The group make good progress along the road, without any untoward incidents or interruptions.

Towards sunset, the forest starts to thin out, and the road eventually passes out from under the eaves, and onto an open plain, which rises gently towards the east.  In the fading light, large, dark shapes can be seen flowing across the rain sodden land.  Shapes that soon reveal themselves to be herds of animals.

Wild horses, antelope, buffalo...

And then, as the sun touches the western horizon, a mournful cry lifts into the air, and is repeated a dozen or more times from all directions.  Wolves!

And there is something bright upon the summit of a low hill, not too far ahead.  A campfire perhaps?

"Hunting grounds !" Aarnr announces for everyone's benefit as he sets eyes upon the murky shapes of the herd animals.  Despite himself, he's impressed by the numbers - the beasts being rather more plentiful here than in the fodder-poor regions of his homeland.

The howls of wolves cause the priest's expression to darken.  Those creatures are as like to steal his meal or drive the herd animals away ... and there's precious little meat upon such stringy predators.  Not that he doesn't enjoy killing things, but considering the effort required for such sparse reward, it barely seems worth having to sharpen his blades.

The fire is more promising - something to keep the wolves from the throats of his companions, at least, or if they're really lucky, it could be bandits.

Or, and this with Bilfro's complaints still ringing in his ears, mayhap a group of travellers not unlike themselves, coming the other way ...

"Let's froggin' go that way !" Aarnr orders, urging the oxen on.

The cry of wolves and the sight of many animals lift's Eilieen's heart.  "Where nature resides, one will not find the unnatural," she murmurs, "for the natural flees its cold grasp."  A smile breaks her solemn visage for the first time in hours.  "And a fire...take heart, we may have a restful night!"

"I vote yes," she continues.  "Safety lies in numbers; we are many, and a few scoundrels at a fire will hesitate to do us ill.  And if they are good travellers?  The more safety against any danger this night might hold, safety for them and us.  Let us join them."

The road rises gently, until it passes the base of the hill, which pushes up from the sloping terrain.  Closer now, tents can be seen around a fire, and between the tents are carts and draft animals.

At the edge of the firelight, armoured men can be seen standing watch, pennants fluttering from their spears.

Colwyn peers up at the camp,  "Them's smellin' like guards ter me." he says, indicating the armoured men.

As if in answer to Colwyn, one of the armoured men takes a few paces down the hill and calls out, "Ho travellers!  The Road Wardens of Derindin greet you!  If you come with peaceful intent, then you are welcome here!  But if thievery and brigandry are your trade, then you had best turn back now, and return whence you came!"

Erista sits quietly in the back of the cart, listening.  She supposes thievery and brigandry aren't actually our trade, except for maybe Colwyn, with a good argument for herself and Aarnr, but they most definitely do come with peaceful intent so she supposes it will probably be alright.

Colwyn groans.  "Road Wardens" sounds a lot like some kind of guards.  But the Warden said they were from Derindin, which is, as Colwyn recalls, the next major city on the road towards Rappan Athuk.

There's only one thing to do, under the circumstances...

"We's not lookin' fer no trouble.  We's just bein' on our way ter Derindin.  From Bard's Gate."

The Road Warden points along the flank of the hill, "If you follow around the hill, widdershins, you'll find a path where you can bring the carts up more easily!"

Like Colwyn, Aarnr also dislikes guards and moreover resents the accusation that he might be in any way peaceable ... but he's overly familiar with what his companions would say if he slew them, as is his inclination and so doesn't immediately draw his blade and start chopping away.

Hearing the rogue tell them 'we're not looking for trouble' with a straight face gives him an idea.  Lying to these bunch-backed, clay-brained, bum-baileys sounds a reasonable alternative that should afford him much sly pleasure.

"Thank ye !  Much appreciated !" the priest calls out mendaciously as he flicks the reins to urge the oxen on the path he sees leading up the side of the hill.

And if nothing else, he'll have to remember to use 'widdle-shins' himself in his next remonstration with Bowbe.

A track leads around the base of the hill and, eventually, turns to ascend the slope.  There are guards on duty at the turn, four of them, and one provides helpful directions.

"Just go right up until you come to the next guard post, then swing to the right.  Should be more space on that side for your carts, and somewhere to bed down."

The path itself is well tended, and clear of larger obstructions and obstacles.

The camp at the hilltop seems well organised, and equally well protected, while the Road Wardens are happy to provide advice and instructions on the best place to settle for the evening, where to find the nearest source of drinking water, and the like.

Unlike the others, Eilieen is more than happy to see the Road Wardens.  With only one bad experience behind her, they normally mean safety and comfort...and, as it turns out, this time she is correct.  "Fantastic," the priestess murmurs as they clop slowly toward the camp.

"Now we can actually sleep, tonight," she states, waxing enthusiastically.  "Not doze, waiting for our time at watch!"  Looking into the cart, Eilieen smiles at Erista.  "And tomorrow morning, I shall mend your garments...I have not forgotten!  And each day, I will do the same for another's, until the path wends its way back to you."

Oh, comfort, that she has time and a peaceful setting to even think about such things.  The priestess pitches with setting up the tents, well-pleased with their current circumstances.

These guards seem less surly and aggressive than others of their ilk.  Aarnr doesn't like that.  Nor does he share Eilieen's enthusiasm for a good night's sleep.

"It may be a froggin' trap," he cautions his companions under cover of setting up their camp, his voice conspiratorially low as he pursues his aim of subterfuge.  "Belike the sheep-bitin' lackwits intend to slay us in our gleepin' beds !"

Arkan laughs, "If that is their scheme, then it is well that they have not fooled you Aarnr.  And equally good that the rest of us can rely on you not to fall for such wiles."

He looks around the camp, with it's significant quota of defenders.  "I agree Eilieen, it will be exceedingly pleasant to get a restful night, without losing sleep worrying about whether or no it is almost time for you to stand watch.  Myself, I intend to spend some time studying the tomes that we discovered in Tursach's cart.  They might contain something useful."

It may come as no suprise that the word for 'book' in Aarnr's native tongue is the same as the word for 'kindling'.

The priest grins at the young man as he suggests wasting his time in contemplation of the scratches upon those highly-inflamable pages, knowing full well that Arkan has picked up on the need for artifice and is thus cunningly concealing his intent to join Aarnr in his vigil, looking to his other companions with a raised brow that suggests they should make equally duplicitous claims as to how they intend to spend their night.

"Aye," he encourages them, " I shall sleep froggin' soundly !"

"Me too." proclaims Colwyn, yawning and scratching his head.  "I's wagerin' as 'ow there's not bein' much as'll dare ter raid this 'ere camp.  There's bein' too many swords round.  An' too many pryin' eyes jus' lookin' fer somethin' ter stick."

He looks towards a nearby group, prosperous merchants and their guards by the looks of them, who are clustered next to three wagons, with horses tethered close by.  The men are eating.

Colwyn groans.

"Is we 'avin' any scram?  I's bleedin' starvin'."

Eilieen whispers out a mildly amused sigh at the endless misunderstandings.  It's amazing that this little group has managed to travel together for so long...but then, some of them haven't.  Managed, that is; a moment's reflection on those lost along the trail puts her into a bleak mood, and she silently divests herself of her pack.

"Not to worry, Colwyn," she breaks in.  "As...well, nearly always, I shall cook.  Perhaps someone might inquire around, ask if anyone has heard aught of the trail ahead of us?  And maybe we might purchase supplies, if there are travelling merchants."

One thin, pale eyebrow rises.  "But no fighting.  Or thievery.  Or...I could go on, but I suspect most people here know all of the 'or' I might add.  Please allow me to enjoy this comfort, this once?"

"A cove'd 'ave ter be bein' bleedin' puddled ter be startin' a fight, or liftin' somethin' 'ere.  Too many bleedin' guards, an' too wide awake.  They'd be on yer afore yer knew it, an'... "  Colwyn trails to a halt realising, perhaps a little too late, what Eilieen's opinion of the amount of thought he'd put into the topic might be.

"I can be lookin' fer supplies." he asserts, changing the subject.

Erista chuckles.  "I'll stick with Arkan, if I wouldn't be a bother?" she looks up at him.  "I was looking at that wand Colwyn found on the way here," she notes.  "It's pretty powerful, for protecting a place, but I don't think a place like this," she looks around.  "It felt like... I heard this wizard talking once about a spell to protect a whole castle?  I think it does that.  Probably not much use to us, really, unless anybody has a castle they haven't mentioned, but I guess you never know when something might come up, right?"

Arkan gives Erista a shallow bow.  "You would not be a bother, my friend.  A fresh perspective can offer valuable insight in the study of arcane tomes."

Erista's description of the wand brings a puzzled look.  "Curious.  Such a wand would be unknown in my homeland.  We have castles, a few at least, but a spell of that nature would be unusual.  A wizard would be more likely to summon some powerful creature to protect his fortress, rather than researching magic to do the job for him.

"Though this wand would make it easier to work the spell, and might encourage magicians to conjure up the protective magic himself."

Yes, everyone seems to be stabbing the same snake, as his tribe might say.  The priest grins as he continues in the duplicitousness, nodding his agreement with Eilieen's list of things-not-to-do, and noting her cunning mention of swords.  When these huggermuggers attack in the night, the battle will be glorious !

"Aye," he nods to Colwyn, relishing his words, "too many guards.  I'll ... help ... ye look for the fobbin' supplies !"

Aarnr pointedly does not answer Erista.  While he might well have a castle - he sees no reason to suppose that the kingdom he is yet to regain would not have at least one - the subterfuge that himself and his companions are now embarked upon precludes him inciting an attack from their unsuspecting hosts, should they learn of such.

Eilieen's eyebrow slowly ratchets its way down as Colwyn trails off; perhaps there's hope?  Rather, perhaps there's hope of some civilization, for she doubts he would ever change how he thinks.  But then, that is Colwyn; better he stays true to who he is.  "Supplies are a fine thing," she agrees, "and perhaps some new spices for the meals?  Ours have become thin."

"Splendid idea for a wand," she muses, regarding Erista's explanation.  "It would be a fine thing to discover a wizard who wishes to defend a castle, rather than the custom of Arkan's people."  A slight bow toward the mage with that.  "Not to criticize; it is merely the way of my own culture --" Zadasthan… "-- to defend, rather than attack."  Well, there's the un-dead, but Eilieen views that as an aggressive defense on the part of the living.

Better that than passivity.

"Good luck!" she calls to the two groups, and settles in to do the cooking.

Colwyn and Aarnr go in search of supplies, while Erista and Arkan go to the cart to see if they can work out what is in all of the books.  Eilieen, meanwhile, begins preparing the evening meal.

On the hunt for supplies ...

The cloth merchant shakes his head.  "Out here on the plains, there aren't many bandits.  Even in the more remote areas.  There are patrols on the road making life difficult for criminals, and away from the road... well... I've heard tell that there are ghouls living in warrens across the land, brought here by the battle that took place here."

"Tomorrow, though, I enter the forest, and then I fully expect to encounter bandits."

Colewyn, busy going through the merchant's supplies, and helping himself to more than his fair share of onions, says, "Battle?  What battle were that then?"

"Ah... some two hundred years since some of the Forest Kingdoms banded together and thought to expand onto the plains.  Derindin objected to this, and sent an army to stop their expansion.  There was a great battle a few miles north and east of here that lasted or three days.  Hundreds died, men from both sides.  And when it was finally over, ghouls appeared to feast on the dead and torment the wounded until they too died."  The merchant shakes his head ruefully.  "The Carrion War they call it in Derindin, on account of the ghouls that came to feed on the bodies."

The hedgepig is obviously in league with the bandits on the plains, but Aarnr continues to smile as if in on the joke.

"Aye the puttocks lurk on the forest paths, lying in wait for the unwary," he agrees, "but we were lucky."  Lucky indeed to be afforded the opportunity to rid the land of those froggin' tax-collectors !

The ghouls, those filthy, festerin' corpse-feasters ... the priest would eagerly rid the plains of such creatures, if Eilieen did not turn each and everyone one into a pyre first !

He listens intently to the tale, spices forgotten.  Perhaps if they had a moulderin' body with which to draw the creatures out ...

Colwyn starts stacking his selection in front of the merchant.  Mostly onions an a few turnips, plus black bread.  The merchant is a cloth vendor, and the supplies that he has to offer are from his own food stores.  With Aarnr smiling at him so cheerfully, the merchant seems disinclined to haggle too enthusiastically.

Even when Colwyn drags over a thirty pound sack of pepper.

All in all, between the two of them, the rogue and the priest get a pretty good price.

Meanwhile, back at the carts, Erista and Arkan continue to sort through the books, attempting to classify them by subject matter and danger presented...

Eilieen is cooking, but finds her task interrupted by two men clad in the robes of wandering monks who approach her and greet her in a friendly tone.

"Good evening Mistress.  Have you heard the word of Oghma?"

By now, Aarnr is getting the hang of paying for food, though he leaves it to Colwyn to hand over the coins as they all look much the same to him.

The ... bread is probably the most palatable of what they have managed to buy, though the priest is intrigued by the large sack that the rogue adds to the pile ... if Colwyn is that fond of this 'pepper' then he'll give it a try.

"A few miles north and east, ye say ?" Aarnr asks, hoping the merchant will point or at least glance in the right direction, as he can't just stab him until he does so, not without revealing the subterfuge, but certainly doesn't want to miss his chance to find these ghouls - even if he doesn't get to kill them himself, he'll be happy to bask in the warm fires as Eilieen lights 'em up.

The merchant smiles, "Yes, but it was far enough away that this camp is safe."  He points, even though it has become too dark to see much of anything, "If you want to avoid the place, it's easy to spot in the daylight, even from here.  There are three mountain peaks clustered together, the highest points for miles around.  The battle took place at their feet.  The land there is said to be strewn with armour, weapons and bones that the ghouls discarded.  I've never been there myself, and none of the people who told me about the place ever claimed to have visited it."

"And nobody goes near it after dark."

With a smile, Eilieen greets both men, offering a small bow.  "Indeed, I have heard His word, and his notes are bright, clean, and filled with love.  Ever has Oghma wandered the world, bringing his song to the people, much like yourselves.  Zadastha and Oghma have long been allies."  She sketches a sign in the air -- the holy symbol of her goddess -- but then her eyebrows rise.  "Ooops.  Dinner, pardon me."

Stir, stir, stir.

Back to the men.  "Have you travelled long, good sirs?  Know you aught of the road ahead?"  She waves in the direction her group happens to be travelling.

The younger of the two monks, who looks to be perhaps sixty years old, looks nervous.  "A Zadasthan?" he says, with a slight catch in his voice.

The older man is more relaxed, "Calm yourself Brother, does not Oghma teach that all peoples have their own poetry, and knowledge thrives best when it is passed on to others?"

Then he turns to Eilieen, with a genuine smile, "The road to the east is safe enough, all the way to Derindin, and beyond, to the coast of the Great Sea.  It is when one sets foot off the beaten path that trouble is more likely to be found.  To the north of the road, and a little east of here, lays the site of a great battle.  The field is haunted by fell creatures who came to feast upon the dead.  Further east, and south of the road the unwary may wander into the lands claimed by the Dungeon of Graves.¤

"But the road is well patrolled, and travellers are, by and large, safe when they walk upon it."

"Of course, the flesh pots of Derindin present their own dangers, especially to the purses of travellers."

Not to be outdone, Aarnr returns the merchant's smile.  His lie about the safety of the camp was only to be expected, just part of the game they're playing, as is his own seeming acceptance of that obvious falsehood.

Yet the priest can see no reason to doubt the man's tale of the haunted battlefield and does not have to feign the interest he shows in the gory details.

"The weapons would be froggin' rusted by now, anyway," Aarnr muses.  What few iron blades can be found in the fens of his homeland are easy prey to the ravages of rust, so he assumes that the inconstant rains in these parts would treat the weapons no better.

"I'd still like to see the gleepin' place," his grin broadens and he looks to Colwyn, expecting similar enthusiasm at the prospect.

Erista hops down from the wagon, holding one of the books to her chest as she hurries over to Eileen.  She doesn't even notice immediately that she has company, until she gets there just at the end of the conversation.  She draws up short, and then shrugs, and goes to Eileen anyway.  "I don't know about flesh pots," she allows, "But this book has recipes for regular kinds of pots.  Some of them look really good.  Most of them, actually."

Nodding, oblivious to his peril, the merchant continues, "If you are heading east, then the road passes less than a dozen miles from the fringe of the battlefield.  The point of closest approach is marked by a cairn crowned by three ancient swords.  The folk of Derindin built the cairn by way of a warning that there are ghouls nearby, and tarrying too long upon the road there would be foolish."

"I should warn you too of the curse - any that touch the three swords, or even one of them, will be hunted and slain by the ghosts of those who bore the weapons in life."

Colwyn laughs nervously.  "We isn't goin' ter be touchin' no strange swords." he assures the man, then a quick change of subject seems to calm his nerves.  "I's thinkin' as 'ow we's 'avin enough supplies fer a bit.  We should be 'eadin' back fer a spot of dinner."

The friendlier of the two monks smiles at Erista.  "Ahah!  A bearer of knowledge!" he says, and bows to the halfling.  "A good recipe can cheer even the weariest of wayfarers, therefore it is valuable knowledge indeed.  And so a great treasure has been entrusted to you."

His companion sighs, "You will have to forgive Brother Caedric.  He thinks more with his stomach than his mind sometimes."

Eilieen nods along with the explanation, mildly amused at the 'younger' monk's concern.  She's not about to eat him, or anything of the sort.  "My thanks, good sir.  The knowledge is, as always, appreciated."  Oghma's ways are helpful, to be sure.  Her eyebrows rise at the 'fleshpots' comment; for once, it's not direct her way, which Eilieen appreciates.  "I'll be certain to avoid those," she murmurs.

"I'll need to peruse that book," Eilieen continues after Erista's explanation.  "And provide better meals, for all of you  Including, perhaps, these two?"  A small bow is tendered to the two men.  "I am Eilieen; this is Erista.  If Brother Caedric's stomach is in need, we have enough food for you to join us."

Erista looks at the two, nodding appreciatively to Brother Caedric.  "A lot of people don't," she notes.  "But that's where life starts.  Your stomach is worth listening to," she says approvingly.  "And whatever she says, Eilieen makes great dinners.  You should stay a bit!" she encourages.

The younger monk nods his head to Eilieen and Erista in turn, "I am named Simeon, after the Saint, Simeon Longstride, who brought the word of Oghma to the savages of the Vastness, and was martyred when they misunderstood his teachings."

Caedric smiles sadly, "Please forgive us, but we cannot partake in whatever feast you prepare.  We are on a pilgrimage.  We started our journey at the Monastery in Darnagal, walked the Coast Road to Freegate, then turned inland to Derindin, where Brother Simeon was, sadly, robbed while begging for alms not far from a house of ill repute."

"Now we are bound for Bard's Gate, and beyond to Reme and Tsar.  After that we shall take the North Way, past Mayfurrow to Palmer's Field, and thence to Darnagal, where we shall rejoin our brethren at the monastery."

"Unfortunately, we are fasting this week, since the Equinox falls in but two days, and that is our holiest of holy days.  In three days we hope to be in Bard's Gate, where will eat and drink copiously to celebrate the end of our fast."

A strange gleam comes into Aarnr's eyes as the itinerant shop-keep speaks of the curse upon the three blades ... much the same look as Colwyn gets when he espies unattended gold.

Indeed, it's all the priest can do to keep his tongue firmly gated behind his teeth, for he is sorely tempted to abandon his subterfuge and declare his intentions before men and god.  But he does not, and smiles smugly at that not insignificant victory.

The thanks he proffers to the vagrant vendor as they pair take their leave is surprisingly genuine, and if it's for what he has learned rather than what was sold to them, the hedgepig will never know.

Hefting the sack of pepper with casual ease, Aarnr gestures for the rogue to precede him as they return to their companions.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:53, Sat 29 June 2019.

Aarnr and Colwyn, bearing their purchases make their way back to the carts, where they find Eilieen and Erista discussing religion, food, and how wet the early autumn has been so far, with two men who look to be wandering monks.

The horse and the oxen stand nearby, wearing bored expressions, and seemingly determined to eat all the grass between here and Derindin.  The oxen glance briefly at Aarnr - a look that says, "We know you, an we don't care." - before returning to their lush green supper.

Arkan is still sat in the new cart, excitedly studying one of the books in the fading light, with much cross-referencing with another of the tomes...

"Ah, well," Eilieen sadly agrees.  "I completely understand.  And but two days to the Equinox?"  She shakes her head, sadly.  "I have lost track."  Fortunately, the Equinox is of less import to the Zadasthans, who prefer high summer and winter, but there are certain rites she should carry out...

"In any case, I am pleased you only lost coin to those brigands, Brother Simeon."  The priestess shakes her head.  "Many have proven most bloodthirsty when they set upon me."  There has been more than one occasion, indeed.  The priestess hunts in her money pouch, searching for gold and finding it.  "Some replacement...please, I would support your pilgrimage."

And then further friends return to the fire.

"Aarnr, Colwyn - we have guests, pilgrims of Oghma, Brothers Simeon and Caedric!"  Turning to Caedric, she continues.  "Colwyn is another friend, and Aarnr a priest of Bowbe."

Caedric's face lights up at the mention of Aarnr's god.  "A follower of Bowbe, eh?  I hope the crook-pated, urchin-snouted reeky bull's pizzle serves you well, Sir, or at least does you little disservice."

Simeon, meanwhile, accepts Eilieen's generous donation with a small bow.  "May all the knowledge you discover be truth."  He seems distracted though, watching Aarnr with a certain amount of suspicion writ large upon his face.  "Bowbe is a god of the Vastness, is he not?"

Colwyn eyes the two monks suspiciously.  They look poor, and in his experience, poor people are generally looking to steal from the rich and give to the tavernkeeper.  It always starts off small of course, with a plea for alms, or for a farthing to buy turnips, and increases subtly to become a request for "All yer stuff, or I'll slit yer bleedin' throat."  Followed most frequently by the slitting of throats, even if all the stuff is handed over.

Successful thieves don't leave witnesses...

These two certainly look the sort. even if they appear somewhat older than usual.  Still, the harmless seeming ones are always the most dangerous.

And one of them, despite his attempt to appear holy, curses like a drunken soldier when his money has run out, and he still has three days more drinking to pay for.

More interesting though, they don't respond to any of Colwyn's hand signals.  So they're either not really thieves, or (and this is more likely) thieves in this part of the world are an unfriendly shower of backstabbing sons of witches...

"We've got ... food ?" Aarnr announces to his companions, easily lifting the heavy sack he carries high in the air, though he looks to Colwyn for confirmation, even as he eyes the two newcomers with suspicion.

Monks he cares not for ... but a mere minute of hopeful consideration allows him to correctly place Oghma on the scale of friend or foe.  Though they know it not, this pair owe a great debt to Aramil and Oswald, for the priest was fond of both minstrels and blood-brother to the halfling besides, so these pilgrims do well by association.

Though even if not for that, the dreadful curse that Caedric utters is much appreciated and would have assured their place at the campfire.

Aarnr grins broadly.  "The jarrin' beetle-headed pignut stirs himself to provide what meagre froggin' pittance he can be bothered to," he assures the codpiece almost amiably.

Turning to the other, the priest turns his question over in his mind.

"No," he corrects the lout, "anyone with a blade and the elfin will to use it can demand the the pukin' fly-bitten puttock stir himself from his ale-sozzled stupor."

"There's a lot of us in the fens who fobbin' do so," Aarnr allows.

"Oh, well-done Aarnr!  That should do us for some time."  But Eilieen's eyebrows rise as Caedric greets Aarnr.  Clearly the man is familiar with the rough priest's god and the ways of his worship.  She glances toward Simeon with some amusement; it's clear which of these two has more experience on the trail.  "Well, I shall allow Aarnr to answer that question myself.  Or perhaps you might inquire of Caedric, as he seems to be conversant."

More than little, in fact.

Back to stirring the food.  "The way you travel is dangerous," she continues.  "Do you have a caravan, so as to not do so alone?"   She throws Colwyn a quick glance from the corner of her eyes; the man seems ready to put a knife into the two monks, for some reason.

Caedric nods, smiling.  "I believe Bowbe is worshipped in the Vastness, yes, along with a number of other deities who... "  He stops talking and the smile vanishes as he sees the look on Simeon's face.

"Ah... given the time-span involved, Brother Simeon, I think it is unlikely that anybody in present company was responsible for the holy martyrdom of your sainted namesake in the cold Vastness.  After all, it was four hundred years ago - little more than an eye-blink for an immortal, but several lifetimes for common mortals, like ourselves and our hosts."

He spreads his hands, attempting to placate the other monk.  "Our goal, remember, is the spreading of knowledge.  Not the perpetuation of ancient grudges."

Simeon seems unimpressed...

Oh dear.  They seem to have stumbled into a bit of a religious pit.  With a sigh, Eilieen turns back to her cooking.  She can't very well tell Simeon he's not right to feel something; the man has a true calling, and something terrible that happened years ago clearly is part of that calling.

But she should say something.

"I'm sorry," the priestess quietly states.  "Sorry that the followers of our gods have quarrelled, fought, and even killed in the past.  Sorry that it likely still goes on in some parts of our world.  Sorry that we may never get past our petty mortal ways to stand as one against evil."  Carefully, she scrapes the bottom of the pot to avoid burning the stew.  "I'm sorry for your church's loss, specifically."

Setting down the ladle, she faces Simeon directly.  "If you wish to speak of this, I will hear your words.  They will, I believe, carry a lesson I should hear."

That his ancestors slew those of Simeon bothers Aarnr not at all.  Indeed, it does sounds like the basis of a good feud, the sort of grudge his own tribe embrace wholeheartedly, nurture, polish and bring out when whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Generally at feasts when the ale flows free and the blood does too.

The puttock does seem overly upset by it though.

"My people don't like froggin' strangers," he explains to the pilgrim.  "Or each other, much."

"There's a lot of fightin' and killin in the fens'," he recalls fondly.

"Simeon Longstride" says Brother Simeon, eliciting a sigh from Brother Caedric, "was not there to fight or to kill though.  He was there to teach, and to learn."

"Aye, that he was.  And I'd have to say that he learned a valuable lesson." Caedric says, somewhat testily, "That being that only a fool would try to teach a wolf to read."

"Please forgive Simeon's lack of manners, my friends.  He tends to forget that his namesake. Simeon Longstride, was the sort of person who would put his head into a crocodile's mouth to count its teeth."

Now it's Simeon's turn to sigh...

Aarnr can neither read nor count, though having learned the tongue of civilised folk by dint of much pain and effort (on the part of the unfortunate slave he tasked to teach him) by the standards of his kinsmen he's a towering intellectual, not that any would dare say such to his face.

Nor should putting one's head in the mouth of a crocodile or any toothy beast be regarded as either brave or necessarily stupid ... though in that regard the priest does not consider any scenario other than having first killed the creature.

Venturing into the fens and not wanting to fight or kill is certainly very strange behaviour.  Still this pair are ... guests ?  And if they don't want to fight it behooves Aarnr, in keeping with the cunning subterfuge, to feign polite interest.

"So how many froggin' teeth does a crocodile have ?"

Eilieen listens with some dismay as Caedric speaks cuttingly of the erstwhile Brother Simeon’s fate.  She shoots a commiserating glance to his namesake, and echoes his sigh.  Back to the pot, the priestess continues to stir, considering her words.  “But people are not wolves,” she finally states.  “Nor are they crocodiles.  One might hope for something different from people, despite our long history of murder and rapine.  One might hope for something better.”

Her smile, she offers to Simeon.  “I cannot fault your namesake’s attempt; it was a worthy effort, in keeping with his calling.  I would be a hypocrite to do so, besides, as we travel to Rappan Athuk.  Certainly the odds are not in our favour; we are, in fact, the ones counting the crocodile’s teeth.”

“I only ask that those about the fire set aside their enmity against lands and peoples; here, we are all bringers of light, no matter where we come from…whether we travel to seek and dispense knowledge, or battle against the dark.”  A gesture toward Aarnr follows.  “Aarnr, here, being one of the latter.”

Then, of course, crocodiles.

Eilieen's brow furrows for a moment as she struggles to parse the not-quite-non-sequitur. Yes, the query does make sense, as it happens.  "No idea," she cheerfully replies.  "Probably a lot, though."

"More than enough." Caedric confirms with a wry smile.  "Indeed, if you are bound for that accursed place, then you may have the opportunity to confirm that for yourselves.  There are marshes not too far from the dungeon which are rumoured to be the home of crocodiles, snakes, and a particularly unpleasant variety of frog whose nocturnal calls can drive a man insane."

He bows his head to Eilieen.  "Simeon and I both accept your terms.  We will bring no strife to your fire."  Simeon does not appear pleased, but gives a begrudging assent.

Then the younger monk raises his head, "I would caution you though, in the realms through which you will travel after this evening, the shadow of the Dungeon of Graves looms large and spawns much fear.  To speak the name of Rappan Athuk in Derindin, and the lands further east, is considered to be tantamount to cursing those who hear it, and it might provoke hostility.  It would be wise to be careful where, and in what company, you speak of that place from now on."

Erista gets a thoughtful look, and trots back over to the wagon, climbing back up and pulling out one of the books.

"Pheasants," Aarnr agrees, nodding sagely.  Wolves, crocodiles, frogs and snakes are all very well, but his sights are set higher.

His question regarding the counting of teeth provides no definitive answer, but Caedric's promise that they'll be able to count them for themselves is welcome.  Colwyn would be best for that task, having shown an interest in teeth before now ... which in turn reminds the priest of the horn taken from the dragon and his need for a leather thong from which to hang it.  Perhaps in this Derindin one might be purchased from a shopkeep, with Erista's skill and cunning, for he has not the time to cure the hide of a beast himself.

Speaking the name of the Dungeon of Graves as a curse appeals mightily to the priest, though he has no doubt of Eilieen's opinion on opening hostilities in a built-up area.  That the peoples of these lands prefer to forget about the horror that might at any moment swallow them whole, well that is not unheard of - indeed what else could explain Simeon's ancestor entering the fens in the hope of teaching anything other than what the insides of a fool looked like ?

... which is undoubtedly not a question that would find favour with either their guests or the priestess of Zadastha.  Aarnr's brow furrows as he tries to think of some conversational gambit that might do, though such is difficult as these men do not seem to share his own interests.  Unless ...

"Do ye sing ?" he asks hopefully.  "Or tell tales ?"  Both might be expected of Oghma's followers and Aarnr enjoys a good battle-song or recounting of bloody battles fought long ago.

"Alas... " Caedric says wistfully, "I was considered quite the singer in my younger days, but no longer.  I am too old, and my lungs are too weak to sustain a note.  I can, however, still recite many sagas, and even a number of epic poems."

Simeon adds his own, "I can sing, though my voice is not the best, and I don't have an instrument with me."

His own singing being more noted for volume and enthusiasm, Aarnr munificently brushes aside the men's apologies, his beady eyes lighting up at the mention of 'sagas'.

"Do ye pumpions know the fobbin' tale of the sacking of the filth-crusted temple of that toad-knocking pud Orcus ?" the priest demands, hopefully.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:28, Sat 20 July 2019.

“Well, I shall hope for NO crocodiles, if it’s all right with everyone,” Eilieen replies, blinking in surprise.  “You know a great deal about the area around Rappan Athuk, I see.”  A curious turn of phrase regarding her ‘terms’, but Eilieen merely accepts it, bowing to Simeon as he gives his own advice.  “Thank you.  I shall try to avoid mentioning the name of the accursed place from now on.”  She grimaces.  “We shall have enough conflict with the abominations within that place itself.”

“Well, the cooking is finished,” she states.  “If we might have a story, it would help these travel rations go down more easily, be it from you gentlemen or Erista’s book.”  A wry smile follows.  “Though I doubt it is overflowing with poetic accounts.”

Caedric nods happily, "That is an easy tale to tell, probably everybody in the Order learns it."

He clears his throat, and requests a cup of water, and then, while his hosts eat their supper, the Oghman monk begins his tale...

"Seven hundred years ago, give or take, during the reign of Grand Duke Barus, there existed in Tsar a temple of Orcus.  The temple was not very active, and was allowed to exist for that reason... "

The tale is a lengthy one, and tells of the rise of Astadar, an ambitious cleric who steered the formerly insignificant temple to ever higher pinnacles of depravity and murder.  And as the power of the temple grew, so it was extended, until it became like a second city, sitting hard against the walls of Tsar.  At last, after a night of unprecedented fear and bloodshed, Barus sent out a call for good men who would destroy this blight upon his city.

Warriors came from far and wide, from every land under the sun.  For ten years they assaulted the temple complex, battle after bloody battle upon the precincts, until they finally broke the iron doors and stormed the chapel itself.

The followers of Orcus fled, as the temple burned, except for Astadar, who perished as the wicked shrine fell.  And at the last, the ground split asunder, the temple complex dropped into the earth, and the chasm flooded as the waters of two rivers flowed into it to form a deep lake.

"And to this day, no man in Tsar will eat fish caught in that dark lake."

"Of course, the followers who fled went on to found Rappan Athuk, and the misery began to extend its reach again." Caedric concludes his tale.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 16:25, Sun 21 July 2019.

Aarnr dozes through the boring bits of Caedric's tale, but rouses himself for the best parts, taking keen interest in the man's descriptions of bloody battles and wanton destruction.

"Do ye froggin' think," he muses alarmingly, "whether that earth-vexin', fen-sucked temple is still gleepin' there, under that dismal-dreamin' lake ?"

He has the easy manner of one who's prepared to go out right now and find out.  Though perhaps best wait till after Rappan Athuk runs with the blood of those who lurk there.

The mention of the fleeing followers reminds him ...

"Did ye see any reeky masons on the road ?" the priest asks with a certain intensity, not at all convinced they've gutted all of the necromancers yet.

Erista comes back near the beginning of the tale, and listens patiently, if her attention wanders a little now and again.

She looks interested in the answer to his question, but takes the momentary pause to interject her own answer, tilting her head back to look up at Aarnr.  "Sixty-four," she asserts.  "Not masons - teeth.  Crocodiles have sixty-four teeth."

"Really?  Sixty-four?  That is interesting.  Remember that Simeon."

Aarnr's questions require a little more thought, before Caedric answers as best he can.

"I have no doubt that the ruins of the temple lay still at the bottom of the lake, though they are probably no longer recognisable as such after so many centuries under water.  Fires and siege engines will have damaged and weakened the structure, and deep water currents will have done further damage.  And finally mud and water weed will have hidden what was left."

"As for masons... I cannot say that we have seen any.  But then again, unless they announced their profession to me, I would be unlikely to realise that they were masons.  As opposed to carpenters or wainwrights."

"Beautiful story," Eilieen muses.  Something bright glitters in her eyes.  Temple of Orcus thrown down and destroyed, followers scattered to the winds...oh, yes.  Beautiful story.  "You carry a great deal of knowledge."  Her gaze flicks to Erista.  "As do you, Erista.  How did you come by that tidbit?"

Aarnr's question carries weight, but...no luck.  She sighs.  "We met some 'masons' some time ago who turned out to be followers of Orcus.  After a great deal of deviltry, they were finally dealt with, but some may have escaped."  Another sigh.  "Well, it was worth asking."

"Indeed.  It is always worth asking, about anything that interests you.  That is one of the ways that one acquires, as you put it, a great deal of knowledge."  Caedric smiles, and could it be that he actually blushes slightly at Eilieen's compliment?

"Another way is to join our order.  Temples of Oghma hold vast libraries of tomes, scrolls and documents on a great many topics.  But even those who do not follow our faith can apply for supervised access to the texts."

As Aarnr's grandmother used to tell him, 'if you can't froggin' think of anything nice to say about someone just hit the toad-sucking pud in the head with an axe !'

Yet, he knows Erista and Arkan are both fond of parchment marked with the squiggles that the people of these lands call writing, so volunteering to start a fire in those vast libraries probably wouldn't go down well with his friends, whose opinion he at least gives some thought to, let alone the two puttocks who are their guests who he's pretending to like.

Moreover, much more of a puzzler is whether sixty-four is a lot or not ... and whether that is more or less than his own number of teeth.  The priest reckons he must have twice that.

Simeon, who appears to be becoming a little more relaxed, suddenly says, "I can tell a tale also, about the very road we travel upon."  He waves a hand in the general direction of the Trade Way.  "And while it is not as old as Caedric's story, and does not involve an evil temple, you may still find it interesting.  It contains a certain amount of bloodshed, and the well-deserved deaths of assorted bandits, miscreants, and ne'er-do-wells who preyed upon honest travellers upon this road."

Pleased at having pleased their guests, Eilieen herself settles back after doling out the food.  "I shall avail myself of Oghma's generosity when next I find myself close to a sufficiently large temple," she decides.  Goodness; there might even be further information on the Un-dying: their weaknesses, where to find them....oh, that would provide hours if not days of fine reading for the priestess.

Joy.

Blinking the cold gleam from her eyes, Eilieen regards Simeon with interest.  "Well, then, god Simeon; regale us with your story, as I am certain it will find eager ears at this fire."  Mostly Aarnr's, but who knows?  Perhaps Arkan would like a tale of bloodshed.

"Aye !"  Most certainly is Aarnr interested in what further tales Simeon can tell them as long as bloodshed is at the heart of it.

Indeed the promised recounting sounds much like the journey behind them, save perhaps that he'd take issue with that 'honest travellers' nonsense, and the man made no mention of the many fires that there have been.

The only worry is that if all the bandits, brigands, pirates and the like have already been dealt with, the onward journey might be rather dull.

Thanking (another thing he's learned) Eilieen as he receives his portion of the evening's repast, the priest settles down to listen.

Simeon leans back against a boulder.  "A few years ago," he begins, "the Trade Way was plagued by bandits.  It seemed that there was not a week that went by without some caravan being robbed, and the merchants taken for ransom."

"Then one day a group of travellers out of Derindin were waylaid by some of these bandits.  The four were called Gonder, Kailla Mirronen, Rotak and Aisaphar Nax, and they were adventurers, as it happens... "

The tale that follows is made all the more interesting by the fact that the audience have actually met three of the heroes of the story.

Simeon goes on to explain how the quartet of heroes, having learned of the miscreants upon the road, promptly set about dealing with them.  Then decided that it was their duty to ensure that the Trade Way was made unsafe for the bandits (instead of because of them).

And so, for a number of years, the four patrolled the road and drove off the bandits.  Usually quite violently.

"And then one day they met a group that was a match for them in battle.  No mere bandits these, but a group from Rappan Athuk, come to slay the heroes who were making the road safe for travellers!"

In the battle that followed, both Gonder and Aisaphar Nax were wounded, the latter nigh unto death.  It took many weeks for them to recover, with aid from the priestess Kailla Mirronen, and neither of them was fit to live the life of adventurers again.  The group decide to disband, and retire from their travels.

"So, instead they took a large part of the wealth they had accumulated over the years to Derindin, and used it to set up the guard troop that now protects the road in their stead."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:44, Tue 30 July 2019.

The tale is a good one, and Aarnr laughs in all the right places.  While he may have met many of those whose names are immortalised in it, he only recognises that of Gonder.  The priest's eyes stray to the oxen cart wherein lies the sword made by that heroes own hands.

The recounting does, however pose not one, but two moral dilemmas, which is not so amusing for one who is rarely troubled by such fripperies ...

On the one hand, Gonder's tale should have ended on that road - if the man could not be victorious, then he should have spent the last of his life's blood to earn a glorious death.  But on the other, had he done so, Aarnr would not have the blade he fashioned.

Likewise guards are widely recognised as an abomination by all, yet Gonder himself charged these sheep-bitin' pumpions to slay bandits.

The priest sighs, pondering these weighty matters ... and quickly deciding that the blame lies with those cullionly, squirrel-chewin' widdle-shins that ventured out from Rappan Athuk.  Them he'd like to meet himself, not only that he might slay them handily, but also to ask them for directions.

"We was meetin' some of them on the way 'ere." Colwyn says, cheerfully.  "Were bein' a good story 'bout them."

He laughs then.  "'ere... maybe as one day yer'll be tellin' a story 'bout us ter coves what yer's meetin' on the road.  Be sure ter be gettin' our names right, an' be makin' sure yer givin' it a bloody 'appy endin'."

He thinks for a heartbeat, before adding, "I wouldn't be worryin' too much 'bout Aarnr's name, mind, bein' as 'ow 'e can't spell it 'isself.  Just be usin' somethin' what's soundin' right, an' be callin' it a day."

Aarnr cannot spell (indeed, lacking knowledge of writing as well, he has no concept of the need to do so), so Colwyn's request seems eminently reasonable to him.

Nor is he much worried about whether the ending is happy or not ...

"Just so long as it's froggin' bloody," he agrees.

"Guard troop," Eilieen whispers as the story ends.  "Well, good for them."  She nods decisively.  "Glad am I to hear your tale," she thanks Simeon.  "Warmth for the heart, that some people will take action against the darkness."

She laughs aloud at Colwyn's request.  "Oh, I suspect they'll get your name correct, Colwyn, and your fell deeds.  Aarnr, they will likely simply name you bloody."  Her amusement fades slightly, her smile growing wistful.  "I only hope they have the names of the others, who have fallen as we travelled.  There have been far too many of them, for my tastes."  The priestess pokes at her food, now growing cold.

"I wonder how many of these patrols -- or whatever they are, raiding parties -- Rappan Athuk sends out," she muses.  "And how far.  Perhaps we might meet one ourselves, soon enough."

Simeon scratches at his chin, as he thinks for a few moments.  Then he smiles, "Ah, yes... I did hear a rumour that if a group seems to be making the road too safe for travellers, then the hierarchy of Rappan Athuk will send out its own killers to deal with them."

"I've only heard of it happening two or three times since the Dungeon of Graves was established.  But if you make your mark, then you will attract attention."

Caedric snorts scornfully, "I don't think they're that organised.  Some group of ne'er-do-wells will decide that they want to gain a reputation among their peers in the cult, so they go out and attack merchants and pilgrims.  Then they meet a group of heroes, quite by chance, and the story spreads that they were hunting those heroes."

"An interesting disagreement," Elieen ponders.  "Who says it cannot be both?"

She considers a moment longer.  "I suppose there is little to show it either way.  Regardless, we must be on our toes; whether it be random raiders or a concerted effort, we might still meet enemies the closer we come to Rappan Athuk."

The priestess considers this for a moment, then laughs.  IF there is a touch of bitter amusement in her hilarity, who can blame her?  "Of course, that is to be expected!"

Erista nods.  "But I think it's up to us to make sure we have that happy ending," she says, mostly to Colwyn.

Perfectly happy with the sobriquet of 'bloody', Aarnr nods.   The matter Eilieen raises that their fallen friends must not be forgotten is an important point.  Fergus and Ozzie will be remembered, else the priest will gut the tale-teller, while Bilfo has merely slipped, not fallen.  However he is uncomfortably aware that there was one other, a spleeny monk, whose name escapes him.  He'll let the others remember her - he's already doing all the heavy lifting with the rest.

Those nods only get more affirmative as the priestess suggests, at least to his mind, cutting off the toes of any bandits until they admit they're from the Dungeon of Graves, and he joins her in laughter, his more dangerously unhinged chuckles contrasting nicely with her bitter amusement.

Caedric glances up at the dark sky, then mutters, "Too cloudy, of course."  His eyes return to the fire.  "The fire has burned low, though, so I suppose it must be getting late.  Come Simeon, we should leave our new friends to rest.  Their road will be long and difficult."

"As for you, friends... we thank you all for your hospitality, and wish you well on your journey."

The two monks stand.

"At least with the camp so well guarded, there should be no need to set watches this night."

Shard also stands, bowing to the monks.  "Well...we may likely set watches anyway.  One can never be TOO safe on the road, and we have become accustomed to such trials."  In the dim firelight, faces become difficult to see, but she offers a smile regardless.  "Zadastha bless you with safe journeys and the revelation of your hearts' desires, and may your Lord be satisfied with your works."  Another bow follows, this one more formal.  "I hope that we see you again, someday."

It seems doubtful, but...always look for the light.

Aarnr too pretends to wish the two well, smiling and nodding as if he meant it.

When they're out of earshot of even his voice, the priest asks his companions, "do ye think those puttocks are froggin' masons ?  Or reeky, sheep-bitin' whoresons from Rappan Athuk ?"  The pair did seem to know a suspicious amount about the history and current activities of those who dwell in the Dungeon of Graves, so Aarnr's question is at least excusable.

"Maybe the whole froggin' camp are ?!!"  he adds hopefully, looking around for signs.

Colwyn almost chokes on a mouthful of bread.  When the stoppage is cleared, he shakes his head at Aarnr.  "Merchants an' travellers ain't all bein' demon worshippers Aarnr.  An' the only ones 'round 'ere with 'orns like demons is bein' the bloody oxes."

He does have to agree with Eilieen though regarding watches.  After all, just because other travellers aren't all enemies, that doesn't mean that there mightn't be a few who are.

"I'll be takin' the first watch." he offers.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Fri 16 Aug 2019.

Aarnr suspiciously eyes the faithful oxen ...