Xavin designates Tartuk as their prey, moves in and attacks.
As Tartuk casts his spell, Nidintu scowls at the little kobold, lashing out with his axe at what he assumes is the right image. "You call yourself a priest? What sort of priest gets his people killed and doesn't so much as bat an eye? You're as much a holy man as I, little fool!"
As the spell takes hold of his mind, however, Nidintu hisses in pain as agony wracks every inch of his body - the feeling is not unlike being flayed alive. After a moment, though, he shakes his head and gives a nightmarish grin at the offending kobold. "Is that the best you can do, little fool? I'll give you that back tenfold!"
Seeing that Tartuk stands alone, Nidintu presses his assault, sweeping at the so-called shaman's images like a scythe through grain as he searches for the real one.
Xavin and Nidintu both strike an illusory image of Tartuk. the priestly kobold leaves himself open to an attack as he casts a spell against the pitborn warrior - and that costs him dearly. The greataxe thuds into his shoulder, sending out a spray of blood and causing the kobold to cry out in pain.
Roots tips his cap to both Nidintu and Xavin, as the Storm Druid grins.
Tempest Surge
Roots Raises his Shield.
Just in case he decides to run.
Eskra heads forward and begins spinning a tale of Carageorn’s long-lost and possibly fictional heroics, ”And so, in ancient days, as brave Carageorn delved in the bones of the earth, did he come across a dragon, wretched and cruel! With unfading valor did his blades slice and dice and snicker-snack!”
Emboldened by the tale, Carageorn moves in to join the dogpile on Tartuk, swinging at the shaman with one of his blades.
The magic of the leshy zaps the kobold priest a little. Carageorn's beautifully executed attack slices through the last illusory image of Tartuk. Seeing himself threatened from all sides, the purple-scaled kobold scowls fiercely and begins muttering another spell.
The air shimmers around him slightly and he smirks as he chants another incantation... and disappears!
Xavin spends an action trying to seek their prey!
Frustration clearly forming from the frown on his leshy face, Roots casts Scatter Scree on the "squares" that the tricky shaman was last seen and the area behind that one!
The pouting leshy's blue eyes do attempt to Seek the (hopefully) rock head!
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Both Roots-Sink-Deep and Xavin can tell that Tartuk hasn't moved much from the spot he was last seen in, by the muted sounds of pain he makes as scree from the leshy's spell hits him.
Roots is seen giggling just a little bit.....
Either Xavin is able to pinpoint where the enemy is and can't hit them or can't quite get past their concealment.
The cleric has not moved!
Nidintu nods at Xavin's statement, swinging blindly at roughly the area where Tartuk was recently standing. "Your tricks won't save you, little fool! I'll send you to meet your devil-god soon enough!"
Roots is seen positively laughing and point at the blood splatter formerly known as stupid....
With a determined attack from Xavin and a lucky hit from Nidintu-Bel, the kobold priest is slain! The air shimmers as his invisibility spell fades and his corpse becomes visible, sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood.
"Yes! You have freed our tribe from his tyranny!" Chief Sootscale surges forward to stand triumphantly over the former prelate, but then their face falls. "What- what is happening?"
Indeed, the corpse of Tartuk shifts, morphing into the familiar stature and features of Tartuccio, the arrogant gnome met at Lady Jamandi's feast!
Nakpik and Mikmek snort in shock, gathering around to stare at the no-longer-kobold.
Nidintu grins as the arrogant kobold falls, but his smile falters and he raises his eyebrows when the priest's form resolves into that of the inimitable insufferable Tartuccio. Recognizing the annoying would-be hero, the massive warrior scowls and kicks at the corpse. "I know this fool - his name was Tartuccio. He was one of the adventurers who set out to conquer the Stolen Lands. Pathetic little coward, he was, always hiding and cowering and playing dead. Always bragging about how smart he was." The massive pitborn glances at Roots. "Who were those other two who went with him? That grumpy scholar Harruk or something, and that creepy farmer lady Jaeda, right? Probably knifed them in the back and left them in a ditch somewhere. We should probably find their bodies, make sure they're buried or burned or whatever the custom is."
He turns to Chief Sootscale and the other two kobolds, kneeling to shake the kobold lord's hand. "I'm glad I could help you get your tribe back, Chief. On that topic, it seems like you're short a priest. If you'd like, I can try to help - my god's priests often wander the land, and I'm sure I could talk one into visiting here every so often: blessing newborn children, burying the dead, all that. Erastil's the god of those who band together, and I think He'd smile on this place here."
Finishing his talk with Chief Sootscale, he gets to his feet again, dusting off his hands. "Right, we should probably be going, friends. I'd like to check the Old Sycamore one more time, see if we can find Svetlana's ring anywhere."
Chief Sootscale listens to Nidintu-Bel, and shakes their head. "This Tartuccio had strong magic, to change his shape so. We all thought he was a kobold! I feel a fool." The chieftain sniffs at the mention of companions. "He came to us alone, no companions. And these priests that you speak of, no offense to you but we do not worship your god. Someone else from the tribe will be chosen to be priest for Old Sharptooth." Chief Sootscale winces. "I hope he won't be too mad that I smashed his statue, but it was to break the curse that Tartuk- Tartuccio put on the tribe! He said if statue is not returned soon, all kobolds will turn yellow and die!"
At the mention of a ring, the chief interrupts. "A ring? We have a ring." They shout at some kobolds milling nearby, who rush to a mound in the eastern alcove and gesture for the visitors to come over and look. The heap consists mostly of a huge amount of worthless shiny objects such as quartz and mica crystals, bits of polished metal, broken weapons and armour, and other garbage. However, there are some things of real value in there, and the chief seems to be granting permission for the Wildwood Band to help themselves.
Tartuk's personal journal sits on a table nearby, written in Undercommon.
Who is Old Sharptooth? Xavin asks. I am finding my experience and knowledge to be limited these days.
Chief Sootscale raises a finger on each hand and puts them above their head, miming horns. "Old Sharptooth is our god. The statue you returned was of him. A shame it had to be destroyed."
"And these priests that you speak of, no offense to you but we do not worship your god. Someone else from the tribe will be chosen to be priest for Old Sharptooth."
Nidintu shrugs. "Suit yourself. It's no business of mine - I was just trying to help."
As the kobolds present the group with their treasures, his face lights up as he spots Svetlana's ring. "There it is! I thought the mites had this!" He kneels to pick up the ring, storing it in a pocket for return to Svetlana.
"They did, but we stole it from them!" declares Chief Sootscale with pride.
we are glad to start this friendship with your people by helping you in your overthrow of this tyrant, and in your dispute with the mites. Xavin says, ready to move on. We hope to do similar with other parts of these lands. Should we succeed in establishing ourselves, can we count on you as allies?
"Your help will not be forgotten," responds Chief Sootscale rather noncommittally - for they are a politician after all.
Roots smiles fondly at their new neighbors.
Do you know of any mines about that may still produce? A caterpillar once told me about a Kobold minor he once caught a ride on. They went from a mine to a swamp. The caterpillar jump off at Albuquerque.
The kobolds look at the leshy in confusion.
Chief Sootscale thinks for a moment, then latches onto the one thing they understood. "Mine? Our tribe was going to try and reopen this old mine, but the war with the mites hindered those plans."
Roots grins at the confirmation of a mine being present.
Perhaps once we get truly settle our two settlements can help each other.
At Roots's bizarre outburst, Nidintu furrows his brow, glancing down at the little leshy. After a moment, he shrugs, chalking the strange statement up to Roots's madness. As Chief Sootscale speaks, Nidintu nods gratefully. "As I said, we'll have all sorts in from Restov soon enough - perhaps they can help out here. After all, these lands are not the place to be a negligent neighbor. I hope to see you again, Chief Sootscale."
Roots smiles innocently up, up, up at his friend. The small Root leshy winks.
We could explore the areas between here and the stupid Stag Lord.
We have two promises to fulfill before that. Let us get some fangberries and then head back to the outpost to return our ring. Then make further plans from there. Xavin advises.
Nidintu glances back down at Roots. "I think it would be best to return to Oleg and Svetlana, give them what we have discovered so far. Still, we could approach the Stag Lord directly, pretend to be bandits bearing news from Thorn River." He shrugs. "Either way, I think we're done in this place."
As the Wildwood Band leaves the Sootscale Caverns, Nidintu strokes his chin as though trying to remember something. "I know it's the 27th of Calistril, my friends, but what year is it? They all tend to blur together: I thought 4690 was just a year or two ago, but I can't recall."
Eskra shrugs, "No idea. Don't think I've known what day it was for, hell, a long damn time until you said so. I've been through nineteen winters I can remember, probably a few I can't, and that's all that truly matters to me."
Leaving the Sootscale caverns behind after a night of rest, the Wildwood Band travels west. Following the Shrike River, around noon the following day they come to where it meets the Thorn River, the waters then flowing together into the Tuskwater lake. The Thorn River is quite shallow here, never deeper than 3 feet, which makes this a good location to ford the water.
Another day of travel westwards brings them into a valley between two low hills. A path of raspberry-like fruits grows in a thorny thicket draped in the white gossamer silk of spiderwebs. The best of the berries lie at the heart of the thicket, but harvesting must be done slowly to avoid being lacerated by the thousands of fangberry thorns.
Roots scratches his vine head at Nidintu's query.
What's a year?
Once the Wildwood Band reaches the wild again, the Storm Druid stretches his vine-like arms up into the air.
Much better outside than in stuffys.
As they trek across the wild, Roots is seen chasing butterflies around trees and various types of foliage, saluting ants as they work busily by their path, and he is even seen once hiding from a gang of caterpillars that look tough.
Seeing the path of raspberry-like fruits grows in a thorny thicket draped in the white gossamer silk of spiderwebs, the Root leshy begins stripping!
The laughing leshy rushes haphazardly into the thorny thicket!
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"No idea. Don't think I've known what day it was for, hell, a long damn time until you said so. I've been through nineteen winters I can remember, probably a few I can't, and that's all that truly matters to me."
Nidintu shrugs as the group continues on their way. "Fair enough. To be honest, I'm not too clear on the day myself - I thought someone mentioned it in Restov, and I've tried to keep track since then, but I'm bad with numbers. There's the planting season, the growing season, the harvesting season, and the barren season, that's all I need to know." The massive warrior furrows his brow. "Far as winters go, like I said, I'm bad with numbers. I think I've seen somewhere between one hundred and sixty and one hundred and ninety. I've got a long memory, that's for sure - I remember the First Crusade in Mendev, a little after I was married. My smithy in the bandit camp overlooked the old Holtaksen Road, and while I worked, I'd watch the soldiers passing by, bound for the city of Storasta. Gone now, I hear, but it was supposed to be beautiful in the old days."
His yellow eyes mist with remembrance as he begins to ramble, barely noticing as his horse Rādāni-Tānu splashes through the shallow river ford. "I wasn't always called 'Nidintu,' you know. My father didn't bother giving me a name, but at the hermitage, Ardeth called me 'Tanrian.' I changed it once I joined the bandits - thought the Shepherd would have been ashamed of my new life. Boss Tanith was an exile from the Kellid tribes to the north, and it was him who gave me the name I have now. 'Nidintu-Bel' - good, solid Numerian name, he said. Means 'Spirit-of-Vigil' in the Hallit tongue, I think."
Nidintu grins as the Wildwood Band comes across the thicket of thorned bushes. "Fangberries indeed, Roots! I used to love these when I was a kid, I did - let's see if I still remember how to pick 'em!"
The towering pitborn makes a valiant effort, gathering a few good handfuls of berries, only to hiss and jerk his hand back as he badly cuts himself on a cluster of thorns, spattering the red berries with droplets of his inky blood. In a moment, however, the jovial elf is back to his old self, laughing his injury off. "Not as spry as I used to be, looks like! No worries - it'll wash off no problem. There was an old rhyme about this when I was a boy - how did it go? 'Fangberry, fangberry, ruby prize / Fingers dart like dragonflies / Good boys nimble, smart boys quick / Slow boys feel the fangberries' prick.'" He looks down at his bleeding hand, grinning. "Now this one's stuck me, I was supposed to turn around three times and clap my hands or something, else the Kallas Devil would steal me out of my bed." His grin falters, and he sighs. "Seems pretty stupid when you're all grown up, doesn't it?"
Such things are not to be taken lightly. I would follow the rules of the rhyme if I were you. As for the year, my century of time in the First World has... affected my temporal sense as it were.
Xavin nods at the successful, though painful efforts to get the fangberries. Nothing that cannot be patched up I think. Now let us get back to Oleg's and then turn right back around again.
Kressle and Amiri grin as they watch Roots-Sink-Dep and Nidintu-Bel get shredded by the sharp thorns. Amiri puts a hand on the hilt of her massive sword. "Just say the word and I'll raze this whole ticket to avenge your honour!" Kressle snickers as she tosses one of her hatchets up in the air and catches it with practiced ease.
Between them, they manage to gather a full basket, which is what Bokken needs. The punctures and scratches from the thorns are nasty, bleeding for a long time unless healed.
With Bokken's request fulfilled, the group makes haste towards Oleg's Trading Post by the shortest route, angling north and slightly eastwards.
Beyond the fangberry patch they encounter Thorn River again as it winds through a 20-foot deep gulch, nestled between a pair of rocky hills. An old wooden bridge spans the gulch, allowing passage over the river. The bridge is rickety at best, so they need to pass one at a time lest it collapses under them - and even so it creaks and groans ominously under the weight of everyone but the smaller members of the band like Linzi and Roots.
North of the bridge lie the rocky crags where they found the gold vein, and after that the hills descend into the plains.
It is early afternoon on Wealday, Pharast 9 (for those who care about such things), when Oleg's Trading Post comes into view, looking busier than when they left it. As they approach, Kressle guides her horse closer to Nidintu-Bel, speaking quietly. "Hey boss, can you hand me that ring you found with the kobolds? It's only right that I return it meself."
Returning with two Fangberries, 26 thorns sticking in various leshy places and a big Roots grin, our small Druid announces!
Success!
The leshy them looks at his prizes and then begins counting those present.
Anyone got a knife?
At the gulch, Roots begins to envision a nice sentry tower that would keep peace around this area, stocked with guards, engineers and even a chef.
This would be a great place for a custodian type presence to protect and properly build a bridge and tower for our kingdom security.
The Storm Druid winks.
At the crags with the ore, the Druid simply nods in example of his proposition.
When the Wildwood Band arrives back at Oleg's, he rushes into the store to excitedly to see everyone!
Guess what we found!
Nidintu winces as Roots emerges covered in thorns, tossing a bottle filled with teal liquid to the little leshy. "Here, Roots - this should help."
As the group nears the narrow gulch, Nidintu grimaces at the sight of the rickety bridge. "I don't have my tools with me now, but once we get a town set up here, I can see what I can do to fix this old thing. Roots, watch towers are all well and good, but once we're all kings or lords or whatever, I'd like to build a good, strong smithy. I've built weapons most of my life, but good solid steel's always useful, no matter what you're doing. I'm sure the folk in these parts need horseshoes and plow blades more than swords and shields."
"Hey boss, can you hand me that ring you found with the kobolds? It's only right that I return it meself."
Nidintu grins at the former bandit, fishing in his pack before extracting the ring and handing it to her. "Sure thing, Kressle - but I don't think I'm your boss! Still, it's good that you want to make things right. You're a good person, I think, and it's only right that you get a chance to show it." As the group approaches the trading post, Nidintu waves to Oleg and Svetlana in greeting. "We're back - made some new friends, too!"
As the Wildwood Band make their way into the trading post, they spot a few unfamiliar tents that have been erected south of the stable, in the shadow of the palisade. A heavily armoured man with dark hair and a square jaw sporting a dense stubble comes forward to greet them, somewhat gruffly.
"Good day, you must be the charter holders. I'm Kesten, of the Garess family in Brevoy. My people and I are responding to Goodman Oleg's request for assistance and we are here to help keep the peace." He looks a little askance at Nidintu-Bel, Xavin and Roots-Sink-Deep.
Meanwhile, Oleg and Svetlana come out of the main house - and freeze on the spot as they lay eyes on Kressle walking about free. For her part, Kressle has the grace to look a little sheepish. Lacking a hat, she reaches up to slide her kerchief off her head, and slowly approaches Svetlana. Oleg pushes his wife behind him protectively, and Kressle raises her hands, the ring held between index and thumb in one.
"Er, g'day. Sorry 'bout... 'bout earlier. For takin' your wife's ring an' threatenin' you. An' for all the other stuff, I s'ppose. Anyway, I turned over a new leaf, as they say. I'm now a warden." Her chin lifts as she emphasizes the word. "So here's your ring back, ma'am." She extends it, and Oleg almost slaps it out of her hand as he glares at her with the heat of the sun at midsummer. "Right, then. I'll - I'll be around."
Oleg turns to look at the Wildwood Band, trembling with adrenaline and fury. "What is this? Why is she free? Why is she not dead? What justice is this?"
Despite not wanting to be seperated from their trusty companion, Eskra sends Carageorn back to his strange limbo-space where he waits when he isn't summoned. They didn't know how he might act in a tense moment like this, and decided not to take any chances.
Eskra raises an eyebrow at Oleg. They take a deep breath before they begin to speak, "I understand your anger. I've grown up on the edges of the Stolen Lands, and I'm well acquainted with the scourge that the bandits pose. But look at it this way, Kressle here is a part of the whole...bandit hierarchy, let's say. If we killed her, sure, it'd be one less bandit. But she's alive, and on our side. The intel she's got about the bandits, the fact that they still see her as one of their own, well, that's a whole lot more valuable. I understand you want justice, but the best justice will be seeing the Stag Lord dead. Kressle will help with that."
They then take a look over at Kesten Garess, "Think I've heard of you. Mercenary, right?"
As the group prepares the campsite, Nidintu addresses Kressle over the simple meal he has made for the group. "So tell me, Kressle, how's your family been doing? It's been decades since I last saw your grandmother. Your father Jan still doing well, I hope? I only met him once, and he was just a boy then, but he always struck me as a happy child."
"Good day, you must be the charter holders. I'm Kesten, of the Garess family in Brevoy. My people and I are responding to Goodman Oleg's request for assistance and we are here to help keep the peace."
Nidintu's fanged jaws split in a massive grin, and he extends a hand to the heavily armored warrior. "You're one of those highborn knights from Restov, yes? Good to meet you! My name's Nidintu-Bel - lived in these lands all my life, I have!"
As Oleg grabs the ring out of Kressle's hand, Nidintu scowls and crosses his arms. "Give her a chance, Oleg! Matter of fact, she asked to give you the ring, to try and make it up to you and your wife. She's not a bad person - banditry's the only life she's ever known. If you'd met me ten years ago, back when I was still a bandit, I probably would have robbed you same as she did, and I just saved your trading post the other day, didn't I? Look, I trust Kressle, and I'll vouch for her behavior. If she causes trouble, you can kick us both out."
Roots spends the evenings telling Kressle about those wicked caterpillars that he has been unfortunate been acquainted. His blue eyes watching her reactions, as he speaks....
Roots walks up to Oleg and Svetlana. The Root leshy using his disapproval and disappointment face.
This land is our land. This land is your land. We need to trust each other. We need to not trust those from other places.
His eyes look at the knight.
Roots walks up to the metal man. The small leshy sizing him up.
Mercenary? Who's paying your tab?
Kresle blinks at Nidintu, puzzled. "Me parents got killed in that botched ambush I told you about. But gramma is... well, she's gramma. 's gonna outlive us all, heh." Her face falls a bit and she stares into the fire. "Happy, was he? I don't remember him bein' happy. I guess- Hm, nevermind." She raises her gaze to look at Nidintu-Bel as if gauging something, but whatever she's thinking she keeps to herself for now.
The next evening, the former bandit woman seems engrossed in the story that Roots-Sink-Deep tells, and for a few moments the hard-bitten exterior falls away to reveal someone who never had a chance to have a proper childhood, with games and stories.
Somewhat mollified by everyone speaking up for Kressle, Oleg backs down a little. "I'll believe it when I see it. We have a saying here - 'don't sell the pelt of the bear still in his den' - so we'll wait and see if the she-wolf has truly become a sheepdog." He turns on his heel and stalks back into the house, taking Svetlana with him.
His wife, however, re-emerges shortly after with bowls of stew and a loaf of still-warm bread, enough to feed the Wildwood Band and the former bandits. She's still a little jumpy around Kressle and her men, but she smiles warmly at the others. "Don't mind Oleg, he's still upset over what happened. Thank you for bringing my ring back, you don't know how much it means that you did us this kindness."
Meanwhile, Kesten Garess seems to smart a little at being called a mercenary, although he grudgingly conceded the truth. "Yes, I am a mercenary, working for the lords of Restov. I volunteered to lead a small group to help guard the trade post here." Being called a 'highborn knight' seems to marginally improve his mood, and he clasps the hand offered by Nidintu-Bel. "Good to meet you. I hear you've been trouncing bandits around here, although I don't know if I agree with letting them walk about freely."
He clears his throat. "Truth be told, I have a bit of a personal mission in these parts, as well. A few months ago, we had a Varisian mercenary in our group, Falgrim Sneeg. One night he robbed us and fled into the Greenbelt, and I hear that he has become a bandit since then. I'm hoping to catch him alive and return him to Restov for punishment, so if you run across him I can arrange a reward for his capture."
To be fair. Quite a few of the bandits are on their way to the Lady of the Graves. Xavin notes. Could you give us a description of this Sneeg so we can attempt to keep that from happening to him? I think we can rest for the night and then maybe head to Bokken's and then swing back south to see what this Stag Lord really is about.
Roots grins up at Kressle.
Just be careful when confronted by a gang of caterpillars.
Roots-Sink-Deep frowns.
I believe it proper etiquette to request permission to hunt on a Lord's lands?
The smiling Druid then nods.
Kesten Garess, you, heresbys, have our permission to track this Falgrim Sneeg for return to Restov after he is interviewed by a representative of the Greenbelt.
Roots then makes some strange hand shaking gestures, spits in his palm and holds it out to the mercenary knight.
Roots reaches into a pocket.
And you get a coupon for 1 time Fresh Berry Healing.
"Don't mind Oleg, he's still upset over what happened. Thank you for bringing my ring back, you don't know how much it means that you did us this kindness."
Nidintu grins. "I'm sure he'll come around eventually. It's really Kressle you should be thanking, though - some gremlins stole your ring from her, and she came with us to help get it back so she could give it to you, try and make things right and all that. Oh, before I forget..."
He walks back to his horse and unslings a pair of large covered baskets from behind the saddle. The massive warrior returns to the innkeeper's wife, pushing back the lids to reveal that the baskets are piled high with moon radish. "I got those plants you wanted. The kobolds grow them in a little patch to the southwest - you can trade with them, if you want more. Congratulations to you and Oleg, by the way - your child, I mean."
"I hear you've been trouncing bandits around here, although I don't know if I agree with letting them walk about freely."
Nidintu shrugs. "Well, you've grown up in a big city - always had lots of choices in your life, about what you want to do with it and all that. It's different out here. The soil's not much good for farming, and with the woods so close to the fey realm, as many hunters come home empty-handed as don't come home at all. Banditry's a sort of institution in these parts - for most who've grown up here, it's a choice between starvation and skimming off some fat merchant who won't miss what he's lost. We're just giving Kressle and the others the same choices you had, letting them decide what they want to do with their lives. Who knows? Perhaps someday you might read a book by Kressle the famous poet, or Dalan here might become the best jeweler in the River Kingdoms. Seems only fair they get that chance, yes?"
"I believe it proper etiquette to request permission to hunt on a Lord's lands? Kesten Garess, you, heresbys, have our permission to track this Falgrim Sneeg for return to Restov after he is interviewed by a representative of the Greenbelt."
Nidintu glares down at the little leshy - he would elbow his diminutive friend, but his height (or lack thereof) puts him well out of elbow range, so he settles for nudging him with the haft of his axe. "We're none of us gentry-folk, yet, Roots. Be polite to the nice soldier man - and if you try to rub that 'Fresh Berry Healing' mud into his wounds same as you did with mine, he'll probably stab you, you know!" He looks apologetically back up at Kesten. "I'm sorry about my friend - a caterpillar dropped him on his head when he was just a seedling. We'll find this 'Sneeg' guy for you and bring him back for your bounty."
Svetlana blushes to the tips of her ears as Nidintu congratulates her. "Thank you. I'll go make these into soup, and you're welcome to have a bowl or two. Helps clear the mind."
Kesten Garess looks at Roots-Sink-Deep in confusion, and Nidintu's attempt to smooth things over doesn't go much better. "If it's so difficult living here they should go somewhere else. This is your charter though, so I won't interfere. Let the swordlords judge whether you are fulfilling your part of the deal or not."
He takes a deep breath, then switches the topic. "Sneeg is a middle-aged guy, dark hair, weaselly-looking. He has a scar on his right cheek." Kesten draws a thumb across his face from cheekbone to above his jaw, to leave no doubt about which cheek he is speaking. "I would prefer it if you caught him alive, but don't kill yourselves trying to make that happen. He is still worth something even if he's dead, just a lot less."
Can we leave the fangberries here for Bokken? Or should we travel to his hut before heading back out? Xavin inquires of Oleg and Svetlana. In any case I think we have earned a night of rest before we venture forth.