Beldan, suddenly shy around the one good eye of the law, stays quiet, his mind drifting to thoughts of mist shrouded, tropical islands, and the worship of dark, slimy things below…
"Men, take these three scruffy bastards," he indicates the three prisoners, "and chuck them in the hoozegow. You guys, I've got some knucklehead soldiers that aren't up to par. You eight stalwarts can sleep in their bunkhouse, and they get to sleep in the damn horse barn."
You're shown to a room that sleeps eight soldiers in bunkbeds. It has a nice fireplace and a stockpile of dried peat outside.
"I have to go interview these three prisoners for a while, then I'll probably start hanging some or all of them. Do any you guys want to be there? Probably a little later on in the evening. There's a couple goblins, need hanging too."
<Tenser's ears perk up when he hears the word goblins, from across the courtyard. He looks around frantically hoping there will be some goblin guts to snack on.>
"Where did the goblins come from? Is banditry on the rise here?"
"Yeah. I guess the word is out all over from Hool to Hell that Salinmoor's pulled his troops out of Fort Bale, and all that's left are Neheli's conscripted gang of baby ducklings.
Tried to pull me out too, but I won't budge. My grandaddy put up the first Dreadwood boards of this godsforsaken fort. I'll be damned to Demogorgon if I pull out of here. It's home."
He looks around; one of the troops is having trouble unknotting the prisoners' lead from the back of the wagon.
"Somebody has to whip these dickweeds into shape."
Beldan shrinks back even more at the mention of hanging. His lack of faith in the legal process is vindicated. Hanging? On our word alone? No trial or anything? That’s frontier justice for you … should have let Riese plug him, probably would have been quicker and less painful. He was a little disappointed at Swertlowe and his boys too. He knew he hadn’t tied those ropes nearly as well as he could have, and he thought his little prep talk would have had the man fleeing at the first opportunity. But no … now he’s going to hang.
"Me watch hang men." Gittik continues to cuddle his owlbear.
Sir, I....EeeGads! At least turn your head to the side so I don't have to look at it!
Sir, these people need a real trial to root through all the details of their exploits and if they are found guilty and executed then so be it. They may, however, have some information regarding the hither-to unheard of undead and who may be behind it's creation that may be interesting and helpful. I doubt your backwoods ministrations would have the finesse needed to extract that information. If you won't ship them to Saltmarsh for trial then I should like to have them remanded to my custody until I can transport them. Maybe I'll do some shopping for a damned eye-patch also.....
(Outraged) "One Eye, you no listen Iron Rabbit S@$+, you hang! No let Iron Rabbit S$&* ruin fun for you and me!"
"I'll talk to Caspar Neheli. He's in charge. He's the man.
Let you know what he comes up with.
Swertlowe....hmm....he's from Saltmarsh, isn't he? Those other guys are from The Hold of the Sea Princes....we can hang them, but the Saltmarsh citizen has to go back there for a trial. Then they can hang him there."
Looks at Gittik:
"Well, we'll least ways hang some goblins tonight."
Sense motive: you can't dismiss the feeling that Swertlowe knows a little bit more than he's letting on.
Elgan walks over to where Altai is speaking with the one-eyed man, and coughs gently to capture their attention.
"Scuze' me suh'," He says to Altai, "But I tawt it shud' be tol' dat da man ain't ezac'tly tellin' da hole truth neither. Leastwize, dat's how it luks ta meh. Cain't prove it none. An' doze dat seem ta be in charge ain't zac'ly come ta an agreemen' on hoaw ta get's him ta speak plain-lahk. Mebbe those heah kin git 'im ta tell da hole truth o' da mattah."He finishes and smiles at Altai and the one-eyed man, and wanders back to the edge of the group, stopping to pet the dog noisily chewing on a goblin bone.
(Happier) "Still hang goblin? Ok."
"I doubt we'll get much out of Swertlowe. In Saltmarsh they might work him over more, but I can't give him too much of a workover without stirring up a bunch of hullaballoo. Those other guys, probably don't know much further than 'this guy has a job, let's do the job...duuh...' they don't look like the brightest students. I'll probably just hang them. Save on rations that way."
"One Eye wise. Maybe eat goblin and men you hang later, too."
He kinda looks at Gittik, trying to figure out if he's serious or not.
"well, hell. Better get you guys fed. You did a decent day's work. '
Beldan slips away from the group and wanders around the Keep – at least as much as he can without being noticed. He’s apparently wandering aimlessly, looking around … but there’s method to his wanderings. He’s trying to work out a theoretical escape route from the fort’s cell block, noting position of guards, timing of patrols, locked doors, good places to scale the wall etc.
<Stig moseys over to the kitchens and consigns his two porkers to a big feast to be shared by all.>
<Tenser follows Beldan around and helps him with his hide rolls.>
<Tenser follows Beldan around and helps him with his hide rolls.>
Probably best way--slink along the wall from the main longhouse, where the hoozegow is, to the smithy, jump the roof, jump 3-4 feet to the walkway and hop the wall, but you'd need a rope or something.
A half hour later, Oneeye comes over to your nightly digs;
"Yeah, I talked to the Lord of the Maunor,...he says we're not to hang Swertlowe. We'll send word with you guys to Saltmarsh, and they'll have to send a crew to come get him. I trust you guys in theory; I don't want to get into a muck about 'improper methods' and all. We'll stretch those goons' necks in an hour. They're saying all they know which isn't much. Swertlowe though, Saltmarsh oughtta get somebody to look inside his head."
BEFORE GOING TO BARRACKS___Riese heads to the person working leather in the fort and buys a small triangular piece of leather with 2 long, thin strips of leather coming from 2 of the corners. On the leather is a mark scorched into the leather of a scale with a sword as the central pillar to symbolize justice-----He pays 3 gp for it.
"Hey, Oneeye. I got you a present. Here, try this on. *hands the man the eyepatch* It'll look good on you and command much respect from the ranks. Not that you didn't before, I mean damn! They named you Oneeye....least now.......decency.....*trails off.*"
"If I put this on, pilgrim, will ya clam up once in a while?"
“It never hurts to look around,” says Beldan, scratching Tenser between the ears. “Knowing your escape routes can save your life … not that I expect trouble here, but you never know …”
He sighs, and keeps talking to the dog, who seems very smart for an animal. “Seems somewhat unfair doesn’t it – we accept those guys surrender – even the goblins – only to drag them back here to hang? Still … I suppose they deserve it … and there’s not much I can do about it. I can’t bust them out without Swertlowe causing a fuss, and I’m starting to think that getting some answers out of him is a good idea – which means he needs to stay in irons for now.”
After a good meal of pig, One eye comes over wearing his fancy new eyepatch to tell the party it's time. A hasty wooden frame has been erected, and the four prisoners are paraded out: two goblins and two bandits. The goblins are summarily stood up on two stumps, noosed up, the stumps are kicked and the deed is done. The two bandits try to be stoic, but one starts sobbing.
Then it comes their turn. They're put up on the stumps, the stumps are kicked, and they hang for 3 seconds. Then the framework groans a juddering woody sound and collapses.
"What the...." shouts One eye..."Jervis, I thought you told me you were a carpenter! You can't soldier, and you can't do that right!!! What the hell good are you?!?"
The two bandits stand up, in shock that their still alive. They're coughing a lot.
"Well, I'd exemicute you sunsab$*#@es again, but that doesn't sit right with my supper. You're free to go. OPEN THE FRONT GATES!!! I'm gonna count to twenty. I count real good. If I can lay eye on either of you inside my fort I'm gonna kill you good."
The two bandits run off, coughing still. Neither one looks back.
Beldan, who has been watching the hangings ashen faced, gapes open mouthed as the framework judders then collapses. His look of stupidity continues to follow the two would be bandits as they beat a hasty retreat out of the fort, then he turns and looks at Stigwold, trying to keep a straight face. As soon as Oneeye is out of earshot, he bursts out laughing, slapping his knee.
“Oh, the gods have a sense of humour sometimes, don’t they? Still, I think that’ll learn them.”
You glance over to One Eye. A figure emerges from the shadows wearing a brown cloak flecked with green. It's an elf, who looks used to hard living in the wilds. A long composite bow is strapped to his back. He nods to One Eye, who nods back. Then he jogs to the front gate where he pauses to look around the corner briefly before pacing off into the night.
"Hmmmm... Something tells me the escapees are not home free yet."
Elgan, who has been 'hanging around' with the others, mostly silent and watching, also watches the interchange between 'oneeye' and the elf with interest.
"Yessuh. He eeder verra gen'rous, or verra verra sma't." He says, indicating the departing elf with a simple nod of his head.
"Ah'v seen his type befo'e. He kin prob'ly track a falcon onna cloudy day, he won' have no trouble follerin' dem two. Nosuh'. And skeered spitless wit' a pantload o' c%@p, dey is gonna head straight fo' safety, for dey's hideou'."
"Yessuh, Ah'm gonna go wit' verra verra sma't."
"Hmmmm... Something tells me the escapees are not home free yet."
“Hmmm,” hmmms Beldan thoughtfully, stroking his thin, recently grown moustache. “If I were a military minded man, and I heard that there were a bunch of mercenaries from the Sea Princes running around the area, why, I think I’d like to know where they came from, and if there were any more about. Maybe it wasn’t the gods playing silly buggers with that hanging frame after all…”
“It never hurts to look around,” says Beldan, scratching Tenser between the ears. “Knowing your escape routes can save your life … not that I expect trouble here, but you never know …”
"Raroo!"
<Much tail wagging.>
The elven druid's sharp ears
(I kill me)
pick up old Oneeye talking to himself:
"Genius. Lettem both go, and they'll talk to eachother, so Vellius has something to listen to."
You guys head out in the morning, or you wanna talk to these guys some more?
"There are no jobs to be had here, so why don't we head back to Saltmarsh? Bunks are nice for a day or so, but after that..."
“If you fellows are headed back to Saltmarsh, I’ll tag along. I get all turned around in the swamp last time…”
"If'n yah'all ah'r headin towar' SaltMarsh, Ah'd be happy ta travel wit ya. Ah kin keep an eye out fer yer inner wilds. No offens', but yah'all gots abouts as much sense inna woods as a mouse inna snake pit. Cept dat one dere'," HE adds, pointing to the mostly silent half-orc. "He looks lahke he knows hiz way aroun' inna woods."
The wagon with eight or so adventurers trundles out in the morning, homeward bound for some, Saltmarsh bound for all. It's a day's ride there, or half a day hard riding, but at a leisurely pace for men in body armor and weapons at sling arms, and with a mule that keeps its own council as to time schedules, it's two days trudge.
There is a small collection of wattle and daub, or well-to-do masoned buildings a day's walk from either Fort Bale or Saltmarsh that buffers an Inn aptly named The Halfway House from the bleak and absolute nowhere of the surrounding moors. Stout chimneys announce its presence with plumes of smoke against the thousand shades of gray that is the southern Keoish sky.
The party reaches the trivia that marks 1 hour more to go to the small thorp that doesn't even warrant a dot on most maps. A royal road swings north towards Dreadwood where the seaside road is bisected. A concrete pillar stands a lonely guard over the heather and scrub of the moors.
A single handbill flaps in the wind, of faded ink on browning parchment, on a spike nailed into the jutting concrete. It reads, "Wanted: for most vulgar highwaymanship, looting, pillaging, rapine, all manner of base and wanton manslaughtering, cannibuleisement, arson and larceny, gainst the Noble Authority of King Skotti of Keoland and all those in his domain, Peacockcap the Goblin. 1,500 gold pieces. Dead or alive."
Under this summary pronouncement is the bust of a wickedly smiling beetlebrowed goblin wearing a smart huntsman's cap with one peacock feather dangling from it.
You reach the thorp a good half hour before the sun, veiled by dreary cloudcover, finally resigns from any attempt to provide an instant's warmth or gentle light upon the day.
You hear the bellowing of nothing else but a dwarf's thundering brogue:
"Aye, pish arn yer lot of ginches!!! Hoop yer drone in strew there sea bartern wufteh flesh stripped oofteh bones, yer pocky boogbeerssonsa!!!"
WTF?!!?! you think. Then you hear,
"Heh...come down here and say that, you skunkbreath eelsucker! I'll stick you on a hook and fish for your bottomfeeding mother!!!"
You see the dwarf standing up ahead; he's laughing and bellowing at a group of fishermen, about 6 or 7, pushing out to sea in a knorr.
Welcome to the Halfway House.
Gittik is still sulky after the failure to hang the miscreants last night. But at least he has finally got to Saltmarsh at last.
"Peecockcap. Hmmm..." he wonders, seeing if he can recall the face.
“Ah. Local rustic colour,” comments Beldan.
“Nah, this isn’t Saltmarsh Gittik,” he tells the halfling. “Saltmarsh is … bigger. Seemed so anyway, from my brief visit.”
"Still no Saltmarsh?" Gittik slumps down in dejection. "So far..."
Gittik is still sulky after the failure to hang the miscreants last night. But at least he has finally got to Saltmarsh at last.
"Peecockcap. Hmmm..." he wonders, seeing if he can recall the face.
Never seen him, although artistic license seems in evidence by the overemphasized brutish mien, the huge beetling eyes and the giant underslung lower canines. The cap just fits your goblin-raised sensibilities as a tad off.
Oh, and Gittik....it makes sense for him to think this is Saltmarsh; it's prolly the biggest civilized chunk of real estate he's seen. ;)
It's a medieval "suburb," fisherman's houses wot wot. Getting paid to fish....the reality less awe-inspiring than the dream...
"Nevah bin neah' da' sea befo'e." Elgan comments, looking around at the collection of diverse dwellings and fishing boats and equipment. "Do' it allus' smell so, salty?" He asks.
He observes the boisterous dwarf's interaction with the fishermen with interest.
"Fren'd o' your'n?" He asks Stigwold.
You look out across the vast water; there's no land on the other side you can see!!! Bizarre.
And, there's 7 guys rowing out in a knarr into that infinity of water , like nothing's amiss.
Harvak watches them for a moment(Are there more boats about to use should one be needed) I ask Elgan if he would like to recon
the area surrounding this place.
looking for tracks on the outskirts of the general population living area,scouting looking at defensible areas and high ground areas, noting treestands and land cover as well as animal behavior...Scan the beach area after the inland areas...
Moving using these abilities as needed
Looking for tracks!
Movesilent
1d20+2=21
Spot1d20+2=16
Hide1d20+2=20
Survival1d20+5=17
Search1d20-1=16
Elgan do you have a animal compainion
Harvak's hidden pretty well, or at least is nonchalant about his snoopings.
There's a creek that runs down to a tidepool by the sea on the west of the thorp. It digs a 15 foot deep gully in the moory turf, and is strewn with stone deposits. A platoon of guys could come down it unbeknownst, then storm the thorp from about 20 yards out at points. The thorp sits up on a hilly area about 30 feet elevated from the beach. Not much treecover at all, the usual foot tall heather and fennel.
Lots of foot traffic, human/demihuman. Chickens all over the thorp, a goat or two; the usual domestic stuff.
The most unusual tracks seen were left by a 3-legged dog.
The creekbed, being mostly stone deposit, would be damn near impossible to track on...that is, if they came down through the creekbed.
Elgin is his own animal companion...
Consider my above post complete, unless anyone else helps the ranger look about a bit.
Not yet. It was waning 3 days from full last night; you don't know when it rose because the sky's so overcast.