Ahh, I see. It's a shame, but I understand.
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Everard gives Heinrich a pensive look. "Your wife… I see. I dreamt I saw a lady of the Faerie folk who needed saving. And I did. With a sword wreathed in flame. It was... interesting." When Felix addresses whatever power resides in the Peace, he directs a polite bow in the direction of the tree. Sylvan: "I am duly grateful for the help and nourishment I have received. Thank you so much."
Everard starts awake and lumbers to his feet. For a few minutes, he just stands there, blinking in confusion… and then he draws his sword and gives it a funny look. "Huh," he says, "well..." Then he takes a double-check and moves his arm up and down. "I feel better," he announces, clearly surprised. "Alright. Alright, then! Guys, are you awake?"
"Zzzzzz... *snrg* ...zzzz..."
Everard is probably unconscious. If not, he weakly waves the others away. "The cutting," he wheezes. "The cutting… No time..."
If the recent ministrations wake Everard, he mutters weakly: "Get me... to the Peace. Take the cutting. Leave me ... there. Save the Giants. Then come... back."
"Back off!" Everard shouts as he takes another swing at the female cheetaur. "You and your mate were the ones who attacked us! You got no one to blame but yourselves!"
Everard falls back with the others. If one of the cheetaurs come in range, he swipes at it. "Keep them off me while I drink a potion," he says with a shaky voice.
"Stick with me!" Everard says. "The one on the left, move as one… go!" Roaring, Everard charges the nearest cheetaur and swings his blade!
How about cold weather clothes?
"Here is the truth about a game of cat and mouse," Everard says. "The mouse never wins. Spook 'em, and don't let them get between us!" Everard utters a warrior's wordless howl, a mindless scream of bloodlust that says here comes death or dinner, and either way it's pissed off and plans to tear through your insides with a blunted edge...
Everard unslings his shield, readying homself for battle. "Hug the rock," he says, businesslike. "Stop them from flanking us. I'll take point, then Mr. Pfefedern. Use me as a barrier and stab them over me. Zayla, artillery. Felix, try to get behind them once I've got their full attention."
"Hey," Everard says, quietly, as he beckons the others over. "What do you call a very big cat that stalks the forest in the middle of winter?"
"Didn't you say you know where the Meadow is, Mr. Pfefedern?" Everard asks, respectfully. "I'd say lead on, but... please don't take this the wrong way, but you are the key player of this mission. All those lives depend on your skills. I'd like to offer to shield you during this trip. Any harm that comes, should have to get through me to get to you."
Everard draws his sword and rests it against his shoulder for the day's march. "As I can be, sir. Let's be off, gang; people are counting on us to save them. Let's be heroes!"
"Bruno," Everard repeats, unsmiling. "Sure. I'll remember that. C'mon, gang; let's get some chow. Heck, I might splurge on a hot bath."
"We'll have to give it some thought. That's a lot of gold," Everard says, diplomatically. "Don't suppose you'd give us a … discount?" Halfway through his schpiel, Everard's eyebrows draw down as he looks at the scruffy man. "What's your name again, mister?"
"Yeah, we'd noticed," Everard replies in an offhand manner. "Thanks for caring, though."
"We'll have to do this again sometime, Henry," Everard says as he shakes the Hermit's hand. "Be seeing you!" Once the group is on level ground again, the Fighter nods towards town. "Let's be going, friends. We have a big trip ahead of us; don't want to be late, don't want to be slow."
"Now, I know this might be a bit of a longshot," Everard says, "what with you being a hermit an' all… But did you ever hear of the prophecy?" Just to be sure, Everard recites what Zara told the team.
"Ah. Right. Er... How's this hand?" Everard asks.
Everard tries his hand at the game, but seems a bit dubious. "So... who's Fenrus?"
"Do you know any other brigands? What's Erasmus like?"
"We kind of need to be back in town before dark. Sorry. What's that about a magic mirror? And... do you know what the Warlock actually looks like?"
"Sooo... the Brigand Warlock?"
"You... you know the Brigand Warlock? And Erasmus? Any other magic-users?"
If Zayla continues to have trouble, Everard will help guide her. Inside, he openly admires 'Enry's dwelling. "Really nice place you got here! Been living here long? You know a lot about the valley?"
"Say now, that's pretty nifty!" Everard says, smiling. Before climbing the ladder, he smiles at Zayla. "Let's find out if whoever lives there can teach you that trick! Imagine being able to turn stuff invisible on demand."
"Flying Falls," Everard muses. "Flying... Falls."
"Hm. Funny name. But it's pretty, isn't it? Looks like someone decided to come live here so they could enjoy the view the whole year long. You guys want to say hello?"
"Don't feel like visiting a graveyard where some witch's raised up the dead," Everard says. "Who's up for a stroll to the waterfall? Could be fun to see."
"Look. Someone's been flicking daggers at this target as well as shooting arrows. Odd..."
"Alright, but we play this one smart. If we get in trouble, unless there are innocents in need of saving, we bail. No unnecessary injuries right before our big trip with Mr. Pferdefedern."
Yessir! :)
As the group walks away from the farm, Everard asks: "What should we do to prepare?"
"I swear I meant no offense, sir, only to give aid where I can," Everard says, humbly.
"Do you need us to help get you anything before we go? Armour, weapons, other equipment?"
"You know the way there already? Wonderful!" Everard enthuses. "And yes, of course you need to make arrangements. Thank you! Thank you."
Heads up, I'm going on a week-long trip tomorrow.
"Mister Pferdefedern!" Everard yells as he sheathes his sword and breaks into a clanking, hobbling run. Slightly out of breath, Everard pauses at a respectful distance from the centaur farmer. "Sir... I know we've irritated you... and I'm so sorry... but we desperately need your help. You may be the only one... *wheeze* ... who can help us save sixty-one people from miserable starvation. Sir, would you be willing to perform a cutting on a magical fruit tree?"
"Finish what? Pick up your feet, brother. My armour is slowing us down enough already."
"No time to lose. Thank you, your majesty, for your help. Friends, we need to go. Now." Unless there are objections, Everard readies sword and shield and starts walking. "Eyes open for Goblins, gang."
"Thank you, your majesty. That narrows it down. Friends, our next stop if the Pferdefedern farm."
"We are not skilled arborists," Everard says, a pained expression on his face. "Are there any in this valley? Can you loan us one from among your court?"
"It was a Troll, not an Ogre," Everard says, stepping forward. "And this is more important. The Frost Giants of Jotunheim, sworn guardians of Asgard, face starvation. Their orchards were struck by blight, and one of their number has come seeking aid. This valley can not provide all the food they need, so magic must be the key. We have heard a magical tree grows in Erana's Peace, one whose fruits can sustain a man for a day -- and that its fruit cannot be removed from the Peace. "Your Majesty, the Frost Giants need help. They need food. You are queen of the forest, master of woodland magic and lore. Can you help us? Do you know a way to transplant the pits of the tree in Erana's Peace so they will not rot, and will grow swiftly in new soil, that we might save the guardians of Asgard without harming Erana's tree?"
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