnea briefly recount her near-miss with Kressle's bandits, but it pleased to hear her assessment of the rot of banditry.
"Aye, that was our doing. Part of the charter, of course. That group was the local contingent of the Stag Lord's so-called army. Best they've been dealt with."
He pauses and shakes that business off, his smile returning with the discussion of exploration. "I spent yesterday after our battle, while it sounds like you were following us, drawing a map of the area. As Meneas mentioned, we have met a local kobold tribe: the Soot Scales. I aim to catalog the local peoples, flora, and fauna as we go as well. You're welcome to peruse my map if you would like. You may even have some details to add, from the sound of it."
Signy figures the length of time involved in completing her devotional is enough for old friends to say hello and such. She wanders on over to see what's up with the elven woman.
"Hello. I'm Signy. Did you come here to find Lorna?"
Hyalinnea winces just a bit, since the noblewoman made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t like the idea. “Incidentally. That is to say, it’s lovely to see a familiar face, but I think that like all of you, I’m here for a bit of adventure? I was in the right place at the right time –”
And just maybe with the right connections, the conscientious part of her brain observes. “– to make the plea in Restov that a mage’s eye might be welcome on this expedition. Oh, can I say ‘errantry,’ like in the tales? Or is that too much? I’m not actually a knight, after all, unlike your fine young cavalier here.”
Or so she guesses, though with Meneas' cowl she's mainly working from his voice and his bearing to estimate his age.
Meneas inclines his head at the elven woman. "If we are heading out, I suggest we head out west first - make sure we know the area before we start delving into the forest and nearing the Thorn River."
Signy doesn't express an opinion since she has nothing to base an opinion on. It seems to her like a task for Meneas and Brental.
Brental holds in a chuckle at Hyalinnea's assumption of Meneas' youth underneath his as-of-yet-still-up hood. "Errant and itinerant we all are, at least. I agree: a westward jaunt seems appropriate this day. The last surviving bandit mentioned something about the Old Sycamore. That may lie deeper in the forest, but I would like to begin mapping more of this area. I'll go make sure Vodnykel is ready for the expedition." He pauses and looks at the elf. "My mastodon," he adds, almost as a clarifying afterthought.
He goes to retrieve a quartet of horses and his animal companion from the stables. Meneas and Signy notice some new metal ornaments on the mastodon's tusks that seem like they will make the calf even dealier should conflict become inevitable. Brental is also wearing a new set of leather armor that resembles Lorna and Signy's: even more flexible than the hide he last adventured with.
Vodnykel approaches Hyalinnea curiously, his trunk half-raised as though offering an uncertain handshake. Brental eyes the elf, wondering what kind of woman she was with animals.
Meneas inclines his head at the elven woman. "If we are heading out, I suggest we head out west first - make sure we know the area before we start delving into the forest and nearing the Thorn River."
“As good a direction as any,” Hyalinnea agrees easily. “Is that where your dragonlets and blue devils are about? Or what are they?”
She breaks off as Brental goes off and returns with horses and his pet mastodon. The mage looks about as uncertain about all the beasts as a landlubber would about some of the unsteady boats she would blithely jump into: not nervous, exactly, but not completely blasé either.
“Hello there, good fellow,” she says, putting a brave face on it, and meeting Vodnykel’s handshake with equal shyness. “Aren’t you a brave little mammoth, to come adventuring with us!”
She is unable to resist the oxymoron, before turning to the steed she’ll be expected to ride. She sounds determined more than absolutely confident, but keeps her chin up, “Fabulous. I normally rely on conjuration when needs must, but I suppose this is more practical.”
The mammoth gives a small muted trumpet and smiles, his trunk snaking gently around the elf's arm. He stamps a little where he stands in a display of happiness.
"While I don't think he understands your words, he grasps your meaning. Are you making a new friend, Vod?" Brental smiles.
"The Soot-Scale Tribe of kobolds are a few hours due South of here. You likely missed them on your way here, else you may have noticed a faint moon-like glow in the middle of the day where they have gorged themselves on a fascinating cultivar of radish with a curious minty taste. As for the mites--they're who we're looking for next. They seem to have gotten into their own brand of banditry and have made themselves quite the nuisance."
Brental swings up onto his horse with the look of someone who is comfortable with the animal, though certainly no riding expert. "Oh, one more thing. We have heard rumor of some other dragonlets, as you put it, near. Tatzlwyrms. I don't mean to assume, but the handful of mages I have met seem to know more than the average person about dragons and their kin. Are you familiar with them at all?"
millennia ago, and didn’t advance in the same ways.
Undersized compared to their larger cousins, tatzlwyrms
are ferocious in their own right. And while most other
reptiles can’t compare to them mentally, tatzlwyrms
are hardly impressive specimens when put beside their
notorious relatives. Tatzlwyrms don’t possess a dragons’
raw capacity for intelligence and creativity. Although
they understand Draconic, other languages are beyond
most tatzlwyrms’ limited comprehension. Nevertheless,
tatzlwyrms are deeply cunning, building complex lairs
and rudimentary traps.
Tatzlwyrms are quite rare, and only a few particularly
curious and lucky adventurers can claim to have seen a
living specimen. Reports do agree on some basic features,
however. About the size of a full-grown human, discounting
their tails, tatzlwyrms have only two limbs and no wings,
and there are no reports of the classic draconic breath
weapons, though tatzlwyrms do possess a weak poisonous
breath. An adult tatzlwyrm is 6 to 8 feet long, its long,
serpentine tail adding another 6 feet or so to its length,
and weighs between 400 and 500 pounds. A tatzlwyrm’s
scales give the creature limited camouflage, ranging
through various shades of green, brown, and gray.
Most knowledge of these smaller dragons comes
from folklore local to areas with active nests. Peasants
use tatzlwyrms as a sort of bogeyman, an excuse used
any time a villager goes missing—“the tatzlwyrms took
‘em!” Often, when hunters fail to nab their quarries,
tatzlwyrms become the scapegoats—“I would have had
that elk, but a tatzlwyrm grabbed him before I could take
my shot.” Some of these stories probably do have merit,
however; tatzlwyrms are notoriously vicious, particularly
to any creatures invading their territories, and those on
the wrong end of their bites rarely survive.
spend most of their time hiding, waiting to attack any
prey that ventures too near. They consume their food
slowly in their lairs, in the dark security and seclusion
they thrive on. Tatzlwyrms have a remarkable knack for
ambush and camouflage.
Tatzlwyrms are capable of rudimentary trapping. They
exhibit a surprising knowledge of appealing foods to use
as bait for their prey. For example, a tatzlwyrm female
may leave a fresh rabbit carcass or a pile of fruit outside
its lair. When a larger animal approaches, the tatzlwyrm
takes advantage of the creature’s vulnerability while
eating and pounces from a privileged vantage point.
Then she drags the body into her lair to be consumed at
her leisure.
Tatzlwyrms detest open spaces. They inhabit solely
out-of-the-way locales that are full of obstructions to
better facilitate their ambushes. Locations rife with
weakened obstacles such as rotten or fallen trees or other
difficult terrain are especially preferred, as they act as
natural traps.
While there are a several varieties of tatzlwyrm, all
breeds have a few universal traits. Every tatzlwyrm has
a row of long spines running from the top of its head to
the end of its tail. They also possess dewlaps of spike-
like scales hanging under their necks. These spikes and
spines give the creatures a larger appearance, frightening
away the few predators capable of causing tatzlwyrms
significant harm, and also offer limited protection to
vulnerable spots.
Able to see in pitch darkness, the tatzlwyrm’s daylight
vision is full-color; they are quite capable of sensing
movement at long distances. Their vision is heavily
triggered by bright colors and rapid motion, this being a
tool they use to better respond to food and threats. They
also have limited sense of smell, responding strongly to
chemicals and pheromones. Creatures in heat are bound
to draw unwanted and potentially fatal attention from
any nearby tatzlwyrms.
Tatzlwyrms live between 20 and 30 years if allowed to
survive to old age, reaching full size after only 6 months
of rapid growth.
Tatzlwyrms retain the hoarding instincts of their draconic relatives, maintaining dens full of bones and various items torn from their prey,though tatzlwyrms have little concept of the value of such objects. They have a special interest in shiny things, and tatzlwyrms usually have a disproportionate number of small gems and other glittering trinkets (both worthless and valuable) in their small hoards. In many cases, tatzlwyrms dedicate more time to hiding their hoards than building their nests.
Female tatzlwyrms attract males with scent signatures, inviting them into their dens. After mating, the female hibernates for upward of a month during gestation until she produces eggs, while the male guards the nest. During mating season, tatzlwyrms maintain small, temporary family units, but hatchlings only stay in the nest for a few
months before being driven out. Afterwards, the mated pair breaks
up, often violently.
Vicious in mating as in all things, nearly half of all tatzlwyrm pairings result in the death of one or even both participants. Tatzlwyrms average between one and three surviving whelps out of an annual clutch of eggs, so they rarely multiply rapidly.
The various breeds of tatzlwyrm owe distinction primarily in their preferred habitats. The vast majority dwell within deep forests, living amongst dead trees and bogs. The rarest breeds have a preference for volcanoes, and bear a natural resistance to fire.
While generally quite patient, tatzlwyrms have tempers beyond compare. Once provoked, they fight to the death. Their jaws are powerful, and they refuse to let go until an enemy is dead. Against most targets, this means snapping their jaws around a victim’s neck and shaking until blood loss or a broken neck ends the struggle. A tatzlwyrm’s poison, while not particularly potent, helps subdue enemies less capable of resistance.
Unlike many animals, a tatzlwyrm’s killer instinct doesn’t end with the death of the creature in its jaws. Often, if other creatures are moving in the vicinity of a kill, the tatzlwyrm pursues them as well once it has dealt with the threat at hand.
The group boldly leap upon their mounts and make their way wesward through the rolling plains before them, sparse patches of trees dotting the landscape in greater and greater abundance the further westward they travel leading to a great forest in the distant horizon. For now, the party begin their exploration of this simple landscape as prairie dogs roam fearlessly about their horse's hooves.
As the group progresses through the plains to the west of Oleg's, Meneas lifts a hand abruptly, slipping off of Veil and kneeling down close to the ground. "Tracks. Elk, unless I miss my guess." He points out several hoofed marks. "Six or more, but not much more." He rises, looking around the area.
"But what's more, there're human tracks here too - or at least, humanoid. The ones who left them don't seem to have cared to conceal their trails. Haste was more important, I'd guess. I can't really tell if they were literally walking with the elk, or whether one was following the other. Probably the humans following the elk, if anyone was following."
Signy isn't really listening to Meneas while he talks about elk something or other. Instead she is working on removing a tangle in her horse's mane, hard to do when the horse is walking. She had noticed it some time earlier and it bugged her so she'd been unable to ignore it or do anything about it for too long.
Suddenly though, a sound slips through her meandering thoughts. Signy goes straight upright and begins looking around into the distance.
"Did anybody else hear that? Somebody's screaming! The bad kind of screaming, they're in trouble!"
Riding a horse has its own rhythm and roll to it, not quite like a quiet stream, and that’s fine, – Lina just isn’t much of an animal person, though she appreciates their contributions. She keeps her eyes open as she rides, not least because they constantly flit towards the forest on the horizon, but also to get a feel for how the group moves together.
“Probably a bit of traditional puffery among our colleagues. The symbol is nicely pretentious: not just fire, but magic, just - power, and all that,” the hedge witch acknowledges, as she considers mages' fascination with dragons and Brental’s question more specifically. “Tatzlwyrms, though… A rare, and less interesting branch of the family of dragons. Nasty, spiteful little predators. They’re not particularly clever, but they’ll lurk around something they think their chosen prey will like, in order to ambush them, and lead them into a deadfall or tangling thorns or the like. And once they go for something, they won’t give up until they or their prey are dead, and they’ll often leapfrog to go after anything that has the misfortune to stumble upon one of their kills. Oh, and if that weren’t enough, they’re venomous too. Not hugely viciously so, but it doesn’t help.”
Despite the serious subject, her tone is light, suggesting either that she’s not had to deal with the creatures directly, or that she is perhaps disturbingly comfortable with poisons and predators. Or both.
She breaks off her impromptu arcano-biological discussion when Meneas spots some interesting tracks, nodding her agreement with his assessment, and managing to work in a last bit of wyrm-lore. "It does seem like a good place for elk, and probably other plains creatures, I suppose. Which doesn't include tatzlwyrms, fortunately. They're woodsy things, mostly..."
She stops her chatter abruptly as Signy notices something considerably more pressing, trying too late to catch the sound herself. "I didn't, but lead the way!"
Brental seems deeply preoccupied with a dual task of making a map of the area while furiously jotting down notes in a journal to complement said map, but he distinctly smells blood around the time that the others are noticing tracks and hearing screams. "Something is amiss...to the east? This does not bode well. We should follow these." He puts the ink and paper away and turns his horse towards the direction that the tracks and smell of blood are leading.
Meneas climbs swiftly onto Veil's back. "Let's move, then." He urges the fey horse forwards, hastening towards the east. "I'd bet that the humanoid footprints are involved!" He calls to his fellows, before looking at Signy and indicating she should guide them forwards with a gloved hand.
Signy will take the group in the direction of the scream as best she can.