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Roger tries his own lookabout like Majara, but checks for all the common places one'd dumb a body after say, it's been sucked dry by Stirges, or a place what an ambush might of occurred, rather than eavesdropping.
Of course, any attempts at stealth are thwarted after Roger asks a local child if they've seen any bodies lately.
"Aye, that we should, that we should. Say, one last question? Was the payment heavy, too heavy to be comfortable luggin' round? Figure that'd help us determine whether he tried to hitch a ride or just hoof it."
The Mayor replies easily, "Mr. Kyle seemed comfortable enough with it. He had rucked his way here alone, and presumably made his way along alone."
A townsperson then places a hand on his sleeve and asks him a question. "Could you please tell Saul he can't just set up the Falling Stars all by hisself? It takes at least two men to carry those bales. And he'll absolutely need help with the tent." She stops and flashes a smile at Constantine.
The Mayor replies placatingly, "I'll talk to him Anya.
"Who is this?" She says, still smiling at Constantine, staring appraisingly. She's a pretty woman with blonde hair. A bit older judging by the lines creeping into her face.
He replies, "Oh, I ought to let them introduce themselves or I'll be sat her all day, but I'll do it this time, just for you. This here is Constantine... Sarini from Saringallow. Is that right? Haha!" he laughs and claps his hands together in an epiphany, "Are you the mayor's son up there or what? Can't say that I've ever actually been, but you must be, with that name!"
"In any case those are his friends. Say, Connie-can I call you Connie?-This is Anya Lupescu. Anya's husband needs a bit of help settin' up a fair game, would ya go help him out? Please and thank you."
The Mayor briskly walks with purpose, presumably to talk to Anya's husband before you get there.
Anya puts a hand on Constantine's forearm guiding him away. "He's right over here dear." As you begin away from the rest of the group, she says, "Well aren't you just a fine specimen. I been lookin' for a suitor for my daughter Shel. She'll be Founder's Feast Queen this evenin'. Well, its not decided yet, but she's the most beautiful of this bunch, if you'll excuse me tootin' my own horn. Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure I’m bein’ too forward. She really is a wonderful young lady. You'll see when I introduce you two.”
As you come into view of a burly older gentleman with a full salt and pepper beard and a green tunic carrying a hay bale, she barks, ”Saul! You can’t be doin’ that all by yourself. How’re you thinking you were going to get the tent up?” His eyes narrow at Constantine and he mumbles something monosyllabic, although it's unclear whether it was affirmative or not. She introduces you, ”Honey, this here is Constantine, he’s from up north, past the Woods. He’s gonna help you set up the Fallin’ Stars.”
Saul gives a sigh and offers another grunt, ”ok. come.” He doesn’t offer much more in the way of conversation as he directs you to pick up hay bales and the aforementioned tent. He also has several boxes of blades in various states of rust. Upon inspection, you can tell they are starknives, a circle of four blades with a handle in the center.
”Those are falling stars. It’s for the festival game. Long long time ago, Ravenmoor’s Founder, Iola Kreigler used ‘em some aside from her spear. We only use ‘em for the festival to celebrate her.”
”Ol’ Iola saved the town back then from a blight. Killed all the crops they say. But by the grace of the Dream Tender, she brought the sign of a fallin’ star and the druids from the woods and the crops came back. Saved the whole town.”
____
Majara’s blue hair and unusual heritage do nothing to conceal her intentions. But her height and her hood seems to let her get away with pretending to be a child for long enough to hear an interesting tidbit.
”Them folks been askin’ questions.”
”The strange folk? ‘Bout the tax collector?”
”Yeah, ‘bout the tax collector. You think they gonna try takin’ advantage of the Mayor like that redhead feller? He’s got a hidden safe with the town coffers up there. ”
”Does it matter?” Though Majara can’t see the faces of the two men talking, there’s clearly an implied understanding in the silence.
”Chenowitz Place?” The other says carefully.
The other makes a hissing, ”Shhhh.”
One of them says, ”Hey there, is that Lucy Korzha over there? Everything aright swee-?” he stops as his face comes into view. ”Oh. It's you.”
He looks you in the eye, then out at the crowd. He licks his lips nervously and says slowly, ”You uh, hear anythin’?”
______
Anya Lupescu adds, ”The Trading post is just down the road in the square . It’s the only store in town, unless you count the weaver and the barber. My daughter Shel should be minding the store.”
There is one store more or less in town, a large building with a pair of hanging signs reading Trading Post and Smithy. As you enter, you can hear a girl’s voice reciting, ...and so the crops’ corruption was lured away on the soft wings of dreaming moths.- Oh! I didn’t see you there. A young woman comes into view walking down an isle of nicknacks and rope. She wears her long blond hair down and a clean, pleated, forest green dress.
I was just rehearsing for my big night.” She fixes her dress and curtsies, ”I’m Shel Lupescu, pleasure to make your acquaintance. What’re your names?”
______
You dip out and away from the flow of people going to and from the festival preparations and see an old rotting building poking out above a large but wild cornfield. You make your way over to the building and find that its an abandoned looking farmhouse. Its windows are boarded up. And an old barn with a sagging roof looms behind it, a reminder of more productive times. A wicker-and-gourd scarecrow of a moth-winged woman leans against a rickety frame in the front yard.
Just as you happen upon it, you notice Ornigaard play fighting with a stick in the cornfield. Just as you ask him if he’s seen any bodies, he barely gets the chance to say ”Uh… no but-” Someone else snaps at you from behind, ”Hey! You’re not allowed to be here! Its dangerous, that building could collapse if you went in there. Korzha boy, get back to yer ma and pa.
There are two men with odd patchwork robes in the path behind you. One of them is the one shouting at you. It seems likely that they followed you here.
The two have bulges in their robes that are clearly concealed weapons. They may mean you harm once the boy is out of the way.
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Majara gazes unblinkingly up at the man and his wary question.
"No. Clearly not."
Even odds as to whether she means that with extremely deadpan sarcasm, or if she actually thinks she has a chance of being believed.
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"What? No aye, maybe for the kiddoes, but why, I've sailed in ships twice this rotten! Through the very Eye of Abendego! See, it's perfectly-" Roger in his attempt to demonstrate how tough the building was accidentally tore a chunk of rotting trim from the farmhouse window. "-safe... cause I know exactly what can break!" Roger taps the rotted wood against his noggin with his best conspiratorial wink.
"Why, I feel so safe I bet I could jig around in it, I bet!" Roger sets to a jaunty jig, for a lumbering pirate.
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Anya Lupescu adds, "The trading post is just down the road in the square. It’s the only store in town, unless you count the weaver and the barber. My daughter Shel should be minding the store."
There is one store more or less in town, a large building with a pair of hanging signs reading Trading Post and Smithy. As you enter, you can hear a girl’s voice reciting, "...and so the crops’ corruption was lured away on the soft wings of dreaming moths.- Oh! I didn’t see you there." A young woman comes into view walking down an isle of nicknacks and rope. She wears her long blond hair down and a clean, pleated, forest green dress.
"I was just rehearsing for my big night." She fixes her dress and curtsies, "I’m Shel Lupescu, pleasure to make your acquaintance. What’re your names?"
"Thank you, Anya, that's very helpful," replies Hannelia. She is mildly concerned for Constantine as he is steamrollered by the woman but there's little she can do as their companion is firmly led away to make use of the fine physical form she had been openly checking out. To Emma she says, "Trading post seems worth checking out then. Perhaps the barber and weaver too for the sake of completeness? But first things first."
The store is easy enough to find given its location in the central hub of the village and the clear signing. As they approach, in a low voice, she says to Emma, "Shall we go and meet the future Mrs Sarini then?"
Entering, they hear a girl's voice talking to herself, clearly rehearsing for something. Putting together what Shel's mother had said with the information from Viorec Korzha, Hannelia surmises the girl is reciting the village's history in preparation for the feast this evening. Appraising Shel, she looks very much like a younger version of her mother - blonde and pretty, with the confidence that comes with it - and it's easy to see why the girl is expecting to be named queen for the day.
Back in her standard practical adventuring trousers, she cannot return the girl's curtsy but gracefully inclines her head and torso forward in a respectful but not deep bow - honest courtesy but without the fawning necessary for so many Chelaxian nobles. "Hi Shel," she says cheerfully, "I'm Hannelia Venator and this is Emma Blackford. It's lovely to meet you too." Ordinarily she perhaps wouldn't have bothered with her family name for a greeting but after the girl offered hers, to fail to do otherwise could possibly be perceived as rude. Perhaps Shel is simply proud to be a Lupescu. Which is probably fair enough - from the little we've seen of them and the fact they run a business at the heart of the village, they probably do have some kind of social standing in Ravenmoor.
"If there's anything that you'd like to draw our attention to among your wares then please do, otherwise we're happy to browse. And please, don't mind us - if you need to practice for tonight then go ahead. We're really looking forward to the Founder's Feast and I'd love to hear more about Ravenmoor and its founders. I do love a good story," she adds, with genuine enthusiasm.
The man looks at the crowd then at Majara again, appearing to weigh his options. He bends over to your eye level. "You bein' funny, gnome?" he spits. "Whatever you think you heard, you didn't. Don't concern you none, ya hear? Watch your step, and don't be makin' a fool of yerself." He warns. Some people are starting to watch and murmur at this point. The man seems to take notice of this and stands to his full height. "Run along now."
Then he says loud enough for the onlookers to hear, "Now I ain't took offense, but you be careful who you say stuff like that to, little gnome." He says.
He waits for you to start walking away.
________
There really is not much of interest to you here. There are farm implements and simple weapons. An abundance of spears and sickles in both categories. As well as several boxes of rusty starknives, ”Those are for the game tonight.” Shel will tell you. Ropes and buckets, and a pretty hand mirror and other useful items in a small farming community. She indicates you can buy whatever else you might be interested in.
"If there's anything that you'd like to draw our attention to among your wares then please do, otherwise we're happy to browse. And please, don't mind us - if you need to practice for tonight then go ahead. We're really looking forward to the Founder's Feast and I'd love to hear more about Ravenmoor and its founders. I do love a good story," she adds, with genuine enthusiasm.
Shel brushes her hair to one side and blushes. ”Well I-” she stutters.
”Well I think I can do that. I could use the practice. I’m a shoe-in for Founder’s Feast Queen, but best be safe than sorry.”
She clears her throat then begins to speak in a more high brow tone than most people in town.
”Many years ago, our forefathers in Ravenmoor came together to build a community out in the country. Away from the wars and politics of Cheliax and Elidir. Several families joined. The Korzhas, the Chenowitzs and the Kreiglers were among them.”
”The people of Ravenmoor prospered away from the boot and shadow of kings and nobility. Their governance was just and the land thrived under their care. Until one fateful day when the crops fell blighted and the calf laid stillborn. The Chenowitz family’s corn field was the first to fall fallow.” her eyes downcast. Whether that is earnest or part of the performance is difficult to say.
”Iola Kreigler, the Matron of the Kreigler house and a Priest of the Dream Tender embarked into the woods on a Dream Quest. When she emerged, she was followed by starlit moths and a pair of druids who vowed to save the town. Iola had emerged metamorphosed as a true Champion of the Dream Tender, and took up Her holy spear, the symbol of the shooting stars which heralds the Dream Tender’s return.”
”And so the crops’ corruption was lured away on the soft wings of dreaming moths and Iola Kreigler and her druidic advisors led the town into prosperity and peace. That is why each month we celebrate her, for bringing life back to our lives in a dark time in our history.”
She giggles, somewhat embarrassed now that she’s finished, and says ”So what'd you think?”
The air is tense. As if the slightest spark could ignite it.
As Roger goes over to the house to pull the rotted board off the side, the two men try to tell him to stop, exaggeratedly waving their hands and screaming, ”No don’t go inside!” Then they both seem to sigh in relief once you pull the board off and nothing happens after a beat.
”Mister. I’m gonna need you to come with us.” One of the men growls.
Ornigaard cries, ”Mister Jeb, yer ascarin’ me!”
The man named Mister Jeb shushes Ornigaard, ”Hey little bud. Nuttin’ to be scared ‘bout here. You just run along now. The stranger and us got to talk is all. The Chenowitz Place is forbidden. You know that, right? You just run along.”
Ornigaard looks forlornly up at you Roger. ”Are you gonna be alright? I don’t want you to get kicked out. We only just met.”
"This here is Constantine... Sarini from Saringallow. Is that right? Haha! Are you the mayor's son up there or what? Can't say that I've ever actually been, but you must be, with that name!"
Constantine purses his lips together and shakes his head. "No, but I'm friendly with the mayor," he responds. And leaves it at that.
He squares his shoulders when asked if Connie is fine and gives a noncommittal shrug. He hadn't gone by Connie since he was a child. The only person that he accepted calling him Connie without much resistance was Sirio, who had done it...since forever. Roger had taken to it without asking, almost as soon as they had met, but Constantine had let him go along with it, mostly because of the sheer difference in age between them. It felt awkward to correct your elders.
"Of course, Mayor Kriegler," he offers as the mayor takes his leave. "And," he turns to Anya Lupescu and offers a hand of greeting, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lupescu." He's surprised when she instead takes his arm and begins guiding him away, his face turning red as she begins discussing specimens and suitors and such. He's almost glad that she prattles the whole way to meeting her husband so that he doesn't have to respond to all that.
Constantine does as he is told. Saul Lupescu seems much less keen on trying to size Constantine up as potential marriage material (thank the Everbloom), and less keen on conversation as a whole. But as the young man helps with the setup, both heavy and sharp, he certainly takes an interest in what to him seems obvious as a starknife, and another sure sign of Desnan worship here in town. So he asks and gets a bit of the town's history.
"It sounds Iola Kriegler was quite the woman," Constantine says. "I've seen these...falling stars," using Saul's term, "From other folk who worship the, uh, Dream Tender." He thinks for a moment, and comes up with an idea. "Mr. Lupescu, if you want I can try to scrub some of the rust off. I have a spell that might be able to restore these to their former glory."
Majara's eyes narrow momentarily as she gazes up at the man twice her size. Her fingers twitch a little, swaying at her side near her hip pocket that contains incendiaries.... 'Run along now.' Bigfolk and their... patronization...
But Pricknettle hasn't gotten to where she is today by letting her whimsies control her. She fixes a bright smile on her face (it looks wholly artificial, and rather TOO bright) and bobs her head several times at the man.
"Oh sir, yessir! I'll be SO careful!"
She waits for no response, but turns to walk skip away, as Gnomishly as possible. Once out of sight of the man, she resumes her normal stride, albeit at a quickened pace, speed-walking through the crowd as she looks for the rest of her companions.
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"Maybe we could go and see if there are any shops, Emma?" she suggests. "I'm not expecting much in such a small place but I assume there must be at least a trading post of some description? The owner will likely know what's happening in town and probably isn't a bad person to try and befriend."
Emma smiles gratefully. She's a bit overwhelmed by the bustle of activity around them. "Yes, that would work for me."
”The Trading post is just down the road in the square . It’s the only store in town, unless you count the weaver and the barber. My daughter Shel should be minding the store.”
"Thank you ma'am," Emma says with a polite nod, fighting a slight smile as the woman leads Constantine away by the arm. Hopefully Constantine would be able to take advantage of Anya's interest and get some more information from the woman.
The mayor was obviously brushing them off as quickly as he could - though the mayor likely was in fact busy with a lot of the prep work for the festival, she was becoming increasingly certain that he was hiding something from them. She just wasn't sure what it was. Certainly a part of it was due to the fact that they were outsiders looking to poke into town business; it was only natural to be suspicious of their intent for showing up and asking pointed questions. The mayor could very well just be the sort of politician that was always up to something, without his intentions being nefarious. It's entirely possible that he had nothing to do with Elias's disappearance. It was also possible that he was directly involved. It was a moot point until they had more information.
"Trading post seems worth checking out then," Hannelia says, breaking into her thoughts. "Perhaps the barber and weaver too for the sake of completeness? But first things first."
"Sounds like as good a place as any to start. The barber and weaver are possibilities, though I'll admit, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about all of this." Emma lets out a small sigh. "Perhaps it's just the thought of Roger and Majara on their own in this crowd. But I won't let that distract me."
They continue on towards the shop, pausing briefly before entering. Emma can barely make out a woman's voice from inside, sounding as though she were rehearsing something.
"Shall we go and meet the future Mrs Sarini then?" Hannelia asks.
At this, Emma lets out a loud but undignified snort of a laugh, and it takes her a moment to regain her composure. "Yes, lets," she says with a smile. "If we make a good impression, perhaps we can be in the wedding."
"...and so the crops’ corruption was lured away on the soft wings of dreaming moths-- Oh! I didn’t see you there. I was just rehearsing for my big night. I’m Shel Lupescu, pleasure to make your acquaintance. What’re your names?”
Much to her embarrassment, Emma is actually struck a bit speechless at the sight of Shel. It's obvious to see why she's going to be a contender for the title of queen at the festival. She finds herself blushing slightly. Thankfully, Hannelia handles the introductions while Emma comes back to her senses. She clears her throat and makes a show of inspecting some of the spears on display, hoping the blush isn't as obvious as she fears it might be.
Neither the place nor the time! she chides herself.
At Hannelia's prompting, Shel launches into a story about Ravenmoor's history of it's founding and of the festival. Whether or not it's accurate, she can't say - she'd have to consult official records to be sure of that. But regardless, it's a well told story, and she finds herself smiling at the end of it.
"That was very well done! You have a gift for telling stories it would seem," Emma says, nodding to Shel. "And quite informative - we're not especially familiar with the area, you see."
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As things take a turn, Roger stops his dancing and pauses. "Ah, you go ahead and go home kiddo, I think me and them are just having a little misunderstanding." Roger looks down at the kid and waves him along, before looking up at Jeb with a smile.
"See, something about this place scares 'em. Scares 'em so bad they'd rather pick a fight with me than let me pick a fight with it. And that means we've got a big ole misunderstanding on our hands." Roger straightens up and cracks his neck a little, and starts his conversation a little slow to give Ornigaard some time to move on.
"I don't begrudge any man the carrying o' weapons. Dangerous world Golarion is, no matter which corner of it you call home. But, I think you two might not be seeing aaaall the angles here." He points at where each of the men are carrying concealed weapons.
"This here's a Nodachi. Blade I took from a vessel whose crew I defeated in combat. Curvy and tall ain't she, right proper lady." He pulls the weapon from his back and stabs it into the soft ground, sheath-tip first on his right.
"But not as tall as this Glaive! Shiny steel here near the tip, aye? Cold-iron for slaying demons, and oooh, demon blood she's tasted." Roger places the Glaive butt first to his left.
"Ah, and this beaut, masterful Falchion, brutal and sharp, built to tear. She's a trophy from one of them bugbears. Lemme tell ya, those bugbears are more bear than bug or goblin, a head taller than a man, full of muscle and a hide'll turn a blade, and this one was blessed by dark powers and full of unholy magic." Roger shows off the Masterwork Falchion, but this one stays in his hands.
"So, considering as I'm not hiding my blades, but in fact, carrying three of them openly while also in armor-" Roger briefly pulls aside his coat to reveal the armor more openly, just in case they missed it. "-let's dispense of any possible misunderstandings we're all under."
"Number one, there's a monster in there, and you're trying to keep me from rousin' it and making it angry, when you should be telling me about it so I can rid ye of it. Can be all professional about it if ye like, pull the whole team. Not a one of them in town are softer than me, not even the Gnome! She's packing enough firepower to blow the whole farmhouse-nay, the whole Ravenmoor up if you made her mad enough."
"Number two, there's something in there you'd rather not I find out about, and you think you two have any hope in Hell of stopping me through violent means."
"So- care to tell me what sorta misunderstanding we've got? Feel free to let me know if it's something else what's the matter. I said my piece and the little one's scampered, so I'm all ears." Roger smiles, tapping the Falchion against his outstretched hand.
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You flee the scene, looking out for signs of your companions. You're able to find Constantine setting up some carnival game involving bales of hay, a starting line, and four-bladed throwing knives (starknives) and a tent to keep shade.
Townsfolk look on and whisper to each other as you approach him and a larger-than-usual male human with a black and gray beard and a green tunic.
Saul doesn't quite smile, but he gives an affirmative grunt and raises an eyebrow in an expression of pleasant surprise. Whether it was from your offer to clean and go above and beyond or simply because you addressed him properly as "Mr. Lupescu" is difficult to tell.
As you set to work using magic to scrub the starknives clean, Saul nods his thanks. You also see Majara walk into view.
He asks furtively, "You uh say other worshippers of the 'Dream Tender' carry those? What for? Her symbol is the Spear."
"That was very well done! You have a gift for telling stories it would seem," Emma says, nodding to Shel. "And quite informative - we're not especially familiar with the area, you see."
"Oh I'm sorry of course not!" she laughs nervously. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and looks down. "Probably not too much to see out this way for a city knight like yourself.” She giggles again, mirthful.
She seems to hedge, hopeful, ”If you have a little time after the feast, I could… show you around? I’ve never met a knight before so you could tell me more about it!”
Apparently remembering Hannelia is still in the store too she adds, ”I can also show y’all around the store right now! We’ve got an eel and clam chowder in the pot. Can I getcha a bowl?”
Made ya look. She's being mostly honest, if not entirely clear.
Ornigaard leaves through the main path giving one last glance before he’s out of sight.
****
As you display your weapons, the two men seem to lose their nerve a bit, but when you finish, Jeb gives a slight mirthless chuckle. He draws a sickle from within his robes. The other man does the same. You can tell they do not wear armor beneath their robes.
He points it at you. ”Go on in then. It’ll make my night easier.”
”Walk.” he orders.
What do you do?
At the sight of steel, Roger is already in motion. The moment the men decided to draw steel, Roger was committed to act. Jeb barely had time to get a word or two into his own threat before the pirate was on them.
Constantine is the first one Majara happens to catch sight of, with his rust-colored armor drawing the eye. She picks her pace up further, giving the big human he's with barely a cursory glance as she beelines to Constantine's side.
"Bublezook nermling gwitzingham--"
She flashes another tinnily bright smile up at Constantine's discussion partner then glances at what they're doing. "Oh. Are we cleaning? I might have solvents that could help. Hello. My friend likes to practice his command of my language when he can."
Before Majara arrives, Constantine tries to keep his surprise at Saul's assertion to a minimum. Desna's symbol--a spear? No, that didn't make any sense. Her symbol was the butterfly, and her favored weapon the starknife. Maybe the Dream Tender referred to a different deity. An ally of Desna's maybe?
There was a short list of gods and demigods that made a spear of some fashion their favored weapon. Constantine tries to think of someone like that who might be friendly with Desna. Maybe Acavna, the ancient Azlanti goddess of the moon?
"Oh?" he responds. "My mistake, then," he says, not wanting to contradict the man. "I guess maybe the Dream Tender revealed herself in the falling stars to other followers."
The occultist starts in on the mental scouring of rust, adding some (unnecessary but realistic) chanting and hand motions to make it clear that he was using magic. He waves at Majara as she approaches and once more keeps his face placid as she rattles off her intelligence.
"Mr. Saul Lupescu, this is Ms. Majara Pricknettle. Ms. Pricknettle--Mr. Lupescu. And if it's all right with Mr. Lupescu, I'd love some help! This spell takes some time."
Then he switches into Gnomish as he begins dividing out the workload. One of the easy things about Majara's language as he had been learning it so far was that its tonal structure seemed (to his ear at least) to be prone towards cheerfulness even when discussing something dire, so that he didn't need to try too hard to conceal his concern.
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"Agreed," says Hannelia in response to Shel's oratory performance, for a well-rehearsed performance it certainly was. "That was a well-told tale. And as Emma says, fascinating to find out about the history of Ravenmoor, something which we were sadly ignorant of, and explains the loyalty to the Dream Tender." Hannelia absently tucks a strand of hair behind her own ear, a reflexive action for her and perhaps in this instance subconsciously mirroring the girl.
She's still processing the story and its potential meanings and significance - most tales shift and change over time depending on the perspective and views of the storyteller and the purpose of the narrative - while Shel fawns over Emma. Is she... flirting with her? Well now, that might explain her mother's reaction towards Constantine and the desire to marry off her daughter to seemingly the first eligible bachelor. Hannelia is very much a live-and-let-live person when it comes to matters of the heart but she knows that not everyone is so inclined and Ravenmoor is clearly an isolated community where such views may be less common. She then chides herself for her own prejudice for assuming this; it's not like Saringallow is a huge place and she's sure she'd probably feel like a small-country girl in a metropolis like Absalom. Either way, it piques her interest and she makes a mental note to keep an eye on the situation.
Maybe it's slightly clumsy teenage fumbling with words but the girl is perhaps laying it on a bit thick, not to mention quite forward. While Hannelia doesn't think she's lying about anything - her enthusiasm seems genuine and Shel seems a lot less guarded than most of Ravenmoor - her years of dealing with diverse clients does mean that she senses a wrong note somewhere. Perhaps the girl is hiding something, or isn't quite telling the whole truth. Definitely one to watch here.
Thinking about some of the more exotic delicacies and cuts of meat that they had just seen being prepared, Hannelia is quick to agree to the offer of some fish stew. "That chowder sounds great, thank you. I was wondering what it was I could smell and the feast is still a few hours way." As the girl ladles up steaming broth and hands her an unadorned but decently made bowl, she picks up the thread of the conversation.
"Emma's probably far too modest to tell you about her exploits, and she'd be right in saying that we're a team and everyone brings something to the party," she says. "But she's a fine swordswoman and, more importantly, her courage can't be questioned. She leads from the front and will always put herself in harm's way to protect others - and Iomedae knows her heart is true." As well as wanting to see how the conversation develops, Hannelia is never unhappy with an opportunity to boost her friend's self-confidence. "Oh, and she's a great dancer too," she adds slyly. While she still feels in control of the conversation, Hannelia has to admit she's enjoying herself and can't resist having a little gentle fun.
"Robbing the town or robbing us? And are you okay?"
Majara makes a light snorting noise in her throat even as she rummages amid her bandoliers for a nice rust-removing philter.
(Gellion could attest to Majara's annoying habit of answering questions with sarcastic questions, if he were here.)
"It's a pleasure to take your measure, Mr. Lupescu, how do you do and may I help with your treasures?" she rattles off to the human, perhaps some of her Gnomish speech tendencies carrying over absentmindedly into the common tongue.
Constantine chuckles. That was fair.
Jeb falls under the edge of your bugbear trophy. He gets an unintelligible yelp which is cut just as short as his life before his sickle sinks in the loamy earth.
The other one observes the swift and deadly killing machine in front of him and loses his nerve. He curses loudly, quickly, and prolifically and starts running, straight into the cornfield. You may be able to catch him, but you’re going to have to move quickly before he can get to the village and tell everyone you just killed Jeb.
______
As Constantine has perhaps become familiar with, Saul Lupescu gives very few words. He nods and says simply, ”Good to meet ya.” With nary a change of facial expression He makes a face at the gnomish being spoken between you but he otherwise says nothing. He sets out the starting line and then says. ”Be right back. Got ta go get the rest of the fallin’ stars and tick legs.”
If you offer to come help carry more things he won’t stop you, but as you’re predisposed, he’d rather be working than sitting and watching you.
_____
She smiles and laughs at that. She’s still red, but she manages to get out, ”Look, uh, ya ain’t have to believe me. But I’m usually more put together than this.” As she tries to spoon some stew into a bowl for Hannelia. She stumbles a bit instead and spills. "Usually."
Constantine has been happy that Saul seems less keen on trying to marry his daughter off, at least overtly. "We'll keep working with these falling stars and wait until you get back. Thank you, Mr. Lupescu."
After he walks away, Constantine grouses back in Taldane to Majara. "Saul hasn't brought it up, but his wife Anya started sizing me up immediately as a prospective suitor for her daughter." He rolls his eyes. "Have you ever been married, Majara? I don't know if that sort of thing is common among gnomes."
Majara eyes the back of the disappearing human before shrugging a little to herself. "He didn't say no. Rust solvent it is."
Constantine's exposition, and question, make her shrug in much the same manner that she shrugged at the retreating Saul Lepescu. "Oh, three or four times. Depends on the digits for multiples. Some gnomes marry; we take it to less permanently than your people, perhaps. What's the daughter's disposition? Two men were discussing the mayor has a safe with the town's wealth. Then they changed to asking each other about the-- Chenowitz place-- perhaps the location of the safe? Perhaps unrelated. Then, unfortunately, I was noticed." There's a gnomish scowl at the last; other than that Majara displays little emotion with her quick-patter conversation, moving from the matter of marriages to the girl to what she overheard with zero acknowledgment of her subject shift.
Three or four times? Including a spate of polygamy? Well that was a curious surprise.
"I have no idea," Constantine admits to Majara's question of him. "Her mother says she's 'the most beautiful of this bunch' and 'a wonderful young lady.' I--" Constantine shakes his hand as he telekinetically raises one of the starknives in the air, spinning it around to check the progress on its rust-scouring. So far so good, and onto the next one. "I want to be friendly. Most of these folk seem like good people. But the presumption was just...agh."
Constantine moves on as well, happy to shift with Majara onto other topics. "After we finish here, maybe we can scope out the Chenowitz Place? If there are thieves and we can stop them, it could help deflate suspicion and further engender us to the townsfolk."
"Oh, you haven't met her yet," Majara says, as that's clarified. She makes no remark on the presumption of the townsfolk, though smiles a bit sharply.
"Yes. Difficulty: Where IS the Chenowitz place? Shall we ask a townsperson? And then it will be recalled that we asked right before its robbery? Assuming we don't succeed superlatively," she rattles off with a slight nose-scrunch.
"Let's remove the rust rapidly, reunite with the rest."
Constantine tilts his head. "Asking...right." He shrugs. "This is one of those situations where I wish I had studied divination. It's easier to hide and less likely to arouse suspicion."
The occultist lapses away into more idle chit-chat, flowing in between Gnomish and Taldane as either he or the alchemist feel the spirit move. Majara and Constantine had worked out a decently fast rust-scouring system between alchemical and occult means. Dipping the knives in Majara's solvent and then raising them up to expose them to sunlight and fresh air while Constantine used his knack for transmutative mending seemed to go much faster than either method on its own. Saul wasn't back yet and they were almost done with this batch.
"It was one thing when we were asking questions around Saringallow," Constantine adds, shifting back to the previous topic almost as easily as they had shifted away. "You all already knew Hannelia, Roger, and Talon. And you already had your suspicions that something was going on in town. But here, we're all unknown. We're piecing together what we can, but..."
The last bit of rust scrapes harmlessly off the starknife and Constantine gently lowers it into the box. He stands up and stretches, looking around for Saul to inform him that they were going to go offer their help elsewhere since they were done here. "Were they all gnomes, by the way?"
"Small towns are the worst for this," Majara agrees matter-of-factly. "Suspicious of outsiders-- at best, if not outright hostile, to any who are different. The greater the deviation, the greater the danger. There's a reason I settled in a trade city with a diversity of denizens."
Majara wipes some rust flakes from her hands and brushes them off on her trousers. "No. Another point in favor of larger settlements."
She seems less than inclined to wait for Lepescu's return, even if Constantine is-- she gives it a bare minute or two before clearly intending to head back out on her own, whether or not Constantine means to join her.
"Oh I'm sorry of course not!" she laughs nervously. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and looks down. "Probably not too much to see out this way for a city knight like yourself.” She giggles again, mirthful.
She seems to hedge, hopeful, ”If you have a little time after the feast, I could… show you around? I’ve never met a knight before so you could tell me more about it!”
Apparently remembering Hannelia is still in the store too she adds, ”I can also show y’all around the store right now! We’ve got an eel and clam chowder in the pot. Can I getcha a bowl?”
"Oh, uh, I mean...I'm a paladin, not strictly speaking a knight, though I suppose there are similarities in duties..." Emma says, finding herself suddenly stumbling over her words. Shel was likely just being polite with the strangers in town. "I don't know how much I count as a city knight per se - I spent most of my life in Piren's Bluff and then most recently in Saringallow. This is quite literally the furthest I've been from home. I'm definitely getting a chance to see some exotic locales! But certainly, I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have - my friends and I are here on business, but I should have some time later...should...you know, should time permit..." She glances over at Hannelia helplessly.
Fortunately for Emma, Hannelia steps into the awkward wake of her ramblings. "That chowder sounds great, thank you. I was wondering what it was I could smell and the feast is still a few hours way," Hannelia tells Shel.
"Oh, yes. Yes! That's true. It does smell rather good," Emma puts in with a smile.
"Look, uh, ya ain’t have to believe me. But I’m usually more put together than this.” As Shel tries to spoon some stew into a bowl for Hannelia, she stumbles a bit instead and spills the contents on the counter a bit, letting out a muffled curse in the process. "Usually."
"Don't worry about it. I always tend to put the wrong foot forward most of the time," Emma assures Shel. "Thankfully, usually not in combat. But outside of that, I'm quite often clumsy."
"Emma's probably far too modest to tell you about her exploits, and she'd be right in saying that we're a team and everyone brings something to the party," Hannelia continues as Emma suddenly finds herself stiffening up in surprise. "But she's a fine swordswoman and, more importantly, her courage can't be questioned. She leads from the front and will always put herself in harm's way to protect others - and Iomedae knows her heart is true." Emma doesn't miss the over the shoulder teasing look that Hannelia sends her way. "Oh, and she's a great dancer too," she adds slyly.
"I mean, that was...unusual circumstances...and a bit of luck...um, I don't know if I'd use the word great..." is all Emma is able to come up with. Well, who could blame her? I'm a paladin for Iomedae's sake, not a bard! And wait - does that mean Shel was flirting with her? Truly? Emma isn't sure what to do with that information.
She doesn't even really know if that kind of thing is allowed. It wasn't exactly information her mother had offered up, and more to the point, it wasn't something she felt comfortable asking. As it had never come up in a concrete way, she just...didn't mention anything regarding it.
And what of Constantine? She knows they'd been mostly joking on their walk to the store about the mom trying to set Shel up with him, but Anya may not exactly find it amusing. Not that Emma would expect anything much to happen - they are here on business, after all, and not likely to stay beyond that.
But...
She was trying to come more into her own. To not live under the shadow that she'd been under since leaving Piren's Bluff.
"Ahem - anyway - my dancing skills aside, like I said, I'd be happy to answer any questions you may have, and have you show me around time, should time and circumstances work out," Emma says with a nervous smile.
Emma's flustered state draws equal parts sympathy and mirth from Hannelia, though she keeps her face strictly neutral. As the paladin blusters through a rambling response to Shel's question of an evening stroll, she shoots Hannelia a quick look of helplessness. In response she receives a slight nod of support and to indicate that as far as her friend is concerned, Emma is doing just fine.
She does step in though, to try and keep things from becoming completely awkward, though Shel spilling the soup suggests that neither of the other women are entirely put together right now.
Easing the conversation along she sings her companion's praises before carefully lobbing a compliment bomb to wrongfoot Emma as easily as Majara had thrown her alchemical devices at the giant ticks. In fairness, Emma's dancing had been impressive and had got them out of a tight spot, though Hannelia had succeeded at her aim of raising colour on the Iomedan's cheeks once more.
Taking her own fun out of the equation, Hannelia isn't actually sure how her friend feels about the situation. Her embarrassment is obvious and her standard inability to deal with praise has risen its modest head too, a discomfort Hannelia is on a mission to rectify in order to build up her confidence. Beyond that, she realises that she has no idea how Emma might actually feel about Shel, other women, or love and attraction in general. Based purely on her initial blush when they first entered the shop, she thinks there might be something there, possibly mutual, but it's not a huge amount to go on.
Emma might raise the issue once they've left the shop or she might be too polite to say anything - Hannelia's unsure whether her instinctive formality will be outweighed by the blossoming friendship between them. It would be a nice way into the conversation, anyway, though Hannelia is happy enough to lead it in that direction regardless.
Leaving aside the near future until it happens, she finishes her chowder and carefully wipes her hands and mouth on a kerchief she produces from the pockets she insists most of clothing comes with - she's never understood why so many ladies' garments come without such practicalities. "Thank you, Shel, that was delicious," she says, for indeed it had been a tasty and welcome meal. As the girl moves to collect the empty bowl, she halts her with a "Please, finish your own, no rush. I'm going to have a browse."
With that, Hannelia systematically works her way around the shelves and tables. Most of the items are practical goods typical of a small farming community rather than the more varied wares that can be found in Saringallow. However, she does finds something that intrigues her half-hidden under several heavy coils of rope. She pulls out a pair of well-worn but still supple leather sheaves that strap to the forearm, though it's the miniature inbuilt mechanism that mostly interests the trapspringer. She experiments with them, mentally estimating the length - sufficient for a small blade or wand - before confirming this just to make sure. Neither are things she would be holding as standard in a life or death situation but being able to easily grab them in a pinch without pulling them from her belt would be handy. "How much for these?" she asks Shel, readying her coin purse.
Roger tries to keep pace in the farmer's trail, letting the farmer go to all the work of choosing a path and breaking through tiring himself out, and just following. Like tracking down a beast, just one you can see.
Exchange 2:
Exchange 3:
Exchange 4:
Exchange 5:
You give chase using your superior navigational skills to hunt down your prey. Unfortunately, the home field advantage is his. You burst out of the corn field after him and into the town square.
He starts screaming, "Help! Help! They killed Jeb!"
There aren't many other villagers nearby to speak of but the doors to the weaver's hut, barber, and trading post are ajar. The only people you can see are your quarry and two of your companions, Majara and Constantine seem to be on their way, a good dozen paces behind a large man with salt-and-pepper beard and a green tunic.
Shel beams brightly at Emma after . "I'll give ya the tour when we get the chance."
To Hannelia she assesses cautiously before saying, "Oh uh, yeah those are 5 crowns apiece. Lucky we had 'em, right?" she chuckles nervously.
Then a large man with a green tunic and salt-and-pepper beard walks in and Shel freezes a bit before happily greeting, "Papa! These adventurers were just... she pauses a bit trying to control her composure, "They were just here to buy some wares. They brought a bit'a news. And..." she looks at Emma, "Well they seem like good people. Ms... uh Emma is a knight! Well a Paladin actually. That's not strictly a knight, but there are similarities in duties." She recites.
Just then you hear screaming, "Help! Help! They killed Jeb!"
You make your way to the town square and its fairly obvious which buildings are the weaver, barber and trading post. The signs are conspicuous, even if simply appointed.
As you walk down the path you see Saul Lupescu turn into the trading post. Not a few moments later from the cornfields you see a man clad in an odd patchwork of robes and holding a sickle scream in fear, "Help! Help! They killed Jeb!" And he looks at you and freezes, raising an accusatory finger.
"Who did what now?" Constantine asks, his countenance turning to immediate concern at the sight of a panicked villager and his fear. He turns to look at Majara. "Was it a bunyip? We heard one howling on our way into town."
Majara's blue brows inch higher and higher at the appearance of a robed man waving a sickle around, screaming, and then pointing-- at her and Constantine.
She feels a sharp twist of unease. These damn small towns-- xenophobic, distrustful of outsiders... ready to turn on them at the first instance of something strange happening. And gnomes are perpetual outsiders.
Pricknettle tries to keep her expression neutral-- confused, bemused, a hint of defensiveness at being pointed out. She absolutely doesn't let herself look around warily to see if the townspeople are closing in, or if there are escape routes handy, no, not at all.
"What are you talking about, man? I have been cleaning rust for some time now-- ask Mr. Lepescu."
"-- also-- what are you wearing?"
"Aye, lets gather up the whole town and go take a look. I sure want to see what Jeb tried drawing steel against me to hide." Roger takes a different tack than running or hiding. He's confident Jeb was up to no good, and that if the truth is brought to light, things will turn out well. He's a gambling man, and this is a bet he's willing to take. "Let's all head up to the Chenowitz place and see what there is to see. Or does that idea seem no good to you?"
"You...what?"
Roger.
Hannelia smiles to herself as Shel and Emma agree, somewhat awkwardly, to a village tour later in the day.
With her mind back on the present, she readily agrees to the price - perfectly fair as far as she is concerned - and counts out ten gold pieces. "A pleasure doing business with you," she says, dropping the coins into Shel's waiting palm. Deciding that immediately strapping on her new sheaves and secreting a blade away might be seen as a touch aggressive, she kneels down to store them neatly in her pack, rising just as a tall, solidly build man enters the shop.
Shel seems to be no more composed by his appearance than she has been throughout much of their time in the shop. If she's trying to make it look like we were all up to something suspicious, she's doing a good job, thinks Hannelia, mentally rolling her eyes. She glides swiftly over to the man, offering a hand and an introduction before he can reply to his daughter's stuttering explanation of food and conversation. "Mr Lupescu - Hannelia Venator," she says. "And this is my companion, Emma Blackford," she inclines her head towards the paladin. "It's great to meet you, sir. Shel has been telling us all about the festival and very kindly offered us lunch and..."
Whatever Hannelia was going to say next is cut off as a man's cry fills the town square outside. Help? Murder?! Her mind reels at the unexpected and unwelcome accusation but she thinks on her feet. Stepping out unarmed would be foolish against an unknown attacker but equally she does not want to seem threatening to either of the Lupescus - or at least the elder of the two. She suspects Shel might not be unhappy to watch Emma doing something heroic and working up a sweat swinging her sword. "It sounds like someone's attacking the village!" she exclaims, nimbly stepping back over to her things. She swings her backpack over her shoulder with one hand and smoothly snatches up her bow with the other. "Let's hope it won't be necessary, but we'd best be prepared to defend the good townsfolk, Emma." So saying, she steps swiftly past Saul and out of the shop.
Exactly what she was expecting, she doesn't really know, but Hannelia can safely say that what greets her wouldn't have been it. A robed man, out of breath and presumably the origin of the cry, is pointing at Constantine and Majara who are just entering the centre point of the village from the north, as Roger, running, appears from a different direction and throws an accusation of his own at the man. Irori, grant me the knowledge to see what has happened here, she mouths silently to herself.
Flinching at Roger's approach, the man screeches at Constantine and Majara, "You! all of you! The Dormant Dreamer awakens!" He begins cackling deliriously, "The crop will be host, life borne from life! They that bow before Him, will find themselves rewarded. Give unto Him your flesh and bone! And become vessels in the Great War! All flesh must be reborn! The heir will again be rewarded, and dreaming moths will number the stars!"
Saul barks at his daughter, "Shel, your room." He scrambles to another part of the building out of your sight, toward the blacksmith side of the store.
"Not again," Constantine says under his breath. Although nothing quite clicks for him, this was the way that Gellion, Mezzodarath, Talon, and Wormgnash had talked.
The worms go out— the worms go in— the worms make all the world their skin...
This didn't sound like a bunyip. This sounded like more fiendish meddling.
: "<We're being watched,>" Constant whispers, his eyes scanning around.
Roger mentions the 'Chenowitz place' and Majara starts to give Constantine a meaningful look-- but then the robed farmer, or whatever he is, starts... ranting. Majara feels hairs prickle on the back of her neck at the man's words. Yes, that doesn't sound like some sort of wholesome, small-town harvest festival at all.
She sees nothing of notice, but her lips thin at Constantine's words.
<"We're outsiders having a local scream at us about murder and war, in the town square. Of course we're being watched,"> she hisses back softly in the same tongue. She reaches for no weapons, but her fingers do twitch with the desire to draw tiny bottles.
"It sounds like someone's attacking the village!" Hannelia exclaims, nimbly stepping back over to her things. She swings her backpack over her shoulder with one hand and smoothly snatches up her bow with the other. "Let's hope it won't be necessary, but we'd best be prepared to defend the good townsfolk, Emma."
"Yep," Emma says, straightening up at once. Emma's previous hesitation and social awkwardness fades as Hannelia rushes out the door; Emma gives a nod to Shel and Mr. Lupescu and quickly follows after, her hand falling to her sword as she readies her shield.
"Well. This almost certainly has something to do with one of our group, justified or otherwise," she mutters. "We better hurry."
They follow the noise - and of course, to no surprise of Emma's - Roger is on one side, a man yelling on the other, with Constantine and Majara nearby.
For better or worse, at least we'll be together for this, Emma thinks to herself. She draws her sword.
"What's going on here?" she asks, projecting her voice as best as she can as she and Hannelia approach. "Please - this is a festival - I urge caution and temperance! Let us not resort to hostility if we can avoid it!"
It may be too late for such an approach - the townsfolk may very well have worked themselves up against them. And truthfully, she has no idea what's gone on while she and Hannelia were at the shop. But at least she's made the attempt.
She also opens up her senses, seeking out potential sources of evil amongst the various groups of people.
The man responds to Roger with a proclamation - it sounds like a prophecy, though its meaning, if indeed it has one, is lost on Hannelia.
She assumes that it does and tries to parse the words. There seem to be some recurring motifs and it has a religious feel or at least one of worship, though the tone is rather dark. The reference to lifecycles seems reminiscent of a nature deity but, not for the first time on this journey, Hannelia curses her lack of reading around matters of faith. Her focus has very much been on trying to pick through the words rather than the movements or atmosphere in the square until Emma takes charge of the situation and urges restraint.
Hannelia admires her friend and knows that in many places holy warriors such as Emma are viewed heroically and have a certain kind of cachet. Equally, though she would be hesitant to bring it up to her, in other places it may have the opposite effect. In this case, she's honestly not sure which way the villagers may fall. Certainly there is a general suspicion of outsiders among many of them so she decides to back her up.
She doesn't draw her bow but leans on it for support. Similarly projecting her voice she adds her own to the conversation. "Absolutely. Serious accusations have been made and we need to understand what has happened at," she hesitates just for a beat, glancing at Roger "the Chenowitz place." She's a bit nervous that seeing a body might not help calm things down but she wants to back up Roger, who seems very sure of himself. She's also certain that getting to the truth is unlikely without seeing the scene and the evidence and the sooner they do that the better. "I suggest we make out way there now. Mr Lupescu?" she calls into the shop, "I think it would be prudent if you can quickly gather a few good folk from the village accompany us." She gives a small gesture with her head to the pirate to say 'lead on'.
"Aye," Constantine concurs from his spot, though his blade remains sheathed. This was supposed to have been simple information-gathering, maybe with a few friendly festival games. But death? Could they recover from this?
"Mr. Lupescu can vouch for my whereabouts as well. I'd understand if the town wants to settle this matter internally, but I would like to see what's going on for myself."
Saul Lupescu seems not to be anywhere in sight.
The lone man makes no further attempt to attack you but continues rambling mad prophecies. He seems to be calming down or at least not accusing anybody else of murder.
At the mention of the Chenowitz Place, his eyes go wide, "Yesssss, like lambs to the slaughter. Shall we return there, murderer?" He indicates Roger. He continues rambling about dark prophecies and on about, "The Dormant Dreamer" or "The Slumberer" or some other similar kenning.
Constantine is able to catch it, spotting out figures surrounding the party, several of whom are on the rooftops. One of them looks reminiscent of the ticks you fought only a day ago. But it moves too fluidly and is even larger. It looks like a spider with vicious intelligence behind its eight gleaming eyes.
The Raving Man produces a mask with large red eyes and a long proboscis and pulls it over his face, and you realize all the other humanoid figures have the same mask already donned. And the same sickles. Some however produce spears. And two of them on the rooftops have crossbows.
He resumes his original accent, "'bout damn time."
The spider’s intelligent gleam and handlike forelimbs lead you to believe this may be an Aranea. They are an intelligent species of shapeshifting spiders which can easily take the form of humanoids. They also have a penchant for spellcasting which they favor over their strength-sapping poisonous bite.
A cultist on the rooftop of a nearby building fires off a crossbow bolt at Constantine, but he's already prepared for it as his shield snaps out to catch it.
Shocked at the audacious demonstration and the cultists suddenly in his face, Constantine's first reaction is to draw his sword to defend himself. "What the hell?" But in the immediacy of the attack, he shifts the angle of his blade so that he focuses more on bashing the flat of the blade into this unknown townsperson, hoping to knock them merely unconscious.
He sees the spider beyond but thinks little of what sorts of webs it might weave. There were more important things to deal with now.
Despite her best efforts, Emma's appeal for calm falls on deaf ears. With the sudden appearance of multiple masked figures, Hannelia realises there was a weary inevitability to the situation and that it was never going to end peaceably. She suddenly feels very exposed in the village square and quickly scans all around her, looking for both threats and escape routes.
As well as the shady figures closing in on them, she spots another two on rooftops and some kind of spidery creature that she can't identify. Constantine is first to react to the ambush and Hannelia realises that his awkward sword stroke is due not to a lack of skill but because he's sensibly trying to bludgeon the attacker into unconsciousness rather than kill. Following suit, Hannelia draws her bow, prays for luck, and snaps a shot straight back at the crossbow sniper who had fired at Constantine.
The giant spider takes the opportunity to reposition before the fight breaks out in earnest. It scrabbles from the far end of the roof it was standing on to the closer end.
The cultist (red) is burlier than the rest.
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There is a lot going on to try and notice... everything. Majara's violet eyes narrow at the sight of the spider creature, and she raises a hand to point up at it.
"Aranea. Can shift to look like one of you. And sling spells. Somewhat to be selected over strength-sapping stinging. Fortunately the roofs are flammable."
Majara pauses, to perform a calculation. Yes, the roofs ARE flammable. Wonderful for killing spider creatures.... but less than ideal for not being lynched by a mob, if any of the villagers here aren't part of this strange spider cult. Majara does math in her head.
She does not like the total of her equation, judging by the way her smile changes to a small frown. "UN-fortunately. I meant UNfortunately."
She promptly steps behind Constantine's protective bulk and quickly knocks back the last of the row of four flasks that she started the day with.
Roger is surrounded on two sides, one cultist assaulting him with a spear from the rooftop (Pink), the other, raving man (Blue) swings his sickle wildly and without any indication of training.
The cultists struck nonlethally by Hanellia and Constantine stagger and bob dangerously close to unconsciousness. The one in front of Constantine (Orange) slashes at him drunkenly, while the one on the rooftop (Green) reloads his crossbow.
The remaining cultist (Red) slashes out quickly at Constantine with a practiced cut.
The cultist Roger chased down here finds flesh with his sickle!
"Hah! You call that a giant spider? The bugs from Mwangi'd eat it alive!" Roger taunts the cultists as he shrugs off the nick and attacks back. Unlike Constantine and Hanellia, he's not making any attempt to pull punches.
After a fierce blow against the man he had chased down, he advances forward, but in truth, he's just trying to get away from the spear on the rooftop. No reason to give the foe an advantage.
The raving man falls before Roger's blade. He lays dying at his feet.
The remaining cultists display very little reaction behind their red eyed masks.
"Gods damn it!" Constantine curses as he hears the near sound of flesh splitting. This wasn't the time to draw blood...was it?
The occultist continues pulling his punches. It seems like his last blow had nearly knocked the man clean off his feet, so he follows up with a blow to the legs to knock the fellow down.
Constantine strikes the cultist (orange) with the flat of his blade and knocks him out cold!
The Aranea slings a web at our favorite pirate.
Roger becomes bound by the net of webs. It's more of a nuisance than real danger, considering how easily he carved through the cultists, but it's preventing him from moving.
It skitters off to a more northerly rooftop.
Majara takes a short step away from the cultist that Constantine is engaged with, and gazes up squint-eyed at the rooftop foe that's nearest. Her small hand grasps a bottle with a roiling green liquid then arcs it in an underhanded lob towards the enemy.