Wisp is sitting next to the crackling fire, crushing up some roots she dug up earlier, when she hears the howls. Her eyes narrow, and she hurls another log onto the blaze, sending up sparks and smoke. "Keep close to the fire. Bring the horses over an' hood 'em if we can so they won't panic. Let me cast my preparations."
Pulling out her holly and mistletoe, she grasps her own wrist and squeezes tightly. In Druidic, she half-hums, half-sings a plea, rocking her body back and forth and entreating an old friend for protection. The holly creeps along the wrist and up her arm, but this time, it doesn't retreat, nor does it draw blood after the first prick at her skin—it continues to grow over her, harmless, almost protective. She crushes several mistletoe berries in her hand and smears the red and white juices over her face and helmet in elaborate designs, continuing to whisper her pleas until the holly has climbed across half of her body, over her skull helmet, through its ear- and eye-holes, under and over her quilted robe.
This done, she takes her staff and rises to her feet, muttering under her breath. She appears to be... counting. She reaches out for Brental's hand.
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Brental explains what Wisp is doing as simply "helping". Any more than that seems like it would be overkill. He looks a bit nervous: less for himself, and more for his companions. He checks the straps on his armor and Vodnykel's barding, brings his shield up, and then draws his scimitar from its sheath.
"Just to be on the safe side," he says reassuringly.
To Vodnykel, Brental says, "Skydda."
Vodnykel recognizes the Celestial word and enters a defensive stance, remaining more vigilant than before.
Somewhat less paranoid than Wisp, Brental readies an action to cast guidance on himself as soon as he hears another creature come within 100 feet of their camp.
Signy adds her pack to Brental's stuff in the safe spot he's made.
"Should I have my bow out and ready?" She asks anyone with an opinion.
"Yes, dear," Wisp says, not looking up from her counting as she casts a second orison on herself. She tries not to spare too much thought to being annoyed with her party's relative incaution. Everyone comes from different experiences. Not everyone should be afraid all the time, even if... Wisp bites back the thought and focuses on the counting.
Signy nods and takes her bow in hand. She also checks her quiver to ensure her arrows are right at hand if needed.
"Anybody know how to make a fire?"
"Do you wish one for warmth, or for light?" Brental asks.
Meneas whistles at Veil, before signaling something, setting her on alert - more than she'd already been, given that she'd heard the howls as well. She straightens and keeps an eye out.
"Wolves shouldn't attack us unless they're starving. At least, I've not heard more than unreliable rumors about wolves attacking humanoids." His voice drops as he continues. "Unless magically compelled, or led by something like a worg or werewolf..." Meneas shrugs slightly. "But it's better to be safe in this case."
"Wolves, yes. Worgs, no."
In truth, Wisp doesn't know much of anything about worgs. She knows that the horses spoke of them with fear, and she knows the basic concept of "very bad wolves". She half-wonders if it's just a term for wolf packs that have become more aggressive.
But she also knows that bandits, especially bandits with a bard or druid on board, like faking the sounds of beasts and birds to signal each other. She helped out with it very occasionally back in the day. Not to mention trained dogs, fey trickery...
She's not exactly afraid. Not more than usual. But better safe than sorry.
"I'm not sure if their howls sound different. If they do, then this group is wolves. If not, then we might be hearing worgs or wolves. In either case, it might be werewolves. Altogether, I can confirm that those sound like wolves' howls." Meneas says thoughtfully.
"Uh, well if the horses mentioned this, why not ask them?"
"Horses are dumb, dear." Wisp sighs, pausing in her count for a moment to focus on the conversation at-hand—especially since she's only got her own spells to worry about anyways. "They're too much of field an' sod. It's very hard to get into the state where I can understand 'em, and I can only hold onto it for a minute or so. Maybe if I could get some sleep..."
After a moment's hesitation, she looks up at Meneas. "Veil... could she talk to them for us?" The question seems absurd, but then again, Veil gives her such a strange feeling. Might as well ask.
Assuming the answer is no, she murmurs some words of power to renew her orison. "If anyone wants a blessing charm, 'tis a simple thing to provide an' costs me little. An open offer."
"To the other horses?" Meneas ponders for a moment. "I don't think she could talk to them, no. She might be able to, well... influence their behavior, the way that wild horses in a herd do, but other than that, I don't think she'd be able to do much. Unfortunately, she's clever, but not exactly as smart as a person."
"Right." Wisp coughs, it suddenly registering that the comment she made might have come across as a bit insulting. "I meant 'dumb' meanin' nonspeaking, of course, dear. I just don't understand them that well. No offense meant to Veil."
In your time on the road Brental manages to gather all the food and water you will need for the day. Mushrooms, gooseberries, black berries, some wild oats, and even a few roving hares are all expertly obtained by the man. While the others try their best to help it quickly becomes apparent who the true expert forager in the party is, still it is nice to have the company Brental reckons.
----------
Now
After a few more minutes of waiting with nothing to show for it the party decides that the sounds of howling probably had nothing to do with them and, while it is a good idea to keep an eye out over the night, they all decide they need some rest.
The temperature remains relatively pleasant as the night wears on, and even the encroaching fog has come to tuck the party in for the night.
Despite the heavy fog Lorna is able to ensure that no foul creature sneaks up upon the band during her watch shift.
Meneas finds that the dark hampers his vision and his weariness blocks his other senses from functioning over well.
"There you are… can... can you hear me?" the voice is desperate yet elegant. In spite of it's rather forlorn tone the woman, if indeed it was a woman who was speaking, had a rather soothing voice, like the sound of a gentle breeze in summer rustling the leaves in the trees.
"If you are there I'm afraid I can't hear you… Not yet." The voice intones with a mournful sigh. "I'm so sorry, I cannot even see you. Or ask you for your name and yet I must ask a favor of you. You see, I am the spirit of the Stolen Lands, as your people call them, and I am in dire need."
The voice sounds strained for a moment, fading away and becoming distant before returning. "It would seem I don't have long but I must tell you that this beautiful place, my home and yours, has been defiled. Cursed and set upon by many and this Stag Lord bandit king is just one of many who plunders my riches, pollute my land, and sicken my very roots with their vile magics." the last words are practically spit out as the voice says them.
"I ask, no, I beg you please rid me of these evils and I will do all that I can to help you along the way. You're the only one who can hear me so it would appear that you are my only hope. I haven't the energy for much more, even this is a great strain to me in my weakened state but..." the voice gasps out as if in great pain causing a pause before it reaches out again, wavering this time, strained. "I must warn you. The Stag Lord is indeed terrible but it is not he that you should truly fear. Beware the one he hides in the shadows. He is more than he appears."
The voice fades away at that, Wisp can barely hear the last words before they are gone, like a warm summer breeze.
The night passes by in relative quiet for the entire party. Despite their road-weariness and some of them even nodding off for a few minutes on watch everything turns out okay by the end of it. The howling wolves appear to have just been operating on their own without any knowledge or care of the adventurers' presence.
When the morning sun burns off the remnants of last night's fog it appears that even the horses have chosen to stick around a bit longer, probably in case any wolves had decided to attack in the middle of the night.
With the sun rising in the morning, kissing their fresh faces with its brilliant beams of gentle warmth and welcoming them forward to embrace the rest of their journey the party begins to pack up camp and continue their journey.
Knowing that Oleg's Trading Post was still another forty miles away gave the party a decision to make. A full day's ride would get them there by nightfall but they may be eating into their rations. On the other hand they could forage again but they would likely arrive by the next morning if that were the case.
Wisp appears uneasy this morning, She is extremely chatty, but in the manner of needing to fill the silence, a way that betrays rocking nerves. She awakens early and eats little breakfast.
"I say we press on to the trading post," the gnome says, facing thin air as she goes to help pack up—offering her help in rolling up Lorna's bedroll, getting Vodnykel his morning meal, gathering together Signy's grooming supplies (little though she understands them), and appearing not to notice Meneas hard at work at work undoing Brental's tripwire setup. "We can make the Post by nightfall if we make good time."
The fact that she is contradicting her preferences from only yesterday doesn't seem worth acknowledging to her.
Signy is also up a quickly ready to start.
"I agree, let's go all the way today. After all Oleg's is a trading post right? We can always buy more food there when we need to."
"A hard day's journey seems worth it to arrive at our destination," Brental concurs. He has by this point long since completed his morning preparations and looks refreshed. He goes around checking on all of the animals, including Veil wile Meneas is off doing something else in camp breakdown. He stops with each animal, chatting congenially for a moment while checking them for insects and weary muscles. Though he has no apples, Brental shares some of the leftover food from yesterday with the four-legged creatures, considering what would best supplement their diets for the day (whether the horses decide to stay with them again this day or not).
Wisp, or anyone else in the party who has spent any significant time with a druid, recognizes Brental's behavior as characteristic of a druid taking care of their grove. Whether conscious of it or not, Brental has entered a mindset of stewardship with this campsite.
As soon as the group has finished using the fire, Brental brings over some water and quenches the simmering wood. He takes a shovel from his pack and mixes all the remaining embers and ash with soil. From there, Wisp is not foo far away, seeming to stare into the morning air.
Brental speaks to Wisp. "Sestra, ako sa mas dnes rano?"
0 (at will) detect magic, light, guidance
Wisp responds with a click, a whistle, and a gesture to a single cloud moving slowly up above through the blue sky.
Brental's words continue to meld with clicks, whistles, and gestures in response.
"The Cowl? He's interesting. He takes good care of his horse. He knows things and has experience. I can't figure him out, but I'm not worried. Yet."
Meneas nods at Wylhia's suggestion. "If you'd like to make haste, I'm happy with that. The sooner we arrive, the less time that this Stag Lord has to prey on the innocent." He hesitates, before remarking. "Inasmuch as that can be said to be true of anyone in the Stolen Lands."
"Or anywhere else for that matter Meneas. It's too high a bar to set, 'the innocent'. It's true of everyone and no one depending on the time, place, and question at hand. Better to ask who is suffering at the moment and what can be done about it."
"Hmmm." Meneas considers her words. "A good way of looking at it."
Brental's words continue to meld with clicks, whistles, and gestures in response.
** spoiler omitted **
Wisp replies in kind, including a deep sigh as the wind picks up slightly.
"Tell me, Brother, what could this mean?"
She takes note of the discussion at hand. "What does it mean to you, Cowl?" Wisp asks suddenly, tilting her head to the side with curiosity. "The idea of 'innocence'. Every man an' woman an' person I meet seems to have a different notion of it. And you, Lorna? What's a noble's eye on the idea?"
Oh, I like the charming naivety of protecting the innocent! But I do understand there's too much of a gray area to really say who's innocent and who's not. - she smiles, still pretending to not have any difficulties riding the horse - Regardless, Meneas has the right idea. The Stag Lord is preying over people right now. If we already have enough supplies, let's pick the pace to Oleg's!
Meneas shrugs at Wylhia's words. "It varies based on case. If all else fails, don't bother taking sides and force both parties to surrender. Maybe take a side and take them out afterwards. Or leave them to wear themselves out and wipe out the remainder. It is all variable." Realizing he hadn't answered the question, he continues. "It comes down to who is actively seeking to harm those who cannot defend themselves, I suppose."
Wisp nods slowly, no disagreement in her eyes. "So you'd just as soon end the fight before it starts, you mean."
She eases Vodnykel forward to join Lorna, discretely helping to keep Lorna's horse at a steady gait and mediate between the pair. She's not much of a rider, but as a translator, her services are hard to beat—though she tries very hard to avoid implying Lorna doesn't know how to ride. "By the way, Swift Heart doesn't seem sure what that nudge means, dear. It might be a more obscure signal 'round these parts."
Meneas rubs his gloved hands together. "I suppose so. It varies, I of course, based on context. But in general, honorable duels are a fool's game, and it's best to seize what advantages come in combat."
"You're a funny kind of knight, aren't you?" Wisp doesn't seem to mean this in an insulting manner. How it comes across is another matter. Her mind is elsewhere.
A chuckle emanates from beneath the hood. "One tries." He says in the manner of one quoting another.
Wisp's words give Brental pause, but then again...
Well, there is plenty of time to see out what the road before them shows. Brental is patient. He observes these interactions quietly as they return to the road.
Innocence. What a notion.
Signy is surprised her statement has produced so much chin stroking. She wonders if she needs to clarify what she'd said.
"I'm not talking about something that's really complicated. Everyone does bad things and good things. Sure there are exceptions, but I'm talking about people so it's mostly true. Some do more good things, some do more bad. But in the moment I'd be concerned with who's doing what, not their baggage. We've all got baggage, and having it doesn't make us immune to being kicked around when we don't deserve it. That's all."
"I think it's more complicated than all that, dear, for a lot of us." Wisp shrugs. "But I'm on your side of it, I think, if I have you right. There aren't 'good people', in my book, and there sure as anythin' aren't 'bad people'. Bad actions, maybe. But really, the only sure things in life are hearth, family an' food on the plate. The rest of it's just tryin' to explain... why we do what we do. We like to feel important, an' I was hungry or my own were in danger, those don't sound as glorious."
She's happy to make conversation about whatever topic surfaces, especially since it helps her understand her companions better. It's easy to tell that she's a little surprised at their cynicism—she'd always thought folks outside the River Kingdoms were more naïve idealistic than all this.
Brental interjects at this point. "The Stag Lord sounds as though he is a man who enjoys putting his boot on the necks of those around him for no other reason than he can. Innocence is merely that which does not ask for aggression but receives it regardless. In that, it's a fey story: the kind with sprites and grigs playing together in open fields, unaware of the dangers lurking around them until their throats are torn out."
Brental realizes that he has gone grim in his assessment. Too much discussion of black and white when the world was many-hued. "It seems, at least, that we all know better. But sprites and grigs deserve their whimsy, when they can get it. As do we."
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Many hours go by as with the party traveling in relative peace. The plains slowly become more wooded and the sun rises and then sets in the clear sky above, giving way to a pretty third quarter moon rising up above them. Everyone is sore, particularly those who have been riding bare-back again today and their aching muscles are weakened even further by the general fatigue that the twelve hour ride has caused them all. Still, their efforts are eventually rewarded by the sight of a man-made structure at last coming into view on the horizon.
Oleg's Trading Post stands before them, the last frontier of civilization before all that remains in the endless bounds of wilderness with the plains all about them and the green line of the Narlmarches (the forest consuming a large portion of the Stolen Lands) rising just a few miles to the south. The trading post itself appears as the lord-mayor of Restov had described it to you, looking every bit like the fort it was built on. Wooden palisades stand ten feet tall and each corner of the trading post ends in a watchtower, each of which appears to be surmounted by its own catapult.
Only a handful of minutes after having first laid eyes on the complex do they proceed through the main entry, which is a thirty foot high wooden gate, and into the main grounds where a single, empty, cart sits by its lonesome in the middle of the dusty packed earth which makes up the floor here. Before them is a small fenced-in area with a wooden roof, to their left a larger structure that is quite obviously the stable from the look and smell of it, and to their right a decently large wooden structure appears to make up the main building of this post with a smaller structure of similar build before it.
Betwixt them stand two large wooden tables baring various wares and goods with small tags attached to each advertising the price, mostly furs, fruits, meats and the like and in between them a small fire pit casts its flicker light over the scene. A woman stands over the pit stirring a large cast-iron pot above it and appearing not to notice you at first. When she does look up from her work you are finally able to get a good look at her as she quickly brushes off her dirty smock and rushes up to greet you.
"Oh hello there all! Welcome welcome we've been expectin' ya!" the woman cries out cheerfully in greeting as you dismount and approach.
She appears to be a human Kellid woman in around her early thirties you'd guess by the looks of her. She has tied back brunette hair and a pretty face, for a peasant woman, with round cheeks baring countless freckles and pleasant blue eyes.
"Please, please make yourselves comfortable you must be so weary from the road!" The woman beams a cheerful smile and waves her arm out to indicate for them all to sit at the benches there. "My oh my there are so many of ya an' you all look so strong and hearty. Never met an adventurer before if I may say so but you lot look most impressive indeed! Well, sit down, sit dooowwwnnn dinner is almost ready! I've made my famous venison stew with potates, an some nice warm bread awaits you're bellies!" the woman rushes around before looking up at the roof of the smaller building where various hammering noises can be heard and she huffs impatiently. "Oleg! Oh Oleg you oaf get yer keester down here the help from the city has arrived just as I told you!"
The hammering noise immediately stops and the woman smiles again at the party. "I do apologize for the man he's just so stubborn sometimes! But please make yourselves at home, I'll get a nice bottle of wine out! And, oh my goodness! My name is Svetlana Leveton by the way! An absolute pleasure to meet you all!"
Meneas is given pause by the woman's warm welcome as he slips off of Veil's back. "A pleasure. I'm Meneas of the Cowl." He gestures at his hood. "But why were you expecting us? I didn't expect anyone to send word ahead..."
He looks to his companions, a silent question obvious in his demeanor. Did any of you send someone ahead? The knight-errant begins to rub his horse down, letting them have their chance to talk.
"Surprise, surprise the dragon has two heads!" a gruff voice comes from the opposite side of Meneas as a rather strapping man descends the ladder from the roof of the smaller structure. "I told you those bureaucrats up in Restov were takin' us for a ride. These city-folk aren't here to help us. Just use us as a base of operations for their big plans."
The man is quite large, physically, you can see his muscles budging under his somewhat too tight plain shirt. With how he's scowling at you, it's easy to get the feeling of being stared down by a bull ready to charge. His hair is dark black and short though he does have bushy, full mutton-chops to accentuate the sides of his face. The middle-aged Kellid man's dark brown eyes just might draw you if he'd only soften their edges but as of now they remain sharp as daggers while he glares at the party in mistrust.
"Oh do stop it Oleg, just stop it you stubborn old fool!" Svetlana gently strikes the man in the chest with the large wooden spoon she was stirring the stew with, doing little more than bouncing off his impressive pectorals and splattering a new stain on his already tarnished garment.
"Ouch! Yes dear, of course." Oleg fakes a wince at the small woman's actions and somewhat softens his expression, though purely for Svetlana's benefit.
Svetlana pouts at Oleg then returns her gaze to Meneas with an awkward smile. "The pleasure is all mine Mister Cowl, and please feel free ta take that there hood off while you're here your like to scare Ol' Claptrap all cloaked in shadow like that. As for how we knew ye were comin'. Well Restov sent a hunter this way almost two days ago sayin they would be sending their next batch of adventurers this way and that you were the answer to our call for aid against the bandit raids here at the trade post, you shoulda run into the fella along the road I'd imagine as he made 'is way back. Said you'd be here either today or tomorrow most likely so I thought it best to be prepared just in case."
She looks around nervously at the other companions, her bright smile flickering somewhat. "Y-You are here to help us with our bandit problem right? I... well we can offer you a free room for the night and all this food, and, and the wine if you'll only help us when those blackguards arrive in the morning!"
Meneas tilts his head slightly at Oleg's hostility. He's not wrong. He shrugs mildly at the older man. "I cannot speak for the nobles and government over in Restov, but you are correct that that was our intention. Perhaps the city's leaders have ignored your plea, or perhaps they have simply been delayed." He offers the explanation with a sigh.
Meneas chuckles dryly before pulling back his hood for the first time that the party has seen. He has dark brown hair - nearly black - pulled into a single braid at the back of his head. His skin is tanned and his eyes are a dark green. While he has some of the features typical of nobility, his mild brow ridges, harsh cheekbones, and rough chin keep him from fulfilling that particular ideal. He rolls his head on his neck tiredly. "Interesting. Restov is either making promises on our behalf or..."
"In any case, I came here to kill bandits. I don't see why we shouldn't start by helping you with your problem... assuming it's not beyond our capabilities." He looks to his companions once more, arching an inquiring brow.
The explanation makes sense to Brental, who likewise dismounts Cloud Strider with a gentle pat, then makes his way forward and offers his hand.
"I am Brental Fenson. The horse I'm riding here is Cloud Strider, but my longtime companion is the calf you see there beneath the skull-decked gnome. She can introduce herself, but the mastodon is Vodnykel."
Brental notices Meneas' initial discomfort and wonders for himself about these folks and the bandit problem, considering his words carefully before he addresses the question directly.
Then as Meneas takes his hood off, Brental blanches. Granted, they had only been traveling together for a couple of days, but Brental had gotten used to a certain air of mystery about the man. He gives a barely audible "oh" at seeing the man's face, before a smile softens his countenance. Not as shadowy as all that after all...
Then as Meneas continues and reveals their plans, Brental nods his head in agreement. "Aye. One of our given missions is to deal with the bandits in the area. Especially in return for a room and a warm belly, we can assist you with your problems. What can you tell us?"
Signy slides off her horse, something she's gotten reasonably good at doing without it looking like an accident by now. She walks to Svetlana and gathers her in for a hug.
"You're Svetlana! It's so good to finally meet you after all that traveling!. I'm Signy, and yes we're here from Restov."
The laden table is a great temptation. Signy grabs a piece of the bread and takes a couple of bites while Oleg demonstrates his crotchetiness.
Then she gestures at him with the bread while answering.
"But why do you think things must only be one thing or another instead of both? Of course we'll help you. We're here to explore as well. There are some coming in the morning you say? Did they set an appointment? I've never heard of such a thing, awfully polite of them isn't it?"
Signy finishes the last part with some puzzlement in her voice.
Lorna gives enough space for the others to make their introductions, and stay behind with a smirk on her face. She looks around amusedly, in pauses, admiring the humble place as much as analyzing the owners. Finally, then, she steps in extending her hand in compliment.
As my friends said, it's a pleasure meeting you! I am Lady Lorna Medvyed, here in the grace or Erastil. - she introduced herself, curious about the news of their arrival - And yes, we're here to help, but also to be helped, as you well anticipated.
The noblewoman measures her words as per usual, but this time she lets out a bit more - as if testing the waters. While she is one of those charismatic, easy to like people, she still prefers to gauge the situations before letting the social butterfly out.