Finoan listens to Phinick carefully. Remembering what Baradim pointed out a day ago made him stop and think about how a truly evil person would behave. Trying to get into the mind of a ruthless person like that was difficult.
"Tell me this, Phinick. Who are you more frightened of right now: Baradim," He gestures to the Orc holding the terrified Goblin, "or Hallod?"
Fin looks to the others. "My concern is that when we bring him to Rolth, he will change his story."
"But still, it is better than nothing."
Eyebrows raised, "Um, Baradim? You might not want to shake him too much. Or talk to him. Or anything else if I'm honest. You know, Niss just had to wash some 'stuff' out of her dress. I'm sure you don't want anything like that finding its way upon you. And call me crazy but I'm thinking he didn't mean to kill him. Hallod is who I'm thinking. Let's just call it a 'hunch'," he says facetiously. "Plus, if you keep talking to him or shaking him like that, odds are you will scare the sh... you know, I'm just gonna go stand over there." He motions with a nod before taking a few steps away from the scary half-orc.
Finoan listens to Phinick carefully. Remembering what Baradim pointed out a day ago made him stop and think about how a truly evil person would behave. Trying to get into the mind of a ruthless person like that was difficult.
"Tell me this, Phinick. Who are you more frightened of right now: Baradim," He gestures to the Orc holding the terrified Goblin, "or Hallod?"
Fin looks to the others. "My concern is that when we bring him to Rolth, he will change his story."
"But still, it is better than nothing."
In Phinick's rational mind, it's really hard to decide between Baradim and Hallod. For one, Baradim is...right here. An immediate threat. But on the other hand...Hallod will certainly kill him if he somehow manages to escape this bunch.
What came out was a confused, strangled squeak. "Hallod! Hallod will kill me!" You're not going to kill me, right!? Right?!
"I'm not going to kill you. In fact, I need you very much alive."
Fin heads back towards the town again. "Now that our stench at least won't gag a buzzard, we should probably take him to Rolth. Maybe he can find somewhere safe to keep this one until we can get a handle on Hallod."
"But hey, this should at the very least clear the caravan company."
Niss nods her agreement, smirking at Drake's minor retreat from the potential blast area. "Indeed. Then we go to the Dead Willow and find Hallod, yes? Do we have a plan for that? I can try talking to him, you all could try sneaking up on him. If he runs, though, I'll just wait for Baradim to catch him. I am not chasing anyone else on unpaved roads."
Niss nods her agreement, smirking at Drake's minor retreat from the potential blast area. "Indeed. Then we go to the Dead Willow and find Hallod, yes? Do we have a plan for that? I can try talking to him, you all could try sneaking up on him. If he runs, though, I'll just wait for Baradim to catch him. I am not chasing anyone else on unpaved roads."
Pointing at Niss, "I'm liking that idea. Baradim can chase after him while the rest of us just watch. Although, a guy like Hallod would surprise me if he took off running. I'm thinking a guy like that, probably stays and fights. Much to Baradim's delight and my dismay, of course." He shrugs matter-of-factly, giving a slight grin.
Phinick doesn't have much to add to the conversation, more than happy to submit to Rolth's judgement in exchange for some level of protection from the town.
When you all arrive at Rolth's home office, it's early evening, and he's surprised to see you with the goblin in tow. "I had heard there was a commotion in the middle of town, but I didn't realize it was over this." He says, raising his eyebrows and staring hard at the goblin as you all recount what Phinick has told you about Hallod's involvement.
Rolth leans back in his chair, tipping back a tad with his boot resting on his desk, looking thoughtful. "Well, I can keep him in the cellar...He will have to answer for his part in the poisoning." Rolth looks serious, abruptly sitting forward and standing up to take the goblin from Baradim. "Coerced or not, he still used the poison with some intent to hurt the man. It'll be up to the judge, though. Finding Hallod will definitely help."
Rolth looks thoughtful and then goes back to his desk, crouching down underneath it and fiddling with a few things before standing up and holding out a bag of coins. "A reward for your efforts with Phinick. There will be more if you bring Hallod to justice."
"Thank you, Rolth." Fin takes 15 gold from the bag and hands the bag on to Niss. "I seriously doubt I will need more than this immediately and we might want to pool some of that for group purchases. Though if you all are wanting to split it completely to start with, I have no objection to that either."
"I'm going to talk to Delma for a bit and then head over to the caravan wagons again. It is getting late."
~~~~~~
Fin goes to the Feedmill and finds Delma. "I hear you may be the one to help. First, I could really use a bath. One with soap. I don't really need the room for the rest of the night though. And second, do you have any spellbooks for sale? Something I can keep notes on, and sturdy enough to not get destroyed by minor things like being caught in the blast area of a spell. I don't expect that they will already have spells in them."
Niss looks at the bag of gold -- more than she has ever held in her life. "Uh, okay...well...I only need some clothes, so I'll just take enough for that. Here," she sort of stammers, taking 5 gold and passing the bag to Drake.
------
Niss seeks Delma as well, and waits while Fin speaks with her about his needs. "I'm afraid I'm in need of a new wardrobe. Two or three outfits would not go amiss, actually. I seem to ruin mine rather quickly."
-----
"So, what is our plan with Hallod, hm?" She spoke quietly enough the party could hear, but not others nearby.
Fin goes to the Feedmill and finds Delma. "I hear you may be the one to help. First, I could really use a bath. One with soap. I don't really need the room for the rest of the night though. And second, do you have any spellbooks for sale? Something I can keep notes on, and sturdy enough to not get destroyed by minor things like being caught in the blast area of a spell. I don't expect that they will already have spells in them."
Niss seeks Delma as well, and waits while Fin speaks with her about his needs. "I'm afraid I'm in need of a new wardrobe. Two or three outfits would not go amiss, actually. I seem to ruin mine rather quickly."
Delma smiles at Finoan and Niss as they approach, and she leans over the counter to listen to them both. She nods at Finoan, replying to him first. "A bath, I can certainly help with. I can just let you use one of the rooms upstairs to bathe. I'll get one of the girls to go get the water ready for you. Plenty of scented soaps up there, too." She turns away for a moment, waving over one of her employees, and relays her orders. She turns back to Fin and Niss, considering the parts of their request that have to do with her General Store.
"Believe it or not, I may have a blank spellbook. I'll need a few to dig through my inventory a bit. Believe it or not, it's not a very commonly requested thing," She says to Fin, smiling wryly. "Stop by after your bath and I should have it for you, yeah? I’ll look for it while Niss goes looking through the clothes I have.”
She turns her attention to Niss and pulls an apologetic face. ”I’m afraid all I have is more catered towards farmers and their families, but they’re clean and well-made…” She shrugs, coming out from around the counter to lead Niss to one of the rooms off of the common area, a large space where she keeps her inventory for the store.
It is relatively well-stocked, but, as she said, it caters to the needs of an agricultural community. She has some weapons, armor, and random inventory that she’s picked up from caravans throughout the years (mostly Bort’s), but nothing extravagant.
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"He is a poisoner. He may flee once he realizes he is outclassed." Baradim growls. He knew that the night they entered, he should've walked up and broken the man's nose. It could've spared Bort's life.
"An opportunity missed. Was is being respectful or just cowardice?" The orc thought to himself. He would carry the goblin back, albeit a little more gently than originally. The small, fearful thing was terrified for its life even if it was guilty for the crime that it committed. When Rolth asked for Phinick, Baradim would regard the goblin one last time before handing him over.
"If you want to save yourself, little one, you must reveal where Hallod could be hiding if he is not home. He will not hurt you." At least, not when Baradim was done with him. He had a promise to give to Tamli, after all. The gold is handed over towards them and Baradim eyes it for a moment before looking back at the man. This kind of money would be a useful investment into the town, not just a reward to adventurers for catching a goblin. He doesn't deny it though, taking the bag of money in his hand.
"I say we split it evenly. Who knows where our paths will go next." Baradim said softly. They said they were family but the orc had seen what happened with family. Family died. At the general store, Baradim approaches the woman with a grunt. "What armor and weapons do you have? Things are more dangerous than I anticipated."
"We talk. He refuses to come in peacefully. I cut his head off. Rolth has his killer. Tamli gets her vengeance. Win-win." Baradim says while eating his bread and cheese. A thought suddenly strikes him. "We could risk a rumor that the poisoner has been caught and killed? Maybe it will draw him out."
"I say we split it evenly. Who knows where our paths will go next." Baradim said softly. They said they were family but the orc had seen what happened with family. Family died. At the general store, Baradim approaches the woman with a grunt. "What armor and weapons do you have? Things are more dangerous than I anticipated."
"It might be easier if you tell me what you're looking for, I think," Delma replies, looking up at the tall orc with a thoughtful expression.
Fin follows the employee up to the room and the bath. He soaks in the tub for quite a few minutes, then scrubs himself thoroughly with plenty of soap.
When he finishes, he makes sure to collect any of his fur that has shed in the process. The same minor Mending magic that naturally heals his injuries as though he was actually living also recreates any hair and fur lost.
When he is done, he heads back down to the dining area and speaks with Delma. "So what did you find?"
"Yes, that should do nicely. Excellent. And thank you." He pays for the book happily.
He then goes and curls up on the hearth again, resting, watching, and listening to the conversation.
"Not a bad plan, Baradim. I certainly can't think of anything better at the moment. Maybe something will present itself when we actually get to the house."
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Niss ends up purchasing three outfits.
Travel Clothing similar to this
Casual dress
Nicer dress
"We talk. He refuses to come in peacefully. I cut his head off. Rolth has his killer. Tamli gets her vengeance. Win-win." Baradim says while eating his bread and cheese. A thought suddenly strikes him. "We could risk a rumor that the poisoner has been caught and killed? Maybe it will draw him out."
"I'd be happy to try and talk to him. The trick is what to say. I mean, we know he's the one who ordered Bort killed. So really, the goal is to bring him in."
"From his demeanor the other night, I doubt asking him to turn himself over will work, but I could lead him into an ambush, perhaps? You three setting up somewhere advantageous, and little old non-threatening me tricking him into following me. Would just need to figure out how to get him to do that." She mulled over possible options, and was open to suggestions.
Delma looks over Baradim thoughtfully, taking stock of what's he's already wearing.
"I might have something. Come with me." She leads Baradim to the same room Niss was in and pulls out a Steel Shield.
"I don't really have any armor better than what you seem to be wearing, unfortunately, but this shield might do the trick," she offers, laying it out on the counter for his inspection. "It'll run you 2 gold pieces, if you're interested."
Baradim looks over the shield for a moment, eyeing the hard metal. It was better than what he had but it was still missing something. With a frown, he'd look back towards the woman.
"If you throw in a bit of black paint, I'll buy it."
Nearby their table, Baradim's new shield sat. It was freshly painted; the iconography of Lastwall upon it still drying in the air as the group discussed their plan.
"He does not seem the willing type. I am worried that instead of an ambush, we may give him a hostage." Baradim said, rubbing his chin. "I do believe we have enough evidence to just enter his home as well. Finoan is deputized."
"I do believe we have enough evidence to just enter his home as well. Finoan is deputized."
Fin chuckles a bit at that. "Probably. Which is a bit of a first. Normally I don't worry too much about permission or authority when I go to break in to somewhere."
"My concern with entering his home is that he could have and ambush set up for us. He must know he'll be a suspect, and someone will come for him eventually. And given his access to poison, who knows what other nasty traps he may have at his disposal."
Having received the good news that the poisoner was caught, Delma cheerfully opened up the kitchen again. Amora is in the back, cooking up the night's meal: roasted game, mashed turnips, some greens...a simple, yet hearty meal. Townsfolk have begun filing in, several of whom are interested in your table, having heard the rumors that it was you all who caught Phinick.
Flonk, the town's "bard," has taken up his usual position in the corner, already two drinks deep and poorly playing a cheerful little tune that, despite its terribleness, doesn't necessarily ruin the upbeat mood in the tavern.
Tiffani approaches your table, a bit of shiner still glowing on her left eye from the mug that hit her two nights ago. Despite that, the young, dark-haired waitress smiles at you all. "Havin' dinner tonight, y'all?" She asks, glancing around at the table. "Amora's back in the kitchen and we can serve real food! Never thought Phinick would have it in him." She "tsks," clicking her tongue, and awaits your reply.
After Tiffani leaves, Ser Lawren enters the tavern, cleaned up a bit since you last saw him. He catches sight of Baradim's shield and what he has painted on it and goes pale, hurrying by you all to a darkened corner without making eye contact, and orders two mugs of ale, one for each hand. He sits back there nursing the mugs. Tiffani and Kolrahl, the servers, go out of their way to avoid him except to bring him more ale when he requests it.
Ulf, Olf, and Gregor (seemingly inseparable) come in to enjoy dinner and some entertainment as well, waving at you all as they take a table nearby.
Finoan spends a few hours resting on the hearth and conversing with friends. As the evening winds down, he takes his leave and heads back to the caravan camp. There he goes and talks to Tamli.
"Good evening. If you haven't heard the news already, the poisoner was caught. The caravan will probably be cleared to leave soon if it hasn't already." Fin scowls a bit. "Though we believe that the goblin was both tricked and coerced into the job."
"In the morning, I may want to take a quick look at the ledger again. A stray comment has me wondering about something that I want to verify. But for tonight, sleep peacefully. I will be standing guard again."
Fin spends the night recording what few magics he can remember in his new book in between his normal circuits around the campsite.
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Niss looks at the bag of gold -- more than she has ever held in her life. "Uh, okay...well...I only need some clothes, so I'll just take enough for that. Here," she sort of stammers, taking 5 gold and passing the bag to Drake.
Taking the bag and not really knowing what to do with it, he goes to put it in his pack until...
"I say we split it evenly. Who knows where our paths will go next." Baradim said softly. They said they were family but the orc had seen what happened with family. Family died. At the general store, Baradim approaches the woman with a grunt. "What armor and weapons do you have? Things are more dangerous than I anticipated."
"Sure, Baradim. Give me a sec." Counting out thirty gold, "Here you go. Don't spend it all in one place." He winks.
"So, what is our plan with Hallod, hm?" She spoke quietly enough the party could hear, but not others nearby.
We talk. He refuses to come in peacefully. I cut his head off. Rolth has his killer. Tamli gets her vengeance. Win-win."[/b] Baradim says while eating his bread and cheese. A thought suddenly strikes him. "We could risk a rumor that the poisoner has been caught and killed? Maybe it will draw him out."
"Not a bad plan, Baradim. I certainly can't think of anything better at the moment. Maybe something will present itself when we actually get to the house."
With his arms crossed, he listens in as he leans back in the chair. Raising his eyebrows in stunned silence at Baradim's insane idea, he's even more taken aback by Fin agreeing with him. Raising his hands, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Can we maybe take a vote on the whole murdering issue? And for the record, any ties go to the 'non-murderous' people." He nods emphatically.
"Baradim, cutting people's heads off is not the solution we should be looking for, friend. You've got to look for less psychotic answers. And Fin, that is TOTALLY a bad plan! Boy, how did either of you make it this far without some type of voice of reason to listen to?! Are you kidding me?! If we have to take him down by force, then so be it. But we're not taking his head," he gives Baradim the eye, "for kicks and grins. That's... that's just beyond all kinds of twisted. That's as sick and twisted as some random person cutting off the heads of dead people, and sending them back in a big bag just to send a message. People like that need to be shot. Either that or locked up in a psycho ward or something to where they never see people again."
"My concern with entering his home is that he could have and ambush set up for us. He must know he'll be a suspect, and someone will come for him eventually. And given his access to poison, who knows what other nasty traps he may have at his disposal."
"Let's do this. Niss and I - that way she doesn't turn into a hostage as you mentioned, Baradim - will go and talk to him. Well, Niss will do the talking and I'll stand there and smile, looking like I don't want to cut his head off." He cuts his eyes over at Baradim once again. "Anyway, when that doesn't work, because I'm not sure a guy like that's going to listen to anything anyway, then we take him down. But we do it WITHOUT taking his head, m-kay?" He cuts his full attention to the half-orc, blinking several times in emphasis. "This is not," Drake goes into his 'best' Baradim impression - "We're here to talk to you, Hallod scum. I'M NOW TIRED OF TALKING! I TAKE YOUR HEAD! *chop, chop, chop*" Yeah that's not," shaking his head, "that's not how we should be doing things, friend. Let's try a more peaceful way and use violence as a last resort, can we do that, please? Am I asking too much? Am I?" he asks, a bit of sarcasm in his tone as he looks at them a moment before, "Please?"
Finoan spends a few hours resting on the hearth and conversing with friends. As the evening winds down, he takes his leave and heads back to the caravan camp. There he goes and talks to Tamli.
"Good evening. If you haven't heard the news already, the poisoner was caught. The caravan will probably be cleared to leave soon if it hasn't already." Fin scowls a bit. "Though we believe that the goblin was both tricked and coerced into the job."
"In the morning, I may want to take a quick look at the ledger again. A stray comment has me wondering about something that I want to verify. But for tonight, sleep peacefully. I will be standing guard again."
Fin spends the night recording what few magics he can remember in his new book in between his normal circuits around the campsite.
Tamli is, in fact, back at the caravan, not one to leave it unguarded, but also not one to deny her people some time to themselves. She looks up at Finoan when he arrives and raises an eyebrow, quietly impressed. "Rolth hasn't said anything about us being cleared, but that's nice to hear. We are here until the judge arrives, though. The goblin, mm?" She shorts, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. "Easily manipulated creatures."
"You're welcome to look at it. Anything I might be able to help with?"
Let's try a more peaceful way and use violence as a last resort, can we do that, please? Am I asking too much? Am I?
"Hrrmrr.... Oh, fine. Sorry, thinking this is more of a wartime thing. This village definitely gives off that vibe. Maybe skipping the gristly trophies is best."
"Easily manipulated creatures."
"You're welcome to look at it. Anything I might be able to help with?"
Fin shakes his head a bit. "The goblin mentioned that the poisoning was retaliation for being cheated by Bort. But I don't think Bort would do anything of the sort - at least not knowingly or deliberately. But believing that and proving that are different."
Fin shakes his head a bit. "The goblin mentioned that the poisoning was retaliation for being cheated by Bort. But I don't think Bort would do anything of the sort - at least not knowingly or deliberately. But believing that and proving that are different.""Easily manipulated creatures."
"You're welcome to look at it. Anything I might be able to help with?"
Tamli bristles slightly at the suggestion of Bort being in any way dishonest, but does not direct her ire towards Finoan. "Bort is not the type of man to cheat someone. You don't last long in this line of work in that way," She says curtly, mouth drawn over her tusks in a frown. "I would never take the word of a goblin at face value, but you are more than welcome to look at the ledgers when you would like to. Just let me know."
"Let's do this. Niss and I - that way she doesn't turn into a hostage as you mentioned, Baradim - will go and talk to him. Well, Niss will do the talking and I'll stand there and smile, looking like I don't want to cut his head off." He cuts his eyes over at Baradim once again. "Anyway, when that doesn't work, because I'm not sure a guy like that's going to listen to anything anyway, then we take him down. But we do it WITHOUT taking his head, m-kay?"
Niss smiled at him. "Trust me, I am all in favor of not being a hostage. I would remind you I'm not entirely helpless."[b] She smirked. [b]"But still, it's a good idea, with one alteration -- instead of standing next to me and smiling, you could try approaching the building with stealth before I walk up to it, and you hide to the side of the door where he won't see you."
"It is a waste of our time to tell him to give himself up. The intensity of what I felt when I touched that vial..." she shivered momentarily at the memory. "He is not a reasonable man. He had some sort of deal set up with Bort, yes? My thinking was, maybe I could claim Tamli wants to arrange a deal, and asked me to let him know about a meeting nearby. If he believes me, Baradim and Fin are waiting to ambush him in a place of our choosing. If he doesn’t bite, Drake will still be with me and we can call you two in as backup. Thoughts?”
"Well, some minor logistics things. How close is 'nearby'? I can run pretty fast, but not anything extraordinary. And how loud do you yell, Princess?"
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Baradim goes silent as Drake speaks, though his brows furrow downwards slowly as he grows more and more angry. When he finishes, the sarcasm tinging his word, the orc's fist cracks down on the table. His lips pull back in a snarl as he leans in, his voice a low growl as he speaks.
"Drake McClain, watch your tongue. Just because your stomach is weak doesn't mean mine is. The man is a killer and a killer will be dealt with. His head is taken because it is easier than carrying a body to be identified...or do you just assume that I am a ?" His voice raises for a moment and he can feel that the eyes in the tavern are watching him. "Your life sounds sweet and gentle. Your life has not been my life nor the way of the world." Baradim raises from the table as disgust builds in him, the guttural snarl of his kind lilting every word. "You rather let a danger have a second chance at taking a life. I do not. If he comes for us, I will cut him down. Without hesitation. Hate me or be disgusted by me if you will, I will not let a foe have another chance at harming you."
Baradim pushes away from the table in anger, grabbing his shield and moving over to the bar. Ordering a tall drink, he makes his way to a darkened corner where Ser Lawren was hiding. It was only when Baradim had cooled down a moment that he noticed the man sitting beside him. His eyes looked over the man for a moment before he lifts a mug. "To Lastwall. Where were you stationed?" The orc did not care if he did not want to talk with him. He needed a distraction before his anger got the best of him, something to distract from the conversation he just had.
Fin startles a bit when Baradim hits the table. He twitches one ear after hearing what Baradim has to say. Then shrugs and settles back down. "Well, he might not be right. But I can't really say that he is wrong either. Something to think about more when I am more awake."
Baradim pushes away from the table in anger, grabbing his shield and moving over to the bar. Ordering a tall drink, he makes his way to a darkened corner where Ser Lawren was hiding. It was only when Baradim had cooled down a moment that he noticed the man sitting beside him. His eyes looked over the man for a moment before he lifts a mug. "To Lastwall. Where were you stationed?" The orc did not care if he did not want to talk with him. He needed a distraction before his anger got the best of him, something to distract from the conversation he just had.
Sir Lawren looks startled as Baradim sits down, but drunkenly returns the toast with a wry smile. "To Lastwall. Frontlines." He does not elaborate, nor does he make any eye contact with Baradim. He simply drinks deeply from his mug of turnip ale. After a few moments, he dares to ask the orc, "Running?"
Baradim drinks from the mug, pouring it down heavily and letting the buzz slowly run over his body and mind. It was better than the rage that simmered underneath the surface. The man mentioned the frontlines and Baradim simply nods, knowing how devastated that was. There was that moment of silence before the man asked him if he was still running.
Baradim grew still as he thought it over. It was a brutally simple question, one that he ashamedly knew the answer to. His free hand reached up and caressed the myriad of holy symbols and amulets that hung from his neck underneath his shirt. Most were stained with old mud. Some were stained with a more violent color. His hand shook for a moment before he looked over at the man.
"Not anymore. I...I'm trying not to." Baradim snuck a glance over at the three others still at the table. Anger and shame mixed in his gut as he looked back at the man. "I won't judge you. I was...not brave either. But..." He would reach out and clasp the man on the shoulder gently, knowing how fragile on the inside he could be. "...we're still here. We still have good to do. We haven't failed."
Baradim drinks from the mug, pouring it down heavily and letting the buzz slowly run over his body and mind. It was better than the rage that simmered underneath the surface. The man mentioned the frontlines and Baradim simply nods, knowing how devastated that was. There was that moment of silence before the man asked him if he was still running.
Baradim grew still as he thought it over. It was a brutally simple question, one that he ashamedly knew the answer to. His free hand reached up and caressed the myriad of holy symbols and amulets that hung from his neck underneath his shirt. Most were stained with old mud. Some were stained with a more violent color. His hand shook for a moment before he looked over at the man.
"Not anymore. I...I'm trying not to." Baradim snuck a glance over at the three others still at the table. Anger and shame mixed in his gut as he looked back at the man. "I won't judge you. I was...not brave either. But..." He would reach out and clasp the man on the shoulder gently, knowing how fragile on the inside he could be. "...we're still here. We still have good to do. We haven't failed."
The man flinches hard at Baradim's touch, unused to any amount of contact anymore. He averts his gaze from the holy symbols, frowning deeply, and sighs audibly. "I stumbled. Fell here. Haven't gotten back up." Sir Lawren glances at the orc carefully. "...I shouldn't be here." It's unclear whether or not he means this place, right here, physically...or if he means living. Either one seems fitting for the expression on his face: carefully schooled into neutrality, eyes filled with lingering fear from a deep trauma that Baradim understands.
Baradim looks at the man and nods softly; his meaning was manifold and Baradim knew each one of them. He felt each one of them. The grip on Sir Lawren's shoulder tightened and the orc's brows furrowed. Those black and yellow eyes reflected it back to him and for a moment, there was not a man and an orc there. There was just two defeated soldiers, soldiers who shouldn't be here. Soldiers who died back in Lastwall.
"Brother..." Baradim says softly, his voice a whisper. There was no lie there for the man had faced the same horrors that Baradim. Undead unlike anything any living man or woman could imagine, horrors that belonged only in nightmares. In their shame and trauma, they were brothers. "...me neither. Yet we are. For those we owe, we must stand up again." Baradim gently claps the man's shoulder, nodding. "I'm just starting to. You will too, in time. Put the drink down, think on it."
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"Well, some minor logistics things. How close is 'nearby'? I can run pretty fast, but not anything extraordinary. And how loud do you yell, Princess?"
"I don't need to yell. I can speak directly into your minds. So long as you don't get more than a hundred feet or so away, give or take. Much further than that and backup would come too late, anyway."
Angry words
Niss flinches involuntarily when Baradim loses his temper, her heart pounding suddenly, the sudden outburst triggering a moment of panic that she quickly works to suppress. Years of abuse left scars that couldn't be seen, as well as the ones that could. By the time he rises and leaves the table, she's back in control, for the most part, and she gives Drake a subtle head shake, knowing he would notice her distress, indicating it was nothing to worry about. She looks at the orc sadly, then lays a hand on the back of Drake's. "Best leave him be for the moment. Let cooler heads prevail in the morning."
Baradim looks at the man and nods softly; his meaning was manifold and Baradim knew each one of them. He felt each one of them. The grip on Sir Lawren's shoulder tightened and the orc's brows furrowed. Those black and yellow eyes reflected it back to him and for a moment, there was not a man and an orc there. There was just two defeated soldiers, soldiers who shouldn't be here. Soldiers who died back in Lastwall.
"Brother..." Baradim says softly, his voice a whisper. There was no lie there for the man had faced the same horrors that Baradim. Undead unlike anything any living man or woman could imagine, horrors that belonged only in nightmares. In their shame and trauma, they were brothers. "...me neither. Yet we are. For those we owe, we must stand up again." Baradim gently claps the man's shoulder, nodding. "I'm just starting to. You will too, in time. Put the drink down, think on it."
Sir Lawren doesn't put his drink down--he finishes it and sets the mug down. He does not, however, move to order another as he usually would, instead turning his face slightly towards Baradim. "How do you start?" The man's tone is broken and pleading, slurring slightly from the drink.
Baradim thinks softly for a moment as the man asks him how he started, thinking for a moment before he gives a shrug gently. There was no easy answer as Baradim finishes his drink.
"One day at a time. One helpful act at the time. If I see those that I can help, I do. Maybe one day...maybe one day, I'll make amends. Maybe one day, you will too." Baradim says with a shrug, leaning back into his seat. "There is nothing the gods will show you nor the dead. You have to take it back by your own hands. You lived; make it worthwhile."
"That is what I tell myself. Some days, I believe it. Others, not so much. I'm heading west to join the knights. To try and do good. You should to." Baradim said, rising from his seat now. "For now, I need to go. There is a woman waiting for me."
Sir Lawren doesn't reply immediately, staring at the empty mugs in front of him with thought. "Thank you." He says, smiling weakly up at the orc. "Perhaps I will see you around. Don't keep her waiting on my behalf."
Fin spends the night recording what few magics he can remember in his new book in between his normal circuits around the campsite.
The night is more or less quiet, all things considered. There are a few sounds coming from the wagons here and there (mostly loud snores, at this point) and the occasional sounds of a small town at night: dogs barking, the sounds of pests rummaging through trash, the occasional baby crying. A light breeze rustles the grass and the trees, bringing with it what would be a pleasant, earthy scent were it not for the faint, underlying notes of decay.
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun begins to crest the horizon, Finoan would spot a figure heading into town from the west entrance, dragging a covered wooden sledge behind them. The figure seems to be moving with purpose towards The Feedmill and will pass by the caravan camp on their way to their destination.
Finoan slips his book into a pocket and drops to a crouch on all fours. Interesting. Who is that?
He sprints as quietly as he can to a position ahead of this figure's path.
Then waits behind a shrub trying to see who this is and what they bring.
The figure continues to move toward the Feedmill, dragging the sledge. Out of the back of it, an animal's paw sticks out--a wolf's paw. It seems at least one of the things the figure is dragging is the corpse of a wolf.
The figure slows a tad as they approach Finoan's hiding spot, then comes to a stop in front of the shrub Finoan is hiding behind. Their face is obscured by a hood hanging low over their face, but the voice that calls out is distinctly feminine and musical in quality. "I see you. What are you following me for, so early in the morning?" Her tone is matter-of-fact and doesn't carry a threat.
"Bah, spotted again. I really am quite rusty at this." Fin steps out from behind the shrub. "But you aren't who I was afraid you would be. My name is Finoan. I am one of the guards of the caravan over there." He gestures in the general direction. "And some of my friends are staying in the Feedmill. There have been some strange and rather sinister things going on recently, so I am a bit on edge."
"So what is your name?" He glances obviously at the paw sticking out of the sled. "And is that one of the wolves we saw on the way in here?"
"Bah, spotted again. I really am quite rusty at this." Fin steps out from behind the shrub. "But you aren't who I was afraid you would be. My name is Finoan. I am one of the guards of the caravan over there." He gestures in the general direction. "And some of my friends are staying in the Feedmill. There have been some strange and rather sinister things going on recently, so I am a bit on edge."
"So what is your name?" He glances obviously at the paw sticking out of the sled. "And is that one of the wolves we saw on the way in here?"
The woman sets the sledge down gently so as not to make too much noise, then pulls down her hood, revealing an elven woman of indeterminate age, her dark hair pulled back into a low, messy bun. Her mossy green eyes look down at you with vague amusement. "Noala Kessir. I'd been tracking these creatures and found them dead along the road to Etran's Folly. I take it this is your work?" She bends over and lifts the cloth with one hand: sure enough, the bodies of the wolves you fought on your way in, including the caustic wolf, are laying in a smelly pile on the sledge. She cradles her right hand against her core, the appendage wrapped in blood-soaked bandages.
"I take it this is your work?"
Fin looks at the pile of wolves, recognizing the caustic wolf specifically. "I can't take credit for the big one that looks like it was shot by a ship's cannon. But yes, these did attack us on the way here. That big one was especially dangerous. It's bite was acidic. Do you know what would cause that? I'm no expert on wild animals, but I don't think that is normal. Nor is the surgery that this one apparently has had."
"Interesting," She says, looking at him thoughtfully. "There is some kind of blight." She grimaces, gesturing towards the forest. "First, a few trees gone bad. It's slowly spread throughout the years. These wolves..." She shakes her head and sighs, looking down at the animals with equal parts disgust and pity. "They're an alarming symptom of a much larger problem."
She pauses briefly, then looks at Finoan searchingly. "Surgery, you say? Show me." Luckily, the caustic one is on top and easy to access. She flips back the cloth and puts her good hand on her hip, watching Finoan expectantly.
"Well, I'm about as rusty on my medical skills as I am on my sneaking around skills, but when I checked this one out earlier..." Finoan goes over to the wolf, secretly hoping that he isn't delusional and that the surgery marks he found earlier are still there. He pushes the fur and skin around a bit in the places where he remembered them to be.
Noala kneels down next to Finoan and inspects the corpse alongside him, making a soft noise of distress when she sees a few of the scars that Finoan points out. "I see," She says, standing up and covering the wolves back up. "Rolth Garley has been brushing me off for months. Won't take this problem seriously. Now, it's on his doorstep. Perhaps he will listen." She purses her lips, looking sour. "I'd like to get to the bottom of this, but..." She holds up her injured hand. "I'm having some trouble on my own. You said your friends are at the Feedmill? When dawn breaks and your people wake up, we can all speak there. I'm headed there, anyway." She looks over the automaton, trying to get a read on him. "If you're interested, that is."
"Sure, I'll meet you there in the morning. For now, I am going to keep to my rounds." Fin nods and waves and heads back to the caravan campsite.
"I will see you for breakfast, then." Noala spares Finoan a small smile and heads off to the Feedmill, dragging the sledge full of wolf corpses behind her as she goes.
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"It is not you. Just...not tonight. Please." The woman seemed to sense the need he had and for a moment, she wrapped him in welcoming arms. Her heartbeat was slow, regular, welcoming. Its beat comforted him as he let his eyes drift close until sleep claimed him again.
The air was hot around him as he ripped the barbed arrow's end in half, blood pouring from his wounds. They kept coming, they just kept coming. Around him were the dead, glazed eyes of friends that would never laugh or sing again or even regard him with suspicion. Baradim would rather have that cold disdain for his kind in their eyes than that terrible emptiness. Screams filled the air like the call of carrion birds, the terrible signal that the walls had been breached before everyone could be evacuated. Moving through the fortress's walls, he came across his squadron and the slaughter that they had been involved with.
No one was moving and the air stunk of blood and rot. His limbs shook, fear radiating through his entire being. It was his home all over again; a scene of death and despair. Yet it was not the charge of orc raiders coming, raiders that would be crushed by a patrol of Lastwall warriors. No, it was the silent clittering and clattering of bone and metal. The viscuous sound of spoiled flesh made living by the most unholy of powers. There was nowhere to go, no where to escape to. There was no more fighting left, the dead had won the city. Instinct took over.
Baradim gathered the dead, pulling them over his being. Dirt, blood, and gore covered him as Baradim formed a pile and pushed his way into the mass of flesh. The undead would only find the dead there as Baradim prayed underneath his fallen comrades. He stilled his breath, tried to slow his bleeding, willed his heart to calm. He just needed to be calm and patient.
That was when the moldy, rotten arm ripped through and grabbed him by the throat. It latched onto his throat, squeezing the life from him. Baradim's teeth snarled back, his eyes opening wider and angrier. He reached for a blade, grabbing a knife, pulling it free from his dead mate's belt. He ripped out, ready to strike.
Baradim's eyes opened to look down at the shocked sight of Tamli trying to scratch at his throat. His dagger was in his hand, trying to press down into her chest. Panick spread to his eyes as he threw the dagger away and fell back away from her. Breathing ragged, Baradim shook his head as he crawled back from Tamli.
"I-I am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I...I..." He reached up for the number of holy talismans that hung from his neck; symbols of Iomadae, Pharasma, Saranrae, and Desna. He held them tightly as his eyes began to glisten, his head shaking slowly. "I...I don't know what I'm doing. I shouldn't be here..."
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Thankfully, he was quick with his apology. ”Mmh, találj vigaszt a karjaimban.” She wasn’t fool enough to think she understood his trauma, but she was familiar enough with her own wounds to recognize the need for simple comfort. She held him close, his head on her chest, and gently ran a hand over his back until his breath evened out and they both drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Tamli was no stranger to nightmares. There were many nights she woke up in a cold sweat, screaming, in the middle of tearing something to shreds. But it had been some time since they had been that bad. Her wounds were still fresh, but she had the support from her found family to help her through her living hell. Bort had given her purpose, a home. Gregor had helped her learn to cope emotionally with her losses. The twins, Grunda, Cooky - they all had their own parts to play in her healing. The wounds weren’t closed, not nearly enough, but they were well on their way.
She awoke, yellow eyes opening wildly from a dreamless sleep to a sharp pain in her chest and a snarling growl. Her free hand whipped out instinctually, clawing at the throat of her attacker until she locked eyes with a familiar yellow and black gaze; one glazed over with panic and disassociation. When their eyes met, Baradim came to, and she sat up quickly when he backed away, her breath coming in ragged heaves for a moment while the broken orc in front of her pleaded and gripped his necklace of holy symbols. Tamli felt for her own talisman and grasped it tightly, screwing her eyes shut before forcing her breathing to slow.
”Baradim.” She said after a moment, pitching her voice low to calm him. She moved closer, slowly, so as not to spook him into moving further away. ”I am not hurt. It takes more than that,” she said wryly, close enough then to pull him to her, tucking his head against her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulder and his head, hoping that the pressure would help him as it helped her when she dealt with her own episodes. ”You are safe here.” She said calmly, her voice rumbling through her chest and against his cheek.
Orcish: Thankfully, he was quick with his apology. ”Mmh, find comfort in my arms.”