The sun rises in a sky the colour of blood.  Quite appropriate, considering the events of the night before.  The air is filled with the smell of smoke, carried on a stiff breeze, which blows directly into the faces of the party.

Shortly after sunrise the source of the smoke becomes visible ahead of them as they enter a large clearing shaped like a bowl.  A village of some forty or fifty houses, with a large barn at the centre, and surrounded by a palisade of sharpened logs, lays at the bottom of the depression.  The smoke rises from the chimneys of the houses.

Two roads meet just outside the stockade, one of them running mostly from west to east, the other roughly north and south.  The party, of course, approach from the west.  Where the roads cross, there is an open area, dotted with traders' carts and a few market stalls.

The layout of the two roads suggests that this village would be Crossroad.

And if speculation is correct, the masons who caused the Justicars' hall in Bard's Gate to be filled with ghouls will, in all likelihood, be found within.

Colwyn scowls at he cluster of structures that lays ahead of the group.  "I's not likin' the look of this.  We should be goin' in, findin' the Orcusites, an' puttin' them all ter the sword, quick as we can.  Less chance as we'll be gettin' caught."

"An' if'n this is bein' where Arranol's livin', we's needin' ter avoid 'is men, much as we can."

The mood Aarnr is in, he's as like to put the whole village to the sword, not just the demon-worshippers, but also any more guardsmen, King Arranol and anyone else who gets in his way.  His humour is not improved by the irritating smoke that's been blowing in his face like a personal affront from Crossroads the last goodly while.

"We should burn the froggin' place to the ground," the priest mutters ... though he knows that in the calm after the storm, it is unlikely that any of his ... friends would countenance that.  Friends.  For all he struggles to understand their sensibilities, these few souls are indeed his friends.  He'd be as angry at their deaths as he was at his blood-brother's demise.

And, it comes as quite a surprise, he believes that they'd be equally as angry should Aarnr himself perish.  While death holds no terrors for the priest, he finds himself wishing to spare them that if he could.

Aarnr sighs.  These city folk are indeed a bad influence.  When a warrior can't just go out and get himself killed gloriously, it's a sad day.  And yet, these kind-hearted people are avowed to enter Rappan Athuk where certain death awaits, just so they might end the evil that dwells therein, however futile the attempt.   Undoubtedly they are a-feared, where he is not ... but they choose to go anyway.

And so, for the sake of these friends, Aarnr sets aside his wish to slaughter indiscriminately and listens to his companions, even if that means the reeky canker-blossom Arrandol and his lack-spittle flunkies must live.

Standing with arms crossed over his chest and gazing at the village of Crossroad before them, Arkan listened to the words of his companions and pondered also upon their next move.

"Let us be surreptitious, hopefully word of what happened last night shall not have reached this place yet. We can inquire about the masons from the stall keepers along the road before entering the village proper. If we can find out where they are staying we can plan our next move then; either taking them out right away or waiting for the cover of darkness, or for them to leave the village and ambushing them," he said to his companions in a low voice.

Arkan's plan seems like one that Colwyn could go along with.  "Surreptitious" being a word that the rogue would like, if he knew its meaning (he actually believes it might be a kind of fish soup, but that wouldn't really make sense, given the context).

"Aye, traders's 'avin' good eyes fer strangers.  Them's dependin' on bein' able ter spot their customers.  So they can be tellin' a man's trade a mile off.  If'n the masons was 'ere, then the traders'll be knowin' 'bout it."

"How worried are we about this Arranol person?" Erista asks.  "It's just... none of his people saw me, except the... um, no one who might.. have reported back, saw me.  I could cut over to come in from one of the other roads and ask around a little bit," she suggests.  "See if it's even worth going in at all?  If the Orcusites have moved on, we could just circle around and keep following once we know which road to take, and if they're here..."  She considers that, and shrugs.  "Well, I guess at least if I can find out where they are, that's less time we have to spend trying not to run into any more of these so-called soldiers."

That surreptitious is equally as bewildering to Aarnr, but it's probably the reason that Arkan and Colwyn suggest talking to the villainous shopkeeps who would undoubtedly recognise the demon-worshippers as their own kind.

Erista's question confuses the priest somewhat.  The only worry he has about Arrandol is that the spongy, dog-hearted boar-pig might flee ... yet the small mage seems to be suggesting in that roundabout way of hers that the King might pose a problem.  Probably because of the body in their cart, hard as it is to think of Ozzie as a corpse now.

"We should have brought the froggin giant's head," he mutters, not liking the idea of letting her go off on her own.  The last time he did that, the rest of them got into a fight without him.

"Not a bad idea," Arkan said, looking at Erista after she voices her opinion. "Arrnol's cronies didn't seem to know you were there, though if word of what occured last night did reach this place they will be suspicious of any newcomer who enters the village today. It is your choice though if you want to split up and go in alone, it could work well."

Raising a hand and gesturing towards village he adds, "As for the uh, Orcusites, yes it is best to take them on as a group. And we should beware their foul arts; they could conjure more of the living dead, or make another of their transportation portals to call in more of their own kind here."

Eilieen has remained grumpily silent - and sorrowfully silent, depending on her thoughts of the moment - for some time.  Now she rouses herself to listen to her compatriots' words.  Aarnr might be surprised at how she feels about the 'king', hereabouts...but she, herself, will not countenance burning the village down.

Erista, unsurprisingly, comes up with something clever that might allow them to avoid trouble.  Zadastha's priestess cannot help but agree with it.  "I also believe Erista's plan holds merit.  She and Colwyn are our cleverest, and certainly the most..."  Pause for a glance at Colwyn, and she strikes 'surreptitious' from her thoughts.  "...sneaky.  Perhaps they might go together?  Then, if the followers of Orcus -" she nearly coughs the name "- are within, we do as Arkan says and strike them as a group, quickly and surely."

A shrug.  "If not, we are then well-prepared to move on as quickly as we can.  And leave this blighted...'kingdom', she finishes bitterly, considering Oswald.

Aarnr is quite pleased that he's not numbered amongst those for whom 'sneaky' is an accurate description, but he remembers something of the way this goes from before when Fergus was unwilling to enter some dogs-breath of a hamlet.

This time, however there doesn't seem to be the benefit of a ruined cottage to await the return of the scouts, and neither time nor opportunity to reduce one of the local buildings to such a state ...

"We'd best decide quickly," the priest adds, "before we're spotted."  At least the froggin' smoke may help them remain unseen a little longer.

"Either we hide the cart in the woods this side, or you lot jump off and Ozzie and me will take it down there an on to the other side and out and wait for you."  Aarnr grabs the bedroll that's tied to his pack and wraps it around his shoulders in a cunning disguise.

Colwyn shakes his head, "Aarnr's second plan's bein' no good.  If'n things's goin' bad fer us, Aarnr'll be doin' us no good sittin' out in the woods while the rest of us's fightin' a bleedin' army.  Best if'n Aarnr's bein' with us, in case we's needin' 'is brawn."

He considers briefly, then, "Might be as some other bugger what's bein' less good in a fight'd serve better ter watch over old Ozzy."  A jerk of his head towards Bilfro, who stands staring at the village and completely misses the head movement and the associated wink.

Aarnr's eyes narrow as his suggestion is damned as 'no good' ... but is much mollified by Colwyn's reasoning.  Of course it will come to a fight, and of course they'll most desperately need him on the spot so he can start one if neccessary.

And as none would dare challenge a madman, Bilfro seems the ideal second choice to stand vigil over Ozzie.

Eilieen nods along with the others.  Aarnr is pleased with this arrangement, Colwyn is pleased...she's not certain about Erista, but no objections have been raised.  "Very good, then," the priestess concludes.  "I take it that Arkan and I will await here, with Bilfro?  If danger threatens, we can come running...well, as quickly as we are able."

Erista looks at Aarnr, and then at Colwyn, curiously.  "They.. pretty definitely saw Aarnr," she notes.  "And they probably remembered him.  If I were going to describe us to anyone, I think I'd start with Aarnr.  He's very... descriptive.  I mean, there's no one," Fergus being dead, "I'd rather have in front of me in a fight, but... what if there isn't a fight?"

Glancing at Eileen, Arkan smiles and nods, indicating he is fine with her part of the plan. Truth be told he is fine either way, either Erista going in alone, them splitting up and going in parts or all going in alone, whatever the consensus is.

"Either way we should hurry before the day is lost, and search parties are sent looking for us." He says quietly. "Finding the location of the cultists is only the first part, taking them out without being taken out ourselves, either by them or the authorities in this area will be the real test. Even if we remain undetected until we make our move, any violence in town will be sure to attract attention."

Colwyn looks at Arkan a little dubiously, then glances at the sky ahead of them, where the sun stands barely clear of the horizon.  "It's bein' a bit after sunrise, so's I's not thinkin' we's needin' ter be worryin' too much 'bout losin' the day.  From the size of the place, it won't even be takin' a 'our ter search it.  Then loot it, an' burn it ter the bloody ground."

The latter for Aarnr's benefit, in case he happened to be thinking in those terms.

"If it's takin' us all day ter be doin' our business 'ere, then we's like as not 'avin' a lot of things ter be worryin' about aside from guards."

He checks over his gear, and ensures that his blade slides smoothly from its sheath, and that he has sufficient arrows, just in case.  Then he waves a hand in front of Bilfro's face.  "'ere, Bilfro mate.  Yer ter stay 'ere with the cart, jus' in case.  We's goin' ter be 'avin' a talk with some folk.  Make sure the oxes is stayin' awake, so's we can be movin' in a 'urry."

Then back to the others.

"I's bein' ready when you lot is."

Aarnr is no master of military strategy¹ but even he seems a bit dubious at the suggestion that Arkan and Eilieen stay behind and miss what is sure to be a long and bloody battle, with any luck.

"We're all goin'," he suggests², "'cept for Bilfro."  Someone has to watch Ozzie's corpse to make sure nobody steals him.  He nods thoughtfully³ at Colwyn's plan of attack.

"We've got some fishified bunch-backed cultists to kill."  And anyone else who happens to annoy him or look like they might.


¹ "Keep fightin' till the puttucks are froggin' dead or ye are" pretty sums up his approach to battle or any other situation, really.
² in the same way in which a colour sergeant major might suggest his charges might like to rise from their bunks for a 40 mile run in full kit in the cold and wet
³ or it might have been something he ate/bit off

"Very well, then."  Eilieen acquiesces to the group decision (really, Aarnr and Colwyn), and picks up her spear.  "We shall all enter, save for Bilfro."  And pray the cart remains here when we return, she darkly considers.

"But no looting and burning!" she sharply reminds.  "Not until we determine the situation.  If ever.  And that will require agreement from all."  Qualifiers are important, after all; it's quite possible some of the group will, upon confirmation of the situation, commence with the looting and burning regardless.

"We seek the cultists before all else," she grimly states, white-knuckling her spear.

Aarnr considers, finally grunting his aquiescence.  The cultists are ultimately responsible for Ozzie's death as they wouldn't be in this dog-forsaken cesspit if not for them, so while the onion-eyed guards and their malmsy-nosed king are culpable, he'd be happy enough to wreak retribution on the death-worshippers.

Though with any luck someone will try to arrest them, and then he can bring the froggin village crashing down around their ears.  Preferably in little pieces.  And on fire.

The group start down the slope towards the nearest gate in the stockade, with the exception of Bilfro who stays behind with the cart, head tilted back and mouth open as he gazes at the brightening sky.

The more sharp eared in the party can already hear the snoring from behind them.

Unlike Bilfro's mouth, the gate is not ajar.  Nor is it truly a gate, being more in the nature of a wicker screen propped in place to block a gap in the fence of stakes, and secured with twists of rope looped over the upper ends of two of those stakes.

As they approach the barrier, there is a scuffling sound beyond it, and a lot of quiet discussion, and shadows can be seen moving about, dimly visible through the interstices of the barricade.  Then there is a creaking of wood, before a man's head appears over the top of the palisade, some seven or eight feet above ground level.

"Hold travellers!" he calls down from his position, "This is Crossroad, chief city of the Kingdom of Tarket, and home of King Arranol the Mighty, Son of Heaven, and Beloved of the Gods.  What business do you have here this morning?"

Aarnr glowers.  He's certain the wicker screen would delay him only momentarily, however equally sure that doing such would probably earn him Eilieen's wrath.  Similary he's positive that neither the guards nor his comrades want to hear that "we're here to kill some froggin' demon worshipping whoresons and will slay any of ye hedgepigs or your bat-fowling beggar king if ye get in our way".

So the priest remains silent, even in the face of such provocation, though those near him might detect a low growl, just on the edge of hearing.

Colwyn looks at the ground and tries to conceal a smirk.

"Son of 'eaven an' beloved of the Gods is 'e?" he murmurs.  "I's wagerin' as 'is family's bein' jus' regular people, but with a bit more money.  Don't reckon as 'ow we needs ter be worryin' 'bout lightnin' or thunderbolts from 'is mam an' dad."

He glances at his companions.  Aarnr seems to have the nous to keep quiet for the moment.  He just hopes that the others decide to go with an untruth, rather than declaring that they're here to start a war.

Erista smiles up at the guards from beside Aarnr's knee.  "Well, crossing, mostly," she answers, gesturing down towards the road.  "What with it being a crossing road and all.  Though I'm sure it'd be nice to have a look around on our way through, support your local merchantry a bit.  Perhaps stay a night if there's a comfortable place to do so?" she asks.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:47, Mon 09 Jan 2017.

Akran waited a moment for the others to speak up, and when only Erista did so he moved his hood down a bit and gave what he hoped was a cheerful smile.

"Indeed! A stay for the night, and until then wander your fair town, meet the locals, enjoy and make merry!" Spoke the socially introverted battlemage from the far shores.

Hopefully Eileen would back them up with some soft words.

Eilieen waves her hand toward her companions, having made certain to keep her goddess' symbol prominently displayed.  "It is as my friends have said: we wish a room for the night."  She bows.  "One hopes that your city will take our coin..."

OOC - sorry for the short post, I'm struggling at work.

The priest listens with some concern to the lies that his companions espouse.  Spending the night ?  Surely they're here to kill the deserving, whether demon worshippers or ultimately responsible for Ozzie's demise ?  Maybe it's a colloquialism.  Spending the knight.  They are here at the behest of Sir Galdean's bretheren, after all !

The gatekeeper turns his head, and mutters something to somebody below and behind him, then he faces the travellers once more.

"Welcome to Crossroad, wayfarers!"

Behind the wicker panel there are the sounds of movement, and two pitchforks appear, lifting the rope loops from the palisade.  The gate (for want of a better word) is carried aside, and the group get their first clear glimpse of Crossroad.

Beyond the palisade stands what, at first glance, appears to be a large pigsty.  Mounds of hay, some of them apparently smouldering, are scattered across a field of mud.  A large number of people trudging between the stacks, mostly spattered with mud.  The pigs that are also present are, in many cases, cleaner than some of the people around them.

Second glance reveals that the haystacks are, in fact, houses constructed almost entirely of thatch.  The thin streamers of smoke rising from some of them are actually coming from smoke holes in the roofs.

The "pigsty" is actually the village.  And, judging by the smell, there is worse than mud on the ground.

Towards the centre of the village are two larger structures, built mostly of wood, with panels of wattle and daub, and thatched roofs,  The gatekeeper indicates the smaller of the two, "That's the inn.  Doubt they'll turn down your coin there."

A half dozen armed men stand just inside the gate.  As with the gatekeeper, they wear the same dragon-emblazoned surcoats as the attackers on the road.  Unlike the gatekeeper, these men also wear mail, and carry shields.

They don't appear to be hostile, for the moment.

Aarnr doesn't appear to be any more hostile than usual ... which means his eyes narrow at the sight of the guards, though on him it might just seem as if he's squinting to anyone not minded to pick a fight.  To his credit he doesn't immediately draw his blade ...

The sight that greets his eyes ... is not a million miles removed from the fens of his homeland, though there's arguably more pigs and considerably less fighting.  The building materials are no less primative, though in the Vastness mud huts not straw huts sit in the mud.  This place is certainly a lot more flamable.

Some sort of response seems to be expected, and the gatekeepers are the only ones he trusts himself to speak to without spitting insults, so it is to the foremost of those (the larger of the two with pitchforks) that the priest addresses his remarks.

"Aren't ye froggin' worried that'll burn down ?" he inquires conversationally, nodding at the palisade in general and the wicker gate in particular.  "What ye need is a pit of sharpened stakes on this side ..." one of the few things Aarnr appreciates about the civilised world are the advanced methods of killing and maiming the enemy that they've developed.

Raising an eyebrow in dismay at the dismal, rundown scene before them that passes for a village around these parts, Arkan sighs inwardly at the indignities an adventurer  is forced to endure as part of the profession.

In fact, this place may even benefit from a good burning down as Aarnr seems to point out. At the least it would improve the smell.

"Let's get on with this then shall we," he gestures at towards the inn the gatekeeper had pointed out. Raising the hem of his cloak to free it from the muck Arkan also holds up a corner to his nose in an effort to keep out the worst of the stink.

Muttering something about "...have stayed with the wagon...", Eilieen waits while Aarnr discusses the finer points of defences with the gatekeeper, and nods to Arkan as he indicates their first stop.  "Indeed.  Let us get this over with," the priestess murmurs with some disgust.

She surveys the village around them.  "Hardly a kingdom," the young woman muses.  Someone, she decides, has more of an overdeveloped ego than she first assumed.  With that (and numerous squelching sounds), the priestess begins the walk toward the Inn.

At least it's a short distance away....

The inn is dark and stuffy, filled with eye-stinging smoke and the stink of decay and mold.  The clientele are noisy and boisterous, and it's probably a good guess that as much ale is spilled on the muddy floor, with its filthy rushes, as is consumed.

As the first of the party push aside the hanging blanket that serves as a door and step into the gloomy interior, the room falls silent.  Shrewd eyes, set in sullen faces, take in their appearance, looking as if they are calculating the worth of every thread of cloth or bit of metal.

And more disconcerting than the silence are the whispers.

Meanwhile, outside of Crossroad, Bilfro stirs from his deep... er... meditation, stretches, and puts the second part of the plan into operation.  Clambering down from the cart, he starts to lead the oxen around to the edge of the forest on the eastern side of the village...

Still holding part of his cloak held over his nose Arkan followed Eileen into the inn, pushing aside the hanging blanket that served as the door with his spare hand.

Stepping to one side to allow the others to follow, he waits as his eyes adjust to the dark interior, and blinks repeatedly as his eyes start stinging from the smoke.

Catching the sound of whispers directed their way and the sullen stares, Arkan drops his cloak from his nose and stares boldly at one set of the shrewd eyes directed his way. "Looking for trouble?" he says loudly, smacking a gloved fist into the palm of his other hand.

In response to Arkan's question, two burly men push themselves up from their seats at a table in the corner.  A smaller man comes bustling around from behind the counter.  He waves one hand at the pair to get their attention (the other clutches what looks like a large mallet).  "No crossbows!  No crossbows!" he screams in a high pitched voice.  Then he shoves one of the men with a surprising amount of force for one so scrawny, causing the larger man to sit down, hard.

So hard, in fact, that the stool collapses under him and dumps him on the filthy floor.

"If there's going to be trouble in here, I'll be the one making it!" the innkeeper declares, and the room starts to return to its previous noise level (much of it derisive laughter directed at the big man, who is climbing to his feet).

"As long as you've the wherewithal to pay for your drinks and victuals, you're welcome in my inn strangers."

Aarnr enters the Inn in time to see the big man land on the floor.  Probably drunk, which bodes well for the potency of the local brew.  The usual fare that the priest has found in his travels wouldn't even etch metal.

The small fellow, the Innkeep by his attire, issues his challenge and Aarnr nods his acceptance, waiting for him to start.  Perhaps his comment about payment is his first sally, for admittedly the priest hasn't got a copper to his name now, having given all his coin to Gonder for the blade.

The smell is indeed terrible, eye-wateringly bad.  But the Inn is pretty bad also, so he supposes at least in this establishment nobody will complain.

Aarnr looks around, trying to spot anyone who might be of the stone mason persuasion.

The innkeeper turns away, after giving his large victim a glare that could burn a hole in stone.  Then, slinging the hammer over one shoulder, he walks back to the counter, pausing only to aim a kick at a passing rat.

Leaning on the counter (really just a couple of planks laid across some barrels) he looks at the newcomers and yells above the increasing noise, "So... what'll it be?"  He gestures towards four kegs behind him. one of them smaller than the others and supported on a pair of trestles.  "We've got small beer, mild, and bitter.  And some of Old Man Dagor's moonshine.  They all cost the same, two copper bits."

He pulls a rag from a pocket in his leather apron and starts to wipe the counter while he waits for a response.  Though given the state of the rag, he's probably just adding more dirt to the wooden surface.

Eilieen takes it all in with a vague, otherworldly sense of horror.

The filth...the rats...the people...she has been in goblin dens less appalling than this, though part of that might be expectations.  And the stench!  Only travelling with Aarnr has made her capable of keeping from gagging.  So she pulls her hood down to cover her features - better to let it suffer any noxious drippings from the rafters than herself - and briefly toys with the idea of pulling up the front of her tunic to cover her nose.

Unacceptable; she'll just have to put up with the smell.  At least Arkan seems to have taken care of introductions, so she'll not need to open her mouth as much.

Moving up to the bar - but not touching it, never touching - she stops before the innkeeper.  "The moonshine."  The priestess indicates the fourth...keg?  The smallest, in any case.  "Two, please."  The last said with two fingers raised slightly, gloves still on.

It's a trick fumbling out four coppers WITH those gloves on, but she's not about to remove them.

OOC:  -4 cc. :^

Looking round the room, Colwyn isn't too dismayed.  He's been in worse places.  There's ale, and something called moonshine.  And the rat hadn't looked sick, so the "victuals" can't be too bad.

In fact the only real problem he can think of is that nobody in the party knows what the "masons" actually look like...

A little disappointed when the innkeeper takes care of business, Arkan shrugs and looks for a place to sit. Establishing dominance in a place such as this is paramount to ensuring they wont be bothered or threatened by the locals until they have completed their work.

"Perhaps we should buy everyone in the room a free drink or two; you know, to loosen their lips," he says to the others softly.

Aarnr nods with what passes for enthusiasm for Arkan's suggestion.  The priest can't see how slack jawed locals will improve matters, but the prospect of a drink is certainly inviting - he missed his usual breakfast ale today, especially now that Eilieen's already ordered herself a couple of drinks.

If he can't see anyone obviously of the mason ilk, Aarnr will settle for eyeballing anyone who might possibly be a mason.  The barkeep at least seems to belong here, so he can probably be ruled out of contention, even if he does have a mallet.

"Tha's bein' a bloody good idea, mate." Colwyn slaps Arkan on the back.  "Drinks'll be makin' ev'ry bugger friends.  'specially if'n one of us is gettin' up on the counter an' 'nouncin' it good an' loud."

He looks around at the crowded room, biting at a thumb nail, then adds, "I's thinkin' as we's 'avin' enough coin ter be buyin' drinks fer ev'ry cove what's bein' in 'ere."

Around them, the room is starting to return to the noise level it had originally had when the outsiders had first entered.

The mood is rapidly returning to its original level too, with many good-natured insults directed at the other locals.  The newcomers are, however, not included in the banter.  And a few suspicious looks are still directed at them.

The innkeeper seems happy to serve them though, and even makes a conscious effort to give them the cleaner flagons and cups.  At least they don't seem to have any stains that are not a natural part of the wood they are made of.

Dip.

Eilieen's finger goes in the first cup of 'spirits'.  She wipes it around the lip of the second.

Dip.

Again, this time a little lower down.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finally, when the glass is cleaned to her satisfaction - which requires more than the innkeeper's efforts - she takes a sip.

Eeek.

Somehow managing not to cough, she leans over the counter.  "Excuse me, bartender."  A small smile touches her lips (they're numb, so it might be lopsided).  "If you would, a free drink for everyone here?  How much coin would that take?"

The innkeeper looks at Eilieen suspiciously for a moment, as if he suspects that it's a trick question, and is regretting stepping in to prevent a fight.  Then he reconsiders, and scans the crowded room, adds a reasonable (by Crossroad standards) mark-up, and says, "I'd say two gold, three tops."

And, just for good measure, he adds, "My Lady."

"Shall we begin with three, then, for the possibility of some better quality beverages for those imbibing on the copper?"  Out come three gold; Eilieen pushes them across the bar, careful to keep her hand atop them until they are almost in the innkeeper's lap.  She also offers a smile.  "Very kind, but I am but a priestess; hardly nobility."  A pat on his arm follows.

She lifts the (cleaned) glass.  "This is interesting.  From what is it concocted?"  It's strong; she has always avoided alcohol (especially in the temple...), and is ill-used to such drinks.

It can be fascinating, watching a master at work ... and Aarnr certainly learns a lot as Eilieen cajoles and wheedles (at least he thinks that's what she must be doing) many, many drinking cups out of the innkeep for a few paltry coins.  Erista did similar sterling duty in the acquisition of his new sword from Gonder.

The priest is certain that he could do no worse than the pair, with practice ... and resolves to acquire some coin with which to make the attempt as soon as circumstances allow.

Arkan had been fishing around in his coin pouch to see if he could afford paying for the entire commons, but Eileen (thankfully!) beats him to the punch. And seems to be in the process of getting a cheap deal at that.

The battlemage meanwhile busy's himself by scrutinizing the clientele more thoroughly, trying to see if anyone might match the description of one of the masons, or display any overtly suspicious behavior.

---

Spot: 07, Sense Motive: 07

"No idea what's in it," the innkeeper answers Eilieen's question, "I only sell it, and Old Man Dagor's a mite tight-lipped about the ingredients.  Says that if the secret got out, then everybody'd be making the stuff, and he'd lose customers."

He takes the coins from the counter, examines them briefly, and then they disappear, seemingly into thin air, but more likely into the large pocket on the front of his apron.  "So that's a drink for everybody here then.  That'd include your friends, I expect)"

The room continues to grow louder, as the patrons ignore the newcomers, for the most part, and return to their previously scheduled carousing.  Somebody starts singing... another joins in, thumping out a rhythm on a tabletop, and in moments it seems like half the customers know the song and are singing along...

Erista slides quietly away along the wall.

Loud, raucous and tuneless singing.  The priest tries to hide his disappointment, baring his teeth and scowling.  Unlikely any of these hedge-pigs are the bat-fowling demons' get that they're looking for, then.  Now if there was chanting ...

On the point of striding across to the nearest reveler and asking nicely¹ where he might find the cultists, the bartender's words ('that'd include your friends') distracts him.  A drink is in the offing !

Aarnr grins fiercely.

¹ ie, using fists or at most a small blade, not Gonder's two-hander

When he sees the militiamen waltz in, Arkan's brow furrows in alarm and he nudges his Colwyn and Eileen, the companions standing closest to him, and subtly inclines his head at the newcomers.

"They don't seem to notice us yet, not sure if they are even looking," he whispers.

Colwyn risks a quick glance in the indicated direction.  "They was wearin' coats an' armour like that at the gate. They's maybe bein' local guards what's bein' off duty after the night watch.  Still bein' good ter keep a eye or two on them, jus' in case."

"Is that there bein' my beer?"  Without waiting for an answer, he grabs the mug, before Aarnr gets too close.

The song changes to a lament about a city attacked by a dragon, and the resulting fall of a kingdom...

"Indeed," Eilieen replies to the innkeeper.  "For everyone.  And yes, including my friends, if you would."  That last stated with a smile.  "And yourself, of course, should you so desire."

At Arkan's urging, she studies the mentioned men, taking a small sip from her glass to hide her face.  When the urge to cough passes, she turns back to Colwyn and the warrior-mage.  "Likely as Colwyn says, though it means we should be wary of causing issue here.  With guards here, their side of the story will matter most."

She has to raise her voice a touch to be heard over the enthusiastic singing.

Not put out by Eilieen's coughs and gurgles, Aarnr eagerly claims his mug of beer as soon as it is poured and takes a large gulp.  Indeed, most alcoholic beverages that have passed through the priest have benefited from being swallowed quickly, and he's seen no reason to change that winning formula.

Even so, the priestess does seem to be suggesting that in the event of, say someone angrily attacking the guards, the best course is to kill them all and any witnesses.  And Aarnr has to admire her logic - dead men tell no tales, after all !

Keeping watch on the militiamen from the corner of his eyes beneath his hood, Arkan takes a seat on the closes table available and tries to appear nonchalant, while nursing a cup of the foul brew that passes for drink here.

He spared a gaze over the other patrons as they received their drinks, looking to see if the innkeeper gave the militiamen the free drinks also and how they might react.

The innkeeper wastes no time in distributing the drinks.  As people approach the counter, he serves them and refuses their coin.  The few who actually bother to query the latter receive a brief explanation as the innkeeper moves on to the next customer.  Most who have had their free drinks at least take a moment to smile in the general direction of the party members (though in Eilieen's case the smiles are more in the nature of leers).

The troops reach the counter, and are served free ale.  One of them peers suspiciously into the mug, and sniffs at it, before taking a small sip.  The other doesn't even pick his up.  Instead he leans forward, and says something that can't be heard above the noise.

The innkeeper's reply is similarly drowned out, but the finger he points in the direction of the party is very clearly visible.  The guards look in the indicated direction, and the one who has tasted his ale raises his mug in a gesture of appreciation, while the other gives a nod and a smile of thanks, then turns to snatch up his own mug.  They then move away, and start bullying a couple of locals into giving up seats at a table close to the fire...

Colwyn turns his back on the watchmen and scowls.  He looks relieved when they move away.  "I's not likin' this, not one bleedin' bit."

His empty hand gestures in the general direction of the guards, who are settling into their newly acquired seats.

"If'n them's bein' drinkin' in 'ere, then like as not the rest of the buggers is bein' doin' it too.  Could be gettin' bad in 'ere afore we's knowin' it."

Nodding back in kind at the guards who signal their appreciation at the free drinks, Arkan glances at Colwyn as he speaks and and voices his own concerns in a low voice, "It does seem they are regulars here, and regular also to getting free drinks. None of the other patrons seem surprised to see them settling down in here. Likely they do this every night."

He ponders what they should do; asking about the masons openly in here would likely attract the attention of the guards, and who knew where their allegiance lay. They could be in league with the minions of Orcus, for all they know.

"Gorbellied, milk-livered, dankish, cullionly, half-faced ..." Aarnr does not return the guardsmen's smiles, though without the uniform to guide his animosity, he directs his muttered litany of insults at anyone who could possibly of that persuasion.

Colwyn and Arkan raise valid points, but as always the priest's keen wit is equal to the conundrums they pose.

"Ye think this crowd of toad-spotted scuts will froggin' scare the vile-standin' nuthooks off ?  I ... suggest ," that word is a tricky one, but the priest mightily wrests it from his vocabulary, "we watch that weedy gate from without an' get them when they try to leave !"

PM

Eilieen suffers the attention with a distinct lack of irritation - leering doesn't endear her, but it's far less than what she suffered back at Temple.

Every.

Single.

Day.

...and night.

Instead, she offers a small smile of her own to the guards, and nods her head.  That smile becomes a thoughtful frown as she turns to regard Arkan and Colwyn.  "So...you mean that we will be up to our necks in curious guards, before long?  Perhaps we ought to find another tavern."

A pause.

"IF this village -" she won't call it a city, and town is stretching things "- has more than one such inn.  In any case, I'd rather not get in a war with the local guard.  Aarnr's idea...."

Her throat dries up and Eilieen has to make several false starts before continuing.

"Aarnr's idea h-holds merit," she finally manages, astounded.

"I reckon as 'ow yer'll be out of luck if yer's wantin' another tavern.  There were only bein' two big 'ouses in the town, as I was seein'.  One were bein' this place.  The other... well I'd reckon as that'd be belongin' ter that there King Arranol, seein' as 'ow it was bein' a bit bigger than this one, an' right nex' ter this one." Colwyn says to Eilieen, with something that might be an apologetic smile.

"Waitin' outside the gate'd be workin'... if'n we knew fer a fact as 'ow the buggers was even 'ere.  We might be waitin' fer days, an' the trail'd be gettin' cold, an' then we finds out as 'ow they was never stoppin' 'ere."

As the party appeared to be torn on a decision, Arkan decides to take a bit of a risk; he saunters over to the innkeeper with his mug of drink in hand and leaning over the bar says, "Nice way of handling business before it became ugly." He refers of course, to the earlier brawl the innkeeper smoothly put an end to before it could begin.

"For your troubles and good service," Arkan adds, taking out some silvers from his belt pouch and discreetly sliding the coins across the bar in the innkeepers direction, trying to ensure the militiamen do not see.

"By the way, me and my friends were hoping to run into some old henchmen of ours. They were supposed to come in last night or the night before; I don't suppose you saw them around? They were supposed to be dressed in thick robes, and might have claimed to be masons," he asks after sliding over the coins.

When his initial surprise that his suggestion might have found merit is stabbed and gutted by Colwyn's objections, Aarnr is about to once more propose that they just burn the place down and either get the masons as they come running out or find their bodies in the smouldering rubble ... when Arkan approaches the innkeeper.

Thinking that perhaps another beer might be forthcoming, the priest listens attentively to the conversation ... and while it looks like he might be disappointed (and somewhat confused as coin is handed over for nothing in return, as far as he can tell) about the drink, it seems that Arkan is using a cunning lie to trick the information from the man.

Aarnr bares his teeth approvingly.

The barkeep regards the coins suspiciously for a moment, before pocketing them with a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"No, never saw nobody like... " he pauses, as Arkan's description catches up with his denial.  "Ah... wait... masons you say?"

When he speaks again, his voice is much quieter, and he hardly seems to move his lips.

"I think I did see them.  Foreigners, like yourself, but a bit more given to cursing and swearing?  Came down the road from Bard's Gate, by all accounts?  Would that be them?"

"Any rate, they were in here last night, just long enough to grab a bite to eat and a drop of moonshine.  Then they went over to the palace." and he inclines his head in the general direction of the other large building in the village.

"I heard them say about how they were going to speak to King Arranol."

"Never saw them come back, so unless they left town, they're likely still there."

A sad smile is offered Colwyn.  "Likely you are correct," Eilieen sighs.  The idea of sleeping here...ugh.  Give her a farmer's haystack any day (and not for 'rolling', either).  "Similarly with your thoughts on the matter."

Then Arkan intervenes, and information flows.

More given to cursing and swearing?  Eilieen casts an appalled glance on Colwyn and Aarnr.  Impossible.  Unimaginable.  Horrific.  Not the twain; the idea.

"Well done, Arkan," she whispers, taking a firm hold upon Aarnr's arm.  "No, Aarnr, we shall not speed off to the palace."  This said sotto voce, hopefully outside of the innkeeper's hearing in this noisy hall.  "We need to discuss this quietly.  Outside of this inn."

"Filthy fen-sucked, beslubberin' dog-hearted, ruttish, maggot-nosed basket-cockles !"  Aarnr offers, perhaps somewhat indiscriminately to the cautious observer, as he allows himself to be dragged outside (after a few tugs he gets the idea and tries not to take too large a stride with each step which would defeat the attempt).

"Ye have a plan," the priest surmises confidently, a broad grin splitting his face as he imagines the possibilities, looking about to see if there's any tools, implements, materials or the like that might suggest some more.

Eilieen starts marching Aarnr towards the door, while Colwyn  considers following.  He pauses first, though, to finish his drink.  It doesn't look like any food is on the agenda for the moment.

Which is a pity - he could do with a spot of breakfast...

Beyond the village, Bilfro is meditating and making a noise like distant thunder.  His meditation is disturbed as his owl lands on his shoulder hard enough to break the clavicle of a lesser man.  Just for good measure, it also bites his ear, resulting in a certain amount of pain.

The wizard is immediately alert, and hears the sound of approaching voices coming from the woods to the east...

Trying not to appear too elated at the windfall of information, nor Eileen's praise, Arkan follows the others outside, eyeing the 'palace' in the distance while standing near the others.

"Honestly, we could just set it on fire and do this place a favor. It would improve the view, and take out our enemies fast and easy," he says quietly, almost wistfully. Ofcourse, nothing is that easy and such a reckless move could be catastrophic if there were any innocents inside.

But then again, did a den of scum and villainy such as this have any innocents?

Seeing the others headed outside, Erista slips out and joins them.  "I think they're in the palace," she confides as she rejoins the group.

The outside of the palace bears some resemblance to the tavern.  Basically it looks like a barn, with a thatched roof.  A row of openings, just below the eaves on each side serve as windows, allowing ventilation and, perhaps a little illumination.  Though, at ten feet above ground level, they are perhaps a little too high to allow anybody to look through them.

The wooden walls have numerous chinks and openings, most of which have been packed with mud, grass, or turf.

The strongest part of the palace is definitely the large double door - an old structure, which appears to have been taken, frame and all, from a much better-constructed building.  The doors themselves are of old oak, ornately carved and decorated, and worn almost to the colour of old silver by decades (if not centuries) of exposure to the elements of nature.

A half dozen guards stand watch outside the entrance, eyeing the party with a certain degree of suspicion...

Among the trees at the eastern fringe of the clearing, Bilfro watches as a patrol of a dozen or so men come along the road from the east.  They are dressed in uniforms similar to those worn by the attackers of the night before - mail hauberks, pot helms, and dragon-emblazoned surcoats for all.  One, the leader, is mounted.  The twelve men with him are on foot and armed with spears.

They come closer, and the leader calls a momentary halt as he spots Bilfro on the cart.  Then he spurs his horse forward, riding slowly towards the stranger...

"You there!" he calls, as he comes within range, "Why do you sit by the side of the road, outside our fair city?"

"Setting fire to the place would only improve it," Eilieen mutters, in agreement with Arkan.  "NO, Aarnr, that is not part of my idea and we will not carry through with burning the inn."  She pauses as Erista approaches and delivers her information.

"I see...my thanks, Erista.  Might in inquire as to how you came to this conclusion?"  She raises a hand.  "Let it be said, I do not doubt in the slightest.  It is but curiosity."

As for the palace....

"Well, it's not fortress," Eilieen murmurs, studying it from a distance.  "But well-guarded and difficult to enter."  A small smile touches her lips.  "For me.  Colwyn?  Your thoughts?"

"Some people were talking," Erista explains.  "Said some masons just came into town and one of them wanted to hire them, but then the other said they were up at the Palace and nobody could compete with whatever Arranol's offering."

Seeing the guards looking, she smiles back at them and waves.

For his part Arkan glowers back at the guards staring at the party from, his dark eyes all but smoldering from underneath the shadow of his hood.

Turning his head towards the others he says, "Instead of setting fire to the whole building, perhaps we can just set the roof alight. The smoke should cause everyone inside to run out and we can pick them off in the confusion."

Scratching his chin thoughtfully he adds, "Doing it at night would be the best, it will allow us a greater chance to escape without getting caught."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:09, Tue 28 Feb 2017.

"I could be gettin' in there, easy."  Colwyn says happily.

"There's bein' all them there bloody great 'oles in the walls, an I'd be climbin' up ter them in no time.  But not now.  It's bein' mornin, an' the sun's gettin' brighter.  If'n there's bein' folk in there what's bein' even 'alf awake, I'd be bein' framed in the 'ole, with the light back of me.  Easy ter see."

"So if'n I were ter be tryin' it, I'd be waitin' fer it ter get dark.  An' then I'd like as not be only doin' it if'n there weren't bein' no moons up.  Or if'n there was bein' plenty of clouds."

The rogue shakes his head, and adds, "Not that I'd be tryin' it, normal like.  The place don't look ter be bein' worth the work."

The mounted man rides a little closer to Bilfro, angling his head to one side, before hailing the mage again, "Speak up man, or are you mute?  Why are you loitering outside the city?"

"What?  Mute?  Aye, very much so.  Are thee unreal, alike the previous troop that didst traversed through hither mere moments ere, to dither?  The pale fellows over yonder?"

Bilfro motions towards the side of the clearing, in which direction there is positively not a single living soul within sight.

"In truth, why do I repose afore the glorious gates of tremendous city yon?"

Bilfro motions towards the dingy little village which he was happy to not enter.

"I be watching this here corpse."

Bilfro taps the side of his nose and then nods his head backwards onto the cart upon which end he rests.

"Watching o'er this here unseeable corpse of tremendous dragon non-corporeal.  Aye, this be the head, resting in the cart, while, as thou canst see, its body tremendouser still float o'er thine heads, bloated with the gas of its rotting corpse.  That be the smell you can not smell, it being inodorous and all.  Best not bring open flames near, it be prone to explode and blow thee up.  Done so to me three times already."

Bilfro nods sagely and picks up something invisible and grabs the air in front of his nose.

"The would not let me enter thy fair city with it, nay, though my friends didst.  So I sit here, observing the passer-by's and whittling on my nose, the better to smell tomorrow with, whilst I wait for them."

He smiles blissfully and stares through the patrol as if they were not quite there.

The patrol leader opens his mouth to speak several times during Bilfro's discourse, but each time he does so, Bilfro says something else which renders any response completely pointless.  Finally he raises one hand to signal for the madman to be silent, for madman he surely is.

"Very well.  You may remain here, but be careful not to obstruct the King's highway.  And if there is any trouble, we shall know where to look for a potential cause."

He raises a hand to signal to the troops and calls out, "Onward lads!  Tharizdun has started early today it seems."  This remark is followed by some nervous laughter from his men, and curious stares, and not a few gestures known to ward off bad luck as the troops pass Bilfro...

Meanwhile, at the palace, two of the guards break away from the rest and march (though "saunter" would probably be a more accurate term) towards the group of adventurers.  One of them, the larger of the pair clears his throat and demands, "Oi!  Why are you standing around just looking at the palace?  Not planning a robbery I hope."

"Yeah!  Planning a robbery." adds his companion, with a hissing, wheezing laugh.

Colwyn desperately tries to not appear furtive...

Arkan and Colwyn make good sense.  They will need to wait for night, if they plan any deviltry here (deviltry against deviltry...amusing, Eilieen ponders).  There is, though, the current matter of the guards.

Eilieen's eyebrows rise.  "Planning...a robbery?"  A smile appears on her sharp features, a true smile.  Of all the things of which to accuse them?  "No," she states with a small laugh.  "We do not plan a robbery."  All true, this.  "I am a travelling priestess of Zadastha, and these are my friends.  We chanced across the palace, walking through your city, and paused to regard it - clearly it is different from the buildings."

She bows - not deeply, but.  "If this gives offense, my apologies.  We can certainly move on, if you wish."

Nodding quickly Arkan gestures at Eilieen and adds, "Aye, the lady speaks correctly. We are not only her friends but her guards, just in case someone plans to rob a priestess just going about her day."

He scowls at the two thugs that are confronting them, and adds, "Now you wouldn't be thinking about doing that do you? Rob a priestess in broad daylight?"

Aarnr is inordinately pleased with the turn of mind that his boon companions display, his grin broadening immensely as suggestions of arson and destruction are put forward.

The arrival of the guards, however causes his lips to twist into the habitual snarl of hatred that he reserves for almost everyone, and he eyes them narrowly, looking for an opportunity to take offence ...

The idea that they might be distracted by the spoils when there is killing work to be done is bad enough, but that the pair would dare to steal from Eilieen is intolerable !  Though the priest chides himself that given the behaviour of their fellows, their recently slaughtered fellows, it was probably inevitable that they'd resort to daylight robbery.

"Damned thieves and half-witted gudgeons !" Aarnr roars, with just the right amount of spittle flying forth.  "I'll have thy froggin' livers if thou try it !"

The guards look a little perturbed by Arkan's question and Aarnr's subsequent explosion.  They back off a couple of paces, an respond to Eilieen.  "No, it doesn't cause offence Your Reverence.  We... we just thought you might be lost or something.  The bit about the robbery was just a little jest."

The second guard elbows the first, then leans closer and whispers something, before returning his gaze to Eilieen.

"Er... my friend, here, Jack.  He's a er... Zadasthan, and he was wondering... we don't get many Zadasthan priests here, and he was wondering if you could do one of them sacred dances for him?"

Jack grins, and winks suggestively at Eilieen...

Realisation dawns as the second shiftless guard mentions the name of his companion, for this Jack was one of the bandits that Aarnr and his companions captured on the road to Fairhill (the priest does not even consider that there could possibly be two men with such an outlandish name), along with the cart, and it comes as no surprise to find the varlet here in the employ of a dismal-pated, fen-sucked hedge-pig such as King Arranol ... though the man does appear much changed, in manner and appearance.

Aarnr continues to glare alarmingly, his gaze directed particularly at Jack.

There is a sharp intake of breath, and Colwyn edges away from Eilieen.  He doesn't know her that well yet, but he does know that there are occasions when she can react... strongly... to certain comments.

This might not be one of those occasions, but a body can't be too careful.  Spears can be dangerous.

And speaking of dangerous things, he edges away from Aarnr too.

"Yer might be wantin' ter be rethinkin' that there request."

Arkan likewise appears perturbed by the brazen request of the leering guards, and wastes no time in letting them know. "Truly you must be villains, of the vilest sort! Asking a lady you do not know to dance for you, in open daylight no less. Why that's robbery too, though of a different sort."

Pointing at the wooden structure behind the two guards he adds, "Have you no women inside your abode, that you must accost traveling priestesses for your entertainment?"

Erista gives Arkan a reproachful look.  "It's not like he's asking for just some dance," she points out.  "It's a sacred dance, for a fellow devotee.  I'm sure he's heard the stories about what happens to people who try to steal such dances - the eyes melting, and the..." she looks a bit abashed, biting her lips, "other bits, blackening and falling off, and so forth.  He wouldn't ask if he wasn't really a fellow Zadasthan."  She turns to look at Jack.  "Right?  Not like that poor fellow in Overton."

Jack shuffles his feet nervously, and whines, "Steady on.  Didn't mean to cause trouble.  Was just asking for one of them sacred dances, with the blessings and all."

His (so far) nameless companion has, quite noticeably, added a yard or so to the gap between them.

And now it seems that the remaining guards, near the door, are becoming curious about why their colleagues have not returned to their post...

Out on the road, Bilfro is preparing to return to his meditation, when his focus is shattered by the sound of something approaching noisily through the forest...

Bilfro sits very quietly, listening to the approaching noise.  It sounds like something large, and it's definitely coming his way.  He can hear the rustling of leaves, and the cracking and snapping of branches... 

The door of the palace opens, emitting smoke, the smell of cooking food, and another guard.  This one looks curiously at the group of adventurers and stops in his tracks for a moment before turning on his heel and going back inside.

"Was any of yers seein' that?" Colwyn asks nervously.  "I's 'avin' a bloody bad feelin' 'bout this."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:10, Sun 19 Mar 2017.

Aarnr's religious training centred mainly around killing, getting a good sharp edge or point, dismembering, killing again, maiming, the many ways of vanquishing undead and more killing.  The ways and rituals of his own faith are almost as much a mystery to him as those of other faiths (indeed, he can never work out why there's so much sniggering whenever Zadhasta is mentioned).

However, Bowbe is very keen on some things, and his hatred of undead, guardsmen, makers of porcelain¹, lawyers and authority figures in general is both deep and abiding.

In deference to his dead grandmother's wishes (the priest tries not to worry over the fact that she might technically be undead herself now), Aarnr has done his utmost, striving beyond endurance to suffer the presence of the foul guards ... but finally his patience is done.

Colwyn's warning elicits a deep growl in his throat as Aarnr draws his two-handed blade and marches up to the door of the palace to confront the guards standing there.

Toe to toe with the biggest of them, the priest bellows wetly in his face.

"YE WILL BRING OUT THOSE MISBEGOTTEN, CULLIONLY, TOAD-SPOTTED HEDGE-PIGS OR I WILL CARVE MY WAY THROUGH THY ODIFEROUS PLUME-PLUCKED CORPSES AND BRING THIS REEKING MAGGOT-PILE DOWN ON TOP OF YE !"


¹ http://www.dictionary.com/browse/arcanist
This message was last edited by the player at 13:14, Mon 20 Mar 2017.

Eilieen cocks an eyebrow at the pair.  She bows to the other men in the group - Arkan and Colwyn, adding a small smile for Erista - then faces about to the two.

"So.  You are Zadasthan?" she inquires of Jack.  "Interesting.  I shall consider your request.  But I wish to see the depths of your devotion, first."  Another smile, genuine still.  "Might you grant unto me the seven truths of Zadastha, as taught to her followers?"

It's a start, as tests go.  She's curious; it's vaguely possible there are Zadasthans here...though just because someone is Zadasthan, it doesn't mean their intent isn't lascivious (another thing learned at the temple).

Then she cannot help but lean away, hair blowing slightly, as Aarnr bellows his challenge.  "Oh dear..."

The guards edge away from Aarnr as far as they are able, and then one asks the obvious question... "Hedge pigs?  What lollygagging hedge pigs?"  The rest change the direction of their edging away to include him as well as Aarnr.

Meanwhile Jack is turning bright red and sweating profusely in the face of Eilieen's question.  He opens his mouth three times, and nothing comes out.  Then he smirks at her in a most unpleasant manner, and finally manages to squeak, "This... this is a trick question, isn't it?  Like a test?  There are eight True Precepts of Zadastha, not seven.  And I... I was taught that it's not right to speak them in front of an unbeliever, what with them being sacred truths and all.  Only a priest can tell them to an outsider, and only if they're making him a Zadasthan too.  Begging your pardon."

Glancing with some concern in the direction of the opening where the guard had dashed back inside the structure, Arkan tries to direct the attention of his companions towards what he belives to be incoming danger.

"I think we are about to have some company," he says, gesturing at the doorway. Turning to glare at the guards being intimidated by Aarnr and Eileen he says to them in a harsh tone, "We hear you have some guests inside with whom we have some differences, certain masons who arrived last night. Send them out here to us and we can settle our matter with them privately, no one else needs get hurt."

Shifting slightly, Eilieen keeps one eye on the guards harangued by Aarnr.  Fortunately, Arkan (thus far a more sensible headed man) has taken it upon himself to move into that situation; she catches his warning and nods.

The nod turns thoughtful as she regards Jack.  "You DO have some knowledge of the ways of the Temple."  The faintly-inflected capitalization indicates which temple.  "I am impressed, Jack."  That said with a small smile of approbation.  "Where were you taught?  And what brings you to this place?"

Annoyance has become actual curiosity (despite the situation); it's so difficult finding a Zadasthan, these days.  And, Eilieen sadly notes, his request is at least perfectly in keeping with most of her experience with her fellow worshippers.

The guard seems to be a simpleton and Aarnr doubts that Arkan's explanation will help much.

"THE REEKY, SPUR-GALLED, CLAY-BRAINED, VILE-STANDING, MISBEGOTTEN, MUDDY-METTLED HEDGE-PIGS !" the priest clarifies for the benefit of the unfortunate guard and anyone else within shouting range.

Aarnr is certainly intending on hurting someone, if fairly transiently, on their way to their final judgment ... the demon-worshipping masons, the toad-spotted king of this city, any guard who tries to get in his way or looks at him funny ... or, preferably, all of the above.

"I was born here," Jack replies, "and my old Grandmum was a Zadasthan.  And my mum.  I learned from them.  And sometimes a travelling... priest would... stop... by."

Jack seems distracted.  He keeps looking over his shoulder at the source of all the shouting.

The guards before the door are starting to look a little concerned that Aarnr isn't showing sufficient respect (or any, for that matter).  The one who had asked for clarification is obviously the keen one in the group.  He seems determined to ease the building tension.

"Hedge-pigs?  There's no hedge-pigs here.  Just the King and his household and his guests." he assures the savage priest of Bowbe.

And at that moment the door opens again, and a large number of additional guards appear.  One of them waves a hand in the general direction of the adventurers.  "That's them!  That's the bunch what attacked the patrol last night!  Take them lads!"

"Oh nadgers!" groans Colwyn...

"THOU BESLUBBERIN' FEN-SUCKED FOOTLICKERS !!" Aarnr warmly greets the large number of additional guards as the spirit of Bowbe descends upon him, his features contorting (though it would be a very brave and percipient individual that could note any change from his usual murderous demeanour).

The priest shakes, spits and growls incomprehensibly, bringing up his already well-blooded great blade in two hands, swinging it with vicious intent ...

Taking only a moment to be puzzled as to what Aarnr's latest insult actually means - his voice certainly does carry well enough - Erista takes a few quiet steps back and, while Jack and his partner are distracted by it, looks for a good spot to duck away into.

"Maybe it is just a very fat mouse."

Bilfro the Bold muses to himself and sends, as best he can, his trusty personal piercing tool (a.k.a. owl) to perhaps snoop it out before it is too late to hide.

"Or maybe it is a really, really slow rolling boulder without the sense to stop rolling once it had reached the bottom of the hill, because it is literally, and I do not use that frivolously, as dumb as a rock."

Bilfro the Hiding Under the Cart observes the events with a detached and cool head, albeit not literally, of course.  That would imply death far back enough to have had the head lose the body temperature enough to be considered cold.

Meanwhile Odysseus Warfield Leonidas takes to the sky.  Whether he will scout or merely is getting to safety only he knows at the moment.

With the briefest of pauses to ensure that his flight will dislodge Bilfro's hat*, the great owl takes wing and soars majestically into the forest...

Jack glares at Eilieen.  "Brigands and murderers!"  And he reaches for his sword as he backs away from her.  Jack's so-far-unnamed comrade-in-arms, goes one further, yelling at the top of his voice, "Ware!  Thieves!  Outlaws!"

Which draws some attention (and not a few screams of fear) from nearby villagers...

Before the initial screams have even died away, Aarnr is among the guards at the door, blade swinging savagely.  Two men go down immediately, but the rest scatter, spoiling his rhythm.

Erista, meanwhile, finds cover behind a horse trough.  Or is it in a hay wain?  Somewhere, anyway, even if nobody else is quite sure where.

And Colwyn moves away a dozen or so paces, nocking an arrow as he goes...

OOC: Initiative rolls for everybody who hasn't made one yet (except Bilfro who hasn't been attacked by the savage giant two-headed dire owlbear anything yet).  Also time to swing into action (again excluding Bilfro, who has swung about as much as he is wont to).

*Bilfro, as we know, suffers from Irritable Owl Syndrome.

"We never attacked them," Eilieen corrects, somewhat cross.  "They attacked us!"  She readies her spear in a defensive posture.  "Jack, we..."  A quick look behind herself does indeed verify that Aarnr has effectively removed the chance to protest a lack of intent to harm, as well as a pair of the guards.  Her face falls and she returns her gaze to the two guards before her.

"Jack, heed the words of a Zadasthan priestess," she quickly informs him.  "Take your friend...and run."

Things have gotten Well Out Of Hand™, and it doesn't look like they're going to improve.

OOC - Holding action.  Haha.  Not like anyone is going to lose this round to me.  Eilieen will defend herself, attacking anyone who attacks her.

Aaaaand the dice roller says, no.  That's not happening even if someone does attack her. 

After a moments hesitation at the ensuing chaos Arkan moves into action. Crescentfall is drawn into his hand with blistering speed, and he immediately brings the fullblade up crosswise before him, crouching into a defensive stance.

His eyes peer out from underneath his hood, trying to gauge the exact number of their opponents, while his mind searches for a spell appropriate to the situation...

---

ooc: Initiative: 24
Free Action: try to see the number of attackers present
Move Action: Draw Sword
Standard Action: Total Defense

So intent is Aarnr on his goal that he does not pursue those guards that scatter (unless ill-luck on their part sends them flying in the direction that he is going).  Growling disturbingly, the priest continues towards the door and through it, if he can, unless forced to delay to hack his way through any paunchy, boil-brained toads or even sturdy portals.

Beyond the village, Bilfro's owl returns to him, gliding down on silent wings to perch precariously on his shoulder (a situation soon remedied by the judicious application of talons). 

Colwyn turns and, after carefully selecting a target, he unleashes an arrow in its general direction...

The situation is definitely deteriorating.

Arkan draws his sword, then pauses as he scans the area, as if to estimate his chances of getting out of the village alive... 

Erista is, of course, nowhere to be seen.  Though wherever she is she probably has a good view of Aarnr laying into the guards.  His blade weaves a deadly web of steel, and men fall before him.  At least they do until they recover from their shock and start to fight back.  Soon the savage priest almost seems to be sweating blood, as several small wounds start to ooze crimson fluid. 

Eilieen yells a warning to Jack, who seems reluctant to heed her words in the face of an attack on his king.  Colwyn convinces him with an arrow through his right arm, which causes the guard to drop his weapon and stagger away from the fighting, aided by his companion.

The Zadasthan stands ready to defend herself, though for the moment it seems there will be little call for it, as the fighting seems to be going on in the dooeway of the palace.

From the gloomy. smoke filled interior, there suddenly comes a loud yell, "Assassins!  Murderers!  Defend the king!"  And behind Eilieen there rises an angry muttering.  A clod of muddy earth strikes her pristine gown...

OOC: Oh, dear.  That's torn it!

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2

Characters' Apparent Health
<tt>Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Arkan :           Good
Bilfro Gabbins:   Good
Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good

Apparently there are assassins and murders in there as well as the demon worshipers, and the mantle of king has passed to some hedge-pig called "Defend".  None of which is of any consideration as Aarnr continues to hack at the guards as he tries to fight his way towards all of the above, though his sword swings grow ever wilder as the priest feels (if does not currently notice, along with the growing number of shallow cuts) the lack of musical accompaniment to his endeavors.

Eilieen dithers a moment, considering.  On the one hand, the populace (such as it is) clearly supports the king...

...on the other, the guards of said king are clearly aware of what happened with the patrol of the night before.

Decisions, decisions.

Finally - after a clod of mud strikes her, possibly the catalyst, possibly not - she draws herself up.  "I see no rightful king here!" Eilieen cries.  "I see a brigand lord, whose guards accost honest travellers on the road at night, who guests with him followers of Orcus!"

An aside: "Well struck, Colwyn."

And she hurries forward to assist Aarnr.

OOC - Moving to help Aarnr, attacking one of the guards he fights. Edit: Missed by one.  I also miss armor modifiers...
This message was last edited by the player at 12:02, Tue 04 Apr 2017.

Erista decides shouting at the populace might run counter to her purpose in finding a good hiding spot in the first place, and leaves that to Aarnr and Eilieen.

Something that looks suspiciously like a mixture of mud and dung narrowly misses Colwyn, who turns  to see that there is an ugly crowd gathering.  He already has an arrow in hand, and it is the work of but a moment to send it flying in that direction.

Especially as he isn't really trying to hit a specific target, but is trying to make the mob rethink the idea of getting closer.

The arrow embeds itself in the wall of one of the hovels.

Upon seeing the number of guardsmen by the entrance, Arkan resists the urge to suggest a strategic withdrawl. Instead, he mutters, "Careful, there are at least 20 of them" to the others, and charges into the fray.

He makes sure to keep close enough to Aarnr so their chances of getting split up and surrounded are reduced, but not close enough he gets cut by his allies swinging blade.


His massive battleblade sings a song of death as Arkan twirls and then thrusts at an unlucky foe at the apex of his dash...

---

ooc: Full Round Action: Charge at enemy close to Aarnr but no targeted by him yet; 24 on Attack; 18 on damage , -2 to AC for this round

There is a yelp from the whelp of the mage on the stage with an owl near his bowl that is his head quite dispread.

In his mind he does find what owl did there prowl 'mongst the trees like a breeze nigh disperse like a hearse.

A mind befuddled is now doubled in the details that it curtails from the spying of the flying.

Moving into flimsy cover like a glover with a client made of silent weaving sneaky oh so creepy.

Arkan leaps forward to get as close to Aarnr as seems prudent.  His heavy sword swings in a dazzling arc, and another guard falls, blood pouring from his pierced throat.

Over the sound of battle Erista's voice can be heard calling out from... somewhere...

Loudly cursing his foes, Aarnr swings wildly, only to see his blow deflected by a raised sword and a certain amount of luck.  And suddenly there are screams from the people before him, and they are backing away as Aarnr suddenly towers over them, big as an ogre, and considerably less friendly looking. 

Colwyn shoots a less than accurate arrow towards the mob, but is quite pleased by the effect it has on them... until he glances over his shoulder and realises that the screaming and running is not his doing.  "Oh nadgers!  That's not bein' right."

Thrusting her spear at one of the guards, Eilieen is disappointed as the man moves quickly back out of reach, causing her to miss.  Disappointment turns to bewilderment as she realises that he has continue moving away and has, in fact dropped his weapon.

And for some reason a lot of his comrades are also retreating.  And Aarnr, hard as it might be to comprehend, sounds much louder than usual...

Outside the village, Bilfro takes cover under the cart and peers into the forest, trying to see what might be coming to attack him, possibly killing him at least three or four times.  His owl, meanwhile flies up into a nearby tree.  Then, after a moment's consideration, it moves to a branch situated at somewhat greater altitude.

The crashing and thumping sounds from the forest grow louder and louder, until suddenly a small, grubby child, armed with a large branch, steps into view.  She thrashes at the lower branches, bashes it against the trunks, and bangs it hard against the earth.  All very noisily.

She really does look quite cross...

OOC: Aieeeee!  It's Aarnzilla!

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2

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

Eilieen isn't certain if she should be relieved or insulted.  On the one hand, having the guard backing away rather than fighting is preferable to getting stabbed.  On the other, people don't often treat her as an object of fear...

...Oh, it's probably Aarnr.  Who sounds quite...

Turning her head, she stares in disbelief.  "Oh, dear.  That's...I..."  Back to the guards.  "Well, yes," she agrees.  "Fleeing seems wise."

The dark doorway towards which Aarnr hacks his way seems now much smaller than it appeared at a distance ... the guards before him but tiny, pitiful creatures.  Who are in great danger of getting away !

Growling in a terrifying and almost completely¹ incomprehensible manner, the priest swings his blade back and forth in a wild and unruly flourish as he presses towards the door.


¹ but not entirely - it'd be a safe bet to assume it's not entirely friendly

As he twirls his weapon in a disciplined set of forms before bringing it back in front of himself to both defend and prepare for another strike, blood from the dying guardsman flicking off the blade, Arkan notices that Aarnr's growling appears louder, and deeper all of a sudden.

Risking a quick glance his eyes widen in shock, as he beholds his companions new, towering form!

"Now that's a great spell!" he calls out to Erista, realizing immediately what happened, and making a mental note to get her to teach him if possible, assuming they survived this fight.

Moving towards the nearest enemy he strikes again quick as a serpent, bringing his battleblade in a sweeping arc aimed at his opponent's neck!

---

ooc: Attack: 26 (crit!); 21 (crit confirm: success!); Damage: 16 (08 rolled x 2 crit multiplier)

Arkan closes in on one of the fleeing guards and cuts him down, beheading him with a single stroke.  The head bounces across the muddy ground, and stops against the base of the palace wall.

Erista is still nowhere to be seen, but a sling stone appears from somewhere, and cracks one man soundly on the back of his shoulder...

Meanwhile Aarnr seems to be having a little difficulty judging distances, since everything around him is now much smaller, and a savage sweep of his sword passes over the head of his target, leaving him uninjured but terrified.

Deeming the peasants of no concern for the moment, Colwyn puts his next arrow into the back of a running soldier.  It bites deep, though not deep enough to kill him.  With a scream he drops to his belly and starts to crawl for the door.

Eilieen settles for yelling insults and threats at the retreating figures, being far too wise to follow them into the gloomy interior of their own stronghold.  Probably a good decision.

The guards retreat as far as the doorway and push it open.  Inside is revealed a smoke-filled chamber, lit only by the dim red glare of torches and an open fire pit.  Figures can be seen moving in the smoky murk.

"Now lads!" yells a deep voice from somewhere inside, and the smack of bowstrings reverberates out of the gloom.  A hail of arrows emerges from the hall, most of them missing rapidly moving targets or glancing off armour, though a few strike a small number of soldiers and Colwyn gives a yell of pain as one shaft sinks into his abdomen.

A horn sounds from inside the palace.

The child stops, having noticed the cart for the first time.  Curiosity causes her to lower her out-sized cudgel and, dragging the end across the ground, she starts to move towards the vehicle.

From the direction of the village, a horn sounds faintly...

OOC: It's not a party without bowmen.

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Enemy Leader       21 (AC=??)
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2
Archers             1 (AC=??)

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

Those who are wise and make good decisions might shun the gloomy interior, but Aarnr is far above and beyond any rational thought (not that it would make any difference if the blood-mists were not upon him), and with a bellow that would shame any feral creature he continues forward into the palace swinging his sword with an almost manic glee

Colwyn hobbles away to find cover, hissing with pain at every step.  Eventually he presses his back against a wooden post and slumps down to sit on the muddy ground, where he gazes glumly at the arrow jutting from his thigh.  It doesn't show any tendency to vacate the location of its own accord.

"I were knowin' it were bein' a bad idea ter come 'ere." he grumbles.

Cursing at the hail of arrows that thankfully miss him, Arkan yells out, "Charge them before they reload!"

He would love to have done the same ofcourse, but he couldn't see where the bowmen were; likely somewhere inside the 'castle'. Luckily the same lack of sight probably made the bowmen such poor shots, for now at least.

He moves to strike at the closest enemy he can see then, in order to thin the enemy ranks enough so the party can focus on the bowmen, when suddenly Colwyn's yell from behind makes him realize that they were not so lucky after all, making him jerk his swing and miss!

---

ooc: Attacking nearest enemy: Attack Roll 09 dang it!

Muttering in annoyance at how things have gone downhill, Eilieen turns about to leave the men to...well, chopping up their enemies, hopefully with some success and hurries back toward Colwyn.  "Coming, coming, just a moment!" she singsongs as she hurries across the filthy ground between them.

Assuming she arrives...  "Hold steady, Colwyn," the Priestess begins.  "This will only -" go through the rigamarole of pushing arrowhead through, snapping shaft, yanking it out "- take a moment.  In Zadastha's name, relieve this worthy man of his pain!"

OOC - Cure Light Wounds, healing domain, total of 7.  The arrow stuff is purely realworld fluff, Eilieen isn't actually going to do more damage to Colwyn....

PM

Having cunningly spied that the monster was the worst kind of them all, a human child, Bilfro almost snoozes off in the comforting comfort of the belly of the wagon.

But hark!  The beast comes gently or perhaps not quite towards the wagon.  Whether 'tis safer in the mind to hide from the kid and her stick of outrageous fortune, or to take cover against the wee lass of troubles, and by opting to hide from them and in the darkness hide them, my precious ...

...!

Oh bugger.  Dead body in the cart.

"Nay!  'twas not there my un-invented piece of on-the-eyewear has fallen," states Bilfro boldly as she meekly crawls out from under the cart to stop the little brat from finding his dearly departed little friend sleeping the long sleep of sleepiness.

---

OOC: It's not a party without bowmen.
What of bowwomen?  Or aftmen and aftwomen?  And middlemen and middlewomen?  And port and starboard?  Will no one think of the children?!  Will no one give a hoot?!?  Oh, wait just a cotton-picking minute, I just did.  All well now.  Carry on, nothing to see here.  Pay no mind to the curtain behind the man.

There is a considerable amount of screaming, and no small quantity of spurting blood.  And not all of it is from Colwyn...

At the door, Arkan continues to fight, but something (perhaps concern about the archers that lurk within) distracts him, and his foes have little difficulty defending themselves.

At the side of the palace, there is a scraping, sliding, tearing sound, and anybody who happens to look that way sees Erista, standing against the base of the wall with a piece of broken timber in her hand.  She gazes up at the window high above her head, and looks irritated...

Aarnr also fights his way into the doorway.  His heavy blade, enhanced by his increased size, lays out another of the guards, who screams in agony as the massive weapon rips into his shoulder.

There are more screams, this time of terror, as Aarnr steps into the doorway and swings his enlarged sword.  The men scatter, and the weapon strikes only a wooden pillar, which splinters under the impact...

Seated on the muddy ground, Colwyn can only shriek in pain as Eilieen removes the arrow from his leg rather forcibly.  There is a pool spreading out from beneath him, seeping into the mud.  And it isn't all blood.

And then the pain is gone.  And there is a much more pleasant warmth wrapped around his leg.  The rogue relaxes, and lets Eilieen do her work...

From inside the hall comes a rapid series of thumps, and a rushing sound.  Aarnr, silhouetted in the doorway, suddenly finds that he has a number of arrows embedded in him.

Protected in part by his ally's increased bulk, Arkan, nevertheless, also feels an arrow bite through his armour... 

Out in the forest the child stops, her stick still held loosely in one hand, and she stares at Bilfro.  "Who are you Mister?  You don't half talk funny."

OOC: Is everybody having fun yet?

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Enemy Leader       21 (AC=??)
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2
Archers             1 (AC=??)

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

Tempting as it might be to bring the walls of the palace crashing down about his foe, even in the depths of the red mist that engulfs him, Aarnr somehow realises that the wooden pillars aren't actually shooting at him.

Abandoning his attack on the now badly damaged and thoroughly intimidated pillar, the priest drives forwards towards the largest contingent of the more active foe, spitting and shouting, no more comprehensibly than before, his extra-great sword an engine of death and destruction as it slices through flesh and bone.

OOC: Aarnr's having fun !  :>
This message was last edited by the player at 12:29, Mon 24 Apr 2017.

Pat on the arm for Colwyn - "Sorry!" - then Eilieen subtly shifts back a couple of feet (well, less-than-subtly).  She's seen worse from injured people, and certainly isn't going to hold it against him...but doesn't particularly want to hold it against herself, either.

More sounds of combat.  Her head jerks around, and the priestess espies suspicious quills now protruding from Arkan and Aarnr (who has gathered several).  "Bother," she mutters, struggling to her feet.  "Take care, Colwyn -"

- redundant, he does -

" - I must assist the others!"  That said, it's a rapid run BACK toward where the fighting continues.  "Zadastha," she prays as she hurries, "my work is not yet done - lend me the strength to uplift the hearts of my friends!"  Arkan first, is her private decision; he's closer, and less likely to try to remove her head.

OOC - Should Eilieen safely arrive, she will attempt to cast Cure Light Wounds on Arkan.

Edit: 8 HP if successful.  I'm rolling poorly.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:17, Mon 24 Apr 2017.

"Uhf!" Arkan gasps as he feels an arrow nick him by his shoulder, but it is a reaction to getting struck rather than a cry of pain.

Barely halting he seeks out the closes of the remaining guardsmen and strikes with his blade, foregoing precise attack patterns for a couple of wild swings of his fullblade.

"Take out the bowmen Aarnr, I will handle the guards here!" he calls out to his companion in arms as he presses the attack.

The sound of Eileen's voice alerts him to her intent and he moves back a bit to allow her to reach him more easily, and work her healing magic upon him.

---

ooc: Attack closest guard. 24 on attack; 6 on damage
Move Action: 5ft step back towards Eileen if possible.

With a groan, Colwyn pulls himself upright.  Risking a quick peek around the post, he realises that he can't see Aarnr, which means he has probably gone into the darkness of the palace interior.

"I wouldn't've been doin' that." he remarks quietly as he ducks back behind the post, "The bloody place is bein' full of buggers with bows, an' any cove what's bein' in the doorway's goin' ter be makin' a nice target, bein' as 'ow the light's bein' be'ind them."

Gamely, Erista has another go at scrambling up the loosely packed wall.

Erista discards her trophy from the previous attempt at climbing the structure, then starts to scale the wall again...

At the doorway, Arkan continues to hew at the guards who stand within reach.  His heavy blade strikes one man, whose attempt at parrying is not as effective as he might have liked, and he falls and starts to drag himself away, leaving a smear of blood which gleams blackly in the dim light.

Outside Erista manages to catch one hand on the sill of the window, wich is no more than an open horizontal slot in the wall. 

Another man falls before Aarnr's rage, and the savage priest moves with pantherish agility (albeit an unusually large panther), to strike at a second target.  Sadly he still has not learned to compensate fully for his increased size, and he again strikes one of the support pillars, dislodging a torch, and making the room a little darker.  Though it might only stay that way for a little while... some of the straw on the floor starts to smoulder... 

The same voice as before continues to yell orders.  "Take them down!  Protect the king!" and some of the guards turn to fight.

Arkan and Aarnr manage to defend themselves though, dodging and parrying successfully against their more numerous foes.

Beyond the hall, Colwyn nocks another arrow and looks about, noticing that some of the villagers are moving closer again.  He aims his bow at the nearest, and yells at them all defiantly, "Best be backin' off!  All of yers!" before planting the shaft right between the man's feet.

"Next'un'll be a yard or so 'igher, an' yer won't 'ave nothin' ter be shakin' dry after yer's been pissin'!"

Eilieen steps into the doorway, and lays a hand on Arkan's back, as she calls out a prayer to Zadastha...  Warmth flows momentarily through her arm, and into Arkan's body. 

And then the air is filled with the rushing of arrows, and a certain amount of screaming...

Moving rapidly as they are, Aarnr and Arkan are not easy targets, and none of the shafts hit them.  A number of the guards are struck though, and decide almost as one man that they probably should leave the battle.

And Eileen finds that she has been hit by two arrows.  One in her right arm, above the elbow, and one in her left side, just above the hip... 

Bilfro watches, as the child stamps her foot, and waves the large stick, unsteadily, in his general direction.  "Answer me!" she yells, "If you don't answer, then I'll tell my brother, and... and he'll send his army to pull your arms and your legs off.  Like he does to the spiders."

OOC: Is everybody having fun yet?

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Enemy Leader       21 (AC=??)
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2
Archers             1 (AC=??)

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

Erista quietly admires the view.

The rampaging priest is so filled with Bowbe's murderous and violent spirit that he doesn't even realise that he hasn't been hit again.  Indeed, even the dim light cannot quench his thirst for blood.  Facing in roughly the direction of the fobbin' knotty-pated jolt-head that's making all the noise - the one that's exhorting the rest to attack, not the ones that are now lying on the ground, screaming, the moreso as they get accidentally trod on.

Aarnr's bellow rises to almost painful levels as he responds to the challenge, rushing forwards, swinging his sword with just a touch of casual mayhem.

"My thanks Lady Eileen!" Arkan calls out to the priestess as he felt the power of her healing magically bind his shoulder wound, and give him a noticeable surge of vitality.

Darting forward just behind the physically enhanced Aarnr, Arkan hacks and thrusts at any guardsmen that are in range as both of them move forward, intending to keep Aarnr clear against any attacks from the rear as he focuses on moving forward and taking out the enemy leader.

---

ooc: Attack: 18, Damage: 12. (Arkan will attack any enemy within range while using his move action to move forward with Aarnr; if there is no enemy within range Arkan will break off and move towards an enemy using his move action and then attack instead.)

Thanks are better - far better - than a sword-swing at one's face.  With a nod that Arkan doesn't see, Eilieen considers the possibilities.

1.  Heal Aarnr, suffer assault;
2.  Heal herself (the healer), ensuring her continued capacity to support her friends;
3.  Simply keep up with the (rampaging) men.
4.  Hang back with Colwyn;
5.  Find Erista, enjoy view.

These options are cut off by the rude interruption of a pair of flying arrows.

With a cry of pain, the priestess hastens to come to a decision.  Given recent surprises, #1 is out.  #2...the damage isn't severe.  Nicks, really, more surprising than anything else.  She should save her prayers for when truly needed.  #4 would put her out of reach of their frontline fighters if something went wrong...and Colwyn has a talent for getting himself out of dangerous situations.  #5?  By far the most enjoyable, only the tricky part would be finding Erista.

#3 it is.

Moving forward, Eilieen places herself in easy movement reach of Aarnr and Arkan (she's not going anywhere within actual, physical reach of Aarnr or his weapon) and prepares herself.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Move more close to Aarnr and Arkan, I guess being defensive and waiting to see what happens - not for her to do here except get in the way/get cut down by Aarnr....

---

Colwyn moves a little way to one side, out of the direct line from the door,  Still he maintains his aggressive posture, whil snarling threats and insults at the villagers.  After all, it wouldn't do to have them come up behind his companions.

"Yeah, yer can just be stayin' where yer's at.  I's warnin' yers, I's been shot in the bloody leg, an right now I's bein' mad as a weasel."

"Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks," says Bilfro, the world grows darker around him at him nigh fainting at the through of the cruelty required to pull the legs of a spider.

"I am Bilfro the Permissively, er, Impressively Mightful Being of Omnipotence," proclaims he proudly, "or BIMBO for short, and who might you be, little mean one?"

He spies about, ensuring that no army is descending upon him, or giant spiders for that matter, and than it strikes him like an arrow in the arm and another in the side.

"Talk funny?!  I think not!  I venture Thy speech is by and large far more impeded by the sheer malicious of Thine brother's abhorrent discourtesy for what I presume to be rather small in size arachnids!"

With him being rather tall for a halfling, due to being half giant, he leans forward and bops the girl on the nose with the tip of his finger to drive home the point.  Not that of the nose, as that would be nonsensical, but of his irrefutable point, which is the point of it all, after all, and anything but nonsensical.  At least to him.

The child takes a step back in alarm as Bilfro touches her nose.

"You shouldn't have done that Mister Bilfro.  Nobody touches me because I'm a princess.  Princess Nata, and my brother, Arranol, is king here.  And that means that all the grown-ups have to do what he tells them."

That seems to anger her for some reason, and she suddenly swings her stick at a particularly annoying sapling, and stamps her foot.  "It's not fair.  I heard that in other lands they have queens, and they have pretty clothes and magic swords.  But then Arranol told Old Currinder that he couldn't tell me stories any more, and now Currinder teaches him everything."

"Is that true Mister Bilfro?  Are other lands ruled by queens?"

And she starts to sniffle as tears glitter in her eyes.

Meanwhile...

Aarnr bellows in rage and charges towards the archers, surprisingly fast on his feet for such incredible bulk.  Arkan follows as close behind as he can and protects Aarnr's back.  His sword lashes out to threaten those who would attack the enraged (and enlarged) priest.

One man falls before the outlander's sword, blood burbling from his torn throat.

A rainbow flares suddenly in the darkness of the hall, and men scream in terror.  All but unseen in the gloom that comes crashing own on the chamber, a number of the bowmen fall to the floor. 

Aarnr reaches the bowmen, but he sees a more tempting target.  He cleaves one of the archers from scalp to brisket, and leaves a second screaming on the floor as he tries to reattach his severed hand.

And finally he stands before a large man clad in gleaming scale mail, and bearing a heavy mace.

The mace sweeps towards Aarnr's skull, but he manages to raise his weapon and instead feels a jarring shock through his left arm.  Aarnr's retaliation is... somewhat more forceful, and he drives the tip of his sword into the man's armoured breast so hard that a full foot of steel stands out between his shoulder blades, and he crumples to the filthy floor.

The few remaining guards swarm around Aarnr and Arkan, but the two adventurers parry, block and evade the blows which rain down upon them.

Eilieen follows behind Aarnr and Arkan and, seeing an opportunity present itself, she impales one of the guards attacking Arkan in the back with her spear.

The archers, meanwhile,  retreat towards the empty throne, casting down their bows and drawing shortswords...

Outside, the local populace seem to be developing a certain reluctance to approach Colwyn...

OOC: Can you tell I've been on a bit of a Robert E. Howard splurge lately?

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2
Archers             1 (AC=??)

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

The big shouty man lies dead on the ground, much quieter now that Aarnr has driven the point home.  On the other hand, the terrifying, bellowing giant of a man, currently wearing the mantle of Bowbe upon his spirit, seems to be just getting warmed up ...

Chin jutting offensively as he screams and spits in the face of the nearest guard, the priest continues on his merry path of destruction with a rather forceful swing of his blade.

Having seen the rainbow effect - repeatedly - Eilieen concludes that Erista is, indeed, in the area and at work in her own (rather effective) manner.  A good thing, having a hidden (and magical) ally.  Wrenching the spear out of the man's back in a practiced manner (much practiced - one needs to be able to do it without pattering droplets across one's accoutrements), she continues to follow Aarnr and Arkan - at a safe distance - and awaits opportunities to lend assistance.  Colwyn is doing a fine job in guarding their backs; best she continue, here.

For a moment, she considers praying for the ability to sense the presence of the undead, but decides against it; such requires concentration, which Eilieen cannot master at present (thanks in part to Aarnr's frothing).

OOC - Following still, if opportunities present will attack (probably not, I expect everyone is ranging out in FRONT of the dynamic duo).

Colwyn is, indeed, doing a fine job of guarding the rear.  Though, if the truth be told, his main concern could best be described as, "guarding himself".

Meanwhile, inside the palace, the smouldering straw seizes its opportunity and becomes a full fledged (though currently small) fire.  Flames start to spread out across the floor...

Bilfro was about to reach out and ruffle her hair, but it was pity that stayed his hand.  Pity, and Mercy: not to ruffle without need. And he might be well rewarded, Bilfro.

Down he crouched to her level and smiled at her.

"Oh, it is true."  He voice now soft and gentle.  "Let me tell you a story, my sweet princess.  A story about another princess, so fair and kind that she was loved by all the people and animals alike.  When she sang, oh, it was such dulcet tones that even the wild animals would gather 'round.

"Closest to her heart was her parents, the queen regnant and her husband - the king consort - and all of the people of the realm.  The princess did at times disguise herself and walked among her people, as did her parents, not to deceive, mind you, but to see for themselves that their loyal subjects were not ailing.  In truth, it was a kingdom as gentle as the royal family itself."

The visage of the storyteller darkens during a brief pause.

"Then came a wanderer to the kingdom, a wizard most vile and cunning!  He wielded dark magic and an even darker heart!"

The voice mellows out and takes on a sorrowful tone.

"After a while, he had taken the throne, via dark magic binding the loyal guards to him.  He took away the princess parents and was going to force the princess to marry him, a thought she found frightening.

"Only thanks to her ability to disguise herself and with the aid of her gentle people did she manage to escape, to begin the quest for a way to defeat the evil wizard.  Before she left her kingdom she learnt her parents were alive, being held in the dungeon of the castle, although to what end she never learnt."

Bilfro sighs, a misty gaze wandering into the distance, losing itself beyond the horizon.

"She was so angry at first, and sad, but then one day she found a small companion that told her of a secret far away.  And so she began to wander.  Still to this day she still wanders, searching, hoping, ever in disguise, for the agents of the evil wizard reaches far and may be in the very trees or sky.

"Yes, you'd be surprised how far a bit of dirt and a clever disguise goes, I tell you."

The gaze returns to the girl, along with a gentle smile and a wink.  With a tug on the beard the story continues.

"But, take heart, for by now she has heard of a rumour that may hold the key to the salvation of her realm, a secret hidden in a deep, dark place.  Gathering followers of a most unusual kind she must muster all of her courage and face the monsters lurking there, the greatest of them all her own fear.

"One day soon she shall return home to cast out the vile wizard and liberate her parents and the people of her realm."

At this point Odysseus swoops down to land on Bilfro's shoulder with a loud hoot.

"Ow!  I hear, though, sometimes these companions are not always easy to have around..."

He glares at the owl who pointedly ignores him, watching the girl instead.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Thu 11 May 2017.

Arkan keeps close to Aarnr, sword ready to cut down any who venture too close to them as they move forward.

Aarnr's swift dispatching of the mace weilding large man in scale is quite impressive, Arkan has to admist. His own strikes in comparison leave some to be desired...

---

The fire spreads quickly across the straw covered floor, aide in no small part by the copious amounts of cheap alcohol laying in pools amid the straw.  Eventually somebody notices, and the result is not entirely unpredictable...

"Fire!" a voice yells, "The Great Hall is afire!"  As if to add emphasis, an arras bursts into smoky flame, and a woman screams.

"Save King Arranol!"

Arkan, meanwhile, lays about him with his great blade, and one of the former archers falls supine, blood welling from a deep gash across his chest.  The outlander coughs as he inhales some of the smoke.

Erista, still perched up at the vindauga, is starting to ponder the wisdom of staying high up on a structure which could become a blazing mass of death and destruction at any moment...

A little ahead, and a bit to one side of Arkan, the stinging in his eyes from the smoke only seems to be driving Aarnr to new peaks of fury.  The savage priest of Bowbe has, apparently, lost all reason.  His greatsword sweeps and slashes and thrusts, and men fall before it, their mail byrnies torn asunder by the impact of that trenchant weapon. 

The last remaining mailed guard, not wishing to be trapped in a burning building, hesitates for a moment - save the king, or flee in terror.  Terror wins.  Unfortunately Aarnr is between him and the exit.  He rushes at the priest, determined to cut his way out through the intruder if necessary.  His sword swings wildly, an Aarnr swats it aside carelessly, the impact numbing the guard's arm and causing him to drop the weapon...

Aarnr shakes his head to clear the fog, and realises that the fog is outside his head, and it smells like something burning.

People are starting to mill about, a number of them taking a wide berth around Aarnr and Arkan, and fleeing the hall.  An old woman staggers out from behind the throne, holding a small child in her arms.

Colwyn becomes aware of a sudden change in the tone of the screams behind him.  There are more of them, and a number of them seem to be coming from women.  Add to that, the villagers seem to have lost interest in him, and are staring, open-mouthed, at something behind him.

He looks over his shoulder, and sees smoke drifting out of the door of the palace and seeping from the thatched roof.

"Oh, nadgers!" he mutters.  Then a yell at the villagers.  "Don't just be standin' there, yer shower of lollygaggers!  Best be gettin' buckets of water!"

Inside, one of the archers moves to flank Arkan, but Eilieen spots the movement, and brains the man with the butt of her spear.  He sprawls on the floor, unconscious, his sword skittering out of his grasp to lay in a pool of burning spirits.

The remaining archers, gathered before the throne with blades in hand, seem beset by panic.  One shrieks in terror as flames dance about his feet.  Others are looking about for an exit that won't require them to pass the invaders.  Sadly for them, the architect of the palace has neglected to include such a feature.

About half of them cast their weapons down and attempt to flee, giving the intruders as much space as they can.

Only four still remain before the throne.  Four who are a little more brave, or foolish, than the rest.

Behind them the old woman coughs and sobs as she clutches the child to her skirts...

And near the back of the hall, a handful of people, male and female, are clustered, wailing and crying as the flames hem them in...

Princess Nata looks at Bilfro with wide-eyed amazement.  "That was a lovely story, Mister Bilfro.  Old Currinder never told me no stories like that.  Will you tell me another one?  Only don't tell my brother any."

OOC: Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Guards              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2
Archers             1 (AC=12)

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

Erista ponders many things.  Why doesn't she have any fire suppressing spells?  What the heck is a vindauga, and perhaps more importantly, when did she start talking to herself in Old Norse?  Is she going as crazy as Bilfro?

Surprisingly, all of these thoughts take almost no time, and she quickly dedicates her attention to getting off of the wall and away.

Perhaps it is the smoke and flames that finally penetrate the red haze that envelops the priest, or perhaps even Bowbe has had his fill of death this day.  Whatever the reason, the priest suddenly staggers as the weight of his god lifts from his shoulders.

Wearied by his exertions, Aarnr the Giant gasps for breath, lowering his blade and standing a moment as reason returns, looking about at the veritable hell he seems to find himself in, with leaping flames all around him and the horribly dismembered dead and dying strewn all about the hall.

He nods in satisfaction, the moreso as his roving gaze tells him that Eileen and Arkan yet live.

"Bowbe, thou fishified, leaden-footed, pigeon-liver'd, dankish clotpole !  Thou will ward me from these froggin' flames, thou cockered, tardy-gaited toad ! " the man rudely demands of his god, refusing to let such a minor inconvenience as being burned alive keep him from the foe."

Despite his weariness and the small matter of the building burning down around him (a development he thoroughly approves of), Aarnr pauses only to inform the old woman¹ with the child, "go now an' take thy stripling with ye, thou wheezy crone," before leveling his blade at the handful of remaining guards, who are small indeed to his eyes. 

"Now, thou gleekin', spur-galled, fly-bitten whoresons !  Where be those thrice-damned masons !"


¹ who may or may not remind him of his grandmother

For a brief moment (as the guard collapses), Eilieen considers praying to Zadastha to stop the flames.  But a quick perusal of her readied prayers demonstrates the futility (or, worse, the fire-inducing prospects) of her current abilities.  So much for that.

Moving forward to where Aarnr stands, she touches Bowbe's priest on his shoulder (making certain to be within his peripheral vision when she does).  "Lady of Love, cast your healing breath upon this man."

A glance backward at the man she left on the filthy floor.  "You!" she shouts at one of the fleeing archers - probably uselessly.  "Drag your friend!"

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC - Cure Moderate Wounds on Aarnr.  Edit: oh, for crying out...8 points.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 13:32, Mon 15 May 2017.

In Aarnr's often brutally honest opinion, Zadastha would probably be afraid of catching something nasty if She breathed upon him ... but he's been around Eilieen long enough now to understand that such a prayer is not a slur upon his manhood, and he definitely appreciates the gesture and nods his thanks.

Undoubtedly those toad-knockers still standing who see the giant of a warrior healing before their eyes will be less pleased ...

Perhaps the smoke and flames are too much of a distraction, but nobody seems interested in answering Aarnr's discreet enquiry just at the moment.  In fact most people seem more intent on simply getting out of the building...  While there is a certain amount of panic and screaming, anybody even slightly associated with a priest of Bowbe soon learns to not hear such noises.

Outside, Erista descends the wall clumsily and hits the ground heavily.  Fortunately the mud is soft enough to prevent serious injury, other than the grievous wound to her professional pride.

The smoke is growing denser with every passing moment, but on the plus side the interior of the palace is soon going to be better illuminated than at any time since they constructed the roof.

Outside the burning palace, the villagers (urged on by Colwyn) are forming a bucket chain an casting dirty water against the walls of the structure.  Colwyn observes the process critically.  In his opinion, the palace is fated to become no more than a smouldering pile of timber within the hour, two at most.

The one good thing, though, is that the general dampness of the village should prevent the fire spreading, and the whole incident being recorded as "the Great Fire of Crossroad".

At the tavern, real history is being made... a number of the patrons have stepped outside to watch the fire.

And near to Colwyn, an elderly matron stands close to a young boy.  The child is scowling at the palace, and most of the villagers seem to be avoiding him.  The main exceptions seem to be four older men, dressed in fine clothes which have seen better days.  Those grey-beards are standing almost directly behind the boy, and are scowling just as much as he is.

Inside, it seems that all of the villagers have departed, leaving only the adventurers (and the dead) amid the smoke and flame.

Having learned a thing or two in his time since leaving The Vast, Aarnr now knows, for instance, that assuming you care about the answers, it is best to ask your questions before slaughtering your foes as the dead tell no tales.  Unless you shout particularly loudly at your god.

But unfortunately the burning palace no longer seems to hold anyone fit to answer questions of their own accord¹.

With a sigh, and starting to smoulder slightly, Aarnr exits the building, ducking his head at the now rather low doorway to take in the scene outside.

For some reason Colwyn seems to be encouraging the peasants to put the flames out, rather than forcing them to throw on more kindling, but the priest elects to overlook that as he spots the four grey-beards.  In his experience age equates to wisdom, so it seems likely that they will be able to tell him what he wants to know.

Striding over to the four, and towering above them (the folk around here are certainly much small than he remembers - perhaps he failed to notice before that they were Dwarves), he peremptorily and loudly demands:

"Where are the froggin' masons ?!!"


¹ as willingly as you get when threatened with a big sword
This message was last edited by the player at 05:20, Tue 23 May 2017.

Holding his large sword over his shoulder Arkan swiftly exits the burning building, keeping his eyes narrow to stave off the worst of the smoke.

Once outside he stands, naked blade yet in hand and watching the flames dance as they lick away at the crumbling building. He keeps an eye out for any untoward, and any sign of the cultists they seek.

"It is likely they burned to death Aarnr," the warrior-mage says to his companion, although he didn't really belive that himself. It seemed too easy, after all they had been through.

Most of the men move away from Aarnr, but one, a sour-face curmudgeon, stands his ground.  His beady eyes fixed on Aarnr, and his beard fairly bristling, he yells up at Aarnr, "Begone ogre!  We'll not answer to the likes of you, who have attacked out city and attempted to slay our king.  Leave this place now, lest we render your flesh for tallow, and make foul-smelling paupers' candles of it!"

One of the others interjects, "Ware, Currinder!  I like not the look of this beast, nor that of its minions.  Let the Guard strike them down."

Colwyn stops calling instructions to the bucket chain and, with a look of astonishment on his face, he turns to look at the man who is, apparently, picking a fight with Aarnr.

The rogue's jaw drops as he sees, not some mighty champion, but a scrawny old codger in a robe that looks like it hasn't seen better days since before Colwyn's life time, and with a beard that might have mice nesting in it, judging by its appearance.  Messy mice.  With poor table manners, and hygiene issues.

Codger-with-a-death-wish points a bony finger at Aarnr, and screams, "Begone!  Else I summon the army to strike you down!"  Impressively, he manages to spray the giant priest with enough spittle to make Aarnr look like he isn't really trying that hard...

"Mister Bilfro?  What's all that smoke?"  Nata is looking past Bilfro, in the direction of the village.

Aarnr is impressed.  Not only by the grey-beard's bravery but also at his attempts at insult, though such feeble taunts as he manages would certainly not suffice to rouse Bowbe, let alone engender the wrath of any but the most vain, ill-breeding codpiece.  Still, the fellow did his best, and so deserves better than being dragged back into the burning building to loosen his tongue as was the priest's first inclination ...

Nodding respectfully, Aarnr the Giant casually flicks his fine sword into a lazy arc, not really even trying, but with just enough muscle behind the metal that it should certainly serve as a warning of intent.

Three steps back.  That's what Eilieen takes from Aarnr and the man with whom he...converses.  The flick of the sword is somewhat disturbing, but Aarnr has exited his frothing madness now and Eilieen has (some) trust for his control over the massive weapon.

No, it's the bombardment of saliva that has her in retreat.

She nods to Arkan.  "Indeed.  But...these being worshippers of Orcus, I would rather be sure."  Fingers tighten on her spear-shaft, and Eilieen's lips press together hard enough to whiten.

"There might yet be a way to be sure," she mutters.  It's somewhat disturbing that people feel they 'attempted' to slay the king, but it indicates a possibility....

"And where is your king now, elder?" she cries out, keeping her distance from any possible liquid broadside that might accompany a retort.

"Of course I can tell you another."  A smile at the girl is followed by a nod, but then the story stops before it even starts, smoke seen in the distance.

Moments later the girl ask about the smoke.

"I do not know, sweet princess."  With a frown Bilfro stands up.

"Is that coming from your... town?"

What are they doing in the village?  Setting it ablaze?  That would be a disaster and an outrage, regardless of the attitude of the so called guards.  Too many innocent, with no say in the goings of things, as not even the princess herself evidently can control the king.

Uncertain whether staying here with her or going to see what is happening in the village and leaving the cart unguarded, the would be storyteller stands on the proverbial fence with one foot in the fire and the other in the frying pan even as a chill runs up and down the spine like a squirrel with too many nuts of the nutty kind.

"City." Nata corrects Bilfro, "The City of Crossroad.  Fairest city in all the Land."

Shortly thereafter she catches on to what Bilfro said.  Her mouth drops open.  Closes again.  And finally speaks.  "The city is being burned?"  And then the tears come.  Lots of them.  Accompanied by a certain amount of wailing and bawling...

Eilieen's question is, sadly, fated to remain unanswered for the moment.  At least by her target.  Before more than half the words have emerged from her mouth, the man is suddenly a head shorter, thanks to Aarnr's casual flick.  Fresh blood fountains quite prettily in the morning light.  And then the screams come.  Lots of them. 

The old woman pushes the child behind her skirts and draws a knife from a sheath at her waist.  "You may have slain Minister Currinder, dogs, but you'll not touch the King while I have breath in my body!"

All about, terrified villagers are in uproar, while the few remaining guards are trying to avoid Aarnr's attention.

Minister ... sounds like someone important.  Aarnr nods, quite pleased with himself.

But his smugness is shortlived, as the crone pulls a knife on him and he contemplates his options.  An authority figure such as the grey-beard, that's no more than his god requires, and quite rightly so ... but an old woman, literally half his size, armed with something that barely qualifies as an eating utensil ...

Quite frankly, even if the stripling behind her is the ruler of this city, as now seems rather likely, the priest would be ashamed of himself to raise his greatsword in anger against such as this woman.

But, she does seem to have got quite the wrong end of the stick (and not the sharp pointy end either).

"Is every puttock in this reeky hovel simple ?!!  I don't want to touch that mewlin' whey-faced popinjay, thou wart-necked, guts-gripin' strumpet !" Aarnr clarifies, quite loudly.  "I just want those froggin' dog-hearted, vile-standin', villainous masons !"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Sat 27 May 2017.

Arkan's eyes widen in shock as Aarnr casually decapitates the disgusting old man. Though the village folk are simpletons and did attempt to murder them, it still seems a bit extreme.

"Old woman, you have seen your townsfolk are little match for us. Tell my companion what he asks, else he will not stop until everyone of you is headless," he says quickly to the old woman, hoping to get some answers regarding the cultists and prevent further bloodshed.

"Masons?" the old woman looks confused by the question, but she heeds Arkan's sound advice, and at least tries to clarify the situation.  "Does this city look like it has any master stoneworkers?"

And then she pauses, still waving the knife about in as threatening a manner as possible considering that her hands are shaking somewhat.  A thoughtful expression flickers across her features.

"Unless you mean those friends of Currinder?"  She glances round, and points to a group of five ill-favoured individuals standing some way off.  They start nervously as they notice her gesture, and begin to edge away.  "It comes to mind that Currinder said they were masons, or some such, though they look more like rogues and miscreants to my old eyes.  Least ways, I'll not risk Arranol's life for the sake of a bunch of goblin-bred foreigners."

Stunned, Eilieen can only reel backward in shock.

Appearance aside, the old man offered no threat, besides words.  His only crime - of which they knew - was standing in defence of his ruler...a passive defence, barring Aarnr's path with his body.  And now, he lies slain for this?  Questions begin to pile in Eilieen's head, questions about the rightness of their acts, here.  Yes, the guard on the road were little more than brigands...but is this any better?

Sickened, she takes several steps forward, past Bowbe's priest, and drops her spear between him and the old woman...and the girl behind her.  It's a fragile barrier, but a barrier nonetheless.  "Aarnr!" Zadastha's priestess cries.  "No more, do you hear?  No more deaths of villagers!"

Her voice shakes, but her fingers tighten, white-knuckling their grips: spear in one hand, Zadastha's symbol in the other.

The priestess's demand puzzles Aarnr greatly.  He's killed quite a few guardsmen, of course, as well as the grey-beard who turned out not only to be a minister and likely the one running the village as the child clutching the old woman's skirts does not seem capable of such ... but also a friend of the masons and goblin bred to boot.

But he hasn't slain any of the villagers ... unless perhaps by accident while the god was riding him, though he'd thought everyone who met their end by his blade within the palace was clutching a weapon of their own.

Maybe Eilieen means the old woman ?

"I wasn't froggin going to touch her ... or the unchin-snouted urchin," the priest protests, "or any of these reeky pox-marked minnows !  I'm going to get those fobbin' malmsy-nosed, misbegotten masons !"

Aarnr points towards the five crook-pated nut-hooks that the crone indicated.

"Thank you !" he doesn't need to lean around Eilieen to express his gratitude, as he's still just shy of nine feet tall, but does dip his head to the old woman mostly because she reminds him disturbingly of his grandmother.

"Masons ?!!" he reminds everyone.  "Don't let them get away !"

"Oh my dear goodness word me...."

Bilfro, without thinking of the 'do not touch me' decree by the royal higness, reaches out and scoops up the princess into an embrace.

Briefly torn between staying right here and hurrying over to check on the little girl's home and brother, the feet begins to carry them both towards the city gates, or what passes for all of that here, either way.  Perhaps it is the smoke that causes both eyes to tear up, perhaps it is not, but it is sympathy that hugs the child closer.

What hath they wrought?

A sudden yearning for the power to summon clouds heavy with rain to calm the raging flames goes up into the sky with the smoke and scatters in vain to the winds.

The buckets are forgotten for the nonce, and the flames, like some wild, opportunistic predator see their chance to spread a little further.  Though still not visible on the outside, the smoke billowing from the palace tells the tale.

As does the ominous creaking from somewhere beneath the smouldering roof...

The masons, if such they be, are definitely moving away now, at a brisk walk, in the general direction of the tavern, such as it is.  Or rather, they appear to be heading towards the side of the ramshackle structure,

Their purpose, though, is unclear.  There is nothing of interest in that direction, unless they have some inexplicable interest in the small herd of swaybacked, spavined, tick infested horses in the small enclosure behind the building...

"Seize those masons, in the name of the King!" shrieks the old woman, canny enough to realise that doing something to please the ogre is likely to result in safety for her charge.

Some of the villagers start to move towards the fleeing group, at which point one of the masons turns, swings his arm in a wide, sweeping gesture, and calls out something in a guttural tongue.  Black smoke boils up from the earth between the masons and the villagers, and from somewhere comes a sound like a shrieking howl...

Outside, Bilfro, bearing his struggling burden approaches the open gate, though he is still at quite some distance from it.

Concerned about the confrontation between Eileen and Aarnr, Arkan thinks about how to find an amicable solution but then the old woman finally reveals the cultists!

'Aha!" Arkan says, pointing at the foul ones with his blade, but before he can do much else they start to flee.

"Beware, black sorcery!" he yells as one of them seems to start conjuring something foul.

Stopping in his tracks some distance from the cultists, Arkan raises his left hand and points at the one doing the conjuring and mutters spidery words, the sound drowned out by the ensuing chaos.

Fire sputters at the end of his fingers and a fiery orb surges forth at his target. Unfortunately the boiling black smoke obscures Arkan's vision and his aim is off.

Way off.

---

Finally !  The masons stand revealed and it seems everyone has got the hang of doing something about them.

Still recovering from the efforts of carrying his god, Aarnr is slow to begin the chase, but when he does finally lumber into motion, it is with murderous intent, and no black smoke nor ominous howling is going to give the priest the slightest pause.

Sword raised, Aarnr howls back, loudly and wetly as he charges the masons ...

An orb of fire surges forth from Arkan's fingertips and hurtles in the general direction of the fleeing masons.  Or, rather, it hurtles in their general-ish direction.  All it strikes is the broad side of the barn-like tavern.  Being constructed mostly of wood, straw and, panels of dried mud bound together with more wood and straw, the ramshackle structure starts to burn. 

It is, perhaps, all for the best that most of the tavern's occupants had come outside to watch the palace burn.

Aarnr pursues his quarry, weary, but undeterred by the cloud of oily black smoke.  And then a great black wolf leaps forth from the reeking cloud.  Black it is, black as a bucket of pitch in a cellar at midnight, but with eyes which blaze like crimson flames.  It spots the approaching Aarnr, and sprints to meet him.

It leaps, jaws gaping wide, ready to rend flesh, and...

Aarnr's sword splits its skull in mid air.  The priest has toad licking, demon worshipping masons to catch, he doesn't have time to play about with some Hells-spawned warg.

The masons continue to hurry towards the horses, even as the dead wolf's fur starts to burn.

Aaaaand...another building falls victim to their rampage.  This infested town won't be in a better way when they finally finish, Eilieen muses.  Now, however, is not the time - the 'masons' are clearly up to deviltry, and need to be stopped.

Once that happens, her own group can also cease its deviltry.

"No, that's no good," the priestess mutters as the black wolf appears...and is summarily dispatched.  "Let me show you."

A quick, muttered prayer as she hurries in pursuit; nothing else, not this time.  "Zadastha - lend thy servant against this darkness."

After wetting his blade on the hell-beast, Aarnr does not even pause to consider the improvement in property values that the licking flames are the cause of, as he continues his relentless pursuit of the masons.

"Frothy, fly-bitten devil monks !" the priest bellows.   "Stand and fight, ye filthy, half-faced giglets !" he demands.

PM, because Erista

Masons!  Just the people they were looking for.  The summoning of the black wolf seems to confirm that they were the sort to be up to no good.

Without further ado, Colwyn fits arrow to bow, chooses his target carefully, then sends the shaft hurtling towards the one who had called the fiendish (if short-live) beast.

Hissing in irritation at his missed spell, and hoping none of the villagers will be burned by the fallout (at least none who wanted to murder them), Arkan joins his companions in chasing the cultists.

Leaping over the still twitching carcass of the hellhound dispatched by Aarnr, Arkan balances his naked blade over both shoulders and behind his neck with a hand, while pointing his other at the fleeing masons.

"Halt! In the name of...Bard's Gate!" he yells, not really sure what else to say.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Wed 07 June 2017.

The black wolf, its fur still smouldering, fades away into nothingness even as Arkan steps over it.  His demand that the cultists stop brings nothing but laughter and rude gestures from them as they reach the pen with the horses. 

Aarnr actually manages to come within reach of the rearmost mason.  Forunately for said miscreant, some sixth sense seems to warn him (or possibly he slips in the mud) and the giant barbarian priest's blade swings harmlessly above his head.

In any case, he draws a long curved knife as he turns to face Aarnr...  The curved steel slashes at Aarnr, but aggression vies with caution, and the latter wins.  The blow comes nowhere near Aarnr, simply because the mason is trying to maintain a safe distance.

The one who had summoned the wolf points a finger at Aarnr, and starts to speak in the same strange tongue, but his words turn into a shriek of pain as an arrow from Colwyn embeds itself in his gut.

One of his companions moves to stand by him, curved knife in hand, while the remainder hurry to open the pen.

Further back, Eilieen calls out a prayer to Zadastha, and is answered by a distant barking, which moves rapidly closer,  Soon the lean, muscular form of an Alesardin Mastiff, with eyes the colour of a summer sky, and a pelt of short golden furtrots to a halt before her, tail wagging furiously.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk are looking about for things to throw at the masons.  Some have already found likely objects, and a few stones fly through the air.  A smaller number of them actually strike their targets...

There is a sudden creaking noise, and a crash, and flames leap to the sullen sky as the palace roof collapses...

And at the gate Bilfro tries to shield the eyes of his charge, the Princess Nata, while also wiping tears from his own.  He shakes his head sadly, as he beholds the carnage being wrought in the Grand City of Crossroad, soon to be naught but a collection of burning hovels.

OOC: I think it's all going frightfully well...

Combatant         Init
Arkan              24
Erista             11
Aarnr Foultongue    9
Masons              8 (AC=15)
Colwyn Akbar        6
Eilieen             2

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

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:33, Sun 18 June 2017.

Aarnr the Giant¹ fears neither blade nor spell nor anything else save perhaps being laid low by the infirmities of old age.  However even as he advances with murderous intent upon the masons, a smile teases at the edge of his lips as a volley of stones comes from the villagers as the pignuts finally recognise the peril in their midst.

With a terrifying roar, the priest steps forwards, swinging his blade with the specific intent of helping at least one of these dealers in undeath towards a meeting with their foul master.

¹ actually any sized Aarnr, really.

Zadastha's hound - not capitalized - is on its merry way to deal justice to these miscreants.  That leaves Eilieen free to do what she does second best: heal.  With that in mind, she hurries to Arkan, this time, leaving Bowbe's priest to continue his assault on both cultists and language.

Should she reach him, the priestess chants a brief prayer.  "Zadastha, shower this worthy one with your loving ministrations, that he might continue to stand against the darkness!"

And divine energy - fuchsia, in fact - flares.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:42, Tue 13 June 2017.

Erista, inspired by her brave comrades, stands up boldly - if coincidentally in the shadow behind a barrel and happening to be on the side the mason's aren't looking.  Casting her hand out, she says, "彩色 浪花," emitting a cascading spray of her own light - jacinthe, amaranth, chartreuse, and sepia - which spreads out to flow over and around the fleeing masons.

Arkan charges at the cultists, aiming for any that are armed and standing their ground. "Stop them from releasing the horses!" he yells as he dashes, slashing in a downwards arc with his sword.

---

Charging, +2 attack, -2 AC
Attack: 11; Damage: 14

Colwyn wastes no time.  He nocks another arrow, and launches it at the same man, even as that worthy raises an empty hand in Aarnr's direction and starts to yell another incantation...

Arkan rushes forward, as Eilieen trails behind him.  His fullblade swings down in an arc that is calculated to kill.  Unfortunately his target steps aside at the last instant, and Arkan's foot slides on the slick, muddy ground as he tries to follow the mason's evasive motion.  The heavy sword bites deep into the earth, and sends a painful jolt running up his right arm, as far as the shoulder.

Beyond the enclosure, Erista appears from behind a barrel, and an effulgent cone of colors sprays from her hand and engulfs the masons near the horses in a scintillant polychromatic haze.  The effect is immediate, and most of the masons don't even cry out before they fall to the ground.

Aarnr closes in on the spell caster, but the self-appointed body guard intercepts him, even as the master starts to gasp out the words of a new spell.  The man even raises his knife in a futile attempt to parry the priest's weapon.  His curved knife breaks, as Aarnr's sword drives down, and cleaves the hated mason from collar bone to waist.

And at that precise moment, Colwyn's arrow strikes home, straight into the mouth of the yelling caster, killing him instantly...

Arkan flexes his jarred arm in an attempt to work some life back into it.  And then Eilieen touches his shoulder and chants a prayer to Zadastha, and a warm luminance suffuses Arkan's arm, easing the pain.

Meanwhile, the man who had avoided Arkan's blade backs away from the large dog which is approaching him, teeth bared in a savage snarl.  And then he stops and falls, as a length of damp firewood, wielded by one of the villagers, brains him.  The dog wags its tail happily, then sits down to watch the unconscious man...

The priest looks around for any more of the foe ... but the one felled by the villager seems to be the last of them.  "Well done, thou scurvy lewdster !" Aarnr offers in approbation, his cunning wit spotting an opportunity to befriend the benightened denizens of this town.  "I ..." reconsiders as he turns to Arkan, reaching down to pat his friend on the shoulder "... he will buy thee a mug of the cat's piss they serve in yon tavern, thou foot-licker !"

Aarnr regards the bodies of the fallen followers of Orcus.  Some appear to still be breathing, in quite an offensive manner ... but he's vaguely aware that Eilieen said something about not killing somebody.  It is possible that she seeks to question them first.  Pity.  He stays his hand, looking to the priestess expectantly.

"Good doggie!" Eilieen enthuses.  All of the masons seem downed.  Everyone seems alive and well (well, everyone in her group...).  Erista is as usual her sneaky, efficient self.  Arkan is uninjured after all.  Colwyn has ceased words and arrows both.  Aarnr is using his words.

Splendid.

With a glance at the villagers, she moves to where the downed masons lie - most from Erista's sorcery, at least one by the cudgels of the villagers.  "Well done, well done indeed," the priestess murmurs.  "Ropes for this lot, I think, should there be any here.  I will pay silver indeed for ropes," she says, slightly louder, "to hold these villains."

So far the ire of the villagers has turned on the masons.  Hopefully they can establish a wary peace.  AND tie up the masons, as yes, there are questions she might ask.

The old woman, holding her charge firmly by one hand, steps forward and proclaims, "Bind any that aren't dead, and stuff rags in their mouths, in the name of the King.  They're friends of Currinder, not of the kingdom."

The child starts to say something, but she hushes him gently, "Currinder is gone, Your Majesty.  You don't have to listen to him any more.  Nor his outlander cronies."

King Arranol shakes himself free, "Tie them up, then burn them all!"

"No, Your Majesty, we have to give them a fair trial before we burn them.  That's the way kingdoms work.  There are rules."

The King ponders this for a moment, then nods his acquiescence.

Smiling, Erista is about to step forward when she catches something about `fair trials' and `burning' on a stray breeze.  Not entirely sure what the conversation around these phrases was, she slips back into the shadow to see what happens next.

Wiping clean his blade on a ragged piece of cloth taken from one of the dead masons, Arkan finally sheathed it upon his back.

He surveyed the situation while flexing his sword arm, giving Eileen a nod of thanks for the healing; the pain was gone albeit the arm still felt a bit stiff, a good night's rest would take care of that though.

"Aye, bind the villains," he says. "You do not have to go through the trouble, we can take them off your hands and back to face justice in Bard's Gate." Arkan adds to the 'King' quickly.

Aarnr grunts.  He's heard of these ceremonies the decadent city folk call 'trials' and finds them offensive.  In his own lands, you fight your accuser and let blood settle the right of the matter, not attempt to trick them with laws and difficult foreign sounding words.

The stripling king seems much more sensible than those who advise him.

The priest is scornful of Arkan's suggestion which defies all reason.  Seems a froggin' lot of effort to go to just to kill the scurvy beetle-headed nut-hooks anyway.

Aarnr shakes his head in disgust.  He pointedly does not sheathe his sword.

The masons are bound, hands behind their backs.  Some of the villagers are, perhaps, a little too enthusiastic in their effort to secure the scoundrels.  Especially when it comes to the shoving of rags into mouths.  By the time the procedure is complete, some of the stunned masons in in the corral are starting to show signs of a slow return to awareness...

King Arranol's guardian beckons one of the guards over an bids him steady her as she scrambles up to stand atop a horse trough, feet braced carefully on the sides.  Behind her the palace blazes picturesquely, and provides a nice dramatic backdrop for her words.

"Citizens of Crossroad!  For too long has Currinder poisoned the mind of the King with words of tyranny and hate.  For too long has he used his authority to have those who dare oppose him put to death.  But that is ended!  Now we must find a new High Minister and Regent.  One who will embody the virtues that we would prefer to see instilled in our King.  A new age dawns for Crossroad.  Long live King Arranol!"

Her brief speech is greeted by a ragged chorus of cheers, which might have been less ragged, except that a significant number of the villagers are busy trying to douse the flames on the tavern wall, and the remainder show signs of not having quite understood some of the words.

She signals for the guard to help her down, and then she addresses Arkan.  "We will hold them here for trial.  They are allies of Currinder, and we would not trust outsiders to administer honest justice to other outsiders.  It should not take long - all saw the evil beast they summoned.  At least we did before yonder giant slew it."

The priest applauds the zeal with which the villagers bind and gag the masons.  He particularly approves of the rags that will still their lying tongues and should certainly make this trial they speak of go a lot faster without them interrupting with their whines and complaints.

Indeed Aarnr is beginning to warm to the old woman who rallies the villagers and what remains of the hell-hated guards.  She reminds him very much of his grandma.

But as she speaks, the smug grin fades from the priest's visage, replaced by a look of ... could that be worry ?  Fear ?!!

Gesturing his companions close to him, and ignoring their gagging and choking, Aarnr confides his concerns in low (at least for him) tones.

"Ye all heard her !  It's froggin' obvious that bunch-back'd flax-wench wants ME to be their new high ... minstrel to guide their mewling monarch !  We must leave this midden heap now before it is too late ! Leave those those mammering, malmsy-nosed malt-worms to their justly deserved fate !"  Much as he would enjoy watching the masons burned alive, the risk is too great.

The priest holds up his blade for his friends to regard, careless of the blood and sharp edges. "Gonder made this blade.  Gonder has no king ... Gonder needs no king ! And nor do I !!"

Taking a deep breath, Bilfro hugs the girl closer still.  Torn between guarding the cart and protecting the young girl, the latter wins in a heartbeat.

"I need you to trust me, dear princess.  Close your eyes and do not open them until I say so.  I will find your brother.  Can you do this?"

Once she gives her consent the trip into the village, ah, capitol begins, with a wary eye out for where to step as well as for the king, should he still live.

Drawing closer to the gathering ahead, a frown forms upon the face.

"I seek the king, or someone to care for the princess!"

There is a murmuring in the crowd, and a nervous shuffling of feet.  And then a voice calls out, "You should do it!"  And then a second voice, "Anja should do it!"  "Aye, Anja!"  The cries for Anja to take the matter into her hands swell and spread actoss the citizens.

"You have taught the King and the Princess before, and you were their nursemaid.  Old Beoric, their father, trusted you."

The old woman pulls the King close to her skirts again, and eyes the crowd, who generally seem to view her as the best candidate for the role.

Only one person doesn't appear to be watching her.  His attention is, for the moment, focussed on Bilfro and his diminutive charge.  "King Arranol?  Why, he's over there with Anja.  Hello Nata, who's your new friend then?"

"Hello Petr, he's named Mister Bilfro.  He told me a lovely story."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:58, Sun 02 July 2017.

Eilieen cocks an eyebrow at Aarnr dubiously.  "T'would seem otherwise," she reassures him.  "Look, Aarnr - they choose the elder woman.  No doubt for her wisdom and compassion, showing wisdom themselves."

Gonder needs no king...why does that sound familiar?

"You - and Gonder - are safe," she finishes, her regard falling upon Bilfro.  And what is this, the young woman wonders?

She would throw her support behind Anja, but this town - rightfully, the priestess ruefully concludes - eyes outsiders poorly.  She could inquire of Bilfro and the girl, but again...outsider.  Best to let that play out as an observer, see what comes of it.

In all, it seems that they've managed to do a good thing here...though with an impressive amount of collateral damage.  Hopefully the village will recover from its 'rescue'.  And, the priestess considers, the masons will receive their due and the world will be made a hint lighter from their loss.

Anja, after a few moments' thought, nods her head.  "Aye, very well then.  I've taken care of Arranol and Nata since before they could speak for themselves.  I taught them their letters, and how to count without using their fingers... "

Next to Bilfro Nata gives a guilty start, clenches her fists, and hides them behind her back.

"And I kept on teaching them, even when Currinder started trying to twist Arranol into a tyrant."  She spits in a thoroughly unladylike manner, striking the dead minister squarely in the chest.  Then she stops.  "But what's this?"

She leans over the corpse, and draws her knife again, using the tip of the blade to dislodge a chain from around the severed neck.  A chain with a medallion attached.  At the sight of the disc, Anja recoils, dropping her knife.  "Currinder wore the sign of Orcus!  Freja preserve us!"

As the cries for Anja ring out across the area Arkan releases the breath he didn't know he had been holding. Aarnr had not been chosen as the king, as Arkan (and Aarnr himself it seemed) were fearing.

All the lands around this little kingdom need not fear a horde of barbarians storming the gates any time soon then.

"Well then, alls well that ends well eh?" Arkan says with smile. He wasn't all too happy with the trial to be held here rather than in Bard's Gate to be sure, but perhaps the villagers would allow them to take back some evidence of the mason's executions as proof that justice was served.

As Anja points out the medallion of Orcus Arkan sees a sudden oppertunity and says, "Aye! Foul servants of the dark lord they are. But they might yet provide more mischief if we cannot find out where they came from. Allow us to take back one of the ones still alive as a prisoner so we and those who sent us may interrogate him and find out where they come from and what other plans they may have."

---

ooc: 4 on diplomacy :P

Though it seems that Eilieen is correct that the old woman has been chosen in his place, despite his relief Aarnr is not minded to hang around lest the rabble change their minds.

The revelation that the greybeard was a follower of Orcus, however, drives such from his thoughts and the priest emits a low growl (if one were to listen closely, one would receive a  truly enlightening oif shocking education in the art of foul language).  Indeed, Aarnr now deeply regrets his slaying of Currinder and thus granting the artless, base-court devil-monk such a swift and easy passage from this life to the next.

"Did we give our oath to those frothy puttocks that we'd bring one of the lumpish louts back ?" he asks, hoping that someone will contradict that.  "An' alive ?"  A little more hopefully that even if the first is true, the second is not.

Something else is worrying at the priest, even if he doesn't know quite what.  "An' how many of the nut-hooks were there, anyway ?" he further inquires, if not politely.  "An' how many of them have we froggin' got here ?"

"An' why were they runnin' to this wart-necked, scurvy whoreson ?"  The puttock had a mouth on him but couldn't even defend himself.

Eilieen frowns.  Had they given an oath?

"If you speak of Bard's Gate," she muses, "we were told that they would likely be condemned to death anyway."  The priestess can't recall, otherwise.  "I doubt it would be needful, at this point.  As for why they came here, clearly Currinder is a follower of Orcus himself."  That makes the group peas in a pod, really.

Corrupt, putrescent peas.

"But I agree with Arkan.  I believe we need to find out their plans.  Their associates in distant cities.  And why, why they created the portal back in Bard's Gate."  Her eyes narrow.  "We need to know," she repeats.

Bowing to Anja, Eilieen echoes Arkan's sentiments.  "My lady Anja, we would be most curious to hear information from these miscreants.  Where we find one group of Orcus' followers, we find more."  This said with a wave to Currinder, who remains...well, dead proof of that fact.

"There may be more of the sheep-biting, devil-taken, toad-knockers," Ardens points out to his grandmother the old woman.  "We'll soon loosen their lying, boil-mottled tongues an' you can string up the unruly, ripe-reeling rogues once we're done with them."

Colwyn glances at Aarnr, "They was sayin' as 'ow there were bein' eight or so of the buggers.  There six 'ere, livin' or dead, not countin' that there minister cove.  That leaves ... "  So tempting to say 75, and see what happens, but Eilieen is a bit too handy with her spear... "Two."

Anja interjects, "I'm quite certain that there were only six here.  It could be that the others continued onward, or met their doom on the road."

And after some thought, "Very well.  You can question them if you will, and take whatever tokens you will back to Bard's Gate...  But they are conspirators in a crime against the Kingdom of Crossroad.  All those who yet survive must stand trial within our borders."

Nata tugs at Bilfro's sleeve.  "Can you take me to Anja and my brother Mister Bilfro?"

After Anja speaks Arkan realizes this was as best an agreement they can hope for, without things turning bloody.

"Very well, lets let them get on with their justice then," he mutters, turning to glance at his companions.

"While they make their preparations we should interrogate those who are able to answer. Anyone here skilled in forcing people to say anything they don't want, preferably without torturing them?" Arkan glances at Aarnr as he says the last part, ofcourse.

"Anja."

The older woman turns with quite startling agility.  Her jaw drops open as she sees Bilfro and his charge.  "Nata!  Where have you been?  I was worried."

"I went into the woods, but I didn't see no monsters.  Mister Bilfro fetched me back safe."  Princess Nata peers, with some interest, at the bodies laying about.  "Old Currinder don't have a head no more.  Good.  He only used it to say bad things about folk.  And to shout sometimes."

"Thank you Mister... Bilfro?  Thank you for returning  Princess Nata to us."

Then, turning to some nearby guards, she instructs them, "Stand watch while the outlanders question the prisoners.  Don't let them release any of them, or kill any more of them.  And listen carefully to any answers they get."

Colwyn, meanwhile, is watching Arkan.  "Is cuttin' off fingers countin' as torturin'"

"Kill one and keep killin' 'em until one of the toad-knockers finds his voice," Aarnr suggests, but with a quite unenthusiastic note to his voice.   He's very certain that sensible proposition will be summarily ignored, though Anja's suggestion that the guards might stop him is quite frankly insulting.

They might delay him, he'll allow.  Even temporarily inconvenience.

Colwyn's thoughts, however, lead to a glimmer of hope.  Perhaps cutting off small pieces doesn't count ?

Much more important is that two of the death-merchants might have escaped !  "Ask these plume-plucked rats-banes where the other dismal-dreaming giglets have got to," Aarnr insists.

"I think we should eschew the cutting off of fingers," Eilieen notes quietly.  "I am with Arkan, in this; I do not feel we should put our feet on that road."  Where it takes them in the name of 'good' - or whatever Aarnr considers such - will be dark indeed.

"Nor do I think that killing one of them will inspire the others to speak," she continues.  "They sit already condemned, and know it.  They will be executed whether they speak or no.  Why should they betray their patron, then?"  Crouching, she studies the six with a jaundiced eye.  "After death, their souls will be in his black grip.  I doubt they wish to journey there with their last act being treacherous...against him."

Bad enough to have failed...if they actually have.

"No, only trickery or honest release would loosen their tongues, I suspect," she sighs.  "We cannot release them, though, for the evil that they would do.  And I cannot think of something deceptive enough to worm the truth from them."  One eyebrow rises.  "Colwyn?  Erista?  Perhaps a subterfuge leaps to mind?  If not, I would be happy to question them.  It may be I can fire them to anger against the ones who have left them here to die."

Evil turning on itself, a not uncommon thing.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:46, Tue 11 July 2017.

The priestess's words have the annoying ring of truth about them.  In the same situation, in the unlikely even anyone managed to take him alive, Aarnr would curse and threaten his captors, taking every opportunity to rile them.  Never would he grant them the satisfaction of cooperating matter not the consequences.

Nor can the priest think of any clever lie that might convince those soon to stand in the presence of their god, somewhat the worse for wear.  Deceptions do not come easily to a son of The Vast, though the machinations of the civilised world are no longer unknown to him.  Indeed some, such as actors and shopkeeps seem to make their living by fashioning fabrications.

"Let them die then !  I'd not give the base-court apple-johns the benison of even so petty a victory !  Let them stand before their foul, toad-spotted god without such a claim to appease him !"

"If there are two more such, then we will find them by our own merits !  How many more froggin' places can that dankish road lead ?!!"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:13, Tue 11 July 2017.

Colwyn stifles a snort.

Aarnr clearly hasn't been paying attention as they've travelled along the road, otherwise he'd surely realise that it's a long road, and leads to at least two more cities, and an unknown number of villages, hamlets and farms.  And Rappan Athuk itself, where they'll doubtless find a goodly number of the masons' fellow cultists.

And the thought of the cultists gives him an idea.  "Magic." he says,  "I's 'eard tell of wizards what could be makin' men speak the truth with magic.  Weren't makin' no odds 'ow tough they was bein', or 'ow scared they was bein' ter say a word, the magic was still loosenin' they's tongues."

"I'd froggin' like to see that !"

Though impatient to set the oxen and cart in pursuit of the two missing masons, Aarnr is clearly interested to see first hand the casting of any spell that can loose men's tongues from their mouths.   Assumedly one then threatens to feed the now absent appendage to the dogs unless they ...

... presumably it would help if there was ink and parchment to hand and both parties had some familiarity with the chicken-scratchings that civilised folk call writing.

The priest looks expectantly betwixt Erista, Bilfro and Arkan, expecting a good show.

"I can't do anything like that," Erista asserts promptly, before expectations get too high.  "And... subterfuge, that's like, trickery, right?" she asks Eilieen.  "I can sneak in behind them and listen well enough, and," she shrugs, a little self-consciously, "I don't find it too hard to pretend to be a human child.  But I can't think how that's going to get them talking about their fiendish plans, really."

"But if you want to try your plan, then maybe while you're distracting them, I can slip in and find a comfy spot inside, in case they start talking among themselves once they think they're alone," she offers.

Having set the princess down, Bilfro performs a curtsey that is interrupted with a bow, so it becomes a curtsow or possible a bourtsey.

"Think naught of it, m'lady."

Remaining in this bowing curtsey the hat comes off.

"Master Bilfro Gabbins, at your service."

The bow deepens a bit more.

Talk of fingers and other such horrid things are unceasingly pushed back into the far reaches of the mind dwelling in the skull now looking down at the feet positioned at the other end of the mortal form.

"I ought to retire to the cart left outside, lest it rolls of on its own volition."  Hopefully no one has gotten up from it and walked off.

"Aye, finger cutting would definitely be torture, and doubtful it would work. At least, we could never trust the information revealed in such a way, and all we would end up doing is stating our own souls," Arkan explains to Colwyn, and anyone else interested in such a method of interrogation, the inherent flaw in the torturers arts.

"Magic can offer a solution, but I am not skilled in the enchanters arts." he adds ruefully.

It would seem there is little else but to await the trial and then return to Bard's Gate, though if there are two more of the cultists still alive out there they can be tracked.

"Old woman, do you know for sure how many of these masons entered the town?" Arkan queries Anja.

"Our thanks go with you, Mister Gabbins." Anja amends, and smiles at Bilfro's somewhat creative genuflection, "It is a pleasure to meet such a courteous and handsome gentleman.  You will always be an honoured guest in our city."  She essays a stiff-kneed courtsey of her own, albeit not so deeply as Bilfro.

Then she turns her attention to the other guests, "To the best of my knowledge, all of these dogs have been accounted for.  At least the ones who entered the city have.  If they had others in their pack, I was unaware of it, and have not seen them."

"That's right Anja." one of the uniformed guards interrupts.  "I was at the gate when they arrived.  That's all of them.  And weren't no more strangers came through until this giant and his friends got here today."

Anja opens her mouth to say something further, but closes it again as one of the palace walls collapses with a roaring sound, and a shower of sparks and blowing embers.  Princess Nata shrieks, and clutches a pieace of Anja's dress, which she uses to cover her eyes.

Eilieen winces as the palace collapses.  Well...it was ugly, in any case.  Maybe they can make a proper one now.  "I see your point, Erista.  I had hoped you would have a way to befuddle them into confessing something - prick their pride, wound their ego, get them talking, etc."  A sigh follows.  "Ah, well."

Her lips purse.  "We should search them.  Perhaps one of them carries something that might give us a clue."

Wound their ego ?  Aarnr's not sure which bit that is, but he's game to keep hacking away until he locates it !

Though it seems that magic has failed them and more physical means of persuasion are not allowed today.  The priests brow furrows in consternation.  He hadn't wanted to do this, but ...

"Come morrow's dawn, I might demand that Bowbe forces every elfin word that falls from the lips of these froward, malmsy-nosed wagtails be the froggin' truth."

Another bit of the palace falls in.  Aarnr doesn't even blink.

"If the cullionly, ill-breeding mammets live so fobbin' long !" he growls.

Colwyn listens with some interest to the discussion.  It appears that the rumours of magic to make a man speak the truth, even when he doesn't want to, may have had a grain of truth in them.  Perhaps Bilfro could work such sorceries?

He stares at Bilfro briefly as the mage walks away, and wonders if it's worth asking him about it.  And then another thought bites his rump, so to speak...

"'ere.  Wasn't ol' Bilfro serposed ter be keepin' a eye on poor Ozzy?"

With another out-of-this-world-and-the-next flourish, Bilfro retreats with one last wave to the princess, only to leap and take off somewhat more rapidly as the building collapses nearby.

The sooner the cart is under secure guard again, the better - far better than being in this place of death and destruction.

Thus the pace picks up even more and soon a figure is seen trotting at near sprint through the village town city capital towards the open gates and the road beyond.

Anja watches as Bilfro walks away, then turns, still holding the King and the Princess close.  "Guards!  Search the prisoners, and all their dead allies too, and turn all their possessions over to these heroes for study."

"Then take those who still live to Dagor's house and tell him to lock them in his back room.  Keep them there until sunrise, then bring them back here."  She looks at the adventurers and explains, "Dagor has a room inside his house which has walls of stone, a door of good oak, and a lock of iron.  It will serve as a dungeon, of sorts.  In the morning they will be tried as cultists of Orcus.  Then we will hear the truth."

"Donul, Jesper, Ratik and... Gert."  She indicates four of the villagers.  "Drag the dead masons outside the gate and under the trees... aye, and Currinder with them.  No graves for the likes of them, nor decent pyre neither.  Let the beasts of the wood eat their flesh and crack their bones."

There is a stirring in the crowd, as people move to follow her instructions.  For a mere governess, she seems to exercise considerable authority...

Arkan flinches as the 'palace' collapses, his nerves still on edge after the battle. He recovers quickly though, and focuses on the information being discussed.

"If there were more cultists, and they did not come here, it's possible they may yet be in Bard's Gate. We should return in case they engage in more mischief," he says to his companions in a low voice.

This assumes ofcourse, there were any more of these masons remaining alive, Arkan is not so sure about that.

As Anja gives out commands Arkan is pleased to hear the belongings of the dead masons will be turned over to them. There would not really be any need to remain here too long then, they could take the belongings as well as a head or two from the dead ones back to Bard's Gate as proof.

Seeing Bilfro move towards the gate he indicates to the old man to wait. "We really should remain together. Colwyn, perhaps you can tell Bilfro to wait for a while until we are finished here?." 

Aarnr doesn't like the sound of 'study', but thoroughly approves of the roughshod disposal of the remains of their dead, and considers that the throwing of the surviving cultists into the cell has promise (though he'd prefer it was a dankish pit, even better if it measured but six foot long by three foot wide for each of them).

"Mayhap the puking, weather-bitten knaves will try to froggin' escape !" the priest suggests hopefully.  "We must lie in wait for them ..."

He's certain that any attempt on their part to escape the certain death that awaits them after they finish up with this trial would be reason enough to cut them down.

Perhaps if he left the door open for them ...

Oh, so they're heroes now.

That's good.  Or so, Eilieen thinks.  It means they must have done SOMETHING correct here, rather than just getting lucky with murderous impulses.

Or maybe that's all it was.

She shuffles away further from the collapsing palace, feeling awkward.  Arkan poses an interesting idea: return to Bard's Gate in search of more cultists.  That would shift them away from their ultimate goal, but it might be a good idea...

"Agreed, Arkan.  I think checking the possessions would be a good start.  It MIGHT tell us more.  And they might spill information in the trial, in the hope it would spare them their rightful fate."  She glances toward Colwyn and Erista.  "The two of you are our best bet for searching their belongings for clues," Eilieen notes, "though if there are any questions about their symbols or amulets, best inquire of me."

As for Aarnr's plan...

"A fine idea, Aarnr," Eilieen assures him.  "If only there were one of us with the strength of body to remain awake through the night..."  But the subterfuge embarrasses her - it's not her way - and the priestess sighs.  "I will take a watch upon this gaol myself," she adds.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:10, Tue 25 July 2017.

"The thing's bein', see, as 'e's serposed ter be guardin' the cart, an' our mate, Ozzy." Colwyn explains patiently, "An' I's not reckonin' as 'ow 'e should be leavin' them alone.  Wasn't yer not 'earin' what the ol' granny were sayin' 'bout beasts wanderin' roun' out there an' eatin' flesh an' bone?"

"So I's sayin' ter let 'im get back ter it."

The bodies and the prisoners, meanwhile, are searched (a procedure which includes not a few "accidental" kicks which, coincidentally, are not inflicted on anybody who isn't alive), and their belongings are laid before Anja, spread out upon a hastily spread cloak...

A half dozen knives of various designs, an equal number of purses, of varying degrees of fullness, an iron torc, and assorted leather wrist bands.  Separate from the rest are a talisman of Orcus, a much finer (and fatter) purse, an ebony hilted dagger, and a folded piece of parchment bearing a broken seal...

The knives and dagger are, of course, too small to be useful, and though he's now used to the devious and cunning ways of city folk, Aarnr is still slow to pick up on the import of a full pouch of coin, being more inclined to render services that appeal to him, not for shiny metal discs.

Likewise the parchment can't possibly be of any interest ... but the talisman of the hated demon-god Orcus is but further proof, not that it is needed, of the depravity of these masons.

Indeed, the matter of most concern is Colwyn's reminder that wild beasts roam the wilds ... Aarnr fears that he may have to leave the watching of the prisoners and the slaying of those who try to escape to Eileen, while he assists Bilfro (the madman might be gods-blessed, but is scarcely reliable) else further indignities might be inflicted upon poor Ozzie's corpse !

Behind Anja, the ruin formerly known as "palace" continues to burn.  The roof and two walls are gone, now mere heaps of burning wood and straw, with only a few smouldering pillars to show where the collapsed structures once were.  The remaining two walls  still stand, though aflame, and probably won't last much longer.  The same probably applies to the furniture and other contents of the building.

The dirt floor, however, looks largely intact.

The corpses of the masons, as well as that of Currinder, are unceremoniously dragged into a heap, ready for disposal, while the prisoners are roused and dragged to their feet with their hands bound.  Nooses are placed around their necks, and a guard holds the trailing end of each.

Colwyn, meanwhile, is looking through the loot... er... evidence.  "The coins is all lookin' good enough, an' all else too.  But the parchment's 'avin' writin' what I can't make out.  Like as not a furrin script.  Or a secret cypher."

Arkan glances with interest at the belongings of the cultists, especially the talisman, the dagger and the parchment.

As Colwyn looks at the document Arkan moves over to him and says, "Let me take a look, perhaps I may be able to decipher it." 

---

"We should froggin' burn it," Aarnr suggests most reasonably, glaring at the parchment.  Indeed, there's s handy fire raging close by.

Arkan's offer is brave, if foolhardy ... the priest tightens his grip on his sword, watching for any sign that the horrific evil undoubtedly contained upon the paper have corrupted the young man ...

"Mark that for melting," Eilieen mutters at the sight of the talisman.  "Then burying, after we sear the unholy taint from the metal."  She pokes about the mess of the items for a moment, then lets out a sigh.  "I hope that parchment gives you some clue, Arkan - no, Aarnr, we do not burn it before we know what it says - because I doubt we shall find aught from these other things."

Pursing her lips, she eyes them with some distaste.  "Erista?  Can you sense magic upon these?  Oh, I'll do it myself."  A wave of the hand follows.  "Zadastha - open my eyes to the life-light of the world," the priestess intones.

OOC - So, Detect Magic.  :)

OOC: Could have sworn I posted here the other day.  I guess not.  :(

Colwyn hands the document to Arkan with a shake of his head, "I isn't makin' 'ead nor tail of it.  Maybe as you'll be 'avin' more luck."

The villages take hold of two of the bodies, and start to drag them towards the gate...

Arkan takes the document from Colwyn and peruses it with a frown, lips moving as he murmurs and traces the writing with a gloved finger.

Finally he looks up and says, "The symbols marked here are in a tongue I best not utter here, but the words they form are unknown to me. I cannot decipher them, I doubt few outside of this black cult could." He nods his heads towards the bodies of the masons as they are dragged towards the gates by the villagers.

"Still, we should take this as evidence back to Bard's Gate. Perhaps a sage there could decipher it for us," Arkan adds, rolling up the parchment.

That the words on the parchment are beyond comprehension is of no surprise to Aarnr, for he finds that ever to be true.  Nor do the prisoners trouble him overmuch, for they are dead (but for the middling matter of their trial) but do not know it yet.

But like a dog with a bone, the priest continues to worry at the concern that ... he tries to remember the thing called a number that Colwyn uttered ... that two of them have escaped retribution, or else ...

"Belike the last of these malmsy, goat-bearded death-tokens were so deformed or vile that they dared not show their pestilent faces in this city," Aarnr postulates.  "But they may lurk beyond these ..." he'll be charitable "... walls, waiting their fellow toad-knockers."  Just as he and Fergus did for not entirely dissimilar reasons.

"Even with doughty Bilfro guarding the cart, they may be moved to steal Ozzie's corpse !"  Such a thing is not to be countenanced.  "If ye stand vigil here, I will join the madman without and lay in wait."

The prisoners are both led away, like leashed dogs.  One of them opens his mouth to speak, and receives a clip round the ear for his trouble.

The boy, King Arranol, breaks away from Anja to watch the men being escorted to the north end of the village and, presumably, to the house of Dagor, which is to serve as a temporary gaol.  "Will we have a stoning tomorrow Anja?" he enquires.

"That all depends on what the gods, and the magistrates, have to say about it." the woman replies.

Colwyn, meanwhile, returns his attention to the evidence.  He picks out a gold coin and scrutinises it carefully.  "Some of these is 'avin' Orcus's sign on them.  Not all, mind, jus' a few.  Might be bein' bad luck ter be keepin' them."

At a slow but steady flat-out sprint, Bilfro happily with great sorrow left the capital-that-was behind, destined for things untold as it were.  First of said things would be the cart, with their dearly departed - but hopefully still very much present - companion of small stature yet also large.

Spotting the cart in the distance, the pace slows to a thoughtful fast run.  Tempting as it is, no glance is thrown back towards the pyre from fire left behind most dire.

With the approval of whatever powers might be watching over her, Bilfro hopes the young princess will be well taken care of.  Perhaps one day she will get to hear another tale - as well as the ending of the one started.

"Nothing magical," Eilieen confirms with a small sigh.  She studies Anja curiously for a long moment, then shrugs.  "Upon that lot, anyway.  By all means, Aarnr, see to thy brother's body.  Let it not be disturbed; we shall join you, soon enough."

Aarnr, not Oswald.

That said, she pushes herself to her feet.  "As for Orcus' coins, I would have them melted.  Purified.  Such a symbol can bring the worst possible attention.  The papers, Arkan?  Keep them - tomorrow I shall pray to Zadastha for guidance; She will open their meaning to me.  Should they not be a cipher, that is."

Her brow furrows.  "Do others have aught of an idea?  I find myself at a loss, at present."

OOC - Yay, Comprehend Languages...

"The name of Bowbe will force the truth from the poisonous, vile-standin' blind-worms," Aarnr is confident that come the trial his demand of his god will be met.  However ...

"Thou might want to speak quickly when thou put thy questions to these currish, muddy-mettled basket-cockles," the priest informs Anja, "the god is froggin' lackin' in patience !"

That problem solved to his complete satisfaction, Aarnr shoulders his greatsword and strides after Bilfro, his gait purposeful, but lacking the manic urgency of the madman, at least for the moment.

OOC: Aarnr and Bilfro, a stolen cart and oxen and a dead Halfling Bard ... what could possibly go wrong ?!!

Anja thanks those who offer further aid, then adds, "This city has magistrates, though they have not seen much activity since Currinder rose to power some three or four years since.  He preferred other means of reaching the truth, rather than an honest trial before learned men."

"I shall speak to them, and they will conduct the trial in the morning, using whatever means they deem appropriate."

Aarnr strides towards the gate, still towering over everybody else in the village.  Before too long, he steps out of Crossroad, and the place suddenly seems (at least to those still in the village) to be somewhat less crowded.  Looking about, he spots Bilfro hurrying towards the cart, which stands beneath the eaves of the forest, to the east of the ramshackle cluster of hovels.

"It seems likely that they will see the wisdom of using magic, or any other means at their disposal, to discover the truth." Anja says, with a satisfied nod.

Arkan nods at Eileen and tucks the parchment into his belt. "Good idea, let me know when you ready to unlock their meaning."

Listening to Anja, Arkan realizes they have likely accomplished all they could given the circumstances. Perhaps it would be time to leave while they were still in the citizen's good graces...