"Well, guess it ain’t my place to judge. Seems to me you ain’t got much more to offer us ‘cept your own misfortunes. Hope you find your way steady, Narm. Luck to ya."
He shifts in his saddle, glancing toward Joreld with a nod. "Aye, Joreld. Best we move on before we lose what daylight we have left, trackin' hard in the dark, not impossible but harder fer sure,"
Before turning his mount, he spares Narm one last look, his tone softening just slightly.
"Keep your head low and your feet steady, Narm. Ain’t no shame in knowin’ what you ain’t."
With that, Calen nudges his horse forward, eyes scanning the horizon for the next leg of their search.
Narm tries not to look abashed at Pick's admonishment and mimes tipping a hat at you. "Tymora smile on your search too," he says. He takes his leave, waiting for you to move your horses ahead before continuing towards Castle Enneth. Looking back as you head north you can see the man's path diverge as he heads more to the east and his destination.
The rest of the day passes without incident as you ride on across the rising and falling landscape. You're still a way off Goldfields as the light fades so it's probably about time to consider where to stop for the night.
Samara defers to the experts on picking an appropriate campsite. It had been a drizzly day so she glances to the sky wondering what the evening would bring.
As far as Samara can tell, given it's pretty still, the cloud cover and periodic drizzle look likely to continue.
Calen will try and work with Lunaris to find a place to bed down, hopefully they can find a cliff overhang or an alcove or cave big enough to fit everyone to get out of the rain for the night.
Ialia is happy to part ways with the stranger. He was giving them nothing and represented another soul that knew they were looking for Glanwyn.
She might have suggested the group repurpose the bard's camp, but they've already moved on and this is not her area of expertise. When they do settle in for the night, if they are unable to find suitably dry shelter, she will erect her tent and stay out of the weather.
For the remainder of the day of travel, Pick spends his time scanning the earth as they go, though he knows that each falling raindrop makes tracks that much less likely to have survived even one day's time, let alone ten. But what else is there to do?
When they stop throughout the day to stretch their legs, eat dried fruit and meat, and water the horses, Pick always seeks out a spot of high ground from which to observe the upcoming terrain and try to scan for any trouble ahead, or just 'the path' that he imagines Glan might have taken-- a path that allows one to stay hidden yet observe others, that does not force one over arduous terrain when it can be helped, and so forth.
After the hours have grown long and the sun begins its westward slide, Pick joins with Calen in the search for a nice dry place to make a camp, even if it means rather close quarters with one another.
As the other nights, he takes it on himself to see to the horses if nobody beats him to it, and once again he whistles up a bird from the wilderness around them in order to send a third update to Dagger Falls as to their current location and bearing.
He volunteers to take the third or fourth watch-- the darkest part of the night. Other than that, he makes no small talk with the others.
At the campsite, now that the group is off their steeds, Joreld attempts to make some conversation with the changeling.
"Ialia, Lord Frostmoon. What was he like?"
"Still very much alive, I hope," Ialia jokes.
"In Saerloon he is simply referred to as The Captain, which likely tells you quite a lot about my father. As with most men, he has two very different sides; the naval commander is stoic, demanding, and a clever tactician. But at home he is gentle and hopelessly in love with my mother. I miss them both dearly. I have missed them these past years."
She sighs and clears her throat. "He instilled in me a sense of duty and of loyalty. I have tried to honor that."
She relaxes by the fire and returns the question. "What about you, Joreld, what of your family?"
Jorld settles in by the fire. "Most of what people know about The Huntsilvers is public knowledge. Well, at least in Cormyr", the paladin explains. "The Huntsilvers have helped manage Cormyr's forested areas and resources for centuries. Huntsilver children are always encouraged to becomes friends with Obarskyr children, occasionally marrying into each other."
"My father is nephew to our head of the family, Maestoon Huntsilver. My mother is Lady Bardonna Wolfwinter Huntsilver. I have an older brother named Mikal, who will likely take my father's place in the family upon death."
"I love my large family, but it was nice to get away from Suzail for a while. Even if the mission might be dire."
"I felt the same way. Saerloon marches toward needless war, and I refuse to be a part of it. I fear for my family and friends, and for the city I love." She wipes her eyes and waves her hand dismissively.
"But enough of that. We must make better progress in our search tomorrow."
After a bit of searching, Calen and Pick find a good spot to make camp for the night. The land in the vicinity is rocky and you are able to locate an outcrop with a sizeable overhang that will provide shelter from the elements. With your experience on the road, you are able to make good use of the group’s varied skillsets to make and tend a fire out of the patchy rain, tend to your mounts, and any other practical matters. Once jobs are done and stomachs are full, Ialia and Joreld trade family histories and tales of home.
Nighttime brings up the watches that are necessary for wilderness camping and you each take turns in the darkness with your thoughts. Samara’s observations on the likely weather prove accurate as thick cloud and light showers. During the blackest part of the night, the time in the small hours when madness is most likely to strike, Pick sits, sturdy as an oak, keeping an eye out for movement or sound in the stillness.
Perhaps he’s distracted but the dwarf is taken unaware by a sudden whoosh of arrows. One flies wide, but another grazes his arm and a third embeds itself extremely painfully in his torso.
Calen wakes up, "My shift already Pick?" he rolls over, looking around in the darkness, then casts Light on a rock or something nearby to provide some illumination. Seeing Pick pincushioned with arrows, "Oh shit, wake y'all, we under attack!"
Pick is not asleep, but he is, perhaps, thinking of other times, other places, as the night slowly ticks by. The rotation of the stars overhead cannot be seen due to the cloud cover, and he has only his own sense of the passing time to guide him as to when his shift should end and he should wake Samara. He is thinking of time in the other world, the more vibrant world...
An arrow wakes him rudely from his woolgathering. Pick's teeth bare in a sudden breathless snarl of pain. Attack-- where--
There. Distant bodies, slinking through the woods, and Pick can testify that their bows are accurate and strong. Nnngh....
One hand moves to the arrow buried in his gut, feeling the depth of it.
the dwarf growls loud enough that nobody can justify sleeping through it, he hopes. He dashes forward, drops to the ground trying not to drive the arrow further into himself (ow ow ow), and his fingers of his free hand find a stone in the grass. A single sharp syllable in the secret language of the druids, and a darkness darker than mere night envelops the entire area like a shroud of oblivion.
There is a lot of information to convey to the others. Pick hates talking. Hopefully they are all awake now and he does not need to repeat any of this.
"Three archers. A longbow shot away to south. Dark is mine-- hiding us! I end it when we ready." If the dwarf's voice is raspier than usual, well, he's got a lot of blood pumping onto his fingers just now.
Blessed as he is by the Moonmaiden, Calen is quickly awake and unquestionably alert as he points out another pair of creatures trying to sneak up on you from a different direction.
Samara has only a brief moment awake to take in the situation around her before the darkness comes down like a hammer. She sits up and weaves wizard’s mail around herself.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (8): x
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Months on end of the constant stress of knowing that at any moment she could be compromised, arrested, and executed had the necessary side effect of allowing Ialia to sleep in almost any circumstances. The rain bothered her not at all. When she was tired, if the opportunity allowed, she could sleep. So to be roused by Pick's clear warning was jarring, but her body reacted appropriately.
Unfortunately, though she was awake and alert, she was also totally blind, despite her darkvision. But she could hear and there was commotion, and when Calen announced the camp was under attack she quickly casts Mage Armor on herself and reaches out to Basil with her mind, knowing her familiar was nearby feeding. Then she invokes her Patron, granting quickness.
With Pick rousing you all with a shout that can only mean trouble, the dwarf responds to his wound by throwing himself to the floor and plunging the night into actual blackness. The bugbears are wary of the sudden impairment to their vision. Although you can no longer see them, they fan out and take potshots at where they last saw their target. Most of them understandably miss, but one catches the dwarf, albeit not as badly as the previous ones.
Joreld is awakened by the dwarf's cry. The sound of arrows flying further shakes the paladin out of his revelry. The it all goes black. The paladin scrambles for his heavy mace. It would take too much time to don his heavy armor, so he grabs his shield as well.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be!" Joreld shouts into the darkness, letting the others know his status.
Calen, thankful for hiss mithril shirt, sleeps fully armored, and for the most part clothed, "Thank ye' Pick, quick thinkin' friend, now y'all be careful now looks like w're surrounded!"
Calen begins scooping up his belongings, grabbing his repeating crossbow, and a couple of bolt cartridges.
With arrows thumping into the dirt – and possibly flesh – the Bedine decides moving is the best choice. Normally, she’d be a little cavalier about her safety with ‘just’ bugbears but Calen’s warning urges her to rethink that policy. She weaves an additional protective magic about herself before the prey becomes the hunter.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (8): xx
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Shield = +4 to AC/FF for 5 mins.
Realizing the deep darkness is both blessing and curse, Ialia takes flight, moving laterally only a few feet out of the tent and then shooting straight up until the dark landscape is visible once again.
Basil has returned to her. "Use your senses, Basil, tell me the number and location of our foe."
Basil dives into the dark, using its Blindsense to find the enemy.
Pick hisses as another arrow finds a lucky mark in his flesh. Thankfully not as deep as the one in his gut, but still.
Flat as he is, the smell of the earth is strong around him, overlaid by the copper brightness of his own blood. Is this, tonight, where he returns to the earth? In the darkness...
He shakes away the morbid thought at hearing Red Armor's cry of readiness. Owl's human also speaks-- a warning of being surrounded. The dwarf curses himself for failing to spot the ambush. Do better, next time. If there is a next time.
Red Armor has said he is ready; he must assume the others are as well if no one is telling him to wait longer.
The darkness fades to nothing, becoming only the normal dark of the night, albeit lit now by Calen's spell of a few seconds past. Without the benefit of the dark around them, he must consider other forms of defense. Pick envisions the great cats of the Feywild, the silent hunters who seem able to dodge any blow-- even as he reaches one bloodied hand for a more prosaic means of defense, the wooden shield that hangs over his shoulder. It's a somewhat awkward roll-twist-don, as he has not yet stood up, but he winds up on his side, curled small as he can under the protection of the shield, getting ready to get back to his feet in a moment.
From above the globe of darkness, Basil is able to pinpoint the location of the bugbears - two from the east plus three from the south - and passes this on to his mistress. It’s useful preparation as no sooner has he relayed the information than Pick ends his magic, allowing the better prepared group to now respond to the ambush.
The original attackers remain in place, more than happy to continue sending a stream of arrows your way. Pick remains a target for two of them, but his new magical defences protect him from the shots. The one targeting Joreld, however, clearly spotting the unarmoured man, is able to plant an arrow directly into his chest. Meanwhile, the other two close in but their arrows fly wide of the mark.
Basil's information is indeed helpful, as the furthest bugbears stand well outside her darkvision. She flies in that direction until she can see them at the limit of her vision and casts a Web spell amongst the trees in the vicinity to stymie the archers.
Cast Web
Pick whispers words to harden his skin to the consistency of bark. Then, he braces for the pain as he rolls to his feet and moves slightly closer to their assailants.
The Cormyr noble clutches the arrow in his chest.
The paladin thinks the arrow missed his heart. Still Joreld falls back prone on the grassy ground, hoping to avoid more arrow fire. With a quick painful jerk, the lathanderite pulls the arrow from his chest. Then setting his mace near him, Joreld presses his two hand against the wound as they begin to glow.
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Samara runs to the edge of the bluff. She looks at the slinking bugbears and offers a soon-to-be-self-evident piece of advice. ”Smart buggiebears run.” The night is lit by her conjured ball of flame that unerringly seeks their enemies.
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (8): xx
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Shield = +4 to AC/FF for 5 mins.
Calen, remaining where he is, dodging arrows, will sight in on the near Green bugbear.
"You really should know its awfully rude to interrupt a man sleepin',"
With the group all now fully awake and prepared, they set about turning the table on their attackers. Thanking Basil for his reconnaissance, Ialia strides forward as she chants through the words of a spell and flings her arm wide. Thick, sticky strands shoot out at the archers, wrapping tightly around the legs of one of them. Meanwhile, Samara does not hold back. She lances a piping jet of flame at one of the bugbears and fries it to a crisp. The blackened corpse slumps to the floor as the fire dances across to the dead bugbear’s companion and sets this one alight too for good measure. Calen targets the closest bugbear coming in from the flank - the slightly less charred one - and with a quick sighter that misses, plants a crossbow bolt right between the creature’s eyes. A stunned look on its ugly face is its death mask as this one, too, topples to the floor.
The remaining bugbears who are able to pick their way through the webbing, wary now of staying too close together to be picked off by spells, spread out. They take aim at the white-haired spellcaster, hoping that she is as unprotected as she looks. One of them finds the mark and plants an arrow into Ialia's shoulder, though the other flies harmlessly wide. The third bugbear struggles against the web and rips it self free before moving forward for a closer range shot.
Pick had been planning on closing with the two approaching from hiding.... but the blaze of fire, and Calen's bolt, makes that unnecessary. With a grunt that is half satisfaction and half pain from the arrow still buried in his gut, Pick turns to look for other targets, and finds one duly advancing.
A rasping whisper speeds his feet, and then he starts towards the bugbear who is foolishly coming closer.
The sorceress offers a brief nod of approval to the crossbowman before she leaps off the bluff and moves toward one of the living bugbears. Using a bluff for cover, she stitches the nearest bugbear with bolts of pure force.
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (8): xxx
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Shield = +4 to AC/FF for 5 mins.
Round 4
Joreld looks up to see Ialia get shot by an arrow, as he lain prone.
It doesn't look like I die under a warm sunrise. So be it. By my life! The paladin ponders to himself, as he gets up from prone. With shield and mace in hand, Jorel;d runs to help provide cover for Pick and Ialia.
Calen runs forward 30 feet, then whistles to Lunaris and points at the blue bug bear that he will then also target.
Calen will fire off a crossbow bolt at the blue bugbear on the bluff in front of him.
Lunaris, hooting angrily, having been awoken, though she appreciates the chance to hunt at night. Its head swiveling as it sights in on Calen's target and then it charges from the tree at the blue bugbear.
Suspecting she is the only one who can see the furthest bugbear, she flies in that direction, making sure to hover well above the enemy to her left so that it can't rake her with its claws.
She conjures a dense ball of hardpacked snow and throws it at her foe (yellow).
Fort Save vs DC15 or staggered 1 rd.
As the party closes in on the bugbears, their power is starting to show and the tide of battle is strongly turning in their favour. Conjured bolts of magical force from Samara, along with a raking attack from Lunaris wound one of the goblinoids. Fortunately for the creature its armour stops Calen’s crossbow bolt from causing further harm but the wounds it is nursing are substantial enough anyway.
Ialia then shows that the Bedine woman is not the only member of the group with serious magic at her fingertips and she puts all of her magical might into her perfectly pitched ball of snow. It thuds into her target, freezing the bugbear’s heart in its chest and stopping it dead.
Sensing that their foes are hardier than anticipated and that the battle is well and truly gone, the two remaining bugbears, like all bullies, turn tail and flee. Better to get out of there alive and live to menace another day.
Just in case they decide to pursue, Samara follows the bugbears for a little way. When it’s clear they are fleeing fast, she cups her hands around her mouth and chases them with an ululating Bedine victory cry. Then, in what is likely a waste of magical resources, she sends three more force bolts into the back of her previous target – just to leave a lasting impression.
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (8): xxxx
Dancing Lights (2):
Vest (1):
Versatile Spell:
CLW (1):
Stunning Fist (2):
Claws (8):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 5 hrs
Shield = +4 to AC/FF for 5 mins.
The paladin calls out into the darkness.
"Calen! What wouldst The Lady in Silver wish of us? Should we pursue?!"
Joreld stands ready to chase the bugbears down.
Taking some satisfaction at the precision and force of her throw, Ialia winces at the arrow sticking out of her. Still in flight, she pulls it from her breast. It's not serious, and by Pick's strained warning she knows he has been hurt far worse. She flies to the dwarf and casts a healing spell.
Then, having used some of her patron's energy to launch into the sky, Ialia flies into the night, straight up to the bottom of the cloud layer to get the lay of the land, looking for lights in the distant darkness.
Ascend 900 feet altitude and look around for a few rounds before descending safely to the campsite.
Shaking his head and lowering his crossbow, he'll whistle to signal to Lunaris to return, "We could hunt them down easily enough, aye, but I think we've shown them up, the Moonmaiden'd suggest we show 'em compassion, gives 'em a chance to rethink their lives,"
Shaking his head, he'll put some gloves on and gather up the fallen bugbears, "come on, help me bury these ones Joreld, lest they attract predators,"
Pick is not expecting Ialia's swift and sudden healing touch; for a moment she sees the dwarf look wide-eyed in startlement at her before he understands what she is doing. He grunts a noise of appreciation, though the white-haired woman is already flying to perform recon.
With the magic taking the edge off the pain and with their enemies fleeing, Pick sits heavily down in order to address the arrow still in his person. His teeth bare white in the dimness as he feels the depth of the shaft in his gut and performs the thoroughly unpleasant calculus of whether he should try and pull it back out against the barb or break the shaft and push it through. Neither appeals, but the arrow must come out. Pick grinds his teeth to try and muffle some very unpleasant noises as he does what is needful. The pain will be intense, but brief, and then he can use the stick of healing on himself...
A half a minute later and his superficial injuries have all been closed; the deep gut wound is now mostly a scratch. Pick heaves a sigh as he gets back to his feet and makes a ginger way to the others.
"My watch was bad. Will do better," he says uncomfortably. "...others hurt?"
The notion of ensuring that the corpses do not draw predators earns a tired nod from him but he goes to assist with the dragging. And the searching. He is not going to take a bite of bugbear flesh, but he will certainly inspect their armor, weapons, and anything else they were carrying.
Inwardly, Pick does not think that the would-be bandits will, in fact, rethink their lives and become nice people, but he is not particularly eager to go chasing the creatures back to their lair and likely take more arrows in the gut for his troubles.
Shaking his head, he'll put some gloves on and gather up the fallen bugbears, "come on, help me bury these ones Joreld, lest they attract predators,"
Joreld's body relaxes. "I shall as soon as I check for injuries."
The paladin has 4 more Lay on Hands.
Samara's missiles find their way to their target, striking the fleeing bugbear in the back and causing it to stumble. It stops for a second, swaying precariously, and retrieves some kind of vessel. After it swigs the contents, it seems to rally and then continues making its exit from the scene.
With the decision not to pursue any further, the two bugbears soon become little more than silhouettes before melting into the darkness.
Flying high above the camp, Ialia casts a wary eye around in case of further trouble. The night remains dark and cloudy but all seems still. Its not easy to make out in the limited visibility but she can see a couple of pinpricks of light several miles off to the north, in the direction you she anticipates Goldfields as being in.
Samara has a strong conviction about searching the bugbears for anything of use, of interest, or of value. She has no conviction about the necessity of burying the dead. Carrion hunters need to eat as well. With Samara’s watch coming soon and dawn after that, the risk of predators seemed low to her.
But she didn’t want to seem inhospitable, believed it was important to carry her own weight, and perhaps this was an important ritual for Dalelanders… so she assists with the burial without comment.
Since no one has come forward for healing, Joreld assists Calen with the burials. The paladin hopes he can get back to sleep afterward.
Calen wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his hat resting nearby on the damp earth. The graves for the bugbears are simple but sufficient, the soil packed firm over their resting places. He dusts off his hands, glancing toward Joreld and Samara with a nod of quiet gratitude.
"Reckon this ain’t the kind of work most folk’d offer a hand for, but y’all did. Means somethin’ to me," he says, his drawl steady and genuine. "Ain’t much else I can do for ‘em now, but leastwise they’re in the ground, not left to rot or for the crows to pick at."
He steps forward, his boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. Calen adjusts the moon-shaped holy symbol around his neck, his voice dropping to a reverent tone as he lifts his face toward the faint glow of the moon breaking through the lingering clouds.
"Lady o’ Silver Light, hear my words. These souls’ve gone on, and though their ways were twisted by anger or need, they’re your children now, same as any other. Guide ‘em through the night, Selûne. Show ‘em the path to whatever peace awaits ‘em beyond this world."