The group of bold heroes ascend the rope to the ground level of the tower.  Beyond the door of the structure the rain has stopped, and the sky seems to be clearing.  Patches of clear bright, blue can be seen between the tattered remnants of the clouds.

The fortress is quiet until, suddenly, there is a movement atop one of the walls, and a bird starts singing.

The party's new-found wealth is a burden, but one which will be gladly borne.  Not so the broken form of the Nameless Monk, which lays now in a shaft of sunlight in the ruined chapel to Muir.  The chapel itself, though the filth and destruction still remains, seems somehow less soiled, as if the defeat of the foul half orcish priest of Orcus and his minions, and the destruction of Eralion's  umbral form, have somehow cleansed the place.

Even the expression on the face of the winged statue behind the altar seems less sad, as if she knows that the deceased wizard whose shade had haunted the keep for decades has been laid to rest at last...

Colwyn looks up at the brightening sky, and asks, "Shall I be goin' ter see if'n the cart's still bein' were we left it.  Bit easier ter carry the loot, an' the monk, if'n it are.  Maybe as we can be sparin' a bit of scratch so as ter get 'er a proper funeral, in the village."

"Thank you, Colwyn.  I am unsure of the Nameless One's desires regarding funerals," Eilieen admits.  "I will consider on the way back to the village.  Should I recall naught of her chosen way, then certainly a funeral of our country cannot be disrespectful."  They didn't actually TALK about funerals much, but...it's the thought that counts.

"At least this place has had weight lifted," she notes with a drawn-out sigh.  "And the evil that dwelled within shall no longer prey upon the good."

"Monk?  What monk?"

Bilfro steps forward and notices the body.

"Oh."

The single syllable carries more than all the people added together in the group carry in the way of treasure, expressing both his sorrow over a, to him, complete stranger and the answer to his own question.

A moment's silence ensues.


"What was her name?" asks he gently as if not to disturb anyone.

Ozzy smiles with fond memory as he answers Bilfro, " Her name... was Nameless." He pauses, trying to recall what he could of his travelling companion, but soon discovering he had taken little time to gather her back story. He didn't even know what monastic order she was affiliated with. He flips through his pages of notes, sighing with resignation at his lack of proper journalistic practice. How could he tell her story if he knew so little about her?

Aramil sighs as he looks at the lifeless body of their companion the monk. "She was one of the quiet workers, never wanting the limelight. She does deserve something even if we knew little about her." he says. Then he works on composing a funeral speech to say over the body before they leave.

OOC: I'm busy cooking dinner and looking after the kids. I'll get something done tonight.

"Never understood a gleepin' word the beef-witted bladder said!" Aarnr offers.  "She always fought bravely, though, and died the same way."  Says it all, really.

"Big fire," he reminds everyone of his own preference for funerals, just to be sure they don't try and stick him in the ground or anything so distasteful, "froggin' BIG fire."

Her lack of a name is a subtlety lost on the priest, to whom the twists and turns of the civilised tongue are sometimes a mystery.

Colwyn hurries off, scrambling over the broken wall, since the gate is still rusted and shut fast.  Once outside, he takes a moment to orient himself, then heads off in the direction he believes the cart to be in.

Whether or nor he is correct remains to be seen...

Corian adds his own thoughts to the discussion inside the ruined fortification, "I believe she was part of an order dedicated to recovering ancient lore.  Not really associated with a specific faith, but devoted instead to the belief that knowledge, all knowledge, is valuable in its own right.  I recall her saying that her order had tasked themselves with rediscovering and restoring books from the Lost Library, north of Tsar, on the edge of the Vastness."

"And I believe she said that they gave up their names to make space in their minds for other knowledge, or some such thing.  A sign of dedication to their task, if you will."

The mage shrugs, "I have no doubt that, whatever funerary ceremony is used for her interment, she would find the ritual of interest and worth remembering."

"Eh?"

An eyebrow lifts in confusion.

"Ah!"

The corners of the mouth lifts slightly in revelation.

"Uh...."

The other eyebrow lifts for some reason, uncertain even to itself.

"Oooh, I see, yes.  I heard some rumours about that, I think.  Maybe I will head there later on to let them know about their fallen, er, friend," says the scruffy and scrawny user of the magical arts upon reception of such a wealth of information.

"Write that down, little brother of the big brutal one!"

Taking his own advice he sits down on the spot to bring out his large book, which he tosses around to open from the back.  Producing ink and pen he proceeds with scribbling something indecipherable on the page, underneath other scribblings.

"...and there!"

He packs his thingsies away and stands up, approached the body and bows his head in silence for a moment.

"May Fnarferlang watch over your continued journey.  If you see him, tell him hello and that I haven't forgotten about the sock puppet."

He pats himself on the head and rubs his tummy at the same time, three times, then turns away to slowly walk away.

Fergus bows his head respectfully as the group reconvenes at the place where the Nameless Monk lay.

"I think she'd 've been proud of what we done here." he says quietly.

To the proposed funeral arrangements he adds "Maybe Shandril will know what to do, she's good like that."

"Anyway, I should get off after Colwyn.  There's two towers we ain't looked into yet and there might be wild animals in the woods.  'Sides, he'll need help with the oxen if the cart's still there."

Fergus sets off at a fast trot, hoping to catch up with the rogue well-intentioned redistributor of wealth.

While Fergus and Colwyn go to fetch transport, the others take a little while to investigate the remaining unexplored tower.  It turns out to be little more than hollow shells, the upper floors having collapsed and fallen into the structure, leaving nothing but rubble and debris.

It takes Fergus and Colwyn about a quarter hour to bring the cart back.  The oxen don't seem to have been bothered by animals during the night, which reinforces the  idea that something in the fortress, whether the orcs, the ogre, or the shade of Eralion has been keeping wild beasts away from the place.

Possibly all of them.

The cart is brought to the break in the wall and loaded with the loot, and with the body of the Nameless Monk.  And the party sets out to return to Fairhill, leaving the freshly cleansed keep behind them.  Fergus takes the reins again, and the oxen plod along the winding road back to the village...

The journey back to the village is uneventful.  The weather coninues to brighten, as the cloud breaks and allows larger and larger expanses of cerulean to show through.  Shafts of sunlight pierce the expanding openings in the cloud cover, and dance across the countryside, which itself seems more cheerful since the fall of Eralion.

The air is filled with birdsong and the droning of bees.

The group, with the exception of Fergus, who must drive, take turns riding on the cart, and there is a certain amount of celebration, at one point, when Aarnr succeeds in felling a rabbit with an arrow from his new bow.

And so they are in good spirits, for the most part, as they enter Fairhill shortly before noon.  Fergus is, naturally, not as happy about this return to his home as others are.

It doesn't take long for them to be spotted by the villagers, and soon a crowd starts to gather, peering at the group curiously.  A few moments later it becomes clear that not everybody had stopped to gawk, as Shandril the elven priestess of Freya, Baran the one-handed captain of the guard, and Arlen the magistrate step forward.

Shandril raises a hand to quiet the crowd, and calls out, "It is good that you have returned to us, bold heroes.  Tell us, was your quest successful?  Have you recovered the Crucible of Freya, and thereby assured the prosperity of Fairhill?"

On the rare occasion he can join Fergus on the driver's bench, Aarnr continues to observe how the farmer guides the oxen, asking (politely ... at least by his standards) for 'a go'.

The priest shares Fergus' misgivings about the incursion into the heart of civilisation, though in his case it manifests as narrowed eyes, a set jaw and constant alertness for the myriad dangers that will certainly befall the group.

Nor is he pleased to see that the priestess is accompanied by 'the law' (something Colwyn is also undoubtedly wary of), causing him to wonder how she fell in with such evil fellows, though he manages, just, to keep his hand from the haft of his axe.

Fergus is happy to let Aarnr take a turn driving the cart.  The oxen seem happy to have their noses set back towards town and don't appear to need much guidance at all.  The big priest doesn't really have the patience for carting but the oxen pay no mind to Aarnr's colourful language and he's doing well enough.

"We'll make a farmer of you yet." Fergus remarks happily.

Closer to town, Fergus becomes more subdued.  He doesn't pull his cloak up this time, there seems little point, but he has to fight the urge to huddle in on himself.

As the crowd gathers and Shandril approaches, Fergus halts the oxen and jumps down from the bench.  Reaching back to his pack he retrieves the chalice, which he has wrapped in his spare cloak for safekeeping.

He carries the bundle to Shandril and, bowing awkwardly, offers it to her.

"We did, Priestess.  It's been used for some bad things.  You...you're going to need to clean it."

"Praise be to the Goddess!"

Shandril takes the Crucible from Fergus' hands with a smile, and holds it aloft for all to see.  "These heroes came to us in our hour of need," she proclaims, "and have returned the Goddess' favour to us."

A bow of her head, and she adds quietly, her voice almost unheard above the cheering of the gathered villagers, "Our thanks to you, Fergus, and to you companions."

Behind her, Arlen looks about, and calls out, "Glarian!  Whatever these brave souls want at the Cockatrice, today and tomorrow, will be paid for from the village coffers."

Shandril, meanwhile, lowers the chalice and peers inside.  Her expression drops, "What sort of foul animals did this?  I will need to consecrate it again before it can be used in the temple."  She looks around the group, "Were any of you injured?  Do you need healing?"

"Thank you, Shandril."  Quite overcome, Eilieen bows.  While she'd do it for nothing, gratitude is always appreciated.  It makes the task so much more worthwhile when she knows she's doing something of value.  "A sad thing that the Chalice will require cleansing...it had fallen into the hands of undead.  We dealt with the abominations, but their taint remains."

She waves to the cart.  "Sadly, one of ours paid the final price.  The Nameless Monk, as she was known."  Which might sound ridiculous in other places, other times, but here?  Only pathos.  "We know little of her order.  Burial ceremonies or to ashes, we have not yet decided, for her ways were not ours.  Perhaps you might shed light upon them, knowing other things of the world than us...or give her a burial."  Her lips tremble and Eilieen swipes at her eyes.  "A burial worthy of one who gave her life that others might be safe."

"And orcs." Fergus adds quickly before waiting for Eilieen to explain the rest of their situation.

"Can you help us do it right, Priestess?" Fergus asks hopefully.  "She was nice and brave and strong and I'd like to say goodbye properly, even if I never did work out what to call her."

With people's attention having moved to more important matters, Fergus completely forgets to mention that several of the group are still injured (and to ask how Shandril knew he was with the group).

"Were any of you injured?  Do you need healing?"

At the back of the wagon Ozzy lays with his legs dangling off the tailgate. In response to her question, the little Halfling raises one hand, struggling to hold it up as he says weakly, " Yes please. When my blood brother and I were battling the ancient dead spectre of the corrupt wizard... I got a little... too close. You have anything to help with the chill that even now weakens my strength?" He feels a nice warm brandy might help, but any blessing is most welcome at the moment. He had never felt so tired in all his life.

Shedding blood is one matter, and certainly his own is in plain sight, from the wounds he has suffered ... but for all that a sign that the battle was hard-fought and victory came not easy.  However, the sapping of his strength Aarnr takes as a personal affront.

Before he can speak, however to claim succor for both Ozzie and himself, the halfling surprises him by voicing the same request, though decidedly and not unexpectedly with much more tact and politeness than the priest would have employed.

"Froggin' gangrel mold-warp unmanned us !" Aarnr exclaims to Shandril, glaring at the guards lest they dare to raise a jest at the pair's expense.  Shame to admit such a thing, but doubly shamed should he let his blood-brother alone admit to such weakness.

So too Fergus' honour is upheld as the farmer pays respect to the Nameless One and does not mention his own hurts, though he was barely dragged him back from death's gate to accompany her on her journey.  And since he is a follower of Freya in any wise, it is just that her priestess intercedes.

"My friend is hurt."  Best he say little, else those shifty guards use their lackwittedness as an excuse.

"Hello," says the scruffy wizard trailing and gives a small wave and then allows the others to take up the front stage, so to speak, while he hangs back and watches everything with interest.

He ponders what comes next, nay, what comes after what comes next, because what comes next is a long, hot bath.  It will have to be early this year, health risks be damned.

All the way back the half-elf mutters to himself occasionally calling out some word or phrase that his tongue lingers on. When back in the town he is unusually quiet for a more reasonable setting, but the easy in which he stands and the gleam of humour in his eyes at the priest's demeanour shows how comfortable Aramil is being in a more populated area.

After the scruffy wizards attempt at getting noticed he turns to Shandril and says "We acquired a new companion who the orcs were keeping, but for what we cannot tell. Bilfro is his name though his manner is a little ... umm ...  unusual"

Shandril nods at Aramil's explanation of Bilfro's presence, then looks at the body in the cart and her face falls.  "Yes Fergus, I can help.  Bring her to the temple, I have some books there which might give some idea of what is normal for her people.  Fairhill will give her a funeral fit for royalty, or as close as we can manage.  For the rest of you, I can provide healing, and may be able to do something to ease the chill of Eralion's touch, that will likely have to wait until morning."

"This way."

She turns to move away, and the crowd parts before her.  Hands reach out as the party follow her, trying to touch the heroes, as voices murmur thanks.  Baran and Arlen follow behind the others, and do their best to prevent the crowd becoming too attentive.

At the temple, the body of the Nameless Monk is carried inside, and laid on the floor before the altar, before Shandril leads the way into a room which clearly serves as her office.  She places the chalice on a table, muttering, "Foul creatures!" as she looks into the interior once more.

Then she turns and lifts down a longsword which hangs upon one wall.  She draws the weapon, which glows with a pale blue radiance, and holds it out for all to see.  The blade is etched with a complex tracery of runes, and the hilt is of horn.

"Once, long before any of you were born, I travelled far and wide, striking down evil in the name of Freya.  This blade, Valkyria, was crafted at a temple of the Goddess to aid me in my task.  Many an enemy fell before us over the years."

"I have long since settled into a more peaceful life, and have acquired another blade, so I retained Valkyria only as a keepsake.  A reminder of my youth."

She slides the weapon back into its plain, worn sheath and holds it out, flat across both palms.  "She is yours.  Take her and continue the fight against darkness.  I ask only that, should you decide that you have grown weary of the battle, you will pass the blade on to another who will continue the task.  Too long has noble Valkyria hung, dormant in this temple, and it troubled me that she no longer served her true purpose."

She does not seem to be offering the sword to anybody in particular, but to the whole group.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Wed 18 Sept 2013.

Erista follows along amiably, pausing only for a quiet, "Goodbye," to The Nameless Monk's body after she's laid out.

Now, feeling that her finger's substantial contribution to the Death of the Lich still entitles her to a say in these things, she nudges Fergus's leg.  "You should carry it," she suggests.  "'S your home, and you - you'd use it right."

The manner of one's death is what matters, what happens after is merely the footnote.  His own culture favours the pyre, not only to prevent the hated followers of Orcus corrupting the accomplishments of life with their foul rituals of undeath, but also as a sign of respect ... for it is froggin' hard to get anything to burn in the damp fenlands of his home.

Nameless, for all he did not understand her discipline, was nevertheless a brave warrior, and that is how Aarnr will remember her.

The surprising offer of the sword catches the priest's interest.  Certainly it is a fine blade, a worthy weapon.  But for one thing it is too small for his preference, and for another it is the gift of yet another of those ... his gaze flicks to Eilieen and he abandons that train of thought.  Here, in the temple of the god, who can tell what secrets may be known.

"It's thy ..." bite the tongue, bite the tongue, "goddess," Aarnr echoes Erista, nudging Fergus forward.  "Thou should be the one to wield it."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:04, Thu 19 Sept 2013.

"Me?" Fergus glances around at Erista and Aarnr, incredulous. "I couldn't take something like that, it's far too good.  What if I break it or something?"

"I'd barely know how to use it.  I've been doing okay with my axe and my scythe haven't I?"  Fergus looks genuinely disturbed by the prospect of wielding Valkyria.

Ozzy, still staring at the sky from the back of the wagon, struggles to sit up and sighs from the simple effort. Focusing on Fergus, he says, " The axe and scythe were just for practice! To get your arm strong enough to wield REAL responsibility. Instead of defending a small group of intrepid explorers, now you can be the protector of an entire village."

"They speak wisdom," Eilieen agrees, breaking out of her silence.  The sight of the Nameless Monk laid close to the altar left her shaken, and only now, with Shandril offering the weapon and Fergus demurring, does she rouse herself.  "See what wisdom Erista and Aarnr speak?  Freya is your goddess, is she not?  And Her priestess offers you this blade.  Such is made for battle, Fergus, not for hanging upon a wall; I'll wager the sword shall not so easily break in your hand, and serve you better than your axe and scythe."

She bows to Shandril.  "A gift we could never have anticipated, yet one that will save our lives, I warrent.  Fergus with this sword would prove even stronger, better able to protect."  Eilieen glances over her shoulder to the farmer.  "Oswald speaks true.  Fergus, please take up the blade."

Scythe and axe ... Aarnr sighs.

"Aye, thou have done well ... but they're froggin' farm implements !"  the priest struggles over the last word, having reached the far limits of his vocabularly.  "Take the froggin' blade before thou offend the ..." don't say it, don't say it, "woman !"

"Spar with your good friend, uh, this fellow, *mumble*!"  Bilfro points to Aarnr, giving his helpful advice to Fergus.  "You shall no doubt find yourself skilled quite soon then!"

Unless you die, of course, he thinks with a shudder and tries his best not to look at the discommodious and irascible priest.

"You are of good heart, my boy!" says he staunchly to Fergus.

Colwyn's hands are itching.  And sweating.

He's in a temple which is, like most temples, full of interesting things that he wants to pick up and examine... and put down exactly where he found them, of course.  But temples are watched over by gods, and they don't like people like him picking things up in their houses.

Then there's the sword, which looks nice enough, but is no use to him.  The last thing he needs is to be sneaking about in a darkened house, carrying a sword that shines like a lantern and lets everybody know he's there.

"Take it, Fergus, mate.  It's bein' yer own village, an' yer own goddess.  I's  not knowin' nothin' 'bout 'er really, but I's wagerin' as 'ow, with the sword bein' made fer 'er own people, she'd be likin' yer to 'ave the thing."

Shandril smiles and places the sword next to the chalice while the group decide who should bear the weapon, then she steps across to a bookshelf and plucks down one of the volumes - a massive tome.  "Where did your fallen comrade come from?" she asks.

"Originally?" Corian responds, "I have no idea, but I know that she was part of an order based at the Lost Library."

"Ah... a Seeker.  Good." and the priestess starts leafing through the book.

"Here... " Shandril looks up from the tome.  "The Seekers' funerary service requires a pyre, which should be lit at dawn, and an empty journal or scroll, a quill pen, and a vial of ink, all of which must be burned with the body so that the Seeker can continue to research and record things in the next world.  Friends and comrades add some small item of their own to the pyre, such as a scrap of cloth from an old garment, a lock of hair, an old shoe, or even a brief note with a message for the deceased."

The priestess turns the page, "Then they sacrifice twenty kidnapped children by impaling them on iron spikes and cutting out their hearts with obsidian dagg... what?   Oh no, wait, I turned two pages at once.  That's Mirkeer cultists.  Sorry."

"Here we are...  The actual service seems straightforward enough.  The pyre is lit at dawn, and a priest speaks a blessing.  Then a friend says a few words about the life of the deceased, before everybody goes to do their day's tasks."

With a cavalcade of support in the air for Fergus' ownership of the blade, Eilieen steps back, well-satisfied.  If he truly does not wish it, if he cannot see the use, then nobody can say that they didn't try.  And, if that proves the case, then Fergus will have taken the choice he is free to make.  She hopes he appropriates the sword, she truly does...but if not, so be it.

Now interested in the book, she moves to peer over Shandril's shoulder.  "A curious ritual," she declares, her fine features screwing up at the other priestess' misstep with the tome.  "Ugh.  But mistakes aside, curious but wholesome.  We shall stand by her beliefs and lend ourselves to this honoring of our fallen friend.  If the town can be so kind to provide the small things we need, I have more than enough funds myself to pay for them."  Quill and ink can be dear in the outlying areas of the world.

Following after everyone Aramil lingers at the body of the fallen monk and says a few quiet words to her. As he enters the office he hears the offer of the sword. The call of the group to give the sword to Fergus and the reluctance of the farmer to take it makes the half-elf smile and chuckle. "Fergus you have earned the right to wield such a sword by both your actions in battle and your humble insistence you are not worthy of such a weapon. Trust the judgement of both your Goddess and her faithful Priestess."

Listening to Shendril's reading of The Seekers funeral arrangements. "Such a simple yet fitting way to celebrate our friend. I offer my services to say a few words about her, if you all agree. Though I will need a little more information about The Seekers and the monk herself to do a decent obituary."

"The Seekers searches and she was a human female," says Bilfro in a most helpful manner to Aramil, the now Official Orator of Obit.  "Oh, and she was a Seeker, searching for.... things.  And, uh... she is now dead."

"Uh.  Okay.  If you all think I should." Fergus agrees with obvious reluctance.

"I'll take the sword, Priestess.  If, y'know, if that's okay.  I'll do my best to use it properly."</blue> Fergus finishes in a rush, then stops.  After a moment's hesitation, he adds, "Could I talk with you, Priestess? I'm a bit muddled about things right now."

At least the funeral arrangements are no longer the source of Fergus' confusion.  Shandril knew the right thing to do, as Fergus had known she would, and Aramil would do a fine job of delivering the eulogy.

"Of course.  She died in an effort to help the people of Fairhill, and it would reek of ingratitude were we to refuse to assist with her funeral.  It probably would not sit well with Freya either." Shandril assures Eilieen, before replying to Fergus.

"Fergus, it matters not who uses Valkyria, or how well, as long as she is used, and in the service of good.  I have known you since you were born - I spoke the blessings at your naming, and healed you when you were six years old and you fell out of Gellert's apple tree and broke your leg." the priestess smiles at the memory, "In the last eighteen years you have done nothing that would cause me to doubt, even for one moment, that you are a good person, and I can think of nobody in the village that I would trust more than you with Valkyria."

"If you need to speak to me privately, we can talk in a few moments.  Or, if you think it will take longer, you can come back after this evening's service."

She returns the book to the shelf, and peruses the titles of the the other volumes before selecting one and leafing through it to one specific page.  "The Seekers are a monastic orders who devote themselves to searching the ruins of the Lost Library, discovering and cataloguing volumes of ancient lore, and other long forgotten secrets.  They do not judge what they find, but merely record that it was found, and the senior members study it and attempt to place it in relation to other discoveries."

"To the Seeker, all knowledge is valuable, no matter its ultimate purpose, and a love of knowledge for its own sake is a gift from the gods.  They themselves place no restriction on which gods their members follow, so long as their chosen god does not revel in the destruction of knowledge."

In spite of a firmly held belief that libraries in general hold the makings of a good fire, Aarnr is nevertheless quite interested in the funerary rites as espoused by Shandril ... though one suspects mostly for the purpose of using that knowledge to shower taunts upon the heads of his enemies.

Aarnr is relieved when Fergus finally takes up the blade - relic of Freya or not, Bowbe would frown upon any turning down a weapon earned by dint of blood and prowess.

Likewise he is much pleased that Aramil wishes to speak at the funeral.  It bodes well that the minstrel has been dutifully noting the accomplishments of this small group of friends, and that the priest's own tale will be told in due course.

"Anyone else froggin' hungry ?" he asks.

Ozzy not only sits up this time, but manages to spill out of the back of the wagon and into the dirt. Popping back up, he brushes himself off and steps up next to his blood brother, " Frog-ging right I'm hungry!" he says, the profanity sounding flat and wrong coming from the little bard. It's obvious the nuance of inflection was lost in his attempt to emulate the bigger man. He doesn't seem to notice, simply doing his best to pose like a hero.

"Huh," Erista says, as the Seeker's are further explained.  "So for all we know, Nameless might have wanted the children-on-spikes thing, too?"  She frowns a little, and shakes her head.  "Doesn't seem like her, though.  We should stick with the notes and stuff, that sounded nice."

"Hey, guys?  If I die, I want to be buried, in a garden, OK?"  She pauses a moment, and then adds, "Actually, being resurrected would be even nicer.  But otherwise - in a garden."

"Yer always bein' 'ungry." Colwyn replies to Aarnr, "It's like yer belly's reckonin' yer throat's been slitted."  Then Ozzy chimes in, bringing a shake of the rogue's head.  He looks around the office one last time, restraining a sigh at missing the chance to examine all of the interesting things.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Yer 'onour," he says to Shandril, uncertain what to call a priestess of Freya, "but I's reckonin' as 'ow these two should be goin' ter grab theyselves a spot of grub, over at that there inn what the magistrate talked 'bout.  That way, see, them what's got more respect fer the dead, an' fer the gods, can be talkin' things over with yer in peace with no bellies growlin' all through it."

"I can be goin' 'long too, like, jus' ter see that them's stayin' out of bovver while they's 'bout it."

Shandril nods her agreement.  "By all means.  I can make the arrangements for your friend's funeral, which can be held in the morning.  I'll gather volunteers from the village to construct a pyre.  Just remember to bring some small token that can be cremated with her, so that she can remember her friends in the next world."

She smiles at Erista's comment.  Not at the one about impaling children, which seems to cause some mild embarrassment, but at the halfling's request for a burial in a garden, "The hearts of your people are close to the soil.  Most prefer interment in the earth, as I recall."

Erista holds her hand up, palm flat.  "Not for me, thanks," she demurs.  "Just burying's good enough."

"And lunch sounds even better!"  With a cheerful wave, she joins Aarnr and Ozzy outside.  "Hey, guys," she calls, "Good news!  Colwyn's taken personal responsibility for any trouble we get in over lunch!"

Aarnr snorts. "How much froggin' trouble can we get into over a meal ?" he demands of the tiny halfling.

Reaching into his pouch, the priest fumbles around until he has a handful of coin, a mixture of gold, silver and copper. "Will this be enough ?" he ponders, "Or do we just fight them for it ?"

Some  of the party stay behind to talk to Shandril about the funeral for the Nameless Monk, which members of the group are most in need of healing, the recent occupants of Eralion's manse, and their own personal matters.  The priestess seems to be particularly interested in the details of the battle with Eralion, and in descriptions of the orcs, which she proclaims "servants of Orcus".  "We - Baran, Arlen and myself - have heard reports that more of their kind have been seen lately, following the dark priests of their master as they wander the land performing foul deeds in his name."

Meanwhile, those who are more interested in filling their bellies arrive at the inn, a fine, clean establishment named The Drunken Cockatrice, to discover that their money is no good there.  The innkeeper refuses to accept so much as a copper piece from the "Heroes of Fairhill".  He declares that all their victuals, for today and tomorrow, are free of charge, along with their beds (should they choose to stay at the inn).  This is by order of the magistrate, and intended as a reward for those who returned the temple's holy relic.

No sooner have the heroes found a table in the common room than a bard starts to play a lively tune on a lute, and to sing an equally lively ditty about the party's exploits, the death of Eralion, and the saving of the village.  Admittedly he refers to Eralion as a vampire, almost ten feet tall, and there is mention of starving children freed from the bonds of servitude to this vampire, but most of the other details are at least half accurate...

And everybody wants to shake hands with the heroes who saved the village.

When the food starts to arrive at the table, it is the best the establishment has to offer.  Which is to say that it's very good indeed, and in generous quantities.

After working out the details for Nameless Monk's funeral Aramil leaves the others to their unfinished business and heads towards the inn. After discovering the generous gift of food and board, to his surprise since the inn his mother worked in would never give such a gift, sits quietly eating, drinking and listening to the bard. With great amusement he enjoys the ditty, at first unsure if he should correct the bard or leave his embellished story. Deciding to leave the ditty alone he works on his eulogy for the Monk and maybe an ode in remembrance of her deeds and true adventuring heart. And there might be a little satyr for the bard as well.

Eilieen remains to speak with Shandril regarding the funeral, and matters of healing, as well as discussing more regarding these 'Servants of Orcus'.  It seems wise to her to garner as much information as possible regarding potential enemies of all that is light and good.

As well, it might give her the opportunity to have some tea and inquire of the best place to purchase new clothing in town.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Wed 02 Oct 2013.

"Free?  Food?  I almost forgot what it tastes like!"

Despite having sore hands from shaking one too many of those Bilfro lightens up considerably as it becomes clear to him that dining is on the house, and not literally.  He eagerly accepts the challenge and orders quite a feast for himself, as if he had not eaten a sturdy meal for many a days.  And a bed, what was that again?  Bathing can wait, it will not go away on it own, after all.

Hermonious Obidaia Mojo himself comes out to join the feast, stuffing himself with not one, not two but three whole grapes or something of similar description.  Be what it may, down the tortoise it goes.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:48, Wed 02 Oct 2013.

Corian remains with Shandril, and does his best to answer her questions regarding their adventure, and himself receives some answers in response.  The ogre, it seems, was known in the village, but not well known, having been seen once or twice in recent years - assuming it was the same one, nobody had ever approached closely enough to gain an accurate description, or to enquire the creature's name.  Or find out where it dwelt.

Still and all, Shandril is pleased at its death, as she feels that it would have only been a matter of time before it wandered close to the village.

The dark thing that had once been Eralion, she is even more pleased to declare, had almost certainly not been a lich.  Though she has never met one, she has encountered shadows, insubstantial remnants of the dead, engendered by rage and hatred.  Certainly the description of the thing, and the result of its touch on Aarnr and Ozzy confirms, to her mind that Eralion had become just such a creature.

Which, while bad enough, was far less of a problem than a lich would have been.

Eilieen's query about the servants of Orcus brings a troubled look.  "The foul servants of the demon are numerous, and have been growing more common, if the reports I hear from passing travellers be true.  Or perhaps they have merely grown more daring, venturing forth from their dark lairs with more frequency.  The orcs, who name themselves for their evil master, likely came down from the Stonehearts range, a few days to the north.  Monsters often travel down from the mountains to maraud the nearby lands."

"The orc-blooded priest you described... either from the Stonehearts with the rest, or from Rappan Athuk itself, Orcus' seat of power in this world.  In either case, his presence was not an omen of hope."

Both Corian and Eilieen question the elf about healing for their companions, and are answered, "I am certain that I can help all of them to recover, and will gladly do so, though it must wait until tomorrow.  The chill which afflicts your two allies - bone, muscle and sinew - will be lifted from them.  Arlen has offered the hospitality of the village to replenish the body, and I offer the hospitality of Freya to replenish the soul."

In the inn, Colwyn eats and drinks with the others, and laughs aloud at the bard's song with all of its exaggerations.  In between mouthfuls of ale, and of some sort of roast fowl with a sweet sauce, the rogue laughs and jeers, and tells jokes of his own.

"See... Oi!  Listen, listen...  See, there were this 'ere Tsari patrol marchin' 'long the road up inter the Vastness one day, when they seed an ol' Alesardin warrior standin' on a 'illside watchin' them.  As they was passin' by at the nearest place, the Alesardin's turnin' 'round, dropin' 'is trews, and showin' 'is arse at them."

"The Tsari officer were bein' mad as a weasel at this, and 'e's orderin' one of his sergeants to be bringin' him the 'ead of the Alesardin un a stick.  The ugliest, dirtiest stick what 'e can find.  But the ol' man were already runnin' away up the hill.  So the sergeant taked fifty men, and off they sets after 'im."

"The weather were red 'ot, so the officer calls a rest while 'e waits fer the troops ter bring back the dead Alesardin.  'e's waitin', an' 'e's waitin', an' 'e's waitin' , an' finally the sergeant an' the troops comes back over the 'ill at a dead run."

"The officer's wavin' for them ter stop, and the sergeant drops ter 'is knees, tryin' ter get 'is breath back.  'Where's the 'ead of that ol' man as what yer was sent to get fer me?' the officer's sayin'."

"'Sir, fergive my failure, only it were a trap!' the sergeant's sayin' right back at 'im."

"'A trap?'"

"'Yes, Sir.  There was bein' two of them buggers.'"

"Glad am I to hear you will salve the spiritual injuries of my companions," Eilieen assures Shandril.  "But this word of orcs preying upon people to the North, this disturbs me."  The priestess paces, pondering the information percolating through her head.  "Something must be done about that," she decides.

She glances toward Freya's priestess.  "Can you tell us more of what might await us, should we travel to the North to render the region restful once more?  And of Rappan Athuk - do you know aught of that place?"  She taps a finger against her lips.  "I feel a shadow across my spirit at the name...perhaps we are fated to journey there."

Then she coughs.  "Or maybe it's just the chill I picked up sleeping on that accursed forest ground," Eilieen grumbles.

Aarnr is eventually pleased to discover that the Cockatrice is an Inn and not a ravening beast (typically the magistrate did not make that at all clear), and is more than pleased to suffer the hospitality being thrust upon himself and his friends.

The matter of shaking hands he is prepared for, and manages not to crush the fingers of those offering their praises.  The song of the bard is as entertaining as Colwyn's tale is puzzling ("Why'd they froggin need TWO of them to see of some gleepin' guards ?!!"), though not so disturbing as to stir him from his repast.

All in all, Aarnr has a much better afternoon than if it were spent getting angry about the foul doings of Orcus ... plenty of time for that later !

Fergus isn't sure whether it would be better to speak to Shandril now or after the evening service.  The conversation moves on and Fergus is content to wait and listen, although he can be seen to give a little smile and mutter "They were good apples."

The big soldier, for surely he must be one now that he has a sword, is greatly confused by the discussion of shadows and lichs.  Orcs and ogres he knew after a fashion but the undead were only from the worse kind of stories.  He had heard Shandril and some of the other clergy mention Orcus before, but he could never work out the connection between the dark god and the orcs named after him.  He picks a nearby pew and sits.  This was the kind of stuff he needed to learn.

"I'm going to Rappan Athuk."

Shandril shakes her head at Eilieen's comments, "Unless you have an army at your disposal, I would not recommend travelling into the Stonehearts.  Nobody lives there, save goblins, orcs, giants, and their ilk.  And those in great numbers.  Even with an army I would be dubious about travelling there.  It would be tantamount to striking a hornets' nest with your fist, or pushing your hands into an ant hill."

"The Stonehearts have not been restful in at least five centuries.  The denizens war against each other for the most part.  Their raids into the lowlands are few and far between, though this year they seem somewhat more numerous.  I fear that mounting an expedition into their nest will just result in the deaths of the expedition, and encourage the inhabitants to seek retribution against us."

Fergus' statement causes the priestess to pale, "You, Fergus?  To that place.  I will pray that the rumours I have heard of it have been exaggerated, and that you will return safely to your home.  Freya will watch over you.  Always remember that, though she makes the fields bountiful, she also has a strong arm to defend her children.  Valkyria is dedicated to her service, and kin to her own blade."

At the inn, things are going well.  Everybody seems happy to see the heroes enjoying themselves.  The return of the Crucible, and the assurance that the village will continue to to be prosperous makes it more than worthwhile to feed the band of doughty heroes.  One face, though, is less than happy.  A halfling woman, looking tired and sad, loiters near the table.  Several times she moves closer, only to turn around and walk away again.

Eventually though she builds up a little more courage.  She walks right up to the table, clears her throat, and proclaims loudly, "Excuse me.  Begging your pardons, noble sirs and lady.  I need your help with something, if you wouldn't mind?  Not now, mind... after you're done with eating."

She pauses then, to hear if the party are at least prepared to listen to her request.

"Mff uf cff mf fffh..." says Bilfro eloquently and then swallows a gallon of food in one gulp.

Clearing his throat he repeats himself, "But of course, my fair lady!"

He smiles kindly and repeats himself, "But of course, my fair lady!" in case he was not clear the first time.

He smiles kindly and remembers that he was eating and turns back to stuffing his face with great enthusiasm.

"You're welcome to pull up a seat and join us while you wait," Erista adds.  "Aarnr's the only one that bites."

She looks over her current company, and then, with evident chagrin, admits, "Well, very hard, anyway."

Aarnr quite frankly finds the coming and going of the halfling making him dizzy. "Froggin' spit it out !" he demands, waving the remains of a loaf at her and spraying crumbs from the mouthful of bread he has just viciously bitten off.

The halfling smiles nervously, then drags a stool across to the table.  Clambering precariously onto it, she sits with her hands folded in her lap.

While the first flush of youth has departed her face, middle age still seems to be a little way off, though she bears the marks of a life of hard work, with much to worry about.

After a few minutes waiting, and apparently making great efforts to not wring her hands, she finally decides that the heroes will take a little time to finish their meal so, with enthusiastic encouragement from Aarnr, she starts to tell her tale while they eat, presumably to save a little time...

"I suppose it would save some time if, while you finish your meal, I tell you why I need your help."*  She clears her throat, then, "It's my Tommy, you see.  He likes to go and play in the Old Meadow, but he didn't come home last night.  I told Baran about it, and he said he'll have the patrol keep an eye open for him, but he doesn't seem too worried."

"I am though.  He's likely been fighting again, and didn't come home because he knows I don't like it.  I'd go and look for him myself, but my mother lives with me, and she's been sick, so I need to take care of her.  She's asleep now, so I could take a few minutes to come and speak to the Heroes of Fairhill and beg their help."

"Tommy's seven years old, with reddish-brown hair.  He has one green eye, and one blue.  If you see him, can you bring him home for me?  I live over at the west end of the village, near the Three Kegs tavern.  Just ask for Rosie, everybody knows me."


*OOC: And your DM correctly guesses the motivation of the NPC!  Am I good, or what?

Aarnr can hardly believe his ears. "Thy dizzy-hued lout has been fighting ?" he repeats in some surprise.  "This is good - the mark of a true warrior.  Undoubtedly, proud but bloody he sits atop the corpse of the creature he has slain," he comforts her, "reckoning how best to drag the carcass home to display his prowess to one and all.  As a mother, thou are right to worry - such a triumph needs an entourage to properly celebrate the triumph.  We would be glad to accompany him !"

"Innkeep !  A sack of viands, thou sot !  We depart in haste !"

The priest drains his cup, encouraging the others to hurry up.  "Fergus will know this 'Old Meadow'" he wisely surmises.  "We shall fetch him."

Ozzy sets down a half eaten wing atop a small plate heaped high with bones. He burps, takes the last gulp from his oversized flagon and then sighs wearily. A lost child was not something one could just ignore and deal with later after dinner. No, they needed to move quickly before something bad really does befall the little scrapper. Had he just continued eating, he would have only enjoyed guilt as his dessert course. " Yeah, lets go find Fergus, I'm sure he'll want to help find little Tommy." Ozzy says, sliding down from his chair to land heavily on his feet. This whole process of course, bring about another loud burp. Ozzy pats his belly, wanting a good smoke, but quick to follow Aarnr.

"Blast," Eilieen mutters, perturbed that her plans to purge the evil from the Stoneheart Mountains have been so easily thwarted.  "Well, then.  It seems I would be foolish to enter the Stonehearts...but Rappen Athuk?"  Despite the priestess' fearful reaction, Eilieen stiffens her spine.  "Should Fergus travel there, so shall we all, I suspect."

"Something must be done," she concludes, her decision made.  "If it makes these lands safer, it is worth the risk.  And..."  Her lips thin, and she sighs.  "If we fall, then perhaps we will pave the way for others to make the attempt."

Erista stands on her seat and leans over the table to pat Rosie's hand.  "No worry, Rosies," she says.  "We'll not only send Tommy home if we see him, we'll go have a look.  And, er..."  She glances over to make sure Aarnr and Ozzy are already headed out, "If I let Aarnr talk to him a little about the glories of battle, it'll probably put him off fighting, too."

She hops down, and, with a wave, follows the other two out to look for Fergus.

Busy drinking and eating Aramil misses the cautious halfling trying to get their attention, yet seeming not to want it either. He become curious on the issue that is causing her such grief. The smile on Aramil's face slowly fades as the halfling describes her trouble. A missing child unites the strangest of foes, and this group is no exception. With a warm smile he leans closer to Rosie and says, after Erista "Please don't worry too much Rosie, Baran is probably right, Tommy is just hiding from your wraith at fighting again. But even so it is getting late and not a good time for boys wanting to be young men to be out. It would be our honour to go and return the little scamp to you unharmed. And a little talk with Aarnr is likely to cause Tommy to think twice about the glories of fighting."

Hoping these words help sooth the woman's anguish, yet knowing to probably won't, he follows his friends out the inn and towards temple where Fergus is still likely to be. A good knowledge of the area and people would help locate the boy quickly.

"It's why I left." Fergus says quietly.  An expedition to clear Rappan Athuk had been Fergus' purpose since he left Andar's farm and recent events had served only to reinforce his conviction.  But it wasn't something he could easily explain.

"Mffh whhf, wfm mffm mnnin mmf?" says Bilfro with great clarity and composure as he grabbed a loaf, a roast, a pitcher, Hermonious, a jug, some fruit and some sausage in near panic and trotted after the others, leaving a trail of peas from somewhere.

"Mffh ffm mf!" he calls out in a mumble between his teeth and the leg of chicken.

As the group leave the inn, replete with food and drink, intent on proving their valour once more by rescuing the missing Tommy (and, in some cases, well provisioned for the mission), they turn north as they exit the Drunken Cockatrice and head towards the north end of the village, where Fergus, Eilieen and Corian are doubtless engaged in deep conversation of a philosophical and spiritual bent with the priestess of Freya.  Rosie follows them out and calls, "The meadow is that way."  She points along the road which leads out of Fairhill to the west and, coincidentally, appears to run past a largish building which looks like another inn.  Doubtless the very same Three Kegs that the halfling woman had mentioned.

Beyond the supposed Three Kegs can be seen a large expanse of open pasture, dotted with occasional sheep, cattle and pigs, and the even more occasional tree.

Shandril doesn't look any more pleased at Fergus' response, and when Corian adds his own statement her face falls even further.

"I have no intention of travelling to Rappan Athuk.  My destination was always Eralion's manse, with the possible continuance of my journey to Bard's Gate afterward."

"Very well." the priestess declares sourly, and searches for another tome among those on the shelf, "Then since some, at least, are intent on travelling to that den of darkness and death, allow me to find you what information I can about the accursed place."

The volume she eventually plucks from its position is bound in leather, marred by dark red stains, and sealed with three brass clasps, each with its own lock.  She lays it on the desk, then starts to move around the room, looking in vases, under ornaments, and behind pictures.

"Pluffet Smedger the Elder's notebook, while a general history of various dark cults, does contain what information he was able to gather on Rappan Athuk before his untimely demise sixteen years ago."

She returns to the desk, bearing three brass keys.

"What would you like to know?  Bear in mind that the information in this book may be incorrect, since it did not save its author from the ghastly fate that befell him."

"A sad thing, Sir Corian.  Your company would have been most appreciated."  Eilieen is less-than pleased at the loss of their friend/employer.  Even so, one cannot expect everyone to run off to an evil fortress where death awaits.

One can hope of course.

"You are a fine man, and we have done well together.  Should I discover aught of a mystic bent in Rappen Athuk that Erista does not appropriate, I shall keep it from Aarnr's righteously destroying hands and seek a means to place it in yours," she promises.

Turning to Shandra, she ponders the book in the priestess' hands.  Both her eyebrows rise at the woman's question.  "To know?  Why, everything of value within that tome regarding our destination.  It seems to me that forwarned is better than not.  Or naught, as the case might be."

It's not an Erista-level quip, but she hopes it at least garners a grin.

Arriving just in time to enjoy the 'Aarnr's righteously destroying hands', matter not the elusive context, the priest has a broad grin as he waves his leg of some fowl creature.  "Fergus !  We're off to the hell-hated plague pit thy folk call Old Meadow to celebrate the victory of some toad-snouted urchin.  Are thou coming ?"

"Thou are welcome too," he grins, horribly, at Eilieen and Corian.

"The beast may be edible," Aarnr adds with the enthusiam of one who'll eat whatever he can keep down two out of three.

"I like thy village," he congratulates Shandril, feeling he ought to practice what the slaves named 'social skills', and luckily omitting to mention just why.

Interrupted before she can answer Eilieen's questions regarding Rappan Athuk, Shandril gives Aarnr a curious look.  Still, the priestess of Freya soldiers on, "Sadly the intelligence available in this volume may not be as extensive as you would like.  Smedger the Elder has compiled a plethora of knowledge about various dark cults, with the laudable goal of allowing those who worship the more benevolent deities to recognise the signs that such a cult is active among their parishioners."

"While there is some information on the followers of Orcus - their signs and symbols, indications that they exist in an area, and the like.  Rappan Athuk itself has a smaller portion of the book.  It's location is mapped, and there is some information about the exterior portions of the place, as well as såeculation and a compendium of rumours."

An encouraging smile, "I will gladly share what little information is here."

Corian, meanwhile, has been trying to make sense of Aarnr's entrance.  Finally it seems to dawn on him and he gives the barbaric priest a cheerful grin, "Ah, you have been becoming acquainted with the local populace?  That's the spirit!"

"Can't hurt to make friends in your travels."

Bilfro would elaborate upon the tale told by Aarnr, had he not been beset upon by copious amounts of food that demanded devouring.  It appeared as if as soon as the mouth had transported the occupying sustenance stomach-ward another piece would take its place.  All the utterance that now never would be uttered, the images painted by verbose verbosity and the imagery conjured by tongued tongues, the world is made poorer by it.

Meanwhile, peas still trickled from somewhere, leaving a proverbial breadcrumb trail, but made out of peas instead.  Naught but three brave words, slurred into oblivion, escaped the food-carrying wizard.

"Mmfmm nmghm phmpm!"

From that wretched plethora to the final dastardly compendium Aarnr finds Shandril's words no more comprehensible than those of Bilfro, whether not the tardy-gaited, haggard has his mouth full or not.

The mention of Orcus, however, does most certainly register.  "We will slay them all," he assures the priestess.

Corian's robust turn of phrase comes as somewhat of a surprise to Aarnr who'd never thought to hear an 'aquainted' from the lips of the mammering, idle-headed, jarring, elf-skinned flirt-gill.  "Not yet," he informs the pottle-deep puttock.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:20, Sat 12 Oct 2013.

Smiling at Aarnr's description of the adventure they are about to embark on Aramil laughs then adds "We are out to rescue the little halfling called Tommy. His mother Rosie is worried and since Baran and the watch are busy we thought we would have a look. It could be a monumentous adventure with beasts and chances to prove our valour." The half-elf stops laughing he continues "But seriously Rosie is worried and I'd rather that Tommy only has Rosie's wraith to deal with then anything else less forgiving. Fergus could you give us you help and knowledge of the local area to help out?"

Ozzy says to the big farmer, now a village hero, " Yeah Fergus. His momma mentioned a field. Where do kids go to play at around here?" Every village, every town, probably even every neighborhood in every city had a vacant lot somewhere where the kids would gather. Vacant fields were almost magnetic in their allure to kids, and Ozzy doubted that was any different in these parts. " You know, the kind of place where epic battles are fought and the horrors of imagination laid to waste?"

Fergus is completely perplexed by Aarnr's latest declaration.  The Old Meadow is familiar enough but how could it be hell-hated or plagued?  Fortunately, Aramil and Ozzy provide more context, and clarity, and Fergus is eventually able to decipher the mystery.

"This's a farming town, Ozzy, there're fields everywhere.  But the Old Meadow is over that way, I think." Fergus gestures with a broad sweep of his arm.

"That's right, isn't it Priestess?  Over the west side towards the Truman's place?"

Fergus stands up and fiddles with his belt until he has Valkyria hanging in roughly the right position on his hip.

"That should do it.  We'd better go before it gets any darker."

All the minstrels' talk of beasts and horrors is making Aarnr quite impatient. "Perhaps the snout-wiffled bargepole left a few for us ?" the priest wishes, hopefully.  "An' best we hurry before the froggin' food runs out !"  There are more important concerns than darkness.

"Perhaps thy sword will be blooded yet !" he tells Fergus.

And a swarm of friends descends upon them.

Eilieen bounces back and forth between discussions, gathering up what information she can.  "Thank you, Shandril."  The priestess gives a brief bow.  "I shall most certainly peruse the works and listen to what knowledge you may impart.  The maps, the rumor...all most important for our soujourn.  However, it seems we shall be seeking a lost child at the moment.  Perhaps we might discuss these matters on the morrow?"

She leans closer, dropping her voice to a whisper - only for Shandril.  "Forgive the the sudden departure, but I fear leaving my friends alone."  This said with a significant glance toward the group.  "Just...a precaution, shall we say."

The idea of them rampaging through a children's play area...well, none of them would be any overt threat to the children, but certainly the parents might object to the language, if nothing else.

"Phffffth!" says Bilfro as clear as a still pond, that may or may not posses an actual bottom, as he undauntedly stuffs another sausage into his rima oris.  How he managed such a dexterous play with his arms full of assorted nutrients is anyone's guess, but he perform the deed nevertheless.

He initiates a cheerful yet careful trot in the general direction of the previously swept arm by the local farm boy, in which the rumoured destination was said to await his daring heroism of saving the day.  A field, he figures, should pose a threat of such low level he will triumph triumphantly.

Shandril looks a little puzzled at first, "Rosie?  Ah, a halfling.  Sadly not all of the villagers are followers of Freya, and some of the halflings, in particular, worship their own deities.  I would assume that Rosie is one of those.  Still, Freya extends her protection to all."

"And yes, the Old meadow is to the west of the village."

The priestess picks up the tome again and returns it to its place on the shelf, with assurances for Eilieen that the offer of information on the location of Rappan Athuk, and sundry rumours concerning the place, will still be open in the morning.

Led (albeit briefly) by Bilfro, the mighty Heroes of Fairhill take their leave of the priestess, and make their way through the village, amid cheery hails and smiling faces.  South to the market square, and the Drunken Cockatrice, and then out westward, past the Three Kegs, until they reach the edge of the village, where the road becomes more of a track leading out into a large area of grassland, dotted with occasional trees.

A few cattle, pigs and sheep graze there, but though Fergus pronounces this the Old Meadow, there are no children in sight.  However, given the time of day, it's entirely possible that those who would normally be at play here have gone home for a bite to eat.

"Perhaps the gleepin' beasts ran off and the boy was forced to give chase," Aarnr suggests, rather disappointed that there's no sign of the carnage he was expecting.

"Thou would have ventured here in thy youth ?" the priest inquires hopefully of Fergus, assuming that the life of a farmer allows for plenty of leisure time to pursue such martial activites as he knows to be enacted here.  "Any old dust-choked barrow-tombs or daemon-haunted caverns ... or trails through festerin' woods ?"

"Hm."

Eilieen slowly turns in a circle.  "I am no expert in animal husbandry, but I suspect that should foulness lurk nearby, we would not see much in the way of pigs, cows..."  She considers the sheep, and lets that one go.  Aarnr seems to have the right of it, though, in looking to Fergus for assistance.

"I fear I would not know where to search," she murmurs, not having grown up in this sort of surrounding.  "I was never allowed to play in the woods."

When Erista is done staring at Eilieen in disbelief - a not inconsiderable pause - she blinks and shakes her head.  "Up a tree or down a hole," she suggests.  "That's where I'd've been, when I was little."

She sets her `littleness' firmly in the past with a stoic disregard for the evidence that even Aarnr might admire.

"We could smoke the beardless dewberry ou ..." Aarnr pauses for reflection as he looks around.  Probably no way to sell this as a siege "... or froggin' check every froggin' tree in this froggin' spleeny earth-vexing field ! Froggin' politely, mind !"

Fergus isn't entirely sure what all the fuss is about.  This is the Old Meadow.  Tommy's likely about somewhere, either hiding from his mum or from the group of armed strangers.  The first step, at least, seems obvious.

Fergus cups his hands to his mouth and bellows, "Oi, Tommy!  Your Ma's waiting for you!  You get yourself out here quick smart.  'Cause if I have to look for you then, so help me, I'll carry you back through town by the seat of your pants!"

If Tommy didn't respond to that then he was either in a lot of trouble... or he would be.

Colwyn chuckles at Fergus' direct approach to searching for the lost child.  He looks at Erista and Ozzy, and asks, "This 'ere Tommy.  'is mam were sayin' as 'ow 'e's only seven.  So's I knows what I's lookin' fer, 'bout 'ow big is a seven years old 'alfln' like ter be?"

"I means as 'ow there's no sense me lookin' fer 'im in places what 'e couldn't get ter on 'count of 'is size." 

Corian, meanwhile, is looking off into the distance, where the meadow butts up against the forest.  "I do hope the child hasn't wandered into the woods."  He points to where the tree line curves around the south western portion of the grazing land.  "I believe that direction is where Fergus and Aarnr fought the owlbear.  Who knows what other fell beasts are lurking amidst the trees."

The mage sighs, when there is no immediate answer to Fergus' call.  "I suppose that means we shall have to do this the hard way."  He steps forward, and his right foot vanishes, up to the ankle, in muddy, moss-covered water.

"Wonderful."

Ozzy holds out his hand above the ground, somewhere between 18 and 24 inches above the ground, " A seven year old Halfling is roughly this tall, small enough to hide in tall grass." he says, his small eyes scanning the field for any sign of movement or subtle trail. Then, wondering why no one has yet, he tries the obvious bellowing out, " TOMMMEEEE!! WHERE ARE YOU BOY? TOMMY!"

"If the god is riding him, he'll not froggin' hear thee," Aarnr kindly explains to Fergus and Oswald.

Colwyn, though, has the right of it ... squatting down, the priest surveys the nasty, muddy, waterlogged terrain¹ before him that is the Old Meadow, looking for any sign of the boy's passage, or the blood of the creatures with whom the lad has fought.

¹ 'hell-hated plague pit' sounding a lot more accurate now, eh ? ;>

Ozzy's yelling, while perhaps more musical the Fergus', produces just as much in the way of result's as the big farmer's.  Which is to say some curious looks from the nearby cattle, but nothing else.

After some thought, Corian suggests, "Perhaps he the child is injured, and too badly weakened to answer.  If he is as Ozzy described, then it would be entirely feasible that he could be laying just a few yards from us, all unseen."

"Perhaps if we split up?  Spreading out a little, so that we can search more quickly, would increase our chances of success."

"Yer what?"  Colwyn apparently begs to differ.  "An' if the little ankle biter's got 'isself etted, then we's increasin' the odds as whatever etted 'im will be 'avin' one of us fer afters."

"Aww."  Erista pats Colwyn on the hand.  "Don't be scared, Col.  Just because it can take a seven-year-old Halfling doesn't necessarily mean it can eat you, too," she says, reassuringly.  She starts tying the bottom of her dress up a bit above her knees, preparing to go wading.

Colwyn glares at Erista, "It's not 'bout bein' scared.  It's 'oput bein' a perfeshnul.  Guidmaster Fesht were al'ays sayin' as yer shouldn't go nowhere on yer own,  Yer should be 'avin' some cove ter watch yer back at all times, in case yer were gettin' in bother.  Course Fesht got 'ssassinated by the bugger what 'e 'ad ter watch 'is back while 'e were grabbin' thirty winks, but that were jus' provin' 'is point - that nowhere's bein' safe."

"All right," Eilieen cuts in, breaking out of her daze.  Climbing trees...crawling into holes...oh, it sounds horrid, but something small inside her insists she would love it.  She never did any of that, never, not with mother and father pressing her to go to the temples, to find one that would fit her, to make sure they'd get to go somewhere nice when they died...then she did, and certainly no chances for tree climbing after that.

She studies the nearby treeline for a long moment.

"Let's split into groups of two and start looking.  Then we won't be alone - excellent advice, Colwyn."  Her foot squelches in soft ground, similarly to Corian's but not actually disappearing.  She sighs.  "At least one person will have a chance to yell for help," she thoughtfully notes, "or pull the other out of a sinkhole."

Fortunately, she hasn't had a chance to purchase new clothing yet.

"I would like to search the woods," she puts in after a moment, with another glance to the trees.  Perhaps the boy is up a tree and someone will have to go up there to bring him down?  "Who is with me?"

Ozzy raises his hand without taking his eyes from the field. " I'll go, I like climbing trees." he says distractedly, more intent on looking for a tell tale sign among the wilds. Unfortunately, he was a better poet than tracker. It had yet to be seen if could climb a tree as well as a seven year old.

"The urchin has skill enough to avoid leavin' a trail," Aarnr concludes as he stands once more, charitably attributing his inability to find any tracks to the boy's talents.

The priest is disappointed that the trees are taken, as he has fond memories of finding his owlbear lurking in just such terrain, but warms to the challenge of finding the boy first.  "Thou stick with me," he tells Aramil (a hero should always have at least one minstrel close at hand, and the half-elf has proved himself a doughty warrior besides).

"We'll search the long grasses over there," and if that wave places the pair handily close to the forest, in case any excitement arises, then Bowbe's will be froggin' done !

Erista nods.  "C'mon, Fergus," she suggests, reaching up for his hand.  "You know Fairhill and I know Halflings - let's figure out where he went."

Looking to the remaining three, she suggests, "Col, maybe you should wait here, where you can see everybody 'cross the meadow, and call out if something looks wrong?  Or in case he comes back on his own."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:47, Mon 21 Oct 2013.

Fergus takes Erista's hand "Okay Erista."

Fergus was a bit disappointed that Tommy was being naughty, but he still hadn't seen anything to suggest the boy was in danger and playing hide and seek with friends seemed like a pleasant enough way to pass the time.

"Maybe that way?" Fergus points across the meadow away from where Aarnr is planning to search.  "I could give you a ride if you don't want to get your feet mucky."

"Wonderful, Oswald!" Eilieen enthuses, then immediately steps into a deep puddle on her way to the towering treeline.  "Bother."  Flicking her foot (uselessly), the priestess pads her way toward the trees.  "We shall search for the lad there," she declares.

"Lucky Erista," she grumbles, squelching onward.  There isn't much hope of asking Oswald to carry her.

Bilfro stands there counting his fingers, all whilst holding onto the still copious amount of foods.  Then he does it again.  By the time he has finished counting fingers and swallowed enough food to speak the others have already chosen a partner.

He ends up holding a finger up as he opens his mouth to speak, only to see the others start to trickle away on their own adventure.  Since nothing is coming out of the mouth he figures he might as well put something in there, and thus he selects a pastry that looks to be about the right size.  It turns out to be a little too big, and part of it still sticks out when he lifts his head in an alerted state.

"Fmmft!"

He boldly goes where no man with a pastry too big for his mouth stuffed therein has gone before, or at least not since he arrived at the scene, heedless of whether anyone accompanies him or not.

Amused laughter at Aarnr's description of the boy's fate quickly turn to a chocking cough as the fighting mountain chooses the half-elf to be his partner. Well I've got the muscle, but how to stop this man mountain chasing any perceived monster will be difficult. Aramil thinks to himself. Looking in the direction the priest points he moves off not sure if he should be drawing his sword or his quill.

Decisions are taken, and people wander away to search the field and its environs, safely divided into pairs because, as Aarnr and Fergus have shown, two people can defeat an owlbear much more easily than one...

Eilieen and Ozzy squelch their way across the open, rain sodden meadow.  About half way across, they are spotted by a sheep, which takes it into its head to follow them, it's sheepish mind filled with sheepish curiosity.  Or perhaps it just instinctively follows anything that moves.  In any case, by the time they reach the edge of the shadowy forest the animal seems firmly attached to them. 

Angling off towards the southwest, Aarnr leads Aramil towards the treeline, while making it clear that he doesn't intend to move into the forest, but to simply search the area close to it.  The fact that he had encountered the owlbear somewhere in that general direction is, naturally, wholly irrelevant. 

Fergus teams up with Erista - a mismatched couple if ever there was one.  At nearly two and a half times the halfing's height, the brawny farm boy weighs around ten times as much as his companion.  He also has slightly less difficulty navigating the boggy ground, but he puts his mighty thews to work assisting her in their search of the meadow. 

In spite of Erista's advice, Colwyn and Corian end up moving off together, already bickering before they're out of earshot of their friends.  Apparently, while they do not always see eye to eye (possibly due, in part, to Colwyn's misaligned optical organs) they both prefer each other's company to the possibility of being partnered with Bilfro.

Speaking of whom... the mage moves away to his left, determined to find the boy before he either runs out of snacks, or bursts his stomach, whichever comes first.  There is a patch of long grass and some bushes there, and it seems that the man intends to search there.  Or else take an after-lunch nap...

"Can thou see any sign of beasts ... of the boy ?" Aarnr asks of Aramil.  The priest seems to be more interested in eyeing the dark forest than the meadow itself.

In their own area of the meadow, Colwyn and Corian move a little further apart.  There is, it appears, a limit to their cameraderie.

Colwyn just wants to start searching, while Corian seems more intent on ensuring that the search is organised before they start.  Eventually Colwyn moves off and starts poking about more or less at random, while Corian takes a more systematic approach, proceeding in a more orderly pattern, and using the staff which once belonged to Eralion to poke into bushes and briar patches.

Colwyn adopts the same technique as Fergus, with minor modifications.  "Tommy, yer little bugger!  Get yer arse out 'ere now, or yer's goin' ter be gettin' yerself a right good leatherin' when we fin's yer!"

Neither technique seems particularly successful for the moment.  Though Corian does find some more slime-laden water.

OOC: Search rolls, or Spot rolls, your choice (depending on whether you want to use a technique like Corian's, or take Colwyn's more casual approach), to find clues to Tommy's whereabouts.

Perched gratefully on Fergus's shoulders, Erista keeps a weather eye out for the little boy, doing her best to remember her own childhood, when Hide & Seek was most decidedly a favorite game.  As time stretches on, though, she opens the flap to the little nesting spot in her pack for Astral, and coaxes her familiar out into her hands.  "Shh," she says, softly.  "I know it's too early, but there's a boy who needs help."

Systematic searching is, of course, offensive to the gods, implying a terrible lack of trust that would most likely result in immediate divine retribution ... which is lucky really as Aarnr's favoured approach can best be described as Just Looking About.  If the gods are so inclined, maybe he'll see the boy ... if they're really froggin' generous, then perhaps they'll provide a ravenous beast or two.

The threats his companions make are ... confusing, to say the least, though it must be said that the soft village folk undoubtedly have little respect for monster-slayers.  No tentacles¹, any of them.

¹ may have lost something in the translation from Aarnr's native dialect.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:06, Sat 26 Oct 2013.

Ozzy keeps looking over his shoulder as the sheep follows, more worried about what the animal is doing than in spotting some sign of the kid. When they reach the edge of the wood, he makes sure he doesn't stand with his back to the beast. Ozzy was a city boy and had no trust for livestock. " You think his name is Tommy?" he asks Eileen.

"Wfft!"

Bilfo exclaims intelligibly, at least in some languages, and peers into the bushes.  A sausage falls as he leans forward and he makes a distressed noise, squatting down to try to retrieve it without losing everything else.

With a heroic effort he swallows and clears his mouth, his fingers reaching out towards the sausage, which begins to roll over like a fat cat expecting to have its fluffy, irresistible tummy rubbed.

As the fingers triumphantly grasps the sausage most of the rest of the food falls to the ground in a spiteful display.

"Ack!"

Bilfro exclaims inculpably, wondering why the world is so set against him all the time.

With another heroic effort he begins to gather the food, eyeing the bushes and its berries.

"Hermonious, go forth!"

Nothing happens.

Eilieen begins wandering to and fro, demonstrating her lack of experience with this sort of search.  Fortunately, she has a nice spear with which to prod bushes and lift fallen branches...using the butt end, of course.  Not the pointy one.

"I hope his name is Tommy, or we're looking for the wrong boy," she replies to Oswald.  "Tommy!  Please, your parents are worried!"  Everyone is worried, but she suspects that saying that might force a small child to burrow deeper into whatever hidy-hole he has found.  Assuming it's him doing the hiding.

The alternatives probably shouldn't be considered.

"If I could call my doggie," she murmurs, "and he would stay for more than fifteen heartbeats, I could locate the boy rather quickly.  I think."  Dogs can follow scents, can't they?  "But my divine magic is lost for the day -" again "- and we must do this the hard way."

Rolling up metaphorical sleeves, she continues her searchnoticing.

OOC - Nice to see the Rpol dice roller continues to hate me across multiple games... 6+3 = 9 for notice.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:47, Mon 28 Oct 2013.

Fergus wanders about, not quite aimlessly, but without any clear sense of direction or purpose.  Hide and seek was one of the games he'd been allowed to play as a child (having been summarily banned from both Red Rover and dodgeball) and if his childhood experience had taught him anything it was if that a halfling child didn't want to be found, they probably wouldn't be.

After extricating his foot from yet another muddy puddle, Fergus turns his head to look up at Erista.  "I reckon we should try in the trees.  If I was hiding, I'd want to pick someplace drier than this.  What do you think?"

OOC: Spot = 8

Weeks of almost continual rain have turned the meadow into a treacherous stretch of marshland.  Time passes, as it has since... well... since it began.  The search for Tommy results in nothing but wet feet and puzzled looks from a sheep (who may, or may not, be called Tommy).

Bilfro starts poking about at the edge of a briar patch, but seems more concerned about retrieving his food than in looking for a lost halfling.  Still, to those who can see him from elsewhere in the meadow, something does appear to be of interest to the man.  Possibly something hidden among the brambles is making a sound like a pork pie. 

At the edge of the forest Aarnr and Aramil are having no luck.  Bowbe, for all that Tommy is apparently a warrior, does not seem to be interested in leading Aarnr by the nose to find the lad. 

Fergus and Erista move towards the slightly higher ground along the boundary of the woods.  They make an odd sight, a sort of living ziggurat - Fergus as the sturdy base, Erista perched on his shoulders, and Astral upon hers, blinking his yellow eyes sleepily as he swivels his head about. 

Eilieen prods about with the safe end of her spear, bravely ignoring the fact that doing so puts the sharp end dangerously close to her robes.  Ozzy hangs back, mostly watching the sheep (Tommy?) which looms menacingly nearby.  To a halfling, of course, everything looms.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard the pair look, they can see no trace of any lost child, and the sheep volunteers no information that migh be of any use.

Colwyn and Corian, meanwhile, have drifted a little way apart.  Not so far that either of them could be said to be "alone", but far enough to discourage any attempts at conversation.  This appears to be a mutually satisfactory situation.

And then... 

"Tcuhin kust!" a voice, high pitched and angry sounding shrieks loudly, and Bilfro screams in pain...  A sound which turns into a mournful wail as he drops most of the food.

OOC: Yay!  A fight.  Bilfro must fight alone for the first round, because everybody else has a stretch of muddy, slippery, marshy ground to cross.  I'm sure his puissant martial talents and mighty thews will be up to the challenge.  Aarnr and Fergus will arrive on Round 2 (using their fast movement) to mop up whatever scraps Bilfro has seen fit to leave for them, and everybody else on Round 3 to admire the mound of fallen foes and to marvel at Bilfro's awesome skillz.

Female characters may, at this time, lavish their affections upon him, and drape themselves artistically upon his manly physique.

This all, of course, assumes that anybody is foolish enough to think that Bilfro needs help.  Oh, and ranged weapons will allow everybody to try and attack 1 round earlier than they could otherwise (assuming they have a visible target - and, no, you can't just launch an arrow at Bilfro and hope to accidentally hit his attacker instead).

Oh, and Initiative rolls everybody... 

"Froggin' funny place to ..." Aarnr narrows his eyes at a most suspicious tree, but his thoughtful observation directed to Aramil ceases abruptly as Bilfro screams a warning.

"FIGHT !" the priest announces gleefully, voice rising ever so many decibels to be sure nobody misses it, rising to his feet and running hell for leather towards that worthy, enthusiasically drawing his greatsword as his feet splash mud in a wide arc.

"Sapphire-derriere primates!"

Reacting so fast it would make a striking snake blush out of embarrassment, he begins to twirl his staff around him in a Pattern of Doom (tm).  The fact that any blow does not connect to anything, not even himself, is obviously fully intended, especially the latter part.

His outrage grows as he sees the last of the cup cakes trampled from his nimble escape from the jaws of death and he calls out a valiant war-cry to strike fear into the hearts of his enemy.

"HELP!!" shouts he with panic in the voice.

Ozzy turns and starts slogging back through the mud as soon as a cry of HELP! comes from the other side of the field. it is slow going squelching through the mud and trying to keep both shoes on but he runs as fast as his little legs will carry him. " ON MY WAY BILFRO! ON MY WAY!" he yells out as he slogs his way forward.

Busy looking for the boy Aramil misses the call by Balfro until the priest yells "Fight!" triumphantly and dashes off. Turning and heading in the same direction Aramil is slower, being more careful of where he places his feet then his enthusiastic friend.

"'Ere Corian, I's reckonin' as 'ow ol' Bilfro's been an' gone an' finded somethin'!"

Colwyn starts off at a run towards the source of the cry for help, "But I's reckonin' as 'ow it's not bein' no 'alflin' ankle biter!"  As he starts across the field the rogue unslings his bow, somehow contriving to not slip, trip or stumble as he does so.

Now he just needs to nock an arrow when he gets close enough, and he'll be good to go...
This message was last edited by the player at 10:40, Wed 06 Nov 2013.

As Bilfro's yell reaches his ears, Corian sighs and mutters, "Oh, good grief, what is his problem now?"

Then Colwyn starts running, and it starts to sink in that perhaps there is some sort of emergency or other urgent situation developing.  The mage follows after the rogue, using his newly obtained staff to probe the ground ahead of him in an effort to avoid filling his boots with mud.

While not moving as fast as Colwyn, he is on his way...

As his friends hurry to help him, Bilfro starts laying about him with his staff.  Whether he hits anything is uncertain, but there is a sudden scream, and a high-pitched voice yelling something that sounds like a stream of curses...

Then a creature appears, not close enough to Bilfro to be fighting him, but heading towards him.  Small and scaly it is, clad in ragged clothing.  Its face is dog-like, and it has a tail.  A kobold!

Three more follow it, all dashing towards Bilfro, and all carrying crude spears...


OOC: Kobolds!  Why did it have to be kobolds?

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       21
Bilfro Gabbins     19
Aarnr Foultongue   14
Kobolds            14
Corian Barade      12
Aramil             10
Oswald Osbourne
Erista
Fergus Andarson
Eilieen

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Still need some Initiative rolls.  Also Aarnr and Ozzy are still weakened.

Aarnr and Fergus can now join the fray, if they feel like it, and people with bows and slings now have visible targets.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:44, Sun 03 Nov 2013.

With another heroic and blood-curling war-cry, by sheer coincident amazingly alike a blood-curled shriek of terror, Bilfro the Master of the Martial Arts With a Blunt Stick Also Known As a Staff Or Even a Quarterstaff Despite Being a Whole and Not a Fourth (BtMotMAWaBSAKAaSoEaQDBaWaNaF for short) twirls and swirls his weapon all around him, including in the direction of the kobolds at times.

"IIIEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!!!"

Squelching through the mud sodden field, Ozzy grabs for one of the javelins poking from his backpack (making him appear like a two-legged hedgehog). He runs as fast as his stride and the terrain will allow, which is little faster than a mans fast walk. " Hold them off Bilfro, we're coming!" he yells toward the commotion at the edge of the field.

15:39, Sun 03 Nov 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 20 using 1d20+7 ((13)). Initiative.

Erista slides off Fergus's back and into the squelchy ground, following after as fast as she can.  Which, to be fair, doesn't appear very fast, especially with Fergus providing such a dramatic counter-example.

Nevertheless, she has her sling in hand, and a medium-sized rock as well, by the time she can see any of the kobolds.  She stops there, whirling the leather around her head, and flings her rock towards the nearest scaly head.

At Bilfro's first cry, Fergus starts moving towards the wizard's position.  As he begins to jog, he belatedly remembers Erista riding on her shoulders and slows down just long enough to let her slide down safely.  Then he is off again, breaking into a run as Bilfro calls for help.

As Bilfro retreats from the scrub, seemingly pursued by a number of kobolds, Fergus draws Valkyria and charges, arriving at the fight half a step ahead of Aarnr.  His first strike is a good one, but his momentum leaves him awkwardly off-balance.

Despite his enthusiasm, Aarnr finds the going harder than it should be (undoubtedly from that little disagreement with the let's-call-it-a Lich), though the sight of the foe is all that is needed to keep him moving forwards at a tidy clip (and with much collateral damage to the garments of anyone within splash range of the muddy water that flies in his wake).

Arriving a pace behind Fergus, the priest's unhappiness at not being first to draw blood is somewhat ameliorated by his friend's breaking-in of his new blade, and Aarnr swings his blade with uncharacteristic accuracy (rather than his usual brute force), perhaps eager to get to the post-fight discussion of how it handles, stopping power ... all the usual things that warriors bold are most interested in.

"Froggin' whey-faced, snake-skinned bladders !"

"I'm coming!" Eilieen cries.  "Just hold -oh, bother," she grumbles as her boot gets stuck in the mire.  A couple of yanks drags it free, but seriously sets her back, and the priestess breaks into a run as best she can across the uneven ground.

She's closer now...and her only option looks to be the spear, as she still hasn't had the opportunity to regain her magic.  It's small consolation that appears to be the case for everyone; right now, she'd be perfectly happy to see the flashes heralding Erista's magical powers, for example.

And what ARE they fighting?  It must be something small, because she can't even see it from here!

OOC - Eilieen's stellar initiative rolls continue.  5.  :)

Colwyn slides to a halt, barely managing to keep from landing on his backside as he pulls out an arrow, raises his bow, and shoots.  "Got yer, yer dog-faced bastard." he snarls, as the shaft strikes home...

Corian continues to slog through the mud, gradually catching up with Colwyn, and muttering wishes under his breath for drier ground, better weather, just one more spell...  All manner of things that could make the current situation better.

Then he stops, jabs the end of his new staff into the ground and starts to prepare his crossbow.  Still muttering...

Running after Aarnr the half-elf turns up dirty with the splashed mud the priested sprayed in his haste. Puffing slightly he slows down as he nears the group and takes stock. Not being overly skilled at either the blade or the bow Aramil turns to the one combat ability he is good at. Taking a deep breath he starts to recite an ode with a rich loud voice destined, hopefully, to travel across the field to where is friends are in the confrontation with the little ... um ... beasts/creatures*.

OOC: Using inspire courage when in range of the group fighting.
* Aramil's response to the kobold who he has not seen before.

Help is on the way... hopefully Bilfro will survive until it arrives.

Colwyn raises his bow and launches an arrow, which hurtles through the air and  strikes one of the kobolds square through the chest, felling the creature instantly.  The rogue laughs and taunts his fallen foe.

Still moving as fast as he can, Ozzy gets closer, a javelin held ready for when he hurl it with some confidence of hitting one of the enemy.

In the thick of the melee, Bilfro dances and spins, and flails about with his staff.  This causes a certain degree of trepidation for the kobolds, but no actual physical injuries.

A situation that is soon to change, as Fergus and Aarnr suddenly leap into the fray.

Valkyria, the blade glowing with a pale blue radiance, lashes out and takes out the throat of one of Bilfro's assailants.  Fergus turns quickly to cut at another... too quickly... and his feet slide out from under him on the slick ground, dropping him to one knee.  His would-be victim sees an opportunity and jabs at him with its short spear, but the big farmer's new sword swings around to deflect the blow with ease.

Aarnr, having been born and raised in the cold fens of his distant home, fares better.  His massive sword hacks down one kobold, lifts, and drops to cleave another from collar bone to hip, in a welter of blood and gore.  A third kobold jabs at him, but Aarnr knocks the creatures spear down, and the priest's foot stamps on the weapon, snapping the shaft...

The kobold backs away, still holding the broken piece of wood defensively.

Bilfro, for all that he apparently can't manage to hit anything, seems to have a good grasp on the essentials of preserving his own life,  Two of his attackers still strive to do him harm, and one even succeeds in drawing blood (and a howl from the mage) with a vicious stab at the man's thigh, but the injury is minor, and Bilfro manages to hold his foes off for the most part. 

Aramil's voice carries clear and strong across the battlefield, filling the hearts of his allies with courage.

The triumphant kobold, Bilfro's life blood still staining the tip of its short spear, sneers at the man with a display of teeth that look like they should belong to something basking on a sandbank in some tropical jungle river.  It steps forward to strike again... and a large stone, travelling at not inconsiderable speed thanks to Erista and her sling, hits it behind the ear, dropping it like... well... like a stone.

Eilieen, like Ozzy, is moving as fast as she can across the somewhat marshy ground.  She is still some distance away, but getting closer to poor, beleaguered Bilfro...

OOC: Well that went well, unless you're a kobold.  Only three out of the original eight left, and one of them is armed with a broken stick.

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       21
Oswald Osbourne    20
Bilfro Gabbins     19
Fergus Andarson    18
Aarnr Foultongue   14
Kobolds            14 (AC=15)
Corian Barade      12
Aramil             10
Erista              5
Eilieen             5

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

And now everybody can join the rescue.  How... fortunate... for the kobolds.

Everybody gets the benefit of Aramil's song: +2 on saves vs fear and charm effects, +1 on attacks and damage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:19, Wed 06 Nov 2013.

"Charge!" Eilieen cries, somewhat unnecessarily save for drama.  Hurrying forward, she drives herself directly toward the smallish beast battling Aarnr - the only one within reach - and makes to thrust her spear through the creature.

Sadly, she misses completely, instead spearing a small pool of mud at the kobold's scaly feet.

The priestess pauses, pondering, then heaves a heavy sigh, head hanging.

OOC - Never mind, I missed.  :)

Feeling his confidence most bolstered by the arrival of his companions, Bilfro's panic lessens to sheer and utter panic that prevents the brain from working and he flails wildly (read "in a precise and impressive manner") the staff which somehow still sits in his hands.  The knuckle-whitening grip may have something to do with it, though.

Not bad for a dying man.

Fergus feels his heart lurch as his feet skid from under him and he winds up on one knee in the mud.  Fortunately, this still leaves him about the same height as the kobold and Fergus' longer arms make up for the reach of the kobold's spear.

Having managed to bat aside the kobold's attack, Fergus lunges back in a crude riposte.  The kobold has no difficulty dodging the thrust but is forced back long enough for Fergus to scramble to his feet.

"Get yer bleedin' finger out, Corian, yer's bein' missin' all the sport!"

Colwyn nocks another arrow and sends it hurtling through the air towards Fergus' remaining opponent.  The shot is followed by a laugh as the projectile strikes home.

"Yes, yes, I'm working as quickly as I can." replies Corian, more than somewhat testily, as he positions a quarrel on his crossbow and raises the weapon to shoot in Bilfro's general direction.

It's possible that he shouldn't have let Colwyn hurry him.  A little more care and a little less haste might have been a good thing.

The quarrel whirrs through the air... and succeeds only in knocking Bilfro's  pointed hat off his head.

"Oh, dash it all!"

Bilfro senses it before he feels it.  True, sense of touch is a sense, but you know what I mean.  Something is amiss.  There is a draft, and it is not under the robe.

His hat lands nearby, pierced, and the pig drops into the bucket, as the saying goes, at least in his mind.

"SNIPERS!  THEY GOT SNIPERS!"

Ozzy catches sight of one of the kobolds and launches the javelin in hand. Unfortunately it falls short of actually striking the growling little beast.

14:26, Fri 08 Nov 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 11 using 1d20+6 ((5)). Javelin toss.

Aarnr bellows at the kobold with the broken stick, a throat-rattling spittle-flecked scream.  Trees and small rocks have been known to flee from that one.

Honour satisfied, the priest turns away, the kobold forgotten as he searches the field of battle for a more formidable foe ... again his might thews drive him forward through the mud and water to Bilfro's side, ducking under the whirling staff, swinging his great sword with masterly precision and ...

The blade whistles cleanly through the air, untroubled by any obstacle.

"FROG it !  Fobbin' onion-eyed mammet !!"

Standing in a small pool of calm - wait, no, that's just a puddle - Erista drops another rock into her sling and starts twirling it.  The doppler whir next to her ear seems to fall into time with Aramil's song.   Then, at a nice rise in the song, she flicks it out at one of the kobolds still threatening Bilfro, cracking it right between the eyes.

As Aramil's poem sounds across the battlefield, the combat rages in earnest, even if it does seem a little one-sided.

Keeping well out of range of the opposition, Colwyn sends an arrow flying at Fergus' foe.  The shot strikes true, and the foul creature staggers back, clutchlg at the shaft which projects from its ribs, both before and behind...

Using a similar tactic, Ozzy is less fortunate.  His target, the kobold attacking Bilfro is too nimble in its movements, and the halfling's javelin strikes nothing but muddy ground.

As for Bilfro himself, that worthy continues to battle on, in spite of the grevious injuries he has suffered, and said injuries are, perhaps, to blame for the mage's failure to strike anything with his staff, no matter how hard he swings it...  The kobold retaliates, thrusting at the man with it's crude spear, basically just a stick with a fire-hardened tip, but Bilfro twists aside at the last instant and feels the weapon tug at his robe.  "Doshpak!" growls the kobold, apparently infuriated by this near miss.

Still struggling with the treacherous ground, Fergus swings Valkyria at his retreating opponent, but the wounded kobold is  still too quick and continues to flee, even as its lifeblood spills from its injuries.

Aarnr's remaining foe, it's weapon broken, is fleeing before the man's rage, so the priest hurries over to aid Bilfro instead.  Unfortunately his efforts to assist the mage go astray, and his heavy blade connects with nothing.  More fortunately, neither of the two men hits the other...

Which is more than can be said for Corian, who succeeds in removing Bilfro's hat, from a distance, with a poorly placed crossbow quarrel.  It seems likely that this is not the only quarrel which will come to pass between the two men this day...

Erista's aim is far better than Corian's, and another stone from her sling hurtles twixt Bilfro and Aarnr, and knocks their opponent head over heels, leaving it motionless in the mud with blood seeping from an ugly wound in its forehead.

Moving to intercept Aarnr's fleeing enemy, Eilieen manages to put on a burst of speed.  The scaly creature yips in alarm as it throws itself aside and manages to use its broken stick to deflect the Zadasthan priestess' spear downwards.  Then it continues running without looking back...

OOC: Two kobolds left.  One fleeing in terror, the other staggering away to die, with an arrow clean through it.

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       21
Oswald Osbourne    20
Bilfro Gabbins     19
Fergus Andarson    18
Aarnr Foultongue   14
Kobolds            14 (AC=15)
Corian Barade      12
Aramil             10
Erista              5
Eilieen             5

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Everybody still gets the benefit of Aramil's song: +2 on saves vs fear and charm effects, +1 on attacks and damage.

Foe dead or vanquished ... Aarnr would be quite pleased, where it not that he still hasn't found the triumphant hero, Tommy.  Taking a few strides back (and evenso ready to knock Bilfro's stick out of his hands if he comes too close), the priest muses on this predicament.

"Do thou think these mumble-mews may have seen the boy ?" he inquires thoughtfully, nudging one of the corpses with his boot just in case the creature clings to life and has any useful last words.

"It seems unlikely." Corian says, moving closer.

"From what I was told, the boy's mother is a halfling, and he has red hair.  These are kobolds, and have scales, not hair."  he considers for a moment, then, "It would be far more likely that they have eaten him."

The mage shrugs apologetically, "Sad, but true.  Though they were no match for our group, a lone halfling child would not have found them so easy to defeat.  If the boy was out here, at the same time as these, then he is, in all likelihood, dead."

Colwyn gives Corian a look.  As far as he had seen, the only foe which had been no match for the mage had been Bilfro's hat.  He retrieves his arrow from one of the kobolds, which had kindly been holding it for him, then gives the reptilian creature a hard kick for good measure.

"There, yer ugly little bugger.  That were bein' fer killin' Tommy an' leavin' us ter be tellin' 'is poor ol' ma as 'ow 'e'll never be comin' 'ome late fer dinner no more."

He gives it another kick, this time ensuring that he hits his target in the head.

"I's 'opin' as 'ow some bugger's doin' the same favour fer yer own ma."

"And stay out!" Eilieen cries after the disappearing Kobolds.  Turning away, she stalks back to the group in time to hear Corian's assessment.

"All the more reason to search most assiduously," she points out.  "There would be something left, and it's possible the boy is crouched somewhere in utter terror of such a sad fate.  If not, there would be something left -" she almost said 'remaining', but eschewed the word at the last second "- and we could then bring solid word -" almost 'positive word' this time, but edited that as well "- to his mother."

"I," Eilieen firmly states, "will continue the search."  Her eyes narrow.  "Perhaps they dragged him back to their lair for later consumption.  Which way did they go?  Can anyone track them?"

Ozzy launches another javelin toward the fleeing kobold. It would seem he is better at hitting a moving target as the pointed stick flies easily through the air and lands in the back of the terrified kobold. Sadly, it doesn't stab too terribly deep or pierce any vital organs; wounding but not enough to stop the flight...

15:57, Wed 13 Nov 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 23 using 1d20+6 ((17)). Throw Javelin.
16:00, Wed 13 Nov 2013: Oswald Osbourne rolled 1 using 1d4 ((1)). Damage.

"Not in this froggin' mire," Aarnr advises Eileen.  It goes without saying that he'll be helping with the search, though the priet is expecting to find the boy alive and well, and with the heads of the foe as trophies.

"Reckon this short-shrivelled pumpion," he jerks a thumb towards Bilbo, "may have disturbed the snake-biters in their nest.  Eh, thou bent-nosed muck-diver ?  Did thou see where the creatures came from ?"

Ozzy hurls his javelin at the fleeing kobolds, and actually strikes one of them.  It seems like the cast has been largely wasted, though.  Thenm after abother five or six steps, the creature suddenly topples and lays still.

Aarnr's question brings no satisfactory answer from Bilfro.  The mage had been swarmed by the kobolds, and they had attacked from several different locations (including behind their victim).  The muddy ground is, as the savage priest of Bowbe had hinted, thoroughly churned and trampled too, making it difficult to discern tracks clearly.

It is, perhaps, significant that the two fleeing kobolds had made off in roughly the same direction.  At least until one was felled by a halfling's javelin.

A quick check reveals that none of the bodies retains any semblance of either wealth or life (unless the latter were to include the vermin which crawl upon them).

With several hours still till sunset, there is still plenty of time to search for the missing Tommy...

"I reckon the bare-chinned measle chased these hedge-pigs from their lair," Aarnr refuses to accept that so fierce a warrior as Tommy could be in any kind of trouble.

"Why else would they attack us, if they were not fobbin' desperate ?" a tellingly raised brow that takes in the not insubstantial number of fres kobold corpses is enough to substantiate the priest's compelling logic.

Those same eyes widen as the implications sink in. "Frog it !  If we don't hurry, there'll be none of the slime-scaled scum left for us !  After the flap-dragon !"

With typical foresight and planning, Aarnr turns away, ducking instinctively lest Bilfro's whirling staff evidence any sort of comic timing, and goes racing off after the last of the kobolds.  For a change, he is not intent on staining the ground with the creature's blood.  Or at least not until he is certain of its destination.

"Yeah," Erista says, finding herself in the curious position of agreeing with Aarnr, at least 20%, and starts following.  "We don't have to track 'em so much as follow; he went this way."

As the kobolds turn and flee Aramil stops his recital and slows down to a walk. He gets close enough to hear the comments and shakes his head sadly at Eileen's guess as to where Tommy could be. Hoping that she is wrong he quickly adds his agreement to follow the foe and find the child.

"'ere...  Las' time Aarnr were wantin' ter foller summat inter the woods, wasn't 'im  an Fergus nearly gettin' themselfs killed by some sort of bear monster thing?" Colwyn shakes his head.  It looks like it's going to be one of those days.  And, in his experience, those days always end badly for somebody.  The trick is, as always, in ensuring that the "somebody" the day ends badly for is followed by an "else".

Colwyn's extensive tactical expertise suggests that the best way to ensure that is to follow at a safe distance and provide Aarnr with whatever support he might need.  Others seem to agree with this assessment.

Aarnr, and presumably his quarry, are indeed heading towards the edge of the meadow, and the forest beyond.  The chase, however does not go on for long, as the kobold reaches the tree line and dives into a crude burrow between the roots of an ancient pine.

A halfling might be able to follow it down there, but it's out of the question for somebody of Aarnr's stature, without considerable work to enlarge the hole.

The priest howls with frustration as he realises the kobold has gone where he may not follow.  Face contorted with anger, he looks behind him, lips splitting into a triumphant grin as he sees Erista following after him.

"Hurry, thou flap-mouthed minnow," he encourages her, "get after the mumble-news !  But thou shall not alone beard the milk-livered malt-worm in his lair, be he but one among thousands ... Ozzie !  Brother in blood !  Get thy skinny rump over here, thou great-hearted haggard !  Glory awaits thee !"

"I shall prevent their escape," he assures Erista as he looks about for the tardy minstrel.

Ozzy is quick to respond as Aarnr bellows his name. Pulling his javelin loose from the corpse, he pauses in his search of the corpse long enough to scramble to his feet and snap a sharp salute to the barbarian, " One skinny rumped great hearted haggard reporting for duty sir!"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Tue 19 Nov 2013.

Now gasping for air - all of this running, especially through muddy fields - Eilieen staggers up.  "This...could be a trick.  Or a trap," she wheezes, doubling over.  "Be wary, Oswald, and do not move too far from your backup," she cautions, motioning toward Erista.

The priestess purses her lips.  "That is, should you be following him down the dirty, dank hole."  Eilieen studies it dubiously.  She would, herself...but it's fortunate, in one way, that she's too large to fit.

Oh, that didn't sound good at all.  The priestess considers.  Of natural human stature?  Petite for a human, too large for the hole?

Much better.

The fight was over in a matter of seconds.  Fergus barely had time to regain his feet before the surviving attackers are running (or staggering) for the cover of the trees.  The kobolds are so small and so obviously outmatched that Fergus almost begins to feel sorry for them.  The injured one at least ought to be helped or put out of its misery.  In the end, Ozzy takes care of that and only a single kobold escapes to its burrow.

That, of course, is the problem.  While the kobolds stood no chance against armed adventurers, Tommy was likely not so lucky and whether he was caught by the kobolds or merely stumbled across their lair while exploring, there was now a real chance that Tommy had met a nasty end, for all that Aarnr seemed assured of his prowess.

Fergus thinks it very brave of Ozzy to volunteer to explore the burrow.  Fergus (unsurprisingly) has no hope of fitting and doesn't fancy the prospect of fighting in such a confined space.  It's frustrating, though, that he can't do more to help.

An odd thought snage in Fergus' mind.  "It looks like a rabbit burrow.  There're probably other entrances.  Someone should stay here to watch out for Ozzy, everyone else spread out and look for other holes."

Understanding what is wanted of him, Ozzy sighs and kneels down to pull the bulls-eye lantern from his pack. Taking a moment to spark the wick, he adjust the beam and focuses it down the entrance to the kobold lair. Not unlike a rabbit hole, but it smelled more like a snake den. " So uh, guessing I get point on this part?" he asks Aarnr.

Aarnr looks between Ozzie and Erista, rubbing his beard, considering.

"Aye, thou may have the froggin' honour !" he congratulates Ozzie with a slap to the halfling's back.  Not too hard mind.¹

Then makes the supreme sacrifice. "I shall guard here lest the creature escape the pair of thee."  Finding the other hole that Fergus promises is what he wants to do, but honour dictates he stand by his blood-brother.

¹ Subdual damage at worst, I'm sure

Erista grins.  "Soon's you're ready," she says.  "魔術 鎧!  If they're taking babies, that won't stand."

"Ooo!  Well-said, Fergus!"  Eilieen immediately begins poking through the nearby undergrowth, undeterred by the dim light.  She does so with her spear, first, on the off chance there are other kobolds lurking in the shadows of the shrubs.  "If I find any," she assures the others, "I will certainly sing out and not try to keep them all to myself."

That last is for Aarnr's benefit.

"Just froggin shout," the priest suggests to Eilieen.  "We've already got two minstrels - if thou start singin' as well, the puttock's will think we're a fobbin' travellin' show !"

Ozzy and Erista enter the tunnel, which slopes down steeply into the earth.  Even for them the ceiling is low.  That, combined with the steep incline, forces them to slither down on their behinds.  The lantern seems to generate more shadows than light in the confined space...

Above, Aarnr keeps watch on the entrance, while the others fan out into the forest to search for more burrows.

Seeing as he won't fit down the hole Aramil is glad that he has something to do. But as this is a field and not a backstreet or alleyway the half-elf is not having much luck spotting anything useful. Just mud, shrubs and other natural things.

OOC: 15:54, Today: Aramil rolled 9 using 1d20+7. Search of other entrances.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:56, Thu 21 Nov 2013.

"Watch out for froggin' pheasants !"  Aarnr calls down the hole as he watches the two halflings (or perhaps he should be thinking of the pair as a 'oneling' ?) storm the kobold's lair.  Fair warning given, the priest assumes a watchful stance, axe at the ready to smite the first thing that dares slither back out again ...

... first thing that's not a halfling, that's right.  Important to remember that.

"Hmph," Eilieen sniffs as she heads off to hunt.  "Criticism about my singing voice..."  To be truthful, it's horrible.  She has no training at all.  "I should get some pointers from Oswald," the priestess considers, poking the point of her spear in a brush.  "That way nobody could complain."

Perhaps preoccupation prevents perceptive pursuit.

Probably so.

OOC - A whopping 6.  :)

Erista brushes a bit of dirt out of her mouth, and then looks into the chamber.  "Which way do you think?" she whispers.

Ozzy pauses and scans the three options briefly with his lantern. When Erista asks for a decision he shrugs and chooses the opening on the right,
" Right I guess. If you go right you can't go wrong!" he answers enthusiastically as he begins marching into the tunnel on the right.

Like a walking dead undead fully dead dead person, Bilfro has said and done little other than retrieving his hat.

"Ow."

He shouts quietly and slowly returns to reality, or at least the one here.  Words are spoken around him but garners no visible reaction.

He may be searching, but it is hard to tell from his blank stare into the next world.

The search of the forest doesn't seem to garner much success.  One hole is found by Aramil, but even the elf's poor woodsmanship suggests that it was probably made by an animal, no bigger than a rabbit, and is not likely to be suitable for a kobold.

Eilieen finds a second rabbit hole, by the cunning expedient of stepping in it and almost losing a shoe.  Again it doesn't look to be big enough for a kobold to traverse.

By the entrance tunnel, Aarnr listens to the voices of his bold and heroic companions carrying up faintly from the depths below.  Dishearteningly, there are no screams (which would, at least, give him the vicarious pleasure of visualising all the death and blood and severed body parts)...

"Is yer bein' well, Bilfro, mate?" Colwyn asks cheerfully, "Only yer wasn't lookin' aright when yer was fightin' them 'orrible little fellers jus' now."

He pats the mage on the shoulder, "Listen... " he continues quietly, "Yer best bet's bein' ter stay away from the fightin' if'n yer's not likin' it.  Aarnr's likin' it a lot, an' Fergus don't mind it.  Even Eilieen got more bloodlust in 'er than the usual sort of Zadasthan lust.  See what I's sayin'?  There's bein' plenty of others what isn't mindin' a bit of sport with a pig sticker.  Leave it ter them, an' yer's not goin' ter get 'urt so much."

The priest maintains his vigil, while settling down for a bite to eat.  Like Bilfro he'd thought ahead in this regard, though unlike the wizard Aarnr had kept his appetite at bay by thoughts of glorious combat.

"Agneby gob agy ogl ?" he inquires with his mouth full, eyeing the hole speculatively as he chews.  "Bugn terfrogin ag."

"I say!  Over here!" Corian suddenly calls out, using his nice new staff to push some brambles aside.  "I think I might very well have found another egress from the burrow!"

The mage waves an arm, just to make sure everybody can see where he is, though, to be honest, his red cloak stands out fairly well amid all the greenery anyway.  And he's no more than ten yards from almost everybody else (the main exceptions being Aarnr and, possibly, the intrepid halfling spelunkers).

Entering the small chamber at the end of the tunnel and Ozzy is quick to pinch his nose and wrinkle his face, " Eww... that's yucky." he says, grimacing from the smell of the rotting carcass. He turns around and starts back the way they came. " Well, not this right. The other right. The right just to the right of the passage to the far left. We weren't wrong, we just took the wrong right!" he tells Erista. He knew he wouldn't be having anything with pork tonight, the decimated pig corpse had made sure of that.

Erista gives Ozzy an encouraging smile.  "No worries," she says.  "But Astral thinks we should skip that one and take the one even farther to the right, which is to say, the one to the left... straight across, now, I guess," she amends.  "It's not words, exactly, but I think maybe she heard something moving that way."

Ozzy once again stops short of his decision, turning around to smile in return as he points to his right and says, " So you mean THIS right! The other right looks about right. Should be all right, considering what was LEFT of the pig!" He shines his light down the passageway, hoping to scare out whatever might be hiding back there in the dark.

Ack.

Eilieen slowly looks over her shoulder, staring along the ground to where her foot is trapped in a hole.  Wincing, she pushes herself up to her knees, tugs her foot out, and stands.  That...hurt.  Crouching, she studies the hole for a long moment, spear pointed at the offending burrow.

It's too small, the Priestess finally decides.

"Nothing here!" she calls out, turning away to continue her search.  She keeps her eyes open for marauding kobolds at the same time, not wanting to get stabbed by a tiny spear while hunting for holes.

Aarnr looks up from his meal with interest as Corian mentions an ogress ... but disappointedly turns back to the hole he's guarding when there's no sign of the promised beast.  "Mu-uh !", he mutters, biting into a chicken leg. 

Voices from below is probably a good sign (except when overimbibing spore-wine), right ?

Corian, having found what he believes to be another opening to the burrow that Erista and Ozzy are currently exploring, holds his ground.  He once again pushes the end of his staff into the earth, and starts to prepare his crossbow, just in case the kobold shows its ugly face in the hole.

Aarnr remains at his post, still listening to the voices below...

Everybody else on the surface continues searching, though currently with less success than Corian.

"Erf, ahn, auh....  I uh meeeh, fuhm buh uhr, huh."

Bilfro turns towards Colwyn and looks at him in a heroically bewildered manner.

"Eef," says he courageously-ish-less and adjusts the hat with a steadily trembling hand, evidently attempting to hide in it.

"Meep," claims he thereafter in a to a lesser extent somewhat less non-unreadable fashion.

If he looked paler still he would indubitably turn translucent as he begins to move around again, very slowly as if he feared falling to bits.

Ozzy stops in his tracks, carefully setting the lantern on the floor and keeping both hands in sight as he smiles nicely at the snarling kobold. " Kust udra to you too my good sir..." he begins, trying to pantomime their intentions, " We are looking..." he gestures between himself, Erista and the ceiling before making googles with his finger and thumb and putting them to his eyes to emphasize the looking part, " ...for a boy... err.. child, kid - about this tall..." he holds his hand above the floor to indicate Tommy's approximate height, " ....with uh, ...red... hair." he points at his hair unsure how to better describe their search. All the while he keeps his hands in sight and his palms opened and forward in apology for their intrusion into his home. " Sorry, ...we uh... didn't see a door knocker."

"Well, no luck on my end," Eilieen grouses, hurrying over to where Corian awaits.  "I shall therefore stand with you, Sir Corian!"  The priestess, lacking in spiritual power at the moment, perforce points her spear-tip at the burrow, keeping herself ready in case a small figure erupts from it.

...a kobold, of course.  Skewering Erista or Oswald is certainly not in the cards.

"I got nothing." Fergus announces with disgust.  He turns and walks over towards Corian.  "You said you found something?"

Maybe this hole will be bigger, or perhaps he can start digging it up.  If the halflings weren't down below, Fergus would probably pick a spot and start jumping, just to see if he could collapse the burrow's roof.

"Yes, yes indeed, here is the hole.  As you can clearly see, it is about the same size as the one which is, at this very moment, guarded by Aarnr." Corian explains, perhaps a tad redundantly.

"Afraid it's too dark down there to determine what's going on  But I think I just heard somebody speaking.  Saying something about a fish pie, I believe."

"Gudud !" Aarnr calls over to correct Corian, squatting by the hole with his axe on the ground close by as he settles down to continue his meal.

Ozzy keeps smiling despite noticing the sharp end of the spear stick. He takes a careful step back, keeping his hands in sight as he says, " Yes, yes... Udra ged kust and all that. Look, we are just looking... no harm, no foul... AARNR!!" he shouts the last word over his shoulder, calling down big brother to help with the bully. " Have you seen Tommy? We just want the kid. You really don't want my brother to come down here and ask. He's not nearly as civil."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:58, Sun 01 Dec 2013.

"Wub ?" Aarnr inquires, scraps of chicken spraying from his open mouth.

Swallowing manfully, the priest leans closer to the hole in the ground before bellowing a possibly more comprehenisble follow up ...

"If that froggin' stink-skinned, dull-scaled worm-bait is holdin' out on thee, tell it I'll remove its froggin' spleen with my teeth !"

Colwyn is just on his way over to ask Aarnr if he's heard anything from the halfling scouts when the priest suddenly starts yelling into the hole.  On the whole (hole?  'ole?) this does not seem like a good thing to the rogue.

"Aarnr?  Wha's 'appenin?"

He starts to ready his bow, just in case.

The priest shakes his head. "Froggin' custard !" he tells Colwyn, narrowing his eyes at the rogue and challenging him to make sense of it.

"Hey..." Erista frowns a little, and shakes her head.  "That, huh.  Um... grak ikaba vist na tolkid?" she says back to the kobold.

Colwyn freezes in his tracks.  Then steps back, keeping the arrow pointed at the ground.  Aarnr is making less sense than usual, which probably means he's about to fly into one of those murderous rages of his.  There is even spittle drooling from the corners of the priest's mouth.  This is clearly going to be a good one.

Best not to aggravate him.

Another careful step back.

"If'n yer says so." the rogue says, with a friendly smile, or a close approximation thereof.  Maybe as Eilieen could be calmin' 'im down.  Or at least givin' 'im some other bugger ter pick on.

Or music?  Colwyn vaguely remembers something about music and savage beasts.  Unfortunately the nearest they have to music would be Aramil's poetry.  Does a poem count as music?  Maybe Zadasthans know songs?  Though Aarnr probably isn't in the right frame of mind for a romantic ballad.

Corian leans closer to the hole that he found.  "I can definitely hear somebody talking down there.  It sounds like Erista."

Dizzy takes another step back, letting Erista stand slightly ahead of him in the tunnel. He whispers from the side of his mouth, " Psst. He's talking to you... I don't really speak kobold."

Eilieen frowns.  She can barely hear Corian, much less Erista, thanks to all the bellowing and cursing nearby.  "Goodness, this won't do."  Standing up - with spear still aimed at the hole Corian discovered - she calls out to the other group.  "Aarnr!  Would you be a dear and stifle yourself for a moment?  Corian believes he can hear Erista, here!"

Finished, she smiles brightly at Corian.  "That should do the trick."  For some reason, 'would you be a dear?' always worked back in the Temple.  The other Zadathsans always went all red and mumbly when she wielded that phrase.  Almost as if they'd been caught doing something dirty by their mother.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:31, Wed 04 Dec 2013.

Perhaps Eilieen's suggestion gained something in translation, but it is the 'stifle yourself', rather than the 'dear' that brings his ranting to a puzzled pause.

The priest looks to the whittering Colwyn to shed some light, though since the rogue wasn't up to the custard, it's doubtful he'll be of much help here either.

Erista almost jumps.  "He is!" she agrees with Ozzy.  For some reason, she's smiling.  It's much too big a smile for the circumstances.  Unnervingly so.  Stepping forward confidently, she says, "Ak tolkid ne'vartal."  Her eyes narrow a little bit.  "Gothak balovar.  Agata vistuk ka athar valk.  Tolk gothar min'thrak, ab lokta aljhiktok-jin!"  She gives her sling a lazy twirl.

In the sudden almost silence, those nearest the holes can hear two voices from below.  One has a definite Erista-ish quality to it, though the language she is speaking is unfamiliar to most of the listeners.  The other voice is unknown to them, but the language sounds similar...

There is a brief pause in the conversation, then, "Kobolin var sedal tolkid.  Var erak-ktorkin.  Aljhabosk teshpa-ktorkin bedra, kenn chuspa.  Aljhabosk erak-ktorkin snar kravin shosk oskal kobolin.  Keadra aljhabosk jend kobolin."

Ozzy nudges Erista and whispers, " What'd he say? What'd he say? Does he know where Tommy is?"

"Froggin' goblins now ?"  Aarnr mutters in surprise and hope, though falls silent again after a guilty look to Eilieen.  With a shrug he turns back to his picnic ...

Fergus waits with Corian and Eilieen, feeling ineffectual.  If he had realised how much adventuring involved peering into dark holes hoping your friends below were alright, Fergus might have stayed at home.  He didn't even have a rope set for Oswald and Erista.

Before long, Fergus' frustration gets the better of him.  He leans down and bellows into the hole "Everything a'right down there?!"

"Oooooooooooooooh...."

A drawn out sound emerges from the still somewhat bewildered and mostly ignored, for reasons beyond comprehension, bearded wizard whose head tilts to one side for the duration of the sound.

"Yes, we have no small kids here, we have no small kids here at all," says he with a singing voice.  "Little smelly stickers haven't seen little two-legs, no, only eat four-legs.  Eat....  Food!"

Darting over to where his food is Bilfro beings the salvage operation, with the salvage going into his mouth whenever there is room there, otherwise mostly disappearing somewhere in his spacious robe.  Almost forgotten are his mortal wounds, at least for the moment, despite no doubt bleeding out as we speak.

Erista stares at the kobold doubtfully.  "He says they haven't got him," she informs Ozzy.  "But he would, wouldn't he?"

[Language unknown: "Is, la k tefo staentint," wer earandsom wheromvertra fo th, iswas ieinlo whfinc pe allipa aralei ntol.  "Fo alit'naol omstsa Oulyintho si reispeer, ensan allstring sael omno prosanrom, se ateurethe adsa, mihifopa p k urevsi.  E ceati hasoneear llho a ivllac ver esec hiere we ilntsi, milaet thioutwas urthe nd sialro o ce disiom wepaecro, n?" saant areeeiur, redionred.  "St th ce asic t tanipesi tr us ri ilpelano?"]

The kobold flinches at Fergus' yell, rolling down through the tunnels.  Then it looks at Erista again, "Kobolin hano.  Nataf á udra.  Akaf ekti necht nar jhaklok oskal jendra... hadu bisa jendra!  Zrast-ebdra.  Deho-jak hak tolkid.  Dra akopt neshp!"


Corian frowns and murmurs, "Erista is talking to what I would assume is a kobold.  The vile creature says it hasn't seen the boy.  It says they only attacked Bilfro because they were hiding from us, and he almost tripped over one of them."

Eilieen shoots a glance to where Bilfro is stuffing his face.  "Bilfro, if you are injured -" it seems unlikely, given how he has been carrying on "- you should let us know.  I have no further spiritual power to provide healing, but I can at least bandage your wounds."

She tilts her head at Corian's comment.  "Of course they would say that," she mutters.  "But is there any proof they are telling the truth?"  It's a bit of a jump to go from 'hiding from people' to 'throwing and stabbing with spears'.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:36, Mon 09 Dec 2013.

Though he's not privy to the many muttered or devil-tongued conversations above or below, Aarnr seems to take Bilfro's words and actions to heart.  "Have they seen any froggin' monsters hereabouts ?" the priest bellows down the hole as he searches his sack for a flask of something strong and warming.

"His mother said he was out huntin' hell-gorged hedge-pigs," he shrugs to Colwyn.

Bilfro half turns to look at Eilieen, a pear halfway to his mouth.

"Ba...  Beh....  Buh....."  Speaking with authority he half bites the pear that is not there to be bit quite yet.  The swallowing that follows is an audible one, as if the pear indeed had a bite taken out of it.

Eyes flicker between his backside and the priestess.  No reply was the answer after a moments ambivalence and the pear received the full attention, soon filling his mouth and making an answer nigh impossible, at least not a comprehensible one.

It is embarrassingly obvious that he attempts to surreptitiously watch her out of the corner of his eye.

Fergus turns his head to look at Corian as the mage interprets the kobold's words, though he remains stooped over the tunnel entrance.

"That doesn't make sense.  Why didn't they just run away if they were hiding?"

Fergus turns back to the tunnel and yells down to Erista and Oswald, "You tell it it has to do what you say, or I'll rip this burrow open from end to end."

In quieter tones, Fergus adds, "Which'll probably happen anyway.  The townsfolk won't stand for kobolds stealing stock."

Erista relays the questions and instructions to the kobold in a brief back and forth, and reports its responses, which seem somewhat less than hopeful.

According to the creature there are any of number of horrific creatures wandering about the woods in these parts - orcs, ogres, and worse.  Most of them, fortunately, stay away from the village, knowing that the people living there are able to put up a good defence, at least against direct attacks.

Fleeing from Bilfro had not seemed like a good choice, because he was right in their midst, and smelled like a wizard (an observation which causes Corian to shake his head in disgust).  But, it still insists, they had only attacked because they had been discovered.

And still the kobold denies that it knows anything about the missing Tommy.  It has seen other children in the meadow, but its tribe know better than to attack children near a village.  Chickens, sheep and pigs are fair game - villagers become angry for a few days and the kobolds must be careful.  If villagers were attacked, especially children, the kobolds are aware that the other villagers would not rest until the kobolds were all driven away or killed.

On a more hopeful note, when Fergus' instruction that the creature do what Erista says, or else, is passed on the kobold immediately drops the broken remnant of its spear and kneels, hands on the floor and head bowed until its snout touches the earth.  "Dra sedal-jik snabt."

Eilieen shoots a suspicious look at Bilfro.  On the one hand, if he's seriously injured she should help.  On the other, he doesn't look in imminent danger of passing out and his attention seems on a particularly unpleasant portion of his own anatomy.  She'll wait until he collapses, the priestess decides, before rooting around in his smelly robes for his wounded backside.

[Insert irritated thought about the Temple here]

She jumps a little when Fergus bellows out his order.  "Hopefully that will get some results."  The priestess wouldn't blame the townsfolk in the least for getting irked over livestock, either.  They put in all the work; why should the Kobolds benefit?  Thieving beasts, and who knew when they would graduate up to children, anyway?

Erista takes a step forward when the Kobold prostrates itself.  "Why don't you ever do that?" she whispers to Ozzy, though she keeps the grin off her face.

[Language unknown: "Reone entoneons, in," chpr winewa.  "Stie asil nomi holes k et aclisi.  Teus ll ntai N evarli prmi.  Con sta laeve stresthou michev.  Wehat olee hisaou reastrure ter, andillwas wiesck ta rowhcawa roicpoha as eeme... e i evtoee fiwhal alwhfi on ticstiard nebeai'lime, ncons virresoer ieine redes o a sonsa ec rutstashe ilpreeom nc plst ure m whitrares.  Ngitll tedineeen tioul u alpe.  Cecechma e theounwhe ee fi ni ivca iou adom ut, sail, os eefiliee, wi is sa inad o eith hami'llan ati lo ch str erme ngof ive, taarol os anilel re ulyin insein," ellin ntisto.]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:14, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

Worse than orcs and orges ?  Aarnr cheers up immensely as the kobold's suggestion is passed along.

It seems the need to guard the hole has passed now, so the priest shoulders his axe and picnic sack, secure in the knowledge that the hunt will soon be on again, now that the kobolds have been discounted as the culprits.

"Let's try over the other side," if there's nothing here then logic dictates that somewhere else would be a good place to start looking.  Pity there's no other unchinned-urchins around to ask where one of their own kind might take their prey.

Ozzy makes a mental note to brush up on his language skills, having not understood a single word of the consonant cluttered speech. He sighs again, " What'd he say now?" adding, " I only lay down for a reason, …and that ain't it.

The kobold remains silent for a few moments after Erista's words.  Then it finally speaks again, "Var kravin kust.  Ekt dra.  Dra'achin aljhik jend kust."

"Dra sedal-jik snabt, dra makken-jin." 

On the surface, while Bilfro retrieves his dropped supplies, Aarnr comes up with the idea of checking another area of the meadow, just in case.  Colwyn considers his options - stick with Aarnr, who's been known to be a bit... "sword happy", or risk ending up stuck with Corian again.

"'ang on, Aarnr mate.  Reckon I's goin' ter be comin' with yer.  Fer Tommy, like."

And he sets off after the barbarian priest.

Behind them, Corian frowns at the hole as the kobold's voice carries up from below.  And for once he seems to be at a loss for words.  His usual eloquence seems to have deserted him.  The only thing he says when the kobold finishes speaking is a quiet, "Oh, bugger!"

"There can be only one," Bilfro says, having swallowed the pear, hopefully having chewed properly first.  "One is the solitary numeral."

"One won once, once one wicked warrior won wanton war.  Woe.  Woah.  Wow.  What?"

As incontrovertible as ever, Bilfro meanders meekly moreover to totally teeter towards clustered companion collage.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 09:18, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

"Perhaps if we made more froggin' noise we could attract more creatures," Aarnr suggests.  It may take a while for it to sink in that the priest actually considers that a helpful suggestion and is being in no wise sarcastic.

Indeed the only thing preventing him from bellowing out a challenge is that such displays of initiative tend to have been grossly frowned upon thus far.

"Keep thy blade handy," Aarnr cautions Colwyn.  For some reason the rogue seems just a little sword-shy.  "Thou never know when thou might have to gut some hell-hated harpy."

Colwyn pats the hilt of his blade, "Aye, sword's bein' right 'ere, mate.  Bow's bein' 'ere too, case we's runnin' inter somethin' worth 'untin'."  He gestures with the bow, an arrow already in position but not yet drawn.  "Where's yer thinkin' as we should be lookin' first then?"

The rogue's eyes scan the meadow, noting the places where the forest seems darkest.  Perhaps too dark for a child to be playing there.  Or maybe not.  He remembers his own exploits as a child, forever going into places that adults told him he should stay away from.

Over at the second hole, Corian shakes his head, "The kobold is agreeing to help us search for Tommy, though it still claims to know nothing of his disappearance.  It seems a little reluctant, since we have apparently murdered its entire family, all of its 'littermates' is the phrase it uses, but it will help, under duress."

Down below, it's hands spread wide, the kobold stands and starts towards the exit.

"No more noise" Eilieen barks from the second hole, pausing for a (laughably) ferocious glare at Aarnr.  Hopefully 'hell-hated harpy' isn't directed her way.  She then goes back to listening intently...to Corian, as there's no way she's understanding (or even hearing) the Kobold below.  Briefly, she considers the creatures words and feels a pang of guilt.

VERY briefly.

"Thieves who attack people ought not be surprised when these people actually fight back," she notes, her tone frigid.  "I would feel far more sad about the whole affair - misunderstanding that it was - if their first choice had not been 'attempt to stab with spear'...and their second choice as well."  She sniffs.  'Murder', indeed.  More like 'defend Bilfro from armed attackers attempting to kill him'.

Erista blinks at it, and then nods.  [Language unknown: "Wemoma, orene.  Ac o t."]  She waits for it to get ahead of her, turning as it moves.

Leaning closer to Ozzy again, she whispers, [Language unknown: "Ma intatiare wihe reani sewhmo t e, ol p icaoulast u i undessshe i diuses of anyaverea thoev ant anyverera k benot i.  Anarwi unwa prepa ndsspe ticpa ch waca i riecni for buthisshe ounthires ati asiond er n?"]

The priest copies Colwyn's example, ensuring both sword and axe are safely sheathed and preparing his bow, arrow and all, for whatever opportunity presents itself.

The question posed is a bit of a puzzler, alright, but he is up to the challenge ... if only by following Colwyn's gaze !  "Over there !" is the slightly muted cry (in deference to Eilieen's wishes), as Aarnr gestures towards the most ominously shadowy of the aforementioned 'places where the forest seems darkest'.

Perhaps they'll even find Tommy there ... but if not, "keep a froggin' eye out for some of them pheasants !"

Aarnr and Colwyn start towards the forest edge, at a point some distance from the kobold burrows.  The muddy ground squelches underfoot, reminding Aarnr of the cold fens of his home, and not really bothering Colwyn too much... the rogue has trodden in far worse on the streets of Tsar. 

They move into the shadow of the trees, observed by a curious sheep, and Colwyn holds his bow one handed as he starts pushing foliage aside to search the undergrowth... 

"I do believe they are about to come back up." Corian announces to those who are still nearby.  "Perhaps somebody should wait by the other opening, in case the kobold attempts to bolt."

In the hole, the kobold moves past Erista and Ozzy, giving the halflings a wide berth and keeping his hands spread to display their emptiness and his lack of hostile intent.  "Dra ged nuk verl?" it says, nodding its head towards the tunnel where the halflings had entered.    Then it pauses, apparently waiting for a reply.

"Probably concerned someone will take his kill and claim it for their own," Aarnr's expression speaks volumes on the special place in the Abyss reserved for people like that.

Manfully resisting shooting the sheep and thus earning himself a lamb supper, the priest follows Colwyn's example, wading into the undergrowth and batting the foliage aside viciously with his bow.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:57, Sun 22 Dec 2013.

With a significant Look at Ozzy, Erista steps up behind the kobold, and nods.  [Language unknown: "Icne verti, enri.  Dilaat our nimo?"] she asks, following a few steps behind him.

"Right, right," Eilieen mumbles, bolting across the field - well, more striding carefully...all right, picking her way with an expression of distaste - to stand before the hole from which she expects Erista and the Kobold to issue.

And Ozzy as well.  Must remember him, so as to prevent accidents.

Moments later the kobold is first to emerge from the opening where Eilieen now stands guard.  "Bolting" does not adequately describe its pace.  "Trudging" or "shuffling" would, in fact be much closer to the mark.  It stops when it spots the priestess and her spear.  Hers still has a point on it, not like the one it so recently abandoned in the burrow.

Erista appears behind it and gives it an encouraging nudge in order to keep the creature moving.  Even som once it is clear of the hole, it stops again, and stands hunched over looking about with a forlorn expression.  Rain starts to rattle against the leaves overhead, and the kobold shivers.  It turns to face Erista, and speaks again, "Dren daba-tan Chuvak.  Usu?"  [Language unknown: "Os iv wh Anddertic.  Laon?"]

Ozzy is still below.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:32, Mon 23 Dec 2013.

Ozzy, having searched the chambers underneath the field and found little more than sticks and leaves, decides it best to leave the stink and shadow for the warmth of sunlight. Hearing Corian's voice he pops up out of the secondary entrance in an attempt to startle the big man. " Nothing down there but dirt!" he says, popping out.

Some barbarians, it is said, learn to climb before they learn to walk.  In the flat and arborilly challenged swamplands that Aarnr hails from, however they make do with courage, natural agility and an outlook best described as bloody-minded to see them through any challenge, no matter how stupid and/or dangerous.

Grinning¹ at Colwyn, the priest jams the arrow back into its quiver and shoulders his bow before throwing himself at the tree like a man wrestling a bear.  A man from the Vastness, that is, not a fop from the civilised lands.

¹ I'll leave it to the GM to determine the Intimidate DC

Bilfro starts to stop doing several things, all of which is unclear to any outsider, and potentially Bilfro himself.  He stares and glares at the emerged critter that may or may not have been the one that all but gutted him and he beings to pace in a small circle, as the sun moves, if a lot closer to the ground and with less light and heat generated by it.

He mutters to himself, while his eyes wanders between Eileen and the kobold, the former getting nervous glances while the latter receives uneasy dittos.

Ozzy studies the crossbow bolt standing, quivering, in the earth omly inches from where his head had emerged from the hole .  Corian smiles sheepishly, "I'm dreadfully sorry.  You startled me.  It is, perhaps, for the best that I'm not a better shot."

The kobold, finding itself not immediately slaughtered or subjected to torture of the most heinous sort, stands close to Eilieen and Erista, watching Bilfro's odd behaviour with a critical eye.  After some thought, and a brief but industrious bout of nose-picking, it speaks again, "Edra-hin sedal nado'akin queno a edren jaltrakelk?"

Colwyn, who had been about to climb the tree himself, watches in bemusement as Aarnr makes an attempt at it.  An attempt which is more akin to a brutal assault on the defenceless plant.  After a false start, he commences his ascent.  Twigs and small branches snap, and strips of bark are torn away under the man's enthusiastic hands, though he does make slow progress.

Having risen to the incredible altitude of ten feet, Aarnr finds himself confronted by a hole in the trunk.  One that a large owl, or a small halfling, could easily fit into.  And it's only a few feet further above him...

Bilfro's eyes stops at the kobold and glares icily at it.

[Language unknown: "Ek p onefi u reicac thev?  Hateventi tr strwheher t hisingwit ne der, eauhi?  Nd laen astad hencon one beno nce to eiishe, andineoushis ss howh the anyoneure illyinrea!"]

Hands starts weaving through the air as muttering emerge from the beard, the scowl never leaving the kobold.

Fergus is a little surprised by Ozzy's appearance, though not unduly startled, so his reaction may have disappointed his halfling colleague.  Fergus is considerably more alarmed, however, when a crossbow bolt thuds into the earth nearby.  He scrambles backwards in alarm until he realises it was Corian who fired.

It is perhaps fortunate for Corian that Fergus lacks Erista's wit or Aarnr's vocabulary to express his disapproval.  The best he can manage is a relatively mild "Bloody hells, you gave me a fright."

Seeing that Erista and the kobold have also emerged and Aarnr and Colwyn have already headed off, Fergus asks, "Are we going to split up again and keep looking?"

Erista gestures towards the kobold.  "Everybody, this is Chuvak.  They've been living here a little while, took some livestock, but no people, apparently, so he's got no idea where Tommy went, but he'll help us look."

She looks at Bilfro, and then grins.  [Language unknown: "Te, i.  Ssmous setectday sonsomtic p usrisi.  ounessome, Arurur Bleredear, Miesof.  Uttipl, nclo ailoof haine ichame-witess tiulckfoek, beseth Pe aistom evmo etivst sttrad isplwh hiof uresonect mous llaitr tin uncapr is ieev."]

She nods.  "Yeah," she agrees with Fergus.  "We'd better get moving again."

Spying the hole in the tree's trunk within stabbing distance, Aarnr bellows in triumph and hauls himself ever upwards ...

"Look out Aarnr!  Not that... bloody 'ells!"  Colwyn throws himself aside as Aarnr trusts his weight to a twig that would barely support a particularly small wren, with predictable results.  The rogue's quick thinking saves him from injury, beyond a jarred funny bone, while leaving Aarnr free to fully appreciate the experience of a direct impact with the ground.

Sadly, said ground is considerably less... squishy... here, beneath the trees, and laced with twisted roots to boot.  As a result, Aarnr, who had been extremely expressive during his precipitous descent, is rendered momentarily speechless as the wind is knocked from his lungs... 

The kobold cocks its head to one side and sneers at Bilfro, before pointing, then turning about to point in the opposite direction, and proclaiming, "Anbedra-tan hanten choe-az é oskal maktinbak kenn.  Vi hanten.  Var ta'anokin.  Jendra ged kust."   

Then he starts to walk in still a third direction.  "Gedan-gedan!  Chakpo gedan." 

Corian retrieves his quarrel, with a shake of his head.  He says quietly, "That vile creature seems very eager to take us somewhere.  I'm afraid that I believe it may be attempting to lead us into an ambush."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:04, Wed 01 Jan 2014.

The priest, it seems, has learned nothing from his failure ... indeed judging by the stream of invective (thankfully couched in his natively incomprehensible dialect) as he struggles to his feet, it seems he intends to teach the tree a lesson for its temerity.

With a roar, Aarnr throws himself at the offending tree once more ...

Colwyn looks about nervously...  Aarnr is making enough noise to wake the dead, over in Tsar.  And it doesn't seem to be helping much.  For some reason the rogue had always assumed that people who live outside cities would have a natural bent for climbing trees.

Sadly, it seems that is not universally the case.

"Er... Aarnr... "

For all his rage and fury, Aarnr doesn't even climb so high this time.

"Aarnr, mate... "

At least this time he lands on his feet, with the grace and agility of a cat.  A three-legged cat, that's blind, and has imbibed a large quantity of wine.  Still, landing upright allows him to start yelling at the tree a bit sooner after his fall.

"AARNR!" Colwyn joins in on the yelling, "We's bein' watched!"

Meanwhile, back near the burrow, the kobold stops walking, and looks around to see if anybody's following it.  It's expression is that of a loyal pet that wants to lead people to where a wayward child is trapped in a well...

"Chuvak," Eilieen attempts.  "All right, Chuvak.  Let's see where you're taking us."  With a firm nod, she follows after the little thief.  The priestess is trusting, but not TOO trusting - she keeps a solid grip on her spear.

Honestly, though, given the ease with which they routed the beasts before, she's not really that much concerned on the matter.  If the Kobolds had stronger allies, they would have been here by now.  Most likely.

Of course, there's always the possibility they're being led into a bear's den.

"Not to worry, Corian...we'll keep our guard up.  Erista, please continue to translate..."  She eyes Bilfro askance for a moment, then turns to look across the distance between her and the pair attempting to deal with a tree.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:52, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

Erista nods, and hurries to keep up with Eilieen.  Following her gaze when she stops, though, she, too, stares for a moment.  "I think he's gone mad from not enough things to fight," she decides.

Aarnr bellow incomprehensibly at the tree, refusing to let it defeat him.  In one fluid sweep he has his axe in hand and stomps towards the tree, ready to render its just desserts ...

But something stops the big priest in his tracks, causing him to spin about and glare wildly around ...
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:53, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

Brokenhearted.  Comprehensively brokenhearted.  Comprehensively brokenhearted and extirpated.  Comprehensively brokenhearted, extirpated and mortally wounded.  Comprehensively brokenhearted, extirpated, mortally wounded and sad.  O so very much sad indeed.  Did he really hear her say what he thought he heard her say?  The fair little maiden, to deliver such a opprobrium, and to his would be assassin of all?

Sadness makes him sag and he droops his shoulder, dragging his staff on the ground, the sheer weight of it too much for his broken shoulders to lift from the ground, too much effort for his shattered heart to exert.  Too much sad.

It is like a dream from childhood, wandering lost in a field, the world hidden in mist.  Mist that holds nothing but malice, fear and doomed doom of the doomster and his pet bunny named George.  George of the Bungle, there to mock any failure and sear itself into his every sleeping moment of nightmares before isthmus bay, where the seals of Uncooked Gravy swim.  Jolly bizarre dreams, now come true.

From the mist comes shouts and other things not meant for him, including a baked sausage roll.  So sad.

_______
Edited because the Bunny of Bungles reared its cuddly head again, dagrabbit!
This message was last edited by the player at 18:07, Sun 12 Jan 2014.

Chuvak leads the group away from the burrow, and back to the edge of the open meadow, where the kobold turns right and starts to skirt the forest.  Every so often it stops and barks a few words in its own tongue, before continuing on its way. 

All the while, their steps across the sodden terrain carry them further from where Colwyn and Aarnr are, apparently, engaged in the noble and ancient art of tree poaching.

Happiness is far from universal in the group.  Corian's crossbow, for example, remains pointed at the creature's back (despite this making it awkward for him to carry his newly acquired staff), and it is doubtful that the tattered rags it wears would provide armour adequate to the task of deflecting a crossbow quarrel.  Even at a considerably longer range.

Bilfro too seems a little gloomy, but in his case the cause of his sombre mood does not seem to be suspicion regarding the kobold.  He shuffles along behind the others, uncaring about the softness of the waterlogged ground which squelches beneath his dragging feet.

Their two companions, meanwhile, difficult to see as patches of rain drift across the intervening space, appear to have stopped their pursuit of the tree. 

The kobold stops near a tangled thicket of briars, taller than a man, and grins happily.  "Hak hanten choe, ged bedra uch var kravin deho.  Kobolin snar azont akafin bedra, kenn chuspa."

Marshalling all his reserves to string together a sentence that, though puncutated with expletives n a manner reminiscent of two great armies clashing, at least gives a careful and patient listener some remote chance of comprehension is, at least for Aarnr, literally exhausting.

Lowering his axe, though still glowering at the tree, the priest attempts to explain himself to Colwyn.

"Froggin gnarly, rot-hearted, limp-leaved broken-boughed, fobbin' overgrown shrub !  Aye there's a hole and," pause while he checks the maths on his fingers, "twice aye mine eyes have seen it."

Aarnr pauses a moment to get his breath back, shoulders slumping wearily as he once more lowers his weapon, having inadvertently used it to emphasise each point.  "I believe the sordid sapling has caught something in it's clutches."

"An where in the many dread-bolted layers of the gleepin' abyss have those hedge-pigs fobbered off to now ?!!"  Sudden realisation that the rest of the group have, to put it politely, sodded off.

Fergus trails after the group following the kobold.  His face is set in lines of deep suspicion and his hand never strays far from the hilt of his sword.

Leaving aside for the moment the whereabouts of little Tommy, the kobold was in Fergus' eyes somewhere between dangerous vermin and condemned criminal.  In a farming community there were worse crimes than stock rustling, but not many, and Fergus suffered Chuvak to remain unrestrained (and conscious) only because Eilieen and Erista seemed content to allow it.

Ozzy stands with a puzzled expression, frowning once again at his lack of knowledge when it came to languages, especially kobold. " What'd he say? What'd he say?" he asks.

Erista looks at Chuvak, and then at the others.  "Well... basically, he said this is a great place for an ambush.  Quiet and hard to see.  Which, er, sort of sounds like what Colwyn was worried about, except that he's pointing it out to us, so I think he means if Tommy was playing at hiding, this would be a good place for it," she decides.

Ozzy giggles, looking up at Colwyn as he notices the paranoia in his eyes that never fail to focus on their new-found guide of the meadow. " Bah... silly man. Why would he announce an ambush? Kind of defeats the purpose, yeah?" Kneeling down, Ozzy looks for a rabbit trail through the thick underbrush, something small enough for a kid to scurry through. Only way to know for sure was to burrow in and look.

"Cultural difference," Eilieen muses, impressed in spite of herself.  'Place for an ambush' rather than 'place to hide'.  Sadly, it says a lot about Kobold culture.  "Well, let's be about looking for the boy."

She pauses as for some unknown reason the sobriquet 'hedge-pigs' floats through her head.  "Is someone talking about us?"  A shake of the head follows.  "Everyone have a look around.  I'm utterly horrid for such things -" sad but true "- so I can watch our 'guide'."

Colwyn edges aside, trying to move out of a direct line of sight with the hollow in the trunk.  The  rogue raises his bow and sends an arrow thumping into the tree, right next to the hole...

"Yes, yes, of course.  You watch the disgustingly foul little beast." Corian nods agreement with Eilieen's suggestion.  Said disgustingly foul little beast seems to have something more to say, with much pointing, and waving of arms to describe something large and vaguely circular.  "Udra jend snar chustak ta'a, dra ged a anbedra uch snar oskal.  Dra bak, ged a chov anok.  Han'poktok.  Edra gedan, udra ancho edra." 

The last part of his speech is followed by a loud 'clack', as his jaws snap closed...

"Oh dear."

A chance to use his new toy !  Aarnr wastes no more time swearing at the tree or denigrating it, instead taking up his bow with childish delight and lovingly fitting an arrow to the string, drawing it back and exhulting in the scarcely withheld power as the tension is applied.

"Thou had best give this arrow thy blessing thou ruttish, hell-hated foot-licker !" he threatens his god as he takes careful aim and looses the shaft ...

Aarnr launches an arrow at the hollow.  The shaft plunges into the darkness, and two things happen immediately...

First there is a deafening, raucous screech from within the tree, which causes Colwyn to clap his hands over his ears for fear that he might be struck deaf.

Second, there is an explosion of loose feathers, small bones, and scraps of torn skin, and a large owl bursts forth from the opening, flying clumsily as it starts to circle higher... 

A third thing happens moments later... the screeching cry drifts across the meadow, fading considerably as it does so, and with a terrified yell the kobold prisoner hurls itself flat on its belly and wraps its scrawny arms around its head.  Laying motionless, it jabbers, "Aljhaboskak á chahanten!" over and over again.

Somehow the screech reaches into the deep pits of oblivion that is the pitiful remnants of Bilfro's shattered heart and tattered soul and he lifts his vacant gaze in time to see the large owl begin to gain height.

Had it not been for the fact that his chin was connected to his jaw which, for now, was still connected to the rest of his skull - which by the way may or may not be a suitable habitat for various assortments of invertebrate - it would have hit the ground with a resounding thud, naturally dampened to a soft crump by the beard.  As it were, all that happened was that his jaw hung slack as he stared in awe, life returning once more to his eyes.

"And Thy name shall be Death Unheard!" he gasps out.  "Did you hear that, Death Unseen?  We found another!  Only three more to go!"

Eilieen pauses for an amazed look at Bilfro - just when she thinks he's completely lost, he comes out with something vaguely comprehensible - before returning her stare to the kobold.  "Goodness," she murmurs.  "Whatever that was has certainly terrified our guide!"

It's possibly not a good thing.  While there are some kobold-terrifying situations Eilieen would be happy to experience (an angry band of armed townspeople sporting torches to help with the search, for one), she imagines there are plenty of beasts that don't actually distinguish between 'kobold' and 'human' with regards to foraging for food.

"OWLBEAR !" Aarnr bellows happily, caring not that he may be permanently deafened by the ungodly screeching.  The priest hurries to fit another arrow to his bow, but when he turns back to look for the horrible creature, finds not a sign of it ... until he thinks to look up again whence he spots it winging its way over the meadow, seemingly to slay the scaly-skinned scavenger.

"THE LAST PLUME-PLUCKED RATS-BANE DIDN'T FROGGIN' FLY !" the priest complains to Colwyn, lowering his weapon.

Even more deafened by Aarnr's reaction to the fleeing bird, Colwyn clamps his hands even tighter over his ears.  Once the ringing fades away a little, he essays an attempt to calm down the savage priest.  "Arrnr!  Yer bein' a bloody ninny, mate.  It's jus' bein' a owl.  Not a owl bear, like, jus' a reg'lar ol' owl."

A bloody big one, mind.  "Poor bugger's probably bein' more scared of ye than ye's bein' of it."  I know I's bloody well more scared of ye.

Corian shakes his head as he watches the kobold.  "It's prattling on about some kind of aerial predator, I believe.  Seems jolly frightened.  I hope it's not talking about dragons again."  His gaze goes to the sky overhead, but his view is blocked by the leaves of the forest canopy.

"You know," he continues, in a much quieter voice, as if fearing that the owner of a certain pair of scaly ears might understand what he's about to say, "now that it's led us to the best hiding place it knows, perhaps we should just finish it off.  It has, after all, served its purpose.  And it would be a kindness, of sorts.  A lone kobold can't hope to survive out here."

"Corian!  For shame!"  Eilieen glares at the mage.  "Finish it off?  Served its purpose?  This creature is not a tool, nor is it a wounded animal.  It would not be a kindness, it would be murder!"  She draws herself up to her less-than-impressive height.  "I am not an ardent admirer of kobolds, but these ones have - admittedly by their own words - only been guilty of the crime of theft.  And assaulting Bilfro, but according to it, they were frightened and knew no other way."

She eyes their prisoner askance.  "I am less-than-impressed by its behavior, but it has done its best to assist us.  Under fear, of course, but this is not how one rewards such things.  We are, and should be, better than what we dislike in it, and killing the creature would be no such demonstration."

A sweep of the arm follows.  "I shall not have it.  And am most serious.  Any who decide to carry out such a deed should be prepared for consequences."

Her furious stance makes it pretty obvious that 'consequences' might very well involve 'go talk to the priest of Bowbe for healing forevermore'.

Aarnr is somewhat surprised to discover he is not deaf, and once more disappointed that the creature isn't an Owlbear, though reglar ol' owl sounds pretty dangerous too !  Also rather luckily for the rogue, 'ninny' isn't in his vocabulary either, but 'bloody' certainly comes in near the top of the list and far from arguing with that, he's rather pleased Colwyn noticed.

"Aye !" he agrees happily. "Do ye think the gruntin' measle is slain ?" it doesn't do to linger on just one subject.  "Or perhaps the hedge-pig is but mortally wounded and needs be put out of it's froggin' misery."

Cheerily, the priest starts off across the meadow ...

Bilfro is standing with his mouth open, trying his best to follow the flight of the feathered beast above.  He has less success than a uni-pod person in a posterior kicking contest, obviously, but his tenaciousness is admirable, or possibly daft.

"..."

His mouth forms a funnel as if he attempting to whistle without success as he begins to run around in a little circle, still looking upward, looking every part a learned and distinguished master of the ancient arcane arts.

Corian meets Eilieen's gaze without flinching.  For at least a heartbeat.  Then his determination wavers, and he looks down at his feet.  "I'm sorry.  It was just a suggestion." he murmurs apologetically.  And suddenly he looks up again, his voice gaining strength as he enthusiastically declares, "We should continue seeking for Tommy.  It will be too dark to see anything in a little while, so the sooner we get back to the search the better."

The phrase, "in a little while" could be seen as a mild exaggeration, as there are still three or four hours until sunset.  But the point is probably valid... who can say how dark it is under the tangle of briars, or what dooms are, at this very moment, surreptitiously (or not) advancing upon the lost halfling child?

The region is, after all, known to be home to kobolds, orcs, ogres, giant spiders, owlbears and sundry, as yet unconfirmed, dangers of unknown type.

"So shall we resume the task at hand?"  The mage's smile is almost entirely lacking in nervousness.

Bilfro, meanwhile, is watching the large, screeching bird, which having gained sufficient altitude to feel safe, is currently circling lazily above the open meadow.

Colwyn shakes his head, and trudges along behind Aarnr.  As they step out into the open meadow, he catches sight of the bird which, fortunately for it, is much too high to bother trying another shot.

"Where's we goin' now, Aarnr?  I's sensin' as 'ow ye's 'avin' some cunnin' plan growin' in yer 'ead."

With no sign that death has fallen from the sky destroy it, like a veritable Sword of Muir, the kobold scrambles to its feet and grins nervouslly.  "Nuk gezan-tan." it says, folding one thumb into the palm of its hand, and spreading the fingers out to form a sort of hooked claw, which it draws down the length of its snout. 

The scaly creature takes a step towards the dense thicket of brambles and looks at the faces of those around it, "Dra ged a, drif-var?" 

Corian frowns, "Do we trust the horrid little thing?  If it crawls in there, we could have a difficult time getting it out again.  I'm not at all sure the briar patch would burn given the recent inclement weather."

"Well, Ozzy could go with him," Erista suggests.  "He's pretty scary, too."

Ozzy raises both hands into claws and gnashes his teeth, verifying his own voraciousness. " Sure, I'll go." he says, giggling as he lowers his hands.

Fergus briefly considers Corian's suggestion but while he doesn't trust the kobold and killing it would greatly simplify matters it is not the right thing to do, as Eilieen quickly points out.

That issue resolved, Fergus stands about waiting for the search to resume.

"If Tommy's hiding in there listening to us, he's probably already worked out we're pretty harmless and could save everyone a lot of trouble by coming out right now."

Fergus raises his voice for the second part of the statement, announcing it to the general vicinity, though more in hope than in any expectation of an answer from the thicket.

Aarnr pauses as, in the distance, the kobold rises to its feet.  He stares at it malevolently for a few seconds ... but eventually even he has to admit that had the foul creature died and risen as undead, at least one of his companions would have noticed.

And since it's therefore unlikely to welcome a quick and merciful death, the priest needs find a new outlet for the edge of his blade.

Planning ahead (or any other kind) is not high amongst the valued attributes of barbarian warriors, but quick decision-making (aka foolhardiness, leaping in where angels wouldn't be seen dead and so forth) is a survival trait.  Upon the instant Aarnr is off again, with a gruff "froggin' follow me thou puttock" to Colwyn, executing a swift turn back towards the meadow's edge by the shortest possible route, there to find something else to hit conduct further investigations into the whereabouts of the missing boy.

Eilieen pats Corian on the shoulder, relaxing.  "Please don't concern yourself with it further, Corian.  I quite understand."  And she does.  It's pretty easy just to view the Kobold as an evil thing, with no right to live.  On the other hand, Corian, herself, and the others are not evil things, and such thoughts do not belong.  Better to deal with them when they crop up, so that they do not grow into a forest.

"Trust, yes...to a point.  And I think we should check within this thicket," she muses.  "Tommy might be within, but he could be injured and unable to call out for help."  She doesn't mention the possibility of things being worse than that, but it's there, nonetheless.  "If Oswald and the kobold can search through the thicket, we can remain outside.  And, with Corian's warning in mind, ensure it does not escape us, by surrounding this thicket as best we may."

Colwyn chuckles and turns back with Aarnr.  This is the sort of behaviour he has come to expect from the man in the brief time he's known him.  Unpredictable and prone to sudden changes of purpose.  Admittedly he isn't always successful in every endeavour, but the effort is never boring in any case.

Least of all for bystanders.

The rogue follows, just a couple of paces behind the priest, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any sign of trouble (or wayward children).  Silently he ponders were Aarnr is taking them, assuming he has a specific goal in mind.

Near the briar patch a decision is taken, and Chuvak is ushered forward.  No reply comes in response to Fergus' cunningly couched query, so it seems clear that, if Tommy is hidden among the brambles, then he may be unable to respond, for whatever reason.

The kobold drops to all-fours, it's tail held out straight behind it, and peers into the burrow-like opening for a moment, before looking at Ozzy.  "Dra deho choe a varjenevt, udra deho choe uch jaltran'pok?" 

Corian interprets, "It wonders how well you can see in the dark.  Apparently it has excellent night vision."

Everybody except Ozzy fans out to surround the thicket, both to keep Tommy from going unnoticed, should he come out via a different route, and to prevent Chuvak from making a break for freedom, should the diminutive creature get a sudden urge to do so.

Without waiting for an answer, the kobold lays on its belly and slithers forward into the opening at the edge of the briar patch.  It's feet are still in view as it gives a sudden hiss and snarls a word...  "Jhaklok!" 

Across the meadow, Aarnr and Colwyn find themselves moving back into the shadows at the forest's edge.  The two move into the forest, Colwyn scanning his surroundings with great care.

The last thing they'd encountered had been a simple owl, but that doesn't mean that the next thing they run into might not be a lot worse...

"Aarnr?  'as yer gave any thought ter what ye'll be doin' if'n we's findin' this Tommy dead?   I means, will ye be wantin' ter say somethin' ter 'is mam, ye bein' a priest an' all?"

Having very little to do, other than listen to the kobald's ramblings and loom for the little halfling Aramil moves around the thicket. He is getting a little more nervous as the time goes on, not having much experience or either halfing or children in general. So he remains quiet and watches. He does jump as the kobold says something after he climbs into the hole.

Oh, that's not good.  She doesn't know the word, but the tone, the sharpness, the sudden expulsion...Eilieen is familiar with that.

"Shit!" the priest gurgles, staggering away from a furious Eilieen, clutching his own agonized nether regions.

"Bitch!" the priestess cries, staring down at the mess Eilieen's chamberpot has made of both her and Eilieen's sheets.

"Godsdammit!" the acolyte howls, ducking and dodging in an attempt to escape the blows of the broom Eilieen wields.

Yes, she knows that sound, and it never indicates anything good.

"Chuvak!" she snaps, spear readied and aimed past the creature.  "Take care!"  The words might not soak in, but hopefully the warning in her tone will.  It boots them (especially Chuvak himself) nothing if the Kobold gets his head bitten off while helping them.

Inside the thicket Ozzy stays as close as he can to the kobold ahead of him. True, he couldn't see in the dark like his guide, so held the word for a light spell on the tip of his tounge, ready to illuminate the underbrush if so needed. As the kobold spits whats sounds to be a profanity, "Jhaklok! Ozzy pauses, looking around the dim shadows as he whispers, _{" What?! What is it? What?!"}

Standing watch on one edge of the thicket, Fergus suppresses the urge to swear.  More anxious waiting.  The forced inactivity, together with the thought that his friends might be in danger was more than simply wearing, it was becoming infuriating.  No wonder Aarnr had wandered off, it was surprising the priest's patience had held at all.

Fergus begins to calculate, in his own simplistic terms, whether his scythe would cut through the mass of branches ahead of him.  If Fergus can clear the thicket he won't have to wait, and he'll have something to take out his frustration on.

At Chuvak's exclamation, Fergus asks those who have been translating "What is it?".  Without waiting for an answer, Fergus pulls his scythe free - calculations not being his strongest suit, there's one easy way to find out.

While Colwyn cautiously looks about him for danger, Aarnr forges ahead regardless, not so much careless of the noise he's making as inviting something, anything, to have a go.  It's one way of hunting.

"I shall tell her that the boy fought froggin' bravely and fell in bloody conflict, the hell-hated bodies of his guts-gripin' enemies heaped around his ruined corpse," the priest muses. "Undoubtedly these tidings will bring her comfort and joy."

"Yeah, I reckon as 'ow they will." Colwyn replies with a grin and a slow shake of his head, "But listen.  Why doesn't yer be givin' Eilieen a chance ter be tellin the ol' girl the good news?  I means, I don't reckon as 'ow she's 'avin' 'ad much chance ter do somethin' like that.  Them Zadasthans isn't 'avin' much ter do with fightin' an' death' an' the like.  Mostly the folks what they see layin' down as done it by choice, see?  Reckon as she'd be chuffed ter be givin' the boy's mam the good news 'bout 'is 'eroic end."

"Yer'd be doin' 'er a favour.  She' been fightin' bloody good these 'ere last few days, an' maybe she's deservin' the chance."

Around the briar patch, the watchers can still hear the sounds of movement as Ozzy and Chavuk continue deeper into the tangle.  No screams though, in fact no sounds of combat whatsoever.  Just the occasional curses in the kobold's raspy voice.  But soon even they cease.

  "Chus.  Choe-tan-az."

A large owl swoops down from somewhere above the meadow and alights in a nearby tree where it watches the activity around the briar patch for a few moments before starting to preen.

Ozzy looks at the wriggling beetle for a moment, trying hard to stifle the memory of the giant spiders and any expression that would reveal his disgust. " Oh, no thank you." he says politely, " I prefer mine wrapped in bacon and chocolate dipped." Ozzy motions for the kobold to enjoy his found delicacy as he would not be partaking.

The priest turns back to the rogue, nodding his agreement.  "The stru ... the harl ... the want ..." even though Eilieen is a goodly distance hence, Aarnr finds himself unable to give voice to the words that crowd his lips.

But even as he struggles to find some less colourful praises, the thought slips away entirely, banished by the spectre of that large owl.

"That fen-sucked flap-dragon !"  Surely its reappearance is no mere coincidence !  And this is one priest who knows a froggin' omen when he sees one that might possibly be interpreted so.  No hero in the sagas ever just happened upon their destiny, lest they were led there by chance disguised as beast or bird ... or at least read it in their bloody entrails.

Abandoning his crash-and-burn approach to the search of the forest, Aarnr turns back the way he came, picking up speed once he his clear of the undergrowth. "Keep up, thou cockered, common-kissing coxcomb !" he urges Colwyn.

Heaving a sigh, Colwyn calls out, "Aarnr!  We's bein' in a bloody forest.  Likely it's bein' filled with more beasts an' birds than I's ever been seein' afore!  If'n yer lets yerself be chasin' after everythin' that's goin' by, then we's never goin' ter be findin' Tommy!  Side's that there bird'll only be a fair fight fer somethin' smaller than it.  An that's pretty much countin' out anybody as is bigger than what Erista's bein'."

"All the real dangerous buggers is likely bein' in there."  The rogue jerks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the depths of the forest.

Quite frankly, he'd rather get the searching of the woods finished before nightfall, and before his statement regarding dangerous denizens is proven to be true.

It's not so much the knife as it is the snarl that puts the little bard on the defensive. Jamming two fingers in his vest pocket, he pulls out a tuft of wool, quickly twisting his hands together as he speaks the word of evocation, OBSTUPEFACIO!, in an attempt to leave the kobold dazed for his hasty retreat.

casting Daze, Will Save DC13

"Oswald!" Eilieen cries.  "What's happening?"

She can't even wade into the briar to help; it's not simply a matter of ripping her clothing (bad enough!), but she'd quickly get so tangled she wouldn't be of any assistance.  Eilieen knows this from experience, having shoved a somewhat overbearing High Priestess into a briar in order to expediate a rapid retreat from her amourous advances.

Moments later come the sound of Oswald's spellcasting, and Eilieen grips her spear tightly, her stomach knotting.

"He's under attack!" exclaims Corian.  "That's a spell to stun an enemy!"

"Dankak!  Dra delshur-tan."  Clearly the spell has failed to affect Chavuk.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:29, Wed 12 Feb 2014.

"Zadastha's teeth!" Eilieen grinds out, with a quick, apologetic glance skyward.  There is nothing she can do.  Her divine energies have faded and she cannot see the kobold or Oswald - any attempt to strike could lead to her skewering the wrong person.

Furious, she steps back from the thicket and readies her spear.  "This way, Oswald!"

This is my fault; I have sent poor Oswald to his doom!

Arrnr is almost tempted by Colwyn's honeyed words, but the owl seems to be causing some agitiation amongst his friends, so with a "they'll froggin' keep" cast back over his shoulder the big priest continues on.

Erista growls, and then calls out, [Language unknown: "Miprwa ad ek!"], followed after only a heartbeat by, "彩色 浪花!", thrusting her hands into the opening the two went down.

Ozzy keeps moving back from the menacing kobold.
Hearing a command to close his eyes, he pulls out his dagger and does just that.

15:27, Wed 12 Feb 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 25 using 1d20+7 ((18)). Initiative.

Yanked from his reverence of the feather fiend of pointed stick lizard pygmies, Bilfro faces the fracas.

"Had I been so predisposed that I find glee in proclaiming my immaculate self I could have forthrightly presaged you," he waggles a finger above his head, "a Zadasthan kobold is like a reliable underwear, so rare you shall never set thine eyes upon a pair thereof!"

He halts in his tracks, the hand sinking down in front of his face.

"Nay, hold a moment..."

He finds himself in deep cogitation, absently counting the one finger, erratically.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:28, Fri 14 Feb 2014.

Colwyn watches as Aarnr walks off, and briefly considers putting an arrow into the back of the man's head.  All this trudging back and forth across a muddy field is rapidly losing it's allure.  Two things kill the idea before he follows through.  First, Aarnr is an ally on what is likely to turn out to be a dangerous venture.  Second, there's always the chance that he might miss.

Instead he raises a hand and makes on obscene gesture towards the sky, just on the off chance that Bowbe might be watching...

At the thicket, Corian cocks his head to one side and listens for a moment.  Erista darts forward and calls something out, before chanting a brief spell.  In an instant, coloured light seeps out between the tangled branches of the thicket, etching black shadows on the nearby trees...

Having given some consideration to his idea, Corian steps forward, and thrusts the end of his new staff into the mass of brambles.  Then realises that he has no way to even tell if he hit a target.  And if he did have a way, he couldn't be sure of telling which target he hit.

Blissfully unaware that Colwyn is flaunting with death, Aarnr continues to pound his way across the meadow, the eldrich lights adding just a touch more urgency to his step.

As he runs, he provides proof to the phisolophical puzzle as to whether a priest of Bowbe utters foul imprecations even if there's nobody around to hear them.  Though of course, as with most things, you'd have to ask the gods for confirmation ...

[Language unknown: "Inck asdila e!"] Erista calls into the thicket again, and then, ducking her head down, follows Ozzy and Chuvak into the bramblepatch.

After standing around and feeling useless the half-elf hears the cries of his allies and the kobold. Hearing Erista's voice he closes his eyes, just in time to see a light flash before the closed eyelids. Then her call as she then enters the thicket.

Blade in hand, Ozzy stabs at the advancing kobold, feeling a definite resistance in the dark as the blade cuts deep.

22:07, Mon 17 Feb 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 19 using 1d20+2 ((17)). Attack.
22:15, Mon 17 Feb 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 3 using 1d3 ((3)). Damage.

Fairly foaming from frustration, Eilieen steps swiftly about the shrub's circumference, searching for signs of a struggle.  Ozzy is trapped in there, and while Erista has adroitly stepped in to assist, the priestess would feel a lot better if they could all get in on dealing with the creature attacking her friend.

"Arrrgle."  The crouching priest tumbles to the ground beside her, yanked down by the finger she has hooked in the side of his mouth.

She's never been one for silliness like 'fighting fair', and this is life or death.  The quicker Ozzy is safe, the better.  Sadly, there seems to be no way for her to assist.

Next time we don't do this until I've at least had time to regain my strength!
This message was last edited by the player at 18:03, Wed 19 Feb 2014.

A shriek rings out, and a single word - "Doshpak!"  And then there all falls silent.

A silence broken by the sound of Aarnr hurriedly squelching his way across the sodden ground to see what's happening...

Ozzy stands in mute amazement,the dagger still dripping blood as he slowly realizes that he has actually just won a knife fight with a kobold! As Erista enters, he spins around, the fear and surprise making him look a tad more psychotic than normal. " Oh,uh... it's you. he says, kneeling to wipe the blade clean on the corpse. " Its dead. I killed it. Tommy's not in here. Not much in here but a dead kobold, a rusty knife and plenty of scratches." he says casually, hiding his pride. Ozzy then heads back for the light, eager to be free of the thorny gloom and share the battle with his blood brother.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:30, Sun 23 Feb 2014.

Colwyn arrives at the briar patch, just in time to see Ozzy emerge from it.

"'ello Ozzy.  No signs of Tommy then?  Where's what's 'is name bein'?  Yer know, that there kobold.  Buggered off I's supposin'?  Good riddance I's sayin'.  Never was trustin' the creepy little so an' so.  Like as not 'e were plottin' ter murder us... "  Whatever Colwyn was about to say trails away into nothing as he detects something of an "atmosphere" about the area (and not one that could be attributed to Bilfro or Aarnr).

"What's bein' 'appenin'?"

Ozzy doesn't actually get terribly far after popping out from the briar, as Eilieen sweeps him up for a quick hug.  "Oswald!  Alive and well!"  She puts him down in a hurry, reflex from a place where too-long-hugging leads in unfortunate directions and to horrible misunderstands.

"Did the creature lead you in there for the sole purpose of ambushing you?  Foul thing!"  She glares daggers at the growth of thorns.  She shoots a quick look at Colwyn.  "As it turns out, it seems our 'guide' had indeed been planning to kill us."  She draws herself up.  "I will not condone the murder of a prisoner, but this creature brought its death upon itself, to be sure, thanks to Oswald's brilliant defense of his life!"

Aarnr is puffing and panting by the time he arrives on the scene, courtesy of the recent contretemps with the not-a-lich.  If danger had been lurking he'd have been in there with his sword, obviously, but since everything seems well, he's content to stand and recover his breath while Colwyn asks the stupid questions.

Erista makes her own way out behind Oswald, and claps him lightly on the back.  "Ozzy was great!" she says, looking especially up at Aarnr.  "Single combat, face to face, all that."

Coming over to the commotion Aramil is delighted to hear that the little bard is safe and well. "A great victory, regardless of what others should say. Well my friend, once we have time a shall write an ode that desribes your valor, foresight and courage."

Fergus appears from behind the thicket.  He has his axe in one hand, his scythe in the other and enough leaves and twigs caught in his clothing to suggest he's been tangling with the thornbushes or wrestling a dryad and in either case it's not immediately clear who won.

"Well done, Ozzy.  I'm glad you're safe."

Seeing that the group is now united, or at least gathered in the same place, Fergus continues, "We should probably be getting on, it'll be getting dark soon enough and we're no closer to finding Tommy."

" Thanks Fergus." Ozzy says to the big man, leaning past him just far enough to tell Aarnr, " You should have seen it! The foul little thing led me deeper and deeper into it's tangled and thorny nest, well away from the safety of my companions. There, once it had me alone in the dark, it pulled a blade on me! A jagged, rusty blade it was, oxidized from numerous kills without cleaning. He was a wily one, this kobold chieftain, having used this trick many times before I'm sure, all part of a grisly ruse to dupe the unwary..." Ozzy prattles on, already building on the incident with layer upon layer of enhancement, " It had tried to win my trust by feeding me bugs, apparently it is a delicacy among kobolds. Failing this attempt to lull me into complacency, it was left only with the option of attacking me while apart from my friends. I however, expected as much from the beast, and as it turned on me, teeth exposed, mouth slavering with hunger. "Kust udra aljhik-tok!" it snarled in its garbled language. Raising both hands, I in turn blasted it with an explosion of arcane power, trying to blind it long enough to draw my own weapon in defense. "Dankak!  Dra delshur-tan." it growled, shaking off the blistering effects of my casting.

" I heard cries of concern from my friends outside which served as distraction enough for me to lunge and stab, driving the blade deep into the creatures gut!! Blood and bile spilled out across the dead leaves and green shadows of the shrubbery. It managed one last word before dropping to its knees and falling into the cold arms of death... "Doshpak!", ...Doshpak. Doshpak indeed." His story ends with him standing heroic, one foot on a rock, hands on hips, jaw held high as he squints into the setting sun.

"No, that was not it at all," says Bilfro in confusion, now standing near his companions yet still counting his finger.

"Tommy?  I don't know anyone called Tommy.  A friend of yours, is he?" asks he, appearing flummoxed.

"What?  Hugs?  Combat?  I really don't like it, the latter, people usually get hurt in such undertakings."  He comments on what he picks up between his own musings before returning to those, giving Oswald a puzzled look.  "The former can be nice, depending on the individual distributing said hug."

Indeed, he is as sharp as ever, with mind like a steel trap and skills of observation like an eagle.  That fact that the steel trap is long since spring and the eagle dead are merely technical details.

Aarnr enjoys both the lauding of his blood brother and the exiting tale the halfling weaves, and listens with relish (any sort of condiment, really), quiet forgetting about the peril posed by the owl which caused him to rush over in the first place.

"Bowbe must have granted thou the strength of ten !" the priest proclaims. "Thou must take the hell-hated creature's armour and weapons as spoils - mayhap He will favour thee and claim His portion !"

"We could froggin' do with His favour to find the elusive unchinned boy," Aarnr continues, in the wake of Fergus and Bilfro's remarks.  "We've looked froggin' everywhere !"

There is much back-slapping and good cheer among the group, following Ozzy's triumph over his wily foe.  Then Aarnr, ever the conscientious one in the group, reminds everybody that they still need to find Tommy.

Corian looks out from beneath the still-dripping trees, across the meadow.  "It's getting late.  The chances of finding the lad in the dark are slim, at best.  Besides which, it's entirely possible that he might have returned home by some circuitous route while we've been here, and we've simply missed seeing him."

"Aye, there's bein' that." Colwyn agrees glumly, "Least ways we should be lettin' 'is mam know as 'ow we's been lookin' fer 'im.  We ain't seed no body yet, so that's bein' a good thing."

"Or his fobbin' bodies," Aarnr adds enigmatically, and with a tinge of resentment that there weren't more corpses arrayed for his viewing pleasure.  The kobolds were a while ago now.

"Probably the young hedge-pig has run off to lay waste to the civilised world by sword and conquest," the priest concludes, not unreasonably.  "We should inform his mother," he agrees with Colywn.

Generously Aarnr offers his sack of food around, in case anyone else is feeling peckish.

"Oooo, Tommy the boy halfing, yes, yes, of course, of course, Tommy the halfing boy...."

The pig once more drops into the bucket and Bilfro gathers his scatter thoughts, somewhat, and sets out to find the errant boy.

"If I were Tommy, where would I go to get lost?" he says musingly in a musing manner and looks around.  "I would be a normal size, for a halfing boy, and thus my step length would measure about three of my feet, normal size, at a rate of two steps per heartbeat at a somewhat relaxed, pre-panic state, which gives an average speed of..."

Mumbling and calculations ensue as he ambles of in a certain random direction, in which something is bound to be.

"Yeah.  We can be givin' 'is mam what new's we's 'avin', then grab a bite of dinner at the inn.  Then we can be lookin' fer 'im some more in the mornin', after the monk's funeral.  There'll be more light, an' we'll be 'avin' time ter look 'round a bit more." reasons Colwyn, looking about at the faces of his companions.  When he gets to Bilfro, however, he can only look at the back of the man's head, as he is already wandering off.

Not towards the village though.

"Ye gods an' blue arsed monkeys!" growls Colwyn, "I reckons as 'ow 'e's really 'avin' pixies in the attic.  Bilfro!  Where's yer goin' mate?"

Corian scowls and mutters, "Let him go.  I think we'll be better off without him."

"Shut yer pie 'ole.  "Yer jus' sulky on account as 'ow 'e looks more like a real wizard, with the 'at an' the mystic pernouncin's."

"No.  I do, however, believe that he's a thief."

"An what's bein' wrong with thiefs?"  Colwyn's voice is filled with ice, and his hand which, like Bilfro, is also apparently wandering about on its own, casually pauses to admire the scenic views to be found near the hilt of his sword.

"A froggin' madman !" far from any rancour, Aarnr's admittedly loud pronouncement is more in the nature of a divine revelation (and one must say, a deity such as Bowbe doesn't hand those out too often).

"Beloved of the guts-gripin' Gods," the priest informs Corian sagely. "We must follow the knotty-pated jolt-head and protect him from harm lest They turn their backs upon us in need."

The talk of thieves puzzles Aarnr. "A man may take what he can keep," he patiently explains the finer points of philosophy to their patron.  "Come," once more he bids Colwyn follow his lead, "thee and I must swiftly pursue the clay-brained clot-pole ere the unwary beset him."

All this talk of getting back to the inn leaves Eilieen torn.  On the one hand, that means a possible warm bath, and food, and clean sheets.  Maybe.  Or maybe not, which isn't quite so appealing.  On the other, seaching for a lost boy leads to cold, wet, exhaustion, and perhaps failure.  Or perhaps a lost boy.

The latter is far more appealing, on the off chance that they find the boy.

But Bilfro pre-empts her decision, heading off on a tangent to the path back to town.  Eilieen's eyebrows rise.  "I wonder if he HAS found something, or had a reasonable idea," she murmurs.  "Well.  Best follow him and determine if it is so."

That said, she heads off with Aarnr to seek the truth of the matter.  And Tommy.

Better to find Tommy than the truth, of course, for the latter will tend to itself.

Colwyn, with one last glare at Corian, joins the two priests in following Bilfro, just on the off chance that he has some idea what he's up to.

The mage's meandering path, which even circles back on itself, twice, does not bode well for finding Tommy.  And all the time the sun slides down the sky towards the western horizon.

"If'n' 'e's really bein' a thief like what that other mis'rable bugger were sayin' then I ain't thinkin' as 'e'd be a good one.  Too much wanderin' about an' not enough purpose."

Meanwhile, back at the briar patch, Corian turns to the others, "Well, I am going back to Fairhill to speak to the child's mother and have some dinner.  Does anybody care to join me?"

There is a sudden movement and an angry hoot, and the owl leaves the tree, circles twice, before swooping down to land heavily on Bilfro's shoulder, where it looks speculatively at his ear while its talons pierce the fabric of his robe and prick the flesh beneath...
This message was last edited by the player at 13:12, Wed 05 Mar 2014.

Aarnr nods sagely as the portent-owl does it's thing.  The priest doesn't seem to notice any oddities in the path the wizard-fool chooses.  Mayhap Bilfro dances to a different drummer.  Or the entire percussion section.

"The darkness will allow us to fall upon the hedge-pigs unawares," he confides in Eilieen, offering her a little something from his sack, Colwyn too if he's minded, for this stalking about builds up quite an appetite.

"Ow..ow..ow..ow..owl!  H..ai..ai..ai..hi!"

Bilfro greets the owl in a fairly informal and relaxed manner.

It shrieks and he sort of staggers as if he had a pain in the shoulder upon which the proud bird is perching.  Its head turns on the side as it studies his ear some more.

"Ooo..ooo..ooh?  Odysseus Warfield Leonidas.  P..proud name!  It's my pleasure to make your.....no, that sounds too Zadasthan.  Ni..ai..ai..ai..ice to meet you, I'm Gilbro Fr....  Ah, Bilfro Ga..Ga..Gabbins!"

It shrieks again, evidently so loud the sheer force of it causes Bilfro to stagger sideways.  "Y..you will?  H..Heh..Hermonious will be ha..a..a..aaappy to hear that."  It hoots, shrugs and settles down to, by the looks of it, sleep.

"Eee..ee..everyone, this is Odysseus Warfield Leonidas," Bilfro says with a strained smile, "he will stay with us, ah, allow us to accompany him, despite the i..insult."  Bilfro shrugs, with his unoccupied shoulder, as he glances over at Aarnr.  "You-hooo.. may call him Master ooo..oo..or ow.... ..what was that, ah..uh..again?"

The big owl briefly opens an eye and hoots again.

"O..ooh....  Master, or Your Highness..."

"I don't at all think he's a thief, either.  Unless he missed a trap and took a large block on the top of his head," Eilieen muses.  She supposes that's possible; it wouldn't be the first time she's seen a man go silly for an extended period after an encounter with a heavy object.

Cast iron frying pan, as she recalls; still hot, to boot.

Fumbling a little, she takes Aarnr's offer and stuffs some of the hopefully food into her mouth without looking.  Sometimes it's better not to know details.  "I'm hoping just to find the boy," she confides in the other priest, knowing full-well that 'only' finding the boy would be a disappointment for the man.

Then comes the owl.  And the longest coherent speech they've received from Bilfro to date.

Eilieen eyes him with a mixture of dismay, distaste, and hope.  "Wizard?" she murmurs.  "Or druid?"  Shaking her head, she steps forward.  "Can Master Leonidas seek out the boy?" she inquires, going straight for the point.

Colwyn watches the owl warily.  To his mind, those glaring eyes and vagely enraged expression remind him of the sort of magistrate who would hang a child for stealing an apple.

Which leads to another worrying thought... a halfling child could, according to Ozzy and Erista, be about the right size to provide an owl of this particular specimen's magnitude with a nice spot of dinner, and leftovers for supper.

"Er... Bilfro, mate?  Does yer reckon... ? "  His question is interrupted by a sort of strangled cough as the head swivels and a pair of yellow eyes gaze at him balefully.  "I means, does yer think yer new little mate might be knowin' as where Tommy's gone ter?  Yer knows, like 'e might've seed the little feller."

Corian starts to lead the way back towards the village, then pauses to consult with Fergus, just in case his sense of direction is playing him false.  As he starts to walk again, assured of the correct course (and quietly pleased, both that he had guessed right, and that the proper route leads him away from Bilfro), he ponders a question even more important than what they would have for dinner...

"Does anybody have any idea what we should say to the child's mother?  It should be something reassuring and perhaps uplifting and, I suppose, not an outright lie."  In case he turns out to be already dead.

He looks around at Fergus and Aramil, then down at Ozzy and Erista, seeking suggestions.  He even includes Astral, since owls are reputed to be wise.