"It seems you all have your reasons... Good. It is good to know who you are working with." Akiros replies bluntly and turns his attention to Lina, his gaze sern as Jhod's.
"I can likely supply you with any weapon in the camp you so desire and small pouches won't be a problem. But be warned this is no time or place for jokes. The Stag and his men are deadly and I cannot guarantee we will all make it out of this alive."
“I take your point,” Lina says, her brows arching up as she tries to get a better measure of Akiros, though she can’t help adding a bit of a wiggle as a very slight quibble on the business-end of piercing weapons. So breathless impudence and a certain amount of fun aren’t this fellow’s ways of whistling in the dark.
Well, fair enough. Of all the reckless things she’s done in her life so far, Lina’s never fallen from paladin-hood, let alone a Jhod-ish sort of dour Erastilianism. Still, though, she’s got her own edge to her, and her smile cuts sharp through the night, as she adds, “But you must permit me to demur that even a dying curse could – should, even – be delivered with wit if possible. A witch’s honour, you know.”
She certainly hopes it won’t come to that, of course, and turns to her friends.
“Let’s make sure we get our stories and plans settled. So I’m you –” with a nod to Signy “– and Akiros caught us, but Meneas got away. We try to keep them busy inside while you and Morof infiltrate, along with Meneas, unless he’d much rather keep Veil with him, and we fight our way back to open the gate for him. In short, we get all of us in as deep as we can as fast as we can, and then start playing weasels in the henhouse.”
She hands over her spellbook to Morof for safekeeping, and quickly rearranges her vials of potions of poisons to what she hopes are less conspicuous but still reasonably accessible positions before stepping forward to be ‘bound’ beside Brental.
Akiros stares with a slight frown at Lina and the elven woman can tell that there is a lot of effort going into him not rolling his eyes at her continued antics.
"That pretty much sums it up yes... Shall we away then?"
|
Morof is the last one to suspect of the man. He is glad that someone offered a subterfuge to get into the fort. He is silent as he doesn't want his social awkwardness to scare the man away.
When asked about his motives, he finally speaks "I am... finding out about my heritage. And there is an interesting promise to whoever rids these lands of the Stag, so I am a little curious about that."
He, of course, takes good care of Lina's spellbook, better than his own even. He is also glad that he doesn't have to part with his component pouch.
Finally, he asks for some time to get his spells prepared.
Meneas growls softly. "Fine. I suppose we are going to do this." He rubs his eyes beneath his hood. "Does he want you back tonight? I need to get into my armor - I don't care how suspicious it will look, there's no way I'm going to go in without it."
“Or,” Lina says, her tone settling into something rather more earnest as she thinks quickly, “do you think, Meneas, it would work if you snuck in with Signy and Morof, and Akiros brought Veil in along with us? He could pretend he caught all of us off-guard and managed to capture her – and Brental and me – while you got away? Maybe you were even ‘wounded’ and ‘unarmoured,’ to get their hopes up?”
“And then, depending on where they hitch their horses, while they congratulate themselves on their good work and gloat over your trembling squires, they get a nasty surprise when you pop up very much alive and well to jump onto Veil’s back and ride them down?”
Akiros glares down at Meneas seemingly annoyed by the knight's stubbornness. "Yes, I am expected back tonight or they will assume me dead. If you are not man enough to enter this place without your armor for a short time then I suggest you do as your elven friend suggests and sneak in as an armored captive would be an impossible sell for me."
Meneas giggles at Akiros' contempt. "You really were a paladin, weren't you?" He looks at Lina. "Hm... from what we know of the fortress, I don't think there's actually enough room inside to effectively get on Veil's back and fight - especially if they'll be hanging around on the towers. That said, I think it's better to have the option. Veil will go with you."
The knight turns to his mount, patting her and speaking softly with her. He gestures at Brental and mutters a few words. "There. Now she should follow what you ask of her, Brental."
Signy can only roll her eyes at how it all stretches on. As she watches their chances of success decline, she marvels at the degree to which Meneas's self-regard trumps everyone's welfare.
Maybe something can be done to help mitigate the problem during part one. She has no idea how to help things along now during part two.
"Could you at least bundle and pad the stuff to keep it quiet until we're in the tunnel? You can put it on there."
"As for how the hell we get from the passage door to the others without alerting everyone right away once we're inside, I haven't a clue right now. But whatever I do come up with Meneas, you damn well will listen to me and do what I say."
Signy's gruff, terse tone make it clear she's out of patience with Meneas's concern for his appearance.
"Come on girl," Brental says to Veil. "It looks like we'll be taking care of each others' companions for a bit. Good luck, to all of us."
Brental puts on a brave face, but recognizes that this is one of the more dangerous thing he's done. Akiros better come through...
Meneas looks quizzically at Signy. "Yes, that was my thought as well... assuming someone's there to help me put it on..." He shrugs. "You do realize how suicidal it would be for me to go into battle without my armor, yes? Putting it on alone takes a few minutes - that's far too much time in battle."
He shrugs again after a moment. "Alternately, I could try to hide it from view with my cloak, and go with the 'prisoners.'"
“After today, Brental’s going to need a bit more rest to recharge, I think,” Lina observes as the group starts making their final preparations before separating.
“Do you think you three - four, begging Vod's pardon - could get into the tunnel while we get led in as prisoners on the other side of the fort?” she asks the infiltration party. “And then, we could all make our move just before dawn, if that’s enough time? We 'prisoners' will keep our ears perked up, to be sure, and if we hear any trouble sooner than that, we can try to rejoin you.”
Meneas considers this. "Well, if we're planning on delaying the attack until long after we have been 'captured,' that would remove many of the objections I have to being 'captured' in the first place." He snorts. "Assuming that we can avoid being caught in the lie beforehand... and that they won't try torturing or crippling us in the meantime."
Akiros is looking about anxiously at this point as the party continue their discussions. "Listen, I don't know how much longer we can wait before things start looking suspect. I remain unclear... is the cowled one accompanying us inside or shall he remain as part of the infiltration team?"
In response to Meneas he frowns. "You are right to worry about torture... especially a male human like yourself. Dovan, Auchs, the old man, hell even the Stag would probably take a go at you though he doesn't engage in torture himself. But everyone is exhausted from your attacks. They are all likely to rest first upon the news that they no longer have to be on high alert meaning if we act early enough you should all escape this relatively unharmed."
Signy just wants to know one more thing from Akiros.
"Can we get in and be set to go before sunrise, or will the attack have to wait until tomorrow's sunset?"
Akiros shrugs. "The idea was to attack before sunrise... wait until sunset and you may get your friends back missing a few parts."
"Let's get ready to go then! If we can go in by the tunnel at the same time you're bring in the prisoners, it shouldn't matter much what Meneas decides to do."
"I'd like to keep all my parts, thank you. I'll only need about an hour to prepare once we're inside. I'll see you all on the other side."
Meneas nods. "I suppose I shall go with you, then, Akiros... given that I misunderstood the plan earlier, this seems much more viable."
The woman ignores Rooke and pours the liquid into Tsuto's mouth.
Tsuto opens his eyes slowly and she seems to calm down. Realizing that she is probably doing something she shouldn't, she tells the group "I have known him since he got here. You should leave now. Go away!"
"Very well then." Akiros nods solemnly, seemingly glad the issue has found itself a resolution. He then proceeds to produce the bindings for all the party members he will be escorting into the fort and makes quick work of making them all look like proper captives. "We shall proceed then."
It doesn't take a great deal of time to lead Meneas, Brental, and Lina to the doors of the fort. The companions can already hear the jeering from the other side of the palisade as they make their final approach and if they look up they can see the Stag himself, wreathed in darkness, has come to silently watch his foes being herded into the fort.
The gate cracks open for the man and immediately the trio find themselves surrounded on all sides by a cluster of stinking, unwashed bandits who shove and jostle the allies about all the while continuing to laugh at and harass them. Akiros does all he can to keep the rabid pack at bay but is struggling to control his men.
The situation seems to be mounting to the point of real danger and the trio have to start wondering whether they made the right decision trusting this man with their lives when a deep, gravelly cry cuts through the noise.
Suddenly, there is absolute silence and the bandits slowly back away, eyes cast downward. No one dares make a peep as the man in the stag skull advances towards the 'captives' and stops just short of them to glower, his eyes veiled in shadow and yet, ebbing a hatred so palpable the adventurers feel as though they could choke on it.
After a few beats of silence Akiros steps forward and, somewhat uncharacteristically for a bandit, offers his lord a very courtly half-bow before beginning his report. "My lord, I believe these to be the interlopers who have been harassing the fort these past few days... We caught them sleeping just out past the wood... There were some traps we had to circumvent as well but after a brief fight they realized they stood no chance having exhausted their supply of spells and finding themselves unarmed and unarmored."
The Stag Lord stands still for a few seconds wordlessly considering Akiros' words before the towering man clasps Akiros on the shoulder and lets out a hearty laugh. "Well done Akiros well done! I knew there was a good reason I promoted you to my right hand I just sometimes need a good reminding of it! I'll speak kindly of you to my queen tonight, she may even dean to make you a knight of hers again, now wouldn't that be something?" The Stag then gestures at no one in particular and declares, "Someone get this man a drink and some gold while you're at it!"
He chuckles as Akiros simply nods while the Stag Lord advances on the party members looking over each of them with his cold, black eyes, sizing them up.
Suddenly, he reaches out to pull off Meneas' hood and grabs the man by the chin pulling his face in very close. Meneas can smell the heavy scent of alcohol on the man's hot breath this close as he is being manhandled. The Stag smiles for he first time. "Not so tough now are you cowled one? You play at being a specter when you're only a man and will die as any other." He chuckles and shakes Meneas about by the cheeks roughly goading the unarmored knight."Well, what have you to say for yourself now cowled one? Or are we still strong and silent without the hood?"
Signy leaves with Morof parallel with the group going to the gates. They stay some distance from the fort, well out in the darkness, and move forward in tandem with them. When Signy sees them arrive at the gate, she speeds things up, bringing Morof around to the back. When the trapdoor is directly between them and the fort, she checks the tower at the back to see if anyone is still looking out in their direction.
If not, Signy moves them in to the door, quickly opening it and tossing in a knotted rope for Morof to climb down with.
Fortunately for them as the party's approach is not overly quiet, no one seems to be keeping up woth their duty of watching for intruders right now as they have all gathered for the spectacle of the prisoners being paraded through the camp.
Meneas simply smiles at the Stag Lord, eyes cast in shadow by his brow ridges. 'I know,' the smile says, though what isn't wholly clear - even to Meneas. No need to waste words on this one. He'll be dead soon, anyways, if all goes well. Even if it doesn't, I doubt he'll survive much longer.
The Stag Lord scowls at Meneas' response, or lack thereof. He pauses for a few seconds and, for a moment, the cavalier is unsure if perhaps the man has simply fallen asleep . All speculation ends when the Stag roars in a fury and tosses Meneas to the ground kicking dirt in the man's face as he lays there.
"We'll see if you're still smiling come morning, sniveling little upstart!" The man spits on Meneas' prone form before stomping away and waving Akiros along. The other bandits retain their distance as Akiros makes to roughly pull Meneas back up to his feet whispering into his ear as he does, "Just endure it." He proceeds to pull the 'prisoners' along further into the fort, past the crowd of bandits and under the roof of the crumbling stone structure in the middle of the fort.
The edges of this drafty room are crammed with crates, barrels, and boxes. Hammocks strung on wooden posts denote sleeping areas, while dirty bowls and utensils rest atop rickety and makeshift furniture. Elsewhere, chamber pots sit tucked into corners, while a large iron gate is wedged into a ten-foot-wide gap in the western wall. Chips of ancient plaster flake from the walls, exposing the stone construction; whatever plaster still clings to stonework is covered with strange and erratic scribbles and pictographs. The floor consists only of hard-packed earth.
What really draws their attention though is a deeply musty and earthy scent coming from a room to the west which is caged off and has a lithe human man with pale skin and long black hair leaning against the wall beside it, arms crossed and glaring. The room appears to be little more than an atrocious-smelling cave dug out of a pile of rubble. Large bloody bones, likely from horses or elk, lie scattered on the ground within and a hulking, bestial figure lurks within.
The creature is all muscles, fur, and feathers and as it paces within each one of the adventurers instinctively know this beast. Either from legend or first hand experience this avain-faced creature could only be one thing.
These bandits have somehow managed to capture themselves an owlbear.
And it looks hungry.
The man, bedecked in the strapiest, tightest leather the band has ever seen with an open midriff revealing his many distinctive tattoos under a layer of fishnet rest a hand on his beatiful rapier at his side. He inspects each of the three 'prisoners' hungrily almost as though appraising fresh cuts of meat before his eyes narrow in suspicion and come to rest on Akiros.
The individual waves a hand and from the shadows the hulking figure Brental had earlier identified as Auchs comes out giggling in a low brainless tone, blocking their way forward.
"Well, well, well." The long-haired man hisses clapping his hands together in mock applause. "The 'brave' an 'heroic' Akiros comes to save the day! How very fortunate for us." The figure lisps and pushes himself off the wall.
"And manages to take our three nosey adventurers in all at once! How fortunate!"
He begins pacing around the four individuals sneering as Auchs continues his dull laughter.
"And all without a scratch not even on the prisoners! How very fortunate!"
Akiros grumbles. "Tell your dog to stand aside Dovan. I came across these three in their sleep and managed to take them without much of a fight."
"Oh how very, very fortuitous, you're always soooo lucky Akiros and efficient too! Taking care of these unfortunate souls with the same swift energy with which you took our lord's favor right out from under me!" Dovan hisses venomously, his face contorting with rage for just a moment before he composes himself adjusting his neckerchief and brushing back stray hairs.
"Well it's of no matter, the past is the past and all. I just find myself soooo impressed by your tale I wonder if Ayles will say the same! You know how he does have a way with stories."
Akiros grunts. "Ayles was unfortunately slain in the-"
The man gasps loudly in mock-sympathy. "My how unfortunate..."
Dovan grins and saunters up to Lina with the look of a cat having cornered his mouse and preparing his claws to play. "What say you hmm? Is what our dear lieutenant says true? Did he catch you all stupidly sleeping, a mere merry jaunt away from the lair of your enemy? Or is there more to our little story hmmm?" The lithe man gets uncomfortably close to the elf practically purring in smug-self-satisfaction.
Brental endures the treatment quietly, not wanting to open his mouth to give away any indication of their ruse. It's not a comfortable place to be in, knowing how many here were furious with them (and rightfully so). They were enemies.
Dovan makes him particularly uncomfortable. But Brental knows that Lina is no maiden in need of defending, so he continues to wait. She'll take care of herself.
For his part, Brental looks around the room, judging where they are likely to be held for the next few hours. Any tools that they might be able to use, or terrain to take advantage of.
He also looks nervously at the owlbear, trying to recall what he knows of it, in case they have to fight it. Or better yet, if Brental could convince it to temporarily ally with them.
Owlbears are notoriously bloodthirsty killers, well known for their short tempers, aggression, and savage nature. They tend to attack without provocation, slaughtering any living creatures that cross their paths. Many scholars that have encountered these creatures in the wild have noted that they all have red-rimmed eyes that roll about wildly when they close in for an attack. This is sometimes presented as a sign of madness, suggesting that all owlbears are born with a pathological need to fight and kill, but more level-headed researchers believe that it’s simply part of the way the massive bird-beast’s keen eyes are constructed.
They have amazing senses of smell, hearing, and sight even in the dead of night or in the darkest of caves in which they make their lairs.
They tend to mate for life and be extremely protective of both their mates and young flying into wild rages and mourning for days one end should either pass.
They are incredibly difficult to domesticate and the prevailing school of thought is that one must procure them as a cub for any chance to properly raise the beast. For this reason owlbear cubs can sometimes be found for sale for the mere price of 3000 gold.
Brental sees a rope tied to the left side of the owlbear's cage which clearly serves as the mechanism for releasing the beast.
The druid also spies a table full of cards, coin, a knife and a whole roast turkey.
There is no sign of where they may be held so far unless, gods forbid, it is with the owlbear.
How in the world had these men managed to capture an owlbear?! Or had they raised from chick-cub? Brental doesn't know how feasible it would be to actually commune with the creature, but...well, he would try his best if he had a chance to approach it without the overseeing of Dovan and Auchs. Well--Auchs might not realize what he was doing, but Dovan probably would. He would have to wait for the right opportunity. Then, if the owlbear could be released safely back into the wild, that would be preferable to fighting it or putting it down. That rope back there ought to do the trick.
But that was a lot of ifs to contend with later.
Brental fairly easily translates the writing on the walls, but doesn't know much about the Spiteful Hag written about here. But hadn't Lina mentioned something a couple of days ago? He would ask her once they had a moment of relative privacy. In either case, it was possible that this place could use some consecration once all was said and done.
Meneas chuckles darkly when the man walks away. Yes, he's definitely not going to last long with that temper. Nevertheless... ow. He pokes at a tooth with his tongue, hoping it hadn't loosened too much.
At the oddly dressed man's arrival, he arches a brow. After considering a few moments, he sighs inwardly. I don't want to waste words on this dreck, but I suppose I have to. "It was a hard ride getting here originally, and we came across some of your undead neighbors." He shrugs. "Careless of us, and we needed the rest. Guess we were too close to your little thorp here."
Dovan tuts and glares side-long at Meneas, "You'll learn to bark when I tell you to boy." He mutters grimly before pulling away from Lina.
On his way away he caresses a lock of her dark hair in his hand gently inspecting it, "It really is too bad, I was hoping for a blonde." The depraved man sighs before tossing it aside and slowly backing away with his arms aloft.
"Fine then... It seems you were all just too foolish for your own good and didn't realize who you were trifling with. I'll do my very best to impress the gravity of your mistake upon you in the days to come but for now... Carry on I suppose." Dovan's face contorts into a sour look as he wave's Auchs off. The dumb brute suddenly stops his giggle with an expression of mild surprise and lumbers out of the way. Akiros never breaks eye-contact with the giant of a man aas he stands aside and dutifully moves forward not bothering to waste any time or breath on Dovan more than he has to.
Dovan watches them all with keen interest as they are hurried along to the east past an area of cleared rubble and back outside of the tower. A shallow, stone-lined cooking pit containing ash and partially burnt logs sits in this rubble-filled room and beyond that there is a wooden door in the ground surrounded by rubble. Akiros lifts this door with some heft and gestures them all to descend down into the cellar bellow.
This room feels miserably damp, and greasy swaths of mold cake the carved stone walls and floor. The ceiling fifteen feet overhead is thick with cobwebs. Within also lurks a huddled figure of a man in the corner. Old and pathetic he appears to be cowering, wrapped up upon himself, facing the wall and shaking uncontrollably.
Akiros sighs. "This is where I leave you for the night... I suggest you get comfortable... and don't talk to the old man." With that the man turns about and heads back upstairs slamming the cellar door and locking it behind him leaving the party with the strange old man in pitch darkness.
Lina tries very hard to look like she’s terrified without actually talking herself into feeling it, and fortunately her quiet, wide-eyed curiosity as the adventurers are ushered into the fort goes some way to approximate it.
Likewise, her bonds prevent her from stepping forward too aggressively in Meneas’ defense as the Stag Lord has his power play, and in the event, she has her own hands full with more than just rope as she and the others are hauled through the next room.
Dovan makes her skin crawl, and she has to bite her tongue not to say something that she’s likely to regret for any number of reasons, like quipping that – well, speaking for herself – they have no interest in Dovan’s lord’s favours, or trying to find a way to question his fashion sense without kink-shaming or sounding whorephobic.
She shakes off a bit of her only half-pretended confusion as she’s thrust into the cellar, and immediately stations herself at the door, as if waking from a nightmare. What was that about a queen? First I’ve heard about it, and if she’s in charge, well, I don’t think much of her way of managing her underlings. It does give her an idea, though.
“The king will hear of this!” she bawls like a fishwife, before reaching (knowingly implausibly) still higher in the lists of elven society, channeling the flim-flam she’s seen her sweetheart lean on occasionally. “And the high queen too! If we’re to be prisoners, we deserve better than some rank oubliette, no matter what some ruffian’s quean has to say about it!”
It’s very definitely a good thing that the homophonous pun is for Lina’s personal enjoyment, and that her wicked application of the double-entendre to both the Stag Lord’s apparent liege and Dovan can’t be heard.
Belatedly, she does her best to corroborate Akiros’ story and talk Meneas up. “Or give our cavalier his sword back, and he’ll take another head like your precious Ayles’! Unless you lot are all frightened of a fair fight.”
She pauses to cool her straining vocal cords, and directs a sidelong glance at the huddled figure deeper into their cell who she has, poor thing, undoubtedly disturbed frightfully by her bluster.
Brental proceeds dutifully and quietly into the cellar as directed. Seeing that they have company, he merely acknowledges Akiros' declaration with a glance and then waits as the door closes.
Despite the darkness, of course, Brental can still see the old man, huddling there frightened. The old fool. The Stag Lord's father.
"A flower, in this case shall alas hold no power for the ghost of which we are in talks still technically walks this world as one of the living. Better off dead, the ghost lost his head and with it his whole world crumbled. This man he did fall for a most lovely lass and pass away the hours. Until came a child and who drove the man wild when his life took that of the mother's. Tempted by thing most unclean, this man of the Green, did turn to darker powers. When his dark acts were found his fate it was bound as he was cast from the great Green Order. Alas it was too late for the pretty young thing he snatched whilst unseen and made feel the sting of his razor. Apathy came and empathy went as druid and child journeyed the lands together. The boy's face, a reminder, the druid put it through the grinder and tormented the child ever more. A child, no longer, the boy did grow stronger and cast his father from his high horse. Now a great Lord the boy has become what once he abhorred, the abused has become the abuser!"
Brental had thought at length about the feys' tale these last weeks. He was almost sure of it. And yet this man...he looked even more broken than what he expected. Was he really this far gone? Was he truly a threat? A victim? Or the cause of so much misery for this region?
Akiros had said not to talk to him, but Brental felt the urge, especially since he had not heard from his superiors at Sevenarches. He was going to have to make this decision on his own.
He stilled himself for the moment, and addresses his companions, glancing over at the old man to see whether there is any recognition of his words.
From where she’s subsided for the moment, Lina turns to focus on the others, raising an eyebrow at Brental’s words and, temporarily setting aside her persona of decadent, unrealistic courtier, replies earnestly in Sylvan – though with a certain archness that is never far from her, and particularly now, in case one of the bandits can speak the language. It wouldn’t do to let the mask slip too far.
She takes a look around for the driest, least uncomfortable area of the cellar before she even thinks about settling down to attempt to sleep.
Speaking of people that probably need rest, Lina acknowledges the other inhabitant of the cellar with a rather strained nod. "I'm sorry for the disturbance, sir."
It's not exactly "What are you in for?" - and she suspects, based on Tyg and Peri's story, that she could guess the very broadest strokes - but what sort of response she gets to such a tentative, oblique overture might give her an idea of what the adventurers are dealing with here.
"Shuuuuut yer damn mouth harlot!" The old man shouts and showers spittle out of his toothless maw.
The man stares at them wild-eyed and unshaven looking gaunt and sickly. His tremors continue even as his words and expression attempt to channel hatred.
"You'll all be dead by in a fortnight! Toys, toys in her little game. They took it from her, you know? They STOLE it! And you'll be getting off easy too! She can't help it now, the queen moves her pawns while being moved by another. And they BIRD! The TERRIBLE BIRD! OUT OF MY HEAD YOU BEAST! Burning, burning it needs burning... puuuuure cleeeeeaaaaan." He rambles and rants, sweat dripping from his brow as he rocks back and forth.
As Lina glances around she can see boxes upon boxes and barrels piled into the back corners of rooms, as well as one sizable chest, and a single large bag.
Then again, he's mentioning the terrible bird. As much as Brental wants to think that they aren't attracting the attention of movers and shakers in the First World, he can't help but entertain the thought.
In any case, rest seems like a good idea. But Brental purses his lips and shifts a pace closer to him. Akiros may have every good reason to advise them to stay away, but Brental couldn't help but be curious.
"Whose game?" he asks. Start simple.
The old man sneers in disgust as Brental edges his way closer. "Don't be daft boy! You've seen her works all throughout this place I know you have. It's all in her game don't you see? WHY CAN'T YOU SEE?! She will take one from you as she took that bastard from me! Countless times. Endless cycles. The theif who steals the Stolen Lands." The man's ravings are filled with spite and seem to be building in fervor as he is engauged in conversation.
Meneas remains quiet and thoughtful as their captors leave and his companions speak with the mad old man, though a faintly contemptuous smirk lingers on his lips until the captors go. After the mention of the thief who steals the Stolen Lands, though, his brow furrows.
"She sounds quite powerful." He observes mildly, his voice soothing. "Can you tell us more about her?" Who is this old madman? He wonders.
If he is, we may have to put him down, but there's no use in wasting this chance.
The old man flinches as Meneas scoots up to him. For a moment, it looks as though the old man may strike him before his posture untenses and he seems more receptive to the young knight. "The lady.. she stole the boy from me... turned him against me... He was a spineless runt and she molded him into a man... no... not a man... a monster!" He whispers to Meneas leaning in close as though this is some great secret.
"He mourns her still! Believes she'll be back for him... The fool! Apparently doesn't understand the concept of a one-night-stand huh?" He nudges Meneas and raises his eyebrows indicating that he believes the knight is supposed to be in on the joke.
There was a difference between being excommunicated from the Order and committing anathema to the World. The former cut you off socially. The latter cut you off primally. There may be--for most druids, at least--initial training to access the Spirits of the Land. But once you had been inducted into her secrets, the only true gatekeeper was the Earth herself.
Brental glances at Lina. She knows that he has no compunctions against witchcraft, right?
In any case, Akiros was presumably on their side in this upcoming battle. Brental hoped to either keep the owlbear out of the melee or recruit it and free it. Could this old, raving man, the assumed father of the Stag Lord, be brought in somehow?
"What is your name?" he asks, trying to change the subject somewhat.
"Shuuuuut yer damn mouth harlot!" The old man shouts and showers spittle out of his toothless maw.
The man stares at them wild-eyed and unshaven looking gaunt and sickly. His tremors continue even as his words and expression attempt to channel hatred.
"You'll all be dead by in a fortnight! Toys, toys in her little game. They took it from her, you know? They STOLE it! And you'll be getting off easy too! She can't help it now, the queen moves her pawns while being moved by another. And they BIRD! The TERRIBLE BIRD! OUT OF MY HEAD YOU BEAST! Burning, burning it needs burning... puuuuure cleeeeeaaaaan." He rambles and rants, sweat dripping from his brow as he rocks back and forth.
** spoiler omitted **
As Lina glances around she can see boxes upon boxes and barrels piled into the back corners of rooms, as well as one sizable chest, and a single large bag.
At the old man’s outburst, Lina decides the prudent course is to let the others do most of the talking. It takes a brave man – stupid, too, but anyway – to take that sort of attitude in a place sacred to Gyronna, but then again, maybe, unlike the Erastilian shrines the adventurers have encountered recently, any lingering divine power has long since evaporated from here. She wonders if it could be reconsecrated to one of her people’s goddesses: Calistria seems like a suitable, friendlier successor.
Wandering across the room, the witch leans with implausible casualness against the big chest she can see, giving its lid a tentative, surreptitious lift as she answers Brental’s question about who the bandits took the fort from.
She breaks off as the lunatic starts raving again, and hopes her own face doesn’t freeze into a permanent expression of anxious alarm as she tries to sort through his wild words. At the threat of the queen stealing someone from her, Lina’s blood runs cold as her thoughts run to Alaïs for a terrible moment until she remembers her sweetheart is safe in Kyonin, but then – her own parents? siblings? And supposedly this queen isn’t even the end of the chain of causes, Lina reflects, her thoughts filling with black birds. She likes corvids: they’re clever, often sociable, and their feathers are pretty, but she wonders if she’ll ever look at them the same way again.
Between Signy’s abduction, Morof, the false kobold, and now here, that makes it at least four times, beggaring coincidence like a gamester taking an ingénue. How does the charm have it? Four for … birth, is it?
She gives the puzzle pieces another mental shuffle, frowning, as the gentlemen, presumably empowered by whatever secret code of manliness they have access to, manage to strike some sort of rapport with the old man. And then, maybe, just maybe…
A hint of facetious primness tinges her voice in an echoing jibe at the lunatic and attempt to distract herself from the gravity of any situation involving a powerful wicked fey. It’s like some courtly love gone horribly wrong, like in an old romance.
"Nugrah. Though there are those that call me Nugrah the Decrepit." The old man chuckles to himself before suddenly withdrawing and barking at the druid. "Why?! Who's asking!? What do you want from me?! I'd do it again! Who wouldn't?! Ungrateful! Didn't understand!" he snarls.
Meanwhile within the chest that creaks open to Lina's touch there is a twinkling that meets her eye.
Thousands upon thousands of copper and silver coins lie within combined with a sizable amount of gold and... did her eyes betray her? No! there were even a few precious platinum coins concealed within!
Signy gets Vod down in the tunnel some way or another, and goes down last after Morof. She closes the trapdoor behind her, leaving the rope on place.
She leads the two along the tunnel until they come to the exit, then they wait while she tries to decide whether to go find where the others are being kept on her own or not.
Meneas sucks his teeth thoughtfully before gesturing at the scrawled patterns around them.
I didn't notice any women in the fort, but I wasn't paying their gender much mind... and the Stag Lord doesn't seem like a Gyronnan's favorite sort of ruler. He sighs softly, before looking at Lina's discovery in the chest. "Did they lock us in here with their treasure? That seems... foolish. I suppose not too foolish, given that this might be the only secure place for their fortune."
Still, it speaks to a weakened fort. Not a whole lot of buildings around here, it seems.
He speaks softly in Sylvan again.
Switching back to Taldane, he looks to Nugrah. "How did she warp him?"
Which, from what she’s heard of Gyronnan eschatology, is mostly being hunted mercilessly through dark woods in the next life, for men, but she gathers that’s not something that normally gets bandied about outside coven circles. Then again, it’s not a particularly well-kept secret, and she supposes there are always truly desperate and masochistic folk in the world. Why would anyone hand their soul over to any of the evil powers, among whichever of the species of the great beyond, after all? It will always happen to someone else, I guess. “But they promised that *I’m* different! Important! Destined for greatness!” Brilliant.
She tries to give Brental’s idea as fair a hearing as she can. “I’m not at all sure, but I could just see it, I hate to say, for the Stag Lord. Take a vulnerable young person used to abuse, offer them just a little scrap of comparative kindness once in a while and encouragement in seeking revenge… And here we are: someone’s got him eating out of her hand, and with two scoops of cutthroats that she can use through him, all while keeping them all at arm’s-length.”
He sighs softly, before looking at Lina's discovery in the chest. "Did they lock us in here with their treasure? That seems... foolish. I suppose not too foolish, given that this might be the only secure place for their fortune."
Still, it speaks to a weakened fort. Not a whole lot of buildings around here, it seems.
[...]
Switching back to Taldane, he looks to Nugrah. "How did she warp him?"
Getting up from the chest of coins, the witch moves on to take a look at the bag. “Mm-hm. And keeps everyone looking in on this fellow, so he doesn’t strike up a rapport with any one possible co-conspirator for escape.”
And then, she decides to take the bull by the horns: this is the Stag Lord’s father, at all odds, and she’s Calistrian enough, though not Gyronnan, to almost wonder if they deserve one another. It’s mostly the shattered parental bond that brings things back halfway into perspective, though she’s not sure the most sensible thing at this point isn’t summary executions all around.
Letting Meneas and Brental play nice, Lina accepts the role the old man expects of her and approaches, another bitter smile appearing on her features to show teeth. She gestures to the weirdly inscribed walls around them, and asks, remembering Tyg and Peri’s story, “Anything to do with the Hag Queen or other darker powers?”
“Or did she just give him the strength to fight back?” she taunts. “That’s all I want to know, and then I’ll leave you three to it and get back to my … harlotry.”
Which mostly seems to involve waiting for everyone to be in position to spring their surprise near daybreak, at the moment.
Nugrah scowls like he had just tasted something quite sour the moment Lina begins to speak in his direction. "She goes by many names how am I to keep track of them all? Mouthy wench!"
He spits.
"That vile woman stole my revenge from me! That boy, he killed the woman I loved! And when I tried to bring her back... My life... everything was over but at least I could take a measure of satisfaction at punishing the brat for his sins, cleaning him of his tainted birth, day after day."
"Then, the way he tells it, she came to him in a dream one night and they laid together if you can believe it. She told him he was no longer a boy but a man and had been for some time he nees only rise up and prove it. And THAT was what turned him. Suddenly he came ar ME beat ME within an inch of MY life and told me things would be different. She lead him to that stupid helm of his..., this fort, taught him how to cow the others into his service... she turned him against me and then disappeared."
"A boy ought to know his place." the old man glowers his words dripping with venomous spite.
Brental listens to Nugrah's ravings, uncertain how to separate fact from fiction, but trying to pay attention to do the winnowing work.
The story lines up with Tyg and Peri's tale, though. That alone, were it not for Nugrah's own admission of his personal awfulness, was reason enough for Brental to bear him no sympathy. Decrepit and cruel.
They were going to have to deal with this man, one way or another. It was too dangerous to try anything now, unarmed and partially devoid of spells. Soon. Would he yell out when they began to escape and be their first combat of the new day? Or would he remain asleep?
[ooc]Anyone want to aid, or want an aid?
Brental wants to stop the madman from continuing to get wound up. After all, he wants to get some sleep before too long. He considers his options. If he is a druid as expected, they could have a private conversation. But that would also reveal more about Brental's abilities to someone that he would probably have to fight. He could try to co-opt him as a co-conspirator. But he seemed unreliable at best, and outright hostile and dangerous at worst. So he settles on the placating route.
"What tragedy. What loss. Would that we had the power to right these wrongs."
Brental sits down, leaning against a wall, and letting his eyes grow heavier. He would finish this conversation, but then hope to get a little more rest.