Aarnr too has little experience of wheeled carts (sleds work much better in the marshy fens), but isn't going to let a little thing like that stop him.  In the absence of any worthy opponent, he's happy enough to pit his strength against a recalcitrant wagon.

He hasn't heard the tales of bandits using such a ruse ... which is probably just as well.

"Froggin' bad luck that ... thou want us to lift it up while thou get the wheel on ?" he asks.

"That's very kind of you.  Our thanks to you." the man replies, with a bow, "We've a long road ahead of us, all the way to Reme, and without the cart we could not get there with our grain."  He indicates a dozen or so full sacks piled by the road near the vehicle.

As Aarnr and Fergus move over to help with the cart, Oswald and Aramil hang back, unsure what to do, or nervous about getting involved.  Erista moves to the side of the road and makes herself comfortable in the shade of a large boulder.  Colwyn stays close to Aramil, and remarks conversationally, "I don't know nuffin' bout fixin carts neither.  I's doin' 'em a favour by keepin' out of it."

Corian, meanwhile moves closer, just in case he can assist in some way...

"Lucky thou met us then," Aarnr opines, spitting on his hands and nodding to Fergus as he prepares to take his share of the weight.  He's pretty sure he could manage it on his own, but doesn't want the young lad to feel left out.

"Lift with thy knees," he offers Fergus as encouragement.

"Oh, goodness," Eilieen agrees.  "Of course we can assist."  She has been extremely down for the last day, caught up in thoughts of sorrow for the tormented family, and worry for the animals.  'Offering' them to the nearby farms seemed like the wisest decision, but she can't help but feel there could have been something else they might have done.

At least, she tries to console herself at night, they gave the family a decent burial.  And blessings against whatever foulness the necromancer unleshed upon their land.

But the people in need strike a chord, and she straightens herself up, moving forward.  "I fear I am not the equal of our doughty men, but I can certainly bear up a fraction of the weight."

"We'll need to be froggin' careful we don't just tip the froggin' thing over," Aarnr remarks through gritted teeth.  Two strapping six-footers and Eilieen, most politely described as a 'slip of a girl' ... he shakes his head.  "Thanks  !" he growls, looking at the priestess but addressing his god.

Fergus moves closer but he doesn't immediately try to help take the weight of the broken wagon.  Instead, he walks around, examining the wagon from one side then the other.  His route briefly brings him close to Aarnr, "I'm not smart, Aarnr, but I'm not that dumb.  I might as well tell you to swing from the hips." Fergus taps the pommel of Aarnr's sword in passing, then turn his attention to the two men that greeted them.  "A bit early for harvest, isn't it good sirs?"

A bit early by at least a month.  It was possible that these two were hoping to sell last year's surplus at a mark-up before the new harvest hit the market.  But Fergus remembered stories of bandits using tricks like this and he wasn't entirely naive in such things.

'not that dumb' ... 'tell you to swing from the hips' ... Fergus tapping his sword ...

"Art thou trying to tell me these bat-fowling clot-poles are dangerous ?" the priest asks incredulously, staring the pair up and down.  "There's only two of them and ... lots of us.  Why, they'd have to have a pack of their pox-marked friends hidin' in those woods to make the fightin' worth our while !"

The second man smiles at Fergus, "It's been a good growing year - excellent weather.  We got a head start on the harvest, and thought we'd get to Reme ahead of anybody else from Fairhill."

The other man, the first who spoke, adds, "That's right, very good crop this year."  Then he looks at Aarnr, "Sir, I can assure you that we are but simple farmers on our way to market and in need of a little assistance."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:17, Sun 16 Oct 2011.

A short bit back on the road the monk leans over to pick a flower.  Once in her hands she studies it with great interest, affording but a few glances towards her companions, making sure they do not run off without her.  As long as the cart is there she suspects they will not go anywhere and so her attention returns to the flower again.

Watching the scene unfold before him, Aramil suddenly gets an impression something isn't right. With the comment Aarnr makes about hidden companions in the trees and the way the men are just too nervous makes Aramil suspicious. Moving slightly towards the group he addresses the two men "No I'm no farmer, but I've lived near a market for long enough to feel that my friend here is talking the truth. And you both seem a little too eager for us to believe that this is an early first harvest. I feel there is something you are not telling us."

"I don't trust a man as will not look me in the eye, thou ruttish, clod-kissing scut !"  Aarnr announces.  "What's in them froggin sacks ?"

And things suddenly begin heading downhill.

Eilieen takes a few steps backward, putting herself slightly out of reach of the people they stopped to aid.  Aramil and Aarnr both have noted something...off...judging by their behavior, and she trusts both of them implicitly with such things (if not, for example, to know the Fifty-Two Steps to Ecstacy, or even the Thirteen to achieve bliss).

Reaching her spear (carefully laid on the ground to keep it clean while she assists with the wagon), she crouches to gather it up.  She doesn't bother keeping watch in search of trouble - Erista or the Nameless Monk are far better at spotting that than she is.  Instead, she keeps her eyes on the men before them, waiting for their reactions.

If it's actually harvest for the market, they're going to look a pack of fools...

When the dwarf starts cursing and yelling, Ozzy's own curiousity about whats in the sacks gets the better of him. Taking advantage of the chaos of the debate the little halfling moves through the underbrush at the side of the road like a mouse, coming up the side of the wagon behind the men so he can peek inside and open one of the sacks... hopefully unnoticed.

Move Silently: 22, Hide: 17

"See now, there's the problem." Fergus replies, no longer bothering to hide his scepticism.  "The weather this last season was pretty ordinary, an I ain't seen either of you in Fairhill before." Fergus lays a hand on the head of the axe at his belt.  "I reckon you should come clean 'fore there's trouble."

"The sacks?" the pair are starting to look very worried after Arnr aks his question, "Oh... those sacks.  Yes, that's grain that we're taking to Reme.  To sell.  You see we thought we'd get there ahead of the - " and then Fergus interrupts.

"Ah... you're from Fairhill, are you?  That's... unfortunate." the second man starts to back away, just a couple of paces.  "Fair enough.  We'll come clean.  Yes, er... yes...  That is, we aren't from Fairhill, and we aren't farmers, as you've likely guessed."

His companion looks at him incredulously, "Leave the talking to me!"  Then he smiles at Fergus, "We... "

"We agreed that you could do the talking, yes, and look where it got us." the other interrupts.  "I confess, we were standing here sizing up travellers on the road, planning to rob them with the assistance of some likely lads who are hiding back in the woods.  We probably wouldn't have tried... definitely!  Definitely wouldn't have tried to rob you though, because you're clearly much stronger than we are."

"Decklan!  Shut up and run you idiot!"  The speaker takes his own advice and turns to run off down the road, heading away from Reme.

Decklan, on the other hand, drops to his knees, wringing his hands pitifully, "Please don't kill me!  I'm new at this!"

"'Ere!" Colwyn sets off after the running man, calling back over his shoulder, "'E might be goin' ter fetch 'elp!"  As he runs, Colwyn draws one of his newly acquired knives and hurls it after the fleeing man, who shrieks and stumbles as the blade sinks into his buttock.

He lays in the road groaning as Colwyn plants a foot on his back and leans forward to say, "Yer can 'ang on 'ere a bit mate, jus' while we finishes talkin' with yer."

Aarnr shakes his head in amazement.  These puttocks obviously haven't got the first clue about thieving, least of all the golden rule: take the prize or die trying. If any man of his tribe had ever tried to surrender and plead for his life, he'd be lucky if his wife or mother didn't personally try to reduce his prospects.

"Froggin' pathetic !" the priest tells Decklan, casting a contemptuous glance at the cowering cur.

Shaking his head, the priest yells out to those assumedly hiding in the bushes.  "Right, thou lot !  I know thou art in there ! Come out here and keep thy hands where I can see them !"

"That was well done, la ... that was well done Fergus," Aarnr tells his companion, a new note of respect in his voice.  "How'd thou come to know so froggin' much about farming, anyway ?"

"And can thou have a look at our new cart," he asks Fergus. "Is that wheel really broke an' if so can we mend it ?  Only right we confiscate it so these rump-fed wagtails don't try this trick again."  Though the malicious grin might lead one to suspect Aarnr's own motives.

"Because I'm a farmer." Fergus answers simply.  "My pa is anyhow, an' I was."

"I know more about shearing sheep and growing crops than about fighting.  Only, well, my ma always told me to be careful 'bout getting in fights, 'cause I'd hurt people seeing as I'm so big.  Turns out she was right."

Fergus winces as the would be robber goes down with a knife in his backside.

"I can look at the wagon, but if it's broken for real there's nothing I can do.  I ain't a Carter or a Wainwright." Fergus almost seems to speak the capitals.  To him the family name and the trade go hand-in-hand.  "Serve 'em right if we did take the wagon, though.  They'd be lucky to get away with a floggin' and some time in the stocks if they went afore the sheriff in Fairhill."

"Ooo, well-caught."  Eilieen nods her head, pleased at the group's success.  She eyes the fleeing bandit with some disgust, and winces when the blade thunks solidly into his left cheek.  "Oh dear.  You...remain still and nothing will happen to you."  With an absent pat on the head for the grovelling man, she swishes down the road after their would-be assailant, now squalling in the dirt.

Those in the woods, she leaves for her companions.  After this little display, any thought of attacking has probably gone straight out the window, and the trick will be getting them to come out at all.

"Well-thrown, Colwyn, well-thrown."  She eyes his victim.  "Stop howling; there are priests in the temple who would pay for this kind of treatment."  Goodness knows, they had certainly offered her enough.  "It's always the ones who aren't interested who get the most curiousity," Eilieen mutters, kneeling down.  "Hold still."

Out comes the knife, which she offers up to Colwyn.  Then Eilieen staunches the bleeding - not much more - with the use of a minor healing charm.  "You'll remember this for days," she mutters, recalling the expressions on the faces of certain acolytes, priests, and high priests as they sat at the table for meals.  "Probably a good thing."

With a not-particularly-gentle swat for the victimized rump, she stands and sniffs in disdain.  "You really should listen to your friend.  He seems to have an excellent grasp of the essentials.  Those essentials being that stealing from travellers will eventually bring you to a far worse end than having a little dirt under your fingertips from an honest day's work."

OOC - Cure Minor Wounds, Orison.

Slowly strolling up to rejoin the others the monk inhales the scent of the flower held under her nose.  As she stops near the cart she takes in the general change of situation with a gentle smile.

"If you have jumped out of the bed it is too late to pull the cover over your head."

Observing the smacking of a rump by the priestess causes the lips to form into a circle and then draw apart into a grin.  The cart is rewarded with her full attention, the back turning towards the source of the grin.

Now that the 'danger' of being robbed has passed, Ozzy creeps out from behind the wagon 'tsk-tsk-ing' the bandits for their foolishness. Perhaps it is a bit hypocritical on his part, having lifted a few coins and the occasional apple himself, but he does his best to stand on the moral high ground of the travelling companions. " You ever think of going into entertainment? Easy money if you've any talent for it." he suggests to one of the bandits as an alternative to robbery - which clearly neither man was cut out for.

Everything seems to happen quite fast and Aramil is left blinking as a result. When his head catches up with the situation he smiles at how easy it seemed to prevent an ambush and moves forward. "Really, you both need to hold your nerve a little better. Newbies or not." he states to both figures. "Now what we really need to know is if your friends are going to come out and help you out or if they also have turned tails and run away. Not very manly of them is it!"

"Nor womanly.  But then, men do tend to lend themselves more readily to these enterprises."  The monk smiles at Aramil for a moment.  Then she shrugs.  "They do show some measure of self preservation and not being entirely foolish, by not fighting the odds."

Decklan, the second man, the one who didn't run, and the one who seems the keenest to talk, remains kneeling in the road as he replies, "I doubt they'll attack."  He watches as his injured companion limps back to join them, and as Fergus examines the cart.

"See, the way I was told it was that we were to stop wayfarers on the road, ask them for help.  Then, while they help fix the wagon, we see how tough they might be.  If we think they'll be easy marks, Jack gives the signal," he jerks a thumb towards his wounded comrade, "and our mates attack.  Only he never gave the signal, and close up you're definitely too much for our gang to take on, so he likely never would've."

Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, and the sacks are full of dirt.  They're just there to look good."

Jack glowers as he comes close enough to hear Decklan's confession, then sits down in the road next to him.  An action which results in a brief, though heartfelt, yelp of agony.  "If they've got any sense, our mates'll've buggered off by now." he mutters, "Left us to it, they have."

Aarnr is no less appalled than Eilieen, if for substantially different reasons.  "Froggin' sensible," the priest sneers. "Thou priblin' unchin-snouted mammets !  Thou should damn the odds and fight ... and if thou dies and find thyselves standin' before thy gods, thou can then hold thy heads high and spit in their faces and show them thy scars !"  He shakes his head in disgust at the lack of moral fibre.

"So ..." he nudges Decklan with his boot, "... is that froggin' wheel really broken, or just part of thy beef-witted scheme ?"