NPC - Rook Bentknee's page

Zove takes her share of the burden as the body is carried away. "Thank you, Bentknee. Should we never meet again, know your name and kindnesses will reach the Court of One Million Stars." she says somewhat snottily, not realizing how patronizing and ominous it sounds.

Tipping his head to the side for a confused second, the kobold then simply tips his brimmed hat back a bit and gives the serious shadow fey wide toothy smile. "I don't suppose I need my name bandied about the shadow realm miss." He says. "But you and the others see that there's no trouble ahead and help keep these goods safe all the way to Britta's place and that'll be thanks enough for me."

But her reason pointed towards the practical "I was prepared for a diplomatic assignment, not a skirmish under stormclouds. Perhaps the caravan could spare some supplies for our forward bivouac? Nothing that would weaken your position here, of course...just the essentials."

Rook sets the shovel into the ground and nods at Zove's request. "I don't have much in the way of clothing, boots, or spare rain or foul weather coats." He says with a glance toward Trevor's feet and the suspiciously familiar potato sack still draped across Finnigan's shoulders. "We're mostly trading bolts of cloth, grains, seeds, and other dried goods, a bit of specialty wines and liqueurs for the inn, a few tools, and a small number of other trinkets and baubles folk like to buy for festivals and such."

He flips the canvas back on the third wagon, where most of the caravans camp supplies are stored. "But you can have a couple days dry rations each...just in case. Rope, canvas for shelter if you need, and of course your welcome to take your bedrolls if you have them." He pauses in thought for a moment and then rummages further into the supplies. "Here's a few of flasks of oil. Might need the help starting a fire in these conditions." He looks at Aterro and Finnigan, the only humans among the group. "Hmmm. And one of the spare lanterns, again if you need some extra light at night. A single flask should be good for most of the night."

Party gains, 2 days of rations each, 3 flasks of oil, a hooded lantern, and enough canvas and rope to set up reasonable shelter for everyone. If there's anything else specific someone is looking for, feel free to ask, although his selection is very limited.

"Thor's chosen has the right of it." Rook says adding with a chuckle to Trevor "I don't see any Trombeian stallions lounging about. So your feet are going to carry you a lot quicker than my oxen will."

Grabbing a pair of shovels and a mattock from under the canvas tarp, he waves to the other two drivers and begins looking nearby for a reasonably easy place to dig Baldric's grave. "We'll be along shortly and if your lucky you'll be sitting in front of a warm fire with a hardy ale in hand by days end."

The kobold takes the note and coin purse from Ibrox. He hisses softly as he reads, eyes glancing from the remains and back to the note. Finally he shakes his head sadly. "So that is likely poor Baldric." He says. "Was a good lad. Orphaned during the invasion. Britta took him in to help out around the inn, mind the stables, weed the gardens, repairs, that sort of thing. Quiet, but likable enough, had that same haunted look that so many from Krakova have these days."

He slips the letter into a pouch, and shakes the rain from his wide brimmed hat. "We should give the boy a proper burial. Not right to just leave him laid out in the road." He starts to climb down from the wagon bench still talking. "Sad as it is, we've other worries if what Britta says is true."

Vandersthal shouldn't be much further up the road. I was hoping for a warm, dry stop over, but..." He shrugs with a nod toward Baldric and then rubs a bony hand along his scaled jaw, thinking for several seconds before finally turning to look at rest of you.

"You all handled...Baldric...and those bugs well enough. How about you lot hurry ahead to Vandersthal. If we've got Reaver's raiding the coast that's trouble enough. But those blood sucking bugs make me think something more might be afoot. Scout the place, see if it's safe and deal with any trouble if you can. The lads and I will take care of the remains and follow in the wagons." He glances at the gray skies above. "I think you should be able to make it before dark if you hurry. We should be along in the morning. Then hopefully we'll make Nargenthal a couple days later if the blasted weather will clear a bit."

"I'll pay double your daily pay, plus you can keep this." He adds tossing the coin purse over to Trevor.

Finnigan looks south along the caravan's back trail but doesn't see anything except trees, grass, rain, the white caps of the bay, and a sad, soaked muddy red flag floating in, and marking, the recently traversed pothole.

Bentknee deftly steers the wagon around the hole cleverly marked by Aterro while another misty snort erupts from his nose at the young knight's quip adding to the clouds pouring from the hard working oxen as their hot breath hits the chill spring air.

"Thor's priest or Thor's jester, at least he showed himself to be of some worth." The kobold adds with another light laugh which cuts off suddenly as he leans forward to peer into the rain and mist.

The road winds along the coastline skirting the edge of a forest filled with stunted fir and pines shaped by the constant coastal winds. Lush salal shrubs flourish under the trees and along the shoreside of the road. While to the western side is covered by more salal and tall grasses for about fifty feet right up to where a sharp cliff drops off to the rocky churning surf below. The trees and winding road along with dark, gray day, rain and mist thrown up by the stormy sea make it hard to see beyond a few hundred feet up the road. The constant pounding of the surf and occasional burst of wind make it barely possible to hear the banter among yourselves.

"Day's not fit for man or beast." Bentknee says still straining to see further up the road. "But I swear I saw something up ahead."

He turns to Trevor, "You've got younger eyes than mine. You or anyone else see anything up there?"

At the mention of Krakova, Rook shakes his head sadly and slides two fingers across his right eye in a simple gesture of warding evil.

"Blasted vampires and their soulless kin." He says with clear spite in his voice. "Used to be good folk and good trading in Krakova before the invasion. As for the Wolfmark...well, once you let a devil into the backdoor to deal with rats in your house, all you end up with is devils and rats in your home." As he mentions devils, his eyes flick knowingly toward the returning gnome and his bright red cap.

Just then, the wagon dips into a deep hole in the road hidden beneath the water and mud causing goods to shake and rattle, axles to groan, oxen to strain, and a steady stream of cursing from Bentknee who nearly slides off the bench.

"Bloody hells! Where's that lazy scout I'm paying to mark the road and watch for trouble?" He says craning his neck to look further down the rain shrouded road for Finnigan. "Finnigan, you missed another blasted pothole! I told you to mark 'em with the flags I gave you!" He shouts ahead, clearly not realizing the ranger is tucked away in the back of one of the wagons. "We break an axle and I'll take the lost time out of your hide and wages!"