Just as Spiro readies to start firing and hoping to hit some vital bone, when he sees the newly formed skeletons up and run away. He shrugs at their unexpected fortune and moves to join the others wondering what happened to one of the halflings, as he sees the other helping them to their feet.
"Well that was... strange"?
"Is the lass alright?" - Rannock raised an eyebrow at Mos - "Should I take a look?"
"Is everyone else ok? Them skeletons should not be returning any time soon, but I can't let them roaming around the countryside"
Ping numbly pulls the cloak tighter around herself as she starts to reply to Mos. Everything she needs to disguise herself as Zeebo is under a tree some dozens of yards away. The words catch in her throat as she sees both Spiro and Rannock come around and spot her. What was the point in hiding now? Her cover is blown wide open.
"T-too late," she mutters as she bows her head. From the sound of her voice and the expression the others glimpse, she's about to cry.
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Not sure what to do, Mos awkwardly pats her on the back.
"It's fine...we are all friends here who have spile blood to protect each other. Any secret you have will be safe with us!"
He looks up at the others nodding his head and hoping that they are also people of integrity.
Mos feels Ping stiffen as he pats her back, but after realizing that he means no harm, she relaxes a little.
"W-where are my things," she asks. "I-- I wanna stop smelling like a goblin."
The risen bones of Boontah and his mob head for the hills, just as the straggler runs headlong into Hûnidark's fist as it rushes past.
The unfortunate wretch loses its head and staggers a couple of steps before collapsing in a pile of inanimate bones.
The hillside and ruined redoubt soon grow silent as the party regroups, amidst a unlikely discovery on Ping's true self...
While you've not seen the like before regards the necrotic mist, you are aware of the fell influence of Pharastuz - The God Reaper. His priesthood and cultists can command the risen dead and even the most petty of his unholy relics carry the taint of his necrotic magicks.
Though your mind is clouded by your disguise being revealed, there is also a nagging thought - you correctly identified fell necromatic magick at work, and rightfully warned your companions of such... However even for the most accomplished goblin shaman (and your not convinced Mulkkur was such), command of such spells should be beyond such creatures...
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Hûnidark emerges from the redoubt slightly confused and shaking the bone-dust from his gauntlet, ”Why did they run?”
Rannock is extremely confused about why Ping is so upset, but since he does not know how to help he just stands there awkwardly.
Hûnidark emerges from the redoubt slightly confused and shaking the bone-dust from his gauntlet, ”Why did they run?”
"They were turned away by Grunnundergön's Holy presence" - he explained to Hûnidark, happy to change the subject - "What did you find in there?"
"Th-the shaman, I-I don't think he was capable of casting that spell," Ping adds as she starts edging around the gathering crowd to get to her things. She wants to run and hide, but with undead about, she knows better than to be alone.
"I-Is there a-a stream or something I can wash up in," she asks.
"Maybe there is more to these wretches than meets the eye..." - Rannock pondered Ping's words - 'Or they are being led by someone more... Resourceful' - he kept this last part to himself.
"I-Is there a-a stream or something I can wash up in," she asks.
"I am sure we will find someplace along the way, do not worry" - he added with a chuckle - "And what an amazing job in there - were it not for you deceiving those fools, I feel this could have gone much, much worse for us. Well done lass!"
Then the dwarf busied himself with searching the goblin camp, starting with the Shaman, and looking in particular for signs of Pharastuz.
"Maybe," she half-heartedly agrees before blushing at Rannock's chuckle and trying to cover herself up more with her pilfered clothes.
"Th-thanks," she mutters. Feeling very uncomfortable with the praise, she hurries to find where she left her pack. Maybe if she's quick enough, she can at least get out of the late Sleeg's clothes and not risk the smell becoming permanent.
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Mos helps the gnome recover her gear and talks to her as she dresses.
"So...what was the disguise for anyway? Is there anything I can do to help?"
After making Mos swear he would keep his back to her while she changed, she quickly strips out of Sleeg's cloths and wipes off the green pigment she'd used to color her skin. She hesitates, asking herself how much she could trust him. He hadn't ratted her out, and that meant a lot to her, but she can already hear her dead father's warnings about trusting anyone but him.
Fat lot of good that's done me, she thinks in sudden anger as for the first time she begins to question how exactly she wound up in this mess.
"I-- I'm hiding from someone," she admits as she pulls on a pair of pants. "They're looking for a young, gnomish woman, so I figured an old halfling man would be a good disguise, at least until I ran into you." There's a note of bitterness in her voice, almost reflexive, as she pulls a shirt over her head. Modesty preserved, she begins pulling her things and spell components out of the goblin-made pouches and replacing them in her own belt pouches.
"H-have you ever heard of Gulven Malidont," she asks, unable to keep her fear from her voice.
You've heard tale of Gulven Malidont, the brutal half-orc crime boss of the provincial town of Schollenwald. Ruthless and cunning in equal measure, he is not one to be trifled with.
As Ping explains her subterfuge, Rannock begins to scour the goblin camp - inside the ruin is a mess of rubbish, moth eaten rags and flea-bitten furs. A human arm from elbow to hand sits in a pot ready for the fire. Tho' uncooked it already bears several goblin bite marks.
With a grimace the doughty dwarf starts with the desiccated corpse of Mulkkur;
The dwarf finds little on the shaman, save the shattered bone staff which bears fell scrimshaw runes... several of which he can attribute to Pharastuz. Irreparably damaged, any fell magicks the staff once held seem to have been spent in the ritual that claimed the shaman's life.
Around the creatures scrawny neck sits a leather pouch containing 5 Gold and 14 Silver pieces respectively.
On the rest of the goblins, the task of recovering any loot becomes grislier as sans bones, all that remains are damaged skin and meat seeping from armour and clothing.
Boontah corpse bears a suit of ring mail he wore akin to a hauberk, while dropped from his hand is a fine edged scimitar. A necklace of yellowed teeth sits amidst the pile of flesh. At his waist sits a pouch which contains 15 gold coins and the embroidered capsa bearing the same sigil of the Guild of Messengers & Couriers.
Rannock's canny eye notes that Boontah's blade is an Expert Scimitar .
On the rank and file members of the gang their equipment is of poor standard and their is little coin of note;
2 x Dented* Pot Helms
2 x Cleavers
2 x Daggers
2 x Suits of Leather Armour
2 x Suits of Cracked** Leather Armour
2 x Shortbows
11 x Arrows
Spiro will lay claim to the arrows. He then walks around the back to explore the area where he was stationed when combat began.
Ping hurries as the silence after her question grows long. The voice of her late father berates her for a fool as she quickly replaces her things where they belong. A minute later, she's scurrying to where the others are, all the while wondering if she hasn't just made a fatal mistake.
The half-orc searches Stab-Apples corpse, just to be thorough.
Spiro gathers the arrows, noting them to be a motley collection of makes - from crude goblin arrows with black flights and rusted iron heads, to a pair of elegant Elven arrows with swan feather fletches and crescent heads
He then moves to the rear of the ruin alongside Hûƞidark to examine the corpse of the hairy Stab-Apples...
The brute is a buggebear, but not one fully grown - it has height, but had yet to fill into its matted form. Likely a sub-adult, albeit one with a perchance for the cruelty and violence its race are known for.
Hûƞi confirms Stab-Apples is dead, and between them half-orc and half-elf recover from it a potion of Cure Light Wounds and twin daggers; one a slender poinard of superior make , while its mate is a broad-bladed baselard . The hairy brute had no coins or other treasure.
Not far from where the creature fell lies a corpse-pile of carrion and bones. Atop it lies the body of the missing messenger.
Mos thinks for some time but the name does not seem familiar to him.
No, I cannot say that I have had the acquaintance. Who is he?"
Mos speaks quietly to the gnome so as to not draw the rest of the group's attention.
The sound of Mos's voice brings Ping to a stop just a few steps from where she'd been changing. She turns to look at the halfling and nibbles her lip as she debates whether or not to answer him.
"Th-that's probably a good thing. H-he's not a good person. He rules over Schollenwald's thieves and cutthroats," she says quietly. Her father's voice screams at her in her head, but she'd already learned that at least one of the lessons he'd taught her was a lie. How could he always be right when it was his actions that got him killed.
Still, can she trust Mos? He hadn't spilled her secret when he figured it out, but it that enough? She doesn't know. The leap of faith that she needs to make terrifies her. Just because her father was wrong once doesn't mean that he was always wrong. What if Mos is just bidding his time? For that matter, even if Mos is someone she can trust, that doesn't necessarily follow for the others, does it?
Mos smiles slightly as she describes him as the "ruler" of thieves and cutthroats. He himself is a guildmember, but not of THAT town. Knowing something of the way thieves' guilds work, he scratches his head in thought.
"So what have you done to run afoul of this guild? Perhaps I can use my connections to get things sorted out for you... He lets the thought drift off as he watcher the gnome for any clue as to why the guild would be after her.
Ping clutches her backpack tighter to her chest as she shrinks away from Mos's question. She shakes her head after a moment.
"I-I don't know," she admits. "M-my father went missing and-- and they came looking for me."
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"Well maybe once we are through here I can ask around and see what the problem is. You have no fear of this fellow while you are with me, and I am sure the others will feel the same! Your part of our party now and no one is gonna mess with us!"
He stop and thinks for a moment then adds.
"Perhaps for the moment we keep this between us. Guild business should not be aired to the public. When we get back I will check with my guildmaster and see what he has to say...until then you are under the protection of my guild and master and anyone trying to harm you will answer for it!"
"A-and if he agrees with Gulven? What then," Ping asks as her eyes dart about looking for an escape she can't find. She takes one step back from Mos, her eyes on the clearest path to cover.
As he picked up the shattered bone staff clutched in the goblin's bony fingers, it raised several questions - he kept them to himself for now, but he had a nagging feeling there might be more to all of this.
With the loot and valuables gathered, he took an appraising look at some of the damaged goods - "These might still be worth a coin if we manage to get them repaired" - he commented, always happy with the idea of turning a profit.
Then he turned his attention to the carrion pile - "Nasty business..." - as he approached the gruesome mound, his eyes were drawn to the mangled remains of the messenger. It was clear he had suffered a brutal end at the hands of the goblins.
Carefully, Rannock began to sift through the pile of carrion and bones. He was looking for anything that could shed light on the events leading up to the messenger's death, or the goblin gang's connection to the undead. Could they have simply hijacked the messenger by coincidence? He also tried to find if anything could be recovered from the corpse - remains of messages or identifying marks/heraldry.
"I am sure he would not turn against one of his own...me! But if that did happen, he would give me warning and I would pass it on to you so we could plan our escape."
Spiro sorts through the arrows and organizes them by if they're worth a crap or not. He hums in pleasure when the fine arrows are noticed.
"So I kind of like this fancy slender dagger. Any issues with me adding it to my arsenal"?
"So what's next"?
"I am sure he would not turn against one of his own...me! But if that did happen, he would give me warning and I would pass it on to you so we could plan our escape."
"I-- I don't know if I can be that trusting," Ping says before looking over her shoulder. "W-we should get back to the others," she says.
Rannock begins to sift through the carrion pile, trying to discern what he can from the bones...
You reckon there are the bones of perhaps a dozen creatures here - most are woodland animals ranging from rabbits to a small deer. A couple of the remains are clearly human and one is of a goblin - which bears a dessicated woad painted upon is ragged skin.
At the depths of the pile nestles a small sack, containing a scattering of coins (3 Gold, 10 Silver and 19 Copper) and a wooden ring with silver inlay (worth 100GP) that is still worn on the dead owner's severed finger*
*One of the human corpses (not the Messenger) is missing a finger...
From his wounds it would seem the Guild Messenger was felled first by an arrow, then a mighty blow to the arm. His doublet and cloak are soaked with gore and there is nothing else of note or value upon him.
His embroidered capsa was recovered upon the corpse of Boontah and remains , as yet, unopened...
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Huni assists with the grisly search. He looks at the messenger's capsa.
"I suppose we should open this to see where we need to deliver it."
"Yes, lets have a look" - Rannock agreed, cleaning his hands.
From the messengers capsa you recover a letter, stained with blood and roughly rolled into the container:
Hûnidark reads the letter silently, lips moving. He frowns. ”Good thing we’re going to Haranshire. We can deliver this to Lord Parlfray. Have we found any ‘trade bars’? We might look like thieves if we can’t deliver them.”
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"I also want to give the lad a proper burial, even if just a shallow grave covered with rocks" - Rannock added.
"I suppose I don't mind getting my hands dirty".
Spiro helps with the burial since he didn't soil himself digging in a pile of corpses.
"As they say, 'Many hands...."
The halfling assists in digging and gathering stones to help bury the poor courier.
"Well, I suppose we should get back to the road and the others so we can continue with our original duty."
Ping raises an eyebrow at Mos' expression.
Many hands? Many hands for what, she wonders as she follows him back to the main group, then watches as Mos goes to help Rannock and Spiro bury the dead. She pulls the now oversized robe on and situates her belt and its pouches around her waist before doing what she can about the extra length. Once she sees it's as good as it is going to get, she pulls the hood over her head and sits against the crumbling tower wall and rocks back and forth as she wonders what will become of her now. Surely the others will have questions. They likely have doubts. They almost certain don't trust her, nor would she in their place.
The young gnome tries to think about what the future holds, and all she sees is a vast, yawning, unknowable void stretching before her. Should she run? Can she survive long enough to reach some sort of civilization? She doubts it. She's always traveled as part of a caravan or group. For better or for worse, she has to trust those around her, and that is almost more frightening than what will happen to her if Gulven Malidont manages to get his hands on her.
She clutches her pack more tightly and does her best not to weep in despair.
Sleeves are rolled up, and a burial is conducted.
Rannock prayer send his soul to bless'd afterlife while his body is committed to the earth and stone.
The Guild Tabard serves as a marker to the grave of the messenger.
Afterward you collect your belongings and the loot from the battle, before cajoling the flighty Ping back down to the road and to where Jenneleth, Peebles and Eireachdail await...
As you approach you note the bard is missing from the company, while Jenneleth stands nervously with mule and horse tethered beside her.
Spiro noticing that everyone seems safe for the moment returns to the fallen mare to search the saddlebags.
"Well wolves and scavenger birds got to eat, so let's leave this feast for them and move on".
What happened to the other fellow that was here? I hope he did not check the saddle bags and make off with the payment! We had better check."
Mos looks over at Spiro as he searches the saddle bags.
Mos and Spiro find the missing trade bars still nestled in the horses saddlebags.
Clearly her rider fell victim to the goblin raiders and she bolted... getting an arrow in the withers for her trouble.
Jenneleth seems relieved you have returned;
"Eireachdail? No, he has been quite the gentleman... Singing songs in celebration of my betrothal and telling me of his people..."
A worried expression creeps across her face as she continues;
"He then spotted movement in the tree line above us and realising they were... w-were the risen dead... A trio of runtish skeletons lurking... Brave Eireachdail sallied forth to see them off. I have not heard him since..."
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As no one mentions her deception on the way back to Jenneleth, Ping finds the tension she feels growing, like the tension in wire being twisted. Mos's assurances and her own naivety not withstanding, she is not unfamiliar with how people react to being deceived. In fact, she'd seen it many times when her father's schemes had unraveled on him. For the first time in her life, she begins to question what her father had told her, if only a little bit.
When Jenneleth, the mule, and the horse come into view, she hides behind Hunidark, the largest of the band of adventurers, hoping to keep out of sight and avoid any pointed questions while her mind is in this tumultuous state. Part of her wishes that the others would say anything and stop the tension from growing. The waiting is worse than she fears the coming inquisition will be, and she can't stand it.
That one of their number--Eireichdail, yes, that was his name--the foppish minstrel that had stayed behind to look after Jenneleth and the beasts of burden had gone after the skeletons that the goblin shaman had reanimated sends a chill running down her spine. Necromancy was not something she knew much of, but her father was an inveterate dabbler in addition to being, apparently, an inveterate liar. She pushes that last thought away before it has time to take root. He had delved into many kinds of magic before getting bored and moving on to his next obsession. She wondered if they should go after the erstwhile bard or if they should leave before the undead, their numbers bolstered by their missing member, return looking for new prey.
Unfortunately, Ping's mind is in too much turmoil to sort out what she knows from magic tomes to what she learned from stories and legends she's overheard.
As Jenneleth relays the events to the returning group, she pauses, her voice growing worried again;
"Oh my. I never asked how you all are... Where is good Master Zeebo? Oh please do not tell me he has fallen..."
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Hearing Jenneleth ask after Master Zeebo, she cowers behind the others in a likely vain attempt to go unnoticed. She'd been wrong. The waiting wasn't nearly so bad as the panic she is starting to feel now that she realizes her disguise is gone and there's no way to hide who she really is.
Spiro gives Rannock a nod of appreciation.
"I thought he was for sure a goner. You're healing is marvelous. I assume we should take this horse with us, and return it to the messengers guild"?
Spiro takes the time to walk beside Ping as they journey onwards.
Ping
Why do you hide who you really are?
Rannock's bushy brow furrows as he mulls Jenneleth's news;
"So the lad has gone hunting for the dead... The dead my faith routed..."
He sighs, running his calloused hand through his bushy beard;
"My deity is Grunnundergön, who is the god of creation and under the earth. Anything risen from it should be returned to it... by hammer or spell... That is my responsibility and mine alone..."
The dwarf grabs his pack, and nods grimly;
"I'll find him. Find the dead, and return when its done. Now make ye haste, and protect this fair maid as we have been charged. May the Hammerer protect us all!"
With that the priest marches purposefully in the direction Jenneleth had pointed toward as Eireichdail's course.
Jenneleth for her part seems concerned, first Eireichdail lures the risen dead away, then Master Zeebo does not return and now doughty Rannock seeks to ensure the dead are dealt with.
"Oh my it would seem our numbers dwindle..."
She watches the priest stomp off purposefully;
"I daresay there is no convincing him... Dwarves can be more stubborn as mules..."
The apprentice mage pauses, clapping Peebles with a weak smile and a whisper;
"Present company excepted good Peebles!"
The mule's ears flick in appreciation and the company begin readiness for the journey onward.