"Nor would I mind. Keeping up with tallfolk such as yourselves on tracks and trails requires a high level of cardiovascular exertion. Or a pony," Majara says with a shrug, then slithers out of her seat as quickly as she claimed it. Wine in hand, she beelines off for Gellion.
The ensuing conversation has the youth stammering, looking wide-eyed, raising his hands, and at one point saying loud enough to be overheard--
"But Mistress Pricknettle! I-- I'm not ready for that!"
Majara looks unconcerned. "No education like the practical."
Nodding along to Majara's answers, it's clear that the gnome only has so much information regarding the mission and has been forthcoming with what she knows. Constantine is also able to bring some knowledge of the village of Ravenmoor to the group. It sounds like the kind of place you could get lost on the way to - or indeed the sort of place where someone might go to disappear.
"The sensible route sounds like the best option to get there," concurs Hannelia. "How soon are we expecting to depart? Are we all packed and with affairs in order? I don't think we're expecting Sirio back for a while. We should leave word - here, maybe the temple and the mayor also?"
"I can be ready to leave in the morning. Surely we can charter a vessel on the Conerica or otherwise secure passage." Constantine looks at Talon. "You had offered to watch over the manor. I hadn't expected to take you up on the offer so soon, but would you be willing?"
Constantine tries to recall his knowledge of the Conerica and the Keld, doing some quick mental math. "It would only be about 100 miles if we were traveling through the Chitterwood, but sailing around might be closer to...360 miles." He frowns slightly. "We might be gone up to two months, as it could take about three weeks to get there by river, especially if we try to find evidence of Mr. Kyle's trail on the way."
Yes, the more direct route would be faster, but also considerably more dangerous. A river cruise certainly wasn't speedy, but Constantine was happy to avoid goblin ambushes.
"So yes, I'd venture leaving word with our friends and allies here in town is a smart idea."
"Aye, sure it's longer dead on, but you aren't taking into account how much faster the downstream leg'll be. The upstream part'll be about the same speed as overland, aye, but the part downstream the miles'll pass three for every one afoot."
Constantine blinks and then smiles. "You're right, Roger, I hadn't accounted for that." He'd like to see the old pirate on the water for once.
Having given Gellion a list of instructions (one presumes) that has the young man looking ever more frazzled, Majara returns to the table in time to catch the discussion of the river travel. She turns the same assessing gaze on Roger as she had Constantine, then smiles slightly and nods.
"I defer to an experienced waterway wanderer. I should take my leave and pack. And write instructions for my apprentice, apparently. But if we'll be traveling together-- I might be able to brew beneficient bubbles...
"Mister..." the gnome pauses a moment in search of a surname, and finding none in her recollection, she shrugs and carries on, "Roger-- from the times you have visited my shop I seem to recall you carry large weapons but little in the way of defense. If you wish it I'll concoct a mixture that shields you by ingestion. Or one that doubles your size, if you prefer; it will also enlarge your weapon wielded.
"I know men are often concerned with that sort of thing."
"Oh aye, you got the old bulwark in a bottle, eh? A classic that one is. Let's go with a brew or two of that one." Roger nods at the first suggestion.
"I'll leave the giant nonsense to Connie though, never much was fond of getting too big to fit below decks. Two of us big at a time'd be too awkward. It's a younger man's game anyways." He declines the second though, with a wave of the hand.
Constantine has had a little more than his fair share to drink at this point and begins giggling.
Majara maintains a perfectly impassive face as she nods a single nod. She glances at Constantine, quirks a brow as if to ask what's so funny? before she deigns to give a ghost of a smile of her own.
"On the morrow then, at the docks, Friends of Saringallow. Terrible name, by the way," she offers blithely, then pulls up the hood of her cloak and proceeds back out into the rain.
Hannelia had just taken an unfortunately timed sip of wine and ends up coughing in response to Majara's quip. The gnome's face betrays no sign that she was telling a joke - perhaps she just considered it to be an observation - and Hannelia realises that she has much to learn about their new travelling companion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before returning the goblet to the table. Although she knows it to be true, she is slightly startled by the revelation that in the short time they have been together, she has got to know the others surprisingly well, both as people and how they can work together effectively. Now, with Majara included and without Sirio for the moment, she wonders how that will change the group's dynamic.
She is shaken out of this train of thought by the gnome's abrupt departure. "Good night, Ms Pricknettle, see you tomorrow," she says. Then, to the others, "I think she's right though, we do still need to do something about that. It's a statement of both fact and aspiration but Roger's not wrong in maintaining we need something a bit punchier."
She stifles a yawn. "Anyway, perhaps it is time to call things a night soon. I hope everyone's prepared and ready to go." She thinks of her always-half-packed bag, full of the basics, with optional extras all neatly stored to be added in as necessary. "I notice the fine new sets of armour the two of you have also purchased - I think our mutual friend Gordrek must be the richest man in Saringallow right now. And the training regime you've been on has worked wonders, Roger; we're a pretty fit bunch but you put the rest of us to shame." With a long journey ahead of them, Hannelia is keen to boost morale as they will sadly have to say goodbye to the comforts of the Witch's End for a chunk of time.
"Aye, I warned 'em!" Roger shakes his head as Majara leaves.
"Oh thank ye, figured I'd need to get back into trim, scrape off the barnacles and all that." Roger nods at Hannelia's compliment. "Had one to many games below deck for my liking last time."
As Roger estimated, moving down river is much faster, and until you arrive in Cheliax, you’ll only need to travel down river toward the Inner Sea. However, heading east on the River Keld will take up to 10 days more, as you’d have to keep pace to the slowest members of your group, especially if you travel in armor.
Traders head down that way from Elidir quite frequently, so it's no surprise that one such crew of river rats is at the Witch’s End tonight. The crew you find is a bit odd, but who are you to talk? They speak in whispered tones of reverence or fear of their captain. The crew is mostly your expected sorts of nautical misfit, complete with striped pants, cutlasses and bandanas
But the one who stands out offers to introduce you to their captain.
He’s a dwarf with meticulously braided auburn hair, a heavy blade strapped to his waist, and clad all in black, including a black coat. He introduces himself, ”I am called Halli. Come. We walk. I show you to Captain Callus. She does not… uh what is word? Partake yes? She cannot do this, eat this, drink that. She is Prophet. Kalistocrat, yes? You know this word? We come from North. Druma.”
He leads you off to the river where the boat is moored and prattles on about the sale of salt, spices and other goods these merchants apparently trade in. You arrive on the riverbank in the evening rain, lantern in hand. The boat has its name Scipio’s Fortune lettered in a silvery script. He enters the boat, and motions for you to wait where you are before going below deck. He emerges
The captain is a copper-haired young woman clad in white and gold up to the neck, complete with a matching set of white gloves. A symbol is emblazoned on her chest, a circle overlaying a downward pointing triangle. She carries a matching symbol attached to a silver chain around her high collar.
”Burgiua Scipia Callus. I’m the captain of the ’Fortune. I’ve heard tell you’re the folk heroes of this little town. I was preparing to bed down for the evening. Halli tells me you’re looking for passage down the Conerica. It’ll be a silver piece per day for each of you. We depart at dawn. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a strict sleeping regimen that I must maintain. Halli will tend to the rest of your details.”
____________
Day 1
Most of you have traveled outside of Saringallow, and its very likely all of you who have, have traveled on the Conerica River. The rain doesn’t stop, and in fact only gets worse as the day goes on with only a brief respite.
Captain Callus stops off at Wolfpoint to wait out the storm and sell wares to the soldiers there. The wooden palisades are stained with the blood of goblins, and scorched with the fires of many conflicts. They stand tall in defiance of the abuse. The soldiers at the guardhouse are curt and professional in kind to the Drumish captain. They smile and point when they see Roger and Hannelia. ”It's the heroes of the week! Weren’t there an Asmodean in yer company? The other chimes in, ”What are y’all callin’ yerselves these days anyhow?”
After spending the night in Wolfpoint, the Scipio’s Fortune continues her voyage as the rain turns to mist in the coming days.
Day 4
You arrive in Logas to little fanfare, perhaps as far west as some of you may have ever traveled. Others among you are likely even more worldly than this. There are no mere stains of goblin blood on these walls. The walls of Logas are decorated with the piked heads of careless goblins. This place once vied for the claim of the nation’s capital and has twice the population of Saringallow.
After trading here and settling in for a bath and the other luxuries of civilization, the Fortune sets out the next morning.
Day 6
Misarias. You cross the border into Cheliax, and this is where the road will get tougher. The River Keld flows west and there isn’t much in the way of good trading stops along it. It’s possible you could find horses, but they are not cheap, and you haven’t earned much new gold.
As you land in Misarias, you notice that while its a smaller town than Logas, its much more vibrant. This is very likely due to the sheer volume of traders and soldiers passing through here. A gang of recruiters for the Chelaxian Navy approaches you and offers coin and a chance to “see the world”. A coachman with a carriage pulled by two buffalos is offering a free ride as a promotion of his new founded business. A mouse hunted by a cat hunted by a wiener dog hunted by a german shepherd dog. All run by a few seconds apart eachother.
Captain Callus parts ways with you here. ”It has been a pleasure to do business with you.” It’s hard to tell if she’s being sincere or not, but provided you pay her the 6 pieces of silver each she’s owed, that’s the end of it.
Majara Pricknettle turns up the next morning as promised, emerging from the pre-dawn morning fog and drizzle with an overladen Gellion in tow, the young man huffing under various bundled packages. When she catches sight of the others, Majara nods in acknowledgement, and after a moment's consideration, approaches Constantine and Roger. "Give me a hand getting these things on board, would you?"
Majara observes the captain wordlessly, though she does mutter to Constantine and Roger as they pass (possibly carrying her equipment), "Kalistradian. Strange ones, them. And that's coming from a gnome."
Items rattle and clank and clink as they are brought on board, assuming the two brawny men are willing to haul. Gellion looks relieved to pass over his burdens. The question might arise of how Majara intends to carry all of this on the road, but for now, at least, a boat is going to do the heavy hauling. One of the bundles chitters faintly.
The gnome wedges herself into a dry corner of the cargo hold belowdecks, gives a brief nod of thanks for the aid in boarding, and promptly buries herself in a book whose pages smell simultaneously of cinnamon and sulfur.
The first day she emerges abovedeck long enough to observe it's raining. Majara sticks her tongue out to catch a few raindrops on it-- uses a teacup to collect some of the rain-- makes a little grunt-- and disappears back into the cramped confines of the cargo space once again.
Dinner that night in Wolfpoint is a fish heavy course, as is typical in the Conerican towns. Majara carefully wraps the bones of her meal in a cloth napkin, and gazes down at the picked leftovers on Hannelia's plate next to her. "May I have those? Thank you."
When rain gives way to mist on the following days, Majara is somewhat more willing to crawl out from belowdecks, though she wraps herself in a thick woolen cloak and gives the weather a bit of a grimace.
"I'm old," she mutters to no one in particular. "I wouldn't have minded mist, once upon a time. Softness settles and spoils the skin and the spine. Hrmf."
She seems spry enough when disembarking in Logas, however-- scurrying to the docks and then into town to visit the alchemical shops and collect ingredients that aren't so available in the smaller Saringallow.
In Misirias, Majara makes sure to pay her tab with the vessel's captain, rounding up with a generous tip to bring it to a full golden crown. Majara's policy when dealing with Drumans is to pay quite well for services rendered-- one never knows when one might need those services again. The gnome sucks her teeth as she considers the belongings being unloaded onto the docks, then turns her gaze to the town.
"I'll be purchasing a pack-pony rather than press your prowess into the job, I think. Excuse me. Watch these until I return."
The gnome trots off into the town, but true to her word, returns a short period later with a doughty little pony, fresh saddlebags, and a sack of apples, one of which the pony is munching. Pricknettle hands the apple sack off to Roger. "Take one. Pass it around. Unless you don't like apples. Then skip directly to step two: passing it around."
An intricate packing, repacking, and arranging process happens on the edges of the dock as the pony's saddlebags are filled, adjusted, unfilled, and items divided between the pony and the gnome's own backpack that has what must seem like an abnormal number of straps. Books, a length of colorful string with hundreds of knots in it, a canteen, a teapot, lockpicks, measuring calipers, bottle-after-bottle-after-bottle wrapped in cotton and rags, the object that chitters, a magnet, and a dozen other things are finally stowed to Majara's satisfaction.
"There. Alright. Lost art. Remembering. Let's locate lodging. Gossip of Elias too, if available."
But if there are rumors to be found of Elias in Misirias, they escape Majara. In the common room of the inn they find that night she broodingly knots and unknots the colored string, frowning at it in between making notes in one of the more fragrant books.
"Hurry, wait, hesitate. Seize the moment. If it comes. No guarantees."
Constantine muses at the Drumish dwarf's curious introduction and nods at his question. "I know the term, yes, though I've never met one of the Prophets before." This would be interesting, to say the last. He chuckles as Majara seems to have the same thought as him, and then smiles at the perplexed faces among their group. He looks to the others, some of whom look perplexed (but not Majara). "We'll explain later when we have some privacy."
The Captain is about what Constantine would have expected from what he had read, but of course more. He tries not to feel condescended to or anything like that. He bows gently. "Well met, Captain Callus. Until tomorrow, then." Formal introductions could wait. If she cared. Which she probably didn't, as long as she got her coin.
Given the Sciopio on the boat and the Scipia in the verbal introduction, Constantine has to wonder whether Burgiua was not the original owner of the ship, but perhaps a daughter or a wife. He had heard of the Kalistocrats' sexual restrictions, but suspected that some at least still married and perhaps even procreated...if it was good for business.
---
Come morning, Constantine comes to the dock with little compared to Majara. He gladly takes some boxes and chests from poor Gellion, shouldering them with far greater ease than the young apprentice. He does wonder what Majara is planning to do with all this, but decides he'd rather find out in the moment.
Constantine steps up to Roger sheepishly a bit later. Since the sea dog had had his tab paid off at the Witch's End and still seemed flush with coin, Constantine knows he still has that which the younger man lacks: money. "I don't suppose you could spot me until we come across a bit more coin, eh?"
Once in Wolfpoint, Constantine is happy to get out of the rain and extra happy to avoid the talk of a group name. He engages with Roger in a game of liar's dice after dinner, trying to think of a way to haggle out his line of credit. But it's more of a way to try to get some of the soldiers to come over for a game and a chat, which...
...works beautifully. Majara had been poking around with some folks, asking questions, but Constantine was a bit more prepared for question-asking. Before they bed down for the night, he gathers the group in for a brief meeting. "Roger and I got the soldiers talking, and they remember someone fitting Elias' description. So we're on the right track."
It was nice to know at least that they weren't going off on a wild fey hunt.
---
Logas proves harder to find information in. The people there are more tight-lipped than soldiers over dice games, and significantly less impressed by upstarts from a town half the size. He does take some time browsing a local library, asking Hannelia to come along with in case they found something worth checking out. He had a few books back on the ship, but a new library always held the promise of something undiscovered!
---
Misarias is...less comfortable for Constantine. He had been to Cheliax before--been here before--but had been actively trying to hide then. Now he was in the open, a publicly declared Sarini. That mattered little here, but the name Sarini had more cachet in this country than in Isger. By instinct, he keeps his head down (and whispers to Roger to pull out those extra six silver, please and thank you). He unfortunately gets stuck in a conversation with one of the naval recruiters, who keeps asking him if he looks familiar, like so-and-so's cousin, and wouldn't he like to see the world after all?
Please go away.
When Majara returns with pony and apples, he takes an apple and marvels as she conducts an almost impossible-seeming operation. He still feels like he hasn't seen everything that she carries and has innumerable questions about what he has seen. Especially about whatever it is that keeps chittering.
He isn't eager to stick around, but being in the devils' country won't cause him to be dragged to hell overnight. He checks in with Emma in particular tonight. It can't be easy being an open Iomedaean in Cheliax. She might have gotten some dirty looks in the streets. "How are you holding up?"
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On the day of departure, Hannelia rises early, packed, repacked and ready to go. She arrives at the docks with a buzz of excitement inside her, mixed with a slight trepidation about the boat voyage. She has no real experience of travel by boat and, if she's honest, she's a bit unsure about it.
She's also not entirely sure about the boat's captain, one Burgiua Scipia Callus. She glances at Roger and struggles to see how the pirate could be any more the polar opposite of the red-headed Drumish woman. While Majara and Constantine also clearly recognise her as a Kalistradian, Hannelia has has extensive knowledge of the Kalistocrats thanks to exhaustive - and, she silently acknowledges, somewhat exhausting - dialogue with a rather verbose regular client. "You don't know the half of it," she mutters in response to Majara's observation. Still, aiming to get on the captain's good side, she fishes around in the bottom of her backpack and pulls out a small bag. It's filled with accessories in a variety of colours and symbols that she adorns herself with in order to subtly try and get into the good graces of the various folk she trades information with. Selecting a heavy gold bangle, she wriggles her left hand through it.
* * * * *
The travel isn't quite as bad as Hannelia had feared, though she can't say it's her favourite method of transportation. Beyond a few rangings with Zuke, she's rarely been too far out of Saringallow so in spite of the slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach and the wet weather, she spends more time than is perhaps wise out on deck, watching the scenery pass slowly by.
Still, she's glad when they reach Wolfpoint and can get her feet back on solid ground. Her appetite has disappeared and she lets Majara help herself to her half-eaten dinner. While Roger and Constantine get chatting to a group of soldiers, Hannelia decides to make a couple of discreet inquiries herself and when the group regathers, she is able to back up their findings that they are heading in the right direction.
* * * * *
As the next couple of days pass, Hannelia splits her time between study and practice, and more time spent outside. Trial and error, ever the great teacher, leads her to discover that her stomach is more settled watching the world go by than without a view of the moving water when she is below deck. On the third day she is standing at the rails on one side and confides to Emma, "I'm not sure exactly when it happened but by my calculation this is now the furthest I've ever been from home. It's easier than I thought it would be - one moment we were there and the next we're here - and yet there's a pull that's hard to let go of." She looks at the paladin as she continues. "This all seems to have happened so quickly and in truth I've loved it - the freedom, the adventure, the camaraderie. The chance to do something that matters. To write our own stories. But the other part of me knows there's plenty of reasons why I've not done this before."
She stops, wondering if she's going to commit, before accepting the fact that she had already weighed it up and made up her mind to be honest before even starting the conversation. "I mean there's Dad, obviously. But also Saringallow is home and I know that I'm lucky to have one." The orphaned status of Constantine and Sirio is implicit in her words. "I care about it and I know if I can make thing better and help people there too then that's also a good thing to be doing, even if it's on a smaller scale. So I guess I feel responsibility for it, if that doesn't sound too stupid, even if sometimes it would be more satisfying to just stick goblins full of arrows."
"How do you manage it?" she asks, changing the topic slightly. "You marry duty, responsibility and doing the right thing, even if it's not easy. I respect that a lot. And you do it with good grace and no little skill too." She fixes the paladin with a firm stare. "I know you're going to be modest about it, and don't get me wrong, I'm sure that it's not easy. But you're a remarkable woman, Emma, and I think sometimes you need someone to tell you that."
* * * * *
When they arrive in Logas, Hannelia is keen to check they are still following the right path but despite some promising sounding leads, she can't come up with anything that she's certain is a description of their missing man. Constantine invites her to the town library and record office, knowing full well that she's not going to be able to pass up the opportunity. She relishes the research and time spent amongst the manuscripts, even if their search didn't lead anywhere in particular. You've still learned some things though, she concedes, and that's always a good thing.
* * * * *
When they arrive in Misirias, Hannelia is quite happy to pay up her silvers and be done with the boat. Truth be told, she'd probably have paid a fair bit more for it to be over with. Indeed, so relieved to be back fully under the control of her own two feet it takes her a while to really take in where they were. Her instincts are to blend in, see if they can pick up any information about Elias and get out again, and she's glad when Majara voices something exactly along those lines. Judging by the look on Constantine's face he doesn't seem like he wants to hang around either and it's hardly likely to be Emma's destination of choice. She exhales. "Come on then, let's get it over with."
”Burgiua Scipia Callus. I’m the captain of the ’Fortune. I’ve heard tell you’re the folk heroes of this little town. I was preparing to bed down for the evening. Halli tells me you’re looking for passage down the Conerica. It’ll be a silver piece per day for each of you. We depart at dawn. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a strict sleeping regimen that I must maintain. Halli will tend to the rest of your details.”
Emma blinks a bit at the rather standoffish introduction, though truth be told, given the woman's status as a Kalistocrat, it makes sense. It makes her feel a bit uncomfortable as well, knowing what Captain Callus likely thinks of them all. She shares a glance with Hannelia, laughing slightly at the other woman's comment.
------------------
As it turned out, traveling on a boat was a lot different from marching overland or riding on a horse.
And unfortunately, it turned out that her stomach did not agree with it. They'd only been on the river for a day and already she'd been unable to keep down her food, and ended up spending a few miserable moments on the side of the ship, becoming uncomfortably familiar with the sides of the boat.
Eventually, she decides to approach Majara when the gnome makes an appearance on deck, frowning at the rainy weather on deck. "Majara...I don't suppose you have anything that would help settle a stomach unused to boat travel? At this point, I'm willing to offer just about anything for some relief."
"I thought the goddess protected you against disease. Not seasickness, apparently," the gnome says, eyeing the rain as though it's been sent to harass her personally. She fumbles around in her pack. "Here, drink this. Figured there might be a few who needed it."
Emma takes the offered bottle and drinks the substance down without hesitation. "Thanks," she says, wiping her mouth. Already she can feel an ease in her stomach beginning to take root. "What was that anyway?"
"Soothe Syrup. Perfect for unruly stomachs. I add ginger and mint to mine, even though it doesn't call for it. Why should something meant to ease your stomach not taste good?"
Emma nods in agreement. "I like the way you think, Majara." She gives the gnome a genuine smile. "It'll be nice to have you with us. If there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."
------------------
When they stop off at Wolfpoint due to the storm, Emma is grateful - between the Soothe Syrup and the halt in movement while moored, she manages to eat a hearty meal to make up for the ones lost to the water.
Despite the rather gloomy surroundings - the scars of battles past against goblins lie in every direction - she feels more upbeat than she has since they started the journey. Plus, she always enjoys spending time with soldiers, getting to hear their stories.
It reminds her of home, which is a comforting thought - to know that the things she found familiarity with from home can be found elsewhere in the world.
-------------------
As the next couple of days pass, Hannelia splits her time between study and practice, and more time spent outside. Trial and error, ever the great teacher, leads her to discover that her stomach is more settled watching the world go by than without a view of the moving water when she is below deck. On the third day she is standing at the rails on one side and confides to Emma, "I'm not sure exactly when it happened but by my calculation this is now the furthest I've ever been from home. It's easier than I thought it would be - one moment we were there and the next we're here - and yet there's a pull that's hard to let go of." She looks at the paladin as she continues. "This all seems to have happened so quickly and in truth I've loved it - the freedom, the adventure, the camaraderie. The chance to do something that matters. To write our own stories. But the other part of me knows there's plenty of reasons why I've not done this before."
She stops, wondering if she's going to commit, before accepting the fact that she had already weighed it up and made up her mind to be honest before even starting the conversation. "I mean there's Dad, obviously. But also Saringallow is home and I know that I'm lucky to have one." The orphaned status of Constantine and Sirio is implicit in her words. "I care about it and I know if I can make thing better and help people there too then that's also a good thing to be doing, even if it's on a smaller scale. So I guess I feel responsibility for it, if that doesn't sound too stupid, even if sometimes it would be more satisfying to just stick goblins full of arrows."
"How do you manage it?" she asks, changing the topic slightly. "You marry duty, responsibility and doing the right thing, even if it's not easy. I respect that a lot. And you do it with good grace and no little skill too." She fixes the paladin with a firm stare. "I know you're going to be modest about it, and don't get me wrong, I'm sure that it's not easy. But you're a remarkable woman, Emma, and I think sometimes you need someone to tell you that."
Emma spends a long moment gazing out at the water. It's a bit misty out, but otherwise a pleasant day - the boat is smooth as they traverse along the river. She considers her words carefully.
"Just traveling to Saringallow was the furthest I've been from home," Emma admits. "I'm not exactly well traveled...but to be honest, the desire to see other lands, other cultures, was one of the main motivations behind leaving...aside from the fact that, when I left, there wasn't anything really tying me to home. Nothing good, at least." Emma casts her eyes up towards the sky, thinking back to her initial journey from home. It had been with the blessing of the leaders of Piren's Bluff - they had encouraged her to explore and find her own path following her mother's death. She hadn't needed much pushing. "I wasn't sure what to expect when I set out to seek an adventure, but I daresay I got lucky with you all. Despite the hardships we've faced, it's been a rewarding experience so far. There were multiple points where the odds seemed firmly stacked against us, and yet, here we are, off to our next adventure. I understand now why this can be an addicting path to many. I'm not sure I could return to spending the rest of my days in a single town - not now, not after what we've done."
She looks up from the water and out to the landscape beyond, able to appreciate the scenery around them now that she's no longer spending most of her time bent over the rail thanks to Majara. "And you spoke truly - you are lucky to have a home. Don't ever take that for granted. But I also don't think it's a reason you shouldn't get a chance to venture out and offer help where you can. Sorry - not to get all lecturey on you about the virtues of being a helpful adventurer," she adds with a grin. "Besides, you never know - you may end up still helping Saringallow by heading off a threat elsewhere before it can become a larger one at home. And it would be a shame to deny other locations in need of your talents."
She has trouble meeting Hannelia's eyes when she turns towards the other woman. She opens her mouth a few times, never quite managing to speak, until finally she lets out a sigh. "As to how I do it? I don't really know. I suppose you've got it right - I - I don't necessarily think I am doing anything remarkable. I appreciate your compliment, truly, but I don't know that I've fully earned it either. I feel like, our fight against Wormgnash aside, I have spent a fair number of our fights either trying to catch up or trying to stay upright, and rarely doing my part to do what I can for the party. I'm getting better about it, I think. We're all growing more comfortable with our abilities and we're getting better equipment...I hope I can live up to what you think of me." She finally manages to bring her gaze up to look at Hannelia. "Besides, you've been amazing throughout all this. A constant source of knowledge, a kind shoulder to lean on - and a surprisingly deadly sharpshooter when the situation calls for it. Don't sell yourself short either."
-------------------------------
On the fourth day of their voyage, they end up in Logas. From the moment the city rolled into view, Emma felt a sense of unease settle over her. Where Wolfpoint had shown the scars of battle, Logas seems to revel in it. The grotesque heads of goblins lie atop pikes spread atop the city walls.
Emma has no love of goblins, particularly after their battles, but this...this seems excessive in a needlessly cruel way.
There are some things that even Soothe Syrup can't help settle.
Still, she ventures out into the town, managing to catch a meal with some off duty guards, who end up treating her to a drink at a tavern populated by more of the guards. Throughout the course of the conversation, she's able to learn a few things that reassures her that they're on the right path. Elias Kyle had indeed passed through here in the previous month. It's nothing particularly detailed, but it's still reassuring to know that they are on the right path.
-------------
Emma settles up her tab, plus a tip, when they arrive. Her discomfort with the Captain aside, there's no reason to be rude to the woman who brought them here without any hiccups.
Misarias, however...
It's uncomfortable, to say the least. The respectful looks she'd gotten in Saringallow are gone, replaced by open hostility and flared noses. Groups of people go so far as to mutter insults in her direction or turn away from her when she approaches. She ends up drawing her cloak about her, and does her best to lay low, not really venturing too far into town, nor straying too far from the others, not wanting to find herself alone in this place. She'd never been to Cheliax before - the open disregard the locals seem to have for a servant of Iomedae...well, she hadn't really considered it before they left. Had it been a mistake?
She's grateful when Constantine checks in with her later that night.
"Truth be told, it's a bit...concerning," Emma admits. "Though I refuse to lie about who I am and what I represent, I also recognize that having me with you might cause more harm than good. Should I hang back while we're in town here, or should I remove my symbol of Iomedae? I will not store it away - on that I refuse - but I also recognize that displaying it openly here may not be wise. You know this area better than I, so I would appreciate your thoughts on this."
Otherwise absorbed in her thoughts, and her piece of string, Majara looks up with lips pursed at the discussion between Constantine and Emma on the matter of her holy symbol.
"There's no point to removing it. We're a memorable group. At this point you have been clearly seen as an Iomedan. And unless I'm wrong, Asmodeus does in fact work with Iomedae-- there is cooperation between your deities, so it would seem silly to expect less from the populace. Something of a pity your own Asmodean isn't here to provide counterweight, though. His symbol would no doubt go a goodly way towards balancing out yours."
There's a pause, in which Majara Pricknettle is perhaps weighing the pros and cons of donning an Asmodean symbol herself, then she shrugs and carries on talking.
"This is a river town. They get all sorts. We're passing through-- as do hundreds of Iomedans that go north to Lastwall, or to the Worldwound. You're overly focused on immediate reactions to yourself," the gnome rattles off in brusque tones (comfort is perhaps not her strong suit, just ask Gellion). "We'll be on our way tomorrow again and won't be staying anywhere longer than a night til we're in Ravenmoor, and mathematically no one is likely to assault the six of us," her gaze takes in Roger's broad shoulders and large weapons, "just because of your holy symbol."
Majara's intent eyes travel back to her string, and she grimly ties another knot or two. "Besides, if that Regilianus fellow could swan about Saringallow with the stones to dress in crimson and ebon, I'm sure you have the courage to absorb a few looks."
A fractional pause. "Not that you were asking me."
When Emma comes back from feeding the fishes and Majara offers her a tincture of soothe syrup, Constantine offers a bit of his odd understanding of seasickness versus disease proper. "I read a book once explaining seasickness. It's a problem of a tiny organ attached to your ear, apparently! It has more to do with your sense of balance. Diseases, on the other hand, arise from something entirely external." He snorts, glad that his inner ear and stomach were apparently getting along on the water. "Perhaps Iomedae would care to send a bit of balance your way."
---
During the second day on the boat, Constantine comes up to Hannelia after having been below deck most of he day with a bundle of bags in his arms. "I hope you don't mind, but I've been thinking about you for a few days and I..." he pauses, and tilts his head to the side. "That sounds odd. Sorry, let me start again." He adjusts the load of bags in his arms to mostly cradle into the nook between his right arm and his torso, and fishes out two cloth bags, one painted with a red X and the other marked with a green circle. "You're, in a word, meticulous. You don't do anything lightly. And that includes shooting your bow. You know better than I do, of course, but it seems like you need to make decisions quickly, especially when enemies and allies are moving quickly like we usually do. But you also don't want to shoot any of us in the back. Which I appreciate, of course. So I thought of something." He casts his eyes down, wondering if he should have asked before spending some time sewing. She might think that this was stupid. It was too late now. Glancing back up, he continues. "I filled these bags with a bit of flour for weight. And I figure I could throw them in the air at the same time and have you shoot them to see if you could hit the green ones without hitting the red ones. Like, think of the red ones like us, and the green ones like the enemies."
He giggles at a thought and leans in. "Hopefully the Captain won't mind. She already thinks we're unclean, I bet." With a grin, he leans back. "So, what do you think? Good idea? Bad idea? I don't mind either way."
---
Later on, Constantine is glad to take Emma's confidence. After Majara's piece, the first thing he does is assure her that, no, she shouldn't change her behavior. Shaking his head, he smiles gently. "Majara's right. This country has been suffused with diabolism for over a century, but you shouldn't change yourself at all." He thinks for a moment about how to phrase what he wants to say next. "These people were born here and don't know any better than the Thrune government's propaganda. And when your leader has literally contracted her soul to Hell, thrice even, well..." He shrugs, pursing his lips. This next part was hard. "I feel like it's reflexive when you haven't actually studied religious texts like we have. Asmodeus is...not unreasonable." His younger self would be punching him in the face right about now for admitted even that. "He can't--shouldn't--be trusted lightly. But according to the scriptures, Iomedae herself has sought his council from time to time." It takes effort not to roll his eyes. "It's the recognition of that that has led some faithful--like Sirio for instance--to join the Order of the Godclaw." Constantine blinks a few times, sifting through memories. "I actually don't think that Sirio ever brought his Order up. Are you...are you familiar with the Godclaw?"
Majara's intent eyes travel back to her string, and she grimly ties another knot or two. "Besides, if that Regilianus fellow could swan about Saringallow with the stones to dress in crimson and ebon, I'm sure you have the courage to absorb a few looks."
A fractional pause. "Not that you were asking me."
Emma's mouth quirks up into a smile at Majara's matter of fact statement, and her description of Sirio. She'd never really thought of it like that, but...well, she supposed Majara wasn't entirely wrong in her estimation.
"Bit of a moot point to say it at this point I think, but never be afraid to speak your mind Majara," Emma comments. "And it's a fair point regardless." Her smile wanes a bit. "It's true about Iomedae and Asmodeus, though I can't say it's a topic I particularly enjoy. Still, it's a good point to keep in mind should anyone try and press me on it." Emma shrugs her shoulders. "Sorry. Like I said, I haven't been here before, so I wasn't sure what to expect."
------------
Later on, Constantine is glad to take Emma's confidence. After Majara's piece, the first thing he does is assure her that, no, she shouldn't change her behavior. Shaking his head, he smiles gently. "Majara's right. This country has been suffused with diabolism for over a century, but you shouldn't change yourself at all." He thinks for a moment about how to phrase what he wants to say next. "These people were born here and don't know any better than the Thrune government's propaganda. And when your leader has literally contracted her soul to Hell, thrice even, well..." He shrugs, pursing his lips. This next part was hard. "I feel like it's reflexive when you haven't actually studied religious texts like we have. Asmodeus is...not unreasonable." His younger self would be punching him in the face right about now for admitted even that. "He can't--shouldn't--be trusted lightly. But according to the scriptures, Iomedae herself has sought his council from time to time." It takes effort not to roll his eyes. "It's the recognition of that that has led some faithful--like Sirio for instance--to join the Order of the Godclaw." Constantine blinks a few times, sifting through memories. "I actually don't think that Sirio ever brought his Order up. Are you...are you familiar with the Godclaw?"
Emma tilts her head to the side. "I know a bit about it, but nothing terribly specific. It's an order of Hellknights...mom was never really particularly forthcoming about the Hellknights in general. You could say she wasn't a fan," Emma said, though that was putting it a bit mildly. "I have done a little bit of reading. They follow the five lawful deities...or is it that they took some of those beliefs and used them for their own purpose? Hm. I'm not really sure, as it turns out."
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"You've got a lot of the right idea already," Constantine says. Sirio had talked a decent amount with him about the Godclaw when they were younger, so a lot of this felt rote. "Follow is a strong word, and their own purpose is probably something Sirio would object to, but it's not far off. I'd call it a syncretic faith more than a real pantheon, incorporating teachings from Iomedae, Torag, Abadar, Irori, and Asmodeus. Notably not Erastil or Zon-Kuthon. They uphold law above all else and lash out against anything reeking of disorder. For instance, I believe the official party line is that they are--obviously--in deep support of the Mendevian Crusades against the demons of the Worldwound. But they also support the Molthuni crackdown against Nirmathas fighting to maintain their independence."
Constantine can't help but sneer and roll his eyes at that last part. Molthune had seceded from Cheliax nearly a hundred years prior, 30 years after the death of Aroden, but proved no fairer at governing than the crumbling empire they left behind. Less than 15 years later, they were denying their own secessionist movement from nascent Nirmathas in their northern reaches. The official civil war had lasted less than a decade but fighting between the two countries had never stopped. What, in the Order of the Godclaw's eyes, had made Molthune's secession legitimate but Nirmathas' illegitimate?
This is why Constantine and Sirio couldn't talk about politics over dinner.
"So take of that what you will. I'm sure that there are disagreements among individual members. Anyway, depending on which direction you took to get to Saringallow from Piren's Bluff, you may have even passed by Citadel Dinyar in the Aspodell Mountains. It's a distinctly Isgeri Order."
In fact, the Godclaw was probably one of the few Hellknight Orders that Constantine had any modicum of respect for other than the Orders of the Pike and the Torrent.
Had Sirio taken up with the Godclaw because it was the most local Order, or because it had appealed to him philosophically? Why did most people follow the gods they followed? Like Constantine had said, most of the people here in Misarias were probably Asmodeans because of where they were born, not necessarily out of particular diabolic devotion or concerted hermeneutical interpretation. If they had been born in the same place two hundred years earlier, they probably would have been Arodenites. Had they been born on the other side of Isger in Druma, chances are they might be Kalistocrats. Or, gods forbid, across Cheliax in Nidal, they might be sadomasochistic Kuthonites. Hating people merely for who, what, or how they worshiped was...
Oh...
Hmmm.
If Emma had responded, she may have noticed Constantine getting lost in his own thoughts. He didn't mean to. He just...had some soul-searching of his own to do.
______
Day 7
Though most folk in Misarias pay no heed to Emma, and some jeer and mock the Goddess, an elderly woman in a yellow hood approaches Emma after some such sneers cross her path.
"Do not think too badly of them. They do not remember the old ways. " She smiles, "She was one of us. Some of us do remember Aroden's legacy. There might be more of us than you expect."
She does however, vanish just as quickly as she appeared. The folk who take less kindly to Iomedaean symbols tend to be angrier and better armed than she, after all.
After you prepare for the long journey ahead, you make your way out to the road alongside the River Keld heading East.
________
Day 12
The days grow slightly warmer and more humid, but are otherwise still cloudy, grey, and unremarkable. The tedium of walking is occasionally interrupted by other travelers and small outposts, as well as one odd detachment of soldiers returning from the chitterwood. But in the overcast afternoon gloom, you can hear the squawking of ravens before you see them overhead. Not an astounding amount, but certainly enough that one might call it an unkindness.
As the sun begins setting you find yourself beset by mosquitoes. You estimate it will be about 3 days more of this nonsense, but one wouldn’t begrudge you for already having had enough of it.
After going to bed, Constantine lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling, tuning out the sounds coming from elsewhere in the inn, and attuning to the whispers that reach him from all around. In an unfamiliar, busy place like this, where thousands of people had been, it was like being in a crowd. It was white noise that was easy to tune out, unless you started focusing. Then you could pick out the individual voices and emotions, lingering on each one before it slid away. Anxiety. Anger. Heartbreak. Ecstasy. Contentment. Irritation. Pride. Disbelief. Red. Whiskey? Wait--follow that one.
The book on his chest rustles. Constantine gulps, flipping it over. In the moonlight, he can barely see the cracked leather and golden embossed lettering.
Being a Guide to the Traps, Poisons, and Hunting Techniques of the Savages of the Sargavan Colonies of Imperial Cheliax, for the Elucidation and Preservation of Loyal Subjects of House Thrune
What do you want?
Insistence. A pulse of warmth surges into Constantine's hand as the book falls open on his chest. One page hangs perfectly still in mid-air for a moment before flapping down. Constantine blinks. He couldn't see a damned thing in this light. Sighing, he slips a finger in between the pages and gently closes the book. With a yawn, he absentmindedly summons his mage hand knack to serve as the extra set of digits to help him pull more presentable clothing on. As he finishes double-knotting the laces on Drummady's boots, he pockets the room key in his pocket and gently exits the room.
The common room is still active, with a bleary-eyed half-orc polishing glasses behind the bar and a few pockets of people scattered around the room in mostly-quiet conversations. Constantine orders a glass of red and sits at a table by himself. Then he tries to open the book, only to find that it now resists him. He furrows his brow and tries not to look exasperated. He didn't want to tear the pages, so being forceful was...
"--remember that bloke with the pretty sword a few weeks back? the one with all the yarns. Karl Elias, I think it was?"
"Who?"
"Yeah, hair to match his nose like."
"That's half the people what come in here, Hans."
"Not me."
"Especially you!"
"You're a real rat bastard, Uwe."
Constantine's eyes widen and he tries not to look like he's listening in before he finds an excuse to go walk over to the table. A few late night rounds and a bit of flattery later, and Constantine is able to confirm that 1) Elias Kyle definitely came through here, that 2) he talked too much, and that 3) neither of these two believed a word he said about his current job or his adventuring career. After a wonderfully productive (and entertaining) hour, Constantine bids Hans and Uwe good night and goes back up to his room. On the way, still curious and near enough to sufficient light, he opens the book once more. Now it gives no resistance.
It's a recipe for tea made with a subtly poisonous root found in Sargava, along with notes on several methods to test for its presence. Constantine's eyebrow arches high and he chuckles to himself. Well all right then. Thanks, I suppose.
Gratitude.
---
Constantine shares this information over breakfast that morning, downing three cups of coffee and insisting that he'll be able to keep up in spite of having had only a few hours of sleep. He does not volunteer to help Hannelia with moving target practice during their comfort and meal breaks, instead finding the nearest rock or tree and dozing off for a few minutes. It was worth it.
---
The paving infrastructure here in Isger was decent thanks to Cheliax's long influence, but there is little else to stop and witness on the multi-day journey. Private homesteads dot the open fields with scattered outposts, as do burnt and hollowed out husks of buildings and scarred battlefields. Constantine is glad to while away most days listening to some of Roger's tall tales. Based on the reports they had gotten about Elias Kyle, he and Roger might actually get along. He's also happy to chat with the fellow travelers, even if only for a few moments. And if Majara is keen to it, Constantine asks if he might try speaking with her a bit in Gnome, which he has recently been trying to learn. He is pleasantly surprised when Hannelia joins in. A possible second language for the group?
But after the 11th time that he swats at his neck, swearing, Constantine breaks down and tries to remember whether he had packed any of that vermin repellent. To his increasingly irritating dismay, he finds that he hadn't.
Just a few more days...
Majara decides her mule will be named Blue and spends that evening in Mirisias grinding up indigo powder, oleander leaves, and other bits and bobs at a common room table (to the innkeeper's chagrin). She heads off to the stables with her bowl of dye and the next morning sees that Blue is certainly now living up to his name, his coat now dyed a color not entirely unlike Majara's own hair. "Now he's fit for a gnome," she says with some satisfaction should anyone comment on her handiwork.
***
When Constantine shares all that he has managed to overhear, Majara... gives him a nod of appreciation for the information gathering, though the news itself makes her purse her lips and bury her nose in a mug of tea that is sized for a human and is just about bucket-sized for the gnome.
"You've a way with people. Most of you do, actually." she says with a nod at Hannelia and Emma. "For myself, I'm easier with things that boil or melt."
The beat of a pause, and then the deadpan statement of, "People can, of course, but they tend to be uncooperative in the process."
***
Majara seems just as pleased to have solid ground under her (and Blue's) feet again, humidity notwithstanding. When the mosquitos begin to make an unpleasant appearance, Majara wordlessly rummages in her saddlebags and starts mixing a few vials together until she ties the final admixture to Blue's leg and lets the jostling of the mule's pace do some mixing. It's the next best thing to having an apprentice to task with stirring a pot!
Some ten minutes of mule-mixology later, Majara uncorks the bottle of a strong-smelling camphor paste. "Not proper vermin repellent," she pronounces with some criticalness for her own work. "I'd need a stable table and three days' soak-and-poke-and-stoke to get that. But. It will help. Rub on the back of your neck, around your eyes, and over the parts of your clothing where you are sweating the most."
The bottle is passed around and the paste goes quickly. Majara munches one of her remaining apple with a squint up at the sky, as if judging the chance for rain.
When Constantine proposes Gnomish nattering, she turns the same wary eye on him, her blue brows dancing expressively.
"If that's how you'd mitigate the minutes," she responds in the popping and hissing syllables of Gnomish. When Hannelia also expresses an ability to talk in the same tongue, Majara snorts but doesn't object.
"Fine, let's see what wit and words you will wield, my curious humans. Do you know when you're fluent in gnomeling? When you find a thing that has yet no name, missing a moniker, lacking a label, and then you yourself assign its appellation, a word that must likewise never have been said before. It can take some time. You're short-lived folk. You might die before the doing of the deed."
After some back and forth of establishing how much Hannelia and Constantine have learned of the tongue, Majara turns her gimlet eye on Constantine once again. "Now. Her composition I understand. Zuke's maker-mark is all over her, a signet ring in the wax of a girl; of course he taught her gnomespeech. But you? Why my people's language, ghost-talker? Looking for the shades of my sort? We're slippery. Talkative, yes, but tallfolk don't often bend to listen."
(Hannelia can take Majara's words as backhanded compliment or not as she pleases; Majara doesn't seem concerned with her reaction, anyway.)
***
As good as her word to Roger, each day Majara has given him a small vial at breakfast that contains a milk-colored liquid, faintly iridescent, with instructions to drink should he need the 'bulwark in a bottle.'
"You've a way with people. Most of you do, actually." she says with a nod at Hannelia and Emma. "For myself, I'm easier with things that boil or melt."
The beat of a pause, and then the deadpan statement of, "People can, of course, but they tend to be uncooperative in the process."
Emma blinks a few times in response to this, and then nods absently. "Well...yeah. I suppose that's true." Emma blinks a few more times. "Er, on several counts there. But you know, don't sell yourself short Majara - you never know what's going to be needed to reach particular people - I've found that it never hurts to have a wide variety of approaches on hand should a situation call for it. That's been one of our groups strengths so far I think."
Emma gives them a smile and begins to walk off. Hannelia follows and whispers something into Emma's ear.
A moment later, she comes hustling back to the group, a stricken look on her face. "Wait, wait! When I said, don't sell yourself short, I did not mean it as a pun!"
------------------
Day 12
Appreciative of Majara's obvious skills as an alchemist, Emma ends up using some of her own supply - previously bought from Majara, in fact. She laughs when Majara catches a glimpse of the bundle of repellent wrapped up in her pack.
"I'm not overly fond of insects, you might say," Emma says matter-of-factly as she applies the paste to herself. "Especially spiders..." she mutters in an undertone.
She listens as Majara, Constantine, and Hannelia converse in Gnomish, and wonders if perhaps she should look into learning the language herself. It wouldn't hurt to learn more languages, after all. As of now, she can only speak common - while certainly useful, she can see how it would be limiting to only know the one language. It might be something to look into after this job is done.
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Emma blinks a few times in response to this, and then nods absently. "Well...yeah. I suppose that's true." Emma blinks a few more times. "Er, on several counts there. But you know, don't sell yourself short Majara - you never know what's going to be needed to reach particular people - I've found that it never hurts to have a wide variety of approaches on hand should a situation call for it. That's been one of our groups strengths so far I think."
"I'm not," Majara says bluntly to Emma's wholesome words. "Stating fact. Not a value judgment. I comprehend the idea of specialization and teamwork to accomplish disparate goals."
A moment later, she comes hustling back to the group, a stricken look on her face. "Wait, wait! When I said, don't sell yourself short, I did not mean it as a pun!"
Majara gazes up unblinking at Emma for a long moment, staring into the paladin's earnest, apologetic face for what might feel like forever to the young paladin. Then the gnome just starts laughing, soft and soundless, shaking her head as she turns away to go back to her work.
Constantine is positively delighted when he walks up to see Majara having dyed her mule blue. She is already living up to his expectations of gnomishness (and surpassing them as one would expect a gnome to do). Gnomes were a wonderful batch of contradictions: expecting the unexpected didn't make their actions any easier to predict. It makes her praise even more welcome. (He also hopes that she's never actually boiled or melted a person and that it's one of her hypothetical conjectures.)
Once Majara consents to Gnomish conversation, Constantine grins and tries not to sound absolutely dreadful. He considered himself a naturally-gifted polyglot and believed that Gnomish lent itself to ever-more tremendous wordplay than Taldane, but it was true that fluency took ages to develop properly. His words are slow and measured so that he doesn't stumble over them, a far cry from Majara's quick staccato. He clearly speaks with a Taldane accent. As he lazily meanders about his speech, he tries not to ask Majara for too many clarifications, repetitions, or slow-downs, hoping that his ability to pick up context clues will elucidate any words or turns of phrase that he doesn't catch immediately. It's probably akin to speaking with a toddler: cute if you're in the mood for it, but not particularly stimulating for the adult.
<"If I die before naming a new thing, I will keep trying after I die,"> he responds with interminable slowness. His wit and gumption are still intact, even if he can't express himself as loquaciously or ostentatiously as he normally might. And the why? <"Ghosts come from anyone,"> he responds simply enough. <"And I like a..."> Oh chittering chafers on a chained-up chicken! <"How do you say> 'challenge?' <I can bend.">
Day 13
As you approach the moorish hinterlands, the path grows thinner and less well-kept. It seems nobody paves the roads this far east. Bushes, enormous patches of crab-grass, and other vegetation surround you as you follow the river. Trees also come into view, but not so dense that you could call it a forest.
The path is so thin you must walk single-file or walk through tall grass and off the dirt.
Just as you slap the six-hundredth mosquito off your neck, you hear the whimpering and howling of wolves up ahead. You see a trio of emaciated wolves running at full speed your way until they spot you and slow. They turn their head to look back and freeze in panic. They raise their hackles at you after a moment, but only cautiously approach.
You're able to detect a rustling coming from the two trees nearest the wolves. Something is about to get the drop on them. Thankfully, unless you approach them, you're likely to be out of the "something's" reach.
Tall grass will be considered difficult terrain.
Today Constantine had volunteered to lead the way, if for no other reason than a change of pace. Despite his knowledge of the geography of the country, it didn't help him follow the disappearing road any better. He just used a decent sense of direction and his sword to swat ineffectually at mosquitoes and vegetation in the way. It wasn't efficient, but...
"Hold!" Constantine throws his hand up as he hears the wolves, envisioning his father's sword growing heavier and sharper. As they came closer, Constantine thought that the behavior was strange. He was more of an expert on the supernatural rather than the natural, but wolves didn't come this close to people most of the time, did they? Especially not a large group.
Majara tenses in the manner of a person who knows the world around her is full of many predators larger than she is at the first howl of wolves. She spent more gold than she liked in Miresias for a doughty pony, trained to the clash of battle, even if she is using poor Blue more as packhorse than mount, but she's glad of it now, as he's not likely to panic or bolt.
She edges closer to Emma, but taking care to stay well behind the others in their armor, and one of her hands unerringly finds a vial on her bandolier, though doesn't pull it yet.
"They've stopped-- they're no more eager for a fight than us. They can't surround us as we stand. If they come too close to Mr. Fioritura-- I'll greet them with fire," the gnome whispers, eyes fixed on the nearest gaunt wolf.
Coming Aboard-
"Oh aye, though, once ye see enough of the world, ye see everyone's strange to somebody." Roger shrugs underneath the package of Pricknettle he's helping carrying above.
Once Aboard-
"Ah, there's nothing better than a boat you don't have to sail... Floating downstream's a dream." While excited to be aboard a boat once more, Roger is in no hurry to do anything once aboard, rather, in fact, quick to find himself a spot with mixed shade and sun to enjoy.
Misarias-
Roger can't help but chuckle at the recruiters, but shakes his head and tips his hat to them nonetheless as they move on.
He indeed takes the apple and nods to Majara before moving on.
"Aye, don't think these beasties are eager for the fight, even if they'll take if they have to. Something's not right though, don't approach 'em. Someone or something's hunting them."
Being wary, Roger draws his glaive and stands beside Connie and readies it to strike if a foe makes for them.
The wolves bark and snap their jaws at you before halting and whimpering. One of them releases a weak howl as the other two sniff. Their attention snaps to the trees just to their right, and they hunker down growling angrily a the treetops.
Something -no two somethings- drop down from the tree. Two of the wolves flee to the north before the ambush finds purchase, the other remains and attempts to cover the others' retreat with a reactive attack on their falling assailant.
The wolf's jaw pierces carapace! The falling creatures appear similar to a brown beetle or a crab, but without pincers and are approximately 3 feet around. Their legs appear to be hairy and each end in a point.
They look like giant Ticks! Just like the little ones but really big! In the far north where there are megafauna for them to parasitize, they behave like normal ticks, waiting in tall grass for larger creatures to pass by and latch onto. But in an environment where their prey is much smaller, they tend to be much more aggressive. They may actively hunt smaller prey like dogs, livestock and even humanoids.
A giant tick drains blood quickly, but once they've had their fill (usually not quite enough to kill an adult human), they tend to detach and crawl away.
But the falling insectoids take the opportunity to descend upon the wolf. One attempts to take the canine's back while the other has its attention. The one in front bites into the wolf and attaches using its clawed legs to maintain its hold. No blood exits the wound as the bug burrows its mandibles into fur and swallowed flesh.
Down the path you can now see the wolves' pursuers. A pack of these beetle-like insects that just dropped out of the trees!
"Abnormally large ticks," Majara says without any particular emotion past her initial startlement at the new arrivals. "Aggressive blood drinkers-- but if they have had their fill they'll wander off. I see no reason not to let nature take its course between the wolves and the ticks... as long as neither of them turn their gaze on us."
All the same, her small deft hands quickly snatch ingredients and a vial from her bandolier, twisting and mixing into a fizzy liquid that she drinks as soon as it's completed.
Hannelia glances at Emma as the huge ticks make their appearance, knowing how much she dislikes bugs. She might have a point here too, she concedes. "That seems to be a prudent course of action," she replies to Majara. She slips her bow off her shoulder to have it to hand should something threaten the group. Running her hand through her hair she keeps a wary eye on the developing ambush.
Constantine frowns slightly. Let nature take its course. Well, it was a sound idea, whether he liked it or not. He had no special care for wolves, nor a particular hatred of bugs like Emma. If they could strafe around, hopefully it would be better.
"Up, then--see if we can avoid this."
Constantine touches his shield to his armor. Thorny green lines appear on the breastplate as the metal takes on a light green sheen (if you look at it in the right light. Any extra deterrent would be good.
The companions wait to see if and when the creatures will approach. Allowing nature to run its course does seem to be the prudent solution. Emma stands side-by-side with Roger to form the front line to the rest of their companions as Constantine tries to head off the wolves.
The ticks advance on the wolves and the wolves in the tall grass attempt to run through Constantine. One of them is able to move quickly enough to bite. The other is hindered by the tall grass.
Constantine is dragged off his feet to the ground by the wolf! The other wolf takes the opportunity to get past him and start running towards the others. Constantine is allowed an Attack of Opportunity, but he's on the ground...
The wolf in the path continues to be torn apart by the two ticks as you look on in horror or indifference as the case may be.
The rest of the ticks pursuing the wolves scrabble and claw their way toward you and the wolves.
Constantine yowls as the wolf dives for his ankle, shoots past his guard, and drags him down to the ground. It didn't hurt that much--not enough to activate his mind barrier--but it was still a short, sharp shock. He would have been happy to live and let live, letting nature run its course or whatever Majara had said, but this dumb wolf had gone and attacked him! Constantine lashes back out in retaliation.
It was dangerous to stand up while flanked by two enemies. He was sure that there were ways to protect himself, but he couldn't figure them out right now. But he wasn't about to let himself be savaged either. After swiping at one wolf, he gives a swing at the other from behind his shield, ready to kick it in its dumb muzzle if it tried the same thing as its companion.
Majara purses her lips as they move from defensive huddle to attacking-- and one of the wolves scores a lucky drag down on Constantine.
"Hrmf. Perhaps if some of you assist Mr. Fioritura? I'll give the ones from the other direction to consider."
Majara dashes forward with sudden alacrity, her small limbs moving with the speed of whatever she just drank. She skids a little in the mud before the wolves and ticks, and then snatches a vial, twists it, shakes, and-- flings.
The bottle that Majara flings seems to roil with fire as it arcs-- and when it lands, it does so concussively, in a burst of fire and smoke.
"Aye lad, hold on and keep that shield up!" Roger moves to assist Constantine.
As the others snap into attack, Hannelia too follows suit. Gliding forward, she keeps as an eye on the creatures and an eye on the flora, looking for the optimum position to get a shot away. Catching up with Majara, but a few yards behind, she follows up the alchemist’s missile with one of her own. ”Here we go then, luck be with me,” she says quietly to herself.
Emma glances around - Roger seems to be on his way to help Constantine, and Hannelia is holding her own for the moment. Majara has moved away from the group, with a fair amount of enemies near her. Despite her dislike of insects, Emma lets out a sigh and begins making her way towards Majara, not wanting to leave their newest charge to face them on her own.
Last turn...
The wolf's bite injured the tick! But it still lives to drain more blood.
__________
Now.
Staggered by Constantine's blow, the northeastern wolf falls collapses into unconsciousness as it stumbles into Roger's blade in an attempt to flee.
The other wolf seems to deliberate whether it will continue to fight.
After only a moment's hesitation, the wolf decides it would be better to die by the sword than by getting the blood drained from its flesh. He lunges at Constantine.
_____
At the Path
Majara's firebomb strikes true as the tick isn't able to move deftly while grappling the wolf! It falls off and flails around on the ground as it begins dying.
The wolf burns too and begins dying!
Despite it dying, the other tick maintains its hold and continues to suck its blood.
And another attaches to the dying wolf to drain its blood.
The remaining ticks climb up the nearest tree, getting as close as they can to Emma. You can see the creatures' mandibles slavering from here as they scurry across the tree. They're clearly adept at climbing.
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Majara makes a noise of efficient satisfaction as her homemade explosive does the job, making some booms among the wolf and tick and raising the question of if she was indeed joking about exploding and melting people earlier....
"Miss Blackford. Mind the blast zone. Let me see if I can knock some of them out of the tree for you-- perhaps you'll hold a moment to see if I do."
Majara hums a little bit to herself, a cheerful dancing ditty, as she wrenches another vial from her person and lobs it neatly underhanded into the tree.
Majara eyes the distance between her and the overgrown bugs, and takes a few deliberate steps back.
Shaking her head as her shot flies well wide of the target, Hannelia feels rusty. It was all very well shooting the bags of flour with the contraption she and Constantine had rigged up on the boat - and she has to confess that she felt there had been a difference in her accuracy thanks to the care she has needed to take firing around her allies - but to suddenly be thrust back into the thick of a fight was different.
Glancing to her left she can see that Roger and Constantine seem to have things under control, one of the wolves already being downed. She winces a bit for the creature but she knows that under different circumstances the wolves and the group would simply have avoided each other. Up ahead of her, the ticks seem to be massing around Emma so she advances to draw level with Majara. With an easier shot lined up, she targets one of the giant bugs and looses an arrow. "Erastil guide my flight," she says as she releases the bowstring.
"Ye scurvy dog, get off 'im!" Roger advances forward over one wolf to attack the next.
Constantine grits his teeth in pain as the wolf grabs onto his leg once more. He kicks out trying to loose the canid off him and shouts. "Run, you dumb thing! I didn't want to--wasn't trying to--AAAGGGHHH!"
From the ground, Constantine nearly carves the wolf in half with a roar of anger and pain. He stands up, covered in blood and looking utterly furious.
Emma makes note of Majara and Hannelia and their positions behind her. Looking up at the ticks in the tree, Emma narrows her eyes somewhat; while she could draw her bow and take a shot at them, it seems unwise to do so if it'll leave her without her sword readied - realistically she'd only get a shot off at one anyway. Better for her to remain on guard and draw their attention, while Majara and Hannelia take aim from behind.
She bangs her sword against her shield and shouts up to the tree. "Hey! Come on! Down here!" she calls, trying to goad them with noise. Then she shudders a bit, despite herself. "Why is it always bugs?" she mutters to herself as an afterthought.
"I mean, ye did run right into the path they were trying to use to avoid us and escape, like ye were trying to get 'em." Roger shrugs, before extending a hand down to help Connie back onto his feet. Hopefully Emma could hold the line for now.