A decision made, the group ask Kallana to guide them back to The Farmer's Son, to collect their belongings and their cart, to settle any outstanding accounts, and purchase any necessary provisions.

Their business concluded, they head out of the East Gate, and set out in pursuit of the villainous workmen.  The party make good time along the mostly deserted road, aided in no small part by the improving weather, and the exemplary behaviour of the oxen which, under Aarnr's gentle urging, almost gallop along the road.

THat is, if a gait that a walking man can still keep pace with, with little or no difficulty, could ever be called a gallop...

Shortly after noon they meet a wagon going in the opposite direction.  One man rides the wagon, which is laden with sacks and crates.  Three more men follow behind it, on horses.  Two of these wear mail shirts and carry spears, while the third is clad in clothing which looks to have cost a fair amount of coin.

En route, and happy to spend the day padding alongside the wagon (and occasionally jumping into it) in pursuit of the villains, Eilieen wakes herself up from her musings on iced treats and clean sheets to observe the travellers heading in their direction.  Her eyes brighten immediately, and she checks her clothing to ensure it is as clean as her fantasy sheets.

It is, thanks to a liberal use of prayers this morning.

"Good sirs!" she calls out as they approach.  "Have you passed another group upon this road?  Perhaps yesterday - men on foot, seeming in a hurry?"

Walking along with the others in silence, Arkan cannot help but be amused at Aarnr's encouragement of the oxen.

"You have a way with beasts my friend. You should consider taking up the honorable life of a hard working farmer some day." He says to Aarnr with as straight a face as he can manage. "Something to look forward too after a life of adventuring. It might sound boring but there is nothing like sowing some wild oats and watching them grow."

As they come come across other travelers coming down the road towards them, Arkan brings down his hood lower across his face, casting his features into shadow. He does not say anything yet, waiting for them to respond to Lady Eileen's hail, though his eyes peer curiously at the travelers.

Aarnr leaves off encouraging the oxen to look horrified at Arkan's suggestion.  "I will die in battle, amid the corpses of a legion of my foes," he assures the young man.  "Only thus will I be worthy to join the never-ending fight in the afterlife."

"You are all welcome to join me," he adds generously, remembering his grandmother's counsel.

The priest does not in any wise hide from the approaching travellers - indeed he eyes them with the suspicion he reserves for such chance encounters.  Guards but not, it seems, guardsmen.  Perhaps safeguarding the chattels of the shopkeep who accompanies them.

With any luck the discussion will not go well and the group will acquire another cart and a few horses ...

Erista rides in the wagon, out of consideration to her friends, who probably don't want to have to slow the oxen down from their nigh reckless gallop to avoid leaving her behind.  Hearing Eileen call out to some `good sirs' - clearly not a description of anyone here - she sinks down into the back, and pretends to be asleep.

"Hold, Roger!" calls out the well dressed man, and the driver brings the wagon to a halt.  The three riders move forward, and stop between the ox cart and the wagon.  Again the man speaks, his voice foppish and somewhat nasal, "I believe that we passed a party of eight ill-favoured ruffians on the road some three hours since.  Could they be the travellers of whom you speak?  They were clad in the raiment of common labourers, and were most loutish, not even returning my hail."

"Their leader seemed to not even be fully human, but appeared to carry the blood of some goblin, or its ilk, in his veins.  They spoke as they passed us by, and many of their words were in a tongue which almost seemed to befoul the very air around them, so vile and harsh was it."

A look of disgust comes over Arkan's face at the mention of the leader of the group of ruffians. Goblin blood, or perhaps something fouler still, he thinks, recalling the degenerates those sworn to orcus were rumored to debase themselves into.

Mentally shrugging away the unpleasant thoughts Arkan nods in appreciation at the well dressed man. "Your information was most useful, good sir."

Turning to his companions Arkan says to them, "Only three hours, we seem to have nearly caught up to them. I wonder why they slowed down though?"

Aarnr revises his opinion of these chance-met nuthooks.  Clearly they are as opposed to the demon-worshiping masons as himself.  Though given the gist of the foppish codpiece's remarks, he wisely chooses not to thank them, lest they take it amiss.

Nor, having learned something of the ways of these decadent folk, does the priest offer Bowbe's blessings to the travellers.  Sadly the puttocks do not see best wishes for an exciting and violent day as the benison it truly is.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:20, Mon 18 July 2016.

Only three hours!  Rejoice!

Barely holding back a squeal of delight, Eilieen nods her head frantically at the description.  It all sounds correct.  They'll need to make certain, of course - it wouldn't do for Aarnr to start lopping off heads willy-nilly, no matter what Bowbe's priest thinks - but everything seems promising.

The priestess bows low.  "I thank you, sir," she adds to Arkan's words.  "Blessings of Zadastha upon you and yours!"  Then she hops in place from foot to foot.  "Three hours!" Eilieen agrees with Arkan.  "If it is indeed them, we are fortunate something occurred to give them pause - perhaps they needed to dig up artifacts hidden outside the city, or hide the same?  Whatever the reason, let us not squander this good fortune!"

"Or maybe as they was just wantin' ter be out of the gate afore some one were findin' that Feldon were dead, an' when they was a bit away they was makin' camp fer the night."  The smile on Colwyn's face clearly says that he's enjoying this new sport of guessing the motivation of the villains.

As opposed to just killing them without worrying about why they did anything they did.

He looks at thee forest to each side of the road, "We might've been passin' their camp any time, only a dozen yards from it, an' not saw no sign of it, on account of the woods."

The foppish gentleman bids them a good day, and best wishes for their pursuit of the labourers.  And then the three riders, and the wagon, proceed on their way to Bard's Gate.

"Yer knows," Colwyn muses, still studying the forest, "we could be bein' watched right now, an' not be knowin' a bloody thing about it afore one of is gettin' a arrer in their bleedin' eye."

Quite by coincidence, he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun...

Glancing at Colwyn with a raised eyebrow Arkan replies, "That's possible yes, but unlikely given they passed that wagon a few hours earlier. Unless they doubled back, but then why would they?"

Smiling at Eileen's hopping he adds, "I feel confident about this also, but considering they outnumber us perhaps we should work on a plan on how to deal with them once we catch up."

That assumed they don't manage to mingle and vanish among the general population in the town, that is.

"Zadastha's cloak," Eilieen mildly blasphemes.  "Worry about odds when we find them - plans change, Sir Arkan, based on circumstance."  She pauses.  "And Aarnr," the priestess finishes with a small shrug.  "Best we decide upon such things upon viewing our opponents."

A sidelong glance at Colwyn follows, along with an arched eyebrow.  "But Colwyn, it is yourself upon whom we depend, here, to anticipate such eye-piercing arrows, or sense the presence of our enemies before they loose their ambush upon us.  Your eyes, keen as a hawk's...your nose, sharp as a wolf's...your ears, cunning as a bunny's.  Let nothing slip by you!" she exhorts with a broad smile.

A pause, then she continues.  "Also, your camp idea seems much more likely than my own," the priestess sighs.

Erista's sleeping form giggles quietly when Eilieen praises Colwyn.

But she's clearly sleeping, so it was probably just something funny in her dream.

"If they dare to launch their arrows at us, then we'll know we've froggin' found them," Aarnr is amazed that anyone gives any thought to such trivialities as being stuck in the eye.

"Hopefully the bat-foulin' hedgepigs are too stupid to know who they face ... else they might cower in the woods and we might miss them !"  Colwyn's concern mirrors his own.  Yet to scour the area beyond the tree line every step of the way to whatever name the nuthooks have bestowed upon the next den of vice and sloth could see the pursuers lagging further behind their prey.

The party start to move onward along the road, and the day continues much as it had started, with two small differences...

First: knowing that their prey is a shorter distance ahead than they had thought lends a certain spring to their stride, making their progress faster.

And second: Colwyn is nervously watching the forest to either side every step of the way...

The day slides towards late afternoon, and they round a long curve in the road, to find that a peculiar site meets their gaze.  Twin granite stelae flank the road ahead, like ancient weather-beaten gate posts.  Their surfaces are covered with pictographs and roughly carved writing.  The markings have been recently limned with what appears to be red paint, to make them stand out more clearly.  And both stones bear, at their upper ends, the unmistakable image of a crown.

Curious, Eilieen hurries ahead (so as to not slow the group) and pauses a safe (?) distance from the stelae.  Her brow furrows as she studies them, seeking enlightenment.

Knowledge: Religion 19

Not exactly curious but very much hoping that these symbols are an indication of a den of demon-worshippers, Aarnr turns his fearsome gaze in the direction of the stone uprights as his mighty oxen tear down the trail ...

... but swiftly concludes that there is nothing at all out of the ordinary here.  Indeed such things are likely seen on every other street corner in the cesspits these folk call cities.  There's probably some fat shop-keep counting his coin nearby.

OOC: 20:33, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 6 using 1d20+5.  Knowledge (Religion).

The twin granite monuments, standing in stark contrast to the monotony of the road draw Akran's interest, as they appear to do with everyone else.

"Fascinating." Arkan says, walking forward and standing close to one of the monuments, trying to determine their age and what civlization might have constructed them

---

Knowledge (History): 13

There is a sudden cawing sound, and a raven flaps down to land heavily atop the stele on the left side of the road.  It glares at the travellers, utters another series of harsh cries, and starts to clean its beak against the stone...

"Oh... that isn't bein' a good sign." Colwyn declares.  "It's bein' well known as 'ow ravens is killin' things, an' gen'rally bein' bad luck."

Ozzy regards him sceptically, "I never heard anything like that."  He returns his attention to the stones.  "If we were up around Acregor, I'd say these stones were a warning.  A warning that you're entering somebodies territory.  Like a kingdom, or a fortified town, where you'll be subject to the local laws.  Down here, though, I have no idea."

"The bloody raven's bein' the warnin'."

"Let's kill the raven," Aarnr proposes.  "As a warnin'."  The priest can't see what all the concern is about.  It's just a froggin' rune-scribed marker stone with an ominous bird atop it.

"These stones...are old. I do not recall any known civilization that might have constructed these, but there could have been any number of reasons for their being made here." Arkan announces, after looking over the constructs with a keen gaze.

Raising a gloved finger he points at the chipped and cracked lines of paint within the carvings on one of the monuments. "Someone has relatively recently painted these carvings, to make them more visible. I wonder why though, but obviously they hold some meaning for whoever did so."

Ozzy laughs aloud at Aarnr's suggestion, "You're getting as bad as Colwyn... "

"'Ere!"

"It's only a bird."

Arkan's comment draws his interest though.  "Maybe whoever erected the stones was a distant forefather of the people who painted them, and that's why they're still important."

"They bear no resemblance to any godly idols of which I am familiar," Eilieen muses.  "Oswald likely has the right of it.  But much as I wish to tarry and examine them further -" her brows knit together; who would wish for the signs to be more clear? "- I believe we have business ahead.  Business with a select group of individuals: worshippers of a demon lord."

"As for bad luck," she continues with a sigh and an arch glance toward Colwyn, "that would be nothing new for us, would it?"

"Yeah, well... " Colwyn looks around quickly, then stoops to pick up a pine cone.  He hurls it in the general direction of the raven, which steps aside, before giving the rogue a withering look, and flapping away into the forest.

"Just cause we's 'avin' a pile of bad luck most of the time, I's not seein' as 'ow we's needin' ter be makin' it feel at 'ome."

His shoulders slump.

"Course. now the buggers like as not been an' gone an' cursed me."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 18:29, Fri 05 Aug 2016.

"Those squawks ?  That's not froggin' proper cursin'," Aarnr reassures the rogue, and in truth Bowbe's priest ought to know about such things.

"Someone curses ye, ye curse the nuthook right back," he instructs Colwyn in the finer art of tit for tat as he continues to steer his oxen down the road.

Beyond the stelae, the road winds gently into the forest, which grows denser as the party travels further from Bard's Gate.

On both sides of the road, at regular intervals, are wooden posts, some four feet tall, and painted white.  Near the top of each is carved an image of a crown, just like the ones on the standing stones, and these images are, again, limned in red paint.

The road itself seems to be in good repair, with few ruts and pot holes.

The priest knows what the posts represent, even without someone having to explain it patiently to him, at least twice.  Obviously the chief of these city folk, or king as he is known, lays claim to the lands beyond the posts and is warning off any who would venture there that such would constitute a direct affront to his authority.

This is well, though the warning would be much more effective were each poles topped by an actual bloody head and not a mere symbolic representation.  Once more Bowbe's finest regrets the loss of the giant's head.

The chief must be powerful, or at least consider himself so, for there are a lot of these posts.  It will be quite hard work for Aarnr, on his triumphant return from Rappan Athuk, to gather them all up and throw them down contemptuously at the puttock's feet when he challenges him to personal combat for the right to rule.

At least he has his cart in which to carry the markers ...

Noting the wooden posts with a raised eyebrow Arkan says, "Well this is starting to seem as if someone around here doesn't want travelers around these parts."

It appears to him that this is a crude way of someone marking their territory. Question was, was whomever that did this in league with the cultists they were pursuing?

If yes, this could make things quite a bit more complicated...

The posts are a mystery, but one which is forgotten, at least for the moment, as the party round a bend, and find themselves on the edge of a clearing.  The road continues onward, but in the cleared area to one side stands a cottage, with a small plot of land where vegetables are growing.

An enclosure at the side of the dwelling contains two goats, and firewood is neatly stacked in a shelter a short distance away.

There is nobody immediately visible, but the goats speak for the smallholding being occupied, as do the well-tended crops.

Having studied the posts - pointlessly, they tell her nothing - Eilieen considers the current conundrum.  "If someone doesn't like travellers, we'll be pilgrims," she finally states, confident that will solve the problem.  Who would be so horrid as to pursue people for their religious beliefs?

"Now, we need to get back to running down those worshippers of Orcus," she mutters darkly.  "Perhaps if we just push through this area as swiftly as possible?  It's a nice cottage," she notes, "but we have many more hours in the day to travel, yet."

Blissfully unaware that the posts are a mystery, Aarnr stares at the cottage thoughtfully for a few seconds before coming to a definitive, "Too froggin' nice to house those rump-fed, scurvy lewdsters."

The cart trundles on at somewhat less than a break-neck pace, and it is a few long minutes before he turns to ask Eilieen, almost casually, "What's a pilgrim ?"

Staring at the peaceful looking cottage Arkan frowns, thinking how odd the serene vista looks juxtaposed against the grim totems they passed only a short while ago.

Too serene, he thinks.

He is torn about whether to stop and investigate, but luckily his companions are not as indecisive and press on, Arkan moving along with them.

"It has been a long while since I have tasted mutton. Truly, the food of kings!" he declares wistfully staring back at the goats as they recede in the distance behind them.

Colwyn starts to say something about how Orcus looks a bit like a goat.  Then a vision of Aarnr destroying some poor crofter's home and putting the man to the axe drifts before his eyes, and he thinks better of it.

Instead he follows along, quietly thinking his own thoughts, as the party put the cottage further and further behind them and continue along the road, with its wooden markers every hundred yards or so.

Overhead, the forest canopy grows denser, and the breaks in it more rare.  But through those occasional breaks, it is clear that there can be but an hour or so before sunset.  And they have still not caught up with the mob of murderous masons.

The problem is, to Colwyn's mind, crystal clear.  Both they, and their quarry, are on foot (ox cart notwithstanding), so it's likely to be a long chase.

Not for the first time that afternoon, he sighs, and wishes they'd stopped at the cottage for a short break, a bite to eat, and something to drink...

Erista sits up in the cart, having slipped, in the gentle heat of the afternoon, from pretending-to-sleep into actually-sleeping.  She looks around somewhat blearily for a moment, brushes her hair back, and almost asks if she missed anything interesting or if they've caught the masons yet.

Just in time it occurs to her that if they had caught the masons, then 1) Somebody, probably Aarnr, would almost certainly have woken her up; and 2) If by some odd chance they didn't, everybody is still here so clearly no harm done.

She quietly settles back into her spot, enjoying the tranquility of the day.

Aarnr has by now pretty much forgotten whatever that last city was, never mind the stela and the cottage.  Every twist and turn of the trail brings fresh hope that a group of demon-worshipping masons might hove into view ... and then crushing disappointment when they don't.

Indeed, the priest shares some of Colwyn's unvoiced concerns, though nothing nearly so cleverly thought out ... for one thing, he fears that their prey might have left without taking the time to garner proper provisions and drinking water (for what do masons know of such things?) and may be found dead at the side of the path at any moment without the chance to be properly slain for their crimes.

By the gathering gloom beneath the trees, dusk would seem to be casting its mantle across the unseen firmament.

In the trees on each side of the road, a horde of starlings chatters noisily, as they settle down to roost for the night.  And somewhere, not to far ahead, and a wolf howls.

No, not a wolf, a dog!  For the mournful howl is followed by a bark, and then another, and another, from different throats judging by the sounds.  And soon the evening air is filled with the sounds of perhaps a dozen or more dogs.

And then a voice roars, louder than all the canines, "For Thyr's sake!  I'm trying to get some frogging kip here!  Shut it you lot!"

The dogs fall silent, and are replaced by a babble of human (or near enough) voices.  Laughter too.

The party come around one last bend, and a short distance ahead is a clearing, containing fifteen or so buildings, huddled together in the gloaming.  Lamps burn brightly, providing a circle of illumination which valiantly tries to push back the burgeoning darkness beneath the surrounding trees.

People are moving about between the buildings.

"Oh dear," Eilieen murmurs at the howling and cacophony.  The dogs, as well.  Peering ahead, she studies the 'buildings'.  Are they actually structures, or wagons?  "Perhaps we have found a place for the night," she hazards.

It seems unlikely they would have caught the masons already...and calling out to Thyr does make for a point in the other people's favour.

"Hello?" the priestess calls out.  "Travellers, here!  Might we come to your fire?"  It's always good to give warning; avoids unpleasantness.

Aarnr is less mollified by the mention of Thyr than is Eilieen.  The God of Law and Justice is not exactly a sworn enemy of Bowbe, as is Orcus, but then with their faiths so diametrically opposed, whatever that means, they're not exactly on speaking terms.  Shouting terms, perhaps.

Though his eyes close as he bites his tongue at the priestess's careless warning of the foe, exuding unpleasantness as he stands at her shoulder, hoping they are foolish enough to deny her, even insult her, that he might quite reasonably slaughter some, enslave the rest and claim their fire for his own.

Growing concerned at the approach of the coming dark, yet ready to steel himself for a forced march through the night Arkan is a little startled by the barking of the dogs.

When they turn the bend and come upon the buildings he cannot help but feel a little relieved at the sight of the buildings; not only will they be able to get some news, but they may come across their prey cooling their heels in an inn.

"Most fortuitous. They will likely have a sole inn, I say we make our way there quickly before word of our coming precedes us. We may find our targets therein!" Arkan whispers to his companions urgently.

At the very least, even if they did not find the cultists they might be able to treat themselves to some mutton.

The hamlet, for such it is, is not a wealthy place.  In the light of the lamps, as the group approaches, it becomes apparent that the buildings are ramshackle structures of wood and turf.

The sole exception being at the centre, where a shrine of adobe bricks stands stands.  The shrine has no walls, just four brick pillars which support a wooden roof.  The floor is of packed dirt.  There is no statue of the god, just a simple wooden table to serve as an altar.

The people, at least, seem friendly enough.  An older man smiles, "Welcome, travellers, to King's Hope.  You are, by all means, welcome to spend the night here."

A wheezing laugh greets Arkan's mention of the inn.  "An inn?  Sadly there is no inn or tavern here.  We are but a poor village of hunters and foragers for nuts and berries.  With the exception of Gonder, all here live by finding food from the forest.  There isn't even a priest.  Any who want to use the shrine are free to use it to worship whichever god they follow."

Disappointed at the lack of an Inn, Eilieen brightens a touch at the mention of a shrine.  "Oh, may I see your shrine, elder?  And do you have any followers of Zadastha, here?"  After which comes a slightly lengthily pause as she considers numerous issues, not the least of which being the lack of a bath tonight (normally not so important, but her expectations had risen...).

Finally she leans forward slightly.  "Gonder?  Who might that be?"

Since most shrines to Bowbe are generally now lush fields and introduced by keen historians as "this was the site of the battle of ..." the priest is not impressed by the pile of bricks and less so by the mention of nuts and berries, and not at all to discover there is no Inn, but happily untrouble by the lack of bathing facilities.

As much as he chafes at the delay in the chase, the patience of Fergus seems to have paid off, and Aarnr remembers his friend remarking several times that oxen tend to fall over and die if you overwork them and don't feed them.  They'll be happy with grass ... and so will he be to make his bed upon the ground, since it seems an imminent fight is not to be..

The old man's mirth seems lost upon Arkan, who stares askance at the man, suspicious of his jubilant manner.

"A pity about the inn. I have little need of shrines old man, but I would be glad if you could give us some information. Did a company of men pass through this hamlet recently, perhaps a bare few hours ago? If so, what can you tell us about them?" Arkan asks curtly, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

It could be him just being high strung, but the jovial manner of the greeting from a hamlet resident juxtaposes oddly with the grim stelae they had passed earlier; there has been no mention of the masons even though they may have come through this way only hours ago and most of all, this seems like the perfect place for an ambush for unwary and tired travelers.

---

Spot: 10
Sense Motive: 07

The old man points to the crumbling brick structure in the middle of the rough circle of dwellings - four brick pillars supporting a sloping roof, and an old table standing on a floor of packed earth, to serve as an altar or offering table.  No walls, no statues, no ornate artworks (though on closer inspection, it can be seen that many of the bricks have holy symbols scratched into them.

"That's the shrine.  It serves all gods.  If there are followers in King's Hope, they'll use the shrine to make their offerings."

He continues, "Zadastha's a god for folk with time to spare, begging your pardon.  Soft-handed folk from the cities.  Around here people follow the gods who put food and ale in their bellies.  Tykee and Telophus for the most part, but Freya has a few followers."

"Gonder?  He's our smith.  A dwarf who used to be a mighty hero when he was young.  Not so much now though."

Arkan's question brings a thoughtful expression.  "We've had any number of folk pass through, in both directions.  You see the road there?  The one you arrived on?  Did you see the markers spaced along it?  They mark it as neutral territory.  No battles between the Kingdoms on the road.  Its been that way for hundreds of years, ever since the fall of Tarkanen, and the rise of the Kingdoms.  So the road's safe, and everybody uses it."

"So if you want me to answer your question, you'll need to tell me more about these men."

Aarnr manages  (barely) a strictly blank expression at the old man's comments about Zadastha, though is keenly interested in whether Eilieen will stick him with her spear for his temerity.  The mention of Freya at least is a point in the man's favour, if only for Fergus's sake, as the priest of Bowbe fondly remembers the deeply religious discussion the pair had after the pair nearly died in battle with the Owlbear.

But it is the mention of Gonder that most certainly piques his interest, as his recent pleasant experiences with Sir Galdean showed the worth of such old heroes.

Leaving Arkan to bicker with the old fellow, should he survive Eilieen's likely pointed response, Aarnr's gaze wanders as he looks for the roaring fire of the forge and the clang of hammer upon anvil that will pinpoint the blacksmith's presence as he toils mightily at his craft.

Colwyn scratches at his cheek, "Who the bleedin' 'ells is this 'ere Tarky-what's-'is-face?"

"Tarkanen." corrects the old gaffer, "Not a who, but a what.  A mighty land that used to stretch between what is now Bard's Gate and Derindin.  Rich and powerful, it dominated all of the kingdoms between the Great Sea and the Inland Sea, and traded with realms far beyond both.  You must have passed its boundary stones on the road on your way here."

"Then, eight hundred years ago, Vaedrakil of the Iron Scales fell upon the land like the wrath of gods."  One hand is raised, pointing at the sky as the old man continues.

"He burned the cities, laid waste to the fields, and slew High King Haldir's armies.  For seven days he flew over Tarkanen and burned everything in his path.  Then he departed, leaving the survivors to rebuild."

"But without a High King, Tarkanen fragmented, and in its place a hundred small kingdoms appeared.  Some flourished, some did not, and others huddled in on themselves, like misers jealously hoarding whatever they could hold."

"Fragments of old Tarkanen still remain, like the roads and the boundary markers, which are considered to belong to all of the kingdoms.  And there are the ruined corpses of towns and cities which are claimed by whoever can hold them."

Aarnr, meanwhile, wanders off on his own, looking for Gonder.  As luck would have it, with so few structures, the forge is easy to find.  As is the dwarf who lays on a bench in front of it, snoring loudly.

Soft-handed folk from the cities?

The nerve!  Fuming, Eilieen settles back in silence to let others discuss.  Hasn't she been living in the wilderness now for weeks?  Fighting?  Getting her clothing (and, yes, flesh) torn?  How DARE he?

After her heartrate (and breathing) slows, she begins to consider this from another angle.  Of course, people here have likely only heard of the Zadasthan temple and its...ways.  They remain unaware that Zadastha stands for love, light, and healing.  And against unlife.  They only hear the stories whispered in taverns and alleys.  Negative...there should be a word...negative public attention, or somesuch.

As for the men?

Once the elder is finished his tale of the...dragon? Eilieen steps forward.  "The men we seek are worshippers of evil.  They left deviltry in their tracks, and now seek to escape what it has bought.  They take the guise of masons, but are followers of Orcus, Lord of Unlife."

Her lips part in a bright smile.  "And this 'soft-handed city person' will find them and visit upon them the wrath of the goddess for their profaning of a holy order's burial chambers with vile undead."

Successfully maintaining a straight face at the old man's remark to Eileen about soft-handed city slickers, Arkan folds his arms on his chest as he listens to the man tell the tale of this land and the empire that ruled before it was brought to ruin.

Though quite different compared to the decline of great Raumathar of Old, the tale did strike a familiar chord within the battlemage, and he found himself wishing they had time to learn more about Tarkanen, and the scaly beast of legend that smote it down.

"The lady speaks true, elder one. The men we seek, men if they be at all, may have passed this way earlier today in the guise of honest, hard working folk, though they are anything but. The longer they remain free the greater the danger to peaceful folk in their path, and their wake." Arkan speaks gravely, right after Eileen states the nature of the enemy and the party's true intentions against them.

The Dwarven hero appears to be resting after celebrating some mighty victory, so much is obvious from the volume of the assumedly drunken snoring.

Yet this poses a problem.  It would dishonour Gendor to awaken him, while the alternative of poking around the foundry and taking what he wants might offend the Dwarf, if Aarnr is be believe what he has been told.

However, a solution is readily at hand - dealing with such matters is the sort of thing that the Halflings have proven themselves exceptionally good at.

Looking back, the priest waves either Erista or Ozzie closer, whichever of the pair is the first to fail not to catch his eye, yelling if he must to garner their attention.

Erista smiles up at Aarnr, having slipped off the wagon and followed him on the theory that if there is anyone among her friends who should not be wandering off alone - and she could name six such people - first among them is Aarnr.

"Henrik.  Please, call me Henrik."  The man considers Eilieen's and Arkan's words, then, "We have had a group of men pass through today that would fit those you describe.  They appeared to be labourers, but they didn't speak to anybody here about their purpose, or their trade, so I can't hazard a guess at either."

"They were here about two hours ago.  I'd say they've probably reached Crossroad by now."

The dwarf is muttering in his sleep.  Something about dogs.  Suddenly he sits up straight, though his eyes are still closed, and says quite distinctly, "Frogging mongrel curs!  Gods blast your eyes!"

Then he screams and clutches at this left leg, and his own eyes fly open, as he looks about wildly.

Two hours!  That's all?  "My thanks, Eld...Henrik!" Eilieen exclaims, only stumbling slightly over the words.  "We're closer than I thought!"  Only...it's night-time, now.  They can't continue to journey.  Oh, if only they could!  For all they know, their quarry might leave Crossroads tomorrow, and they'll need to waste precious time working out that fact.

"We must make haste to sleep!" she informs her compatriots, then stops.  "I mean...well, you understand.  If we rise early in the morning and set out as quickly as possible, certainly we might drag down our prey before they escape once again."

And what a splendid thing that would be...unless, mind, they've bitten off more than they could chew.

Aarnr pauses, hand held high, his keen senses enabling him to spot Erista smiling up at him.  He nods as if that was what he'd expected all along.  "I need to ... buy ... a ..."

The priest breaks off as Gonder stirs, his mouth splitting into a broad grin.  While the Dwarf's curses lack the inspiration of the truly divine, they're among the best he's heard from a layperson and confirm that the mighty hero has survived so long by such demands for Bowbe's favour.

"... big sword !" he finishes, eyeing Gonder hopefully.  "Froggin dogs !" he agrees wholeheartedly.

Erista nods her understanding, stepping forward.  Hopefully, his careful emphasis means he understands that `buying' means he will be giving the poor man money in exchange, and not setting fire to his shop.

"I've never been very fond of dogs either," she sympathizes.  "Sorry to wake you, but my friend and I were looking to buy a sword.  The biggest you have, hopefully.  A three-hander, if you've got one," she grins.

The dwarf slides off the bench and limps about in a circle, muttering under his breath the whole time.  Eventually he stops and leans against the end of the bench, standing on his right foot only, and lifting the left off the ground.

"A three-hander, eh?" and he laughs, "Not much call for them in these parts.  Not with most of the kingdoms being so short-handed."

"But let's see what we've got."  He eyes Aarnr up and down before asking him to stretch his arms out to the sides.  "Ah-hah!  I reckon I've got the very thing for you."  Gingerly placing his left foot on the ground, he tests his weight on it before hobbling into the forge.

Henrick nods, "It would be a bad thing if your quarry leaves Crossroad before you catch them.  There are a baker's dozen places they can reach within a day from there.  And unless luck was with you, you might never catch up with them."

Gonder returns shortly with a plain, unadorned greatsword in an equally plain sheath.  "Is this the sort of thing you had in mind?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:20, Sun 28 Aug 2016.

Glancing curiously at the dwarf's proferred greatsword Arkan says to his companions, "The old man says it true. We should not tarry long, lest we lose our quarry. We are tired and need sleep yes, but so will they. While they rest at the Crossroads we can close the distance and come upon them in the dark of the night, and turn their sweet dreams into nightmares."

A hard gleam is in his eyes as he speaks, and a gloved fist clenches and unclenches with abandon, while a vein throbs in his forehead.

His words may sound ruthless, but ruthless times sometimes call for such decisions.

Aarnr covers his confusion over the question of a three hander with his perpetual scowl ... which also serves him in good stead as the Dwarf makes him stand around like an idiot with his hands stretched wide.

But all is forgiven when the Dwarf fetches the sword and the big priest nods enthusiastically, holding out his hand that he might examine the blade with the practiced eye of one who knows little about the making of weapons but much about what to do with them.

The absence of ostentatious ornamentation is an obvious advantage and Aarnr looks upon the sword with delight, nodding fiercely.

"Very well," Eilieen sighs.  It's a conundrum: sleep or running down the worshippers of a demon.  Fortunately Arkan has solved the issue.  "We continue through the night, though we must remain wary.  Dark things might stalk the woods under cover of...darkness," she finishes, somewhat lamely.

Raising her voice to the rest of the group, she continues.  "Are we ready?  Shall we continue?"  Spotting Aarnr, Eilieen blinks.  "Are you buying that?" comes the third question, in less of a stirring tone.

Gonder nods, "It's finished enough to serve in battle, it just lacks the frippery and finery - carvings and gilt wire, and the like - that I usually add as finishing touches afore I take weapons to sell in Kaerlach."

"But if you want it, I can let you have it for... " and he ponders briefly, watching as Aarnr tests the weight and balance of the blade "... seventy gold."

"I would caution you then," Henrick says, raising a hand in admonition, "travellers on the road after dark face many dangers in these parts, beyond mere wild beasts and goblins and their ilk.  Brigands abound, as well as ghosts, witches and things out of nightmare driven down from the mountains, or out of deep caves."

"I urge you to rest here for the night, where you are protected by numbers, and by the light."

Erista looks the sword over, sees the look of almost childlike joy on Aarnr's face as he takes the blade to test, and smiles to herself.

She starts a bit at the price named, though, turning back to him and saying, "Seventy silver sounds like... wait, did you say gold?  That seems a bit high.  I can promise you that even though you didn't have to spend your time or material on all those frills, in my friend's hands, this will be well used and well loved... what would you say to fifty five gold?" she proposes.

The lack of frippery and finery is a definite plus - indeed Aarnr is amazed he doesn't have to spend extra to have it removed !

Hearing Eilieen's question the priest nods eagerly, obviously more than content with the weapon.  Reaching into his pouch he pulls out the scrap of cloth that holds all the odd coins he's collected, thrusting it towards Erista with a fierce grin.

"A fine purchase my friend." Arkan remarks to Aarnr, eyeing the greatsword. "Though you should invest in a new scabbard as well, and something to soak up all the blood and brains that will be coating this blade soon enough."

Turning his head towards Henrick he muses, "That sounds quite the variety of dangerous creatures, who knows, perhaps they might do our work for us, unless our prey reaches a safe have of their own."

If they have reached Crossroad, then they are safe for the night, behind the palisade.  The city has an army too, so fiends and outlaws will not attack them there." Henrick explains, "Almost three hundred people live there, and King Arranol holds court there too, so the city has strong defences."

Gonder tugs at his beard, thinking, then pronounces, "What I'd say would be sounding a bit frogging friendlier if it was sixty five.  Good quality steel's hard to come by in these parts.  Expensive, see?  As it is, I'd barely be breaking even at sixty five."  Erista unwraps the surprisingly heavy bundle handed to her by Aarnr...

Aarnr is vaguely aware that Eilieen is much involved in the organisation of the storming of the walls of some froggin' hell-hated, pig's-snout of a city ... and while he's very much looking forward to the pleasure, for the moment all his attention is fixed upon the cut and thrust of the deadly art of shopping.

"Bread ?" Arkan's suggestion seems to require the obvious response, but the priest does not wait for the light of understanding to dawn in his eyes, turning instead to look to Erista for her next gambit, nodding his head with marked enthusiasm to show his complete agreement with the Dwarf's utter reasonableness, whatever 'sixty-five' is.

Erista looks into the bundle, fishes around in it for a moment, and then jerks her fingers back suddenly and draws it closed again.

She looks up at Aarnr, sees his enthusiasm, and smiles, her shoulders relaxing.  Reaching into her own pouch, she quickly counts out fifteen more golden coins, pushes them into Aarnr's bag without fully opening it again, and holds it out to the dwarf.  "Sixty and change," she offers, in a tone of finality.  "Gold in hand."

Gonder takes the bundle from Erista and weighs it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then he nods and smiles at Aarnr.  "The blade's yours my friend.  It'll serve well, barring the meddling of the gods.  Remember me fondly when you're laying waste to your enemies, and I'll think of you, and your lady friend here, every time I buy a flagon of mild."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Sun 11 Sept 2016.

The rituals of this thing called shopping are all but unfathomable, but it seems, by the words spoken by Erista and the Dwarf that the transaction is complete ... and by some miracle, Aarnr has himself a new blade, forged by a Dwarven Hero, no less.

And he didn't even have to kill him for it !

"I will remember ye, Gonder," the priest promises, holding up his prize in salute to the Smith.  "I will wield this sword with pride, and each of its victims shall know the name of its maker. May Bowbe grants thee a warrior's death !"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:34, Mon 12 Sept 2016.

Colwyn lifts a hand to hide the grin that splits his features as Henrick describes the impressive capital of this kingdom, and its doubtless mighty army.  He's heard of this sort of place - little more than a village of shacks and hovels, with an impoverished "king" who sits in a smoky barn that the locals call a palace, and sleeps on the dirt floor with his courtiers.

Probably not even worth stealing from him.  Almost.  Likely considers his kingdom a worthy rival to the Grand Duchy.

"Yer was sayin' as 'ow this 'ere Tarkanen split into... what?  A 'undred kingdoms?  Is this king in Crossroad rulin' over one of them bits of Tarkanen?"

"Yes, King Arranol is one of the heirs to the legacy of Tarkanen, by right of blood."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:18, Sun 18 Sept 2016.

Arkan cannot help but crack a smile at Aarnr's joy at his new purchase, aided by Erista's monetary donations.

"I don't suppose you found any scrolls or books you may want to sell dwarf?" Arkan asks Gonder, doubting the dwarf did but wanting to be sure.

Gonder eyes Arkan for a moment, and then bursts out laughing, as he holds out his hands, palms up, to show the callouses, burns, blisters and dirt.  "Do I look like a frogging scribe, or a gods blasted wizard lad?  Only books I ever owned were dwarven tomes on the forging of iron and steel, and I haven't needed them since before your grandfather was born."

"Not that I could show you them, mind, even if I still had them.  Bloody elders'd have my frogging guts for garters if I gave dwarf secrets to outsiders.  And they'd be right to do it, I'd be breaking a good dozen god-sworn oaths, and I'd deserve to be hanged for doing it."

"If I was lucky, they might not shave me and skin me first."

Sheathing his new blade in his old scabbard, Aarnr nods his thanks to Erista, who once more has proven herself a learned practitioner of the arcane art of shopping, and grins appreciatively at Gonder's response to Arkan.

Colwyn's revelation is a little more disturbing and brings a frown the priest's brow.  One hundred kingdoms certainly sounds like a lot, and will undoubtedly be an awful amount of work to conquer in due course.  He supposes it's too much to hope for in these civilised lands that they might all settle their difference in the proper and dignified manner by fighting it out on the battlefield, that he might then overthrow the victor and save a great deal of time.

Still ... there's the evil of Rappan Athuk to vanquish first, and before that some bat-fowlin' demon-worshippers to hunt down and kill, so the myriad of kingdoms will have to wait their turn.

"Rites of blood ?" Aarnr questions.  Undoubtedly the reason the masons fled to this King Arranol for protection for they sound much of a kind.

"Ah, forgive me master dwarf, I meant no offense. I would never presume to pry the secret arts of your clan from you, nor anything that might loose you your beard or your, err skin." Arkan says quickly, making a placating gesture with a hand. He is not surprised at the dwarf's reaction at his request for any lore though, but he had still wanted to be sure.

Henrick turns to Aarnr, "I mean that he holds the throne because he can trace his lineage back to one of the noble houses of old Tarkanen.  His ancestors have ruled in Crossroad since the fall of the old kingdom."

The dwarf steps forward and claps Arkan on the back, "It's all right lad, there's no harm done, and I was half jesting with you anyhow."

"That's a fine blade you bear.  Might I take a look?"

There are many words in Henrick's reply that Aarnr does not understand.  And even those that are within his grasp merely serve to further his opinion of civilised folk.  Still, if this King Arranol is strong enough to bear his throne, rather than content himself sitting on it, perhaps he might be a worthy opponent.

Yet the priest just nods, his usual fearsome expression concealing any hint of anything other than thoughtfulness and wisdom.

Turning to his companions, he grins broadly.  "Beef-witted brigands and guts-griping goats await us !" he suggests hopefully. "Either we take this Crossroads this night else cunningly lie in wait for those froggin' fen-sucked pignuts to stick their pox-marked faces beyond the gate !"

Eilieen hangs back from the conversation.  There's a lot of good information flowing at the moment, and she doesn't want to plug that sluicegate by stuffing her foot down her throat.

...so, so many mixed metaphors, it seems*.

She could, of course, compliment Aarnr on his new purchase.  But a mild phobia rears its ugly head, stretching back to her time in the Temple and a specific incident involving a travelling mercenary who stopped for dinner, and Eilieen shies away from any comments regarding the blade's size.

She hadn't heard the end of it for months.

"If this man is the rightful king," she finally puts in, "certainly he would be pleased to assist us in a search for justice against these vile worshippers of undeath."

Well, it's not a surety, but why spoil blind optimism?

*Here, elsewhere...

"This?" Arkan pokes a thumb at Crescent Fall with some trepidition. "It was gifted to me by my teacher, a few years ago in a land far from here when I completed my initial training."

He cannot hide the hint of pride in his voice as he unstraps the sheathed fullblade from his back, draws the sword and displays it to the dwarf, pointing along the edge as he speaks. "It is long as a greatsword but thicker and heavier, and the blade also curves here, do you see?"

"Aye... I see it, and I've not seen its like afore.  The curve would make it cut more smoothly, without snagging on bone so readily, and the weight would snap most bones that it does snag on like dry twigs."  Gonder seems impressed by Arkan's blade.  "A distant land, you say?  In which direction?"

A decision has been made, it seems, and Colwyn is quick to pass word on to Arkan.

"Oi!  Arkan!  Be gettin' a bleedin' move on mate, we's bein' leavin'."

He nods to Henrick, and starts back towards the cart...

A good blade, that sword of Arkan's ... but it looks a little unwieldy, and, based on the fact that Aarnr has never seen one before, difficult to replace should it break.  Or so the priest tells himself as he eyes it enviously ...

Leaving !  It seems that the pursuit of the toad-knocking puds is back on.  Colwyn's words suffice to turn the priest's mind from the scintillating subject of swords to thoughts of what he might do to the demon-worshippers or anyone who would stand in his way with his own new blade !

With a general curt nod and non-communicative grunt that might be taken as wishing the villagers a fond farewell, Aarnr fairly leaps into the driving seat of the cart and prepares to set the ruminating oxen to the chase.

A (fairly) general consensus achieved, the party take a few minutes to refill water skins and canteens as they pass through the village on their way east.  Anybody looking back at the right moment sees Gonder pull something black from the makeshift money pouch handed to him by Erista, and throw it on the ground with a look of disgust.  That expression grows more intense, as one of the local dogs darts forward, snatches up the object, and runs off again (thereby avoiding a kick to the rump).

The dwarf's expression becomes a little more cheerful as he looks into the pouch again...

The party moves on into the forest, where the shroud of evening is gathering among the trees on each side of the road.  Somewhere a nightjar calls incessantly out of the darkness, its voice seeming to carry for miles along the road.

As the night grows blacker, and the road harder to see, forcing the group to light torches, or risk going off the road.  The torches, of course, present their own problems, attracting large numbers of insects.  Many of these seem to have a taste for human (and halfling) flesh...

After but a few minutes of being bitten by insects who seem immune to the strongest invective, Aarnr makes the torchbearer walk up front, driving the oxen after them.

Miserable, Eilieen huddles under her cloak, wrapping it about her as best she can and keeping the hood tight. Somehow the biting flies manage to find their way into her ears on occasion anyway.  Find the demon-worshippers, she keeps telling herself.  This is their fault, all of it.

Make them pay.

Colwyn stays away from the torches, keeping to the shadows that seem to gather close to the cart.  There is the matter of the biting insects, but much more important is the rogue's preference for darkness and the concealment it brings.

Ozzy, meanwhile, sits on the bench alongside his blood brother, strumming chords on his lute, and slowly piecing together an epic song about the party's exploits so far.  It's all coming together quite well, even if he does say so himself.  Some of the stanzas are proving difficult, but he believes he has the refrain almost right...

About an hour on their way, there is a sudden flare of light, and a burning arrow suddenly appears in the road about ten yards ahead of the cart.  A woman's voice calls from the blackness below the trees to the left.

"Foolish to travel the road at night my friends.  There are bandits in these parts.  But if you just drop your purses in the road here, we'll let you go on your way, and you won't need to worry about getting robbed later this evening."

"At least she sounds cheerful." Ozzy opines glumly.

Walking near the back of the group with his cloak drawn close around him to ward off the insects that assaulted from every angle, Arkan is startled when the burning arrow lands in front of them.

"Ah, bandits with a sense of humor," he murmurs wryly. "Let us try to bluff our way past." Arkan adds quietly to the others.

"Fobbin' bat-fowlin' puttock !"  Aarnr's anger knows no bounds.  "I don't have a sheep-bitin' pukin' coin," the priest complains, unjustly deprived of his chance to fight someone to the death for a few paltry coins.

Cheering as a thought strikes him¹, Aarnr pulls on the reins and makes the secret noises² that slow the oxen, bringing the cart to a stop.

"Can one of ye lend me a coin," he asks his companions ingeniously, loosening his blade in its scabbard.


¹ he retaliates of course, dispatching it handily
² woe!
This message was last edited by the player at 04:28, Sat 01 Oct 2016.

Feeling that she has already lent -- or, if she's totally realistic about it, given -- Aarnr enough coins for one day, Erista stays quiet.

Very quiet.

Colwyn shoves a handful of coppers into Aarnr's outstretched palm, smiling happily.  He thinks he knows where this might be heading, and the bandits might be in for an unpleasant surprise.  Not that they'll have much time to spend feeling unpleasantly surprised...


Then the woman's voice calls out again, "We have you outnumbered you know!"

"A bluff, yes." Ozzy nods enthusiastically, "But it won't be easy.  They know more about us than we do about them."

Eilieen watches with some dismay as Aarnr puts his plan(?) into action.  She nods to Arkan and Ozzy as they make their own comments on the matter (Erista remaining dangerously silent; who knows what the diminutive mage is preparing).  "Aarnr, before we do anything physical, allow me one moment..." the priestess states, striding forward and grounding her spear.  Opening her cloak, she displays her holy symbol openly.

"You seek to steal from a priestess of Zadastha," she calls out.  "We are travellers, set in the pursuit of evil; let us pass, and none shall come to hurt.  But block our way, and we shall respond as best we can...and I tell you, the goddess will not look upon you with favour!"

There's a small pause.

"Oh, and the enormous man with the gigantic sword?  Priest of Bowbe," Eilieen comments.  "Consider yourselves to be in disfavour with him, as well."

OOC: Diplomacy would have been the same with Taking 10 - total of 18.  If they're 'Unfriendly' but not 'Hostile', that's enough to move them into 'Indifferent'.  I can hope.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:42, Mon 03 Oct 2016.

Aarnr is not sure what is going on, though the expression on his face suggests nothing more than his usual surly menace.  The voice from the trees told everyone that there was no chance of bandits coming anywhere near anyone who didn't have any money, and thanks to them and Colwyn's generosity he's remedied that and is now ready to proceed, even if that means surrendering the reins to Ozzie so he can leap out and lead the charge when the moment arrives.

Ah !  It all becomes clear.  Eilieen is worried that their mysterious benefactor, might try to stop them going after the bandits out of some mistaken concern for their welfare and the priestess is warning them that any such attempt would be considered a grievous insult.

"We've dealt with froggin' bandits before !" he bellows in a threatening rumble that is meant to be reassuring.  "That's where we got the fobbin' cart !"

"We'll carve the mewlin' boil-brained hedge-pigs up !"

"You are mistaken.  We do not seek to steal.  Nor are we bandits." the voice laughs merrily, and is joined by more hoots and jeers from the darkness between the trees.  All seem to be in remarkably good humour.

"Call it... a toll... to ensure your protection from brigands.  Those who pay the toll willingly will not be found dead in a ditch and robbed of their wealth in the morning.  I swear this to you, in the name of King Arranol."

Colwyn looks in that direction, puzzled.  "Eh?" he murmurs.  Slowly he pulls an arrow from his quiver, and nocks it, though he does not, as yet, draw the bow.

"The bandits would kill for ..." Aarnr looks down at the coins Colwyn gave him "... some coppers ?"  He sounds inordinately pleased about this.  It's better than he thought.  Perhaps the humour displayed by the voice in the trees is catching.

"I vow in Bowbe's hell-hated name that we shall send the souls of the odiferous pottle-deep vassels screaming into the darkest hole in the Nine Hells where the bladders may tremble in pain for a froggin' eternity !" the priest vows.

"Don't ye worry, not one of the pribblin' fen-sucked gudgeons will escape us !"

Aarnr is obviously keen to get the oxen moving again, and brings the cart slowly forward that Eilieen can leap aboard and they can go looking for these doomed bandits.

"Aarnr, yer'd best be waitin' a bit.  There's bein' some trickery 'ere." Colwyn declares, "Summat's not bein' right 'bout this.  I's feelin' it in me water."

Up ahead, a figure steps out from the trees to the left of the road, about fifty yards ahead.  It seems to be dressed in white, and stands out quite well in the gloom...

The priest once more brings the oxen to a halt, puzzled over the delay in setting forth to find the bandits, but trusting Colwyn's instincts, especially if it is likely to lead to bloodshed.

"Is there a froggin' problem ?" Aarnr asks, then notices the figure in white that appears to the side of the road.  White, he notes, not black.  Trickery, eh ...

"Are ye a bandit, ye warped, scale-sided scullion ?" he bellows the question, thinking to catch it out in a lie.

The woman, for it is indeed she who stands in view on the gloom-shrouded road, calls back, "As I have already stated, we are not bandits!  Neither is there a problem, as long as you are prepared to part with you wealth as a toll to support the just rule of King Arranol!"

"The road that you travel belongs to him."

Standing warily and fully alert, Arkan peers at the ghostly figure in white as it emerges from the gloom and speaks. One of his hands is inside the folds of his cloak while the other is ready to draw his battleblade in one swift motion if required, though knowing full well the party likely have bows pointed at them, he knows how risky it will be to draw blades and start hacking right there and then.

A distraction would work well, or at the very least some light to show the party where the bandits were located.

"If the King is so just, why doth he tax simple travelers so? A just king provides safety to all in his dominion for free!" Arkan says loudly, looking at the woman. "And his loyal servants do not skulk in the shadows like hoodlums. Tell your companions to come out from the dark so we may converse like civilized citizens of this benevolent empire."

Colwyn's and Arkan's remarks finally bear fruit as Aarnr finally realises just what the gloom-shrouded, spur-galled mumble-news is saying.  With a growl he throws the reins to Ozzie as he leaps down from the driver's seat to stand beside the cart, levelling his brand-new blade at the ghostly figure in stark accusation.

"Not a froggin' bandit ... ye're a cullionly, knotty-pated, sheep-bitin', toad-spotted tax collector !" the priest roars, daring them to deny it.

Arkan and Aarnr seem to have things well in-hand; Eilieen slips up next to Colwyn.  "Speak on, Colwyn," she quietly urges him.  "If there is more we should know, best we be aware.  Even guesswork is better than naught, at the moment."

For a brief moment she toys with the idea of calling Doggie, but holds.  "'Part with our wealth'," the priestess mutters.  "Hardly the words of a legitimate tax collector.  They would standing in the open with guards, speaking of sums, not calling out vague generalities or demanding all of our coin from a distance with their laughing fellows hiding, prepared for ambush.  Bandits by any other name are still bandits."

Colwyn sneers (not a pretty sight) and says, "Them's smellin' like thieves ter me.  Lurkin' on the road at night, when the fat merchants what's 'avin' guards is all bein' abed.  So 'onest folk like us, what's 'avin' jus' their own 'ands ter be fightin' with is gettin' robbed."

He raises his bow, draws it, and aims at the woman.

She, in turn, laughs at Arkan's words.  "Simple, honest travellers would be taking the road in daylight, not skulking in the dark, like the hoodlums you accuse us of being."

"And toll collectors we are, not tax collectors.  I make no effort to deny my duty.  But the road must be maintained, and who better to pay for it than those who use it?"

She raises one arm above her head, and behind her the shadows begin to rustle and move, as armed men, their mail clinking in the night air and their white surcoats gleaming in the gloom, move out onto the road.  There look to be at least twenty of them...

Erista decides that keeping quiet is probably best here.

Aarnr's vocabulary, such as it is, does not allow for distinctions between toll collectors and tax collectors, nor does the sudden appearance of several handfuls of armed men worry him unduly, though he does regard them appraisingly, much like a dog salivating over a juicy bone.

There is one question that is puzzling him, however, and at least serves to stay his hand for the moment ...

 "What in the Nine Hells were ye puttocks doin' hidin' in those froggin' trees ?!!"

The priest's manner might indicate even to anyone who doesn't know him well that the answer had better be a good one, else it's suddenly going to get very noisy and messy around here.

"Part of our duty is to stop trouble makers on the road.  What better place to lay in wait for them than among the trees, where they are not forewarned of our presence."

The woman's good humour seems to be slipping a little.  She is not laughing any more, and a certain coldness is creeping into her voice.  Her troops, meanwhile, are drawing weapons.

"Are you going to pay the toll, or do we count you as vagrants, ne'er-do-wells, and vagabonds, and treat you accordingly?"

Where it not for his companions and his promise to his grandmother, Aarnr would already be laying about him with his blade, showing these hedge-pigs the error of their ways.

"Is this nut-hook demandin' all our froggin' coin ?" he asks Colwyn whose opinion on the matter he values highly, hoping he's understood her earlier demands correctly.

"Your toll being all of our coin, our purses laid upon the road?" Eilieen inquires, acid in her voice.  "Robbery is not a toll.  You would count servants of the gods and their noble companions -" it's a stretch for Colwyn (not Erista!), but she's not going to quibble over semantics "- as ne'er-do-wells?"

Her lips curl.  "I see no-ne'er-do wells about me.  Rather, I see them before me;   your accusations of skulking fall flat when we travel with light and cart, and you yourselves accost from the darkness.  I wonder how many other travellers you have despoiled of their coin...or their virtue and lives."

A score or more enemies against themselves.  Eilieen finds herself smiling, though her grip upon the spear trembles slightly.  "Well, come then," she states.  "Come take your ill-gotten gains, or at least make the attempt; I assure you, you shall bleed for it.  I only hope you have the courage to stand in the front, rather than hide behind your men.  At the worst, there shall be less bandits upon the road; at best?"  She laughs, the sound a touch brittle.  "There will be none when we finish with you."

From the corner of her mouth, she mutters to Colwyn.  "Should any make a move to attack, feather the leader.  Good or ill this turns out, I would see her marked."  After a small pause, she qualifies.  "Um.  Fatally, were it not clear."

Erista continues to, presumably, sleep peacefully on the wagon, blissfully unaware of all the kerfuffle.

Aarnr's huge fist closes around the few coppers held in his hand, his face lighting with what might best be described as unholy glee as Eilieen's words, such as he understands them (the skulking and accosting definitely don't sound good, though), give him the answer he was hoping for.

"Ye weedy, muddy-mettled, half-faced footlickers !!  Ye want my froggin coin ?!!  Then ye shall froggin' have it !!" the priest roars.

Fist held high, sword held low, Aarnr advances towards the puttocks.

Arkan's heart starts beating faster as the large number of men emerge from the gloom. This certainly did not look good, not at all.

He dares to hope as Eileen makes her intimidating speech, but they are dashed as Aarnr moves towards the men, sword drawn.

With a smooth motion Arkan draws his own sword with one hand, while the other makes a curious motion inside the folds of his cloak and his lips move almost soundlessly under the shadows of his hood.

"Aye, I's reckonin' as she's bein' after everythin' we's 'avin'.  Even the cart." Colwyn says, then smiles at the effect his words have on Aarnr.  The smile widens into a grin, as Eilieen gives him permission to stick an arrow in the leader of the robbers.

Not that he was waiting for any such permission, but it's nice to know you're not going to get in trouble for doing something...

"You would challenge us, the duly appointed soldiery of King Arranol?"  The woman seems a little outraged at this idea.  "Very well.  On your own heads be it!  Those of you who survive the battle will dance for the hangman.  Take them men!  Archers!"

The troops start to move forward, brandishing their weapons...


OOC: Ooh... some Initiative rolls would be nice, around about now, before we go any further.

Trying to decide between running away from the threat and hiding - oh how he loathe fighting - Bilfro finds himself hesitating too long for either.  So he does what remains, when disregarding all other options, and readies his mighty tiny little crossbow.

This is how the war starts, not with a bang, but with a whimper.  A very local and small war, naturally.  But war, war never changes its trousers (it always wear brown, in case), although it does on occasion change its underwear - it is, after all, not Aarnr, but far, far more civilised and polite.

Thus goes the mind of Bilfro the Magnificent Halfling-Giant as he prepares to not die in agonising pain once more.

Everything seems to move alarmingly quickly...

Ozzy reacts fast though, scrambling up onto the cart, where he retrieves his lute, before clearing his throat, assaying a few notes, and launching into a song...

"The Queen of Light took her bow,
And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom,
And walked the night alone."

Near the cart, Eilieen taunts her foes, and threatens them with the retribution of Heaven before beginning to pray to Zadastha.  Somewhere, not too far away, a dog barks...

Reluctantly readying his small crossbow, Bilfro prepares to sell his life dearly, and with no plan for a clearance sale.  He does, however, note that there do seem to be an awful lot of enemies looking his way.  He may be forced to use Valkyria to teach them a lesson if they get too close.  In all honesty though, they would need to demonstrate an astounding turn of speed to get that close to him...

Arkan draws his heavy sword, muttering under his breath, but his words are drowned out as a noise, something between a roar, a scream, and a howl, suddenly erupts from the forest behind the party and to the left of the road.  Sounds like something very large just woke up on the wrong side of the lair...

His own bellow only a little quieter than the monstrous beast which seems to be lurking among the trees somewhere behind him, Aarnr advances rapidly on the enemy.  Whatever is behind him is ignored, in favour of the foes that he can see.

A number of whom are backing away, as if considering flight as a viable battle plan.

Visibly shaken the woman still manages to draw her sword, and yells at the men, "Stand your ground, you dogs!  He's only one man!"  A handful of them rally, and prepare to fight for the party's wealth.  Or, rather, they prepare to fight for a transfer of the party's wealth...

Colwyn lets his breath out in a long, smooth exhalation, and his arrow flies towards its mark.  The enemy leader also lets out her breath, though hers is in a ragged scream, as the rogue's arrow embeds itself in her shoulder.

"Got yer!" Colwyn yells triumphantly.  But his triumph is short lived, as a dozen or so more men emerge from the forest behind his target.  And these are armed with bows...


OOC: Oh, dear.  That can't be good.  Can it?  On the plus side, Ozzy's singing gives everybody a +1 bonus for attacks and damage.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne    23
Eilieen            16
Erista             13
Bilfro Gabbins     12
Arkan              10
Leader              7 (AC=16)
Toll collectors     7 (AC=15)
Aarnr Foultongue    6
Colwyn Akbar        5
Archers             5 (AC=14)

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

The roaring and growling from somewhere to his rear only makes Aarnr crosser.  To think he has to waste his time dealing out death to these beslubbering, spur-galled canker-blossoms when he might be imperiling his life against whatever monstrous beast now assails his friends.

"Here's thy froggin' coin, thou currish foolborn coxcombs !" the priest snarls, hurling his handful of coppers to the ground.  "Payment for the ferryman who will bear ye surly flap-mouthed apple-johns to Hel's cold domain !!"

"Don't let any of the puttocks escape !!" Aarnr instructs his friends as he gives himself over to the spirit of Bowbe that's hammering at the edge of his consciousness, raising his newly acquired sword above his head as he charges forward, intent upon the huddled mass of toll-collectors, screaming incomprehensible threats.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:11, Mon 24 Oct 2016.

"Oh, well done Colwyn!" Eilieen cries, fairly dancing in place.  Finely done, indeed.  There's that horrifying scream, but...she can't see Erista anywhere.  And the danger lies before them.  Hoping against hope that this is a ploy on the part of their trickster mage, she prepares and begins.

"Lady of Love, lend your strength to those who would stand against injustice," Eilieen intones, raising her holy symbol.  A rosy light limes it for an instant, divine power surging.  Her other hand rises, then, to point her spear at her desired target.

"Go, Doggie!"

OOC - Okay, this will be a little complicated.
If the GM graciously allowed the summoning of Doggie 2.0 already (I don't know, have we gone through a round?), Eilieen will summon Doggie I as well.  If Doggie 2.0 has not yet been called up, she'll do that.

Either way, I'll need to prioritize targets.

1.  IF Doggie(s?) can reach the archers without suffering any AoO, I'll have them do so - better to tie up the missile weapon people with a couple creatures.

2.  If Doggies must suffer AoO to reach the archers, I'll have them back up Aarnr, attacking people who get into combat with him and blocking off any way for them to flank him.

Erista, who would be terribly flattered if she knew what Eilieen was thinking, follows her own course.

As Bilfro prepares his astonishing marksmanship skill, a roar that makes Aarnr sound positively cuddly makes the Masterful Magician miss his shot and he glances behind himself, in such a courageous fashion as only he can display.

"By the wiggly bits at the end of a wobbly pole made out of jiggly things, what in the name of all that was that sound?!" he inquires quietly at the top of his voice, both in intensity as well as in pitch.

He checks his pocket to make sure Death Unseen is still there, since it might have been him.  It was definitely not Death Unheard, because, duh.  Could it be Death Unsmelt?  Is the next piece of the puzzle going to bite his bits off and chew on them till next weekend?
This message was last edited by the player at 20:08, Mon 24 Oct 2016.

On the cart, Ozzy seems to be warming up, and as he continues to sing, his words carry across the battlefield to fortify his allies...

"Oh, dance in the dark of night,
Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight,
And time will tell us all.

Oh, throw down your plough and hoe,
Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we await the might
Of the darkest of them all."

Thrusting his sword into the ground Arkan simultaneously withdraws a scroll from the scroll case at his belt with his free hand, hoping the loud snarling from the forest will keep the archers at bay for a moment while he uses it.

Unfurling the smooth, vellum seeming parchment he swiftly incants the runic writing inscribed upon it, writing he himself had scribed with his own hands little over a year ago before even setting out on his journey to foreign lands.

ᛋᚻᛁᛖᛚᛞ

The air shimmers around him with an ethereal glow for a brief moment, and the parchment burns instantly into ashen tatters, leaving a sulphurous smell in the air.

---

Staying back near the cart, Colwyn flinches as a bestial roar rips through the night air.  Still, he realises, Eilieen is nearby and he can hear her dog barking.  Ozzy also seems to be between himself and the giant, slavering monster*.  He should be safe enough for the moment.

Finding his target again (and whispering a brief prayer of thanks to the god of white surcoats), he sends another arrow hurtling towards the enemy leader.


*In Colwyn's experience the purely speculative description, "giant, slavering monster" seems like a pretty safe bet.

Ozzy continues singing at the top of his voice, ignoring the heckling of the monster in the forest behind him...

Eilieen keeps praying to Zadastha as a dog races past her, all flowing golden fur, bright eyes, and flexing muscle.  The beast barks happily as it follows Aarnr into battle.  And from somewhere behind Eilieen comes the barking of a second dog.  Faint at first, but getting closer. 

There is a sudden flare of prismatic brightness which pours from the forest to the right of the road and washes over the archers, who scream and yell in panic, before a few of them drop to the ground, unmoving.    This does nothing to steady the nerves of their comrades, who can see Aarnr rushing towards them, closely followed by a dog which seems to shine as if a ray of sunlight falls upon it alone. 

Bilfro, confused by the roar of what must, surely, be the world's largest dragon, and only inches from his ear, manages to send his crossbow quarrel thudding into the road about half way between himself and the nearest enemy.

Arkan, meanwhile continues his preparations for battle, his sword standing upright in the rutted road as he works an incantation...

"Archers!" screams the leader, attempting to remove the arrow from her shoulder, "Take down the magicians!"

A handful of the warriors move to intercept Aarnr, swords swinging.  In a deafening clash of steel, and a welter of blood, they meet the priest of Bowbe head on as Eilieen's dog snaps at their legs.  In four heartbeats and the shake of an owlbears tail, only the priest and the dog remain standing.  Both of them are covered with blood.  None of which belongs to the dog, and only a little to Aarnr. 

The enemy leader staggers and doubles over, as Colwyn puts an arrow flights-deep in her gut.  She forces herself upright and reaches for a pouch hanging at her belt.

Her archers unleash a volley of arrows, and Eilieen is forced to duck aside as two embed themselves in the ground where she had been standing.  Arkan watches as three more are deflected by the force of his spell.  Others miss their targets...

And for some reason, Ozzy stops singing.  Colwyn glances in his direction, just in time to see the halfling drop his lute and topple from the cart with an arrow through his neck!

OOC: Told you it couldn't be good.  On the plus side, Ozzy's singing gives everybody a +1 bonus for attacks and damage for a little while longer, even though he's been silenced.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne     -
Eilieen            16
Erista             13
Bilfro Gabbins     12
Arkan              10
Leader              7 (AC=16)
Toll collectors     7 (AC=15)
Aarnr Foultongue    6
Colwyn Akbar        5
Archers             5 (AC=14)

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan :           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Dead?

"Oswald!" Eilieen shrieks.  Terror rips through her, grappling with a sudden burst of raw fury.  All this blood, all of this death, and Oswald down with an arrow in his throat...for what?  For greed.  For ego.  For a small person who believes they have the right to take, take, and take again to satisfy their own emptiness.

No more.

"Kill them!" she screams at her dogs, turning to bolt toward the wagon.  The wagon, and the fallen Oswald.  "Kill them all!"  The priestess rushes to her fallen companion, words - and tears - spilling from her.

"Zadastha, mistress of mercy, I beseech you to save this voice from stillness!"

OOC - Assuming Ozzy is still alive, Cure Moderate Wounds - if that doesn't at least get him on his feet, nothing will.  If not, well...

Results are 21 - assuming Ozzy wasn't KILLED, that's exactly the damage he took!

The screaming and shouting is to be expected, but unfortunately Eileen's contribution goes unnoticed amid the cries of the ensorcelled¹ archers and the horribly chopped up² guards, leaving Aarnr quite unaware of poor Ozzie's plight.  Though it's not as if his reaction would be any different if he knew his blood brother's fate.

Indeed the priest's own howls as he turns and races towards the obvious target that is the massed ranks of the archers merely add to the cacophony of cries and confusion.

¹ nothing to do with Aarnr
² quite a lot to do with Aarnr

Arkan smirks as the arrows bounce off his ward, then focuses on the morass of archers unaffected by what was undoubtedly Erista's conjured spell of colors. Before he can do much else Eileen's wail of terror causes him to turn around sharply, and he sees Oswald fall with an arrow in his neck.

Swirling around in rage he grasps his battleblade with one hand and whispers an incantation under his breath, while making a sweeping gesturing at the group with his other hand.

The ground they are standing upon begins to bubble and ooze...

---

Colwyn is shaken by Ozzy's fall.  But for only a brief moment.  With an incoherent cry of rage he nocks another arrow and shoots at the enemy leader.  Sadly his emotions get the better of him, and the shaft flies over the woman's head and lands somewhere further along the road.

This does nothing to calm the rogue...

Dead calm¹ Bilfro surveys the battlefield, plotting his next manoeuvre².  He stands there...  Ah, who are we kidding.  He runs about like a headless chicken in a future market place on the day when all prices are reduced, with the exception that he still have his head, for what all good that does.

At one point he kind of shrieks, "Korkmayın, ben bir hayalet, boo duyuyorum!" while skipping about and waving his hands about as if trying to fly away.

_________________________________
¹  On the absolute brink of sheer and utter panic
²  Glancing about in all but a total state of confusion

A small rock flies out from the treeline, moving at some speed towards the enemy leader's head.

Ozzy lays unmoving on the ground as Eilieen tends to his wound.  Gently withdrawing the arrow from his neck, she prays to Zadastha to aid her small companion.  Alas, her efforts seem to be in vain - the brightness of his soul has already faded from the halfling's eyes, and he has ceased to draw breath...

With a cry of pain, the enemy leader suddenly stumbles, and lifts her hand to the side of her scalp.  When she pulls it away, her fingers are stained with blood, black in the gloom.  The same blood which, even now, is starting to pour down her face. 

As another bellowing roar erupts from the forest, this time coming from somewhere behind the archers, the woman shakes her head in disbelief and yells, "Retreat!  Flee!  Scatter!"  Dropping her sword, she starts to stagger back towards the forest.

As she skirts around the archers, she slips and falls heavily, as do several of the bowmen.  Only three of the archers remain standing, and those only briefly as, with golden hounds snapping at their ankles, they fall before Aarnr's new sword (which seems to be more than adequate for the pitiless slaughter of his enemies).

The priest takes a step to one side, to where the fallen bowmen and their leader still struggle to rise on the oddly treacherous ground.  Snarling in his berserk fury, like some wild beast, Aarnr himself almost slips, but steadies himself as he raises his weapon over his head... and drops it to cleave the ribs of one of the archers.

The handful of still standing troops scatter, screaming, into the forest, as Aarnr dispatches the four fallen bowmen in almost as few heartbeats, and then takes the head of the woman who led them.

OOC: Penalty for Aarnr, for unnecessary roughness.  Though that's cancelled out by a bonus for efficiency.  Battle appears to be over, unless anybody feels like chasing a few scattering men through a dark forest in the middle of the night.

Oh, and if anybody's interested in prisoners, there are still some archers laying about  who were stunned by the burst of coloured light in the previous round.

Combatant         Init
Oswald Osbourne     -
Eilieen            16
Erista             13
Bilfro Gabbins     12
Arkan              10
Leader              -
Toll collectors     -
Aarnr Foultongue    6
Colwyn Akbar        5
Archers             -

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan :           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Dead

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:24, Sun 06 Nov 2016.

Bilfro turns away from the now done battle and glances in the direction from whence his inspiration came, wondering whether more lives will be lost to it, or merely those he helped take.  Life used to be some much different, violence avoided.  Now, Death follows him everywhere.  His gaze drops to a small shape near the wagon and he hangs his head.

He slowly wanders off to one side and slumps down on a fallen tree, absently stroking the head of Death Unseen.

"Oswald," Eilieen whispers.  Zadastha's strength pours into him...and seeps away, like water into a cracked and broken cup.  Gently, she takes his hands, holding them for a long moment...then crosses them upon his chest, arranging him with great care in a comfortable posture.

He is long past worrying about such things, but she cannot simply leave him sprawled.

Slowly, Eilieen stands, surveying the dreadful remains of the battlefield.  Sorrow, she carries within her, but the time to release it will be later.  Now?  Hefting her spear, she strides toward the carnage.

It does not satisfy her; there is no satisfaction in death, only an end to the evil they faced.

"To me," she whispers, recalling her dogs.  Her voice rises.  "Aarnr, it is enough!  Well done, and stay your sword!  We shall take those left as prisoners - I would know more of this banditry!"

OOC - Yes, interested in prisoners!

OOC: Not interested in prisoners !  :>

Still snarling incomprehensibly, Aarnr spots some of the fallen archers¹ who still live and strides over to them, face contorted with anger as he raises his heavy blade above his head, then brings it down, aiming to remove the fat-kidney'd basket-cockle's pate from his weedy shoulders.  Turning to the next ...

... Eilieen's voice belatedly penetrates the red mist and the priest holds his blow, slumping somewhat as Bowbe's presence leaves him.

Aarnr turns his head towards the priestess, the unpleasant expression on his face a stern enquiry to ascertain he's heard her aright, else he'll be about his business.

He's vaguely aware that something is wrong, but is not quite sure what.  Though undoubtedly it'll be something he's done and for which he will get shouted at.

¹ I believe that's a painful medical condition ?

Aarnr stays his hand at Eilieen's behest, and some of the stunned archers live still.  All the better to succumb to torture and mutilation questioning to ascertain their purpose in harassing travellers on the road.

Colwyn lights a torch and brings it across to where the savage priest looms over the assorted corpses almost-corpses, close up, and with better light, it seems that, while they were different armour, all of the fallen men, and their leader, are dressed in identical white surcoats with a red dragon emblem emblazoned across the chest.  And both armour and surcoats are in good condition (with the exception of sundry recent slashes, tears and rips, all of which seem to coincide with still-wet blood stains).

They do not have the usual slovenly and ragged appearance that one would typically expect of bandits, brigands, or ruffians.

"Them's lookin' like soldiers." Colwyn opines sagely.

"Froggin' guardsmen," Aarnr agrees with Colwyn, barely able to stop himself skewering the nearest puny reeling-ripe scut.

Exhaling slowly Arkan glances about at the blood soaked battlefield, all the blood coming from their enemies whom Aarnr and his new sword had decapitated or otherwise cut open...save for the trickle of life that spilled out of Oswald's neck.

Sighing in resignation at the tragedy, Arkan sheathes his battleblade, keeping an eye out for any errant stragglers that may have only pretended to run as a feint. He glances over to where Oswald's body lies and says, "Nothing can be done for him, save a worthy burial. He died, but died valiantly in battle; which is perhaps the best fate we can all hope for."

Then walking forward to stand with Colwyn and Aarnr, Arkan gazes grimly at the uniforms in the torchlight. "They spoke the truth then? In that case we should be away from here as soon as possible before there is a hunt called out for us."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:12, Sun 13 Nov 2016.

Arkan's words merely confirm the priest's feeling that something is wrong.  Ignoring the advice to be gone swiftly, Aarnr narrows his eyes at the young man.

"Who froggin' died ?  These fawnin', pottle-deep pignuts don't deserve any fobbin' respect !  They're reeky, fool-born varlets !" even a burial, distasteful as the priest finds such, is more than he'd grant them.

"This one's not even dead ... yet," he eyes the craven, poised to remedy that matter but aware that Eilieen has something to say on the matter.

Erista comes out from the trees a way up the road, not far from where the leader fell.  As is her habit, she first goes to her and checks her over quickly.  "They've probably got a camp nearby," she points out, as she rises from her crouch over the woman's body.  "Might have spoils they took from other passers' through," she notes.  "It'd be more or less a public service if we were to go gather some of those up, in case we might meet their rightful owners along our own way."

As she turns to complete this thought, smiling, she finally takes in the scene around Ozzy, and hurries over, paling in the torchlight.  She stops a bit back, and looks at Eilieen.

"Ozzy?" she asks.

"Aye.  By the looks of it, them's really workin' fer some king."

Colwyn steps forward, an arrow ready on his bow.  He kicks one of the fallen men, just to make sure he's dead.  Then he does it again, and harder, just because.  "That were bein' fer Ozzy, yer bastard." he growls.

Drawing one of his knives, he begins to cut the emblem from the man's surcoat.

One of the unconscious archers starts to sit up slowly, shaking his head to clear it.  He stops moving when he feels the tip of Aarnr's blade against his throat.  His eyes are unfocussed, and he doesn't seem to see anything.

"It's all right... er... my friend.  I'll just sit here for now."

Once the questioning begins, Eilieen returns to Oswald.  She leaves the discussion regarding the soldiers to the three men watching them, and slowly kneels beside her fallen comrade.  The two dogs become streaks of gold in the air for an instant before disappearing, but she pays them no heed.  The distant voices wash over her - soldiers, emblems, Colwyn's fury and Arkan's assessment - she registers them, but does not move.

At Erista's query, the priestess rouses herself.

Standing, she walks the short distance to where her friend stands.  "I was tardy," the priestess whispers.  "Or perhaps the wound too great."  Or both.  "I am sorry, Erista."  So very sorry.  "We have lost Oswald."  They have; for Oswald is not lost, himself.  Instead, his spirit has returned home.  But these words she does not speak.

They would be icy comfort.

She reaches out her hand to the small sorceress.  "Come," Eilieen whispers, before raising her voice.  "Aarnr - leave the prisoners alive.  But know you, your brother has fallen in battle.  Will you not bid him farewell?"

The priestess's words at last confirm Aarnr's suspicions, but the news is worse than ever he'd considered.  Ignoring the wretch on the ground at his feet, the priest slowly turns his head to regard his fallen blood brother, before looking back to the archer, death in his eyes.  As he raises the blade above his head, for a moment it seems that he will drive his sword into the heart of the defeated foe, but with a terrible roar Aarnr lowers his weapon.

Kneeling next to the man, the priest ignores his words, telling him, "My brother is dead, thou toad-knocking small-coded pud !  Ye live at her behest only !" He points his finger at Eilieen.  "If thou speak but one lie or are not most swiftly forthcoming to the questions she poses, then I shall tear out thy tongue, cut out thy eyes and burn thee alive, thou mammerin', guts-gripin' Rampallian !!"

"If they run, cut off their feet," Aarnr instructs Arkan and Colwyn as he turns back to the cart, walking forwards with leaden steps.

Where he sits, Bilfro starts to sing, sing a sorrowful yet at the same time hopefully lament over the fallen companion.

"I'll do my utmost to answer your questions, Sir."

Colwyn regards the archer curiously, then leans down and jabs his fist at the man's face, stopping a hair short of actually striking him.  The archer doesn't flinch, or give any sign that he even notices.

"'e isn't seein' nothin'." he declares, "'e's bein' blind as a bloody owl!"

"I's goin' ter cut 'is fingers off, so as he can't shoot nobody again."

"My friend!  Would you truly harm a blind man?"

"Oh yes, seein' as 'ow them's the ones what's less likely ter fight back an' 'urt a body."

"Hold, Colwyn," Eilieen quietly calls as Aarnr approaches and Bilfro sings his lament.  "While I understand -" and goddess save her, she does "- let us not leap to mutilation of captured enemies."  Her head bows.  "Yet."

But what will they do with their captives?  Will the man remain blinded?  If not, should they simply let them go freely?

No.

No, Eilieen decides.  This 'king' is another evil in the world, or at least his men have taken it upon themselves to be so.  They attack travellers in the night, claiming a well-lit wagon to be brigands.  They demand all of their money, rather than a fair toll.  And when refused?  They kill.  What other crimes have these soldiers committed in their king's name?  And what of their king?  Does he know of this?

Something must be done.

"Something will be done," she states, her voice suddenly harsh.  It smooths a moment later as Aarnr arrives.  "Come, Aarnr.  Set..."  Swallowing, she composes herself.  "Set your sword aside and sing praises of your brother."

"His sight will come back pretty soon," Erista says, bitterly.  "You can cut his fingers off then, so it's proper, if he'd really rather watch."  The words, and her tone, are surprisingly savage from her otherwise adorable form.

Walking up to Oswald, she touches the arrow sticking through his throat, and sighs.  "It wasn't your fault," she promises Eilieen.  "You always do your very best for us."

While the burden of carrying Bowbe has left Aarnr drained in the aftermath, the sight of Ozzie's small limp form seems to weary the big barbarian further.  The sword of Gonder falls from his hand as he slumps to his knees besides his blood-brother.

Wordlessly, the priest grasps the slaying-shaft, pushing it further though the Halfling's neck, then reaching down to snap off the head, staring at it as Ozzie's blood stains his hands.  For a moment it looks as if he might hurl it from him, but then his jaw sets and his hand closes over the point.  With his free hand, Aarnr pulls the shaft out, tossing it to one side.

"He was a warrior.  He died a warrior's death," the big man's tones are leaden.  "He died to rid the world of these toll-collectors.  Bowbe will grant his soul battles for all of eternity, enough that his proud warrior-spirit is never sated !"

Aarnr's eyes are shining as he lifts his eyes.  "Let us slay these misbegotten swag-bellied whoresons, and claim the head of their king in recompense for the life of so brave a warrior !"

Colwyn kneels close to the blinded archer, folding the newly liberated emblem until it is small enough to fit into his belt pouch.  "Yer bein' a lucky bugger." he remarks conversationally.  "This 'ere knife's bein' good an' sharp, so at any rate it'll be takin' yer fingers off quick like."

"An' like Erista were sayin', I's thinkin' as 'ow I'll be waitin' fer yer ter watch me doin' it.  Then she might be likin' ter cut somethin' off, seein' as 'ow yer was just killin' our mate."

He unslings his pack and starts rummaging through it.  "Got me a bit of rope somewhere.  Ayup!  'ere we is.  Now, lie down on yer front, with yer 'ands be'ind yer."

"It wasn't my fault though!  It was the Commander's idea to rob people and tell them it was all official!"

Arkan is subdued at the loss of Oswald, and as he privately grieves along with the others, he too considers what is to be done with the prisoners.

"We can leave them behind after tying them up. If they are fated to live, someone may free them after we are long gone, otherwise..."


He shrugs, knowing and understanding the ruthless nature of the world. They would be too much of a danger to keep alive and with them as they hunted their own prey.

Eilieen places a hand upon Erista's shoulder - she wants to hug the small woman, but doesn't know how it would be taken.  Or if it would be comforting at all; Erista isn't child for all of her size, and being manhandled without warning by a human might not be as much a warm and fuzzy thing as some might think.  "In the end, it is their fault," she quietly agrees.

Oh, she could have tried, harder, though how Eilieen is uncertain.  But the arrow didn't come from her, no indeed.

"Tempted as I am to slay the King, Aarnr," she continues, wincing as he removes the arrow, "we must know if this is by his command or not.  Though, regardless, he holds some responsibility - these were his men, armed and enabled.  But I will not simply execute these..."  She studies the remaining soldiers.  "Brigands," Eilieen spits bitterly.

And Colwyn manages to worry an interesting bit of information from the archer.

"Arkan's words hold wisdom."  She shoots the warrior-mage a grateful glance.  "I will not slay them, but leaving them tied?  Could mean death.  It could mean reprieve.  It MIGHT make them consider all of the others they have left helpless and penniless here on the trail...or perhaps those they have slain who refused to part with their monies."

Slowly she stands and paces to where the archer argues with Colwyn.  "Be silent, you cur!  Your commander was one person!  If you all disagreed, it would have been no hard task to dissuade her.  But you supported her.  You supported this!  Did you profit from the spoils as well, and did this profit seal your tongue from complaining to your king?  How many have lost everything to you?  Money or lives?  How many have been abused?"

Kneeling beside him as Colwyn binds his hands, Eilieen leans close.  "What would your king say, were we to inform him?  Hm?"

As Colwyn produces a rope, Aarnr does glance over, perhaps hopeful that the brigands may be left dangling by their necks awaiting the mercy of the next passers-by ... but when it transpires that they're simply being tied, he looks away, not trusting himself, though strangely sure that Eilieen will extract from them the full details of their crimes.

"We killed many of them, brother," he assures Ozzie, quietly (or at least quietly by his own standards) confident that the Halfling's spirit will be gladdened by this news.

"Sing thy laments," the priest encourages Bilfro.  "A minstrel's final journey should be marked in song."

Erista looks up at Eilieen a bit sharply at her response, and emphasizes, "Also the beginning and middle.  It's Not. Your. Fault."  She considers giving the priestess a hug, but isn't sure how it would be taken.  For all her innocence, the tall woman isn't a child, and with her apparently somewhat traumatic temple background, Erista can't help but worry that any unexpected physical touch could be the opposite of comfort.

Coming up to Aarnr's side, she nods her agreement with his own offered comfort.  Ozzy had liked Aarnr's philosophy; he probably would appreciate that truth.  "I'll send word to your family," she promises, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead.

The man laughs, though the laughter seems forced, and lacking in humour.  "Yes, I could have refused, and been hanged for my pains, the certain fate for any who disobey their Commander.  Arranol brooks no insubordination,  Nor does he let the deaths of road wardens pass unpunished, no matter the reason for those deaths.  By Arranol's Law, you are all murderers!"

Colwyn looks towards the cart, where a number of his fellow adventurers are gathering around Ozzy's body.

The "road warden" really is asking to have his throat slit.  And just for once the rogue is getting the impression that nobody would object if the prisoner were to have a sudden, unexpected, and totally inexplicable fatal shaving accident.

The problem is, as far as Colwyn is concerned, that a number of hostile witnesses have escaped into the woods.

The reeky puttock's words do not offend Aarnr, though his tone does, being neither fearful nor respectful enough.  Undoubtedly Eilieen will stick him with her spear for such.

"He was thy kinsman," the priest turns to Erista, choosing to pursue practical matters lest his grief cause him to hack the bodies of the foe, dead or still living alike into small pieces, "do ye know how he would have his mortal remains disposed of ?"

"Perhaps atop a pyre, the bodies of his enemies arrayed at his feet ?"  That's certainly Aarnr's choice, and there's certainly plenty of trees around here.

Arkan resists the urge to smack the prisoner across his face for his insolence, and obvious baiting. He hopes the others do not fall for it, and indeed it seems even Aarnr has his temper under control.

Still, the mans words are dangerous in what they imply; the group could very well come under the scrutiny of who ruled in these lands, whether it be this Arranol or someone else. They needed more information though.

"Who is this Arranol you speak of? Doth he know his 'roadwardens' attempted to line their own pockets rather than his, and then lie to him about it?" Arkan asks, attempting a bit of reverse psychology, the threatening accusation under his words left unspoken.

"I's not bein' no murderer.  I's bein' a second floor man an' cut-purse.  I's lookin' ter be a murderer one day, but there's not bein' enough victims left fer me ter be practisin' on 'round 'ere.  I's not supposin' yer feels like volunteerin' does yer?"

The rogue leaves the road warden laying face down and hog-tied in the middle of the road, and makes his way over to the cart, where he regards Ozzy with something that might be a speck of grit in one eye.

After a short silence, he speaks quietly, "Farewell mate.  Yer was one of the good ones."

Eilieen stares down at the 'warden' with disgust.  Excuses and rationalization...ever the defences against at least making an effort.  Crouching down beside the man, she leans forward.  "And what," the priestess quietly inquires, "will your splendid king do to you for this failure, I wonder?"

That said, she stands and strides back toward where Ozzy lies, pausing to touch Arkan's shoulder.  "Perhaps you might put some reason into this reprobate."

Arriving at the cart, she places a hand now on the shoulder of the small sorceress.  "Thank you, Erista," Eilieen whispers.  "For your kind words."  They hold meaning.  She tosses a worried look at Aarnr, and lays her other hand upon Colwyn's arm.  "You travelled together a good time," she murmurs.  "Aarnr...Colwyn, I am so sorry."

"His death lies at the feet of these sheep-biting coin-grubbers," Aarnr assures Eilieen, "not with thee."  In his way, the priest echoes the words of Erista, though considerably less well-crafted and more colourfully.

In truth, he does not know how to respond to the priestess's attempt to console him, but appreciates that it is important to her, so settles for nodding his head slowly though understanding escapes him.

Indeed, Aarnr is perhaps less concerned with Ozzie's death than that it should be at the hands of such worthless curs, and not a slobbering, befanged fiend from the lowest hells.  His blood brother deserved a better end.

The prisoner laughs humourlessly, "Who is Arranol?  You stand in Arranol's kingdom, among the slain men of Arranol's army.  He is the ruler of this land, and the maker of its laws."

Colwyn regards Eilieen curiously.  "Weren't bein' down ter you.  Were a arrer what killed 'im, not yer own failin'.  A arrer can be killin' any bugger, like that."  He snaps his fingers.  "With one in 'is neck, Ozzy were like as not bein' dead afore 'e was 'ittin' the ground.  Yer couldn't 'ave saved 'im if yer'd been right next ter 'im."

The rogue glances towards the bound prisoner, and his hand rests on the hilt of one of his knives as he spits on the ground.

Ozzy's body, light as it is, is loaded easily on to the cart, where it is covered with a blanket.

Aarnr climbs up to the driver's bench and gently (by his standards) urges the oxen into a lumbering walk.

Colwyn manages to resist the urge to kick the prisoner, and doesn't even spit on him.  A sign of contempt from the rogue - the enemy isn't even worth abusing.

As he drives the oxen forward, the priest's gaze hardens as it takes in the sight of the prisoner bound in the middle of the benighted road ...

... a gentle pressure on the reins to guide the beasts, a few short screams, quickly cut-off, from the man who's mocking words were an affront to his blood-brother's memory, and a bit of a bump as the cart passes somewhat over him ...

... and the party are on their way again, the excitement of the hunt for the demon-worshippers now much dampened by Ozzie's sad end.

Erista sits on the cart beside Ozzy, holding his hand as it grows colder.  She's more than a little startled by the first scream.  Letting go of Ozzy, she first looks around wildly, but then realizes what's happening, and drops into a small crouch, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears.

It's not nearly enough.

The final `bump' and ensuing silence are too much.  She barely makes it to the back of the cart, leaning over and losing her dinner.

Fortunately, her eyes are still mostly closed, and she stumbles back to sit down, not realizing that she has offered the bandit one final insult.

The first thud takes her by surprise, as does the scream.  Eilieen joins Erista in the wild stares, and as the smaller woman huddles down she bursts to her feet (in the cart) and lunges for Aarnr.

Too late.

"Aarnr!"  Eilieen snaps, truly incensed.  "By heaven..."  Shaking her head, she moves back to stare at the ugly sight they leave in their wake.  It's clear there is nothing she can do, even from here, and Eilieen elects instead to assist Erista.  Sitting beside the sorceress, she places an arm across her shoulders and offers a handkerchief.

"I don't know what good this quest will do in this world," she murmurs.  A glance out the back of the cart, then her eyes return to Oswald's sad body.  "But I begin to doubt the price.  On all of us."

Walking beside the cart, Arkan winces slightly as he hears the crunch of the initial run-over of the captive, and then the various assorted sounds of bones snapping and life slowly and painfully ending. Thereafter begin the sounds of Erista emptying the contents of her tiny stomach.

He remains impassive, although a part of him does enjoy the swift justice meted, and a potential problem solved.

"A few of them did escape, we should remain on our guard and try to complete our buriness here quickly," he said to the others in a quiet voice, loud enough only for them to hear.