It seems a daunting task, to storm an entire barracks overrun with orcs and who knows what else.

Crawl in and slit throats or storm the gates? Either choice is risky.

Your calculations are wiped clean from the slate as the sound of war horns to the North grow louder. The affairs of state are quickly escalating out of the scope of novice adventurers like yourself. The liberation of the Braunstein now falls to the generals.

Brother Brodd and Lady Starshell confer. Based on the orders they were given at the start of their mission, they have completed the first goal, not just finding the Baron's daughter but finding her alive. For that they are sure to be amply rewarded.

It is time. Some of you who were not at the beginning may wish to go separate ways, content enough in a job well done. And Regdoc has order a plaque for that chair back at the Sword & Board.



[5XP for everyone still with us at this point. Let your PCs speak up if they plan to continue on for another adventure here or ride off into the sunset...]
This message was last updated by the GM at 15:13, Tue 16 June 2020.

Pock chuckled, a bit nervously. "I'm not sure the illusion would have gone in our favor anyways! Well, what's next?"

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 2):

"Well, it looks like we may not have to attack the barracks, the army is here and the orcs will not be celebrating with drink for some time. Should we get Lady Starshell back to her father now? Or do we advance to the keep and search for the signet ring first?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Tue 16 June 2020.

“I haven’t traveled with such honorable company. If it please those here I will continue where you lead. Would it not be more prudent to escort Lady Starshell back, I would rather bring her father good news, then bring him bad news because we thought the signet ring important.”

I killed the creature that killed my family thanks to you. I’ll continue. I don’t have else to do before the maker takes me.

"Well, that's a...grim way to phrase it, Dwarghar." Not that Pock could blame him--not that Pock was complaining. Dwarghar was a steady traveling companion, with strength to spare.

Durek stares at the banners floating in the distance and the buzzards circling overhead, then back to the party.

"Your mission was not mine to start with, but I am proud to have assisted. The floods have pushed the orcs up the mountains, where the armies of men can trap them ans slay them. Every orc I kill is another blessing laid upon me by the Maker."

He grasps Dwarghar's arm firmly.

"Raise a glass of ale to me, brother."

He slowly lets go, then turns towards the sound of battle. He slides the crossed axes from his back into his hands, and trods north, singing a Dwarven battle hymn along the way.

Gorn kneels and picks a handful of grass, scrutinizing it for a moment. He then suddenly drops it, wipes his clothes and looks at the distance, as if he remembered something.

"Well, I follow you with no hesitations, I am certain we have more to accomplish together. Let's find this out."

"The homecoming is the final act of any great adventure, the recognition of heroes! The feasting! The paparazzi and pomp and the percussion of plenty of preponderant... uh... coin!" The bard was perhaps more enthusiastic now than he head been for much of this outing, and finding words for currency that began with 'P' was difficult. He was ready to get back.

Regdoc watched the dwarf go, headed to war perhaps. His feet shuffled uncertainly as his gnarled hand stroked the head and ears of his trusted pack-hound, Chomper.

"We've got some miles left in us haven't we? C'mon then pie-stealer, let's go back and perhaps we'll get a meal or two for our troubles..."

Turning to the group, the Seeker decreed, "The Road goes ever Onward, our return will be but a pause in my Journey. There is more to see, more to discover, more to survive... Chomper and I shall return with our rescued Lady, but when the reward is spent and the feasting has come to an end, let us take up our packs once more and Journey Onward..."

Pock nudged Harald as he turned away, moving to head down the road slowly. "You're looking for platinum?"

Putting on a dour face indeed, Harald responded, "Yes! Though I'll admit to having seen so little of the stuff lately it's no small wonder I could not recall it. I do hope we will be showered in enough of the stuff to bathe in for our efforts... perhaps we should petition for the shares of our fallen companions as well?"

In reply to Harald (msg # 12):

"I agree with Harald, I have seen nothing on this journey, a priest has to eat too, and feed the poor and pay for the needs of the church."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:10, Thu 18 June 2020.

We also haven't spent much, and we have certainly found enough food along the way.

In reply to Creston Fairwood (msg # 14):

"True, we have had enough for ourselves."

"Well, I suspect that petitioning for our fallen companions' shares would be in bad taste--otherwise I would probably agree."

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 16):

"Their shares should go to their next of kin."

The scouts confer, and they agree that after they backtrack and pick up Starshell's tutor Catweazel, they should take a westerly route overland, travelling away from the armies. The towns on the cliffs overlooking the Bay of Escape should have been untouched by the floods. Once they reach the port city of Belarthum they can then take the southern roads back to Masondain.

Gorn explained the route they agreed on.

“I guess, he said, we can aim for the towns on the cliffs, west from here.”

And he designated vaguely the direction, pointing at the land stretching out.

“We'll see when we arrive, but we might prefer to stay away from inhabitants?”

"I think that depends, mostly, on the inhabitants." He said, with a somewhat dopey grin on his face.

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 20):

"Female gnomes?" Brodd asked Pock.

In reply to Brother Brodd (msg # 21):

"Imagine, a whole secluded clan of gnomish women."

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 22):

"Or human women for that matter, I'm not a celibate you know!" he says to Pock with a grin!

The Barbarian shrugs grimly.

"I have had enough of cities. Too loud. Too crowded."

He hears a long, savage cry to the North where the buzzards are swarming thick. He stops and stares off to the horizon.

"That was the call of my tribe! I am needed!"

He grabs his pack readies his weapon.

"Fight bravely, my friends!"

He bolts northwards into the brush, and in an instant he is gone.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Mon 22 June 2020.

Well, Amalrik did always like to charge off.

The party begins their journey westward. The sounds of battle begin to fade and only a couple buzzards fly overhead as apposed to the circling clouds before. The occasional thunder and flare of yellow or white light from the northeast signal the use of mighty magics on the battlefield.

In reply to DM (msg # 26):

"Blessed be the gods that we are not in that battle, for we would surely perish!"

Travis per the usual heads off to scout ahead of the group. He understood his value and place with the team, he didn't mind it either. Walking the field alone being the warning to possibly protect his band of newly acquired friends, it gave him purpose. He was no Knight, nor a warrior, he was barely an archer, but a scout, that he was good at, so he did what he could do well. Every person pulling their weight, a chain in the armor.

"Aye, Brodd, although I might imagine that we would die in an entire other way were our fantasies to come true. Ah, I should have brought some tobacco. A wineskin." He prodded his chin thoughtfully.

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 29):

"Get some at the first town we come to Pock. If we can find any money that is."

Gorn doesn't scout ahead from the group -especially because he knows Travis will do a good job- but still wanders away sometimes, when the sight of view is not good enough to see everything from the main road.

He's looking for some interesting places along the road of course, but he mostly wants to prevent any danger. Because we never know what roams in these lands, and not only ahead...

One scouts keeps the front guard and the other stops on nearby peaks to get the wide view. Between the two of them they spot a village up ahead at the base of a mountain peak. There's a lagoon next to the swirls ominously for no apparent reason.

https://docs.google.com/presen...ooo/edit?usp=sharing

Ha! civilization or what the men make of it in any case I'm glad for it.

Dwarghar continues forward

Regdoc was glad for those scouts they had in the current party. Though he was well accustomed to travel on winding roads and forgotten paths, it made the exploration of such that much more enjoyable when the fore and aft were well protected. Chomper plodded along lazily at the old cleric's side, sniffing around from time to time and dashing off to chase the occasional chi-chi in the underbrush.

"Yonder lagoon seems a bit ominous, does it not? Could that be a sink hole perhaps, caused by the flood?"

In reply to Regdoc (msg # 34):

It could be. An opening into the underdark perhaps."

Huh looks like water.

Dwarghar says as if that says it all.

"Alas we'll eat well tonight my friends, I can smell the candied turnips now!" Harald sniffed the air, momentarily closing his eyes. After a little while, he opened one eye just a bit to see if anyone else was salivating as he was at the sight of civilization.

"Well then, allow me to lead the way, for just as those of you who are sneaky, observant and brave have led us through dungeon and cavern, this is where my talents lie... Come, let's see what this town has to offer!"

The bard took to the fore and began heading toward the town. He had his eyes open as well as his ears, for there could be worse dangers in society than in the depths of the earth... far worse.

"Yes, thank you friend Harald. Lead on."

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 38):

"You could be right Dwarghar, I can't tell from here. It might be water. The food does smell good Harald, we'll not take credit for the flood or we won't be welcome maybe."

Your party approaches the pallisade. This must be a lumber town judging by the condition of the timbers. Bowmen are stationed along the top. The massive gates swing open enough to allow ten halberdiers in chain to run out and assume formation, followed by a swaggering man with long white hair and a longsword at his hip, you shouts out to you.

"Travelers! You have reached the village of Caywick! You must identify yourselves and state your business to gain entrance!"

Dwarghar Stoneblood, Trapper. Looking to spend a little and drown my sorrows...have travelers been difficult around here lately?

In reply to Dwarghar Stoneblood (msg # 41):

"Brother Brodd, Cleric of the True Unificant Faith. We were on a rescue mission that was successful!"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Mon 29 June 2020.

In reply to Dwarghar Stoneblood (msg # 41):

"Trapper, eh? Yes, I see you have a very large hide rolled on your pack. I'm sure our tanner will haggle with you for it."

"Pock Oneshoe, gnome, not a halfling. And before you ask, I do have both shoes at the moment."

"Gorn of Glast, a passenger, with soles made of wind. I am not a man of quarrel, this is something I can assure you."

"Hail to you Sir! You've the pleasure of addressing Harald the Herald, a bard of no small renown, an entertainer, scholar, storyteller, and philanthropist. Your settlement will be ecstatic when you relate to them that I've arrived. Come Sir, let us in and bring your friends to hear my tales this evening!"

Regdoc's hand left the collar of his huge pack-hound, and reached beneath his robes to withdraw his holy symbol and hold it up. "I'm a Seeker, Regdoc I am called. Let me in." Followed by a grunt.

Chomper cocked his head, panting.

[DM]

"I am Lady Starshell. And this is my servant, Catweazel. I have been summoned to Masondain, and with all the flooding below, this village on the peak is now part of our trail."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:54, Wed 01 July 2020.

The pale elf lowers his cowl.

"I am Manaku of the Moon Elves. What the noblewoman says is true."

In reply to DM (msg # 40):

"I am Creston Fairwood. I don't care about your town. I'm just following the road."

"Just Travis will work. I travel with these fine companions, vanquishers of evil, and hope to those that need it."

Pock, turned back toward the group, was attempting to count the members of their party in order to decide whether or not everyone had spoken, but evidently seemed to be losing count repeatedly.

"Actually, I might have been here before, but I don't remember it. Have I been here before?"

[You're an elf. You may well have walked these mountains centuries ago before it was settled.]

Brodd waits for the guards to invite them in the village.

The swordsman in charge sizes you up, then nods.

"Alright. Men, open the gates! Welcome to Caywick, Travelers!"

"Thank you good sir and may the gods bless you!" Brodd says as he enters the town, leading Rosie.

"Well, I wasn't able to count our group, but if the guards are happy with these introductions, I suppose I am." Pock looked ahead to the town before him eagerly.

Gorn enters and starts scrutinizing, looking discreetly at everything. It's casual for him, more or less a kind of habit. Seeking danger and opportunities...
And why not a good tavern, even if they are rarely hidden!

"I wish we could go to the tavern, but no money. I haven't got a single copper to my name."

"You've got a point, Brodd. Where might we get some funds? I wonder?" With a grin, he withdrew a certain wand from his pack. "I'm entirely uncertain what it does, but I believe this wand might fetch a good price."

"We have armor and weapons to sell and a Manticore hide as well, I suggest we sell some stuff." Brodd says.

It's easy enough to find the leatherworker's shop with a stretched cow hide for a sign and the disagreeable odor from the concoctions used to prepare the hides.

The gentleman inside first laughs off your explanation that it's a manticore, thinking it's some form of bear, until he's presented with one of the spines recovered from the beast. He then offers 250gp for the hide.

"Will you go a bit higher? Three hundred?" Brodd asks gently.

"The highest I can go is 265, Brother. Or perhaps we can do 250 and new leather jerkin?"

"Done! Master tanner. 250 and a leather jerkin it is!"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:41, Fri 10 July 2020.

"Brilliant, good deal Brodd. Where to for selling this wand, then?"

"I don't know Pock, let's explore." Brodd tells the gnome. "We have money now!"

Other then his small village he was originally from Travis has never been in a city like this before. He followed Brother Brodd around like a child watching and observing every move and conversation. Quiet as usual, but observant. He was really enjoying the people he traveled with rather than the bullies he traveled with before, especially the eccentric Pock and Ponderous Brodd. Instinct had him on edge looking for trouble constantly his hand unconsciously resting on his hilt or muscles prepped to spring into action to draw his bow.

As mentioned before, it's a logging town. There's very little use of stone except for cornerstones and fire pits. In fact the only solid stone enclosure is used by the blacksmith. Much as the palisade was made large, sharpened timbers, the houses are mostly A-frame huts made of timber, with the more important buildings in the log-cabin style.

The tavern is in the log cabin style. Charred into the sign over the door is a lone horseman surveying the mountain peaks.

"Let us sell the excess armour and weapons. The Blacksmith or a general store of some kind?'

In reply to Brother Brodd (msg # 71):

"We're not looking to seel a general. Pock wants to sell a wand. Let's go into that tavern and ask around."

Creston starts heading for the tavern.

"Does that horseman look like a ranger to you? I think it's supposed to be a ranger. The tavern must be the Lone Ranger. I'm sure I've heard that name before."

Brodd follows.

"This tavern is called the Horse & Exile, traveler..." says the barmaid serving some patrons on the front deck.

"Though that name was one of the final choices. There's a large table inside if you all need to sit together."

"Hello, Pock Oneshoe. And who might you be?" He asked courteously, then continued with a question: "Perhaps you might be able to tell us where we could sell items found while adventuring? I have this wonderful wand, you see, and we have some other things we would like to sell off." He smiled wide at her.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 22:55, Mon 13 July 2020.

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 75):

"OH! How ADORABLE!"

The barmaid leans over to talk to the gnome, giving him an...interesting view. Her voice goes up like she's talking to a puppy.

"I'm Natalia, Mister Pock! We do have an alchemist who might be interested in that toy of yours!"

She pinches Pock's cheek.

"Would you like a glass of goat's milk? Or maybe your parents will let you have a small beer?"

Hmmmm Nice mountains! Brodd thinks looking at the mounds on her, "Show her what you can do Pock!" LOLOLOLOLOLOL

*ahem*"Madam, perhaps I need to clarify. This is not a human child, but a Gnome. And he's mature enough to order anything he wants from the menu."

The barmaid scoffs. "Rediculous! Nobody's seen a gnome since the Great Dam Disaster 70 years ago!"

Another patron looks up from his ale. "I thought they were kobolds?"

Someone in the back shouts. "They're called KNOCKERS!"

"HEY!" The barmaid points towards the back angrily. "Shut yer GOB! We got KIDS in here!"

She points back to Pock.

Pock, red faced, put on his most serious voice. "I am not a child, I am a gnome of the Oneshoe clan, a well-respected clan of gnomes, thank you very much! Now I would appreciate if you could tell me where I might sell a magical item." He stamped his foot several times to demonstrate the point.

Brodd just shook his head, he should have grabbed her breast while he could he thought, won't happen now.

Creston clears his throat and asks for a cider.

"Beer for me I think." He told the maid.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:17, Fri 17 July 2020.

"A tankard of ale would make a round for the lot of you, that would be 2 slivers. A mug of cider will be 5 coppers. As for magic, the alchemist might take an interest. But don't go wavin' that fairy stick around or the town guard'll confiscate it faster than you can turn yer glass over!"

"No worries, I can't use it anyways." Pock tucked it into his pack, and went to eat with the others.

"This is sure some expensive cider, but let's see if it's worth it."

In reply to Creston Fairwood (msg # 86):

Yes, it's quite good. And the mountain view is stunning.

"You think I could lure a nice gnomish woman here, Brodd? I'm thinking of settling down just for the view."

"Find a nice gnomish woman with the same view! You did mean the big breasts didn't you?"

"Everything, dear Brodd. The cider, the breasts, the mountain." Yes, other than being mistaken for a child, this was the life.

Einhard rode through the gates of this small village. ~Surely they would have come here.~ he thought as he headed toward the meager Inn. A satisfied smile cross his face when he saw Starshell's steed tied up outside the Inn. Einhard hitched his horse next to his sister's and headed inside.

Einhard was not the least bit surprised to see all the attention focused on Pock. The knight strode over to the Exemplar's table. "Isn't funny how such a small one like yourself can stand out so much?" Einhard teased Pock as pulled an empty chair over to the table. "Glad I was able to catch up with you all. I certainly want to be there to see the look on the Baron's face when hears our story."

Brodd laughed and smiled at his small friend.

He nodded, smiled to Einhard and then told him in a remarkable deadpan: "Yes, I do stand out. I think it must be the shoes."

The party lounges pleasantly on the patio for hours, swapping tales of adventure. As the sun begins to set, all the locals stand as one and face north towards the swirling lake. They raise their right arms to the sky and look down to their feet. They drone what sounds like a prayer.

O, Mighty Sentinel!
Return to us the Source
So Fire, Earth, Water and Air will be restored!
Shine your light again and guide our way to prosperity!

The patrons slam their drinks on the tables four times in a row. The echo is strong enough that you're certain the villagers in their homes and going through the same ritual, adding to the vibrations.

After a moment of silence, all the locals clap and shake each others hands.

Never one to put his neck out in strange rural towns, Pock quickly snapped to and watched closely, sure to try and ascertain without asking if they would be expected to do this the next time the sun began to set here. He watched the local taverngoers closely.

Brodd looks on curiously as the town prays to 'Sentinel.' Very alert and on edge as well.

Einhard knew that many religions had ceremonies and customs that seemed strange to him, but this was not his area of expertise. Perhaps a man of the cloth was at least learned in these areas. The knight looked at Brother Brodd. "Have you ever heard of this Sentinel to which they pray?" he asked quietly.

Brodd shakes his head no, "I have not, where does it come from I wonder?"

Einhard scans the dining area to see if any others, aside from their table, were not joining in the prayer.

There's a cloaked figure in the corner. His drink hasn't moved.

Regdoc sat broodily during the prayer, sipping at an earthen mug filled with the spring water he'd requested, which was wet, but certainly not cold, leaving him to question whether it came from a spring at all or the wash basin from the alley.

"The Sentinel? Bah! Probably praying to some overly-vigilant goat or some such..." It was clear the Seeker of the Wandering God was not impressed.

Harald scratched his head thoughtfully...

PM

Pock grimaced at Regdoc's comment--his quite loud comment, Pock thought, though it was certainly not so loud after all--and looked about him for the inevitable angry response. Was anyone rising to strike Regdoc from his very seat?

The cloaked figure in the corner stands up, and slides past the benches to approach the party.

Einhard rises to his feet, hand on his hilt, and moves to intercept the approaching man. "What can we do for you, stranger?"

In reply to Einhard (msg # 105):


"I am no stranger to you, Lord Einhard."

He pulls back his hood.

"It is good to see you well, Sir. But I am here on business."

He hands the Knight a scroll.

"You will recognize the Royal Seal, Sir. I am here to serve a warrant for the arrest of your companion, Travis Maguire, for his actions committed as a member of the Clark Bandits."

"Jarvak?" Einhard takes the scroll, examines the seal, then looks at Travis. The knight unravels the scroll and begins to read.

"You're arresting old Travis?" Pock asked Jarvak, drawing down the last of his cider.

Einhard rolls the scroll up and hands it back to Jarvak. "Yes, and rightfully so!" he responds to Pock's inquiry as he turns to face Travis. "The acts you're accused of are heinous. Any good deed you might have done while in our company does not outweigh the gravity of your previous endeavors. Surrender your weapons, turn yourself over, and pray for your soul." The knight's grip on his hilt tightens in anticipation.

Travis stands up slowly. The other patron quietly exit the bar as the town guard approaches. He gives Lord Einhard a steely gaze.

"After fighting along side you and helping you find your sister? You won't put in a good word for me...to save me from being drawn and quartered?"

"I, for one, believe that a man can change. A gnome can't. But a man? A man can change. And I believe that Travis is a changed man." The gnome hoped to affect some form of sympathy for Travis.

"I believe he has changed and will speak for him at his trial. His heart is now good."

"My kin may be without mercy, but in my order Valor is not the only virtue."

She reaches in her belt pouch and withdraws a scarf made of billowing white silk. The same emblem on her shield - a star above a shell - is embroidered on the fabric.

"This was for the bridesmaid, for a wedding that will never be. But it bears my mark and serves as my favor."

She steps forward and wraps it securely around the scout's neck.

"You shall be punished, but humanely. Unless this new King wishes to start another war the Exemplars, he shall not kill you or make a spectacle of your misery. And perhaps one day, you shall earn your freedom."

"Indeed. He deserves to be punished." Einhard agreed with Starshell and places a firm hand on her arm as she wraps the scarf around Travis' neck. "Are you truly prepared to start a war over a single man capable of desertion, robbery, arson, and selling slaves to humanoids? The last of those is truly despicable and he should be punished accordingly."

"Only if he is guilty though, he must have a trial."

As they converse, a deep mountain fog rolls in, the churning clouds below obscure the swirling river at the bottom of the ravine.

"Lives have been wasted by kings for far less, my friend."

He unhooks his sword-belt and offers the hilted blade to Einhard - a battlefield tradition of surrender.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Fri 31 July 2020.

The knight accepts the blade and places a hand on the scout's shoulder. "You're doing the right thing. My niece's pledge will insure you are given a fair trial." The swirling fog catches the knight's attention and he struggles to say focused on the scout. "As you are going willingly, I will see that she also has a letter delivered with the royal seal to recount your deeds with the Exemplars. Perhaps it will aid in finding mercy." Eyes focused on the mist below, he moves to get a better look. "Sorry, but what is this?" Einhard looks around to see the reactions of the locals.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:58, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

"Someone better scout it out!"

The moment Einhard is distracted, the Scout jumps onto a bench and takes a flying leap off the balcony, and in an instant is lost in the fog.

In reply to Travis (msg # 118):

There's audible gasps from the crowd, only partially obscured by the growing fog.

"Oy, I toldja Ted! That's five coppers, now pay up..."

Jarvak rushes to the ledge.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!"

He lifts a knee, contemplating jumping after him, but slams his fists on the railing instead.

"There goes my bounty! I can't even pickle an ear for a partial!"

He turns to Einhard.

"Your theatrics just cost me a thousand gold crowns!"

The bounty hunter's tone causes Einhard to snap around on his heel to face the bounty hunter square. "My theatrics?!" he retorted incredulously. His voice rising in pitch uncomfortably, the knight clears his throat. "If it hadn't been for my support, you wouldn't have had the support of the others to allow you to even take the man in the first place! Perhaps you should have more subtle in announcing your intentions. Now the man lies dead at the bottom of the ravine and you blame ME?!?" He glared at the bounty hunter, hands clenched.

"Until that fog clears there's neither proof of life nor death! Now I have to take the switchbacks down there and find what's left of him!"

One of the guardsmen clears his throat.

"It might be faster to take the Sentinel's sandals..."

"We're talking about a man's life, and the fate of nations. You'll find no sympathy over a lost fee on my part, Jarvak." Pock stared on in disappointment.

"Good luck Travis!" Harald murmured as their scout made his daring escape. The bard sighed wistfully. If only he himself had the ambition to exercise a bit, perhaps he might undertake such daring acrobatics!

"Good riddance," Regdoc grunted, his mood not improved. "Probably got away with your money pouch Jarvak!"

He ran a hand through his wild hair, wisps of which had been waving politely - and in all directions - at the various patrons of the Inn. "We need coin, perhaps we should have cut Travis a deal...?

In reply to Einhard (msg # 117):

You’re the Baron’s brother in law, and she’s the Baron’s daughter. so she’s your niece.

”Guardsman! What are these Sentinel’s sandals you speak of? A shortcut? A rock formation of some kind?”

"Well, hold on now, if you're trying to find Travis, we're coming along." He turned to the others. "Er...right?"

"Sure, I'm in, I guess."

"I'm not interested in watching a friend die or hang. The law will take it's course, but I don't have to watch. Taking the Lady Starshell back is what I'll do, as I said."

”...and I’m not going back until I retrieve my favor! I gave it to him as promise of fair treatment, not for impunity to escape justice!”

In reply to Starshell (msg # 131):

Brodd bows his head in acquiescence. "I stand corrected."

Einhard extended the leaping scout's sword to the bounty hunter. "It is your bounty to chase. I offer you his surrendered weapons. Perhaps it can serve as some sort of evidence..." he paused as the guardsman offered his suggestion. "...in addition to whatever may be left at the bottom of the ravine."  The knight turned to the address the guardsman. "Show us the way to these Sandals, so we can retrieve my niece's belongings."

Pock does his best to gesture Brother Brodd over.

"I think our friend has got better chances if he has some vocal advocates on his side, yes?" He whispered to the cleric.

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 134):

Brodd nods quietly to Pock, the gnome was becoming a true friend!