Fergus accompanies Corian and the others back towards the village.  He's sorely disappointed they haven't found Tommy, but optimistic enough to hope the boy simply didn't want to be found.  They would find out soon enough.  And if not...well, an owlbear might be a welcome distraction.

"I reckon if Tommy hasn't turned up by morning, Aarnr, I'll be in the mood to hit something, that's for sure."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Tue 25 Mar 2014.

"Oh, pfft."  Eilieen does cheerfully pats Aarnr on the shoulder.  Apparently it's that time - Cheer Up Bowbe's Grim Priest - for everyone.  "I'm hoping Fergus won't be in the mood to hit something, but I'm fairly sure you'll get the chance to deal with that beast tomorrow.  Tommy safe or not, the community needs it gone; once we've received our gift¹ of power from the gods, we'll be ready to go out and deal with it!"

¹ Regardless of what people might believe, there's no actual wrestling - of any kind - done to garner spells from Zadastha; her priests leave that to those of Bowbe, and focus on more recreational grappling².

² There are exceptions to the recreational kind as well³.

³ Eilieen being one.

Erista and Ozzy continue their search in the deep shadows of the forested fringe of the meadow, as twilight edges inexorably towards night, and the waking cries of the creatures of the night are joined by calls of empty halfling bellies... 

Meanwhile their companions make their way back to the Fairhill and, with only minimal inquiries of passing villagers, locate the house of Rosie the halfling, close to The Cask and Flagon, Fairhill's cheaper (and less well thought-of) tavern.  The house is of typical halfling design, meaning that none of the party members currently present would be able to fit through the door without bending double.

But even in the gathering darkness they can see that the house is graced by a well-tended garden, filled with flowering plants, and with a vegetable plot off to one side.

Light pours from one of the windows, illuminating a patch of the garden, and showing that Rosie is probably currently home.

Which just leaves the matter of who will speak to the woman...

Eilieen sighs.  "Well, if it t'were done..." she mutters, mentally rolling up her sleeves.  She could ask Fergus, of course, given he likely knows the woman, but no - this sort of thing is right up her alley.  "I shall speak to the mother," she states, marching toward the house.

Then pauses.

"Seriously, did Erista and Oswald stay out there?" she asks, an edge coming into her voice.  One hand rises to clap against her forehead.  "I had thought we had agreed to return....we've lost the Nameless Monk, and now this?"  Faint grinding sounds come from her mouth for a moment.  "When I finish speaking with the mother, I shall ferret out some torches or the like and go back out to find them."

That said, she strides up to the house and knocks on the door.  Quietly.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:33, Thu 27 Mar 2014.

"Well," Erista reasons, as Astral flits off into the sky, "We know he isn't here, so that doesn't seem very productive.  But we should stick to places we can keep hidden if anything that's.. not Tommy, should happen by," she proposes, looking around for anything meeting that criteria.

After a brief pause, the door opens and Rosie stands there.  "Yes?" she asks, appearing surprisingly cheerful for a halfling with a missing child.  She peers past Eilieen's intervening bulk* at the group of strangers standing at the garden gate.  "Oh... " she says, as she recognises some of the faces, "It's the kind people who said they'd look for my Tommy.  Well, there's no need.  He came home just in time to watch me and my mum sitting down for our dinner.  Looked like he's been fighting again, as I thought.  Little rascal.  You'd think that at seven years old he'd have grown out of that nonsense.  I've tried stopping him, but he won't listen to me."


*bulk being, of course, a relative term.  When you're a halfling, any human is bulky in comparison.

Ozzy stops cold in his tracks. He blinks, afraid of raising little more than a whisper. He asks her in their native Halfling language a simple question to address the massive uprising of clammy fear crawling up his spine. All while his hands reach for a javelin from the quiver on his back.

The priest follows happily in Eilieen's wake, ready to report on Tommy's activities in his own inimitiable manner, should the priestess fail to capture the true spirit of the boy's cunning and elusiveness.  Froggin' mammet would be the least of it.

The fact that the boy has already returned in triumph might normally deflate the mecurial barbarian ... save that Zadhastra's finest has already outlined a most tempting plan of action involving a hunt for not one, but two missing pumpions.

"The son is a warrior of the blood," Aarnr happily informs the mother. "When the ruttish rats-bane comes of age, undoubtedly he will wreak bloody havok across the empire.  Thou should be proud of him."

"Come !" he quickly rallies his companions before they can be distracted by hunger and fatigue, "thou giglets !  This quest is done, the next waits upon us !  To the gleepin' meadow !"

Erista presses a finger to her lips, and shrugs in response.  She starts sidling quietly away from the snarling.  Hopefully also a bit towards the town.

"Comes... of age?"  Rosie looks a little confused by Aarnr's comment.  "Just a moment, I'll go and fetch him so he can meet you."

She disappears into the house, and returns a moment later with, presumably, Tommy.

Tommy can best be described as a burly bruiser.  The halfling woman is barely able to hold his massively muscular frame.  His skin bears the marks of countless battles, some of them fresh, including the torn ear which still seeps a little blood, and the scratch on his nose.  His tail thrashes angrily as his mismatched green and blue eyes glare at the visitors angrily from a ginger-furred face.

"Tommy... behave yourself you silly cat.  These are the nice people that have been trying to bring you home to me."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:38, Sat 29 Mar 2014.

[Language unknown: "Son, mi eselic one ticfi e ululev,"] Erista says softly.  Then she reaches out to touch Ozzy's hand, saying rapidly, "魔術 鎧!"

[Language unknown: "K bein erres!"] she encourages.

"BAWAHAAHAAHAAAA!"

Having been silent for some time, Bilfro suddenly finds something highly amusing and let lose a large laughter.

He stops briefly to inhale sharply and points to the woman with a strange smile on his face, then bawls out another laughter.

"CA....AAHAHAHAAHAHAAA..TEEHEEHEHEEHEEHEEE!"

He wanders off towards the inn, gasping and grinning like a cat seen in a looking glass, or possibly through it.

Ozzy cannot help but take another step back as the wolf reveals itself in the stark glow of the moon. The little Halfling panics, throwing whatever is at hand (the javelin) with an accuracy that only reflects the terror rising like bile within his throat. He had always expected to die someday, but he feared being eaten alive the most. The javelin leaves his hand in a poorly placed trajectory. Would his soul survive a journey through the bowels of a wolf?

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
03:26, Sun 30 Mar 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 15 using 1d20+7 ((8)). Initiative.
03:27, Sun 30 Mar 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 9 using 1d20+5 ((4)). Ranged Attack.

---

Aarnr's first thought is to hit something, and Bilfro certainly seems to be the most likely candidate, given the wizard's reaction ... but he is a holy fool and the gods will curse his slayer forever.  Besides, the creature before him does indeed resemble a fiend from one of the lower pits, at least from the descriptions he's heard.

"I see that Tommy," the priest grits his teeth, but continues, "is already the terror of the wide lands and bears the warrior-marks of many victorious battles.  We bid him and thee good night."

Turning away, Aarnr's face twists into a decidedly more feral cast than ever before. "An' we will never froggin' speak of this again !" he instructs his companions, Aramil in particular, lest the minstrel be tempted to set this episode to song.

"Best we fetch the little ones before they drag back some spleeny urchin," he goes on to suggest, on the assumption that the lands about are filled with lost boys.

Eilieen stares at 'Tommy' for a long moment.  Turning, she faces Fergus with flat features.  "Oh, if only we had someone from this town to let us know," she parrots before turning back to the woman.  "Glad am I that your cat has returned."  Somehow, the priestess manages to keep frost out of voice.  "If you'll pardon us, we have...business."

With that, she turns on her heel and follows Aarnr back to the others.  "Let's go," the priestess growls.  "We have friends to find."

Fergus' expression of cheerful triumph is replaced by slack-jawed disbelief as Tommy is revealed to be a 'tom' of a different kind.  His reaction swings sharply between Bilfro's hilarity and Aarnr's frustration, at least until Eilieen turns on him, when it is replaced by blinking incomprehension.

"But.  I never said I was from town.  I only ever came in on market and feast days, an' not always then." Fergus pleads as he trails Aarnr and Eilieen back towards the meadow.

The priestess pauses in her perambulation, pondering the perplexed Fergus.  Then she sighs.  "Apologies, Fergus.  I am merely...put out.  But I should be taking it out on you."  Continuing toward the meadow, she waves back at the house they leave in behind.  "I am pleased, mind, that Tommy is safe and it's a happy ending for all involved, rather than a child eaten by kobolds, for example."

A heavy sigh follows.  "I just wish we had known all of this before our friends were left in the woods at night, possibly with an owlbear for company.  A boy would be a great concern?  A cat?"  One eyebrow cocks.  "I would have no fear for a cat at night; indeed, I would give such a beast good odds against the owlbear."

Aarnr is less concerned with the fate of his friends than the prospect of missing the fight himself.  "Ozzie will pluck the feathers of the ill-bred horn-beast," the priest assures Eilieen, confident in the prowess of his blood-brother.  "Froggin' nut-hook will be skewered before we get there."

Colwyn nods to Rosie, "I's glad Tommy were comin' 'ome ter yer, Missus." he says, with a smile that actually appears to be genuine.  "I's likin' a good 'appy endin', there's few enough of the buggers in this 'ere life."

He considers for a moment, "'lessin' yer's rich enough ter buy one."

The rogue reaches out to scratch the cat's head, but Rosie stops him, "I wouldn't do that dearie... there's a reason the local kids call him Mister Bitey."

Pulling his hand back, while he still has all of it, Colwyn nods happily, "Good evenin' ter yer, Missus."

Then he turns to follow Aarnr and Eilieen with a thoughtful smile, "I's likin' cats.  The good ones is stealthy an' quick an' clever an' brave.  An' the bad ones at least makes fer good eatin'."

Back ter save Ozzy an' Erista he muses, 'sumin' they wants savin'.

Back in the meadow, Ozzy throws his javelin at the wolf, which skips aside at the last instant, before starting to advance again.  Erista reaches out a hand to touch her companion, and there is a pulse of faint light.  Then she gently urges him forward to tackle the beast.

The wolf leaps at the bard, jaws agape... and misses completely as Ozzy moves to one side, careful to keep Erista behind him, while she (just as carefully) stays there.

OOC: Go get it Ozzy.

Ozzy, Ozzy, he's our man!  If he can't beat it... er... there's going to be two dead halflings in the meadow!

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    15
Erista             14
Wolf               14 (AC=14)

Characters' Apparent Health
Erista:           Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

This message was last edited by the player at 16:34, Wed 02 Apr 2014.

Regarding Tommy with some disgust, Corian seems less enthusiastic than others, both about having wasted time searching for a cat which wasn't actually lost, and about trudging back to the sodden meadow to let Erista and Ozzy know that they can stop looking for Tommy.

As others depart to find the two halflings (who had, after all, chosen to remain at the meadow of their own free will, entirely uncoerced by anybody) Corian raises an entirely valid point.  To whit, "I really don't think it would be a good idea for me to come along at this stage.  I am too weary to cast further spells today, and without magic I would be virtually useless should another owlbear be unfortunate enough to cross our path.  At most I would just give the rest of you somebody else to protect."

A quick smile, and a look around to see how the group are following his line of reasoning, "So... it might be a better idea for me to go along to the... ah, yes, The Drunken Cockatrice and secure accommodation for all of us, so we have somewhere comfortable to rest this evening.  This will also give me a chance to learn a little more about the village and its inhabitants."
This message was last updated by the player at 14:02, Sun 06 Apr 2014.

Ozzy quickly pulls another javelin from the quiver on his back, his whimper of fear finally finding words and a song in an attempt to bolster his own courage.

Say say my playmate
 wont you lay hands on me
 mirror my malady
 transfer my tragedy

 Got a curse I cannot lift
 shines when the sunset shifts
 when the moon is round and full
 gotta bust that box gotta gut that fish..."

As he reaches the first chorus, the little Halfling hurls the javelin with remarkable accuracy, the javelin actually penetrating the thick fur of the wolf as it sinks into the flesh underneath...

My mind has changed
 my body's frame but god I like it
 my hearts aflame
 my body's strained but god I like it...

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Singing to INSPIRE COURAGE = +1 rolls.
13:51, Fri 04 Apr 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 26 using 1d20+6 ((20)). Ranged Attack (+1 couraged).
13:54, Fri 04 Apr 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 2 using 1d4 ((2)). Damage.

---

"I'm hopin' they're froggin' savin' something for us !"  Aarnr loudly confides in Colwyn.  The priest barely notices Corian's excuses for his taking-of-leave, having learned to tune out much of what the puttock says by now, but is sure to remind the folly-fallen fop, "Thou be sure to arrange a victory feast for our return !"

Taking a few careful steps backwards, Erista slips a rock into her sling and spins it around, sending it whipping past Ozzy to thump against the wolf's side moments after his javelin.

It's hard to say which surprises the wolf more, Ozzy's song, or the sudden appearance of  of a javelin embedded in the side of it's neck.  Whatever the cause, the beasts slavering jaws snap at the air inches from the halfling's chest, instead of biting through his flesh and bone.

And a moment later it gets another surprise, as a stone smacks it, hard, on the snout.  It gives a muffled yelp, followed by a couple of sneezes, then it turns away.  Too quickly.  The javelin snags on a bush and is pulled from the animal's neck, eliciting another howl of pain as it runs back into the woods.

Behind it, a trail of blood gleams faintly in the moonlight.


Colwyn nods happily at Aarnr's instructions, then adds, "An' we's wantin' the good ale, mind yer.  An' the bestest food they's 'avin'.  We's bloody 'eroes, when all's bein' said an' done.  Clean beds as well, with no fleas.  Or, leastways, if the beds's 'avin' fleas, they's best bein' clean fleas."

"Nothin's too good fer 'eroes, like what we's bein'."

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls...

"Oh, I completely understand, Colwyn.  I adore cats.  Lovely, hedonistic, independant things."  She makes a face.  "But not as dinner.  And not right now."  Eilieen sighs, pausing to study Corian.  "That does indeed seem wise, Master Corian.  I shall let you know when we return.  Hopefully for a decent dinner, as requested."

Not that he's likely to stay up worrying, but Eilieen figures if she's going to be awake half the night searching out their lost halflings, the entire group will suffer as well.

"Let's be off, then!"  She hesitates a touch at the wolf's howl; not because it engenders fear (it's a wolf, not an owlbear), but because it touches a memory.  "Ah, doggie," the priestess mutters.  "We could use your assistance now."