Time passes, and with the purchase of a few supplies for the road, the group are on their way again by mid-morning, following the road from Fairhill and back to its junction with the Tradeway.  The morning mist has burned away, leaving a warm day, with patches of cloud moving lazily across a sky which is mostly clear.

As they reach the Tradeway, they spot a number of horses and wagons moving along it, heading east, towards Bard's Gate.  At closer range, these prove to be a merchant caravan - three heavily laden wagons and their drivers, and ten mounted guards in gleaming mail.  Two more guards, bearing signs of a recent fight, are seated on two of the wagons, alongside the drivers, and two riding horses, perhaps belonging to the injured men, are hitched to the rear of the lead wagon.  Another horseman, this one clad in fine, expensive-looking clothes, and carrying a longsword and small shield, rides alongside the wagons.

As he spots the approaching group, he reins in his mount, and calls out, "Fair day, to you travellers!  If you're bound for Reme, beware.  We fought off bandits on the road a couple of hours ago.  Some were injured, and we slew one, but the rest of the blackguards might be lurking, still, in the woods."

"If Bard's Gate is your goal, then you are welcome to travel with us for as long as you will."
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:05, Wed 11 June 2014.

"If we froggin' hurry, we could probably catch the puttocks !"  Aarnr suggests to his companions, though quietly-ish as he doesn't trust these guardsmen not to steal his idea.

Colwyn waits for a moment, expecting Corian to jump in and point out that that would mean their travelling in the wrong direction, just for the chance to, maybe, fight a few bandits, and would probably result in another night in Fairhill, and more healing.

Then he remembers that Corian has chickened out, and is no longer with the party.  He immediately feels much better.

"I says we leaves the bandits an' 'eads fer the Gate.  The sooner we's gettin' ter where we's goin', the sooner we'll be 'avin' a bit more scratch, an' we can sit roun' drinkin' ale."

"I shall agree with Colwyn," Eilieen primly notes.  "We shall find no shortage of enemies on our path to Rappan Athuk, and I suspect that the frequency of said encounters will increase the closer we come.  If we turn back now, we might never arrive.  The source of this evil is Rappan Athuk - human bandits, goblins, kobolds, all exist because of the lawlessness in the land."

She shakes her head.  "The bandits will likely be long gone, as they have lost men and suffered injuries.  Only a few hours past?  They will have fled to nurse their wounds.  We could search for days and never find them."

That 'frequency' is a bit of a puzzler, but Eilieen paints a rosy picture of more and better bandits, accompanied by goblins and kobolds, so the priest is pleased to take her advice and Rappan Atthuk by way of Orgothan's Steading Bard's Gate it is !

Though truth be told, if she'd instead promised days of untold deprivation, he'd have been equally keen.  Just never tell him it's going to be quiet and uneventful.

Aarnr nods encouragingly, looking to Fergus to see if it's his turn to drive the cart yet.

In the absence of an employer, the group opts for a more democratic method of making decisions.  Thus they find themselves, after a brief discussion, tagging onto the rear of the caravan.

There is one immediate advantage - the ones who can't fit into the cart are able to find places on the wagons.  For now, at least, nobody has to walk.

East of Fairhill, the group soon discover, the road winds across more rugged terrain, twisting this way and that to avoid the steeper forest-clad hills, and to the north the Stoneheart Mountains seem to advance closer and closer, clearly visible through gaps in the trees.

Occasional animal cries reach their ears, but the beasts always seem some way off, doubtless avoiding the road, at least during the daytime.

After a brief pause for a bite to eat around noon, they continue onward.

Shortly after they pass a group travelling the other way, on foot - a priest of Sefagreth, god of trade, and several pilgrims and acolytes with him.  They move off the road as the wagons pass, and the caravan leader, a cloth merchant named Honil, stops to drop a few coins into the offerings box, and to ask for a blessing to help his caravan on its way...

The blessing doesn't seem to work very well.  Three miles further down the road, the lead wagon rolls over a deep rut in the road, and a peg holding one wheel in place breaks, stopping the wagon where it stands...

Aarnr keeps a keen lookout, head turning hopefully every time the wild beasts announce their presence, though his interest flags as none of them dare venture near and he slumps back in his seat besides Fergus, dozing (and thereby adding to the cacaphony of scary noises) and entirely missing the chance meeting with Sefagreth's priest.

But as the lead cart suffers its mishap, Aarnr rouses, snorting in pleasurable anticipation as he sees what's happening. "We didn't fall for the priblin' mammets' tricks last time," he reminds Fergus with a chuckle. "Looks like we're gettin' ourselves another froggin' cart !"  The priest leisurely takes up his new bow, getting ready for when the bandits leap out and start lying.

Colwyn hops down from the second wagon, where he has been dozing since eating a couple of apples, washed down with a little water.  He walks around to look at the lead wagon, with its wheel laying forlornly in the dirt.

"Yer's needin' ter fix that." he pronounces, sagely, "Get some of them there strong boys ter be liftin' the wagon, an a couple more ter be slippin' the wheel back where it's supposed ter be."

Honil nods, "I do believe you're right, old chap."

"Then yer's needin' a bit of wood ter be fixin' it there fer a bit."

"Yes, I know."

"Course it's like as not bein' better with a proper peg ter be 'oldin' it."

"Yes, I know.  I'm certainly lucky to have come across an expert, and at such an opportune moment."  Honil's increasingly sarcastic tone makes little impression on Colwyn, who simply smiles at him.

Erista, in the back of the cart, looks down the line to see what the problem is.  "Eilieen?" she asks.  "Does that thing you did to fix your dress work on wheels, too?"

"Why, yes!" Eilieen sits up straight, grinning.  She's useful again!  "Absolutely!  A fine idea, Erista, a fine idea!  Hold on, gentlemen - there's no need to go haring off into the forest in search of wood to carve!"

Hopping off the wagon (did anyone seriously think she'd walk if she could ride?), the priestess hurries over to where the broken peg lies.  Casting about, she finds the broken pieces.  After a few confused moments where Eilieen struggles to decide how they go together, she fits the broken ends - properly - and runs her fingers over the thin gap between them.

"As with a worn and weary heart," the priestess intones, "may Zadathsa's blessing bring new life to this peg, faithful and true, and heal its fractured whole."

OOC - Casting Mending, which fixes broken wooden objects good as new!  ^_^

Fergus climbs down from the cart and moves up close to Aarnr, looking at the broken wagon.  "Aarnr, I think this might be real.  I don't think it's a trap.  Look."  He nods towards where Eilieen is praying to Zadastha for the peg to be mended.  "Looks like it's really broke."

Eilieen's goddess responds, and the splintered wood knots back together, good as new...

The guards, meanwhile, move in and start struggling to lift the corner of the wagon.  Honil and their injured comrades begin wrestling the wheel onto the axle, without much success.

Colwyn stands nearby, providing useful instructions, none of which seem to help.  A great many of them are, in point of fact, at least somewhat contradictory.  Colwyn is a rogue, not a wainwright.  His expertise in wagon repairs seems limited to irritating the people who are actually performing them.

"Yer knows as if we was 'avin' a mighty wizard, then 'e could be liftin' that bugger up an poppin't the wheel on with jus' a wave of 'is bleedin' 'and."

Honil favours him with a scowl, to which the thief is entirely oblivious.

Having spent the time chasing down and capturing a dragonfly, Ozzy sighs with boredom at the delay. Deciding he should at least do something to help, he goes to stand right in front of the hub, figuring his height allowed the perfect perspective on the whole mounting situation. " Up a little more, ...a little more. Now to the left, no, ...your other left. Now down, over to the left again..." he says helpfully, taking on a supervisory role in hope of some credit in the repairs.

"Gods above," Eilieen mutters.  She looks down at her hands dispiritedly, and vows to purchase a pair of gloves.  "Shift over, gentlemen," the priestess commands, moving to assist with holding up the wagon.

She's not Fergus, but she's not weak, either.  Numerous Zadasthan Priests (and a few Priestesses) can attest to this fact.  Often-times by pointing out scars.

Aarnr is disappointed at the non-appearance of bandits, but ever keen to demonstrate his manliness, so when Fergus gives voice to the half-suspected truth and Colwyn points out the notable lack of progress, the priest is out of the driving seat (albeit the side designated for 'driver's assistant') and leaving his bow to mark his place, rushes down to flex his muscles (and hopefully make a few guards feel inadequate in the process), grinning as he sees the priestess has had the same idea.

Fergus shakes his head, grinning at Aarnr's palpable disappointment, and follows the priest over to the the wagon, where he lends his own strength to the effort to lift the corner of it high high enough to push the wheel back onto the end of the axle.  "All together.  Lift now!"

Between them, the guards, Fergus, Aarnr and Eilieen manage to shift the heavily laden dray, raising the axle just far enough.  Honil, assisted by the injured guards, pushes the wheel onto the axle, and gives it a hard kick to seat it home, at which point he places the mended peg in place.  Colwyn looks about for a stone, which is used to hammer the peg home.

"Good as new, or near enough." the merchant says, beaming, "Fortunate it is that I met you, my friends."

Preparations are made to move on, but before the caravan can get under way again, a howling sounds from somewhere out in the forest to the north, and is answered shortly after, from the south.

"Not too close, though too close for comfort." Honil declares, looking nervous.

"Sounds like Owlbears," Aarnr agrees sagely.  "We're probably froggin' scaring them."  He proudly shows Honil his feather-trophy.

Colwyn turns away from the wagon, pleased that his sage advice has clearly aided the repair.  The not-so-distant howling gives him pause, especially when Aarnr gives his assessment of the source.

"Is a owlbear soundin' like that then?  They's soundin' a lot like dogs, or wolfs."

The rogue pulls his short bow from his quiver and quickly strings it, in preparation for his first sight of a charging owlbear.  He reaches for an arrow, and stops. laughing.

"'ere.  Is them there owlbears bein' owls what's bein' as big as a bear, or bears what's bein' as tiny as Erista's owl?  Only I reckons as 'ow I could be 'andlin' the second one in a scrap, see."

"Let's just move along," Eilieen counsels with some trepidation.  "I've yet to get through a day where I haven't had to throw all of my divine power into healing."  A shrug follows.  "Not a poor use of it, but honestly, one of these days there simply won't be enough tea in the pot, and that will be trouble."

The Zadasthan stretches her back, wincing, and rolls her wrists.  Helping lift that cart hadn't been an easy task.  "I think I've earned my seat now," she murmurs, climbing back aboard 'her' wagon.

"What, what?  Why have we stopped?  Why all that cacophony?  Can't you keep it down a bit?  Are we there?"

Bilfro peeks out from the back of a wagon, having managed to get aboard the back of one and, by the looks of it, fallen asleep as he is now boasting a crumpled hat and a beard askew.

"I say, is there tea to be had?"  He looks at Eilieen with anticipation, a look that turns incredulous as she stretches and rolls her wrist.  He hopes her mention of tea was not an euphemism for some peculiar Zadasthan......habitude.

Honil looks at Aarnr's owlbear trophy in what could best be described as "polite awe".  "That's from an owlbear?  Astounding."  He sniffs, and then adds, "And such a distinctive aroma it has."

He turns towards his mount, "I do believe we have spent enough time here.  Let us away, lest something else delay us."

He climbs into the saddle with practised ease, and the guards return to their own horses (or seats, in the case of the injured men).

Fergus returns to the cart and positions himself on the driver's bench.  Then, after a moment's thought, he slides across to the other side, and waits for Aarnr to take the reins.  After all, what better time for Aarnr to learn the fine art of driving than now, when there are other wagons to provide transport, should the cart be destroyed.

Colwyn clambers into the rear of the same wagon as Bilfro, and sprawls across the cargo, making himself comfortable.  "We's bein' there in a bit, mate." he tells the crazed mage, "'ere, look!  It's a cloud as is lookin' like a chicken.  I could jus' murder a couple of eggs now.  My belly's thinkin' as my throat's been slitted."  He draws his thumb across his throat to demonstrate his meaning.

Aarnr eagerly takes up the reins from Fergus, and with a "thou'd better hang on !" to Eileen and any other brave souls who are sharing the back of the cart, bellows at the oxen to move off.

"Get a froggin' move on, thou beef-witted bum-baileys, else I'll gut thee !"

With the wagon successfully repaired, and Aarnr momentarily distracted from his campaign to annihilate the world's entire population of owlbears, the caravan moves on again.

Through the afternoon they follow the trade way, the sun at their backs.

Aarnr finds the cart easy enough to drive - the oxen are placid by nature, and seem content to keep plodding along, no matter what names the burly priest calls them.  What they lack in speed, they apparently make up for in reliability.  Fergus keeps his friend supplied with a steady stream of hints and tips, and suggestions about how to deal with potential problems.

Their companions, meanwhile, take advantage of the caravan.  They spend their time reading holy texts, or studying books on thaumaturgy.  Ozzy practices some of the songs he knows, mindful of Eilieen's presence when choosing which ones to play.  Bilfro lays sprawled across several bales of cloth, legs akimbo, while his newly acquired familiar perches on the side of the wagon, blinking owlishly, and everybody else attempts to avoid an inadvertent glimpse of whatever is hidden beneath the gangling wizard's robe.

Colwyn uses his knife to whittle a piece of wood... a shape gradually becomes recognisable (at least to him).  Astral stays close to Erista, not altogether sure of Odysseus Warfield Leonidas' intentions towards him.  Erista and Eilieen divide their time productively, between reading, dozing, and gazing at their surroundings.

The woodland is pleasant in the afternoon sun.  Filled with the sound of birds, bees and crickets... well, it is once the howling has faded into the distance behind them.  The journey continues, and occasionally they pass other travellers, heading towards Fairhill.  All report having encountered no trouble on the road today, and are grateful for Honil's warning of lurking bandits on the road to the west.

Towards sunset Honil calls for a halt and instructs his drivers to move the wagons off the road, parking them beneath the trees there.  "This seems like a good place to rest for the night."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 20:58, Sun 22 June 2014.

Colwyn hops down to the ground and looks around.  There seems to be a certain amount of activity, Fergus is unhitching the oxen, and Honil's drivers are doing the same for the horses.  But Colwyn doesn't know much about that sort of thing.

So he stretches, and scratches, and yawns a little.  Then he makes his way across to Erista and holds out his hand, flat and palm upwards, to reveal a tiny wooden owl, not much bigger than the last joint of his thumb, "I were sittin' 'roun' with nought ter be doin', so's I maked yer somethin'.  It's bein' yer little mate, there."  A nod towards Astral. 

"I's only good at owls - them's easy ter be makin' - an' that there bugger of Bilfro's  is bein' too bloody scary."

Some of the guards, meanwhile, have begun setting up camp.

Trees are dangerous things, liable to fall upon you without warning ... but Aarnr will not be the one to voice such misgivings.  As apprentice wagon-driver and feeling rather proud of himself (if thinking of getting some racing oxen as soon as funds permit), he dutifully assists Fergus with the care and feeding of the beasts, even going so far as to gift them with a few gracious insults for their efforts this day.

Having not had cause to curse Bowbe this day (other than in the most general terms) the priest elects to demand his god fill the water buckets with much swearing, pointed remarks and fist shaking at the heavens, lest the full-gorged gumpion think he needs not attend his follower.

Wincing at Aarnr's bombastic demands of his god, Eilieen hops off the wagon.  For a brief moment she considers lazing about, not bothering to assist with any camp preparations - after all, her work for the day has been saving the train from many hours lost in the creation of a new wagon-peg - but ultimately discards that idea.

Better to help.

Lovely sunset, she decides, staring out at the vista before moving to examine Colwyn's gift to Erista.  "Ooo, very nice," the priestess notes before choosing to help some of the guards set up camp.

Erista smiles, taking the tiny owl from Colwyn between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up to look at it from all sides.  Of course, `the last joint of his thumb' is comfortably palm-sized for her.  "It's beautiful," she says.  "Thank you!"  Letting Astral perch on her other wrist for a moment, she holds it up for the owl to see.  "Look! It's you!"

Astral blinks once, but after ascertaining that it is not a cricket of any sort, seems less impressed.

Honil sniffs the air, and tilts his head, as if listening for something.  All that is to be heard is the sound of birds returning to their roosts.  "Well, I'm certainly glad that we got away  from those blasted howls.  I don't hear them any more."

"Don't mean they aren't sneaking up on us." replies one of the drivers, cheerfully, as he starts making preparations to cook dinner.

Aarnr, by dint of insulting Bowbe's physical abilities, and his mother, manages to get a couple of buckets of fresh water, in addition to the kegs stored on one of the wagons, which is less fresh.

Before long, the smell of food cooking starts to fill the air.  Mashed turnip and beef stew for the caravan personnel.  As for everybody else...

"Would you like to share our dinner, or would you rather provide your own?" Honil asks...

"Froggin ... yes ... please," Aarnr eventually gets his tongue around the most difficult of words that the slave-tutor tried to teach him.  The impetus of beef stew provided sufficient grease to the wheels of language.

Given his recent chores, the irony of dinner shouldn't escape him, but it does.

"Aye, he agrees with the cheerful driver with relish and a dash of salt, "thou has the right of it.  Hell-hated hedge-pigs will still their gleepin' cries so as not to spook their prey."

"When it's quiet ... that's when ye should be most fobbin' worried !"  He pats his sword reassuringly.

The cuisine, while not the haute-est, is acceptable.  The driver, Jack, was apparently hired for his culinary expertise as much as his ability to handle a wagon and a team of horses.

He is also, as it happens, quite the raconteur.  Happy to recount tales of his youth, when he had taken to the life of an adventurer, like a duck to water.  Stories of fighting ogres and trolls up in Acregor, and even a dragon, worshipped as a god on the Isle of the Blessed Serpent.

For the latter, he rolls up his sleeve to show scars left by the acid the creature had vomited forth in the heat of battle.

"Wasn't that what caused me to retire though.  Was this bum leg what I got."  He slaps his right knee.  "Meant I couldn't move about as fast in a scrap, nor walk more than a few dozen steps - less if the weather's cold, or if it rains.  Not the best thing for the 'venturer's life."

Colwyn sits, quietly eating his turnip and beef, savouring the flavour.  "This 'ere's bein' bloody good grub, Jack.  Sticks ter yer ribs, like."  Jack's tales of his youthful adventures keep the rogue entertained while he eats.

"A bleedin' dragon?  I's 'opin' as I's never meetin' one of them there things.  I's bein' wantin' ter avoid all that there burnin' an' snappin' of teeth, an all that there rippin' with the claws.  It's not bein' fer me."

Then he chuckles.  "I's wagerin' as Aarnr'd be up fer it, mind.  So maybe as 'e can be dealin' with that, while I's lookin' round fer any loot the beast might be 'avin' in its den."

Aarnr is very impressed with Jack's tales of heroism and slaughter of exotic species and listens most respectfully admiring the scars jealously.

"Aye," the priest agrees most heartily with Colwyn's offer. "Once we have pillaged Rappan Athuk, we shall froggin' travel to the Isle of the Blessed Serpent, thee and I, thou ruttish rogue, along with any of our comrades who survive, and we shall slay the fiesty lizard and call its hoard our own !"

"Goodness!"  Eilieen peers at Jack's scars with eyes that would make Astral jealous.  "That's...horrible."  She can't even imagine the idea of having such a wound on her arm, much less (worst case!) her face.  "I...you are a brave man for having faced such a beast, a brave man indeed."

Leaning back, she savours the stew.  "It seems to have done naught to hinder your skill with victuals...but what of your skills as a seeker of troubles?  I understand you cannot run with ease, but I'm sure you provide a measure of safety for this wagon train."  Her eyebrows rise.  "What is it that you did, before?  As a, ah, ''venturer'?"

As Bilfro calmly decides eating feels good, his insistently juddering knees lingers; making nearly overt poppycock, quivering rumbustiously, still trembling under vexing worries.

Xenophobia yielded zero yabbering, xiphoid words vacated. Unnerving to such reckless quests partake; obtuse, nay, madness.  Likely killed jarringly, indeed.  Horrifically gruesome, flee euphonious.

"Dragon?" casually Bilfro asks.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:43, Thu 03 July 2014.

Odysseus gives a hoot.

Jack seems happy to answer questions from his new friends.

"Ah, see... the beasts not there no more.  Doing it in was the only way we could walk out of there.  Put up a fierce fight, and three good men died, as well as Bronwyn, a lass from up your way I'd reckon," with a nod to Aarnr, "Worth any four men in a scrap she were."

The last four of us brung out what we could of its loot.  My share lasted about a year because I didn't have the brain to keep any of it aside for later.  And I did the stupidest thing ever - I bought a horse, even though I didn't know a thing about them, and that were the bugger what don my leg in."

He gives Eilieen a nod of thanks for her comments on his cooking.  "I were a tracker and scout, and a good man with a longsword, at least until the damned horse kicked my knee sideways and made it so I can't scout further an I can spit.  Before that I was on my dad's farm, like that young fella there."


Fergus looks up from his second plate of stew, sure that he's being talked about...

Aarnr is not at all perturbed by the loss of his dragon.  "We shall have to go looking for one of our own," he commiserates with Colwyn who is undoubtedly disappointed by Jack's news.  "We shall scour the length and breadth of the lands until we find a beast, though all Orcus' putrid horde does bar our froggin' way !  Perhaps we may slay it, perhaps it will slay us.  My people do not fear death, so long as our deeds be remembered as thou remember Bronwyn."

The priest has long thought there to be something inimical about horses, and nods sympathetically as the driver confirms his suspicions.

"Yeah!  Yer can be 'avin' any dragons we's meetin', an I's goin' ter be findin' any loot they's 'avin' stashed away." Colwyn says with a broad grin.  Then, as an afterthought, "So's Bowbe can be gettin' a good cut of it."

"An' on account of 'ow yer me good friend, I's goin' ter let yer claim my share of the glory fer the kill as well.  An' yer'll be deservin' it too."

Jack starts to stand up to help himself to some more stew, and an arrow thumps into the tree stump he had been leaning against just a moment before.  The driver drops flat and rolls away from the fire...

From the gloom beneath the dusk-shrouded trees come a series of whoops, and an angry yell, [Language unknown: "Paal ofar, ee enunivus erli er olcklass rooun!"], followed by the sound of something (or possibly several somethings) crashing heavily through the undergrowth.

"Orcs!" Colwyn gasps, as he scrambles towards where his weapons are propped against the wheel of a wagon...

OOC: Initiative rolls and stuff, please.  And time to remember where you left your weapons.

About to answer, Eilieen finds herself rudely interrupted by a flying arrow.  With a small shriek, she ducks instinctively, then shoves herself to her feet and bolts for 'her' wagon.

"But we were eating!" she yells, furious, before realizing the orcs are probably considering much of the same, with a side order of torture and torment on top of it.

Meal entertainment, as it were.

Fired to a fury, Zadastha's priestess fumbles for her weapon, focusing on delivering her companions from their foes' fearsome clutches.

OOC - Initiative of 13.  I think that's a record for me, with no targets in sight.  :)  Eilieen will take her round to get back to the wagon and grab her spear.

I remembered!  Extra experience points?

Fergus drops his plate and spoon, spilling the last of his dinner on the ground, as he scrambles to his feet.  He looks about, desperately trying to recall which of the wagons his axe might be lying in.  Then his face splits into a broad grin as he remembers, and starts towards it...

Init=5

Aarnr Foultongue msg#30:

"When it's quiet ... that's when ye should be most fobbin' worried !"  He pats his sword reassuringly.

OOC: <coughs> seems Aarnr actually has his weapon with him !  No need at all for any prevarication along the lines of 'using his great sword to eat with' ! <grrrins>

The priest is engrossed in both meal and conversation and slow to react when the arrows start flying, managing another mouthful of stew before the persistent cries of Orcs ! penetrate his reverie.

Ah, dessert !  Rising to his feet, careless of the danger, Aarnr pulls his blade from its sheathe, turning towards the noise in the undergrowth, eyes lighting up with delight.  "HEDGE-PIGS !" the priest proclaims, hurrying forward to greet them properly.

The story of the dragon has Erista quite mesmerized.  She is in fact so caught up in imagining herself fighting one - someday - that when the crashing noises start, Colwyn's cry of, "Orcs!" comes at the same time Erista calls out, "Dragon!"

Blushing slightly, she goes quiet, afterwards, though, sliding away from the fire into the shadows of the wagons.  Whether because she's embarrassed about calling out the wrong danger, or just as a natural response to being attacked by Orcs, she finds herself a quiet spot where she's harder to see.

Seeing others start running for their weapons, she shrugs a little and tugs her sling out from her belt.  One advantage to the sling, she reflects; being really just a strip of leather, there's hardly any reason to put it down, even at home.

OOC: Initiative 24!  And with that, I feel no shame at all in assuming her weapon is easily at hand.

After stuffing himself on hard tack, Ozzy had been dozing on the back of the wagon so he only had subconsciously had heard the tale of dragons. This, combined with the mixed shouts of Colwyn and Erista had him sitting up abruptly, small hands scrambling for the sling at his belt and the pouch of bullets as he looks franticly around for an Orc riding a dragon. " MM-wha? ...DragOrc?!" Or worse, an Orc wearing a womans pretty dress.

19:23, Tue 08 July 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 23 using 1d20+7 ((16)).

Bilfro bawls because bloody blundering bandits bothers beef banquet.

"Battles begs blood, blood being barely bountiful, best be bright," Bilfro bleats bibulous, before bravely bolting backwards behind blanket.


OOC:  Bilfro Gabbins rolled 21* using 1d20+3. Initwhat what?

_{* Bloody Blackjack, babe!}

For an instant, all is frozen in time, and then time reasserts its tyrannical grip on the world...

Erista is fast, almost seeming to vanish into thin air as she moves quickly away from the fire and under one of the wagons, where she readies her sling and watches, warily, in the general direction that the arrow seemed to come from.

Above her, and reacting almost as quickly, Ozzy shakes himself fully awake and sits up in the back of the wagon, scanning the darkening woods for any sign of enemies that he could, potentially, greet with a sling bullet.

Colwyn skids to a halt and bangs into the side of the same wagon, snatches up his sword, and yanks it clear of the scabbard.  "Orcs!" he repeats, just in case anybody has missed his earlier warning.  The caravan leader, Honil, meanwhile draws his own blade and instructs his men, "Easy chaps!  Drivers find cover!  Guards stand ready to fight!"

Bilfro, deciding that hidingdiscretion is the better part of valour runs to clamber into another wagon, where he takes cover among the bales of cloth, whence he intends to perform a detailed strategic analysis of the battlefield.  As he pulls his blanket over himself, Odysseus Warfield Leonidas, meanwhile, observes the activity from a nearby tree with thinly disguised owlish contempt.

Disappointed at the orcs' display of disgraceful manners in interrupting her dinner, Eilieen also, in between berating the orcs' lack of etiquette, takes a few moments to grab her weapons from where they lay.  It seems that nothing spurs her to swift action quite like rudeness.

The first orc charges out into the open, just as Aarnr bellows an enraged challenge and springs towards the forest.  The result is, perhaps, wholly predictable - lots of blood and death, and none of it Aarnr's.

Within moments, the burly savage finds himself facing several more orks as they step out of the gloaming...

Fergus reaches the cart to retrieve his axe, then thinks again, and picks up Valkyria instead.  As he draws the weapon, the edges of the blade burn with a bluish light, and the nearest orcs howl.  One of them, bolder than the others, rushes forward and thrusts a spear at him, opening a deep gash across his left arm,  Valkyria responds, but the orc, leering, parries the blow...

Many of the caravan guards hurry to collect their weapons, while the few who still carry them move to join the battle...

OOC: Plenty of orcs left to go around.  :)

Combatant                Init
Erista                    24
Oswald Osbourne           23
Colwyn Akbar              21
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Honil                     21
Orcs                      16 (AC=14)
Eilieen                   13
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Fergus Andarson            5
Caravan Guards             4

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

"BAWDY BAT-FOWLING BOAR-PIGS !" Aarnr's delight is almost contagious as he skewers one of the orcs and turns to face the second wave, meeting the orcs' spears with a mighty swing of his great sword, grunting boldly.

Orcs.  Foul creatures what prey upon the innocent.  Eilieen spins from the wagon, dress flaring simultaneously with the righteous anger in her narrowed eyes.  Aarnr is engaged, similarly the wounded Fergus.  The enemy is many, and too far for her at this moment, but...

Her free hand seeks the Zadasthan symbol hanging from her neck, and her voice rises above the clangor of the battle, echoing as she chants. "Love's Guardian, stand in defense of those who strive to reach their homes!"

Light flares about her oustretched hand, coalescing into a burning golden form...

OOC - Don't know if I'll get hit before this happens, but one can always hope!  Casting Summon Monster I, Celestial Dog.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:11, Wed 09 July 2014.

Erista bides her time.  From her perspective, there is plenty of room under the wagon to spin her sling, and she watches the charging Orks with a surprisingly clinical eye while she lines up her shot.

A small rock whips out and up, catching one of the attackers squarely on the jaw.

Evasive enchanter accumulates all insight acquired about enemies, evaluating achievable objectives.  Always aware, ever observant, esteemed enchanter evades eyeballing aptly.  Another unfriendly encounter, ugh.  Elbows in and ears out, eternally anxious over outrageous affray.

"Uh oh.  Awful agitation, inconceivably increase of unwanted outcome of expedited..."  Abrupt alarmed exhalation.  "Exit, end, annihilation!  Aaaaah!" (almost inaudibly as usual)

Undersized arbalest appears, eager of evisceration of evil orcs.

Away, ungenuine unprolonged arrow*, away!


*_{(Ack, it only achieved awry!)}

Standing up in the back of the wagon for a better view of the chaos spilling out around them, Ozzy quickly drops a bullet into the sling and begins whipping it around his head. He smiles as he watches his blood brother cut one of the foul smelling Orcs down and in his own excitement, releases the bullet a half second too soon, sending it into the trees where it hits with a wooden -THOK- of noise to emphasize his miss.

14:56, Thu 10 July 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 11 using 1d20+5 ((6)). Attack>

Fergus frowns, thinking he should have, perhaps stuck with his axe.  His unfamiliarity with the sword just makes the weapon feel too light in his hands.  And the glowing edges of the blade seem like a flashy distraction.  The only good thing he can find to say about it is that his wounded left arm doesn't hamper his ability to use a one-handed weapon...

Desperately he slashes at the despicable creature again, and... Fergus gives an exultant cry of triumph as Valkyria bites deep into the orc's flesh.

Fergus Andarson, rolled 25 using 1d20+8. Attack vs AC=14.
Fergus Andarson, rolled 7 using 1d8+5. Damage.
If applicable - Fergus Andarson, rolled 16 using 1d20+8. Cleave.

Colwn grabs his weapons and clambers up onto the wagon, where he restrings the short bow with practised skill and takes an arrow from the quiver.  "Buggers's goin' ter be payin' fer interruptin' my grub.  It'll be gettin' cold by the time I's bein' able ter eat it."

He nocks the arrow and draws back the string, searching for a target.  "Which of yers is bein' ugliest?"

An orc moves out into the open, brandishing an axe and ready to strike down anybody who stands in its way.  It takes two paces and falls to the ground as Erista hits it with a slingstone.  It lays in the dirt, unmoving.

Ozzy is less fortunate.  His own bullet misses his intended target and vanished into the gloom.  Behind him, Colwyn kneels searching out a suitable target for an arrow.

The merchant, Honil, demonstrates that he is prepared to defend his profits.  Moving forward, he lashes out with his sword and takes one of the orcs in the gut, then leaves it to die as he seeks another foe.

In his own wagon, Bilfro suddenly rises up to fire his crossbow, only to see the shot go wide.  Abundant agitation impedes attack accuracy.  Swiftly, he ducks down again.

Honil finds his next opponent, and promptly receives a deep wound across the ribs as the orc attacks him with a cleaver.

Safely in the cover of the wagons, Eilieen sends up a prayer to Zadastha for aid, and hopes that it arrives soon.  Not far away she can see Aarnr cheerfully butchering another of the vile humanoids, cleaving it in twain, before turning to block the attacks of two of its comrades.

Fergus' opponent thrusts its spear at him again, and this time hits his shoulder.  Fergus replies immediately, and Valkyria rips the orc's throat out.  Then the shining blade reaches again, taking a second one through the eye.

And now the caravan guards join the fray.  They fight well, and some of the orcs die at their hands immediately.  But more of the men fall, a poor match for their savage opponents.

From just beyond the firelight, comes the barking of a hound, and a shimmering golden form trots into view...  And across the camp, more orcs are appearing from the forest...

OOC: Still plenty of orcs left to go around.  :)

Combatant                Init
Erista                    24
Oswald Osbourne           23
Colwyn Akbar              21
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Honil                     21
Orcs                      16 (AC=14)
Eilieen                   13
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Fergus Andarson            5
Caravan Guards             4

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Severe
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Fergus steps around the falling orc, his frown deepening by the moment.  He reaches the next one, and bellows an inarticulate challenge, as the glowing blade thrusts forward... and strikes the vile creature in the gut, with everything that the man can put into it.

Fergus Andarson, rolled 23 using 1d20+8. Attack.
Fergus Andarson, rolled 9 using 1d8+5. Damage.

"Go doggie!" Eilieen cries, then lunges into the fray.  Sort of.  Rather than go on the attack, instead the Zadasthan priestess hurries to where the beleaguered Fergus battles against his opponents.

The downed caravan guards will be next, but for the moment, it's imperative that their better fighters remain on their feet.

"Lady of the Open Heart, salve the pain of an embattled heart," she whispers, reaching out with a hand that flares golden in the dying light.

OOC - Cure Moderate Wounds.  16 HP.

Ozzy stands his ground in the back of the wagon, holding the advantage of height which he is normally denied. Spinning the sling, he launches another stone into the shadows around the campsite. Frowning, he reaches into the pouch hoping to find a bullet with enough definition to launch cleanly next try.

14:13, Mon 14 July 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 12 using 1d20+5 ((7)). Sling Stone.

Looking out from under her wagon, Erista sees a nice cluster of Orks.  She lifts a hand, fingers waggling.  She notices Aarnr, gleefully in their midst.  Biting her lip, she considers the possible ramifications.

After a moment, she decides that, in fact, what she's really about to do is give up her hiding place.  Letting her hand drop, she pulls out another smooth stone with it instead, fitting it into her sling, and giving it a whirl.

She does, however, send her rock hurtling towards one of the orks near Aarnr.

Aarnr is in fine form, cursing his foes and his god in equal measure, though as his sword slices cleanly through the air, and rather messily through the orks' flesh, most of his choicer phrases fall on suddenly deaf ears.

"THOU DANKISH, CLAPPER-CLAWED, WEATHER-BITTEN CANKER-BLOSSOMS ! THY DEATHS ARE UPON THEE !  BLEED ON ME WILL THOU, THOU PLUME-PLUCKED CLACK-DISH ?!!"

"Indecorously execrable fiends of often injurious aficionados sporting unsound minds!"

The almost improbably offensive phrase is called out at such level of volume it is no doubt heard almost to the edge of the very wagon in which the brave conjurer of the magic arts and flinger of errant quarrels cunningly dwells.  No doubt said fiends would have fallen down dead from embarrassment had they heard such an oath uttered.

In a bold and daring move he reloads his deadly weapon and throws another pointy stick in the general direction of the not overtly friendly orcs.


_{Edited for typo of dead.  Dead, not dad.  Sorry, pa.}
This message was last edited by the player at 14:50, Wed 16 July 2014.

Selecting a likely target, Colwyn mutters, "Even yer own mam couldn't be lovin' that there face.", and lets fly his arrow.  The missile flies true, straight to its mark, and the rogue reaches for another...

The quiet roadside clearing isn't any longer, having been replaced by a chaotic region, filled with the cries of combatants, and the moans of the injured...

Another stone comes flashing out from under the wagon, and another orc falls foul of Erista's not inconsiderable skill with the sling, as the impact snaps its head back and drops it, sprawling, on the ground.

Ozzy's attempt at emulating his fellow halfling is less successful.  The bullet can be heard, rattling and clattering away through the branches beyond the firelight.

An arrow from Colwyn's shortbow strikes an orc, piercing its bicep and bringing a roar of outrage as it tries to shift its axe to its off-hand.  If the rogue is disappointed that the orc isn't dead, it doesn't show on his face as he readies another arrow.

Honil's flashing blade, meanwhile, cuts down his foe in a welter of black orcish blood.  The caravan master is not, it seems, too shabby in a fight.  Certainly he's doing better than Bilfro, who appears to be having severe difficulty using his crossbow from the cover of the wagon.  Which does nothing to alleviate the look of disgust on the face of Odysseus Warfield Leonidas.  Or perhaps that's just his natural expression?

In the thick of battle with a several orcs, Aarnr twists aside and feels a stab of pain as a greataxe strikes a glancing blow against his hip.  A second orc slips and falls prone in the dirt, its massive club sliding and rolling across the ground.  Aarnr qhickly beheads that one, and eviscerates the one that struck him, before turning to face another and easily sidestepping a spear thrust.

The golden hound trots up to Eilieen, then races ahead of the priestess as she hurries to aid Fergus...

The beleaguered farmer continues to struggle against his foe.  Valkyria moves to parry an orcish blade, but the block is mistimed, and more of Fergus' blood is spilled...

Another orc moves in to attack the big man, but is suddenly distracted as Eilieen's hound leaps in front of it and grips its armoured shin.

Eilieen comes up behind Fergus and, aware of the presence of nearby orcs, she reaches out and touches her barely-standing comrade's back.  The healing power of Zadastha flows through her hand, and Fergus immediately stands straighter, and the hand gripping Valkyria seems to regain strength.

The shining blade swings in a wide arc, and the hideous creature falls before it...

And all around, the caravan guards, those that still stand, team up to fight against the orcs...

OOC: A half-dozen orcs left standing, and about the same number of caravan fighters, including Honil.  :)

Combatant                Init
Erista                    24
Oswald Osbourne           23
Colwyn Akbar              21
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Honil                     21
Orcs                      16 (AC=14)
Eilieen                   13
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Fergus Andarson            5
Caravan Guards             4

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

This message was last edited by the GM at 19:50, Wed 16 July 2014.

"Yay, doggie!"  Eilieen claps her hands, almost losing her spear, then hurries to the nearest fallen traveller.  With Fergus standing strong and the orcs now in dire peril, it seems wise to save who she can.

"Lady of Love's Laughter, preserve this poor soul," she whispers, reaching out to stem the leakage of life.  Energy flares momentarily about her hand, far weaker than before but still sufficient to stabilize.

OOC - Cure Minor Wounds on the nearest downed caravan guard - looking to stabilize him quickly so I can get to another one!

Ignoring the scratch on his side, Aarnr kicks the severed head out of his way and steps over the freshly gutted orc at his feet as he lunges at the orc who had the temerity to attempt to stick him with its spear.  Ideally he'd be having a go at the one that hit him (fair's fair, after all), but the inconsiderate brute is already dead, so someone's got to pay !

Poor Bilfro he cursed
He missed second and first
Such woe
Bruised ego he nursed
A quarrel dispersed
At foe
To hope he at worst
Did naught but air burst
Not Co

Wage war he detests
Do face ill-timed guests
Such bore
He rather protests
Such gruesome requests
Of gore
He'd rather find rests
Among ample ... nests
Galore

Yes such was his heart
That he hid in the cart
Alone
He did not depart
Nor did fall apart
A groan
For where he took heart
A small smelly fart
Had flown

Fergus, feeling much better thanks to Eilieen's (and Zadastha's) healing, swings Valkyria at the distracted orc.  The weapon is lighter than he's used to, and the arc it describes is higher without a bit of weight to pull it down.

Luckily the orc is tall, and the sword manages to hit it, before sweeping across and down towards the second one.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:24, Fri 18 July 2014.

Colwyn searches for a new target.  "There yer is!"  A new arrow takes wing and flies from his bow.  The arrow soars through the air, quick as the darting swallow, and flies directly towards his intended victim.

"Got yer!" he chuckles, and then looks about, worried, as he sniffs the air, "'ere.  What in the bloody 'ells's that there stink?"

His eyes, in their desperate scanning of the area for some new foe, happen to alight on Bilfro's  rump, where it projects from behind a bale of cloth.

"Gods!  That's bein' foul!"

Ozzy stands swinging the sling, taking careful aim against one of the approaching shadows. At the moment of release, he gags on the foul stench of Bilfro Butt. The stone shoots off sideways, leaving the Halfling choking and eyes watering. He had been doused in Orc urine the day before, but even that was a scented garden compared to the stench overpowering his olfactory senses at the moment. " GAH! What did you eat?!" he yells, " If it weren't dead goin' in, it's certainly dead now!"

15:37, Fri 18 July 2014: Oswald Osbourne rolled 12 using 1d20+5 ((7)). Missed.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:11, Sat 19 July 2014.

Honil pauses in the midst of the battle to quickly see how his men are doing.  Not as well as he might have hoped, but at least as well as he would have expected.

"Rally lads, rally!  We'll have the better of them in a trice!"

And then he starts towards the nearest orc, his slim blade weaving a pattern of steel death before him...

Erista, wary of taking any more of Aarnr's fun away, looks around for another target.  But her gaze passes over a nearby wagon, where she is momentarily distracted by Bilfro, and, perhaps more to the point, Ozzy and Colwyn's reactions to Bilfro.  Giggling, she drops her stone, and has to pick it up and start over.

The battle rages on...

Erista, distracted by the events going on around her, loses her grip on a sling stone and drops it.  Luckily for her, everybody else is far too busy to notice her embarrassing error.

Continuing his spectacular run of bad luck, Ozzy manages to be in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time, and finds himself assailed by a most noxious foe.  Which causes his own attempt to hit one of the orcs to fly high and wide of the target.

Colwyn, has spent a considerable portion of his life in the less pleasant areas of Tsar.  Horror and foulness have been a normal part of his environment for as long as he can remember.  He is, therefore, largely able to ignore Bilfro's intestinal emissions, and pierce another orc through the heart.

The source of those emissions (that is to say, the person, rather than the specific organ) seems to be having no more luck than most of the people in his immediate vicinity.  His crossbow bolt vanishes into the twilight forest, leaving a certain owl to ponder whether or not it's too late to find a new master...

The orc facing Aarnr is a particularly large specimen, both in height and breadth.  It's face is a mass of ritual scars and it arms bear the marks of hot iron.  It grins at the man, showing yellowed teeth and blackened gums, then swings at him with a massive cleaver...

The first two men Eilieen approaches are definitely beyond all hope.  The third still breathes, so she lays a hand on his chest and prays for Zadastha's intervention in keeping him alive until he can receive more aid.  As she straightens up, there is a sudden numbing pain in her shoulder, as an orcish club hammers into it from behind... 

Aarnr sidesteps the orc's attack easily, then slashes at the creature with his heavy blade.  The orc manages to partly block the attack, but only partly.  Black blood spills from a cut across its belly, but still it stands, spitting its defiance in the barbarian priest's face.

The golden hound continues to assist Fergus, only to vanish in a puff of equally golden smoke as the orc strikes it a telling blow...  Valkyria beheads the vile creature, even as a second opponent hacks at Fergus.  The enchanted weapon retaliates, gutting that orc, and eliciting a yell of triumph from the big man.

The caravan guards, reinvigorated by Honil's exhortation, press their attack.  One seeing Eilieen assisting his fallen comrades and herself attack from behind, rushes to her aid and drives his shortsword into the back of her attacker, slaying it instantly.  The others gang up on the remaing two orcs, and make short work of them...

Only Aarnr's large opponent still stands, snarling and cursing and beginning to foam at the mouth as it does battle with the man...

Combatant                Init
Erista                    24
Oswald Osbourne           23
Colwyn Akbar              21
Bilfro Gabbins            21
Honil                     21
Orcs                      16 (AC=14)
Eilieen                   13
Aarnr Foultongue           9
Fergus Andarson            5
Caravan Guards             4

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

Oblivious to the carnage and horrible smells elsewhere (being far too engrossed in the carnage and horrible smells close by) the big priest is quite impressed that one of the orcs has finally managed to avoid being slain by a single blow.

"THOU PUKING, FLY-BITTEN VARLOT !" Aarnr congratulates the big hedge-pig, stepping back half a pace to get a good swing in with his sword so to mark the occasion properly.  "BOWBE, THOU SPLEENY, ILL-BREEDING GIGLET !  I FROGGIN' COMMEND THE SPIRIT OF THIS RUTTISH, FULL-GORGED CLACKDISH TO THEE !"

The large orc swings a mighty blow at Aarnr, who narrowly evades it, then splits the foul creature from crown to brisket with his own blade.  For a moment it blinks at him stupidly, its eyes not quite synchronised.

Then it drops its cleaver and, briefly, attempts to push the two halves of its head back together, before toppling over to lay dead on the bloody ground...

In the silence that follows, Eilieen can be heard moving about, endeavouring to heal the fallen...

Quick work she does - there's no time to spend seeking to bind wounds here, with people dying.  Instead, Eilieen moves from person to person, sealing injuries with prayers, keeping the men and women alive for more comprehensive, mundane treatment afterward.  Hardly glorious, her prayers now are merely muttered entreaties, sent as a swiftly as possible to the ears of Zadastha.

OOC - Sorry about my tardiness.  Eilieen will cast whatever necessary to keep everyone she can alive, and then return for further healing spells after if she has anything left.  If she runs out, it'll be the heal skill.

"Oh dear me, Hermonious Obidaia Mojo, what did you eat lately?  That is the worst one ever, so far.  Take this as an encouragement to not exceed this accomplishment, please."

"Not to say I don't appreciate you attempt to provide assist during the recent hostile engagement."

He pops his head out the back of the wagon in hope of catching a different kind of breeze, more fresh if you will, at least literally.

A mentally unhealthy eavesdropper, due to the close proximity it would require, might swear they hear mutterings from a pocket in the robes worn by the airing wizard.

Colwyn sighs with relief as the big orc finally admits that it can't carry on fighting with its head split all the way down to its ribs.  Then, "That were bein' good work.  Is any bugger bein' 'urt?" he calls out.

Honil replies from where he stands, surveying the carnage, "You may have noticed that a number of my guards were injured."  His tone, and expression, might best be described as "sour".

Eilieen, meanwhile continues to assess the fallen.  Of the eleven guards who had originally joined the fray, three are, apparently, deceased.  Three more are down, but still breathing, and four are standing, but with various injuries.  Only one seems to have survived the battle entirely unscathed - the one who had come to Eilieen's aid at the very end...

"I shall, of course, see that the families of the dead get the wage for this trip, and the wergeld that was promised when they signed up." Honil declares, with a sad shake of his head.  "The Tradeway grows less and less safe of late."

Nearby, the drivers are returning, emerging from hiding.

Aarnr nods pleasantly to the riven orc, and proceeds to gather up the spoils of victory ...

... a nagging doubt.  Something Colwyn said.

The big priest turns about, surveying the battlefield.  Lots of dead orcs, good.  A few dead guards and some about to join them.  And Eilieen running around frantically ...

Ah.

Reluctantly leaving Colwyn to see to the rifling of the corpses, Aarnr trudges over to the fallen to assist the priestess in wrestling with the gods to release their death-grip on the fading spirits of the fallen.

"BOWBE, THOU WIMPLED, KNOTTY-PATED FLAX-WENCH ..."

OOC: Healing spells for the barely alive for starters, then follow Eilieen's example  :>

"My thanks," Eilieen whispers to the guard who protected her - a momentary respite from her hurried work.  "You saved me, and saved them as well."  This said with a flick of the hand at the wounded she treats.

Ignoring the dull pain in her shoulder, she continues to heal those in need, expending all of her spells in order to bring the men back to consciousness.  Aarnr's choice to join her does not go unnoticed - how could it? - and she spares him a grateful look as he exhorts Bowbe to lend a healing hand.

Deal with the downed first, then assist the 'only' injured...Fergus being one of those.

Between them, Aarnr and Eilieen manage to get the fallen guards back on their feet again, and Fergus, too, is soon back to full health, though his clothes look the worse for wear.

The dead guards are loaded into one of the wagons, and covered with their own blankets.  Honil explains that they will be returned to their families when the caravan reaches Bard's Gate, who will see to it that they get funerals appropriate to their beliefs.  Again, he mentions contracts, and that the families will receuve compensation to help pay for the funerals, and see them through their time of grief.

Some of his men, meanwhile, are restoring the camp, and dragging the bodies of the orcs away into the forest to be eaten by scavengers.  But only after Aarnr has taken what meagre pickings he can from them. 

By the time full night falls, things look almost normal around the camp, except for the various blood stains...

Ozzy finds a nice place near the fire for his bedroll. It had been a long day filled with triumphs and tragedy. He spends some time sharpening his daggers and javelins, humming a small tune as he does so. He takes careful inventory of his remaining sling bullets, then after a quick cleaning of his chain armor (not too much gore to deal with when missing countless shots) he settles down for a quick snore before his next watch. The little bard stays quiet for the most part, concentrating on the songs forming in his head as he drifts off to sleep.

Dislodging himself from the wagon, once ascertained no foe remain, Bilfro sighs heavily, shaking his head slowly.

"'tis a shameful waste, doing battle, loss of lives.  At best what comes out of it, is the lives saved by those dead, oft for no reason beyond survival.  Such a waste..."

"War.  War never changes.  We kill, we die.  And what for?"

With a heavy heart and feet alike he offers what little assistance he can with the dearly departed, at least those not being Orcs.  At the moment he is sort of all Orc'd out, what with his, in his mind, still recent stay at Orc Resort and Spa.

Aarnr shakes his head.  Bilfro would seem to be spouting nonsense once more, save that the wizened wizard never seems to stop.

"How else does thou strive for glory and the notice of the gods ?  Death is not the worst that can befall thee ... better that thou be remembered and they deeds praised than die a straw death and thee be forgotten utterly."

"It is only in staring down death that thou can be truly alive."

"Thou should be proud of thy wound," the priest tells Eilieen.  "Indeed so should all of us be."

"And the spoils !" If the lure of legend does not suffice, then surely the thought of treasures earned will rouse the spirits of even the most crestfallen.

"See ..." Aarnr shows the coin he has garnered, and the not-too-badly-damaged chain-linked shirt ... and the shiny blue stone.  "A fine offering to Bowbe !"

Apart from Aarnr, who seems quite cheerful after the fight, the mood around the fire is largely subdued.  Some of the guards have an air of relief about them, glad to have survived the encounter, but the loss of friends and allies has left others feeling thoughtful and quiet.

Honil moves about, talking to his men individually, checking on their condition.  As he moves away, he pats each on the shoulder and thanks him for his efforts in the defence of the camp.  Guard shifts he leaves them to arrange for themselves, which results in the appearance of a set of dice, and a slight raising of spirits as some have better luck than others in the assignment of watches.

Colwyn pays polite attention as Aarnr shows the spoils.  Pointing to the gem, "That there's bein' a nice bit of blue quartz.  Reckon as 'ow it's likely bein' worth a 'andful of gold.  Only Erista's 'and mind ye."

"Just mine?" Erista perks up as, for a moment, Colwyn seems to be giving her Aarnr's stone -- a transaction involving a minor quirk of property rights that Colwyn seems just the sort to be able to work out later.  Then she realizes what he means, and, holding her hand out, flexes her fingers as if holding a pile of coins, trying to pretend that's all she meant, too.  "Yeah, not too much.  It's pretty, though."  She looks at it a moment longer, and then up (and up) at Aarnr.  "Hey, Aarnr, could I borrow it?"

"Proud, yes."  Eilieen offers a wan smile back at Aarnr.  "Proud to have survived, in any case."  But she does perk up a touch.  "Glad am I for your assistance with the healing, Aarnr.  That was well done."  She ponders for a moment, considering what might be better taken by the other priest.  "As was your dealing with the orcs.  You were a terror out there, dominating the battlefield as you did."

After examining the treasure - giving some polite oohs and aahs - Eilieen sits by the fire, exhausted by her activities and her sorrow at the guards' deaths.  She glances up now and then as people walk by, but otherwise remains fairly quiet.  At some point, though, she looks into the deepening dark and frowns.

"We are all taking watches, are we not?" she inquires.  "I volunteer for the early morning watch.  It will give me time to think."

Aarnr agreeably (or maybe he's just feeling pleased after the recent battle) tosses the gem over to Erista.  "Yours, 'less Bowbe comes to fight thee for it," he tells her.

"They were but orcs," the priest reassures Eilieen, modestly.  "Now, the merchant's swords may be thanking Bowbe and Zadastha, but thou has neglected thine own wound, be it bravely earned.  Thou will feel fobbin' better with that shoulder mended ... I still have strength enough after my exertions to demand that satisfaction from Bowbe !"

If the priestess doesn't object, he'll shout down Bowbe's assistance for her.

As to watches ... Aarnr much prefers the middle stint, reasoning that if an attack's to come, that is the most likely time.

"Blue quartz I's reckonin'." Colwyn says helpfully, as Erista receives the small gem.  "Not bein' worth so much as a diamond, like, but ye'll be gettin a bit of gold fer it, if'n yer's decidin' to be floggin' it in Bard's Gate, or some place."

Aarnr calls on Bowbe to aid Eilieen and, incidentally (all unknown to anybody around the fire), terrifies a badger out in the forest.  The creature decides it's had enough foraging for one night, and heads off as fast as its stubby little legs can carry it.  The savage priest lays a hand on Eilieens shoulder, and there is a brief pulse of warmth.

"Ah, my thanks to you, Aarnr, for dragging aid from Bowbe."  Eilieen sighs as the heat washes away the vast majority of the ache, leaving only a lingering tingling to prove the wound ever existed.  "Pleased am I that my actions have brought satisfaction.  I gladly hand the middle-night watch to you, secure your blade will grant us safety."

With that taken care of, and her stomach no longer in need of filling, Eilieen turns to her evening prayers.  Unlike Aarnr, these frighten no badgers.

Indeed, one might expect a flight of songbirds to flitter down and perch on her shoulders.