Eilieen coughs, blinking her eyes open, her first true act to reach up and hurriedly wipe away the gumminess.  It can redden them.  "What...?"  She looks up in confusion at the staring faces around her.  For a moment she gazes with some incomprehension at Aarnr, then winces.

"Oh."

Shaking her head, with Corian's assistance the priestess pushes herself up to a seated position.  "Well, I did leave the temple in search of more important experiences..."  The throbbing in her skull seems much less painful than a three-day hangover.  Best, she decides, not to do any comparisons with how her body feels.

Then her eyes blink wider.  "Oh!  You..."  Her gaze dances around the group of people surrounding her, and to her relief finds them seemingly unwounded (though Aarnr and Fergus seem weary).  "Thank Zadastha!  And Bowbe!  You're all well!"  Her attention wavers for a moment, down to the filthy road upon which she's seated, then Eilieen remembers further and searchs for the downed travellers.  "OH!"  A third time and the loudest yet.  Mud flies as she scrambles heedlessly through the muck, her throat constricting.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead...

Too late.

Eilieen takes a moment to stare down at their faces, her hair hanging in curls before her visage.  Someone has taken the time to close the travellers' eyes - a kindness.  Sitting back, she struggles to compose herself then gives up, hammering her small fists on her thighs before burying her face in her muddy palms.  "Gods curse it!"

Had she not been so foolish...had she waited a touch longer...perhaps?

Corian favours Eilieen with a sympathetic smile, "If the truth be known, the man was probably dead before we arrived, and the woman as soon as the monster hit her.  I believe that there was nothing to be done to save either of them.  For the moment simply be grateful none of us have joined them, and that the ogres will not be killing more travellers."

And that's it.  All he can offer in the way of solace.  The brutal truth.  And a small ray of hope, "I suspect they came from the direction we will be travelling on the morrow.  Perhaps we will have the opportunity to return some keepsake to friend and family, and offer condolences."

Walking up to the grieving priestess the monk places a hand on her shoulder.  "You cannot save everyone in the world, but as long as you are alive you can still make a difference."

She remains where she stands as she offers the other hand to Eilieen, ready to look her in the eye.  "Do not let death overshadow life, merely mark its end."

Erista nods her agreement with the others.  "And nobody could've tried harder than you," she adds.  "Not even you."

Seeing that she is standing and alive causes a small tinge of disappointment in the little bard as his expectations are denied. The disappointment is short lived as he scrounges over the large, tick infested corpses of the ogres. A few moments later he rejoins the others gathered around the priestess holding a handful of coins and a mace tucked under one arm. " Lookit what I found! Some coins (mostly gold), a clear pale blue gem, and a light mace which was perhaps too small for the ogres, but it looks to be well made." he says proudly, as if he had had a part in the fight. He hands the gemstone to Eileen, " Here, you earned this one."

Thanking Bowbe ?  That's a new one.  Aarnr shakes his head in amusement as he continues to support the badly wounded tree lest it fall over and take him with it.

Eilieen's response, and the attempts to comfort her puzzle the priest.  Any fight you can walk away from (afterwards, of course) was a good one.  And as many people die in their beds as on the business end of a weapon.  Of course, they're the ones that he feels sorry for.

With Eilieen clearly feeling better, physically if not emotionally, Corian moves a little further away from her and studies the ogres, having never seen one quite so close before.  Somehow the illustration in Liber Bestarius, and other assorted bestiaries, had utterly failed to convey the truly horrific nature of the creatures, making them appear more like large men than like the massive, twisted mockeries of humanity which now lay dead before him.

The sorcerer shudders as the overwhelming stench of them assaults his nostrils.  A tick, as big as the end of Corian's thumb, drops away from the cooling body of the first ogre and starts to crawl away, only to meet its doom beneath a well placed heel.

Corian considers the situation.  "We cannot simply leave these brutes here, to block the road.  The oxen may be reluctant to pass them - dead though they are, they still smell disgusting.  We should burn them.  The travellers too, whoever they are, but we should give them a little more respect."  He glances at Aarnr, "They fell in combat, after all, against enemies which far outmatched them."

Aarnr painfully levers himself upright, checking to be sure the tree is steady before he shuffles back to help move the Ogres off the road.

"They were a bit out of their froggin' league, weren't they ?" he grins horribly at Corian. "Did their best, though ... fair enough we honour them in death.  The travellers too, if ye like."

Corian and Erista offer kind words; they change nothing about the dead, but certainly are a balm for a sad heart.  Looking up at the Nameless Monk, Eilieen nods slowly.  "True enough," she whispers, nodding her head.  Patting the woman on her hand, the priestess laboriously pushes herself to her feet and glances around the group again.

Fergus and Aarnr...no, they're simply exhausted.  Both men seem to push themselves far too much in battle.  Aramil is well, as are the women, and Corian.  Oswald has certainly suffered no injury.  Their 'guests'?  Eilieen wrinkles her nose and pointedly ignores the stain on Decklan's trousers.

"Well-done, all of you."  She looks down at herself and the nose-wrinkling continues.  Annoyed, the priestess passes a hand across her body, mumuring a prayer to Zadastha under her breath, too embarassed to say it loudly.  Healing energies pour through her, revitalizing her wounded frame.  "Two ogres, never to again threaten other travellers...indeed, we should aid these poor souls and remove the corpses from the path."

The priestess blinks as Oswald passes her the gem.  "Why...thank you, Oswald.  I shall hold it until we can see a jeweler."  Obviously something for the group, though it was kind of him to hand it to her.  Probably an attempt to cheer her up, the priestess decides.

As Aarnr moves in to grab the Ogres' hefty bodies, Eilieen turns to the dead woman and man.  "We certainly should check for personal items their families might want.  Decklan!  Jack!  Assist Aarnr!"  Miserable louts.  Noting the direction the men are hauling the Ogres, she decides it would be better to move the dead man and woman to the other side of the road.

I will not lay them to rest near those beasts.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:33, Tue 03 Jan 2012.

"Heh," Erista can't hold in a small snicker at Corian's comment to Aarnr.  "Could say the same about the Ogres, though," she grins, spirits buoyed by seeing Eilieen recovering herself.  "True enough!" she agrees, crouching back by the bodies to see if they have anything that might be of such familial interest.

Fergus is pleased that Aarnr is able to browbeat Bowbe into aiding Eilieen.  Little wonder that the big man is so bold in combat if he's willing to talk to his god like that.

Fergus follows Eilieen to where the travellers' bodies lie in the road.  He's dismayed as much by the violence of Eilieen's reaction as the fact that both travellers are dead.

"I'm sorry Miss.  T'ain't nothing more we could've done."

As Corian suggests clearing the road, Fergus' first reaction is to move the travellers.  In the process of stooping down, he realises that his strength will be needed for the ogres and he straightens again.  Belatedly, he notices Aarne favouring one arm.

"Miss?  Could you pray for Aarnr?  His arm don't look so good."

"My thanks, Fergus.  I merely..."  Eilieen gestures toward the sad remains of the travellers.  "A few steps more, a few heartbeats less, I might have saved one or both of them."  She slowly shakes her head.  "I...should not curse upon the gods."

"My anger lies with myself, in truth."

She's about to continue moving the bodies when the worthy Fergus points out Aarnr's injury.  Instantly Eilieen's eyes widen and, with a grateful touch on the once-farmboy's shoulder, she hurries to the other priest's side.  "Aarnr!" she scolds.  "Foolish me for not seeing, but you should not hide these things.  Here, now."

Gently taking hold of his arm (assuming he doesn't brush her away), Eilieen swiftly intones a prayer.  "Let Zadastha's light burn away the winter of pain, warming against injury's cold bite!"

Cure light wounds!  :)  6 points of healing for poor Aarnr.

"Keep thy hands where I can froggin' see 'em !"  Aarnr protests but gently and more for the form of it.  Truth be told, his arm is giving him a bit of trouble, what with the pulverised flesh and cracked bone and all that, and he's not really in any shape to take on any more evil beasts at the moment (though obviously he'd die trying), and so he welcomes Eilieen's healing touch.

The curse that the priestess attempts is a bit on the feeble side, however, further confirming his opinion of city folk and their weak gods ... though in the circumstances he refrains from mentioning that.

"My thanks to thee and Zadastha ?" he offers tentatively, the words unfamiliar on his lips.  But the nod of approval as he flexes his arm is heartfelt.  A bit of stiffness there, but it will hinder him but a trifle.

"Right then !" Aarnr roars encouragement to Fergus, "Let's get these puds onto the fire, eh ?"

As dusk darkens into night, the adventurers, once again, find themselves preparing to hold funerals in darkness.

The stinking ogre corpses are dragged, with much effort, to the side uf the road.  They are covered unceremoniously with branches, leaves and whatever dry undergrowth is available in the nearby part of the forest.  There is a short pause when dinner is suddenly remembered, and Colwyn runs back to the campsite to remove the pot from the fire.  Then they are set to burn, with no prayers (but a few curses), while the party goes to deal with the human bodies.

Their fate is similar, though considerably more respectful.  Soon, they too are burning, but in their case the adventurers stand close by, offering whatever prayers they will for the deceased.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:13, Wed 04 Jan 2012.

From her check, Erista solemnly brings up a small wooden holy symbol, holding it out to Eilieen.  "It was on her," she explains.  "I don't know if it should go with her, or back to her family?"

"They had a bit of silver," she adds, holding up the pouch.  "If we can find the family, they might like it back, but it seems like cold comfort."

The Fen-priest is much happier that the bodies are being properly burned and while he has nothing but contempt for the ogres picking on such weak prey, he elects to give the travellers the benefit of the doubt, that they at least attempted to fight off the ogres rather than simply being taken unawares and dying all unknowing.  Either way, at least they didn't try to flee ...

"May ye have better luck when Freya calls ye forth once more from Hades cold realm," he offers, without his customary curses (unlike his robust relationship with Bowbe, he has no intention whatsover of offending the Huntress, lest his own rebirth be delayed or worse).

As the fires consume the bodies, Erista holds a wooden carved medallion out for Eilieen to see.  It bears the image of a fierce-looking bird with spread wings.

Jack and Decklan are kept busy tending the fires, especially the larger one which burns the ogres.  Their job, theoretically, involves ensuring that the flames do not spread to the nearby trees, but with the general dampness of the forest after all the recent rain, they actually spend more time keeping the pyres alight.  Colwyn, his bow held casually, with an arrow nocked, keeps one eye on them, and one eye on the surrounding forest, watching for any creatures which might be drawn closer by the flames.

Glad to have assisted Aarnr and feeling a great deal better after her own healing, Eilieen sets to with a will, helping with the work and adding her own prayers to the service.  She offers Aarnr a quick smile, accepting the holy symbol from Erista and raising it for him to see.  "A fine choice of blessings, Aarnr Foultongue."  Facing the sickly scented flames, she bows.  "Freya accept you gently, lost travellers, and remember your names."

They don't even have that much, themselves.

"Thank you, Erista."  Zadastha's priestess smiles down at her companion, offering the holy symbol back.  "No, you bear this with the silver until we ferret out their family.  The thought was a fine one."  Looking around, she sighs.  "I am not so much in the mood for dinner any more."

For the most part, Ozzy is an observer with a lower perspective than the rest. He offers no prayers, sings no song, just watches. It has always confused him that people feel sad over a death, yet celebrate a birth. For Ozzy, they were the same thing and deserved celebration either way. He finds himself unable to grieve the natural process of life, so he holds his tounge lest the laughter escapes him. Back at camp he finds his dry place under the bridge and spends the evening tossing pebbles into the river.

The discovery of the wooden symbol that indicates at least one of the pair was a worshipper of Freya (or perhaps a priest ?) comes as a pleasant surprise to Aarnr, though he's happy to let everyone assume that he knew that all along.

Fighting, getting wounded, dragging bodies about and building pyres has certainly put an edge on the warrior-priest's appetite, and he gladly tucks into his meal when he's back at camp, consuming Eilieen's portion if she cannot stomach it herself.

All in all, quite a pleasant evening.  Slightly marred by the annoying constant plash! as Oswald chucks pebbles in the river, but unwilling to spoil the mood, he resists the urge to thrown the halfling in after them, mere favouring the wretch with the occasional scowl that undoubtedly passes unnoticed as it is no different to the usual way he regards the world and everyone in it.

"Do ye get many ogres in these parts ?" he asks Jack and Decklan hopefully.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 13:49, Mon 09 Jan 2012.

Fergus is happy to confirm, if anybody's interested, that the wooden holy symbol is devoted to the goddess Freya.  "We should, I mean, one of you should take that to Shandril.  She's the priestess in Fairhill, she'll know what to do."  Fergus pauses before adding "You'll like her.  She's pretty."  Fergus seems to be blushing slightly, but in the deepening twilight it's hard to be sure.

Once the road is clear and the proper ceremony observed, Fergus returns to the camp with the others.  He leads the oxen out of the river and ties them on a long lead to a tree by the road.

Satisfied that his chores are complete, Fergus goes back to the river where, despite the falling temperature, he strips down to his underpants and wades into the river for a wash.

Erista? No. Aarnr? No. Eilieen? No? Aramil? No. Oswald?

"Oswald, would you bring a light and check my back for ticks?  There were some nasty big ones on those ogres.  I don' think I got any, but you know..."

Despite what is being asked of him, the little bard whips out his dagger with a grin in the shadows underneath the bridge. Holding the blade up to reflect a small portion of the light up to his leering smile, he says in a dark whisper, " Et tu Brutus?" then ruins the act with a giggle at a joke he's certain is lost on the farmhand.

Stepping back into the firelight he walks down to the shore and wades in, saying, "NO problem Fergus! I can tell you the tale of the Tick, a hero from a distant land who dressed all in blue. He was known for such memorable quotes as 'Don't ever try to swim against the mighty tide of justice' and 'Like a great blue salmon of Justice, the mighty Tick courses upstream to the very spawning ground of evil.'..." his words prattle on as he meticulously grooms the large farmers back like a small monkey from the forest.

From his position near the fire, Aarnr but cannot help shake his head smugly at the ignorance of the supposedly civilised world.  This unhealthy obsession with bathing, for instance.  Everyone knows that only a good stink can ward off vermin, as well as sickness and plague, and washing it away is not only harmful but downright dangerous.

"Watch out for froggin' [Language unknown: Notastlatard] !" he warns.

Being ready, and had already offered, Aramil works hard on helping the others prepare and send off the two unfortunate humans that were attacked. And also destroying the orges, mainly because none of the adventurers wished to send these creatures off the the hell that they would enter on death. After which he returns to the camp and helps with the evening meal. All throughout the work Aramil composes a poem in light of the attack and fight that ensued. It is very rusty and will need some time, but the half-elf is pleased with the work in progress.

Jack and Decklan are happy to confirm that there are now definitely less ogres in the area than there used to be, but Jack does go on to say, "There are a few about.  Every now and again we hear tell of some farmer who goes out in the morning to see bloody great footprints in his yard, and find he's only got half as many cows as when he went to bed, and he only had one then."

"Sometimes there are rumours that somebody saw one in the distance, but never close up like we just did."

The return to the unguarded camp reveals nothing missing, at least nothing easily discovered in the firelight.

People settle down to their evening tasks, whether that be eating, bathing, tending to the oxen, or hunting for parasites...