Ceija has heard stories of such events, but she’s never completely trusted them: a common song devoid of magic taming a wild beast? Does she really want to attract attention to herself?
One thing seems clear at the face of it: a wild beast understands displays of power. The leader of the pack takes a step back.
Katala watches all of the wolves. Could they communicate with them? None of the group were druids. Katala usually had a good rapport with cats, but these were.... dogs!
"Feed them? Does anyone have that bird carcass? Wolves like their food raw don't they? And it's a pretty fresh kill!"
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An expression of intense concentration comes over Ceija's face.
Dogs are pack animals, and usually follow the leader of the pack. I wonder if there's a way Grog could assert enough dominance to get the older dog to submit to him. Once she does, the younger ones will fall in line.
And I wonder if that surly halfling has any food hidden somewhere?
"Hey!" Finch cries at Katala. "No way I'm givin' my supper to some mangy wolves! I'm the apex predator around these woods, not these f*ckers..."
The halfling leaps in alongside Grog, screaming and clanging her dirks together in an effort to create noise, which should hopefully make up for what she lacks in size. In truth, she had little hope of the plan actually working, but at least it would speed thing up to the stabbing part.
Just in case, she makes sure to position herself to the side of the entrance. "Don't block the exit, you knobheads! They might just bolt if we give 'em an opening!"
Hearing Finch's call, Katala moves in to the cave along the wall until she is out of the way.... "Don't know that barking at the dogs is a good idea, but OK, I'll get out of the way!"
Ceija steps back against the wall, just outside the tunnel, leaving a straight path to the exit.
The wolves barely look at Finch — most likely they see her as the runt of Grog’s pack, simply trying to mimic her leader.
Wolves, Cubby and the group hear a war cry. They turn to see Myron brandishing his cane, then follow the ringmaster as he tumbles through wolf’s space, grabs Cubby in a display of agility and ends up with his back against the wall.
“You are safe now, Cubby!” He says, triumphantly.
The wolves are confused, but clearly displeased — especially the leader. Finch cannot help but be surprised by the fact these pushovers haven’t jumped on Myron.
Hearing the war cry, Ceija cautiously re-enters the tunnel, and moves next to Panir.
"Well, that complicates things. What was he thinking!" she says very quietly, not actually expecting an answer. She peers through the gloom, trying to see if the wolves body language seems hostile.
"I can make us sound like a much bigger group of people*. Should I do that while Grog tries to intimidate the pack leader?
*
"That sounds good Ceija! Lots of noise, and maybe some other distractions from objects moving around...."
Pandir decides to appeal to the wolves, getting down on all fours and imitating a howl. Maybe she can get them to be friendly enough to let them leave in peace.
Ceija creates the sounds of yet more people entering the cave, but this comes dangerously close to having the opposite of the intended effect. The wolves bark and howl, knitting themselves closer together in preparation for a last stand.
Their resolve weakens when Katala creates a poltergeist of pebbles that keeps missing the wild animals by centimetres.
Pandir pretending to be a very leafy wolf seems to have some effect, even if not exactly what she initially intended. The two smaller wolves tilt their head in confusion. The pack leader is less concerned and keeps snarling at Myron holding Cubby.
"Cubby, how did you end up here? And how do we get you out?"
Cradled on Myron’s arms, the dog barks excitedly.
“It is a long story, far too long to be told in its entirety here, but the pack leader took a liking to me, in short. I cannot talk wolf very well, you see, but I think the leader of the pack is rather concerned about your intentions with me. Perhaps it thinks you are kidnapping the newest member of their pack? Can you imagine? Myself, a member of a wolf pack? I do not know whether to be horrified or flattered—” the spell breaks off, unable to keep up with Cubby’s long digressions.
Grog takes a final threatening leap forward, roaring savagely at the thin wolves.
Grog jumps and roars, pushing the wolves further against the wall, stopping just short of getting close enough for one to jump on him. Though they are scared, it is clear they won’t cower for very long.
Myron, still holding Cubby, begins to move towards the exit — first slowly, then very quickly.
“Cubby say bye to your friends, lovers, whatever, ok, cool, let’s go!”
His voice echoes as he runs away.
“You were brilliant, now get the hell out of there!”
Tucking her skirts up into her belt buckle, Ceija runs back towards the circus grounds.
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Finch leaps up and clambers onto Grog's shoulders, climbing the half-orc like a child climbs a tree, and shouts obscenities while balancing on his shoulders. The effect is minor, but she does add a few extra feet to the already fearsome giant—a very noisy few feet, at that.
When the party turns to run, she plants herself astride Grog's shoulders and kicks him with her heels. "Giddy-up, let's get outta here!"
Not in to any acrobatic displays, Katala just runs....
The group leaves the den; the wolves don't follow.
Outside, Myron is laughing his thunderous laughter whilst Cubby lets go of his usual pretence and runs around excitedly, jumping on the legs of anyone who approaches.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You were great! Amazing! You didn’t hurt them! We’re all alive!” It’s very rare to see his tail wag quite so excitedly.
Myron grabs the dog and hugs it very tightly.
“You little heart-breaker! Wait till the troupe hears about this!”
Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t the Professor who would be deathly worried about Cubby’s whereabouts.
"Goodbye, wolves! You may wish to find a new mate!" Pandir giggles and turns away.
"Congratulation, Mister Cubby. You are now free to seek another mate." Pandir lets Mister Cubby jump all over and lick her face, eventually knocking her over.
"Now prepare yourself for the show tonight. It will be exciting. You can tell everyone about the lupine encounter this evening."
As the troupe leaves the wolves den Katala looks back and wonders, "If we only had some way to communicate.... We could offer them a better home and possibly get a wolf act for the show!"
When the party turns to run, she plants herself astride Grog's shoulders and kicks him with her heels. "Giddy-up, let's get outta here!"
Grog roars, then conducts an ungraceful U-turn, stomping out of the cave.
Outside, once the party slowed and Cubby begins jumping around, Grog's massive hand pets Cubby, and says deeply, "Noice doggy."
“That would have been amazing!” Myron says to Katala. “Imagine: Myron Thunder Stendhal, ringmaster and wolf whisperer. We can always try to come back with some steak later and tame them.”
Cubby takes in the pets from Grog, jumping and trying to lick the orc’s face.
“Yes! Let’s get everyone together! Pre-show festivities! Let's go and tell the others!”
Katala smiles while listening to Myron's words. "Yes. We know the location of the den. We can return once we have time and resources to prepare properly. And when the cubs are grown a bit there will be three wolves for a show!"
Once the group is at a safe distance, Finch dismounts her greenish steed. She demands the return of her bottle, though not before gracefully allowing Grog a sip. "That was some good blusterin' in there. Now we just have to work on the follow-up, and we've got ourselves a protection racket..."
The clown lets out a cruel laugh and elbows the half-orc in the thigh, which probably means she is joking—probably.
"Of course you had to go and throw in your lot with a bunch of sentimental fools..."
"Just make sure you've paid me for the month," she grumbles at Myron, "before you go off and die in the woods. Might want to hire a druid first, or a ranger... or you know, any sort of professional animal trainer. Or else ticket people for the attempt, 'cause it'll likely be a one-time show..."
The halfling looks at Cubby's antics with open distaste—when asked whether she is a dog person or a cat person, she is fond of professing her preference for the company of insects and reptiles. If there was one good thing about canines, it was their general lack of inclination towards inane conversation...
Grog towers over Cubby, stonefaced at the dog's attempts to reach him with his tongue. He finally stoops lower, allowing the dog to lick his face.
Once the group is at a safe distance, Finch dismounts her greenish steed. She demands the return of her bottle, though not before gracefully allowing Grog a sip. "That was some good blusterin' in there. Now we just have to work on the follow-up, and we've got ourselves a protection racket..."
Grog frowns in thought. Probably not--he doesn't like fighting.
But he does like wrestling.
Grog's rough face showed just a hint of a grin as he joined the others.
Surrounded by friends, acquaintances, and fermented berries, Pandir takes this opportunity to find a dirt pit to sit in. Yummy nutrients and moisture- it's the perfect place to sleep. Once she's marked her sleeping spot, she rejoins her friends.
Pandir takes this chance to show off her new moves while telling grand stories about her relatives. Like when Godmother Denair fell asleep in an apple orchard and woke up buried in apples. Or Mother Meredith's maple syrup protest.
Myron snickers at Finch’s grumbling.
“You say that now, but you’ll miss me the most when I’m gone.”
With that, the group makes their way back to the camp where they are greeted by the Professor and Tahala.
“So there you are,” the former fire-breather says in his perpetually strained voice. “I was starting to get worried, but I guess Tahala was right. Cubby, old fellow, come here.” He kneels down and pets the dog. “Myron, have you decided the line-up yet?”
The ringmaster scratches his beard and winks.
“Ah, you know I like seeing the public before making a decision. A lot of drunk people? Open with the Dwarves, Flambonis for the Big Number. Family-friendly? Loads of clowns, Finch, Pandir. And so on, and so forth…”
“Well, whatever you say. Better keep your distance from Mordaine. You know she’s going to try and convince you to put her on the Big Number no matter waht.”
This short exchange done, the whole circus gathers around the fire. Pandir is eventually joined by one Kiros Kanbali of the Feather-Fall Five, their joint performance drawing cheers and laughter.
Finch leaves most of the messy blood-and-guts work for Grog to handle, and focuses her attention on making a proper meal of whatever is deemed edible. She very much plays it by the ear, relying on haflings' sensitive taste-buds to guide her rather than using recipes.
Grog listens only with half a pointy ear, registering dully that each actor has their own props. He is more concerned with the cockatrice Finch has her eyes on.
Grog’s butchery might not be clean, but the orc certainly doesn’t see any issues with a few bones to add a little crunch to the meal—or feathers to change up the texture—or the odd organ to add a twist to the taste.
After Grog has weeded out all the nasty bits — of which there were suspiciously few, Finch noticed — the halfling sets out to prepare a simple but hearty halfling chicken stew, substituting the main ingredient. She is very thankful that she lives in the Starstone Isles and that spices are a very common import here, as she probably dumps her own weight in ginger inside in the cauldron.
The end result is…presentable, but the smell of rancid chicken lingers beneath the strong seasoning.
Finch’s efforts were heroic and seemingly successful until one took a bite of the meat or sucked on one of the many, many bits of bone and cartilage Grog deemed good enough for consumption. No amount of earthly spice could mask the unwelcome notes of dung hills and abandoned chicken coops.
After Pandir and Kiros finish their performances, Myron tells the story of Cubby’s rescue, adding details the group might have missed, such as the fact that both cockatrice and wolves were taller than Grog and breathed fire and acid. Cubby nods and barks at all the appropriate times, silencing anyone who dares contradicting (or correcting) the fantastic tale.
“As for tomorrow, you will make me proud and you will make yourselves proud. I don’t even need to be there, I can see it already with these two good eyes Pharasma gave me.”
The night passes with some getting absolutely wasted, others peacefully retreating to their wagons. Nevertheless, everyone sleeps soundly and pleasantly.
Grog is stonefaced at these descriptions, neither confirming nor denying any of Myron’s tales.
Ceija, having seen what the cockatrice can do to living creatures with just a peck, has absolutely no interest in ingesting those toxins voluntarily.
Instead, she lays out her cards in a 3x3 array, and looks a bit puzzled at the outcome.
Pandir giggles at the story, but she keeps trying to correct the story. Eventually someone manages to silence her, and she sits quietly throughout the rest of the night.
Animal protein is wasted on her, so she just takes some extra water and waters her dirt pit. She squats into her pit and rests for the night.
I'm all set. Onto chapter 1!
After Grog has weeded out all the nasty bits — of which there were suspiciously few, Finch noticed — the halfling sets out to prepare a simple but hearty halfling chicken stew, substituting the main ingredient. She is very thankful that she lives in the Starstone Isles and that spices are a very common import here, as she probably dumps her own weight in ginger inside in the cauldron.
The end result is…presentable, but the smell of rancid chicken lingers beneath the strong seasoning.
Finch, sceptical of the results, looks to purvey her cooking to unsuspecting circus-folk—mainly those she does not like. Fortunately, that includes almost everyone. If the stew proves inedible, she will at least have the satisfaction of watching them puke their guts out...
For Grog the stew is, indeed, nothing more than spicy chicken. Most of the Wayward Wonders know better than trusting the orc’s taste and steer away anyhow.
Axel is not like most of the troupe and, as the newest addition to the circus, is eager to prove himself. The human takes a bowl, sits by Grog’s side and smiles weakly at Finch. He makes no effort at disguising how disgusting the cockatrice meat is, but makes a point of finishing his portion.
“Well, that was…something I’m not going to do again. But thanks, Finch!”
He spends a good fifteen minutes rinsing his mouth with vinegar and alcohol, but seems otherwise untouched by the stew.
The big night is here. Townsfolk flood the bleachers, talking excitedly, pointing at the magical dancing lights floating around the tent, yelling and screaming. For a moment, with eyes closed, it’s almost as if some of the troupe members were back in Escadar. Backstage, Mordaine the Magician, risks a little peek from behind the curtains.
“My, it is a full house! Fuller than full, even! Perfect!” She says and claps her hands in excitement.
Finch, who happened to be passing by at the moment, sees the blonde woman turn pale as she stares over the halfling’s shoulder.
“M-Myron? Myron!” Mordaine runs towards a crumpled mound of colourful rags.
Only it is not a mound of rags, but the ringmaster, lying face down. Mordaine turns him over and screams. The man’s empty eyes stare at the ceiling, foam dribbles down his mouth and his skin is discoloured, almost grey.
Performers and roustabouts begin to flock towards the scream, first curious, then panicked.
Pandir wakes up to the sunrise. "Hello, small insects!" She springs up and slowly picks off as many as she can before shaking the morning mud off herself. "Oh, I must exercise."
Pandir works as hard as she can to hop, spin and tumble to an imaginary beat. She needs to be in tip-top-shape for tonight. Oh, it will be quite a story to tell when she returns Home.
The morning progresses to afternoon and that evening Pandir finishes another attempt at her Triple Flip Leaf Glide.
Pandir becomes one with the wind as she sails from one tree to the next, spreading herself across a branch so it bends ever so slightly. A squirrel looks at her quizzically before fleeing into a knot within the tree. "Sorry Miss Squirrel. It is very important that I-"
A sound pierces Pandir's hearing. It's Mordaine, screaming. A strange murmur picks up, and Pandir can't help but be curious. She returns backstage to find chaos. "Erm, everyone. We have a performance soon. Why are people confused?"
Myron's eyes are first thing she notices. No particular gaze or direction to them- no focus. His mouth gags open, without any breathing to go with it.
"Oh. Oh." Pandir is beside herself, pacing in place. "Ringmaster Myron? He uh... er..."
Pandir starts to panic. "But if he... and the skin color... and he... oh! But this was the big show and... ah..."
Recognizing a face, she turns to Miss Finch. "Miss Finch! Ringmaster Myron. Ringmaster Myron... he... er..." all she can do is point at his body.
Finch hurries over to Myron and swears profusely. She tries for a pulse and—if one is to be found—slaps the man vigorously on the cheeks.
"He didn't eat the stew, did he?" she mumbles to herself.
Pandir can barely understand what is happening around her. She keeps looking at Myron's eyes, as if hypnotised. He’s going to blink soon, right? Any moment now.
Next to her, Finch is momentarily relieved when she feels a pulse. Then she realises it’s her own heart that’s beating like a hammer inside her chest and making her fingertips throb. Myron is cold in a way the halfling knows very well.
Grog nods in appreciation of Finch's cooking. He was seen later that warm night, scavanging the body parts rejected by the halfling cook, and making a broth only an orc would find delightful.
The big night is here. Townsfolk flood the bleachers, talking excitedly, pointing at the magical dancing lights floating around the tent, yelling and screaming. For a moment, with eyes closed, it’s almost as if some of the troupe members were back in Escadar. Backstage, Mordaine the Magician, risks a little peek from behind the curtains.
Grog was back in his trusty light brown shirt, stomping backstage and carrying ropes and the props needed for the scheduled shows, moving from place to place. Summer day would be bright and blue, and the calls of seagulls and the gentle wind marked this as a good day.
His brain, however, was busy with the list of work.Stunty dwarves go first, burns'n'blista sisters second, lotta clowns--oh pony'o'trap, da rig 'ere iz not upta standard. 'ere we go...
Performers and roustabouts begin to flock towards the scream, first curious, then panicked.
Grog stops. Everything in him stops--movement, breath, thought. His muscles come loose and cold, and the clatter of props on the floor is the only noise that comes from the giant orc.
"Iz--e ded?" he whispers, to no-one in particular.
Hearing the screams, Ceija hurries toward the noise. She sees Finch slapping Myron, but also hears Grog asking if Myron is dead.
Not now! We've worked so hard! The gods can't possibly ruin everything at the last minute! This must be what The Twins meant as the outcome card this afternoon.
Stepping up to Myron's limp body, she observes the foam dribbling from his mouth, and the discolored skin.
"What's wrong with him?"
She narrows her eyes and looks down at Finch. Did Finch persuade him to eat some of that damn stew?.
Kneeling, she checks his pulse then, feeling the cooling skin, rocks back on her heels to observe more carefully. Poison? Curses?
Managing to keep her cool, Ceija examines Myron’s corpse — for it is, indeed, a corpse. Myron is dead.
First, she quickly decides that the body’s stiffness is due to incipient rigor mortis — the cockatrice’s calcification she saw yesterday worked in a completely different way.
She continues her examination, the Varisian notices several pairs of holes on his trousers; the man’s legs are extremely swollen, forcing her to rip the fabric in order to access the skin. A quick inspection reveals dozens of bites around the ankle area, probably from some sort of venomous snake. She does not know what species exactly: this type of skin discolouration and swelling are common to many types of poison.
A quick scan reveals no magic in the immediate vicinities of his body.
It is very uncharacteristic for snakes to attack someone in this way. The bites are too many and too vicious. Such an animal would strike once or twice and let the venom do the rest of the work.
Pandir inflates and deflates carefully to steady herself. Mother taught her life is precious, reincarnation or not.
"Snake bite. Snake bites?" Pandir steadies her leafy hand and points at the bite marks. "Too many. Usually a snake will bite once or twice and let the venom wear you down. Why would someone bite Ringmaster Myron so many times?"
Knowing where the meat came from, Katala does not try the cockatrice stew....
Katala is practicing her act (not using magic) when she hears the scream. Unsure of what has happened or what she should do she runs toward the sound. "What's going on? What was that scream? I mean who.... ??" Seeing Myron, unmoving and with the pallor of his skin was more than enough, but the faces of those who arrived before her were more than enough. The ringmaster was dead.
She notices Ceija examining him and waits for whatever word she might have. Hearing Pandir's words and seeing the bites she adds, "True. A snake wouldn't do that. They only produce so much poison in the day and wouldn't deplete it with multiple bites. Unless they were under the control of someone that forced them?"
"Where did they come from? Snakes don't usually show themselves in an area overrun by humans. We need to make sure no one else gets bitten, especially a member of the audience. We can't afford that kind of publicity!"
Ceija looks around Myron's body for tracks
Standing up she scans the area, looking for a dark, quiet place where snakes might hide.
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Finch gets back on her feet and wipes her hands on her breeches. Her eyes narrow. "Snake-bites, you say...?"
"Elizia? No, that'd be too obvious..."
The clown picks up Myron's top-hat and waves it around in the air, and calls out loudly to the gathered troupe-members. "Okay, enough lollygagging! Yes, the boss is dead. This is that poxy cat-lady's doing, as sure as the Hells are hot—we all knew this was comin' sooner or later. We've still got a show to do, and we're goin' to earn our pay. Everyone, get back to your positions, but keep an eye out for sabotage: re-check all the ropes, shake out your costumes, and make sure there's no snakes anywhere. In fact, just assume there are snakes everywhere, unless it's been proven otherwise. Got it?"
She pauses briefly and sneers. "And if there's a godsdamned traitor in our midst, you better scram afore I get the chance to gut you..."
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Pandir steadies herself. Also, Miss Finch is quite scary when she needs to be.
"Y-yes, Miss Finch is correct. Ringmaster Myron worked hard for us. He was willing to break off from Mistress Dusklight to give us another chance- we mustn't take it for granted."
Don't mention reincarnation, they HATE when I mention that.
"We have all practiced hard for this night. In his memory, we should continue the show."
"Besides, he will reincarnate soon, anyway."
The Professor gently covers Myron’s body with a silk cape and looks up.
“You heard Finch and Pandir!” He asks, his weak voice booming in the hushed silence. “Have you seen that crowd? There’s a show to put on! Finish your makeup, get into your costumes, send in the clowns! We will— we will deal with this later.”
Not a word more is need. The first group of clowns immediately bound through the curtain and into the three rings. Cheers and clapping ensue — how joyful, how beautiful! And yet, there remains the ringmaster’s corpse.
The Professor turns to the group. With the other performers scattered, he allows his shoulders to sag and his faint voice to quiver.
“Myron never told me the line-up. You’ve got to take over and decide it. If anyone asks we can say he told you when you were out and about yesterday.” He shakes his head then sighs. “And then, when the curtains are drawn, we’ll see what this tragedy is all about.”
While Finch imposed some order, Ceija continued investigating. If there were any snake tracks, they were gone; instead, she realised that all around Myron’s body there were the tiny footprints of countless rats that lead outside the big top.
That's interesting. Hmmm. Ceija tucks the observation in the "later" part of her mind.
"Pandir and Finch are right. We need this show to go well, and cancelling it won't help Myron."
She straightens her shoulders, pastes a smile on her face, and shakes her body into her role as a mind-reading seer.
"First night jitters, along with the loss of our leader may make it hard to do our best. But I'm willing to be an early act. Mind reading is fun, but it's not a spectacle."