I still check the board once a day. Hoping we continue.
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Frunthpyllin sees that the man has been abandoned by his allies. He eases the tension from his bow and returns the arrow to his quiver. "Well done Sir Vuk!" he says. He runs a hand along the tower, judging how easy it would be to climb. Turning to address the man he says, "Is there a door in the roof of this tower? We're not attacking the tower, as much as seeking answers."
The city elf dismounts his horse and ties it and Sir Vuk's horse to a post. He draws an arrow to his bow. "As Asim said."
Clenching the leads for Sir Vuk’s horse in his left hand with the comment, ”Your master needs you,” Frunthpyllin urges his own horse into the field with a heel kick. Seeing the two bolts go sailing past Garian, Frunthpyllin races for the tower.
Frunthpyllin climbs down from the tree he was hiding in. Dashing to his horse, he swings into the saddle. He nudges it closer to Sir Vuk’s horse and unties it from the tree. ”Ready,” he says.
”We don’t want to provoke an attack on you, so we’ll remain here. Courage and luck in dealing with them.”
As Sir Vuk approaches, Frunthpyllin studies the area’s features again, looking at the open space between the tower and the wood’s edge, especially. ”We could hear his command to return. Do you think the tower has good hand and footholds for climbing? We thought maybe trying to do that while you distracted them might be worthwhile. Though it was my idea, honestly I think it has a remote chance of success. I say meet with them, but don’t enter the tower.”
”Then we’re agreed,” the city elf says then he laughs softly to himself. ”It’s too bad we can’t try to climb the back of the tower as Sir Vuk distracts them. There’s probably a sentry for the back though, so it wouldn’t work.”
”We didn’t plan on this!” the city elf says to Garian. He leans closer to the tower angling his head to the side hoping to listen too.
After a few moments he nods as he catches the conversation. While there's a pause between Sir Vuk and the man in the tower, Frunthpyllin says to his companions, ”I think we should remain hidden. What about the rest of you?”
Frunthpyllin relaxes his half-pull on the short bow as Sir Vuk rides off. Sitting in a tree with his legs hooking a thick branch, the city elf watches for Sir Vuk to return leading their prey to the ambush site. He calls out to Garian, ”Any idea of numbers in the tower?”
”Let’s get started finding those mushrooms,” Frunthpyllin says, scratching out the map he had sketched in the dirt. ”Do you want to select the location for the trap?” he asks Asim and Sir Vuk.
”While Garian and I look for the mushrooms, we can also look for dog tracks along the paths they use. Maybe there is a patrol without any dogs.”
”Oh, we forgot to mention it earlier. There was smoke at the tower so somebody is there. You’re right about the dogs Sir Vuk,” Frunthpyllin says, tapping his stick against the ground as he thinks about herbs that could neutralize the dogs.
”Whenever we do attack, we’ll be facing dogs. The question to me is would we rather face them all at the tower, or perhaps some in an ambush. I understand, the ambush won't be effective unless we can minimize the dogs -- or at least mask our scent enough. Wherever we attack a patrol, we should be between them and the tower.”
Frunthpyllin points back to the camp, making a talking gesture with his hand. Once back at the camp he tells the others, as he sketches a map in the dirt of what he and Garian saw, ”The dogs are huge! Easily the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen. There were several sleeping, but I couldn’t tell exactly how many were there. They are in a lean-to on the eastern side of the tower. The tower itself has an iron door, and no windows below a height of four meters. It appears circular, five meters wide and fifteen meters tall. A well worn path shows signs of at least daily patrols.” The city elf nods at his crude map. ”We could try to ambush a patrol a good distance from the tower. That would lessen the defenders there. Any ideas how to handle the dogs?”
Frunthpyllin discusses with the others how they will scout: individually or in a group, what time they will return to camp, and who will remain here. Before setting out on the scouting trip, he practices walking softly and eats a light snack.
“Those dogs bark fiercely. What are we going to do about them? And What about guard duty? Usually, when traveling with my fellow workers, I’m middle watch. Is that alright for you?” he asks, looking at them each in turn. ”Sir Vuk, since you were injured I think you should be excused from night watch. I don’t aim to slight your endurance, nobility, discipline, or manliness. I simply mean you need rest to heal.” Sitting on a log, the city elf sharpens his rapier. ”I say we scout ahead in the morning. Just before dawn.”
”Yes, let us rest a good distance from the tower,” Frunthpyllin says as he follows Garian in looking for a campsite. ”A fire would be too visible I imagine. What do you think Garian? I had hoped to have a cup of tea, but the wilderness requires hardships.”
With each posted head, Frunthpyllin becomes more quiet and focused on looking for danger and an effective escape path if they are ambushed again. In the open country he feels it could come from any direction. Once the tower comes into view, he stops his horse and says, ”I doubt we could sneak to the tower with only the grass and scattered birch trees for cover. Should we wait for night? My footsteps are fairly light, but I don’t typically practice any sort of stealth, especially in rural areas.”
”I think you’re correct Garian. Let’s leave this desecration behind. When this errand is finished, I’d like to return and help build a new shrine. Maybe bring a stained glass window of Mokosh’s symbol. Same positions as before right?” He remounts his horse, holding the reins with his right hand and his bow with his left.
Seeing the destruction at the shrine to Mokosh, Frunthpyllin’s eyes water. He takes a long moment, standing quietly with his head bowed, before he says, ”This is terrible. Garian, can you tell how long ago this sacrilege took place?” He pours water from his waterskin to clean the broken statue of Mokosh, while offering her a prayer. ”I don’t know if this is connected to our errand, but this is profoundly disturbing. Would the Black Dogs do an act like this to a Mokosh shrine? An Old God shrine, yes. But, Mokosh?” the city elf shakes his head. He walks around the area, searching the ground for tracks, dropped items, or any words that may be scrawled on the shrine.
With a defeated sigh, he pulls the bandit off his horse and leaves him in the forest. Once they reach the crossroads, Frunthpyllin leans close to the head and quickly steps back. ”Urrk—“ he clamps his mouth shut and moves twenty feet from the head. Taking calming breaths, he scans the canopy for an ambush. ”Sir Vuk, please tell me that is not common for this region. I know we’re not in a civilized city, but surely this depravity offends basic decency and the gods.”
”We are. More importantly you’ll live,” the city elf says. Frunthpyllin pats Garian on the shoulder. ”Garian was the one who found the bandits’ nest which had these healing elixirs. Do you feel well enough to continue on our way?” He looks at the corpses. "I don't want to take time to dig graves. Do you think there is a village between here and the tower?"
”Here let me smell it,” Frunthpyllin says uncorking one. He waves his hand above the opening, wafting any scent close to his nose. Next, he carefully touches the wet part of the cork, feeling how viscous the mysterious liquid is. Finally deciding it’s safe enough, he licks the cork to see if that helps him identify it.
"Oh!" his face is stunned with recognition. "I've never seen this before, but it's a healing potion. The taste and smell match a book's description I read not too long ago. We could probably give one to Sir Vuk and continue on our way rather than returning to the village."
Seeing that Garian and Asim have the travois nearly finished, Frunthpyllin examines the glass vials, curious if he can see where they were made. ”Any idea what these contain?” he asks holding one to the sunlight filtering through the forest’s canopy.
"I will," Frunthpyllin says doing his best to lift and secure the corpse to his horse without getting blood on his clothes.
”Yes,” the city elf says, stripping leaves from a branch to help in the construction of the travois. ”We need Sir Vuk to be healed. Should we bring the corpses with us? People might know who they are. Perhaps feel safer traveling with four bandits dead.”
Frunthpyllin doesn’t feel skilled enough to fire an arrow into the scrum around Vuk, so he fires at the bandit he struck in the leg.
Frunthpyllin tugs on the leads to stop the horse then reaches for an arrow. Fitting it to bowstring, he pulls and aims at the other bandit with the bow. After a moment to settle his heart beat, he releases the arrow.
He pets the horse’s neck as they ride, whispering elven poetry to his mount and singing the few Yazik ballads he knows. The elf practices shifting in his saddle, leaning from side to side, and keeping his hands free while directing the horse with his legs. ”Truly, Chevlovski horses may be the finest in Mir.” Once they reach the forested section, seeing what a prime spot it is for an ambush, Frunthpyllin strings his short bow. ”I’ll watch your horse,” he tells Garian taking the horse’s leads and tying them to his saddle’s pommel. Deferring to Asim to take the rear, he focuses his attention on the tree branches above the trail.
"My choice is to wake at dawn as well," he says with a nod to the wood elf.
”Thank you for the clarification,” the city elf says. He looks at the others as he rises from the chair, preparing to leave the room. ”Now did we say we are leaving at dawn or waking at dawn?” Once the plan for the morning has been agreed on, he heads to his bed chamber.
”To be clear, you want us to bring the woman here? Depending on her willingness may we offer her a gift in your name?”
Frunthpyllin sits letting the others speak before he adds, ”Leaving aside the woman for a moment, have you heard rumors about the Black Dogs in the area? Is there anything in particular we should expect? Do you know anything about the tower in the east?”
”I do play when the chance arrives, but will give the first game to another,” Frunthpyllin says examining the cue sticks. ”Which rules do you follow? Any of the new variants from Llythrythdella?” The city elf sits in one of the chairs and smiles appreciatively at the craftsmanship. ”We’ve learned that a group of men calling themselves priests took the girl from Gertrude, the old, blind woman, about twenty years ago. We suspect they are Black Dogs based on their description. There is a hedge-healer in a local swamp we want to question. Also traveling to the nearby to the east will bring some more information, according to the priest. Right, Sir Vuk?”
”At a time like this?” he asks raising his eyebrows and grinning. ”You can think of it as you will. I view it as a way to thank the people who helped us with our inquiries. To add a little color, joy, and maybe some gossip to their lives after a day of difficult work. It won’t take much time on my part and hopefully cultivates good-will.” The city elf runs his finger around the rim of his mug. Leaning towards young nobleman, covering his mouth with his right hand, he says in a near whisper, ”If you don’t know these peasant dances, I can teach you later.” He smiles at his cousin elf. ”Dancing is more like hunting than you realize. But tonight is not a night for 'hunting' merely pleasure.”
”Yes, let’s finish our meal first,” he signals to the waitress for another beer. ”Would anyone else like to stay after that to dance with the locals? Not long...maybe four or five dances.”
”Maybe instead of the Dogs we should call them the Gray Cats...or the Bakers, or the Smiths. Do you want to leave at dawn? I’d rather wake at dawn and eat a filling breakfast.” He looks to the others to see their reactions. ”The new Boyar might know some rumors concerning our new information.”
Frunthpyllin orders a beer. When they have a semblance of privacy tells the others, ”We learned that the blind woman, Gertrude was her name, took in a ‘deformed’ baby that was never allowed to see sunlight. The baby was about a year old, which agrees with Petrushka’s recollections. So the girl spent five or six years living with Gertrude until some priests came to take her away. They seemed more like soldiers; unfriendly men with large black hounds. Gertrude died shortly after. Likely drunk, she fell from the dock, became caught in a net, and drowned. The description of the priests or soldiers is perplexing. Does it strike any associations for anyone?" He looks around the group then winks at a woman at the bar.
The city elf laughs after a moment of stunned silence. Wiping a tear from his eye, he replies, ”Oh, that’s the most I’ve heard you speak at one time Kuraj. To answer your question, bold lady, no. It's not true. That's a lie started by envious dwarves or perhaps some human men. The hair is as soft as the down of a week-old chick, finer than silk, and as fragrant as a summer meadow.”
Frunthpyllin sighs shaking his head. ”What a tragic ending for Gertrude. I’ll say a prayer to Mokosh for her soul. “ The city elf makes the blessing of Mokosh with his right hand. “One last thing. The priests you mentioned, were they local? Devoted to a particular god?” After they answer, he says, ”I’m meeting friends at the tavern soon. If we’re still there when you ladies finish your work, I’d be pleased to dance with you.” Smiling, he gives a deep bow.
”On second thought, Kuraj, why not keep me company? Just slouch a little, try to look a little less intimidating.” The city elf tilts his head studying the orc. ”Though that might not be possible with your huge muscles.” He leads Kuraj towards the fish women. ”Good afternoon ladies. My name is Frunthpyllin. This is Kuraj,” he says giving a bow with a flourish of his right hand. ”Perhaps some of you remember me from a few years ago when I did some work at the Boyar’s estate. I spent many enjoyable evenings at the Salty Cod dancing and singing. At the time I learned who really understands life Morskaya Village. The women! We seek information for the new Boyar. Who better to ask than the matriarchs of the village? Around 25 years ago the care of a young girl was entrusted to an old blind woman. I understand the woman is dead, but I seek the girl, now a woman herself. Do you remember her name? Or the house she lived in? Any neighbors or friends that I could speak to?”
”Yes, I like the idea of splitting up. Thank you Assim for the compliment, and I have no objections if you question the inn and the tavern staff. So Sir Vuk, you would like to interview the priest and perhaps find the wet nurse? A good choice. I can talk to these women drying the cod. Leaving Garian and Kuraj the shops and smiths.” He looks around to see if any one objects. ”We obviously don’t want to mention the curse, the hag, or the word changeling. Shall we simply say we are charged with aiding the Boyar’s heir in finding a girl who lived with a blind woman 25 years ago? It’s the truth after all.”
The city elf raises an eyebrow at the orc’s statement and frowns in incomprehension, judging the others’ reactions to see if they understand. ”Maybe we could find the wet nurse. She might have some information. The neighbors too. They might remember what happened to the young girl. Or maybe the painter’s name if the portrait was done at her house.”
”Sir Vuk, I meant no offense to the Boyar’s character. It did seem obvious to me that he was the father, or at least thought he was, but I did not mean to imply that he willingly had relations with a hag. She could have charmed or hexed him using magic in a variety of ways.” While the others discuss the group’s next course of action, Frunthpyllin searches for a book, quickly moving along the shelves. ”Wonderful,” he calls out, pulling an oversized tome from a bottom shelf. He sets it on the table and starts flipping through the pages. ”The Krevliskov Atlas. My initial thoughts were to find the painter too, before we spent time in the library, and learned what we did. Here we are,” he says pointing along the southern coast. ”Now the best way to find the painter would be to go to the Elf Dales. Crossing the steppe and mountains. A difficult journey, yes?” he poses to question to Garian. ”Or go by sea; an expensive and unpleasant journey. Once we reach Wynthellin, Llythrythdella, or another city where we discover the painter’s identity, we would most likely then need to travel to the painter’s location because a painter of this skill travels seeking noble patronage.” He steps away from the book to let the others peruse it. ”I like your idea, Asad, of asking the local witch hunters. Finding members of the Boyar’s traveling group could give us information too. Maybe one or two might know what happened.”
Before pouring himself a cup of tea, Frunthpyllin admires the thin porcelain cup, smiling at the craftsmanship. Sitting, he takes his time with the tea, inhaling the scent and slowly sipping the hot drink. ”Subtle citric notes. A hint of mint. Very fine. I remember this well from my previous time here,” he tells the butler. With the scone, he adds a dab of strawberry jam, and happily eats it. He waits for the others to finish any snacks before broaching their next actions. ”What do you think our next step should be? Attempt to find the painter of the portrait? He may have valuable information. Start wandering the local area trying to find a hag? I’d rather not try such an...inelegant option.” He reads over his notes. ”Since it appears changelings gradually turn into hags, perhaps she would return to her place of birth, answering this inner voice. Like fish that travel to their spawning grounds. Or birds that return to the same nesting area year after year. I could try to find more information,” he waves his right hand at the books lining the wall. ”Petrushka, can you tell us about life in Morskaya before the baby appeared? What were the problems the Boyar dealt with at the time?”
The elf clears his throat, ”This is from the book Journeys in the Southern Steppe by Ussad Abn-Rachim, Knight of Tal’al, as translated by Gougri of Starigorod, but I’ve seen similar references in other sources here. ‘The offspring of a hag and a mortal man is a blight and an offense to Tal’al. These changelings, or hag spawn, should be drowned at birth. You shall know changelings by their sign: females with odd-eyes and black hair.’ That sounds like our mystery girl. I’ve read elsewhere hags are found in the bogs and salt marshes of this region.”
”Nothing leaps to mind, Sir Vuk, but perhaps the answer can be found in here.” Frunthpyllin lightly traces his fingers across the spines of many of the books. He’s impressed with the family library. Not as grand as some he has seen, but very satisfying, despite poor organization. ”I can read these books in City Elvish and Old Church Yazik. The Dwarvish too. Anyone have a preference about which books you get?” Opening the drawer of a writing desk, he finds ink, pencils, parchment, fine sand for blotting, and one pen. ”We can take notes if we need to.” He takes a pencil and a sheet of parchment and claims a chair near a window. ”If the Boyar kept a diary, I doubt he would have written about the curse and this mystery child. At least directly. At the very least we might know where he was all those years ago. Would you mind asking the butler if diaries exist?” he addresses the orc. As he begins to read, he makes notes. From time to time he will glance at the others to estimate their demeanor. The eclectic group speaks to the Boyar’s openness or pragmatism. An orc, two elves, an Iftarin, and a knight. An interesting mix. One book leads to others and he begins cross referencing what a legend says in Old Church Yazik with a summary of a text in Dwarvish, leading on to other tomes that haven't been touched in years. Hours pass and he calls in a servant for a plate of blini, mushrooms, and cheese.
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