| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Perhaps you'll frown more too," Svetlana says, appearing with a tray bearing cups of hot tea and a loaf of bread with some butter, "once you've seen what's out here. Our post had been harried by bandits these past months; they even threatened to burn it down. I believe they might've done it, too, until a week ago when your friends put them all to the sword."
She offers each of you a cup and sets down the bread and butter. "I'm sure I will miss your optimism," she says to Yuki with a sad smile. "Just... try not to be so hard on my husband. He's a good man, truly, who gives me the best life he can. But living out here isn't--"
"Your moon radishes, ma'am," Roderick calls, having finished tending the horses and now carrying the basket of moon radishes. "What?" he asks as you turn to look at him, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. "They're for her, aren't they?"
"Oh!" Svetlana's demeanor brightens instantly. "Thank you all so much! These will be perfect." She takes the basket from the boy-- whose cheeks redden even further-- then turns to Yuki. "I... hope you'll see a better side of Oleg this evening. Moon radish soup is his favorite." She disappears with the basket, returning a few moments later with a sack of gold. "As promised, with my thanks," she says brightly.
The 'elf' girl laughs and waves her hands infront of her defensively
"You have me wrong my lady. It was not my intent to be harsh. I simply like to see people smile. And it is rather bothersome to know there are things out here that makes people forget what laughter is. If at all, I hope I can bring at least some mirth back to your husband"
She rubs her hands together "Glad people can find happiness in things like food. Sitting at a table and swopping stories can lighten the mood of almost anyone. So I do look forward to this!"
Settling down to a much needed hearty meal, Rhiann relaxes a bit for the first time since they head out, enjoying the camaraderie and getting to know their newest charter member.
Later after they'd settled in and put away their gear from the road, she sees to taking the spoils of their exploration Oleg, to sell what they can't use.
"How have things been around here while we were gone?"
The smell of radishes simmering in bone broth permeates the trading post most of the afternoon. Oleg's normally sour mood brightens to a noticeable degree just from the smell of the stew, and by the time you all sit down to eat-- was that a smile that just crossed his lips? Surely you imagined it.
"I know how hard it's been these past few months," Svetlana says placatingly to her husband, "and how much you've fretted over my lost ring. Our new friends and I just wanted to show you how much it's appreciated." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek as she sets a bowl down in front of him.
The stew has a pleasantly tart taste to it, and there's plenty for everyone-- even little Mimek, who seems unused to eating with utensils.
"How have things been around here while we were gone?"
"Better," Oleg admits, "now that we don't have the tax to worry about."
Svetlana nods. "My husband and I have been able to rest much easier lately. It's almost like it used to be, when we first left Restov." The glance she gives Oleg tells you she has more thoughts on the topic, but decides not to give them. "It's never easy, life out here, but we've got one less thing making it harder now."
* * * * *
The evening is perhaps the most relaxing one you've experienced since arriving here a week ago, Oleg's good mood lingering long after the stew pot was emptied and business tended to. "Good night for a story, wouldn't yeh say?"
"That's a wonderful idea, dear. Why don't you tell them about the Stag Lord?"
Oleg scowls, though not as deeply as you're accustomed to seeing on him. "It's not a happy story."
"It's the story of why things are the way they are out here," Svetlana counters. "Our friends should know what they're in for."
Oleg nods. "All right." He settles in his chair, inhales deeply, and begins his story.
"The Stag Lord, they say, never had a name. His father only called him 'boy,' and then only when the old man demanded some sort of backbreakin' chore or was lookin' for somethin' to beat on. He never knew his mother and never knew a proper home-- his father, bein' the rovin' and solitary type, stayed on the road at all times, never sleepin' in the same town more than 3 days in a row and usually campin' out under the stars. Food was scarce; his father would only share after he’d eaten his fill, so the boy learned to hunt and steal. His father bruised and cut him, so the boy learned to tend his own wounds. Death came close to him so many times, he forgot to fear it.
"Eventually, the two of them were forced to abandon civilized folk completely. And so they headed north into the Stolen Lands, and here, times grew even tougher for the boy. That is, until the night when he had his Dream. In the Dream, a blindingly beautiful woman came to him and told him he was no longer a boy but a man. She lay with him right then and there to prove her claim. After the deed, she asked him: why, if he's a man, he still put up with his father's beatin's. She gave him a lock of her hair, and told him the next time his father tried to beat him, he should fight back.
"When he woke, he figured his Dream was nothin' more, but then he saw that he still clutched the lock of hair the woman had given him. So when his father, drunk and angry, came at him that afternoon, the boy fought back. Beat his father to within an inch of death, he did. With that... he was the leader.
"Yet for all his father’s cruelty, he never let the boy-- now a man, of course-- die. And so he kept his broken father with him, carin' for him when he had the time, railin' on him when he had the urge, and generally keepin' him just this side of life. Probably thought of it as a kindness.
"Eventually, the man noticed that other bandits deferred to him when they met on the road. So he sought out others-- those he could easily intimidate, weak-willed things that seemed drawn to his dominance. He lured drunks, petty thieves, and spineless trash into his service. His followin' grew.
When they came upon the ruins of an ancient Iobarian tower on the north edge of the Tuskwater, the man realized he had found a place to call his own. Within the ruins, he found a grim helmet made of strange bone and graced with a stag’s antlers. Nobody knows where it came from, but he took the helm as his own. From that point on, he's been known only as the Stag Lord."
Oleg paused, letting his words ruminate. "Least, that's how the story goes. What we do know is: all the bandit trash you've met so far? They all work for him. Or they say they do. He's out there... somewhere."
The 'elf' girl sits forward, her head on her hands as she listens intently, her head tilting every now and then as if trying to listen even closer
"Sounds like a monster, a tragic one, but a monster all the same." Rhiann says, after listening to Oleg's tale. "Considering how ruthless the bandits we've already dealt with have been, it doesn't surprise me that they take their orders from someone worse. We have our work cut out for us!"