Sarea catches Xavin's eye and mouths "...sorry!" She then flashes them Light subtly, hoping to remind them that she's magic, too.
She clears her throat and makes a new suggestion, one that Nidintu might actually want to use...
"Uh, and Tanith would be sure his gang all felt valued and knew their place in the chain of command, right? Not just leading from the front, but delegating effectively? No simmering tensions in the good ol' days?"
Akiros turns his face to look at the proffered bowl, then at Roots-Sink-Deep. He doesn't raise an eyebrow, but the vibe is definitely there. Just as he begins to turn away, Xavin sits on his other side, and the elf's overtures seem to be better received.
"I'm glad someone noticed," he replies dryly. "I don't share 'my story' with newcomers though. Or with anyone, for that matter." He glances back at the leshy, then at Nidintu. "That your mentor? Seems like an interesting character."
He falls silent, watching the tiefling and seemingly lost in thought.
Roots-Sink-Deep just shyly sips his still held stew...
The bandits gathered around Nidintu-Bel enjoy the food of the stories, until he starts making veiled jabs at the Stag Lord. An uncomfortable silence descends, and suddenly they no longer meet his eye. Whether they privately agree or not, clearly they fear their leader enough not to voice agreement with the newcomer's shocking opinions.
He does get the feeling that a couple of them at least frown thoughtfully, and Dovan, one of the lieutenants, gives him a long look as he licks the gravy from the knife he's been using to slice the pastries (which do not need slicing, of course).
"You said you come from up north, what news?" The sudden change of topic comes from Falgrim Sneeg, an older Varisian man with graying hair and an unruly beard. Those who met Kesten Garess at Oleg's trading post remember that this is the man that the noble-turned-mercenary is seeking to capture.
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As the crowd of bandits grows silent, Nidintu blinks, trailing off as he glances around the group. After a moment, he speaks again. "Forgive me - the ramblings of an old man. These are the times in which we live, I suppose, and even if things were better in the old days, there's not much I can do about it."
At Falgrim's question, his face darkens. "News from the north? Same as it always is, I suppose. Folks are restless in Rostland, and I expect there will be trouble soon - lots of good work for highwaymen, if you have any friends or some such in that area. Trader from Hajoth Hakados told me there was a new Black Sovereign in Numeria - some kid named Kevoth-Kul - and they've called another crusade in Mendev." He shrugs. "The River Kingdoms are what they are - someone's probably at war with someone else about something, but I could never keep track of that stuff."
After a moment, he clears his throat again before continuing in a more calm tone. "Look, my friends, what I said earlier... at my age, you tend to ramble." He grins. "I know I don't look it, but I've been around these parts for centuries! There's a tale about that, you know - why elves live longer." He settles back in his seat, hoping to distract the bandits with another story.
When she told her priests of what she had done for them, however, they failed to thank her in their elation, so she broke the mirrors of her priests, and death came over them like a shroud. Since then, elves do not grow old and gray of hair as others do, but when Calistra deems that an elf has lived their life fully, she breaks their mirror and their death comes on them all at once, as sunlight overtakes trolls in those old tales and turns them to stone."
Root slides a bit further away from Nidintu as the room gets quiet ..
I barely even know him.
Falgrim clears his throat. "I meant news from a bit closer to here, but thank you nonetheless."
The bandits eat, and listen to tales until the fire begins to burn down. Then one of the lieutenants - Dovan of Nisroch - stands up and stretches. "Well, thank you for the delivery, and for the meal. Ayles, Gorgon, you take the watch now. Rest of you, get some sleep." He turns, striding into the one structure with four walls and a roof and disappears inside.
One of the other lieutenants, the large one called Auchs, calls after him. "I get to play with the pr'soners tomorrow, yeah? You promised!" By the look full of dark glee he gives Bithisarea and Tristian, 'play' may not be quite what he has in mind.
The third lieutenant gives him a disgusted look, then climbs to his feet as well. "I'll help you clean up," he offers. "The meal was very welcome, and so was the company." There is something... almost wistful in his tone, and he has a faraway look for a brief moment.
The rest of the bandits soon find their own sleeping spots, leaving the Wildwood band to fend off for themselves.
As the rest of the bandits settle in, Nidintu settles back in his bedroll, feigning sleep until the two guards have gone about their tasks at the outer wall. Once the camp is silent, he rouses the rest of the Band, nudging Eskra with an armored elbow, surreptitiously kicking Roots in the ankle, and so on.
Once the group is awake, the massive warrior whispers to the motley band of heroes, lowering his voice so he is not overheard. "Right - everyone's gone to sleep, Ayles and Gorgon are full-blooded humans - last I heard, anyway - so they can't see s*** in the dark, and they're watching the outside in any case. We could sneak into the Stag Lord's chambers, beat twelve kinds of s*** out of him. I fancy our chances against that fool much more when there's the five - sorry, six - of us with weapons against the one drunken asleep of him without his sword. If we don't want to go now, though, I wouldn't mind getting some more sleep myself - I think we could talk with the other bandits tomorrow, try and win a few more of them over. It's up to you lot."
Roots is seen getting ready....
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Roots makes like a Tree!
Nidintu tries his best to be stealthy, but as he stands, his antelope-like horns get tangled in a crossbeam, and it takes a minute filled with whispered cursing until he can untangle them.
Sarea slinks through the shadows, quiet as a cat.
Nothing drags a man into deep sleep quite like a full belly, and the bandits are no exception; even the sentries in the towers seem to be dozing off, so Nidintu-Bel's momentary fumble goes unnoticed. Tristian trails behind the group, constantly looking over his shoulder. The Sarenite is clearly nervous as he whispers to Nidintu, "I know they're bandits, but please spare them if they surrender. Perhaps their path can still be turned towards the light."
Carefully making their way towards the Stag Lord's quarters and nudgin aside the ragged curtain hanging in the doorway, they discover that not everyone has gone to sleep; Akiros is sitting cross-legged on a bedroll and writing in a weather-worn journal by the light of a small lantern sitting on a crate next to him. He raises his head as the curtain moves, putting a finger to his lips before setting aside his writing and rising to his feet. Drunken snores resonate from deeper in the ramshackle building.
Akiros moves towards Nidintu-Bel at a steady, leisurely pace. He makes no move to draw the sword belted at his hip, and there is genuine curiosity in his tone as he asks, "Who are you, really?" Kressle curses at that, reaching for her hatchets, but Akiros raises a hand to motion her to stillness without taking his eyes off the tiefling.
"Who are you, really?"
Nidintu glares at the smaller man. "Young man, I am many things, but a liar isn't one of them - not a good one, in any case. Everything I said earlier was true - things were better in the old days. There were arrangements - the system worked, not like this looting we have these days. Time was, I knew damn near every caravan guard on the road from dwarven lands. We'd sit by the fire, play cards, swap news from our homes." His eyes unfocus as they often do when his mind is elsewhen, and he rubs his chin. "Come to think of it, I still owe some of them money. Well, that's not important right now." He nods to the others. "This bunch is better liars, though - they aren't bandits at all, but Restov-folk, and they want a stable Stolen Lands same as me. If it's 'five percent for good roads and no wild beasts' and not 'everything you have plus your life,' the merchants will start to come again. Like rivers in the desert, I bet - make these hills lively again."
He crosses his arms. "Problem is, Stag Lord's stupid. One of these newfangled kids, I bet, thinks he can take more than his share because he's strong and other people are weak. There'll be no peace while he sits in his fortress here, but once he's dead, I'll be able to talk sense into the old camps, get them to help make things how they used to be."
He juts his chin pugnaciously at the bandit lieutenant, nodding towards the blade at his belt. "So, you with us or no? If no, you'll want that sword. Never killed a man what couldn't defend himself, don't mean to start today."
Roots-Sink-Deep stands right next to Nidintu. The small Root leshy attempting to look fierce and serious.....
Our merry little band is here for various reasons, but we all want to see the Stolen Lands be a better place for its people then the mess it is right now because of this Stag Lord. We've been convincing a lot of his followers to abandon him on our way here, he does not foster much loyalty, it is the mark of a poor leader.
The lieutenant seems to mull over the arguments, then nods. "Your way seems better. I was tired of the pointless cruelty, anyway." He tilts his head towards the fur curtain behind which the Stag Lord continues to snore. "Now is the best time to strike, while he's drunk. But after that... be careful. Dovan and Aurochs will likely not join willingly. And some of the others enjoy the current state of affairs."
He puts a hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it.
Roots seems ready to call down the fury of the Storm!
Eskra shrugs, "May as well be now."
If it's going to be close quarters than Xavin retrieves his blade, otherwise his bow.
Sarea nods silently. She's ready.
Akiros rolls his shoulders once, unsheathing his sword and using the blade to push aside the thick, musty curtain. The gloom beyond stinks of unwashed body and alcohol fumes strong enough to make one's eyes water. The thin light filtering from outside lands on the layers of animal hide covering the walls, the ragged bed in the corner draped with threadbare silks and thick furs and a stout chest that serves as furniture, cluttered with empty liquor bottles. A few more bottles lie scattered about the floor, making moving about in stealth precarious.
On the bed, the Stag Lord lies sprawled face up as he snores. For once he is not wearing his famous helmet, and his bare face ripples with horrific scars as if the skin has been melted. The scars extend on his neck, arms and chest, leaving bare patches where the hair doesn't grow.
You know what the hey. Xavin uses a Hero point!
As Xavin is seen tip toeing through the tulips....errr....most likely dirty clothes strewn everywhere on the flooring (it is the den of a stag), the small Root leshy is seen not tip toeing in the slightest. As a matter of fact, the Storm druid seems to be practically cracking, snapping and popping with Electricity!
Someone accidentally kicks one of the empty bottles, sending it clattering loudly against a wall. The Stag Lord stops snoring abruptly, snorts, mumbles.
"You really don' learn, Cragger, d'ya... I'll killya this time."
Xavin uses one action to carry out a Hunt Prey action on the Stag Lord, with the next two actions they attempt to distract him using an Amped Dancing Lights!
Even drunk, the Stag Lord seems to have the constitution of a mammoth. While the magical lights momentarily add to his confusion, a quick shake of the head dissipates any lasting effects.
He gropes for the longsword lying by his bedside, unsheathing it and swinging blindly in front of him.
Akiros receives two slashes across his upper legs for his trouble, and seems a little taken aback at his former boss's reaction speed. Rallying himself, he grits his teeth, cursing. "Damn you, why must you make it hard!"
He manages to get the tip of his own sword under the Stag Lord's guard, scoring a bloody line across his chest.
Nidintu steps forward, scowling as he slashes at the helmed bandit lord. "You think you are tough, yes? With your great helm and your pitiful little cheese-knife of a sword? If Boss Tanith were still alive, he would lift you off the ground and bend you in half! Who are you, and where were you when the old ways were written?" His first blow is weak by his standards, slamming into the Stag Lord's chestplate with enough force to double him over, but the massive pitborn follows through with his customary power, leveling a massive overhand strike at his back that leaves a massive crease across the Stag Lord's armor.
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Sarea steps forward so she can thrust her spear past Aikros.
Sarea chants as she lunges with her branched spear, imbuing it with crackling electricity:
She thrusts the weapon home, then unleashes a shocking spell that sizzles and arcs across the branches of the spear before discharging on the Stag Lord.
She cackles witchily.
Eskrar mutters, [b]”Alright Carageorn, let’s get us that kingdom.”[/ooc]
With that, they begin to conjure forth their fey companion.
Xavin lets their light fade out and then tries another trick. Casting Ill Omens on the Stag Lord and then casting Gravity Weapon on themselves!
Sliced by Nidintu's axe and burned almost to a crisp by the combined electrifying attacks of Bithisarea and Roots-Sink-Deep, the Stag Lord casts about wildly like a trapped animal. His eyes fall on his bow leaning against the wall, but in these tight quarters it is a poor weapon.
Instead, he bellows. as he swings his sword in wide arcs.
Sarea plans to follow up with more of the same--first, she takes a deep breath, concentrating on regenerating her magical resources.
Then, she switches from zaps to burns, pushing fire through her spear towards the Stag Lord:
This time, she misses. Horribly.
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Roots grins happily as the Staglord gets blasted by both his and the new girl's lightning!
Hearing the aforementioned Asshat Staglord bellowing for reinforcements, the chuckling Root leshy shakes a vine-finger in the negative.
He casts Mud Pit in front of the Owlbears cage area!
Nidintu grins as the Stag Lord's strikes seem to twist to the side, nodding to Xavin. "A fine spell, my friend!" He continues to strike at the bandit lord, his grin widening as he sees his gaze flick to his longbow. "Not so tough when your foes are next to you, are you, Fawn Lord?" His hand drops to his side, and he takes a drink from a flask of alchemical liquid, but as the mutagen comes over him, his fingers wrap around the handle of his greataxe in a death grip, and he swings it with practiced skill, its blade biting deep into the Stag Lord's shoulder.
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Eskra begins spinning a tale of Carageorn's great and mighty deeds, "And so, in the grim and ancient days when the tyrant stag still ruled the Greenwoods, did brave and noble Carageorn appear to slay him, at his ide noble hounds and hunting-mates aplenty!"
As they speak, faint sounds of barking dogs and bugling horns can be heard in the room.
They then place a hand on Carageorn's shoulder, "Get the bastard." Carageorn's blades then begin to glow with shifting green light.
With a fey lanky steps, Carageorn moves into battle, his sword striking with vicious grace as he whoops and hollers, "And lo, upon the precipice standeth we, to make a kingdom of the Stag Lord's bones! Know this in thy last moments, oh tyrant stag, it was the bloody briar upon the rose that did you in! The thorn of the flowering vine that hast righteously spilled thy life's blood!"
Nidintu's axe almost severs the Stag Lord's neck, just as Carageorn's sword finds his heart. The lifeless body slumps backwards on the bed, blood oozing from his wounds to stain the furs dark red.
Roused by the shouting and the sounds of battle, the other bandits converge towards the site where their leader has just been slain, some with more alacrity than others. Dovan, one of the lieutenants, is the first to reach the scene, cursing as he trudges through the muddy pit that Roots-Sink-Deep has conjured.
Sometimes what is needed is a pugwampi, and I am glad to take that role. Xavin notes.
Then they dart at the closest bandit, swing and dart back.
*Stride*
Swing
*Stride back to original location
The will of the forest has spoken. The Stag Lord is no more. Stand down or the wrath of the primal forces will fall 'pon you as well!
The Storm druid is truly awed and inspired by the deeds being perfectly perpetrated by the mighty Carageorn!
Roots just grins as the reinforcements arrive, slugging through the mud.
Xavin gets up in Dovan's face and tries to whack the lieutenant before darting back, but the man nimbly leans out of the way of the attack. The elf can see him direct a chilling half-smile at him, his expression a clear promise of painful retribution in the very near future.
"Stand down, all! He was rotten, and now we are free of him. I've seen what these folks can do, don't throw your lives away out of some misplaced sense of loyalty to a dead man!"
Akiros strides in full view of the other bandits, but out of range of Dovan's rapier. The other lieutenant sneers at him. "I don't believe you. You're the dead man, AKiros. I've been waiting for a long time to take you down." Dovan shifts his gaze to his right and up, at a point on the half-collapsed roof. "Get him, Auchs!"
The third lieutenant roars and launches himself off the roof into the middle of the group, his massive bulk landing heavily and sending tremors through the ground.
He begins to swing his club, yelling wordlessly. The powerful blow lands on Bithisarea, and the magus feels the wind knocked out of her.
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Roots-Sink-Deep thinks really, really hard. The small Root leshy seemed to have noticed the arrival of a plethora of bandits.
Unlucky for those guys that it's so darn muddy by the owlbears cage....
Suddenly a smile appears on the small Root leshy 's face!
Owlbears!
The s#~*-eating grin wearing druid begins to Summon Plant or Fungus!
Riding slowly out of the edge of the Mud Pit adjacent to the owlbears cage is a Yellow Musk Thrall !
The giggling Root leshy Commands it to Attack the owlbears!
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Nidintu grins as the massive warrior lands in the midst of the former Stag Lord's bedroom. "You call that a strike? Auchs, they call you? That because you've the brain of an ox? Because you certainly haven't got the muscles of one!" He strides forward, his axe sweeping back and forth like a farmer scything wheat as the massive horned warrior carves bloody wounds into his foe. "See, weakling, that is how you hit someone!"