"Plus, all the bystanders. Guilty or otherwise."
Miss, excuse me but who said anything about you living in the city? Your daughter wishes for you to be closer to her so she can gain from your vast experience and probably for some familial emotion or some such. Move close to the fort. Build a small house nearby, and have fun chasing off the idiot guardsmen that will upon occasion be bothering you. They hate it when you turn them a random shade of the spectrum in coloration. Much fun to be had and you can keep an eye on your, slightly wayward and mildly loose of morals if you ask me, grandchild. She could use a guiding hand coupled with an occasional boot to rear to keep her going down a goodly path.
I need to check on the prisoner. Thank you for the breakfast, although I believe sage is supposed to be used as flavor and not a main course......not that it wasn't good but I have made....*trails off*
Elgan watches Reise leave to go check on the prisoner, and listens to his verbose ramblings, with an odd expression on his face. After Reise has left the house, he says,
"Woo-Eee! I don' tink I nevah saw'r a man tawk so much an' say so little. Still, I 'tink he mite have a seed o' a good idear bury in dere sum whar'. Whut does ya 'all 'tink Granny? Mebbe ya'all kin fin' a guud hill, nearby's like, whar yeh kin live in peace, but close enuf whar yer family kin come 'en see yah now n' den? How's 'dat strike ya Granny?"
Cajun-Common Translation:
"Wow! I don't think I have ever seen a man talk so much and say so little! Still, I think he might have a seed of a good idea buried in there somewhere. What do you think Granny? Maybe you can find a good hill, near the fort, where you can live in peace, but close enough that your family can come and see you now and then? How do you feel about that Granny?"
Granny starts trembling, wincing at the last statement;...
"I......'Cob dammit! (sigh) I don't know...how to.. explain."
Bitha reassures her.
"It's okay, granmama. I'll be there to take care of you."
Granny looks at her...
"You? Take care of me? Paauuggh!"
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Okay, let's pack it all up then."
Bitha says, "be right back!!!"
She comes back with a heaping handful of duffelsatchels; hands three to each p.c.
"These are bags of holding. Just walk around; I'll tell you guys what goes where. With eight of you strapping fellers this oughtta take 3 hours if that.
A lot's gotta be left; we'll gather up the stuff that's gotta be taken and get the Abyss out of here."
Granny sits at the table, a catatonic serenity comes over her.
I can understand the Cajun upintuh now pretty well, so either or to me.
"Except the little 'Cob damned monkey boy." She gives Gittik a motherly smile.
"I'm going to get you a little toy owlbear."
"Oooo! Toy owlbear!" (claps excitedly)
"Use fork? Sounds evil."
(I don't really need the translations. The cajun is easier than Stig.)
Stigs accent gets worse when he's drinking.
"Grandmother, aiblins ye jist need a doog. most doogs, nae mine ay coorse, offer a risonable amoont ay prootection. boot e'en better, they kin kip ye company. they dornt gab back an' ne'er disagree, an' it's nae loch ye hae tae fash yerse abit thaur shittin' it haur in th' wilds."
"I have a dog," Granny pipes up, suddenly happy. "Captain Buttercup. He's a little Tenha terrier. Captain Buttercup? Where are you?"
Bitha gives the "I don't know" signal with her hands.
SnZZZZZZzzzzzz....mummmmm ......Snozzzzzzzzzzzzz....Orkussszzzzzzzzzzz ...mmmmmmmZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzz
Riese walks up to Swertlowe and checks his ropes to ensure they aren't biting into his skin and makes the bindings more secure and less uncomfortable. Use Rope-1d20+3=23
"So Swertlowe, what are your thoughts on life right now? I feel like you are at a fork in the road and your next few choices will determine if you live in darkness or as a beacon to others. I would enjoy listening to your musings, as I see that you have the potential to be a truly incredible person."
"Ah saw a wee terrier doon at th' fort. Mebbe 'at was heem."
"Ah saw a wee terrier doon at th' fort. Mebbe 'at was heem."
Riese walks up to Swertlowe and checks his ropes to ensure they aren't biting into his skin and makes the bindings more secure and less uncomfortable. Use Rope-1d20+3=23
"So Swertlowe, what are your thoughts on life right now? I feel like you are at a fork in the road and your next few choices will determine if you live in darkness or as a beacon to others. I would enjoy listening to your musings, as I see that you have the potential to be a truly incredible person."
"I don't know. I've failed here. I'm going to hang.
I'm really a simple man, I'll freely admit that I'm not as smart or complicated as you.I'd like a whore, if just one more time."
Elgan smiles at Granny's reluctant but sincere acquiescence, accepts his bags, and follows Bitha throughout the house, putting in the things she points out that must go with them. As he helps he takes his time to look through the items being left behind. His attention is drawn to a suit of what looks like Dragonskin scale armor in a chest, but he leaves it alone. He does find a jar filled with murky liquid holding what look to be dead tadpoles of some strange variety. He starts to put them back, then wraps the jar carefully in an old towel and puts it in his own pack.
By the time everyone has filled their bags to Bitha's instructions, he has filled his pockets with things that would have been left behind that he thinks might be useful.
The packing goes pretty swiftly, and you're ready to go. Somebody lifts their thumb in the air and gauges that it's about 4 hours before sunset...plenty of time to trundle back to the fort before nightfall.
There's still a lot of stuff left; granny just wants to make sure that there isn't a trunk filled with 500 scrolls for some unscrupulous bandits/teenagers/devilworshippers to make off with.
She looks sadly at a life-sized wax statue of a warrior with a set of lamellar armor constructed from chicken bones. It must be left behind.
She picks up a set of full plate armor for a ferret and stuffs it in a bag of holding.
The wagon is filled with trunks, the odd odd and end, a wardrobe, and Granny's rocking chair for her to ride on.
Oh, and everybody kick yourselves another 100 x.p. for roleplaying.
Riese(pronounced Rice), having spent most of the time talking with Swertlowe, has managed to avoid most of the heavy lifting and decides to continue keeping a close eye on the prisoner, to protect him from further abuse and so he doesn't escape. Loaded crossbow is close at hand.
He hitches Beans to the wagon.
Swertlowe: "Riese, I just want to say....if I'm to be hanged, I'm glad it was you who caused my downfall. We're not like everyone else.
It would have been the pinnacle of humiliation to have my doom caused by one of those slack-jawed ninnies. Please, do me one favor. Let me have a pen and some paper to write my mother a letter. I'm not sure the authorities will be so lenient."
We have time during the trip back, you dictate and I'll act as scribe. Untying and allowing you a pointy object would not be the most intelligent thing for one such as I to be doing. I can assure you that confidentiality is paramount to me in this matter and also that your mother will receive your missive.
*quickly searches through several Bags to find a quill, ink and some paper.*
"Hey, Swertlowe, who or what was that zombie guy? I must admit that I've never seen such a thing before."
"He never told me his name, or from whence he came. He just told me and my elite...my group of comrades about this heist. He said we would be well paid, and be doing great work for the forces of righteousness.
Oh, how I wish I never met that skulking devil of a man. Or his half orc comrade. That maniac killed three of my men yesterday. I don't know why."
"Um. So they recruited you? Iiiiiinteresting. Of course, that makes you an accomplice, rather than the main villain. However, that probably only works if you have some juicy info for the magistrate. I'd start thinking real hard if I were you."
Sense Motive-1d20-1=0, Yes folks! I have a 0 there.
I find that I absolutely believe that, Swertlowe. One of my obvious intellect can tell with a simple application of proper behavioral signs when corresponding to the proper situations. You may need to speak with whomever is judging your case and allow them access to the same information you just provided for our cognitive digestion......a victim of circumstance...perhaps he DOES have some potential for good.....
"You truly are a cunning foe, Riese. I can see now I was a fool to ever go at odds with you. I hope you can forgive my past asininities."
"Ah wish ye woods shut yer cakehole, yoo're ruinin' mah buzz."
"I truly am sorry, good mauster dwarf," Says Swertlowe.
"Och aye laddie, ye trooly ur soorry."
"Rorry."
"I am.....yes..." he starts bawling. You think you see him stop for a second to see if you're watching, then he's at it again. He's really snivelling. Snot pouring out of his nose and everything.
"Now, I will....pay the ultimate pri-i-i-ice! Oh, mother! I'm so sorry I let you down!"
"Yer right, Swertlowe, we should do it now."
<Pulls out his axe.>
"Please! I'll shut up! I'll do anything! Riese! Help me!"
<Stig walks away. He can't stand listening to this scumbag. He'll walk behind the wagon all the way to the fort.>
"Please Riese!!! I know the dwarf wants to kill me!!!"
"Hee, hee - owlbear! Shut up, Sweatlow."
Beldan is quiet through the rest of breakfast. He’s somewhat torn see – he agrees that it would be in Granny’s best interest to move (and besides, he’s helping the lovely Bitha!) but he doesn’t want to make her if she doesn’t want to go – she’s right in a way; she’s old enough to make her own choices.
In the end, Granny is convinced by others, and Beldan is both relieved and slightly sad. He helps the packing in relative silence, and out of respect does not help himself to any but a few odds and ends and alchemical substances that would otherwise be left behind.
On the walk back (there’s no room for him on the wagon this time), he shakes his head at Swertlowe’s prattling to Riese. Sounds like someone’s manipulating someone here, he thinks, but he somehow doesn’t think that Riese would take kindly to the suggestion, so he keeps his mouth shut. He has little enough faith in the law to think that the man will be “justly” punished for his wrongdoings, and is half inclined to cut his bonds and kick his spoiled bum out into the swamps, but the opportunity does not seem to present itself.
He’s somewhat curious at the talk of the zombie man … was Swertlowe being level about that one being the true mastermind? It was a creepsome, icky sort of thing, that was for sure. Beldan shivers, wondering how they could tell for sure if a man who was already dead was really dead this time. He’d searched that body in rather a hurry before moving on, imagining that he’d seen the fingers flexing slightly … had he imagined it? Well, he wasn’t about to go back on his own and check now…
“Granny,” he asks, falling in beside the cart and looking up to the old woman on her rocking chair. “What do you know about the undead – from your ‘venturing days? Have you ever known a zombie to be able to cast spells? How do you know if you’ve really killed them?”
Of course he wishes to kill you, you and your crew were poised to bring harm to an old lady. I wished to kill you. The Dwarf stopped me. Now you are under my care until the proper authorities have you in hand. The dwarf was blustering in his drunkedness and acting much as is typical for his kind. Tears and other facial excrement will avail thee nothing, save them. You will not die before our destination is reached......
Swertlowe clams up the rest of the trip.
On Beldan's inquiry, granny responds:
"Zombies? Hmm...I fought 50 zombies hanging offa rope by my leg 3 feet above th' ground one time. Aren't too smart. Mostly. Your preacherman can probably scare off most of their creed.
Then, yea, some of them are smart like right before they should have been ate by worms. It's all in the raising of them.
I've heard it told, that Firewind Fakirs of the Sea of Dust deep in catacombs under cities long buried that should stayed buried come up with how to do it. Raise up lucid zombies. Or the Olmans far to the south on the Island of the Terrible Lizards, with their Zombie Lords come up with it.
But I think it's more to it. I think something showed them how to do it. Something altogether demonic.
Something that folks with more sin in their heart than sense in their head adore, and in return for this Vile adoration, are given power to perform powerful, Vile necromancies after this fashion."
Granny is silent, save for the rhythmic creaking from her rocking chair.
<Stig sidles up to Riese.>
"Ye hink he has onie infoormation 'at micht avail us, Rice? Ah wonder if he's hidin' anythin'."
Elgan follows the wagon on the way back. Occasionally wandering ahead on the path to check for dangers. He listens to the ramblings of both the one he has nicknamed 'magpie', and the bound prisoner, with some misgivings. He is not a good enough student of 'human' nature to tell for sure, but he is pretty sure that the prisoner is full of excrement. As he is unsure how the strongly-opinionated 'magpie' would react to being told this, he keeps his observations to himself,... for now.
Elgan's sense motive: (1d20+3=19)
"Raroo!"
"Och aye, tenser. 'At fellaw is a waste ay skin an' Moradin willin' he's ginnae die, boot ye cannae hae onie ay his guts, dug."
<Pats Tenser on the head. Still keeping his distance from the wagon.>
He would've died, dwarf if not for your sudden matronly protections with that overgrown tomahawk of yours. And Would You Please Step Back! Your breath is worse for the mingling with that Blue Frog crap and is fouler than that mule's arse or yours.
But know that he is alive by your actions. If he wasn't to be slain on the spot for his crimes then he is deserving of certain rights, such as the right to not be tortured by a drunken dwarf with a canine companion who has more sense than he.....Gods be damned if I won't be learning a cantrip to freshen the lout's breath.....perhaps another to fix that damn donkey arse also......of his....themed odorous....*trails off*.
The trip goes pretty uneventfully. about an hour out from the fort, one-eyed Uncle Cheorch appears with 5 horse scouts in tow. They fall in to ride you guys the rest of the way in.
"So, what happened? Looks like you guys have prisoners?"
Yes, we have a OH BY BOCCOB'S BLESSED WAND! Er...sorry. I forgot about the eye-thing. Rather startling thing there. Do you need a few coin? I could 'spot' you a few to 'cover' a patch....Heh.
Anyway, Yes we have a prisoner. He had a band of misfits and undead with him and they attempted to do harm upon the old woman. This one is Swertlowe and he is going to pay for his crimes, although there is some question as to who was in charge of the whole raid. I believe the undead, which was intelligent and used magicks, was behind the idea.
Ugh, you have a gnat perched in your gaping head-hole. I can't keep talking to you if you won't at least consider other's feelings and cover that vile-looking orifice. It's rather a discourteous thing to leave uncovered. Please, feel free to speak with Altima over there. He is quite eloquent and can relay the info needed well enough.
Elgan's sense motive: (1d20+3=19)
Sense motive: you can't dismiss the feeling that Swertlowe knows a little bit more than he's letting on.
"Um, ah, yes, what he said... Eh, yes, we travelled to Peatside Thorp to help Bitha rescue her grandma, and once there a band of armed thugs and weirdos assaulted the old lady. However, we beat off their attack, killing many and taking these three as prisoners." He gestures vaguely towards Swertlowe and the two other prisoners. "They should probably be brought before the magistrate or somesuch personage or something. Yes, I think that would be a good idea."
<Stig throws sticks for Tenser in the distance. Having grown a distaste for this whole Swertlowe business.>
"Reerooo!"