Aerin stood by, listening and waiting for the situation to resolve. Peacefully. While she was the one ready to lop off extremeties or slice open bellies, she did not wish for the day to evolve into destroying a loving couple and their offspring with no evil intent.

She crossed her arms and exhaled patiently, not saying a word, afraid she could make things worse.

The two behirs scrutinised the map closely to make sure they understood all the markings, or at least to pretend they understood. Satisfied, they looked back up to Tseran, Maelarra, and the others. 'This will be very useful. We thank you deeply for your aid.'

'For us and our young. We did not expect this kindness. Will you eat with us?' the other said, indicating the half-devoured carcasses.

'Oh, maybe just a bite.' Maelarra surrendered to the inevitable, considering that the sharing of food was an important custom among many races and cultures, symbolising the bond of hospitality, and that she didn't want to risk giving offence to the behirs even now. She produced a delicate knife and sawed off a small hunk of charred mutton. 'Though we must move on soon if we are to make Thindilar before nightfall.' she reminded the others, wondering if anyone had anything else to add. She ate the meat, chewed it, and managed to swallow it.

 "Why not?" Tseran asks, moving over to the seared and shredded meat with the cast-iron stomach of someone whose profession occasionally calls for him to eat live spiders (never, under any circumstances attempt to contest a wizard in matters of food) while  noting "It is only a small kindness. You did not attack us, and there was no reason for us to attack you. Aiding you this way helps to prevent you from coming into conflict with others and it cost us nothing but a little time.", slicing off a few small, thin strips then dipping his hand into his pouch to sprinkle a little salt gently on the meat and asking "Have you ever tried to flavour the food you cook? I'm afraid that I know little about the Behir sense of taste, so I'd not know what to recommend, but most races enjoy salting cooked meat."

Aerin grimaced behind the behirs, but decided if Tseran could stomach the crispy meat, then she could as well. Quietly she took a bite, nodding at the couple respectfully.

'We cook it.' the behir said simply, knowing too well that meat tasted much better cooked than raw.

After sharing some polite portions of the meat and some last bits of advice for the wandering behirs, the two parties at last farewelled each other.

The behirs filled their bellies with what meat they could find, took the map and coins in claw or gullet, then raced away from the farmstead on a thunderous patter of many feet. On Maelarra's suggestion, they elected to cross the road now, while it was mostly clear and the adventurers were on hand to watch for other passers-by and potentially soothe any conflicts if they were seen. It was better that than wait for night and risk encountering late, drunken, hot-headed locals returning from Arming celebrations, or wait for tomorrow and risk encountered hung-over, hot-headed locals returning from Arming celebrations.

'I must say, that went rather well.' Maelarra noted, and not without a lot of relief, as they resumed their ride. 'We'll reach Thindilar by evening, and encounter the tail-end of the Arming day celebrations there. And done rather more tastefully than in Calaunt.'

 Tseran of course has a few simple proposals on the topic of cooking but for the most part he's happy to let things slide into a polite parting before he clears up his equipment, washing out his brushes and generally making good, then nodding in agreement to Maelarra as he agrees "A singularly enlightening and exhilarating encounter... Would that we had such fortune with our nominally civilised encounters." and settles into the long, long hike once more.

Uncharacteristically silent after her nearly-killed, money-losing encounter with the behirs, Angel simply transformed back into her winged form and took to the air once more, promising to alert the others if she spotted any more trouble...

[Private to GM: Sorry for the one-liner post, work's been busy of late. ]

Aerin's eyes followed the behirs as they left for better hunting grounds, still a bit incredulous they had managed not to become their next meal. She also realized, quite late, that Angel had taken to the sky again, probably feeling safer far away from the intimidating creatures.

At Maelarra's comment the Rashemi snapped out of her introspective and nodded, "We should get going, I don't wish to make another encounter like this at night." she said and mounted Albion again. The dragonkin patted the destrier's flank in an affirmative gesture, sometimes she wondered just how trustful her companion was, staying when other mounts would have bolted and fled such a dreadful enemy.

Thindilar
Date: Late afternoon, 4th Tarsakh, 1376 DR, the Year of the Bent Blade
Weather: Spring, cool and clear

By late afternoon, the travellers arrived at the bustling market town of Thindilar, a practical and no-nonsense place. Compared to the city of Calaunt they'd left, it had an honesty and an air of freshness (not to mention fresh air) that seemed quite welcome. They passed yards for trading livestock, markets, and workshops for the town's artisans and craftspeople.

But the focus today was the Arming festivities. Unlike in Calaunt, with its bullying show of strength by its paid thugs, here they saw the local militias showing their readiness to defend their homes. Farmers and craftsmen, men and women, old and young, all walked around in their polished armour with their weapons sheathed. All were proud, and the young were grinning from ear to ear. 'They've finished mustering and inspecting the militia. See those youths with their new shields? They've been accepted into the militia, and accepted as adults.' Maelarra explained fondly.

'And now it's time for the shows. People come from all around to see the duellists, the blade magicians, the weapons masters. They hold contests and demonstrations, and may take students.'

They watched as two masters duelled with longswords within a roped-off square. They had incredible skill and control and complex techniques, and displayed flashy acrobatics that wowed the crowds. One had the eyes and hair of a Kara-Turan, the other a Damaran, but the differences between them seemed erased. Finally, one defeated the other, knocking her to the ground, his sword-point to her heart. But they relaxed and the victor helped the defeated up, both of them raising hands together with smiles.

Then a town crier marched through, ringing a bell and bellowing 'The archery contest starts in half a bell. All who would compete, make your way out the south gate.' The man moved on, repeating his notice.

'Well, Slove? Do you wish to show your skills with that bow?'


OOC:
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Thindilar
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/The_Arming

Aerin watched the proceedings from horseback and felt reminded of her own youth in Rashemen. Just that in Rashemen boys and girls were trained with weapons, a necessity in the harsh lands bordering on Thay. Here the youths were sent abroad to survive in other lands as their rite of passing, returning after a full year had passed. The time  was meant to widen their experience but also information was gathered and passed on. Of course mostly young men went on a dajemma but young women were not discouraged, like Aerin.

She wondered how her family had fared, whether her mother was still alive and if she was still angry about her daughter leaving home. Blinking away some moisture from her eyes the dragonkin collected herself. "Well then, let's see what they have to entertain us."

Watching the weapon masters display their stunts, Aerin wondered if they could do that during a real battle. One where armies were pitted against each other and there was a massive collision of warriors, chaos everywhere and not much room for such acrobatics. She was tempted to get in a ring and see what would prevail: Strength and stamina, or finesse and nimbleness? But she quickly realized that this was her ego speaking and it was not appropriate for a servant of the crown, or in the spirit of the Iron Dragon.

 From Tseran's perspective, a few minutes of peace from the perpetually provoking, perennially pestilential presence of the winged shapeshifter is something of a blessing and he takes a moment or two every so often to scan the skies as he comforts himself with the consideration that there's never really been any malice in the creature, so she can be trusted to keep watch for them... Well, unless whatever she stumbles over is something she considers funny instead of actively dangerous, a realisation that sees Tseran redouble his watch for skunks, porcupines and other treacherous minorfauna.

 It's almost a surprise then when the group finally arrives at Thindilar without incident and he's able to pad along contentedly with one hand keeping his rapier out from between his legs, competent (barely) to defend himself with the blade even if he has absolutely no intention of (further) embarrassing his old fencing-master by trying to actually draw the benighted thing as he sighs softly and asks "Little thought given here to the Art it seems, or do they display such things later in the day?"

Angel kept watch over the companions as they traveled, but she was rarely seen in the skies... the benefit of one who could change the very color of her skin and clothes to match the background white and blue of the sky and clouds.

When the others were close enough to the new city -- Thindilar if she remembered Maelarra correctly -- Angel flew on ahead and entered the city undetected... mainly because so very few people ever bothered to look up. Assuming an appropriate disguise for her new surroundings, Angel, now a red-haired human girl, made her way down to the gate where she guessed the others were to enter.

However she grew bored watching for them and decided to do something more entertaining while she waited...

[Private to GM: Okay, if I take ten on any Hide and Move Silently check to enter the city undetected, then that's a 31 and 22 respectively, not counting any bonuses you might grant from camouflaging herself to blend in to the background sky.

And since I needed to come up with something else to do than the usual trying to trick everyone with a disguise shtick, here's what I would like to have Angel do... While she's waiting she gets the spontaneous idea to try entertaining the passing crowds with a bit of street magic accented by some dance moves. If I take 10 again on the required Sleight of Hand and Perform: Dance checks then that would be a 15 and 18 respectively, which should at least be an "entertaining performance" according to the PHB. So when the companions enter at the gate they should see a red-haired street performer entertaining the crowds... or at least trying to.

Please let me know if I need to come up with something else and rewrite this whole post. Thanks! ]

'This day is to showcase the martial arts more than the magical, I'm afraid.' Maelarra answered Tseran. They'd found a spare hitching post outside an inn where they could tie their horses; it was becoming too crowded to ride much further through town. 'There may be some hedge wizards and a few battle mages who work with the the militias, but they take a step back on the Arming. However, the techniques of some dedicated warriors edge into actual magic – some call it the Sublime Way. They are crusaders and blade magicians.'

Climbing off her horse, she left her valet Tamae to tie the reins, while she pulled a finely crafted nunchaku from her purse. 'Some of us, however, simply dabble.' She began to whirl the linked sticks through the air, then snap it around her body in a dazzling display. Traded from the east, the nunchaku was a traditional weapon of the Waukeenar, said to be based on a simple threshing tool used to separate grain from chaff, giving rise to agriculture, economy, and industry, hence it was favoured by the Merchant's Friend. On the other hand, it was also said to have been inspired by a desperate merchant fending off thieves with a fistful of coins in a sock. Demonstrating a few trap-and-lock manoeuvres, Maelarra swung the nunchaku over her shoulder, then bowed to a clapping and cheering audience that had gathered around her. 'If you want to get anywhere today, you'd do well to show your skills.' she said with a proud grin to the others.

[Private to Angel: Those Hide & Move Silently checks work without issue. There's a lot of activity and people aren't watching the skies. But expect people to be trigger-happy if you do spook them. ;) I've posted some new rules for Perform checks you might want to use. Feel free to send me your show separately as usual if you like.]

Slove Maelarra Hlartrym.
Human competitions have never been of great interest to me.  Not even elven ones.
However sometimes it something that has to be done.
Let see,  I think I like come second if possible.

Nobody can see his smiles under his cloak but somehow you feel that it could be the case.

Slove head off to join the archery competition.

 "My skills... my skills... I believe, that one endeavours to hold the blade by the bumpy end and insert the pointy one into whatever part of ones opponent that first becomes accessible, is that not the case?" Tseran asks, being trained with the blade at his hip but not to any degree that could be confused with significant martial skill. He does however politely applaud the little display Maelarra puts on and then moves to join the ebb and flow of onlookers rather than attempting to prove something he has next to no ability to prove in the first place.

Aerin's hands were twitching, aching to show her skill, however she realized that her prowess in battle significantly came from the strength of her arms, not exactly matching the skill of the weapon masters. Quietly she gripped Albion's saddlehorn firmly, the leather creaking, she stayed.

A red-headed girl on the side of the road was doing her best to entertain the crowds, with a mixture of prestidigitation and dance. And she made two whole silver coins' worth in tips. With so many street performers to compete with, and with skill at arms being the theme of the day, she'd have to do more than that.

Also unfortunately, she was still wearing the baggy hooded grey cloak she'd picked off the would-be killer in Calaunt. Shapeless and dull, it didn't draw the necessary attention. In fact, it had a way of making her blend into the background, to go unseen. A poor trait in a street performer. And yet, she didn't seem able to take it off.

Worse, as the sun dipped to the horizon, it felt heavier, and she felt weaker... [Private to Angel: Angel loses 1 hitpoint from her total.]

*

Meanwhile, the others watched an old gray-bearded dwarf in full-plate armour demonstrate techniques with a pike, while another read aloud from a treatise on polearms by the recently deceased King Azoun IV of Cormyr. '...These techniques we learned from the Steel Princess Alusair, and they proved most effective against the Tuigan Horde in far eastern Thesk. They learned that a turtle of dwarven pikemen is an unmovable force!' The sweating dwarf thrust his pike powerfully through the air, his stance stout and unyielding.

*

Slove went to the south gate, and out of the town to a field outside where the archery competition was being held. Targets were lined up at the far end that the archers were expected to shoot at. Keen crowds were gathering around the fence to watch the performance.

He was directed to join a queue of other archers, alongside many humans and half-elves who seemed to be local hunters and rangers, a few army scouts, and one or two adventurers. One odd participant looked for all the world like a large fox dressed in green who walked on his hind legs and held a bow in his paws.

Getting to the head of the queue, Slove was greeted by the clerk handling admissions. She began writing on a scroll as she said 'Your name, origin, and occupation, sir, and any interesting details about your style. It helps us drum up interest during the show. And your race, so we can apply any handicaps.' She looked up and blinked in surprise at Slove's scarred face. 'I'll, uh, put "Elf".'

Slove frowns at the poor girl.  Which most likely does not help.
He leans forward and say to her.
Names Slove.  I am an elf from the High Forest.  Dark brooding drifter here to take part for my own dark and twisted reasons.

All said in Slove rasping voice.  In a way that the poor clerk would not be sure if sloves just playing along with the archery competition and her request or being truthful.

OOC:
The truth being both.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:04, Thu 05 Sept 2019.

It was a joke, of course, just an ironic joke. She hoped. 'Ah, yes, ha ha.' she agreed a little nervously, and wrote down the details and the description. 'Okay, thanks. Just please wait in the marshalling area, you can make any preparations, and speak with the other participants. Next, please!' she went on hastily.

The walking, talking fox man who came next was no better. Worse, he introduced himself in rhyme. 'My name here is Fūdo, a master of kyūdō. I am a raconteur, just a fox from Kara-Tur.' he said merrily in an eastern accent and sing-song rhyme.

'Okay...'

Meanwhile, Slove was directed into the marshalling area amongst all the other archers. As Slove strung his bow, the fox man came to stand beside him. Using paw-like hands, he tugged off the hood of his green cloak, revealing his whole fox-like head: reddish fur, long snout, pointed ears, and twinkling golden eyes. He grinned, but it showed too many fangs to be reassuring. 'Dark and twisted reasons?' he repeated with amusement. 'Care to share?'

Slove looks over his shoulders at the fox creature.
He moves back away from him and stands studying the fox for a while.
Taking in as much as he can.  There was nothing much else to do and Slove could see the point of his odd actions.  Learn all you can about both your enemies and your friends.
All this done in total silence.
Then after what was to long slove moved back to where he was.
No.  He answered.  Then things would not be so dark and twisted.

Slove reflected.  Thinking to himself.
Darkness did not have to mean evil.
Twisted did not have to mean weakened or flawed.
Then he adds.
You can tell me about yourself if you wish.  I would be happy to listen.

'Ah. Life may be dark and twisted,' Fūdo answered philosophically as he knelt on the ground to begin his preparations. 'But the arrow flies straight and true.'

The fox-man had unslung a surprisingly tall and asymmetrically curved longbow, a dai-kyū of the far east, and a drawn a similarly long arrow. 'Well, if you want to know about me, you don't have to listen.' With no further word, he went about his shooting routine. First, he held the bow upright before him and nocked the arrow. Then, with careful adjustments of his posture, he stood up, stepped back into a shooting stance, and faced one of the practice targets, a bale of straw. His focused yet empty gaze never left it as he raised the bow, first to the side, then slightly elevated, and then before him, steadily drawing the string back as he went, the bow bending. Every movement was precise and controlled, unhurried yet efficient, without hesitation or error. And he made it look easy, even boring.

At last, he settled into the final shooting posture, simultaneously drawing the string back in full. He held it, perfectly still, the perfect image of the archer about to fire, for one second, two, three, four... and he released. The string snapped back, the bow unbent with a flutter, and the arrow flew away. But this caused no change in the archer's demeanour or posture.

After a spell, with the same exact movements, he lowered his bow and hands to his hips, turned to face his target, and backed away.

https://youtu.be/Rh-ohspuCmE?t=110

Slove watches the fox.
In his many long years slove had seen many bows.  The Fox-man bow was not new to Slove.
However he and none of his people used such a weapon for many reasons.
Many thoughts and some criticisms cross Slove mind.  His dark view of things ready to come out.
However for once Slove decided to keep quiet.  Time to watch and take in what is going on.

Slove skills with a bow was great he knew this.  He would not be alive now if it had not been so.  He had gained much experience.  Learning from the many different sides to his nature.
It was however based on his quick reactions.
On the need to take down a target.  He only ever used it to protect himself or others he had decide to protect.
Firing at a target that was not going come and kill you was something different.  Something Slove had not thought about or done much of.
What was Solonor Thelandira thoughts on such things.  He was not sure.

 For his part, Tseran has little interest in the discussion of best practice when it comes to the deployment of dwarvish pike blocks and less in the sort of petty illusion magics that sway the crowd, but the mention of the quasi-mystical techniques of the local bladesmen does, after a short time spark a measure of interest in him as it occurs that there may well be some overlap with meditative techniques that he's been developing to unlock his own internal powers and -after ensuring that he knows where people will be in due course - he moves to find one of their displays and see what, if anything can be learned thereby.

OOC: Sorry, got distracted with life. Who needs it, right? I had to think what to do next.

Having finished his meditative act of archery, Fūdo had turned and regarded Slove with inscrutable fox eyes for some time, perhaps waiting for the elf to lead with a question. The master–student relationship worked best with a dialogue. The arrow had led him here, to the West, to this land, to this town on this day. Surely there was a student here. Or not. 'Show me how you shoot.' he beckoned Slove to stand before the target, 'And show me who you are.'

*

After going past cocky young bravos wearing their new swords with pride, experienced masters running shows and classes for said cocky young bravos in an effort to knock some caution into them before they got themselves killed, and older veterans who'd gotten that caution already and now just wanting to get the good seats at the tavern, all the friendly duels and running brawls going on, and the pie-sellers and merchants and all the rest, Tseran found a few shows like what he was looking for. He'd discounted the mundane, entirely natural techniques of warriors and soldiers – any basher could pick up a sword, and elf mage for that matter. The spiritual martial artists who spoke of ki or chi; the flashy blade magicians whose "Sublime Way" was something less, or something more, than true magic; and the psionicists who mentioned the art of mind over muscle – they seemed to command what he was truly interested in.

Here, he saw a small, serious, snowy-haired Kara-Turan woman in exotic lamellar armour, wielding a pole-arm almost twice as tall as she was with incredible skill, on horseback and on foot. When she leaped, whether out of the saddle or from the ground, she was in defiance of gravity itself. Her style was an eastern one, powered by ki.

There, he saw a scrappy and athletic blonde Impilturan woman, strangely tattooed, who fought like any knight or paladin of the Forgotten Kingdom, bold and powerful with her sword. He almost turned away, but for the oddity of her sword – she didn't actually have one. Just a silvery-hued blade of pure energy manifested near her clenched fist, a sword in all but form.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:56, Tue 17 Sept 2019.

Slove looked at Fūdo.  Looking into the foxes eyes.  Then nodded his head.
If it had been anybody else Slove would not bothered however Slove for all his harshness always gave respect when respect was due.  The fox was skilled bowcreature so Slove was happy to do what the fox asked.

Slove held his bow in one hand and his string in the other.  He spoke a few words in elvish.
[Private to group Elven: Help guide my arrow, lord of the hunt.]
Then with swift movement Slove crossed the distance between himself and point fox had stood.
As he did so he drew an arrows.  Notched it and was ready.  This done as one flowing movement.
For a second jut single breath Slove was still checking all around him.
The target, the people around him, his bow his arrow.
Then the arrow was let lose.  By the time it had hit target slove was back standing where he was.  All of this done with as much grace of movement as slove could possibly do.
This is how I shoot.  He answered.  This is who I am.

OOC:
Cast Guidance.  Technically Slove does not have shot on the run so this like two round action.
But with sloves speed and boots.  Also this would be +14 or +15 (within 30ft) action.
But this is rp so not expecting things to be totally by the numbers anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:26, Tue 17 Sept 2019.