Signy isn't of much use for anything more strenuous than looking through the loot as it come in. Unfortunately she's bad at knowing the value of things of figuring out magical auras. This doesn't stop her from trying though, it's a way to kill time while she recuperates.
Signy figures out a few things, but she pounces on three.
"I knew there was something going on with the Stag Lord's archery! This is a magical bow!
She also snatches up the turquoise earrings. "I need them for the wedding." She also takes the pewter belt buckle, finding it hilariously kitschy.
Knight and dragon toys (formerly owned by Auchs) Appraise DC 20:
Three Magic Potions of a red earthy liquid DC 18 Spellcraft or Alchemy:
An oily yellow potion DC 18 Spellcraft or Alchemy:
A rapier with an elegant flowing guard and two spikes at the hilt Spellcraft DC 16:
A set of turquoise earrings. Appraise DC 20:
A leaf-cover composite longbow that bares a striking resemblance to a tree-branch Spellcraft DC 16:
An amulet of small twigs woven into multi-layered spheres Spellcraft DC 16:
Stag Lord's heavy fur cloak, leather pants, and leaf covered boots Spellcraft DC 16:
The Stag's Helm Spellcraft DC 20:
A polished azurite crystal Appraise DC 20:
A carnelian Appraise DC 20:
A piece of hematite Appraise DC 20:
A pewter belt buckle depicting a pair of entwined succubi Appraise DC 20:
A silver charm bracelet Appraise DC 20:
In the basement within crates and bags you find the majority of the wealth kept here consists of mundane trade goods like pelts, furs, tobacco, iron, bronze, and miscellaneous adventuring gear and tools Appraise DC 20:
The bag contains a large amount of stolen jewelry Appraise DC 20:
Brental knows that he is not the best person to appraise the value or magical worth of different objects, but he offers what limited knowledge he has towards assisting the others.
With Signy, Brental carefully removes the arrowhead and listens to her whinging.
"He's a piece of work," Brental agrees. "I mean, I know I'm often serious, but I can at least lighten up."
Lina continues to murmur cheerfully to herself as she works, immersing herself in her witchiest persona.
Turning the past few minutes into a story already helps her compartmentalize, make it into a thing that’s done and over, safely in the past. The Stag Lord’s all-but last words will likely haunt her for a while even so, and despite the horrible things he and his minions have done, she’s rather glad she didn’t lay in with bludgeons or, like in some martial traditions, her fists.
And so, eventually her chatter to herself stills, even though her face doesn’t fall lower than blank as she stoically searches rooms and bodies, helping, as best she can, to move those of the latter the owlbear isn’t nibbling on outside in the hope of encouraging the beast to move on.
That also helps calm her: her father, especially, as a canny merchant and ship-shape-y captain of her family’s boat, would be proud of her efforts to keep things tidy and accounted for.
That includes joining in, silently, to watch the dispatch of the Stag Lord’s body into the river. She appreciates Brental’s words to (?) ward off malice from beyond the grave (?), though if the clerics and tales tell true, she doubts that the bandit’s soul will find much peace wherever it’s gone.
"At lassssssttttt." A voice can be heard on the wind before all is silent and still once more.
The whisper and weapon that wash up on the shore send a shiver down Lina’s spine as she remembers that she is still living the story she’s half-pretending she’s helping to prepare for a bard.
Signy mimics Keston's voice atrociously as she mocks him.
** spoiler omitted **
Meneas tilts his head at the haul that Signy has identified. "Hm... Well, after all of it is thoroughly cleaned, I'd say that either Lina or Signy ought to take the armor. The amulet can go to Morof or Brental - depending on who wants it." He sucks on his teeth. "I don't think that much of the stolen goods are easily identifiable by their owners... assuming any owners remain alive."
Brental is unnerved by the river's whisper, but glad that there is more peace here now.
As they huddle together, a mixture of needles, stitches, and trade goods, Brental helps to identify a few more items, including Auchs' strange toys (poor man), Dovan's stylish magical rapier, several of the gems, and a significant portion of the trade goods. Brental's suit of ice armor now lies in the corner, dripping but intact and ready to be put back on if needed.
The pewter belt buckle makes Brental blush, though, and he is all too happy to let Signy take it. "It's all yours."
"Morof should take the amulet," Brental says. "Or Vod could wear it. I can provide a similar effect for myself as this bauble," he says, knocking on his wooden skin before the magic runs out.
Regarding all of the stolen goods, Brental nods. "We can bring what we can carry back to Oleg's trading post and send a notice from there. We'll make a good faith effort to identify original owners where possible, but then we should use what we can and sell the rest. Or let Oleg sell it."
As time wears on, Brental considers what Morof said. "There remain more undead in the hillside, if I recall. Perhaps we can lay them to rest as well, either now or in the morning after we have rested."
"If the dead are cursed, will they return - perhaps as ghosts - if we destroy them?" Meneas inquires of the druid. "It's something we should look into, but not everything can be solved with cutting things down."
An ironic observation, but true nonetheless. The knight casts his eyes around the devastation they've wrought on the bandits.
Brental pauses at the thought. "Although I don't relish the thought of engaging with Jhod Kavken again, he could potentially consecrate this ground. That could prevent the dead from rising again. And it would give him something to do other than mope."
To Akiros, Brental clarifies. "A fellow member of your former faith. He also fell from Erastil's graces, but has been seeking atonement. He's...difficult to be around."
With every new encounter with someone whose lives had been affected by Erastil, the druid had increasingly complex feelings about the god. But he wanted to make it clear to Akiros that he didn't look down on him for leaving the faith.
Signy mulls over the unhallowed, undead filled ground issue, throwing in the possibility of a connection to the Gyronna related writings.
After consideration Signy tells the others "I think we should go for it, give killing the undead around the fort a try. I don't think they'll reanimate afterward. That happening would be unusual and very powerful indeed."
Brental motions towards his sheathed blade. "Now, then? Or shall we wait to provoke them until tomorrow, after we have fully recovered?"
"Tomorrow ought to be fine. They ain't growing old waiting if you know what I mean."
Meneas thinks of something and looks at Akiros. "Do you know how many there are? And what sort?"
"I've never seen more than a small swarm of them." Akiros responds dryly to Meneas' inquiry. "They look like extremely shriveled dried out dead bodies of women to be honest."
"Women," Brental repeats. "Maybe dead Gyronnans? What could have turned them undead? Maybe they crossed a necromancer."
Brental settles into his routine of tending to injuries while his magic wears off, ensuring that Signy and Meneas don't push themselves at all during the day. He otherwise begins loading what equipment is feasible to carry into bundles and bags, utilizing the bag of holding liberally and otherwise planning to load down the horses significantly the next day. He keeps himself busy between owlbear freeing, wound tending, grave digging, and bag packing. He also sets his usual perimeter again. It was certainly possible that some stray bandits might return in the night.
He considers a gruesome thought for a moment: hanging one of the bandits out front as a warning. But with the men all already buried, that would require exhuming them, a prospect he found distasteful. No, they would be sufficiently prepared to deal with anyone foolish enough to come back under the cover of night.
"If anything, we should just make sure that Sneeg stays tied up during the night and doesn't try to escape. A relaxed watch. Although if he does manage to escape, I doubt he could get far, and he'd be easy to track with his injuries."
The druid raids the pantry, wherever it is, to rustle up something for the group to eat that isn't rations. If he can't find anything satisfactory to cook with, he goes out for a brief hunting and gathering trip as afternoon turns to evening.
Over dinner, Brental offers a thought.
"Does anyone want to play some music? Morof, if you haven't expended your magicks for the day--excellently prepared and executed, by the way--then perhaps you can provide some illusory accompaniment of a sort? Akiros, do you have any musical talents?"
Lina raises an eyebrow at Meneas’ suggestion about the uses to which some of the spoils can be put, but keeps her precise thoughts to herself. Which is probably for the best, because they run bemusedly in the general direction of the idea that the knight wears black very well, even beyond how it goes with everything, but he’s got some odd ideas about fashion if he thinks the salvaged armour would suit her at all.
Certainly, the thought of reusing Dovan’s armour makes her skin crawl in a way that the bandit would probably have appreciated, so, no, no, definitely not, thank you very much, even before getting around to the idea that huge cutouts aren’t really her style.
She thinks she might just be able to carry off the helm, though it wouldn’t play to her strengths. Perhaps better to see it find its way to an Erastilian eventually.
Perhaps best of all would be to see if anyone will come to claim their stolen property again, and then turn anything left to what works best for the adventurers by trade or sale. And first, there’s the question of the undead nearby.
"Women," Brental repeats. "Maybe dead Gyronnans? What could have turned them undead? Maybe they crossed a necromancer."
“It could be a bit of bad luck,” Lina opines, on firmer ground with tales from across the River Kingdoms compared to the finer points of Gyronnan ritual. “Some of what they get up to tends not to balk at sweeping up its instigators into the mess. Or maybe they’re shades of what happened when this place was taken from them?”
“Either way, I could prepare a cantrip that might be helpful for clearing undead nuisances away,” she muses.
The witch grows steadily more pensive through the day, considering what still has to be done and what has been done in the area. Her thoughts keep drifting painfully to old flames and the fate of the town of Heibarr, not unrelatedly.
It shows in her contribution to the evening’s entertainment when the group settles in for the night, as what she draws from her violin sounds darker, rather than entirely triumphant. It's new, and different, so her performance is a bit stiffer than she would like, but she does rather like where it's going.
"I think we should probably rest, in that case." The knight says thoughtfully. "While I think we could manage, it might set us back even further in terms of injuries. Signy, how do you feel?" Meneas asks, aware that she was just as injured as him - if not more so.
"Anything to help with the undead will be good. We'll pray for no further injuries on the morrow, but still plan to travel when we are done with this place."
Brental listens quietly to Lina's melancholic playing, appreciating the tone she strikes. It feels appropriate.
He checks periodically on the others' wounds. Mundane healing is certainly less flashy than magical, and it takes longer, but the druid is committed to conserving their resources. And, for that matter, he's glad to practice the healing arts.
"I could sing one, but I'd better stop at that. I wouldn't want to undo anything you did today Brental."
Signy chooses something old and well known. She hasn't brought her rebec along, but it's possible Lina could accompany her if she knows it. Signy hums out a few beginning bars of the tune for Lina to hear. If she does know it, good. But the song is a simple one, so if Lina doesn't she should be able to carry it a capella.
It turns out to be rougher going than Signy expected, but she soldiers through to the end.
"Well, I feel like an old hobo, I'm sad, lonesome and blue
I was fair as a summer's day, now the summer days are through
You pass through places and places pass through you
But you carry them with you on the soles of your travellin' shoes
Well, I love you so dearly, I love you so clearly
I wake you up in the morning, so early just to tell you
I got the wandering blues, I got the wandering blues
And I'm going to quit these rambling ways one of these days soon
And I sing, the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
Well, it's times like these I feel so small
And wild like the rambling footsteps of a wandering child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singing these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly, no I'm not too blue to fly
'Cause the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
But I love you so dearly, I love you so fearlessly
I wake you up in the morning so early, just to tell you
I've got the wandering blues, I've got the wandering blues
And I don't want to leave you, I love you through and through
Well, I left my baby on a pretty blue boat
And I sang my songs to the cold and the rain
And I had the wandering blues, and I sang those wandering blues
And I'm gonna quit these rambling ways one of these days soon
And I sing, the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
I don't care if the sun don't shine
I don't care if nothing is mine
I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my loving in the wintertime
Over dinner Akiros laughs heartily, "I believe that were I to sing it just might send the dead in the hill packing without us needing to even lift our sword arms. But since that would be a shame, I'll just leave that to your blonde friend here." The gruff man responds to Brental and applauds politely as the song comes to a close.
Dinner consists of a roasted pig and some potatoes. It's a heart meal for an exhausting day but it hits the spot.
After a time the adventurers make their way to wherever they wish to rest for the night and get some well-deserved sleep.
"I thank you my brave knight. You have freed my lands of that horrid Stag and worse yet, his decrepit father."[b]
Her voice goes solemn here, like a fall breeze, ruffling the dried leaves and carrying them about on its current. [b]"They defiled this place and despoiled its natural bounty. The animals, the trees, and the fey all cried out straining under the cruelty inflicted upon them by the Stag's rule."
She looks to you and takes your hand in her own. Her touch gentle and warm as the kiss of the summer sun. "You have done so much for us, brave knight. And yet... This place needs a protector. A steward to ensure that this sacred place and its inhabitants are never taken advantage of again. I know it asks much of you. But I was hoping that could be you."
The woman withdraws her grip on you and smiles sweetly as she fades away. "Please just consider my words my dark knight. It would please me were you to remain. It would seem I've grown accustomed to your face."
The morning comes swiftly and the group has time to prepare before they take action against the undead. Akiros is gathering up the last of his belongings and the camp is otherwise in a strange state of peace.
Meneas chuckles dryly at Akiros' words. "My mentor was always more musically inclined than me. I think they may have had some bardic training, but they never really bothered sharing it with me. I'd call myself... adequate, as a singer. Certainly not good, but not terrible either."
He spreads his hands. "But now I'm off to check on Veil. Make sure she's all rubbed down and unsaddled for the night." The knight leaves to do just that.
Hood flickering up and down with nary a touch, he feels her hands through gloves that should be there, but aren't. "I will protect these lands." He feels himself speak - though is it speech, or thought? Here, the two are nigh-identical. Or they should be. Now, he can't tell.
As she fades, the hood flickers down one last time, and the room fades into a long, winding road - his oldest companion.
Meneas awakens, his resolve reaffirmed. These lands need protectors from others like him. It won't be much of a change - just a change in scenery, I guess. He shakes himself as he goes about his preparations for the day. Once he is finished eating, cleaning himself, and fully dressed in his armor, he returns to the others. "Alright. Is everyone prepared?"
Signy awakens feeling really darn good considering her condition the day before. She finds her full range of moment has returned, she can breathe without impediment, and she's free of pain. As long as she keeps her torso bandaged and wrapped for a couple more days, she should be good as new, albeit with couple of little round scars front and back at the arrow's entry and exit points.
"You're amazing Brental! A miracle worker I'd say!"
Signy helps round up some breakfast for everyone, and thinks tactics for the day's coming fight.
She considers what Akiros had told them about the undead. What might shriveled brown bodies be? Certainly not ghosts or wraiths. I don't think they're ghouls, they would be too smart and wouldn't be content to stay put. They would claim the fort and all inside as soon as they had a plan. Zombies are possible, but coming up from the ground and then going back doesn't seem right. What might I be missing? Are they maybe social? He used the word 'swarm'...
When he and she both have a moment, Signy asks Akiros for more detail about his description.
"When you said the undead were a small swarm, do you mean just a bunch together in the same place , like a mob? Or do they seem to communicate and coordinate at all? I mean, do they seem intelligent?"
She also picks up the thread of a previous conversation with him.
"So now that you've gotten what you were looking for, how do you feel? Any better? Changed? If you're wondering what's next for you, why don't you come along with us to the trading post, at least as a start in a new direction?"
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Morning comes and Brental leaves the Fort, sticking close to the main road, to find a more appropriate place to conduct his morning meditation. He comes upon the place where, the day before, he and Akiros had buried the bodies. He had so much else to do the day before that he hadn't done his usual work of gathering stones to mark the graves. So he begins searching for such stones. At some point during this work, he slips into his trance-like state, pondering the cycle of life and death.
He is almost unaware that an hour passes when he comes out of it. He has subconsciously carved most of the grave stones with something he knew of the person buried there: a toy-like representation of a knight for Auchs, a swirling tattoo for Dovan, a dripping leaf for Nugrah, and even a hat for Topper Red. His signature flame flickers in a large stone at the center, where underneath is a crude carving of stag horns: a grave with no body but ample significance.
"Rest," he says. "May your transgressions fade from this life as your bodies nurture the earth. In due time, life will flourish here again. May the Lady of Graves have mercy on your souls."
* * *
Brental returns via the main path and checks on the others' preparations.
"Good morning," he says cheerfully, striding over to where Vod has been sleeping next to the tied up Falgrim Sneeg. The druid scratches behind the calf's ears and smiles. "Are you ready to slay some undead, Vod?" The mastodon flaps his ears and lets out a voiceless burst of air from his trunk. "I'll take that as a yes."
Brental goes over to check on the wound healing progress for both Signy and Meneas (going excellently, and with minimal scarring). At Signy's praise, Brental smiles and nods. "I'm glad you're feeling better. You had me worried."
He then puts on his and Vod's armor. No ice armor this morning. He secures Vod's tusk blades and checks the sharpness of his scimitar.
His preparation is otherwise similar to the day before, though with less care towards being stealthy and silent. He anticipates a relatively shorter, less protracted combat with the undead.
1st--Longstrider, Magic Fang, Shield Companion
0--Create Water, Detect Magic, Grasp, Guidance
Sneeg recoils with a start as the mastodon trumpets loudly beside him and scowls up at Brental. "You're gonna give an old man a heart attack! You and that smelly beast... No respect for your elders the youths these days I swear!"
Akiros runs a hand through his shoulder-length greying black hair as he considers Signy's questions. "Well, the undead things seemed to be common zombies... My religious training was enough to teach me that at least. Shouldn't be too much of an issue for a coordinated effort from us to deal with, they are a lot more dangerous as a surprise."
He sighs, "I don't know that I feel 'different'' per say. I definitely am relieved to be freed of these brutes and feel that perhaps this is the path back to redemption for me but still." Akiros clenches his fist in frustration. "I have an anger inside of me... One that I'm afraid may be a danger to others... the reason I was exiled from the church of Erastil was due to a bout of anger I had after all. I-I killed the woman I loved... with my bare hands... and then her husband." The ex-paladin looks down in shame at his own hands like he could still see the blood upon them.
Um.....
Akiros's admission is not among the thousand or so things Signy would imagine she might hear from a paladin, or ex-paladin for that matter. It takes a her second... Act natural, not shocked. Try to connect.
"I hope you won't snap my neck if I point out something that might be obvious to you. It doesn't sound like you were well matched to the role of a paladin, at least as I understand it, having never met one."
"Can I ask you why you took the oath?"
She does place a comforting hand on the man's arm. It might help dissuade him from snapping her neck.
Brental raises his eyebrow at Sneeg's remarks. "Well a heart attack won't do before we return you to Kesten Garess, now would it?"
Vod swats his tail at Sneeg's face and Brental chuckles as he goes about his business. Let that put some fear in his heart.
For better or worse, the druid is fairly far away and busy while Signy chats with Akiros.
Lina’s always wanted to learn how to sing properly, though she’s never really tried for one reason or another (mostly one), so when Signy invites her to join in on her song, she does her best to follow along. Picking up the tune to improvise something on the fiddle is reasonably easy, but she shyly tries to provide some backing vocals at least on the choruses.
It goes about as well as she might expect, and since she manages not to embarrass herself too badly, she thinks maybe she'll keep at it when next she has a moment. Either way, whether singing or fiddling, It’s a nice way of rounding off the day, and when she retires for the night, Lina’s mind has calmed down a bit from all the excitement of sorting out the fort.
* * *
When Lina wakes the next morning, the new silence over the fort is a bit weird but hardly unwelcome. She settles in the easternmost tower, looking out over the water towards the rising sun as she runs a hand over the mosaic mirror decoration on the cover of her grimoire before setting in to her preparations for the day. Undead are frustratingly immune to some of the magic that comes most easily to her, so she takes special care to review what she’ll need to take a … more direct approach.
Meneas awakens, his resolve reaffirmed. These lands need protectors from others like him. It won't be much of a change - just a change in scenery, I guess. He shakes himself as he goes about his preparations for the day. Once he is finished eating, cleaning himself, and fully dressed in his armor, he returns to the others. "Alright. Is everyone prepared?"
When she hears the sounds of the others gathering below, she moves to rejoin them, hesitating a moment over her choice of weapons for the day’s work. Knowing her luck, the undead the adventurers are about to face will require a particular approach in that regard as well.
“Yes, just wondering what we're dealing with this morning,” she says cheerily. “I’m hoping nothing too too dreadful. We’re not laying ghosts or anything, sounds like, but they’re not going to call for a spark of magic on all our weapons, are they?”
She pauses, tilting her head to one side, curious, as she realizes that she’s walked into a bit of something as Signy seems to be having a serious conversation with Akiros as the adventurers assemble.
Sneeg looks visibly shocked when Brental mentions the name of his old mercenary companion but doesn't say anything further instead grumbling angrily at Vod as the mastodon continues to harass him.
Akiros smiles sadly and gently removes Signy's hand from his arm. "I recognize that look... I can't say it isn't well earned however." The man shakes his head. "You're at no risk from me though, it has been a few years since that time and the incident that incited my acts of murder was... extreme. I still regret it to this day you know... I did truly love her... I would have done anything for her... but she..." The ex-paladin has a faraway look in his eyes for a moment until he manages to snap out of it.
"You aren't wrong in your assessment, however. It seems, in the end, I was a truly terrible paladin. I only joined because my family expected it of me and it was a way for me to secure my station in life."
As Lina and Brental join the conversation Akiros scratches at his grizzled chin. "No, no I believe these are just standard zombies... Any good blade should do the trick I imagine."
There are more questions Signy wants to ask, and more things she wants to say. But, she doesn't want to put Akiros on the spot in front of a crowd. She nods her understanding and drops the subject.
Signy leaves her new bow in place on her back.
"So if it's zombies, this will be sword work. Do we start on one side, tip toe forward until one or a couple come up, dispatch them, and then tip toe forward a little more until we've done all the way around?"
Bental draws his scimitar. "I pulled this from a den of mites that were warring with the local blades. I suppose this will qualify as a good blade."
As Brental approached, he overheard the final statements made by Akiros. Family expectations. Securing his station in life. Those were things that Brental understood. And then some.
"I once received some instruction in the ways of the paladin," he reveals. "I don't think I've told the rest of you about it, though." He sighs and chuckles. "It didn't take, clearly. But the Church of Erastil had--has--a strong presence in Silverhall, and...well...when you're born celestial, people expect you to behave in certain ways. I heard endless sermons on the virtues of community, self-reliance, protecting the innocent, respect, duty, honesty...I mean, I believe in those things. But it felt like it was being forced on me in strange ways, and that any deviation from those edicts was unacceptable. Any thought beyond the scriptures was anathema."
Brental pauses, and then quotes from the Parables of Erastil, " 'The first gift you ever receive is your family. We all grow from the seeds of our parents' plant.' I think my parents meant well. They had high hopes. Why else name me after Brental Lebeda? But we need to be able to seek our own path."
The druid smiles and offers an option to Akiros. "There are some in Restov colloquially called bloodragers. They're people who are descended from some bloodline. I met one once in New Stetven who claimed to be descended from Choral the Conqueror and a red dragon. He described channeling what felt like rage into blistering arcane power. I don't know how much truth there is to it, but maybe something similar is true about you."
“Family can be … difficult, whether born or made,” Lina offers, addressing what little she was able to glean from Brental’s contribution, and wondering what came before it, eyes flickering between the speakers. “But as to paladinhood … well, I doubt I have anything to say that would be helpful. The way those work among my folk is a bit different from what I gather they’re like in your lands. Findeladlara’s lot, or Alseta’s, probably come closest, especially to Erastil’s, but still. You haven’t killed anyone you’ve shared salt and bread with, have you?”
The witch’s choice of words is wicked (and unintentionally pointed), but her calmly serious expression suggests she respects the laws of hospitality as much as the next person, though perhaps not quite to the extent of the paladins of the Guiding Hand or the Welcomer. “For what it’s worth, we’ll put in a good word for you with our contacts in Brevoy, see if we can help you find your bearings again, after all your help.”
There are more questions Signy wants to ask, and more things she wants to say. But, she doesn't want to put Akiros on the spot in front of a crowd. She nods her understanding and drops the subject.
Signy leaves her new bow in place on her back.
"So if it's zombies, this will be sword work. Do we start on one side, tip toe forward until one or a couple come up, dispatch them, and then tip toe forward a little more until we've done all the way around?"
Probably to everyone’s relief, Lina accepts the cue and (mostly) focuses on zombie-clearing tactics. “That sounds about right. So long as we don’t get cocky and let ourselves get surrounded, it should be … as fine as it’s going to get? They hit hard, but not particularly fast, I gather.”
“What is it with necromancers and poorly animating the dead? Gives magic and mages a bad name,” she grumbles, mostly to herself, as she checks that her sword-scabbard’s hanging properly, the talk of expectations and divine obligations putting her in mind of the priorities of her own favourite goddess. Which … well, what does one expect from a goddess of magic? At least she’s not quoting the aphorisms of Calistrian paladins, but while the Savoured Sting’s followers may be more overt about it, ‘My life is my path, and none will sway me from it’ and ‘I devote myself to the pursuit of my passions’ are sentiments most elves would espouse.
Akiros responds to Brental stoically, "Aye, there are some places in the world where it seems as though your destiny is just made for you before you were even born. It often felt like I wasn't in charge of my own life and rather was just playing the part to someone else's tune."
Lina's words seem to cut the man deeply and, at first, she's unsure as to exactly why but Akiros kindly elaborates. "Indeed, well, I shared a lot more than salt and bread with the first person I murdered." Akiros sighs and hangs his head low in shame. "As I had just finished telling your friend here, I feel you have the right to know who you're dealing with before we travel together any further. I owe you that much."
"My first murders, and the reason I was exiled from the church of Erastil was because I struck and killed the woman I loved in a rage... and then her husband swiftly thereafter. I deeply regret my actions and would do anything if I could just take it back now but what's done is done and my sentence has been laid at my feet. I am an exile of the church never allowed to return."
He then turns to Brental. "I have never heard of these 'bloodragers' before but I don't know if we'd have much in common. As far as I'm aware I have no special bloodline and have never felt the pull of arcane energies when I enter a rage."
Brental nods at Akiros' initial response. Whether people actually had true autonomy or not, it was helpful for many to believe that they had control. If you felt like your life was outside your control, it could be easy to blame your circumstances on someone else, or to lease responsibility for your actions to the whims of fate. Forces beyond your control. You could fully rebel against such ideas, or embrace the natural order regardless of where it led, finding your place within the tide.
As the ex-paladin continues his explanation, Brental sets his jaw. Well, well...a complicated fall story after all. And not all what the druid would have expected. Was it jealousy? Had she promised to leave her husband and not followed through? Or was there more that had prompted such violence? Betrayal? Trauma?
Those...seemed like important questions, but perhaps they were better earned upon actually getting to know the man. He was already being quite forthcoming. Why risk their tenuous relationship after knowing each other for a mere day and a half?
The druid closes his eyes. "We all have blood on our hands," he says. "And we have to live with ourselves whether we can justify those deaths or not." He considers his words carefully. He was no person to offer absolution, but did not want to lapse into platitudes either. "Self-justification is often just a lie we tell ourselves."
I did it for my god. I did it for my king. I did it for my country. I did it for my child, for the money, for revenge. I did it out of anger, because it was the right thing to do, because I had no other choice. I did it because I wanted to.
But I did it. That was something that had to be accepted on its own. The motivation was a different factor, and a different process of acceptance and action.
More internal philosophy. More thoughts he wouldn't share.
But this Akiros was interesting, and Brental was glad to know him.
* * *
As Akiros changes topics and Lina picks up the thread, Brental follows suit...sort of.
"Bloodline is an odd word for it, as it implies a lot more destiny or heritage than is probably fair. Sometimes a so-called celestial heritage," he points at himself with a shrug, "doesn't necessarily that one of your ancestors had relations with an angel. Maybe an angel just really liked your family. You might not have manifested anything yet, or even been aware of any effect. Or there may be nothing there."
Brental realizes he may have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way as he continued prattling on. The man was expressing regret for his rage, and fear of what it did to others. Not seeking an explanation, or trying to channel it into something more.
He needed to stop trying to help here. A better cue from Lina and Signy!
"I like working our way around, trying to stay clustered together to avoid getting surrounded individually. If we protect each others' flanks, and they have no arrows to fill us with from a distance, then we should be able to deal with them in short order."
I suppose saying that he shared a lover with the man he killed would be in bad taste. Ah, well. Meneas looks at the others, waving a gauntleted hand. "I guess I won't be using my lance much, then. Stabbing a dead creature does little to incapacitate it."
He turns his hood towards Brental. "I can't imagine you as a paladin. Druidism suits you, I think. No offense, Akiros." He adds hastily. "I'm sure that being a paladin is a fulfilling existence." Okay, maybe I will hurt him with my words despite myself.
Brental is happy to change topics and get out of his head. "Thank you, Meneas. And grim rider-ing suits you." It probably suits Ng, too, although Brental wouldn't bring that up.
Whatever Lina was expecting, it wasn’t that, not least with the candour Akiros offers. It’s something to take in, and – if one’s at all superstitious – a damn stupid thing to admit in a place dedicated to Gyronna, as she’s already had occasion to observe. What with the crazy old man, and Dovan, and … well, anyway, some decidedly uncharitable thoughts about boys zip through her head, but she does appreciate his honesty, and he seems to be in earnest, as far as she can tell.
Without knowing more, the witch isn’t ready to offer much in the way of sympathy: she knows all too well how messy heartbreak can be, and how fragile mortal bodies, though not, mercifully, so much about how those two things can be related. It doesn’t sound like there were any obvious factors that would help Lina wrap her head around it, like evil plots on the victims’ parts, and even then... They must have had someone, too, and forgiveness isn’t a thing that can be demanded.
Sometimes there is no comfort, sometimes the door stays shut. It’s a particularly terrible case of the general idea, but it does make her think, It’s like they say, you can never go back.
She directs a look at the fallen paladin which she hopes conveys her willingness to at least hear more at some point, without pressuring him, though she’s relieved the topic changes. Hopefully Signy will be able to sort the fellow out without needing to involve any witches, and one in particular.
He turns his hood towards Brental. "I can't imagine you as a paladin. Druidism suits you, I think. No offense, Akiros." He adds hastily. "I'm sure that being a paladin is a fulfilling existence." Okay, maybe I will hurt him with my words despite myself.
Brental is happy to change topics and get out of his head. "Thank you, Meneas. And grim rider-ing suits you." It probably suits Ng, too, although Brental wouldn't bring that up.
“Maybe we’ll be able to glean something about what happened here before the Stag arrived,” Lina muses as she considers the path ahead. “At least we can be relieved that preference probably didn’t enter into it for these zombies. I think if I had to return as an unholy parody of life, I’d opt to be a banshee, maybe.”
Picking up on Lina's comment as a route to lighter, if sillier, conversation, Signy opines as well.
"Yeah, a banshee would be good, or a ghost. Nothing where you keep lugging your body around for sure."
Meneas considers for a few moments. "Dullahan. It wouldn't be that different from what I do now, honestly. Just less discrimination, I suppose." He pauses, considering this. Well, that's actually rather depressing, isn't it?
"I think you ought to get to retire after you're dead Meneas."
A soft giggle emerges from beneath his hood. "A rest, hm? It'd probably be welcome, by that point."
Sometimes Meneas straight up creeps Signy out. She knows better, but she can't help but think of him as about middle aged. The giggle is jarring and actually makes the little hairs on her forearms stand on end.
It's a morbid thought exercise, but it's mercifully distant from the comparatively heavy subject of double homicide. "I would not wish to be a siabrae." He shudders at the thought of his rumored cursed ex-brethren farther north at the Worldwound. "Nor any, but...well, if I had to choose..."
He thinks for a moment. "If I had unfinished business, a ghost of some shade wouldn't be the worst thing to be."
Brental moves near the door and casts his final preparatory spells on himself and Vodnykel. "Well," he says, "May our blades be swift and our armor sturdy. If you find yourself injured or overwhelmed, retreat. Otherwise, the blessings of the land be upon us as we restore soured ground to its appropriate form."
The druid opens the door and moves out with blade drawn, maintaining a tight formation.
Akiros agrees to keep an eye on Sneeg while you all take care of undead matters at hand.
Drawing her sword, Lina positions herself where she hopes she can respond quickly and, ideally, provide the most support she can from flanking positions or flashes of positive energy.
She’s not sure how one lures zombies out, though, and asks, tentatively, “Should we … just head that way and beat the bushes, while giving Meneas room to charge in and spear a blighter should she make her unwelcome presence known?”
The hooded knight rides Veil out around the area, trying to ensure he can get a flank on the undead - all the better if he can charge down the hill simultaneously.
The party sets up and begins making themselves ready for the oncoming waves of undead. Lina steps onto the loose soil which makes up the hillside and immediate the ground all about her begins to tremble as the extremely withered forms of four long-dead women begin pulling themselves up from the earth around her hissing for blood.