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After blustering in with the rest of the party, Judge Daramid's amiable manner puts the woodsman on the back foot, and he stands awkwardly in the parlor as the others speak. As silence falls during their host's opening pleasantries, his stomach rumbles. Suitably ashamed of his bodily needs, the pious man quickly fills his mouth with the sweet treats provided. It isn't until Aduard brings up the availability of his tiny, nigh-nameless little town that Edison chokes momentarily upon the dry cookie, thumping his chest with a heavy (and practiced) hand as he prepares himself to respond. M-my town, Master Bookman?! I - HACK hadn't thought...Assuredly so, Masters and Misses, he manages, his fur-laden cheeks shining bright scarlet through their insufficient cover. That said, let me AHEM , let me send a letter. I was writing to the Missus anyway, and I might -eh- prevail on her that some new folk may be coming, and worthy of some cautious hospitality and -ehm- HACK optimism. His rustic gullet finally victorious over the sophisticated-yet-dangerous delicacy, he does follow behind Karras' and Aduard's example. Aye, they've got the right of it, I think. He clears his throat, though his eyes stay clear. We're not done yet, m'am. There's a whole...circumstance? Yes, a whole circumstance around Adam's capture at the college, and about his -eh... father?- that has left much up in the air. Though my heart demands I return home, my spirit and and soul demand diligence here. The paladin nods, resolved, if esophageal-ly chafed.
The woodsman watches Adivion whisk Adam away, his relief palpable as he watches the pair leave the courtroom. Well, I suppose your mandate's done, he grunts, turning back to the group. I imagine the judge'd say you've done your part. That being said... he nods his head in the direction Beast and Barrister had disappeared to. This doesn't feel over. Not one bit. He was found after stealing that piece from the college, right? But he didn't have it on him, and he doesn't remember doing it. Nah, there's more; a ton of darkness's heaped all over this mess. Maybe his father at -what'd he say, Schloss Caromarc?- maybe he'll have more information. The woodsman kneads the fingers of his gauntlet for a moment, chewing his tongue in his mouth. If you're keen to follow this through, I'm in. My family's far too close to here, and something about this feels way too big. Edison's sharp, blue eyes gleam with determination. Let's get what we're due from our employers, use that to equip. If you're all in, of course! his dark beard crinkles into a smile.
In a Letter to his most-beloved Wife back home: My Heart, I've got this courier's promise that he can find you and return with any reply with all-do haste. There is a lot to say. The first I should say, my Love, is that I am well, but that I cannot be returning soon. The folk I was meant to guide -good folk, I might add- ain't done yet. It all boiled down to some cruelty, and how the people of Lepistadt were all ready to throw all the sins of which at the feet of someone: the Beast of Lepistadt -and I will say that I'm not sure I've ever seen a more frightful frame. This Beast, Adam, is near twice as tall as me, arms's thick as my waist, with patches of scales, tufts of hair, scars, and more all across his body. And yet, when I stood alongside my new friends with him, it could not have been more clear: this was no Beast. No animal. In him was the same divine spark that's in all of us; you, me, the boys, everyone. He wept at the death of a young girl -a friend of his- as much as any man would. Our opposition tried to lay at his feet the responsibility for every crime they could think of -had the prosecution more time, I imagine there'd've been more- but that's not where the truth was. If you stretched all the evidence from the scenes of the crimes out in front of you, the truth could not have been more apparent to those whose eyes are not clouded by hate and bloodlust. And in the face of all that most despicable character of Man and Mobs, there could not have been a more honest voice than that of Adam's defense council, Adivion Adrissant. The way that man stood in front of a council fit to condemn and a populace set to burn and manage to make everyone see the light...my Heart, its enough to make any cynic believe in righteousness. And so, Adam -the Beast of Lepistadt- is free. And yet we are not done. Adam spoke of a father -in a place a bit afield of here- and farther from you all, and something compels me to pursue this trail. There's is something wrong with all of this, my Love. I have hid in woods, waiting for wolves, worgs, or monsters more human, to make their move and prey on the innocent and helpless. But never have I huddled in darkness so pregnant with malice as this. We -these new friends and I- are not alone in it. No, there's something bigger. Meaner. Lurking. Something fit to predate on all of us; these new folk of mine have come all the way from Ravengro, in pursuit of some menacing weirdness that killed their old mentor- and mine. Every sense I have tells me that there's more to this business with Adam than we've yet seen, and that we reside now in the eye of a predator we know nothing about. And so, with greatest pain, I cannot return home until this business is done. I have made a life, a vocation, and a creed about protecting good people from the things that lurk in the darkness of our home, and I cannot turn away now. I do hope you understand. But, please know that, despite the deep unknown into which we trek, I could not be with better, or more able folk. There's a pair of gentlemen, both more learned than I've ever met. The first, a Master Aduard Bookman, is a most-capable wizard, apparently a noteable author -to which I defer to your expertise regarding that voracity- and I'm not sure I've ever met a man more knowledgeable in more than he. No matter the topic, no matter what clue we uncover, it always feels that he is in the know, and I am most relieved to be working alongside someone like him. The other is a Doctor, Karras. He is an amazing fellow; smart as a whip, like Master Bookman, but in different ways. He's a chemist, and he has worked more wonders with his salves and tonics in front of my own eyes than that mad apothecary Avensia back in town ever has! The man has changed his shape, my Heart. I have seen his jaw extend into a snout, his skin thicken, nails grow to savage talons. And through it all he remains so meassured of spirit that his wildness feels like a gaining of momentum, not a loss of mind. I have approached the two of them, asking about the future in a field of academia such as theirs' in regards to Tavick. They both impressed upon me the importance, the duty, and the difficulty of that path, belaboring that it is no small feat to achieve success. And yet, from their words, I drew only confidence in this young man that we have raised. If we prepare him with what these good men have equipped me, and armed as he already is with the mind he got from You, I can only believe in his success, should he choose to pursue it. The final member of our party is a young woman named Esta. You'd like her: she's got a clever mind, and a sense of empathy and truth that turned Lepistadt to justice. It was her, and her understanding of Adam, that made me believe in his innocence in the first place. She also humbled me. There was a moment where all the ugliness of Lepistadt and the City's drive for blood moved me poorly. I was not as I should have been in that moment. I was eager to 'put things right', to draw steel against an idiot who may or may not have known better, almost meeting his call for fire with my own for blood. And yet this young woman -only so much older than Tavick!- reminded me of my purpose. She is a good person -again, she reminds me of you- and we are lucky to have her in this party. She's also got magical skills! I have seen her knit grievous wounds together effortlessly, and is also armed with her own magics of self-defense. Not to drag someone who's got no skin in it, but again, Avensia could learn a thing or two from her. She also has a fox friend named Oolong -like that tea you like. I could not fail to disclose such a thing to you. I have enclosed some money, hopefully enough to assist with the farm while I settle these affairs I've been dragged into. My Heart, it hurts to not be home. I miss the damn field. I miss Tavick speaking with you of things that make no sense to me, and I miss Dura's endless energy; it is a different kind of tired that fills me now. But most of all, I miss you. You are my homestead, and my peace. But that is why I must stay with these folks, at least for now. There are things that lurk in the darkness of our home, and I feel a hunter may be needed to cull them. Love to the boys. And all my love to you. Your Hands,
There's a loud clack as the woodsman cracks his gauntleted knuckles against his seat in relief; Justice was done. Actual justice, in a city after all! The beast, Adam, is free. Edison's relief lasts only as long as it takes the populace of Lepidstadt to voice their dissent. The hiss of singing steel from the guards' weapons freeing just to keep order has the woodsman standing and twisting to face the room, his keen blue eyes searching the crowd for the rabble-rouser from the night before, or any of the fool's idiot coterie. There's a crinkle of mail -easily missed in the chaos- as the gauntlet closes around the hilt of his sword.
His vigil is interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps as Adam approaches the party in relief and glee. The woodsman doesn't turn his attention from the crowd so much as flick it towards his new friend momentarily. As the Doc said, the truth has set you free more than anythin' else, Adam. That being said, not sure the truth'll matter much to this crew. He nods meaningfully to the roiling crowd. I think it best we get you from these premises quick as can be.
The woodsman stands up behind the counsel table, throwing a cautious glance around the room. Understood an' agreed; I don't credit this local populace a damn bit after last night. Oh, Mister -sorry- Master Adrissant? he offers a rough and calloused hand to the barrister. You spoke really well. I...heh...I feel you're wasted on this crowd, he throws a judgmental glance at the crowd shifting behind them, but you are not wasted on justice. Frankly...folk like yourself, and that speech you did...its enough to make even an old woodsman believe that there's a future in 'civilization'. Well done, Master Barrister. Well done. Whatever the outcome. And whoever lives to see it. The corners of the paladins eyes crinkle, and the ends of his beard turn up into a smile.
Edison waits for Aduard to continue; when he doesn't, the woodsman shoots the scholar a confused look before leaning forward. We uh...proceeded inside the premises -Vorkstag's violence in the face of questioning and their willingness to use that beast presented a clear and present danger to the city. Moving inside, we were confronted with both owners and a group of...either indentured servants or slaves, I am unsure which. Vorkstag and Grine ordered their folk to attack us and joined in themselves, using combinations of magic, alchemy, and the more terrestrial type of violence. After subduing and restraining the owners and disarming the remaining workers, we searched the place. It was an...ugly experience. An operating room behind a secret door in the basement -complete with cadaver-, more ugly, stitched together creations, and finally a- he nods his head towards Aduard. -a...skin cabinet.
It was-AHKH the woodsman coughs heavily as he leans forward in his seat, taking in the courtroom with an unfamiliar and unwelcome weight.
That, plus the discovery of chemikal cleaners bearing their name -they might've seen something that day, swampy terrain'n...such- is what...enthused us to look for alternatives about the Sanctuary, the only available trail of which led us to Vorkstag and Grine's. After that, the Woodsman bristles, still nursing wounds from the previous day. Vorkstag's actions at the door of their establishment spurred us to examine further.
It does, doesn't it. Edison's eyes bore holes into the back of the ringleader as they start to fade into the dispersing crowd. He bristles at Aduard's warning. Might be I could surprise you, Bookman. Think you're right, though. Not worth the risk. I'm unfamiliar with who might run this local constabulary; you're right again though. Oughta have those folk who abandoned their post shored-up. I can rest with Adam tonight, he volunteers, shouldering his way back into the courthouse. He stops though, and turns to Esta. Thank you, m'am. For the reminder of our purpose. My wife's got the good head, and sometimes my hackles get higher'n they should... He begins to mouth a couple words, as if to continue, before nodding and turning away and making his way towards the Prisoner's cell.
The woodsman is half a step forward before young woman's plea reaches him, and he stops mid-stride, falling into a simple, noncommittal combat stance. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes, before blowing it out with a puff. Deadeye tells us that a flock can be misled, and it is not their fault, but the fault of the land and the predator; outside forces that bend and twist and warp the mind of the flock, seeking to bear it to its destruction. A sick or mad livestock may be put down to protect the flock, but doing so does not change whatever evil exerted itself upon the beast, and does not prevent it further. Sometimes, the slow changing of the land, the scouring of predators, and ever-constant vigilance can do more than a headsman's axe... Or woodsman's bow. The paladin opens his eyes. And when, pray tell, did being godly become an insult, his blue eyes turn from the agitant to the crowd as a whole. Has Pharasma not protected these lands, even as the ravages of Age old foes nip at its edges? Has not Erastil's watchful gaze and trained bow guarded our communities at the edge of the wilderness? Desna has filled and spurred our dreams as Aroden led small, young humanity to its bloom into the wider world. We stand here, before a courthouse dedicated to law, watched over magically by the Mother of Souls, herself. Who is this man to say that I am the god botherer, as he spurs you all to march against this edifice of law in a territory that desperately needs it? He is a poison to the flock, a mad disease among the meek. He turns his gaze back to the leader. Sir, I would be more than willing to settle this between us. And I would deal with you fairly. Draw your steel if you insist, and I will do the same. But the rest of you -all ardor and cyst and bile- leave this place, and return home. Don't indulge the poison of this man. There is more at stake here than the burning of a man; what's on the line is this city's soul, and how willing it is to throw it away by embracing bloodlust, and ignoring truth.
Now sir. Either draw that steel, or remove yourself from this premises; knowing full well that the grave you now dig is not only your own, but this city's.
Happy Holidays!
Indeed! May the happiest of Holidays find you all; and may Fantastic Games await us in the Year beyond!
Wouldn't mind a bit, Edison growls, his gauntlet kneading the leather of his sword hilt. Y'all here in Lepistadt may not know me, but it is both my business and calling to protect my flock from predators. And, well... the woodsman's eyes flash in the light of the torches as they bore towards the ringleader. Seems like there's work to be done. But something tells me our little loudmouth isn't the kind to square up one-on-one. Takes a special kind of fella to bark orders from the back, encouragin' others to face the music instead. You a manager, son?
The woodsman -his body stiff as a board- mutters to his friends as the mob's speakers bark their aggression. Three of them in arms, weapons beneath the cloak, see them? The speaker, and the two on the left, catty to the woman in black?
I'm sorry, is the Folk's justice different from the LAW'S justice? Edison growls at the crowd, his hackles raising, and hand tightening on the hit of the blade. If so, this city'd be better without ONE of 'em. Guess which. The paladin is seething, his guard up, and his disgust with the nature of 'civilization' on full display. The rabid animals in front of him are about to entreat their only suitable fate: to be put down, for the good of the flock.
Ah, Hell! the woodsman curses, checking out the window as the good doctor leaves the room. I see 'city justice' has come knocking. Well, at least this time it can knock back... and he turns from the room, shouldering his bow, checking his arrows, affixing his buckler to his wrist, and loosening his sword in its scabbard as he follows Karras outside. Edison squints slightly against the retort as Karras fires his round into the air, and steps up next to the Doc as he finishes his plea to the crowd. Now now, Doc, do these look like people to you? Looks to me like a bunch of mangy beasts've come howling. After all: good, godly folk would let justice by court -attended by a priest after all- be served! The paladin keeps his wrist across the pommel of his sword, scanning the crowd for a ringleader.
I'll trust y'all to keep an eye on Vorkstag and Grine while I track down some of the local...uh...constabulary, the woodsman says, clearly ready to quit this place of secrets and sadism. They'll appreciate being brought here as opposed to us trussing a couple folk of the community up and draggin'em through town. The evidence we found'll help exonerate your Adam, at least of the business at the sanctuary.
There's steel in the woodsman's eyes as he tears his gaze away from the body in front of him, raising the sunrod in his buckler-d hand a little higher to shed light further down the tunnel, toward the great. He motions with his sword, One of the keys y'all pulled from these two should probably fit the lock on that grate. Whatever's beyond it though, it was worth puttin' an extra grille between themselves and it, even behind a secret door. Keeping the sunrod high, Edison moves down the tunnel towards the locked grate, keeping an eye for any irregularities in the stonework on his way there.
Edison stalks forward, eyeing the padlocked grate further down the hall. Reaching up into his backpack, he withdraws a forearm-length, golden tipped, iron rod. Glancing around the dim light of the room, he strikes the sunrod against the wall, igniting a brilliant light at its tip. The woodsman face scrunches with distaste as the contents of the room are thrown into sharp relief. At Aduard's words the woodsman nods and takes position by the coffin, steadying the point of his blade, and gripping the sunrod in his buckler-d hand. Agreed, Master Bookman. Doc, its all you.
That is awful, man! Things at least on the mend/looking up?
The woodsman's nostrils flare as he exhales hard, staring down at the stolen coffins. The fingers of one hand drum on the lid. With a shake of his head, he clears his thoughts. They had to be gettin' that stuff from somewhere. Now we know. And so'll the court. With visible effort he tears himself away from the desecrated caskets and turns back to the secret door. Hopefully their gods've already seen their souls to their destinations. We're still on the clock. His gauntleted hand kneading at the well-oiled leather grip of his sword, he steps to the door, checks on his allies, and opens the door when the party is ready.
Fair enough, Miss Esta, the woodsman agrees, shifting his weight over to the coffins, cautiously checking to see if they've been opened. Getting ahead of ourselves; don't wanna leave something behind us... Aware of Karras' time crunch, the paladin fishes around quickly in his backpack before drawing out a piton and a hammer, and gives a rallying glance to his allies before placing the spike at the lip of the first coffin and giving it a crack.
Hm? No, I already che- he narrows his eyes at the door Karras has pointed out before straightening with a low chuckle. Well, hell! You've got the vision of the Deadeye, Doc! He springs up lightly, angling in front of the door. He throws a steeling glance back at Aduard and Esta, before nodding assuringly.
The woodsman blows a low whistle, cracking the last crate. I thought I was well-prepared, remind me to have a less murderous friend in the alchemy business in the future. The man's clear blue eyes focus on the dark metallic-blue of the the adamantine weapon blanche before replacing it in its crate. Looking at all these goods, we can put Vorkstag and Grine -as an entrepreneuria...as a entry...as Money-Making entity- at the Sanctuary. The victim's testimony places someone lookin' like them -should they assume the twisted form from the...skin cabinet?- at the Sanctuary on the night of the fire. The priests at the door of the Court have been checking for lies, right? Clever questioning from y'all's barrister friend might be worth somethin'. How are y'all feeling about all this? He leans against a broken-open crate in the basement.
I appreciate you calling the audible, lol. Helluva map
I'll start us up stairs if we want, lol Sorry for the confusion, messed up the 3d setup in my noodle
Edison blinks dazedly a couple times before all-but dropping a mystery-laden bucket and hustling back to the ladder. S!$%. S%~~, s*+!, you're right, the woodsman curses, making his way back down. Damn right, Doc, we do! Ramp entrance, then? Make the most out of your tinctures, right?
Breathing heavily -more from surprise than from exhaustion- the woodsman lowers his sword to his side, glaring at the ruins of the tiny, chomping constructs. Those two're hazards, he curses, spitting on the floor in the vague direction of the captives. You have my eternal thanks again, Miss Esta; you have one helluva gift, and none of us would've made it out of here without you. The paladin gives the young woman a nod and a salute with his blade. Suppose it might be worth lookin' around, he mutters, clearly awkward with the moment of bare authenticity, who knows what's tucked in the weird corners of this place. This's the only place we haven't been, right? He begins moving various items out of the mess of the room, trying to at least spread out the hoard for better examination.
The woodsman's cursing devolves to rapid and rabid muttering, ...damned, CURSED, blighted, hauntborne sons, daughters, and otherwise of Asmoedus' crusty CO- as he pivots towards the homunculus left battered by the Good Doctor.
He scythes the magical blade towards the creature, hissing in satisfaction as it seem to bite deep - SEE! By the HUNTSman's stalwart and DETERMINED efforts shall we be FuuuuuORTUNATELY DELIVERED. Despite his CLEAR consternation at the assault through his formidable defense, the resolute swordsman remains an available target in the middle of the room.
Oh HELLS the Woodsman curses, his legs hammering the ladder so hard it shakes as he surges up to the loft. We got some beasties! Damn varmints! Its tight up here, but I'll buy y'all some space! Edison steps into the middle of the room, keeping an eye on both of the little creatures. He fakes a blow with his gauntleted hand against one, but turns in into a feint as he whips back to face the other, his long sword flashing into his hand, lancing towards the beast's brow.
The Woodsman nods to his compatriots. Pardon my imposition, good folk, he murmuers, taking to the ladder, buckler held high. But, given the state of ourselves and what we've endured, let me go first. Shame'd take me if one of you was dealt a harsh hand at this moment. The paladin ascends the ladder, casting his gaze around at those below; he rests his head against the trap door, inhaling and exhaling deeply -but only once. With that, he shoves at the trap door with his free hand, buckler held high.
I'd defer to your expertise on the matters, folks, the woodsman says simply. In my town I'd truss'em up and walk 'em to jail myself. If that's not likely to go down well, we can get Adivion to bring 'em in. That being said, there's supposed to be a beastie in the tower, right? I'd rather get that settled before any city guards have to go poking around through here.
Eh? Cold Iron?Edison calls to his friends, his eyes still locked on the villains below. 'fraid not, Master Bookman. he hisses, more quietly. If you'd said silver, I could've provided an arrowhead. If we need some, I can take a quick walk once we've cleared that tower, and found the other beastie they were talkin' about..
Edison does not have any; silver has proven more regularly helpful in his business!
Edison sips at his waterskin, still glowering down at Vorkstag and Grine. Damned monsters. They'd be best served tossed into the Punishing Man, not Adam. His eyes rest upon Vorkstag, his muscles still pulsing with their alchemical bolstering. The woodsman's eyes follow the arc of the villain's frame, from shoulder, to long leg, to calve... The paladin swishes a mouthful of water around in his mouth, spitting it out onto the floor below. He turns towards the door behind which his allies confer, though his eyes remain locked on the alchemists below. Doctor Karras. How tall would you say Mr. Vorkstag stood, muscles bulgin' as they were? He continues to glare down at Vorkstag below, the weight of his gaze palpable behind the smog. Seven feet? Close enough? Our witness 'cross the river said seven feet tall, with hair'n scales if I recall...Somethin' in that cabinet fit? His crystal blue eyes search the captives below, looking for some kind of tell as they hear him voice his theory...
The woodsman exhales harshly through his nose, regaining his composure. Shouldn't've said a damn thing. Gettin' away from myself like a damn kid. We're still puttin' it together, he says carefully, his tone girding. We found that cabinet we were lookin' for, and we'll have some questions to go along with what we found to get a better idea. Just keep an eye on those two his paladin's eyes flash through the grime as he glares at the alchemists. Let's just say we found further proof of the kind of folk they are.
Oh Hells, the woodsman cusses as the scent explodes through the room. He raises a hand to his nose, screwing up his eyes against the revulsion and the stink. He hisses a breath through his nose, girding himself, then steps forward to examine the cabinet and its contents, his clear eyes focused. Guess we know why he didn't want us finding this, he snarls, moving the macabre wardrobe aside to assure himself that that's all that was in the cabinet. This'll be the end of them. Lucky if they're not tossed in a Punishing Man of their own.
He steps away from the cabinet, barely controlled rage flaring behind his eyes. This doesn't get your Adam anywhere, though; we can prove these folk are monsters, but we need to provide proof that he didn't destroy the Sanctuary. He pauses briefly, glancing back at the cabinet, his eyes settling for an overlong moment on a gown; That one looks far-too-small... before storming out of the room, and glaring down at the factory floor below, and to the scaffold to which Vorkstag and Grine remain tied. I need y'all to keep a CLOSE damn eye on your former...masters, the paladin half-snarls, half-shouts down to the mongrelfolk below. One of your own gone missing? Others? Were you ever told not to worry about what happened? If so...we know now... The woodsman exhales slowly, relief not coming in the fumes of the chemical works. He stands for a time, gazing over the floor, mongrelmen, and prisoners until the rest of the party is ready to move on.
Edison eyes the room warily, relaxing slightly when Esta takes the lead in approaching the imposing challenge before them. At the young woman's remark, he chuckles. My son said the same thing the first time I brought him to the library here in town. I thought I'd never find him when he disappeared into the shelves. Now smiling, he moves carefully around Esta and the desk to head off the door, stopping short and closing his eyes, listening intently.
Happy Holidays, indeed!
Edison grunts in satisfaction as he and Esta tighten the rope restraining Vorkstag and Grine to the scaffold. Nodding in satisfaction, Edison makes his way up and down both ladders to the room at the top of what was Vorkstag's artillery position. Thank you, Miss Esta. Gonna start scoping out these rooms. Creature in the tower, huh? Guess we might not be done. As Edison approaches the open doorway, he draws his sword, and keeps his buckler high.
It's not about what they deserve, Doc, the woodsman calls as he lugs the bound alchemists to the base of the ladder up. Its about the folk of this city learning who they are; and its about the folk of this city learning what part they have to play in doin' better. The paladin pauses, looking up the ladder and back to Vorkstag and Grine before tying what remains of his rope to their restraints, clamping the end of the hemp in his teeth, and climbing the ladder up to the platform on which Esta stands. Once there, Edison take a couple heavy breaths before using the railing of the scaffold to help haul their murderous bounty upwards. Got keys here, team, he grunts as he heaves the morbid load upwards. Wouldn't put it past these folk to have traps around. Know anything 'bout those, Tacitus?
Edison's eyes shift from Vorkstag as the alchemist's breathing eases from the healing. After lower his ear to the lunatic's chest -a faint but steady heartbeat thrumming in their breast- the paladin breathes a sigh of relief, rock back onto his but and taking a moment to ease the tension. The sound of Aduard's voice nudges the paladin from his repose. Both of 'em are alive, he calls to the room. Doc? Ms. Esta? You both alright as well? As the party begins to take stock and plan, Edison quickly searches both of the alchemists, taking everything from them he finds, from crumpled pieces of paper, to vials, to any hidden weapons.
After depriving the villains of any tools he can find, Edison pulls out his rope and begins to hog-tie both of them.
Edison quickly moves over, laying Grine next to his compatriot with unearned tenderness. The woodsman's eyes move over the battered duo, before, alighting on the ragged breathing of Vorkstag. Lord Erastil, this man appears whole-heartedly unworthy of your mercy and may well be a blight upon this already-besieged nation. But his testimony may yield absolution for a being unworthy of riotous judgement. Be it of your will, may this cruel soul be spared. Clutching his holy symbol, Edison bends over Vorkstag, a soft light emanating from the wooden holy symbol clutched in his hand. If you listen closely as the light recedes, you may just barely hear an easing in the alchemist's breathing.
Will you just...Gods, will you just STOP!? the woodsman snarls as Vorkstag evades him at the base of the wall. Edison follows the alchemist from the floor, wincing and flinching away from Karras' explosion before resuming the hunt. The paladin stands below Vorkstag, hefting their sword in the air as one would wield a rolled-up paper to menace a particularly vexing fly. You're not getting out of here, but if you come willingly and cooperate, you may evade the headsman!
I'm really sorry to hear that man. Wishing you the best. Take all the time you need
Grine's ragged breath hisses in Edison's ears as he adjusts the miniature murderer on his shoulder. You're not moving off this mortal coil yet, Grine the woodsman mutters. You've got some questions to ask. Both of you do. Tossing a wary eye to the tumbling swarm of bats, Edison weaves his way between the burbling vats to the base of the wall Vorkstag's glittered form is scrambling down, he sword ready in his hand.
Edison stands over the fallen, murderous gnome as the colony of ravenous bats descend on them, clearly intent on the psychopath's destruction. Deadeye...damn it! The paladin reaches forward, grabbing Grine by the scruff of their neck, heaving them over his shoulder like a sack. Steadying the gnome on their unstable perch, the paladin backs away from the curtain of flapping wings and high-pitched squeals, his sword raised ineffectually between himself and the bats. Got Grine! Y'all alright!? What about Vorkstag!?
Edison takes the blow to his hip with a grunt, stepping backwards towards the wall to keep Grine between himself and the bats. You're a madman, Grine, the paladin growls, angling his buckler towards Grine's axe-hand. But you don't have to die! Give up! Sounds like your partner's met his end up there, with all the snarling stopping on a dime! Despite his speech, Edison keeps the pressure on the gnome, feinting at shoulder-level again before redirecting the cut towards the alchemist's leg. Deadeye this man has done terrible wrong and seeks to do more! For the good of the people, his violence must end! His sword glows with a harsh white light as it lances down towards Grine.
Outta the darkness finally, Grine? Edison steps forward with a growl, looming over the gnome. You're done. Surrender! Edison steps forward, keeping his composure enough to keep his shield raised as he chops across with his sword at Grine's neck-height.
Sporting its not, but you're at no one's mercy but your own. Surrender, and you'll get out of this alive. Your partner's huffin' and puffin' away up there, but he's just digging a bigger grave for himself. Drop the darkness, save your life. Edison's eyes narrow as he stares into the inky sphere. What's he up to in there? The woodsman cocks his head, listening closely for any clue as to Grine's efforts in the dark.
As he listens, Edison keeps light on his feet, ready to run into the darkness should he see Grine emerge up the ladder towards Karras, or out of the way of some other malfeasance.
The paladin winces as he extricates the axe from his arm, but gives a grunt and a hearty chuckle in the direction of the darkness. You've got a mean arm, Grine. But I'm rather certain you're wasting your time just lobbing axes. As he speaks, the paladin presses the hilt of his sword to his wound, and once again a soft glow encompasses the gash, flesh knitting together.
C'mon Grine, you're spinning your wheels. Square up and stop wasting time. The woodsman raises his sword and buckler in a salute, then begins shifting his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, for all the world ready to dodge the next blow.
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