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Ping stands and gathers up her pack and her still bloody dagger. She pauses, looking at it and shivers as she cleans it off and puts the battered and broken thing back in its sheath. She shies away from Elyan's gaze and keeps her hat low over her hair and face to help hide her features from prying eyes.
"She's lucky to have an uncle like you," Ping tells Ulfbrecht before walking with Lady Jenneleth to the horse and mule.
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Never one for leaving foes alive to extract revenge, Spiro busies himself with trying out the longbows and finally picks one which though not fine is at least familiar to him. He unstrings his shortbow, and finds a niche for it on the mule.
As some of his companions speak in a language, he doesn't understand he raises an eyebrow and peers at the lady Jenneleth.
Hmm. These people have proven trustworthy so far. Wonder why they speak in secrets.
"Best be on our way before fortunes turn again".
He finds a convenient moment to get close to the prisoners.
Quietly
"Fortune smiles on you this day... but the leash is short. One false move you'll enjoy bleeding out on the ground".
He then smiles and slaps the man on the back.
Jenneleth frowns at the grim nature of the ambush, then nods with a wry affirmation at Hûnidark's request;
"I can ride Good Brother and as long as the brute is secure and silent I will keep my magicks to myself..."
At Ulfbrecht's words, a sadness passes o'er her face;
"I am sorry to hear of your kin Master Thragimthal, know we as your kith will help how we can to secure them justice."
She watches Spiro change out his bow, adding a comment;
"As fortune would have it Master Spiro, Garyld, who is our ranger constable, is also the town's bowyer and fletcher. You would do well to trade him those when we deliver the prisoners."
At mention of a cult the God-Reaper Marko baulks, wailing as he is tied to the mule;
"Wait! We are no red-masked cultists! Please... I'd have no truck with such as them! Please believe me!"
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"I can ride Good Brother and as long as the brute is secure and silent I will keep my magicks to myself..."
The monk nods then walks over to inspect the unconscious prisoner bound over the rump of the horse, slapping his face to make sure he’s well and truly out. ”He’s out, Miss. If he wakes up and worries you, I’ll put him out again.”
Hûnidark hesitantly makes a motion to help the lady onto the horse, if she needs it. He expects her to decline, but it was the right thing to do.
"Wait! We are no red-masked cultists! Please... I'd have no truck with such as them! Please believe me!"
”Don’t matter what I believe. That’s up to the magistrate.”
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Seeing that the others are ready to go, Ping moves next to Mos, trusting him, as far as she trusts anyone really, the most out of the small band.
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To Hûnidark's surprise Jenneleth accepts his offer and is helped upon the steed. She smiles down to him from the saddle;
"My thanks Brother Hûnidark. You remind me alot of my foundling brother Severen. He too is a little... rough on the outside, but with a heart of gold."
Marko's protestations soon quiet, and after Spiro quietly engages with him he merely trudges forlornly along, teary eyes affixed to his feet.
As the party continue toward Milborne, Jenneleth points out some of the realms features from her vantage;
'That swampy land to our right is the New Mire. So named because it only blighted this good farmland o'er the last 2 years. My Da reckons its underground sumps from the mining... but Old Grizzler says otherwise, so who knows..."
She shrugs her shoulders, the gestures beyond the distant marshland;
"That's the Patchwork Hills beyond the New Mire. Called that because they are all mottled and mismatched in the Autumn due to the heather and bracken... like an old quilt, all patched up. Some hillfolk burn it when the weather's good to graze goats."
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To Hûnidark's surprise Jenneleth accepts his offer and is helped upon the steed.
Only his widening eyes display his surprise. Delicately, and with utmost care, he lifts the woman by her waist, as if he were transporting a fragile vase. She’s so small. He doesn’t back away from the horse until Jenneleth’s feet are securely in the stirrups.
It was a strange moment, like from the tales he’d read as a boy. The noble knight, full of pure intentions, helped the fair damsel onto his destrier. He’d always wanted to be the knight but, in his head, he’d almost always been cast in the role of the defeated – and very dead – ogre. But now, well, this was maybe the closest he’d ever be to feeling like a real knight.
She smiles down to him from the saddle;
"My thanks Brother Hûnidark. You remind me alot of my foundling brother Severen. He too is a little... rough on the outside, but with a heart of gold."
Maybe she read the same stories as a girl? he thought, because she was weaving a moment, a feeling, he would always treasure. He puts his hand over his heart and stumbles a bit over his phrasing, ”It’s… That’s a… great honor, Miss. Thank you.”
As the troop proceeds along the road, the over-bright sun and the pounding in Hûnidark’s skull from the brigand’s savage blow seem somewhat lessened or maybe weighing those against the moment with Jenneleth seemed a fair trade.
Mos give Ping a one-armed hug and smiles at his friend.
"Excellent work with that spell! You are becoming more confident day by day. It is good to have a friend like you here with us."
Mos continues to stay by the gnome's side and talks about common and inconsequential things as they travel on.
Your journey continue until you come across a broad stream that cleaves through the road.
Jenneleth gestures toward its meandering length;
"This is the Cutter Brook... as it cuts through the Olde Trade Road... It comes down from the Patchwork Hills and sometimes you find wee precious stones in its bed of silt. They're blue or green-tinged from the copper in our ground. Not much value but as a child I spent many an day here panning for my fortune!"
She smiles wistfully.
"This time of year it is easily forded, never deeper than 6ft... Just mind your steps Master Mos, and Miss Ping."
Hûnidark wades into the stream...
Ping doesn't answer and tenses for a moment when Mos puts his arm around her shoulders, but she doesn't pull away either. It takes a bit for her to work up the courage to answer the halfling, having been so sure that she would be raked over the coals for her blunder. By the time they reach the Cutter Brook, she feels a little better, though it quickly becomes clear that Ping was a very sheltered gnome up until her father's death and her running away.
Ping eyes the water with scant favor and asks if she could put her pack on either the horse or the mule, not wanting some of the contents to get wet, especially her spellbook. Once her pack is secured, she follows Hunidark into the stream.
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Mystery roll:
"She's lucky to have an uncle like you," Ping tells Ulfbrecht before walking with Lady Jenneleth to the horse and mule.
Ulf gives a half-hearted smile from beneath his whiskers. "Not lucky enough, fear I," he says, a pang of remorse in his voice.
"I am sorry to hear of your kin Master Thragimthal, know we as your kith will help how we can to secure them justice."
"Aye, hlǣfdīġe , mine thancs. Accept will I any help. Milde is but a smæl gyrle...too ġeong to know such horror."
On the trek, Ulf keeps largely to himself, walking off to the side of the cart as he takes in the surroundings. He used to enjoy his topside forays when he was but a young scout, but this journey came with a dark passenger ever present in his shadow, a constant reminder of his missing niece. Whenever the group might stop to rest, the dwarf finds a stump or stone to plop down out and whittle, the filing and scoring of wood serving to corral his thoughts.
A the stream, Ulfbrecht walks to its edge and watches its flow. It is similar to the waterways in the underground he is used to, but different as well, though perhaps just because of the sunlight bathing it.
Assuming he is satisfied with his assessment, the spry dwarf fords the stream as well.
Elyan meanders with the group, keeping his thoughts largely to himself. Occasionally bending over to forage edible greens. Normally he'd be attuning himself to the surrounding woods but he feels... oddly misaligned after the skirmish, out of tune not just with his surroundings but with himself. New Experiences certainly make home more appealing... Is that the point? Contrast? There must be things to enjoy outside as well.
Elyan moves to cross the river with the group, somewhat distracted with his thoughts.
"Does anyone have any rope? It might be wise to tie each off as they try to cross. I'll be glad to hold the rope on this end then go last. After that you guys can hold on the far end for my crossing".
You collectively cross without incident, neither weal nor woe. Marko, hands tied and bedraggled is pulled being the mule and horse.
The mood of the would-be-bandit ever more morose the closer in proximity to Milborne you get.
Soon you arrive at the ford of The Churnett River and beyond it the small town of Milborne.
From her vantage on the horse Jenneleth sheepish addresses the group'
"Welcome to my home. One last river to ford. Don't worry my friends... The river Churnett is fairly shallow here, though broad, and can be forded easily except during floods. This is the best place for many-a-mile to take horses, cattle, or wagons across the river, so we have little to worry about... Waist deep at worst."
"Which would mean that Mos and I would need to swim," Ping observes. She hopes that the ford is shallower than that since she doesn't know how to swim. "Can we leave those two here," she asks, pointing to the two surviving bandits, possibly slavers, they had captured.
"Why would we leave them here?"
"Because if they have some place to lock them up, then we don't have to worry about them slitting our throats in the middle of the night."
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Hûnidark frowns at the answer before bursting into a throaty laugh. He points down, ”Thought you meant here, on this side of the river.” He chuckles a bit more, ”Miss is known here. Her word will be strong, even if we are an odd group. It makes sense to leave them here.”
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Ping looks up, and despite her melancholy mood, she laughs as Hunidark explains where the misunderstanding came from.
"Oh, no! I'm not that foolish," she says with a snicker.
Jenneleth smiles down from the saddle toward the interplay between Hûnidark and Ping;
"Indeed Mistress Ping. Garyld will take them into custody and likely Master Carmen will pass a stern sentence upon them... As for my word... the Good Brother thinks too much of me. I am but a humble Apprentice... and true my Da is town elder, so he will welcome you as I do."
She mulls the ford and silhouette of Milborne ahead;
"Perhaps those more... diminutive should join me upon the horse?"
"I wouldn't mind keeping dry," Ping answers.
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Mos shakes his head to the invitation to ride with Jenneleth.
"My thanks for the offer, but I will make my own way through this stream. It also might help to wash some of this goblin stink off my clothes"
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Ping resists the urge to sniff herself when Mos mentions washing off the stench of the goblins.
Eireachdail smiles wistfully at the distant heath, thinking of his homeland with similar landscapes.
As they venture closer to Milborne, he softly sings a jolly, travelling song:
Grab your hat, grab your map, it’s time to roam,
The world’s our path, the earth our home.
With the sky so blue and the road so free,
There’s nowhere else we’d rather be!
We’re rolling on, rolling on, through the great unknown,
Every step we take, we’re never alone.
With a song in our hearts and the world to see,
We’re rolling on, just you and me!
From the bustling towns to the quiet streams,
We’re chasing light, we’re chasing dreams.
Every bend and twist holds a secret new,
A story to tell, a brighter view!
We’re rolling on, rolling on, through the great unknown,
Every step we take, we’re never alone.
With a song in our hearts and the world to see,
We’re rolling on, just you and me!
The sun may dip, and the stars may shine,
But the road goes on, and we feel divine.
Through the dusk, through the dawn, we’ll keep the pace,
With every mile, a brand-new space!
We’re rolling on, rolling on, through the great unknown,
Every step we take, we’re never alone.
With a song in our hearts and the world to see,
We’re rolling on, just you and me!
Yes, we’re rolling on, through land and sea,
Forever and always, wild and free!
Jenneleth helps Ping up upon the saddle, then smiles at the ever effervescent Eireachdail;
"You will do well in Haranshire Master Skald. With choice of the Baron of Mutton and Silver Crown in Milborne, The Pitcher and Pitcherfork in Harlton and Thurmaster's Hound & Tails, there is no shortage of places for you to ply song and saga by the hearth!"
She beckons for the group to follow as horse and passengers easily navigate the ford that the town's threshold;
"Come my friends. Welcome to Milborne!"
As she crosses, the Apprentice points towards the partially thatched stone building with an impressively large water wheel ;
"That's my parents home. Da is the Miller and Ma the baker..."
Hûnidark leads the mule and Marko across the stream. He pays attention as Jenneleth’s narrates, noting the sites. ”Seems a fine town, Miss… Should we leave these two,” he marks the prisoner’s with his glance, ”with Garyld before calling on your Da?”
Stun (1):
Fate (3): x
"I think Hunidark has the right of it, my lady. We should see that those two are locked away before we go visiting anyone," Ping says, feeling far more nervous now than she thought she would be shortly after the fight. She looks down at Mos. "Mos, c-could you see if anyone in town is selling something I can dye my hair with, please? I think I would feel a lot better if I didn't looks like myself."
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Mos agrees to help his gnomish friend and sets out to find someplace to purchase dyes.
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In the talk of the prisoners, Ulfbrecht mulls and rubs his chin, eyes set on the unconscious Carlanis. "Still speak I with this one, when he is upriht... He flicks his eyes around to these new companions. "If'n ye dung-weardas wolde ālīefeþ it? Noht fullhīwcūþ with'n how all of ye laga..ech, laws, work."
"My thanks for the offer, but I will make my own way through this stream. It also might help to wash some of this goblin stink off my clothes"
Ulfbrecht snorts a laugh. "Be needing māra than a fish-road for that, lēohtfōt! May hap æċed , ash, and lye...but betera to be sicor...eh, safe..and burn them!"
The dwarf secures his things and crosses the stream, wringing out his hair once on the other side.
Spiro will make sure that there are no issues at Jenneleth's place before finding somewhere to have an ale to wash the road dust from his mouth and secure a bed for the night.
Elyan obliges the half-orcs brusque request for aide. He too could use a rest, he wanders after Spiro, hoping for a warm bed and a hotter meal.
Jenneleth nods in agreement;
"Of course my friends. Garyld is the town carpenter and our constable, as he was an vagabondi... um adventurer like you all once... He'll hold them until Darius Carmen sees them... Carmen is also the local magistrate. Best we head to his first then..."
As Spiro and Elyan, she points toward westward to a weatherbeaten tavern nearby with a couple of dusty miners hanging around outside;
"Ummm. If your thirsty that's the Silver Crown... Rough tavern... miners and riverboaters mostly. Good if you like a fight to go with your ale Da says..."
The apprentice then nods eastward;
"Of course the Baron of Mutton has rooms for board, and the innkeep is most welcoming and the chef is excellent... I am bias of course..."
Jenneleth grins at the last comment, before wincing;
"Hurts when I smile still! A night here won't hurt before we journey on to Thurmaster. Would be good to tell my Ma and Da of my adventures and see Andren of course... but Tausthäuser will grow impatient for his goods if we tarry longer..."
Still humming his tune, Eireachdail smiles as Denneleth list off all of the houses of respite he may ply his trades.
But his eyes positively gleam, and his smile widens , as he gently grasps her arms and repeats, "Baker? Oh, Lady! Please , take me there now....oh, my life for a fresh scone! ".
"Well Baron of Mutton it is. Any discount for knowing the locals"?
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The young gnomish mage gives Jennely a worried look as she mentions it hurts to smile.
"Is there an apothecary or a physician in town? I think you need to see them if there is," she says, surprised by her own concern for Jennelyn.
It's just that she's our charge, and I have enough problems without adding failure to do a simple job on to the list, she tells herself, but even in her own head the words don't sound convincing.
At Eireachdail's excitement she giggles;
"My Ma is indeed a great baker Master Skald. Fruit scones, trenchers for the miners, pandemain for the folk of Milborne and spiced ginger bread throughout the realm! I promise I will get you some!"
At Spiro's comment she smiles wryly;
"Alas no Master Spiro. While my beau Andren is a charitable man, his grandfa who owns the Baron of Mutton is a cantankerous auld skinflint, so I'd not hold much hope."
Jenneleth mulls Ping's question;
"Nay. Not per say. The temple has a herbal garden, but the young priest makes little use of it. Brother Semhais follows Saith, and is more a preacher than Prestor Lafayer who cultivates the herbs to augment his tinctures."
She points further down the road;
"Rastifer's store is full of curios. He may have something of use, but please rest assured I am fine... A night under my family's care and I'll be right."
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Eireachdail grins and linking arms with fair Jenneleth, "Well... then let us hie these scoundrels to good Garyld so we can be free of them....Scones ahoy!" he shouts.
Then following her directions, he leads the merry band to the doorstep of the town constable/carpenter.
"If you're sure," Ping mutters before pulling her hat low to hide her hair and face.
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Hûnidark marks the location of the Silver Crown from beneath his bushy brows. It’s unlikely to be a bandit stronghold… but it was where Marko and his friends were ‘recruited’, so it might be worth a visit.
For the moment, he moves with the group to relieve themselves of the prisoners. After that, securing the chest and the rider’s effects was the next priority… which probably meant he would be playing guard this evening.
You collectively approach the carpenter's building, noting that Marko shoots a wistful look toward the Silver Crown as you pass it by.
Outside it is clear this place is as much a workshop as it is a home. Quivers, bows and arrows all litter the benches of the exterior stall, while wood blocks and furniture parts in various stages of creation/repair also prop against the cottage's walls.
As Jenneleth dismounts, a lean, weathered man limps from the entrance of the cottage to greet your collective;
"Well met strangers! What brings you to Mil... Jenneleth!? Is that you girl! Hah, you should have said you were coming... and with friends too."
He smiles warmly as he embraces the apprentice, then pauses noting her bruised temple;
"Been in the wars lass? Your Ma and Da won't take that well..."
His eyes take in your company, the laden mule and horse and finally notes your prisoners..
"Ah. Would seem this is no courtesy calling. So... Who wishes to tell me what this is about?"
"You can thank those two's friends for the knot on Lady Jenneleth's head," Ping grumbles as she nods back at the two prisoners. "They attacked us and were going to take a couple of us as slaves."
The warm expression on Garyld's face wanes at the mention of the crimes;
"Slavery? Are you sure? We are blighted with banditry... but the taking of folk o'er their purses does not bode well."
He looks toward a forlorn Marko;
"You I know. Marko is it not? Where are your fellow vagrant friends lad?"
Not waiting for an answer the ranger limps toward Carlanis' bulk is strapped to the horse;
"That one alive, or did you bring him back for burial?"
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”…and were going to take a couple of us as slaves.”
The half-orc growls his dissent.
”Slavery? Are you sure?”
”No. We don’t all agree. They had manacles, nothing more. Banditry, yes. Extortion and ransom, maybe.” Hûnidark follows the constable. ”That one is alive - the ringleader. Marko’s friends are dead, buried with three more bandits beside the road near Lyrchwood and the start of the New Mire. I can take you there. Marko said he was hired by Carlanis to ‘protect Haranshire from bad folk’. He wanted common people, not thugs, maybe to make them look like real militia not bandits. He found them at The Silver Crown.”
Stun (1):
Fate (3): x
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Ping grimaces as Hunidark voices his disagreement and contradicts her, but she keeps her thoughts to herself for now. She didn't believe for a moment they were going to ransom anyone they caught, but she supposes that the truth will be known soon enough. There's no need to cause undue friction with the others, especially not when her life is effectively in their hands.
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Ulf waits for a non-awkward moment to interject and approach Garyld, clapping Ping on the shoulder along the way. "Good moot to ye, wood-shaper," he says with a nod, studying the man's face. "Join-ed have I with these folc and with they feaht these cnafan . If'n left here they are to be, wish I to stay, if'n ye..eh, agree." He gestures to the unconscious man. "Words mean I to ask of he when roused, if'n a slave-taker for true." Whether or not the man was a bandit, slaver, hostage-taker, or else, there was at least a mite of a chance that he could have had an interaction with the roving cult. 'No stone unturned, not even the tiniest of pebbles.'
Garyld lifts the unconcious Carlanis' head up, scrutinising his features;
"Nah. Don't know this one... He's not a local to Milborne or Harlton that much I'm pretty sure. Carlanis you say he's named? Might hail from Thurmaster maybe or one o' the riverboaters. We'll know more once he awake."
He stands, rubbing his greying chin whiskers;
"So, at the least we have a pair of would-be bandits. At worst, they're the slavers the Little Miss thinks they are. That's for Carmen to decide I guess... Right. Let's get them locked up..."
The ranger beckons you follow him and hobbles round the back of his home, there a small outhouse with barred windows sits;
"We'll put them in there. Local gaol normally only holds Old Grizzler when he's too deep in his cups and swinging at anyone who squints at him wrong... Its secure and can hold them both in the meantime."
He opens the gaol door and beckons you deposit your prisoners inside...
Hûnidark grabs Marko’s rope and pulls him and the horse around the building before untying the unconscious bandit. He lets the body slide none-too-gently onto the ground. Then the half-orc drags the man like a sack of potatoes before ‘depositing’ him in the cell. Once Marko is in as well, Hûnidark turns to the ranger. ”Couple of things. That Carlanis is a tough nut. He cracked my skull pretty good and he ain’t dumb. So, take care with him and expect a trick or three.” He considers for a moment before weighing his words carefully. ”I’m sure your magistrate is a better judge than me… but I think Marko was telling some truth. Maybe he’s just gullible, or maybe the coin was so good he forgot his common sense. I dunno. But I don’t think he set out to be a bandit.”
He looks at Marko through the cell window. ”Remember what I told you. Don’t let that bastard fit you for a noose or the executioner’s block. Good luck.”