Sadly for Eilieen, the night beneath the trees is too dark for songbirds to still be awake to attend her prayers.  Of the few birds in the area that are still awake, she probably wouldn't be happy about having Bilfro's owl perch on her shoulder.

The night passes peacefully, disturbed by neither orc nor badger, and with the wagons provide adequate shelter from the occasional rain showers.

By dawn, the sky has cleared, bringing a chill, low-lying morning mist and a peaceful stillness to the world.  Somewhere nearby, a blackbird starts to sing, and is joined shortly afterwards by more and more types of bird.

By the time the sun starts to rise, the woods are filled with birdsong.  A welcome contrast to the yells and screams which had ended the previous day.

A robin flies down to perch on one of the wagons, tilting its head to watch the activity as the camp starts to stir.

Colwyn awakens with his customary scowl, and watches curiously as Fergus tries to attract the bird with a few crumbs of bread, "Be yer tryin' ter catch it?" he asks, and gets a smile from Fergus, "No.  It's bad luck to hurt a robin.  Very bad luck for a farmer to do it."

OOC: Morning - spell lists for the day from those that need to prepare them, thanks.

As pretty as a dawn in spring - should it be one of those where the weather looks rather unpleasant - Bilfro rises with a melodic and gentle yawn, not unlike that of a donkey looking for a mate right there and then.  It is almost as if last night was repeating itself sound-wise.

"Robin?  No, I dreamt of a bat-man, half man, half bat.  He was sad because he had lost his parents, just wouldn't shut up about it...  Dreams, bah."

He inhales deeply and starts a wheezing cough.

"Why I do that, I - cough - have no id- cough - idea..."

A cough-solo worthy of applause.

"....it only makes me cough...."

Colwyn gives Fergus a look which seems to imply, infer, and indicate that he may be less than entirely certain of Bilfro's sanity.

"A bat-man yer's sayin', Bilfro mate?  See, now, that's soundin' a bit like one of them there owlbears what Aarnr's always rattlin' on 'bout.  I's bettin' as 'ow if'n 'is mam an' dad's bein' dead, it were 'im what did 'em in.  Stan's ter reason, dunnit?  What with 'im bein' a bleedin' 'alf-man, 'alf-beast monster an' all."

The rogue smiles cheerfully, and claps Bilfro on the back, "I's reckonin' as 'ow it were Aarnr's tales of owlbears as made yer be dreamin' 'bout this 'ere bat-cove.  Bit of brekkers, an' yer'll be right as rain."

Across the camp, Honil rises, and starts the morning with a quick head count, just to assure himself that nobody else has died during the night...

Erista wanders quietly along the edges of the camp, occasionally bending her knees a bit (she does not actually have to `reach down' particularly) to pick a flower.  She waves briefly to Honil, perhaps affirming that she's not dead but probably just saying good morning, as she rounds his end of the camp in her circuit.

Coming back, she bears a loosely woven circlet of flowers, with the blue quartz held at the center.  Walking up to Eilieen, she holds it up to her.  "I just wanted to say a thank you," she says.  "For.."  She shrugs a little.  "Who you are."

It's a pleasant sight to which to wake - bright sunlight, beautiful robin, gentle Fergus feeding the bird.  At least, it would be, had Eilieen waked to it - however, she has been up for a few hours now, having taken the last watch.

No matter - it gave her plenty of time to consider the events of the day before, and to sit quietly and watch the sunrise unfold.

Morning prayers completed, she briefly listens in to Colwyn speaking with Bilfro.  The subject - Bilfro's, not Colwyn's addition to it - brings a roll of the eyes, but she eschews comments.  The poor man is insane.  Perhaps someday Zadastha will gift her with the proper prayer to heal his mind...

Oh, and here is Erista, with a lovely circlet of flowers.  Eilieen's eyes grow wide as she realizes it's not for show, but rather for her.  "Oh.  Oh, my goodness!  Oh, Erista, so kindly of you!"  A betraying sheen glows in her eyes as she speaks, leaning forward to study the gift, and a fine gift it is.  With a stone, even, 'set' within the flowers.  "Oh, but I'm just trying to keep up with everyone..." she begins before trailing off.

If the other woman sees her in this light, it would only be rude to temporize.

Reaching out, she hugs the little mage, if permitted.  "This means so much," the priestess whispers.  It is to the thought, in fact, that she refers, though the circlet itself is most appreciated.

The robin moves closer and closer to Fergus' hand.  Bravely it approaches the proffered crumbs... until...

"BOWBE!  THOU BURLY-BONED TICKLE-BRAINED MAMMET!"

The bird is gone in a flurry of wings, leaving only a small feather, drifting earthward, to mark its flight.  Aarnr, meanwhile, oblivious to the effect he has on the local wildlife, continues his early morning ritual, with the intention of wresting an honest day's work from his god.

"FURNISH MY DUE, THOU BOOTLESS BEEF-WITTED FLAX-WENCH, ELSE I'LL COME AND RIP IT FROM THY STINKING HANDS, THOU QUALLING SHEEP-BITING FLAP-DRAGON!"

By which point, there probably isn't a small animal left within a mile or so, and Fergus is left holding a handful of crumbs.  With a sigh he drops them on the ground and brushes the last of them off his hands.

The wagon driver, Jack, has clearly survived the night's trials and tribulations, and already has a cask of drinking water open, along with dry bread and some of last night's stew warming over the rekindled fire.

"Breakfast!" he calls, in case anybody hasn't noticed.

The small lump under the blanket cannot ignore the harsh reality of morning any longer as Aarnr begins bellowing at the heavens. The mention of breakfast has him sitting up so quickly that he thumps his head on the wagon. Rubbing his forehead and blinking blearily from beneath a frazzled mop of hair, Ozzy manages a grin as he catches a whiff of last nights dinner. He drags his boots in the dirt as he makes his way to the fire, trying to warm up and refocus on the reality outside of his dreams.

Eilieen's hug threatens to squish Erista for a moment when the 'prayer' begins, but the priestess releases the little mage immediately, turning to brushing her off.  "Sorry, sorry," she whispers.  "Sometimes...."

Shaking her head, the priestess turns to glance at Jack.  A wry smile twists her mouth.  "Well.  Shall we partake of this...bounty?  Serenaded, even?"

Erista giggles a bit when she can breathe again.  "I just tell myself he's twice as scary to those who don't know him," she says.  "And five times as scary to anybody who'd hurt someone he's looking after."

She looks over at the shouting priest thoughtfully, and hmms.  "Just five, though.  He's still pretty scary."  She nods, joining Eilieen in heading over for breakfast.

"'Morning, Ozzy!" she waves, as they catch up to the trudging troubadour.

Breakfast, for all that it consists of reheated leftovers and dry bread, isn't too bad.  Jack has thrown a little pepper and some thyme into the pot, along with a crushed onion, all of which makes the meal a little different from last night's dinner.  He points this out with some pride, confiding to his "guests" that Honil, despite being a decent enough employer, knows nothing of feeding people on the road and so Jack, himself, is forced to vary the meals as best he can.

Over breakfast, Honil explains to his people that, with the losses, they will need to be a little more vigilant.  "Keep your eyes open today, lads.  There's less of us now, and just as much land to watch.  We can't afford to be ambushed.  It's a good thing that we should reach Bard's Gate by nightfall, all being well."

"Aye, and most of us will have been robbed blind before morning, by thieves, gamblers, and dishonest merchants." mutters Jack, drawing a few laughs and not a few murmurs of agreement.

"Nonsense!" Eilieen puts forth, choosing to take it seriously.  "The lot of us should be quite capable of holding off any further attempts.  We are forewarned and thus forearmed."  The priestess stirs her breakfast with less enthusiasm, but perks up immediately.

"Our mage will face down threats with her spells, our priest of Bowbe is, I am told on good authority -" this with a small smile to Erista "- five times more frightening than anything we would face, and I will do my best to see that Zadastha provides succor to the fallen.  Our cunning and doughty companions -" this with a motion to the rest of her group "- shall battle beside you.  Nightfall is not far, and we are all awake and prepared."

Jacks comment makes Ozzy grin, the strains of an old ballad coming to mind. Having already wolfed down last nights leftovers, Ozzy burps, setting plate aside and picking up his lute. He pauses to adjust the tuning with a few plucks on the strings, then begins singing his own redefined remix of the classic tune...

I was born in the wagon of a travellin' show
 My mama used to dance for the money they'd throw
 Papa would do whatever he could
 Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of
 Doctor Good

 Gypsies, tramps, and thieves
 We'd hear it from the people of the town
 They'd call us Gypsies, tramps, and thieves
 But every night all the monsters come around
 And lay their money down...

Colwyn gives Ozzy a nod of approval for the song.  "I 'asn't been 'earin' that in a bloody age, mate.  Ain't no bugger bein' singin' it in Tsar fer the last few years."

Breakfast is hurried, with Honil keen to get his caravan back on the road as early as possible.  Eilieen's assurances that they should be able to defend themselves seemingly fall on deaf ears, judging by the man's worried expression.  So, with breakfast over, the fire thoroughly doused, and the dishes scrubbed clean, the wagons are hitched, and the caravan sets off east again.

The party ride in the wagons, though all avoid the wagon with the freshly deceased corpses, and Aarnr continues to practice his driving under Fergus' watchful eye.  Perhaps surprisingly, the savage priest appears to be getting the hang of it quite well.  The oxen, meanwhile, plod stoically along the Tradeway, their general demeanour telling a tale of resignation to their lot in life.

Not even the lack of further rain appears to lighten their mood.

Towards mid-morning, Honil rides back along the caravan, pausing briefly to speak to each driver, including Aarnr, "We're making good time.  There's a bridge just ahead that's a little narrow, so you need to keep the animals under control if you want to get across without trouble.  And you need to keep an eye open, in case of an ambush.  Sometimes orcs, ogres, or worse things lay in wait there."

As it turns out there is something waiting at the bridge.  To Aarnr's disappointment, though, it turns out to be a patrol.  Two dozen men are there, stopping and questioning travellers, in search of bandits, brigands and thieves.  Honil is well known on the Tradeway, it seems, and the patrol leader waves him past with a cheery smile.  Everybody with him is afforded the same courtesy.

The bridge itself is of wood, with a span of some fifteen feet.  Below it a brook splashes and burbles around jagged rocks at the bottom of a ten foot deep gully.  The timbers creak ominously, and the bridge shifts and flexes under the weight of the wagons.

Honil sends Aarnr and the cart first, that vehicle being lighter than his wagons full of cloth.  The passengers are asked to dismount and walk across.  With those out of the way, the wagons make the crossing, one at a time.

"It wasn't always like this.  There used to be a stone bridge here.  But it was destroyed by trolls a decade ago.  The wooden bridge is easier to maintain, and to replace in the case of another attack." Honil explains to anybody who seems prepared to listen.  "There's usually a new one needed at least once a year."

The last of the wagons, the one containing the bodies of the deceased, as well as its more usual cargo, starts onto the bridge...
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:11, Wed 03 Sept 2014.

Eilieen appreciates Oswald's songs.  She appreciates even more the lack of rain, so despite the fact that the men don't heed her she maintains her good mood throughout the day.  The bridge provides some interesting history, and she ponders over the wisdom of wood versus stone as she awaits the wagons.

"It appears less-than safe," the priestess murmurs, looking out over the gorge then ducking back.  It's not far...but when one is talking about water and jagged rocks, 'not far' just means one has less time to think over one's affairs.

'Affairs' used in a more general sort from this Zadasthan.

Colwyn crosses the bridge, walking close to one side, where there seems to be a little less give in the construction.  Once across he moves to one side and peers down at the water below.

"'ere!  There's bein' a fish dowm there!  I's seein' 'im.  Jus' there, by that big rock what's 'avin' a white bit on it."

There is, indeed, a large fish, laying in the shallow water close to a large boulder, and lazily maintaining its position against the flow of the current.

"Wonder if'n we could be catchin' 'im.  Maybes be gettin' some more too, an' 'avin' a spot of fish fer supper."

Ozzy looks over the bridge down into the water as Colwyn points. " What? Where? ...that's no fish. It's just a rock with some white paint on it." he comments with a giggle that implies Colwyn is just being daft, " White bellied trout don't swim upside down! That's just a rock!"

Disappointingly the bridge didn't collapse, and the short drop afforded little risk, so Aarnr sits, impatiently waiting for the others to cross, drumming the pommel of his dagger on the side of the cart.

"P'raps there's a froggin' troll down there," the priest suggests, eyeing the last of the wagons, though his tone suggests there's not much hope Bowbe would be so kind.

"Mark on a rock ... someone's territory," he brightens.  "P'raps we could fight them for it ?"

Colwyn regards the rock, and the fish.  "No, there's definite bein' a fish there.  Next ter the rock, Ozzy, not on it."

Aarnr's suggestion brings a nod, "I's seein' what yer's sayin' mate."  He looks about, taking in the surroundings - seemingly endless forest and a stretch of road, "What I's not seein' is aught what'd be makin' this territ'ry as is worth markin'."

Fergus offers his own opinion, "I don't think it was marked.  Unless it was by a large bird - a goose or the like, that had to empty itself."

But, undeterred, Colwyn just carries on with his speculation, "Course, could be as some bugger marked the rock on account of 'ow they's 'id somethin' under it, or near it.  Jewels, or coin maybes."

" Treasure trove?" Ozzy asks, his eyes going wide with the possibilities. He quickly backs away from the railing, heading to the riverbank and down into the water. His curiousity piqued, Ozzy wades into the water toward the stone with the strange marking, intent on flipping it over to find the loot.

If his blood brother will wrestle with trolls for their treasure, then Aarnr ... actually, the priest doesn't need an excuse.

Tossing the reins of the oxen to Fergus, the priest grabs his sword, half sliding, half climbing down the river bank to stand at Ozzie's side, eyes gleaming as they scour the shadows for the foe.

Aarnr and Ozzy both end up standing in the stream, with no thought given to how they'd get back up in a hurry if they need to.

The stone, well... more of a boulder really, is easy to spot, and close up, the mark is definitely painted, but also faded, as if it has been there a long time.  Ozzy, up to his thighs in cold water, looks about and soon spots a broken branch which might serve as a lever...

Honil is attracted by the group standing peering down into the gully and makes his way over to take a look.  "What are they doing?" he wonders, catching sight of the intrepid stream delvers.

Colwyn looks at him, and is about to say something, but then changes his mind and says something different instead, "They's bein' after catchin' some fish fer supper.  Don't reckon as 'ow they'll be 'avin' much luck, what with Aarnr splashin' 'bout down there."

"Were that Jack callin' yer?"

"Was it?  I didn't hear anything.  I suppose I should see what he wants." and the merchant wanders away...

Erista glances up at Colwyn and nods agreement.  There's a little too much agreement in the nod to cover a simple statement like, `they're fishing'.

Aarnr eyes the solid looking boulder and eyes his diminutive blood brother in what might be mistaken for thoughtfully.  With a nod the priest sheathes his sword and casts about for another (but bigger) branch.

"This might froggin' need two of us," he growls.

"What's they bein' up ter now?"

Colwyn leans forward for a better look, then steps back rapidly as a part of the edge crumbles away, dropping a little dirt and a few pebbles into the gully.

"Oh, I's seein'.  They's goin' ter use a branch ter be shiftin' the rock.  Clever."  He ponders the situation for a moment, then finds a good place and starts to descend.  Just in case whatever his friends find down there needs his own light-fingered touch to handle it safely.

Aarnr, meanwhile, finds a large branch, and starts stripping smaller twigs from it until he has a decent sized pole.

Colwyn reaches the bottom, and looks back up the low cliff speculatively (though without knowing the word).  "'Ere, I 'ope as nothin's jumpin' our mates while we's bein' down 'ere, or ol' Fergus'll be 'avin' all the fun."  He casts about for a branch of his own.

The rogue hops onto a boulder, steps to a second, then a third... using them as stepping stones.  The fourth proves to be treacherous, shifting under his weight, and the rogue finishes with his right leg in the stream up to the middle of the shin.

"Nadgers!"

With a shrug, he wades the rest of the (short) distance, and takes position alongside Ozzy and Aarnr.  "So what's bein' the plan?"

Fergus quickly secures the oxen to a bush, though he's reasonably certain they wouldn't have tried to run off anyway.  Then he hurries back to the stream, where he joins Bilfro, Eilieen and Erista in watching their comrades in adventure.

The big farmer understands the general principle of the lever, he's used them on the farm from time to time.  Even so, he scratches his head.  "If they want to move that rock, why didn't they just ask me to throw a rope down, and use the oxen to pull it?"

Then a second question strikes him, "Why do they want to move it anyway?  It isn't blocking the road or anything."

Erista shrugs.  "I'm not sure," she admits.  "My very best guess is that it just looks difficult, so, they want to do it.  I will agree with Colwyn that using a stick for it is, within itself, as far as that goes, pretty clever, though."

Hanging from the end of the stick like a determined child, Ozzy kicks and bounces, trying his best to simply will himself heavier. Why wasn't the soggin' lever working? He had seen it done by laborers countless times in his life and it always worked for them, what had he done wrong? He keeps hanging, kicking and bouncing, doing his damnedest to make the stick defeat the stone. Ozzy knew little of the laws of physics, the geometry and counter-pressure needed were apparently just beyond him.

Wakening from her doze in the back of 'her' wagon, Eilieen slowly sits up.  One hand rises unerringly to her hair, fingers finding the single tiny leaf that fallen onto the silken strands; a single flick, and it flies free.  The priestess pushes herself from the wagonbed, feet finding purchase on the road, a frown flickering upon her features.

"What in the names of the gods are those scoundrels up to now?" she mumurs, irked at her disturbed sleep.  Wandering back, she studies the situation in some befuddlement.

"Oswald," Eilieen calls out.  "Are you well?"

Dropping off the end of the stick to catch his breath, Ozzy looks up with a smile and a wave. " Yeah, ...yeah... just trying to... dig out an upside down trout." He waves it all away, trudging back to the bank and back up the other side. He offers no further explanation for his behavior or answers given with regards to his behavior, believing they all understood his intentions despite his odd persistence about certain activities. Out of the water, he takes a moment to wring out the damp before hopping back onto a wagon with a contented grin.

Aarnr also knows naught of the laws of the gods which so befuddle his blood brother ... indeed the concept of trees themselves is sometimes difficult for one born in the vasty marshes.

However the priest is a quick learner, and after having observed Ozzie at work, tries his hand at the task once the halfling surrenders the field.

The first few passes seem more to constitute an assault on the rock itself as the butt of the branch smashes into the rock, but finally, more by luck than skill, Aarnr manages to lodge the branch beneath it.  Might also mean Bowbe was moved by the dire and deadly threats that accompany the effort.

With a roar of delight and a "froggin' dankish clackpole !" the priest now turns to using his considerable weight and strength to lever the offending rock from its respose.

"And they call me crazy."

Bilfro sighs and turns to walk over to what he had dubbed his wagon, intent on boarding it and removing himself from preposterous capers so far beneath him he got dizzy looking down upon it whilst remaining utterly unable to see naught but futility.

"Some people have no grasp of reality, that's what!" says he unto the wagon he awkwardly clambers aboard, expecting no reply, unless you count the creaking.

The valiant efforts of those worthies in the stream give no immediate result, save to draw the attention of the soldiers whose duty it is to patrol this stretch of road, many of whom join their commander in watching the struggle, on the opposite bank from the one where the remainder of the caravan riding adventurers survey the struggle.

Ozzy realises the futility of it all, and gives up eventually, while Aarnr and Colwyn continue to work at the boulder.  Aarnr, manages to actually get the end of his stout pole under the rock, instead of merely hitting the side of it.  Together he and Colwyn apply all their weight and muscle to shifting the rock.

Finally, after several minutes of trying, the boulder shifts and then, with a loud sucking sound, pulls up from the stream bed, and allows a flood of water to flow in beneath it.  The seal broken, the stone moves more easily, flipping over to reveal a hollow beneath it, perhaps a foot across, and about the same depth.

In the freshly revealed void, a rusted iron box can be seen briefly, before the influx of turbulent water stirs up a layer of silt at the bottom of the hole and hides it from sight.

The officer of the road wardens cranes his neck in an attempt to see better...

Flopping back into the cart, Eilieen shakes her head in bemusement.  "Upside-down trout.  Whatever will they think of next?"  After a moment, she considers who 'they' might be.  A mysterious, shadowy group manipulating society and nature through monstrous-yet-subtle magic?

No, just Oswald and Aarnr.

Muttering about hare-brained schemes, she lies back and stares up into the sky, squinting against the sun.  "Ooo...warm."  With a contented sigh, she closes her eyes and relaxes.

A moment later, her eyes pop open and Eilieen carefully arranges her cloak's hood to shelter her face.

"HA, FROGGIN' HA !!  THOU LUMPISH, EARTH-VEXING BARNACLE !!"  Aarnr exclaims in triumph as brute force and ignorance overcome the recalcitrant rock.

The priest shakes his makeshift lever at the crowd gathered to witness the victory.  "THY DREAD-BOLTED INSTINCTS WERE RIGHT !" he calls up to congratulate Ozzie.  "'AN THOU ARE STRONGER THAN THOU look, thou rump-fed rascal !" Aarnr tells Colwyn, eventually remembering to turn the volume down a notch.

"Now then ..." carelessly tossing the branch aside, the priest reaches his hands into the flowing waters, feeling around for the iron box.

The box is not big, perhaps eight inches along each side, but it is heavy, and reluctant to be lifted from its resting place, for reasons which become obvious when Aarnr finally wrestles it free...  Water pours from every edge and seam, and brings a grimace from Colwyn.

"I's 'opin' as 'ow there's bein' nothin' in there as water can ruin.  It's lookin' like it's been down there fer a bit.  Let's be 'avin' a gander... is it 'avin' a lock, or is it jus' bein' rusted shut?  Ahah!  A key'ole, so it's 'avin' a lock.  Locks's usually meanin' somethin' as is worth lockin' away."

A cheerful grin spreads across his face, "Might be as there's bein' somethin' good in there."  Then the grin is replaced by a look of concern, "Is Bowbe wantin' a cut of stuff what yer didn't win in a fight?"

Bounding down from the back of the wagon, Ozzy scurries over to the bridge railing to look over to the stream below. " You broke it loose? YES!" he shouts, seeing the two below fumbling with the box. Not wanting to miss out on the discovery of whatever is inside, the little bard runs to the end the bridge, down the bank and back into the water, splashing through the stream to have a better view of when the box is opened. " Well? Open it up! Lets see what white-bellied upside-down trout eat!"

"Tut, tut, tut, now it is down to theft of property," says Bilfro with a heavy sigh and a sad shake of his head.  Moments later he lays down on his back and pulls his hat over his face.  A heartbeat later there is either someone logging timber with a large saw or someone snoring loudly.

Defeated the rock AND there's at least the possibility of treasure.  Aarnr grins at Ozzie's return as he momentarily ponders the tricky matter of dogma that Colwyn raises, shaking his head as he assures the rogue, "only when there's fobbin' blood spilled."

The priest keenly awaits Colwyn's prising open of the box, his own two-handed lockpick at the ready should it be needed.

"I'll be careful not ter be cuttin' meself on any sharp edges then." Colwyn replies happily, as he takes the box from Aarnr, before finding a relatively dry boulder to work on.  He sits cross-legged, wit the box in front of him, tilting it and angling it to get a closer look at the lock and hinges.  "It's lookin' like  a Sturm an' Sturmsson Number 5... " he mutters, "... only the key'ole's bein' a sight too bleedin' big."  He scratches his head, holding the lock close to his lucky blue eye, "'arris, Boswell an' Gritch?  Let's be seein' yer then.  Ooooh... double drop deadbolts!  A number 2 depressor, a 3-in-1 pick, an' a crowbill should be doin' the trick."

Removing a roll of cloth fromn his belt pouch, he spreads it out to reveal that it is covered with pockets, each one holding a small tool, its oiled and polished surface glinting in the sunlight.

The rogue takes three of them out, then looks up to check if he still has his audience.  A number of members of the patrol are crossing the bridge to the side where his friends stand.  And the commander is watching the unfolding drama like a hawk watching a particularly plump squirrel.

Colwyn frowns, and goes to work, trying to ignore the eyes burning into him from above.  For a few moments he manipulates the lock, his three chosen instruments moving in perfect harmony, until... "Got yer, yer bugger!"

He glances at Aarnr and Ozzy as he returns the tools to the cloth and starts to roll it up again.

"I's been unlockin' it.  Does one of yers want the 'onour of bein' first ter see what's bein' in there?"

Shouting.  Lots of it.

Eilieen lets out a small groan that carries a suspicious hint of whine, and slowly sits back up.  "Bowbe's burnt buttocks," she grouses.  "What are they doing?"  She shoves herself out of the wagon, but when her feet hit the ground her mind catches up with her tongue and Eilieen pauses, appalled, one hand rising to her lips.

Then her eyes change, now flat and steely.

"Aarnr," she mutters.  "I will kill him for this."  Adjusting her clothing carefully, she paces toward the epicenter of the disturbance.

"Ozzie found it," Aarnr cedes the honour of opening the box to his blood brother.

The priest grins and waves to Eilieen as the crowd parts at her approach.  "We got the pottle-deep basket-cockle," he assures her, heartily.

"Huh."  With a small shrug, Erista seems to lose interest, wandering a bit back from the bridge.

Ozzy beams proudly as Aarnr steps aside and explains to Erista of his discovery. " Well, actually Colwyn did, ...but he thought it were a fish!" he says positioning himself before the box with both hands on either side of the lid. With a big smile and a dramatic flourish, he flips it open, eager to see what's inside.

"I weren't thinkin' it were a fish." Colwyn protests, "I were sayin' there were bein' a fish nex' ter the bloody rock."  Then he gives up.  His explanations are falling on deaf ears anyway. 

Ozzy flips open the lid...  The hinges are rusted, and the triumphant revelation turns into an anticlimactic screech, with the lid moving perhaps an inch before stopping.  The halfling makes another attempt.

Up above, on the steep banks, their companions are, mostly, watching attentively.  As are the troops from the patrol.

This time the lid opens, groaning and creaking as it reluctantly exposes its secret...

Coins.  The box is full of mixed coins.  All coated with a thin layer of greenish-black slime.

"Is there anything other than coin in there?" the patrol commander calls down, "Anything that could identify the original owner?"

Aarnr's eyes narrow as even he follows the gist of the commander's questioning.  At the best of time he is none too fond of guardsmen, and the prattling fool above is doing little to endear himself.

"They all seem to have some froggin' markin's on 'em," the priest admits reluctantly.  "That one has a gleepin' ugly man's face on it ... an' that one has an axe ... or is it a horse ?"

"The what?" Eilieen answers Aarnr, befuddled into forgetting her irritation.  Pottle-deep basket cockle?  Oh.  The box.  Box?  How curious.  So she stands and watches with the others as the box is opened revealing...

...filthy coins.  Not at all to her interest.

"Hmph."  The priestess purses her lips, waiting to see if there is aught beyond filthy currency.  "Sadly, I know little of coinage.  Colwyn?"

"Let me do the talkin' Aarnr." mutters Colwyn.

"There's bein' only coin.  Nought as can be 'dentified.  Any letters's bein' turned ter mush long ago, on account of them laying in water, an' eated by water bugs." the rogue calls up the patrol leader, who frowns.  "As yer was seein' we was jus' 'aulin' it out from under that there bloody great rock.  An' I reckons it were 'id there a long time since.  The last owners was prob'ly bandit scum, an' the ones afore that is prob'ly long since dead."

"Very well.  If they can't be returned to their proper owner, of which there might be several, then I'm legally declaring them treasure trove.  Enjoy your find... er... " the officer looks closely at Aarnr and Colwyn, and finds it impossible to meet the latter's gaze (mostly due to Colwyn's peculiar optical geometry), "... gentlemen."

"If you will just give me a few moments I can prepare a letter of ownership for you, which you can show to any further patrols along the road, should they question you regarding the box and its contents."

"Like to froggin' see any gleepin' beslubberin', crook-pated foot-licker try to take it," Aarnr growls to Colwyn, angrily bewildered by all this talk of documentation.

In this world of shopkeepers who measure their worth by such, the priest supposes coin would be a good thing, if he valued their opinion of him ... but at least the more of it he gives to the small witch, the more weapons he can garner and the more things he can kill.

Seeing as how he's not immediately going to have to fight anyone for something that is already his (or, he'll graciously allow, at least partly his), Aarnr drops the branch and makes his way back up to the bridge.  He might even let Fergus drive for a bit !  If only so he can keep his bow handy in case he's lucky enough to spot bandits.  Or those who look like they might be considering banditry in the near future.  Or anyone he doesn't like the look of.

A rope is lowered and secured to the box, and Fergus hauls it up to the top of the bank, where it lays, still leaking water from its corroded seams.  After a brief discussion, it is loaded onto the cart, where Aarnr can defend it from thieves, brigands, and other larcenous types.

Obviously this doesn't include Colwyn, who offers to sit with the box and count the contents.

The patrol leader comes over the bridge with a letter of ownership, which he first seems inclined to offer to Aarnr, but then decides that Eilieen looks to be more respectable.

And so, accompanied by Honil's caravan, and carrying the box containing their new-found wealth, the group continues along the road to Bard's Gate.  After a little while, Colwyn announce, "It's bein' mostly coppers, with a bit of silver, an' a bit less gold.  Four hunnerd an' twen'y copper, a hunnerd an' forty silver, an fifty of gold."

With profuse thanks, the still-mystified Eilieen accepts the letter of ownership, sending the patrol on its way with a smile.  The letter, she tucks away.  Where had the box come from?  Hadn't the boys gone to do some fishing?  Aarnr is responsible for this.  Somehow.

Not that it's a bad thing, of course, what with the more-than fifty gold they've recovered, so...it's probably Oswald and Colwyn as well.

"That's a good deal, Colwyn," she admits from her place on a different wagon.  "Split between you delvers, it should buy something decent in Bard's Gate!"

Colwyn's total doesn't impress a man who view numbers as something that applies only to a reckoning of the foe, and tends to keep things at a nicely manageable fingers based scale, though Eilieen's remark does not pass with out comment.  "Who's a froggin' Elf ?" Aarnr asks heatedly ... though he does not let the slur distract him from his bandit vigil, his gaze flicking to likely ambush spots with a suddenness that suggests he might catch them out.

Colwyn closes the lid and tucks the box under the driver's bench, "It's all bein' a bit dirty, what with the mud, an' the slime, an' the water what was gettin' inter the box, but I reckons as 'ow it should clean up proper with a drop of fresh water."  He smiles at Eilieen, the good smile, the one that isn't quite so disturbing.

"At least we'll be affordin' a couple of nights stoppin' at a inn.  One what's 'avin' decent grub an' feather beds, an' some bugger ter wash yer fro... yer dress."

The caravan continues along the road, headed for Bard's Gate, and before long the bridge is lost in the forested distance behind them.  Honil and his remaining guards continue to keep a close watch on the road ahead and the forest to each side, while Aarnr's own ever vigilant gaze watches everything.

Time passes, as is its wont and, in keeping with ages old tradition, the sun moves across the sky.  Eventually a milestone indicates that they are only ten miles from Bard's Gate, and though the sun seems to be sinking towards the western horizon, it looks as though Honil's prediction regarding their arrival time in the city will be very close to the truth...

Colwyn pulls his cloak around him as the air starts to grow a little cooler.

As the caravan continues to follow the road towards Bard's Gate, the air continues to cool as the sun sinks lower.  Finally it is lost from view beyond the intervening trees, though the sky directly overhead, seen through gaps in the forest canopy, is still fairly bright.

The road, though, leads through gathering shadows which seem to reach out and snatch at the caravan as it passes.

And from somewhere, out in the forest, come two sounds... the splintering and cracking of wood, and an earth-shaking crash.  Neither, though, is as loud as the bellowing roar which follows them...

Eilieen has studied Colwyn all day with narrowed eyes, wondering at his slip.  A not-so veiled reference to common Zadasthan practices?  A personal quip regarding his thoughts on her own practices?  Some kind of offer, couched in thieves' cant?  Or an offer of a more personal nature?

She can't figure it out, and that vexes her; without the specifics, emotional response would be counterproductive.  She might fly into an offended fury, only to find out it was a Colwyn-style compliment.  Alternately, she might accept it with gratitude, only to find him creeping into her room at night, firm in the idea she had invited him.

What to do, what to do...

But at the roar, she lets out a small squeak.  Glancing about in some embarassment, the priestess coughs once or twice and continues in a slightly deeper tone than normal.  "What, pray tell, might that be?"  Her fingers scrabble across the boards of the wagon and find her spear.

Caugth up in the Colwyn Problem, she hasn't noticed the 'grasping shadows', but this is a different matter entirely.

Oh, wait!

"Aarnr!" she shouts out, hoping to pre-empt.  "Do NOT go running off - stay here with us!"

Aarnr has been studying the sides of the road all day, missing entirely Eilieen's sidelong glances at Colwyn, and grins fiercely as his patience is at last rewarded by what sounds like some huge beast casually felling trees that block its way.

Swiftly shouldering his bow, the priest leaps down from the cart, drawing his two-handed sword and ... stands around glumly as the Zadasthan rouses from her reverie and in no uncertain terms bids him hold.

"But there's a muddy-mettled mumble-news out there !" he pleads his case.  "It might froggin' get away !"

"What is all that racket?"

Bilfro stirs from his beauty sleep with legit complaint.  After all, who can sleep when trees makes such a fuss about falling down without anyone around to watch?

"Odysseus, fly forth and spy with your, uh, big eye, would you?" he says and nudges the large owl seated next to him.

One eye opens and glares at the offending nudger, as if considering whether to munch thereupon or not.

Then, with mighty flapping of mighty wings, the mighty owl shoves the less mighty nudger over and flies - with might, of course - up into the sky.

Eilieen manages to restrain Aarnr from running off in a random direction, in search of the source of the noises in th forest, while Bilfro dispatches his mighty stupendous familiar to wing his way above the trees and report whatever he discovers.

For long moments, Odysseus Warfield Leonidas, that winged observer, circles above the treetops, his keen-eyed gaze (alongside which the eyes of a hawk pale in comparison) sweeps the terrain for anything which might seem pertinent.

On the road, however, things are no less exciting, as Honil attempts to calm his drivers and urge the remaining guards to greater vigilance as his own eyes scan the nearby forest for whatever dangerous creature may be lurking there...  "I say, I have no idea what that might have been." he confides in the group of adventurers, "Have any of you heard anything like it before?  The roar, I mean, not the falling tree."

Bilfro watches the sky, and is soon rewarded with the sight of his mighty glorious companion flying towards him.

Eilieen continues the steely-eyed stare, hoping to keep Aarnr momentarily cowed.  Unlikely, but it seems to be working thus far.

"If we run off, perchance its companions - many of them - might attack this caravan from the other direction."  She's stretching things with this, Eilieen knows.  "Best we hold steady - if the beast is truly dangerous, Aarnr, it shall come to this caravan in search of food.  And we shall deal with it."

The priestess shrugs.  "If not, then perhaps it is a weak thing with a mighty roar, nothing more.  Let it SHOW its strength, and then we shall attack.  But not before!"

There's logic in that mess somewhere, she's certain, but it has escaped her.  Which might make it perfect for Aarnr, the priestess reflects.

She shoots a glance to Honil.  "I have no idea, but as you say - best we prepare."

Aarnr is neither able nor willing to follow the twists and turns of Eilieen's argument, but seems happy enough that it's designed to end in a fight.

"Froggin' owlbears," the priest informs the caravan master with confidence and a goodly measure of hope.  "Fought one before and the gleepin' rump-gnawin' hugger-mugger nearly killed us !" he reassures Honil.

The enormous owl swoops down and as the bird circles low above him, the mage starts to gain an impression of what it has seen with those mad, staring, yellow eyes. 

Odysseus briefly considers utilising Bilfro as a perch, then decides to use a pine tree instead.  A tall one...

Honil smiles at Aarnr's enthusiasm, but it doesn't seem particularly pleased at the thought of the creature, whatever it is, coming to attack his caravan.  In fact, he looks worried sick at the idea.  Secretly he hopes that it was just the sound of the wind, and the tree (being old and diseased) had simply toppled of its own accord.

Unfortunately he's not so sure that he could be that lucky.

"Owlbears?  Are you sure?  I've never seen one, but this sounded much too large to fit the descriptions I've heard."

"It..it..it..it.ititit.....ssss....."

Bilfro looks not only fully awake but also rather energized all of a sudden.

"Uh..uh...uh...a.a.a..."

A loud gulp and he appears more or less monochrome.  Must be magic at work.

"Duh..duh..duh..d.d.d...." he explains with a cool word and carefully chosen heads.

".....dragon......"

A high-pitch squeak more than anything else later and the incredibly keen mind of the very powerful wielder of the ancient arts of magic spots something out of order underneath the nearest wagon and ducks beneath in for a closer inspection.

"Giant owlbears," Aarnr replies cheerfully, though likely his response doesn't get the attention it deserves, following Bilfro's very dramatic announcement.

"Dragon !" the priest echoes (much, much more loudly) the wizened wizards words, hardly able to believe his luck.

"We ought to make a lot of noise, in case it misses us," the thought is unbearable.

Erista sits up, not quite sure she heard Bilfro, but Aarnr's repetition is loud and clear.  Her first thought is to look to Bilfro and ask, "Is Odysseus alright?"

Ozzy cringes at the sound of the 'D' word, then straightens himself up and pulls a javelin from his pack. He didn't want to appear weak in front of Aarnr, so he puffs out his chest and scans the horizons for any sign of the nightmare dragon growling in the woods. " Are you sure we are strong enough to face down a DRAGON?!" he squeaks, then shuts his mouth, his face flushing with embarrassment now that his words have betrayed his true feelings on the matter. " Well then, BRING IT ON!!" he covers, trying once again to seem larger than he actually is.

"Goodness!" Honil exclaims, his face growing suddenly pale "A dragon?  I don't believe I've ever heard of such a thing in these parts."

Colwyn snorts, "Aarnr can be 'avin' it, I reckons.  That pig sticker of 'is'll be makin' short work of it.  If'n it's a big one, there might even be enough meat on the bugger ter be fillin' 'is belly.  Bilfro, is yer owl sayin' what way the thing's bein' in?"

There seems to be a certain amount of consternation among the caravan guards and drivers at the idea of a dragon lurking nearby.  Honil starts trying to calm them down.  "Steady men.  It's probably a mistake.  I have, in my years of trading along this road, never heard of a dragon hereabouts.  As I say, it's probably... "

Another roar interrupts him, followed by cries of panic among the men.

"Were that bein' closer?  I's reckonin' as it were soundin' closer."  Colwyn moves closer to the wagon and kicks the wheel.  "Bilfro!  What way?"

Honil's men seems to be getting into the spirit of things though it might be better if they drop their voices an octave or two.  But then again, Aarnr is reliably informed that the civilised men of the western lands have no tentacles¹.

The priest joins in, roaring along with them. "OVER HERE, THOU CULLIONLY, CLAPPER-CLAWED CANKER-BLOSSOM !"

¹ Might have lost something in the translation.  Froggin' decadent language.

"Of course he's fine, he can fly away, can he not?" Bilfro replies to the health-related inquiry of his owly friend while he continues his inspection of the wagons undercarriage.

"It should be closer, it is after all heading approximately this way, from over there," he replies calmly with a dignified tremor to his voices as if sitting on a cart rolling down the side of a particularly rocky hillside while being stuck in adolescence before the breaking of the voice.  "With some luck it will do a thunderstorm and double back on itself, away from here."

A few heartbeats later he remembers to lift an arm to point out the direction, an arm as steady as a knights flail in combat, but at least it is a general indication.

Eilieen breifly considers tackling Aarnr, but holds off for two reasons: the first, it might pander to Zadasthan stereotype and people would misunderstand, the second that she'd likely just bounce.  "Aarnr!  Stifle yourself!" she hisses, moving up to stand facing the (vague) direction indicated by Bilfro.

"If that is a dragon, and it comes here, there is no chance we'll be able to stop it from killing some of the people we're supposed to protect!"  And us she considers, but keeps that to herself.

"Honil!" she calls - as quietly as one might possibly 'call' - "Now might be a time to have your people take refuge or find places to hide."

Keep them safe.  Don't run.  Keep them safe.  Don't run.  The words flow through her head like a mantra, and Eilieen clenches her spear with white-knuckled fingers.

Aarnr considers that 'stifle' - an odd word ... and in the context of Eilieen's curious attitude to the dragon, probably not one that means "go get it !"

The priest isn't sure who he's supposed to be protecting, but considers killing the dragon would go a fair way towards that.

However the priestess is definitely doing rather well at organising Honil's men into position for an ambush, which doesn't seem in accordance with her seeming dislike of the dragon ... all in all, most confusing.

Bilfro points, and it immediately becomes apparent that he is pointing roughly downwind.  There is another roar, and a sound like the sails of a ship snapping taut as the wind suddenly picks up.

And moments later, a shape appears circling overhead.  Serpentine in form, but with great wings, like those of a huge bat,  Its horned head tilts, and one yellow eye fixes itself  on the caravan...

And then the creature folds its wings and plummets, to land on two legs in the roadway, where it spreads its pinions threateningly.  Head low, and tail held high behind it, like that of a scorpion, complete with a vicious looking barb on the end.  A foul black liquid drips from that barb, to sizzle and burn upon the road surface.

It cocks its head to one side, and lets out a roar which sets the horses screaming in terror.

Honil's men are already scattering, though many of the guards are readying crossbows...

OOC: Initiative checks and descriptions of actions please.

Gods above.  It IS a dragon.  Eilieen can only stare in horrified disbelief as it slams down to the road.  An odd portion of her mind absently wonders if it is a dragon, shouldn't it be larger?  The rest of her mind argues that, no, it's plently large already.

"Zadastha!"  Somehow she manages not to stutter, and views it as a major victory.  "I call your lap-dog of love, your canine of care!"  Divine energies play about her, forming a ball of misty light on the roadway beside the priestess.  Raising her hand, she points a (slightly trembling) finger at the monstrosity before them.

"Go, doggie!"

OOC - Unsurprisngly, Summon Monster II (Celestial Riding Dog).  Also unsurprisingly, a wopping 8 for initiative.  :D

Erista doesn't even waste a moment to look at the thing.  Impressive though it is, she reckons she'll have plenty of time to study it later, after Aarnr is done with it.  For now, her job, she's quite sure, is to stay out of Bowbe's way, and with that in mind, she joins the scattering.

Seeing the actual dragon quickly has Ozzy reconsidering his plan to stand side by side with Aarnr in battling the beast. Dropping his javelin and picking up his lute, Ozzy decides it better to bolster those who are strong enough to battle the dragon by singing a ballad of encouragement...

" Come ride with me
 Through the veins of history
 I'll show you how god
 Falls asleep on the job

 And how can we win
 When fools can be kings
 Don't waste your time
 Or time will waste you.

 No one's gonna take me alive
 The time has come to make things right
 You and I must fight for our rights
 You and I must fight to survive..."

BARDIC SONG: Courage +1
INITIATIVE: 14
This message was last edited by the player at 23:12, Thu 16 Oct 2014.

The sight of the fearsome dragon landing in the middle of the road, is almost enough to make a man forget himself and thank the kindly gods.  Almost ...


"Bowbe, thou saucy, dismal-dreaming maggot-pie ... it's not froggin' BIG enough !"  Aarnr screams, eyes shining as he launches himself down the rough trail, sword held high over his head and a challenging roar building in his throat, as Bowbe's mantle settles over him, reducing the world to just himself and the foe, his bellow reaching full if entirely inarticulate volume as he plows into the creature, swinging mightily if rather recklessly.

There is a dragon on the road.  An ugly one, with greenish-gray scales, horns, and claws.  And breath that smells like something died in its mouth about a month ago, and is still there.  Colwyn is, momentarily, lost for words.

And then he reaches deep, and takes inspiration from the words of a wise man...

"Frog that!"

Standing well back, and hoping that the dragon isn't one of those fire-breathing types that he's heard about, he fits an arrow to his bow.  He's also heard tell that some of these dragons have a weak spot in their hide, right over their heart...

The trouble is, he has no idea where a dragon keeps its heart, so he just aims for the body in general, and releases the arrow...

As the dragon circles overhead, Fergus reaches into the back of the cart and grabs his scythe.  By the time the monster lands on the road, the big farmer is already running towards it, right behind Aarnr.

Putting all of his weight into the blow, and howling a challenge, he swings the scythe at the creature's head...

Brave Sir Bilfro find that the dragon did not land on his hiding place while he fumbled to retrieve his weapon of dragon slaying, the crossbow that for some unexplainable reason appears smaller than ever before.

When the dragon lands he manages to boldly not shoot himself by mistake but instead lift the mighty crossbow in the general direction of the beast and fire.  There is a distinct possibility that his eyes still were open at the time.

The huge scaled beast roars and hisses and snaps its teeth as Aarnr and Fergus charge towards it.  The caravan drivers mostly scatter into the woods, though one decides to try to control the panic-stricken horses...

Erista, quite sensibly, turns to run, dodges frantically as she notices a rearing horse directly in her path, trips over a root, and ends up sprawled in the dirt as one of the drivers (possibly called Jed) grabs the animal's reins.  He manages to yank the horses head to one side, and the plunging hooves miss Erista by a couple of feet... 

Reaching the dragon, Aarnr slashes at it furiously with his massive sword, only to see the creature rear back, and the heavy blade misses narrowly, to cut nothing but air.  Fergus has no more success, as his scythe sweeps in a wide arc which fails to connect with anything solid.

Behind them, Ozzy's voice fills the air with song, and his companions (as well as Honil's men) start to feel their spirits lift as the music starts to fill their hearts and minds with courage.

Colwyn grins, and yells exultantly as he sends an arrow over Fergus' head, and deep into the monster's neck, eliciting a hiss of anger and pain.  A moment later, a bolt from Bilfro's crossbow, launched from his solitary redoubt, embeds itself in the things shoulder, with a similar effect on its temper.

The massive jaws lunge forward, gaping wide, then snapping closed inches from Fergus' face as the big farmer leans back to avoid them.  Then the barbed tail lashes out, and Fergus isn't fast enough to avoid that, as it strikes his arm.  He roars in agony as the creature's venom courses through his veins.

Then he roars again, but it is not pain that makes his eyes blaze, and he ignores the blood pouring down his arm as the scythe starts to swing again...

Eilieen calls out a prayer to Zadastha, and feels the power of the Goddess flow within her, even as Honil and his remaining guards send a volley of crossbow bolts whirring towards the monstrosity which stands, like some vast, hideously squamous bird, on the road.

There is a joyous bark from behind her, and she turns to see a hound with golden fur bounding out of the forest...

OOC: Probably could have gone better.  The... er... dragon hasn't managed to kill anybody yet.  Still, I live in hope.

Unfortunately everybody gets the benefit of Ozzy's song next round.  Curses!

Combatant                Init
Erista                    23
Aarnr Foultongue          16
Fergus Andarson           15
Oswald Osbourne           14
Colwyn Akbar              14
Bilfro Gabbins            12
Wyvern                    12 (AC=17)  Okay, yes, it's a wyverine wyvern.
Eilieen                    8
Honil                      5
Caravan Guards             4

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

Fear, strategy, common sense.  These are words for lesser men.

The cacophony of the creature's cries, the roars from Fergus, and his own not melodious bellows, serve to drive Aarnr forward in a frenzied fashion as he stabs his sword into the belly of the beast, again with more brute force than any real accuracy.

Somehow the minute crossbow has enlarged somewhat after the incident where its equally minute quarrel met the barbed dragon.  With a steady hand like that of a victim of the shakes in a barrel rolled down a even rockier hill than in the previous post the magnificent magician replaces the quarrel and aims yet again more or less in the direction of the aforesaid beast.

That would be the dragon, not him, even if ladies of the opposite gender persuasion no doubt would profess differently.  Really.

Oh, he also let fly the quarrel.

Rolling out from under the horse's hooves, Erista comes back to her feet just in time to see the Wyvern strike Fergus.  "No!" she shouts, moving a few more steps away from the thundering horse and pulling out her sling.  She whips a stone out towards the Wyvern, but shakily, and too fast, leaving her to watch in frustration as it falls to the ground well short of her target.

Ozzy watches with the archers of the group, hammering out the chords as he builds toward the thunderous and flowing solo...

No one's gonna take me alive
 The time has come to make things right
 You and I must fight for our rights
 You and I must fight to survive

 No one's gonna take me alive
 The time has come to make things right
 You and I must fight for our rights
 You and I must fight to survive.

---

COURAGE +1 bonus. Just keep singing 'Muse / Knight of Cydonia'.

Her doggie is here, and charging into the fray.  Eilieen has other concerns.  Fergus is injured, and such spines on beasts oft carry toxins; her friend could be dying, even now.

The priestess bursts into a run, heading straight for Fergus.  And the Wyvaat.

The doggie joins her, though his target is more the beast than her ally.

OOC - Full movement to reach Fergus, not much else I can do.  Doggie will Charge attack if it can, going for the Wyvaat.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Tue 21 Oct 2014.

Fergus is angry.  Well... that's probably an understatement.  Roaring fit to terrify Aarnr, he puts all of his strength and bulk behind the scythe, as he drives it in a flashing arc at the monster's scaly neck.

The impact is as loud as a falling tree...

OOC: Hit roll: 30.  Critical: 19.  Damage: 56.  Fergus banned for unnecessary roughness.

Colwyn raises his bow again and aims carefully at the dragon's head.  Then he curses, and yelps as the bow string snaps, and one end of it whips across his cheek, leaving a thin streak of red, incongruously bright against the grime.

"Nadgers!"

Ozzy's song continues to fill the air, and lend courage to his allies.

Erista quickly recovers from her near miss with the horse, and sends a sling stone flying in, approximately, the general direction of the wyvern.  But only approximately... the stone strikes the surface of the road and comes to an abrupt halt.

Colwyn prepares an arrow, and howls in pain as the bowstring breaks and opens up his cheek, while Bilfro sends a crossbow bolt thunking into the trunk of a particularly vicious looking tree...

Aarnr is, meanwhile, just getting into his stride.  He drives his heavy sword through the wyvern's scaly hide, and is rewarded by the sight and stench of the thing's foul smelling blood.  The monster staggers for an instant...

... and in that instant, Fergus, almost senseless with rage, swings his scythe.  The steel blade cuts deep, through scale and flesh and bone, and beheads the beast in a welter of vile ichor.

Silence makes every effort to descend, but is prevented from doing so by the howls and screams of the victorious Aarnr and Fergus as they continue to hack at the lifeless body of their fallen foe.  The creature's head lays on its side, some distance off, staring at the sky with one glassy eye, the other, presumably, being equally busy staring at the ground.

Eilieen and her golden dog slow down as they approach Fergus and Aarnr who, it must be said, still appear to be spoiling for a fight...

Honil relaxes, lowering his crossbow, "Stand down lads, victory is ours this day, and the beast will terrorise no more travellers on this stretch of road."  His men start to lower their own weapons, and one goes to fetch the drivers back.

OOC: Well, that escalated quickly.

"Ayup." Colwyn says, blood trickling down his face as he peers at the fallen dragon which lays, unmoving, in the middle of the road, "That were goin' better than what I were expectin'."  Then his mind adds as a caution, 'lessin' it's only playin' dead.

Though even his mind, wary and suspicious though it can be, is forced to admit that laying on the ground with your head some distance from your neck is probably taking the old "playing dead" ruse a tad too far.  Just a tad.

He drops his arrow back into the quiver and studies his bow (technically just a stick at the moment).  He has a spare bowstring somewhere, so he should be able to repair the weapon once they're moving again.

Talking of which...

Honil steps a little closer to the dragon, "We'll need to move that devil out of the road before we can continue on our way."

Eventually even Aarnr realises that the dragon has stopped moving and the rain of blows upon the beheaded corpse slowly come to a halt, leaving the priest puffing and panting amidst the gore, leaning on his bloodied blade.

Aarnr surveys the scene noting the beast's head lying a ways off and grins at Fergus.  "Thou are a feisty flirt-gill !" he congratulates his friend. "Now ... tooth or claw ?  Which do ye think will make the best trophy ?  I reckon a fobbin' tooth will do me."

After extracting a suitable fang in a manner that simultaneously brings the invention of dentistry much closer yet would terrify any potential patients, the priest will assist in dragging the body clear of the wagon-tracks, with due respect for such a might foe.

"Looks like it nicked thee," Aarnr points out to Fergus as he spots the blood pouring from his friend's wound.  "Froggin' thing missed me," he adds disappointedly.

"Nicked me?" Fergus says, curiously, and looks at his arm, where the blood still flows, "It did, didn't it?  Don't reckon it'll do it again."

His manner is strange, now that the rage is burning itself out.  He seems dazed, almost, and a little unsteady on his feet.  "Won't do it again."  He plants the butt end of the scythe in a rut, and leans on the weapon, as if it were a walking staff.

"Should make a fine scar," Aarnr agrees generously, trying not to show his jealousy.

"Here," Eilieen calls, hurrying to Fergus' side.  "Let me look at that - it could be envenomed!"  Gripping his arm, she urges him to sit while seeking out her healing kit.  "I need to look at that..."

Quickly, she begins examining the wound and applying poultices without regard for any objections Fergus might have.

The doggie remains, for the moment, sitting down beside her with its tail slapping the ground as it wags.

OOC - Using the Heal Skill to attempt to deal with any poison!  Should I roll?

Ozzy sighs. It all ended so quickly, he hadn't even had a chance to play through the thundering lute solo at the end of the song. " Wow, that went quick." he says. Upon hearing the suggestion to clear the carcass from the road, Ozzy jumps up and says, " Dibs on the tail! That poison is worth its weight in gold to the right buyer!" pulling on his gloves and yanking the dagger from his belt, he approaches the 'Wyvatt' to carve off the bulbous tail portion holding the poison gland of the monster.

"The dragon hit me with his tail." Fergus says, perhaps unnecessarily, "He won't do it again.  He's learned his lesson."  Fergus is rambling as he sits in the road and lets Eilieen treat his wound.  His reaction suggests that the wound is, indeed, filled with venom of some description.

As does the spreading patch of blackened skin.

Ozzy returns with his grisly trophy.

Meanwhile, the drivers have come back, and Honil concentrates on getting the caravan ready to move onward again.

Fergus lets out a yell of pain, as Eilieen squeezes his arm to force the poison out of the wound, then wraps it tightly with a poultice, held in place by the cleanest piece of cloth she can find.

Fergus, his face now more like its natural complexion, gets shakily to his feet...

Since he had a decisively helping hand in defeating the dragon he warned everyone about, Bilfro has somehow managed to return to his spot inside the wagon rather than underneath it, seeing as the issue he spotted earlier with the wagon is all taken care of -- all while doing up close, personal battle with a dragon as large as a three story mansion, of course.

Poison.  Something to be avoided at all cost.  Indeed, at such a cost that he has absolutely no knowledge about it whatsoever.  Safer that way, accidents do happen, after all.

Especially to him, as he is evidently cursed.  And blessed, in so many more ways, his personality included.

"Zadastha's heart," Eilieen whispers.  "That was a close one, indeed.  Fergus, if you feel anything change about this injury, for the worse, you must not be stoic about it.  This is no normal injury - there are toxins within it, and should I not have treated it properly, it could kill you.  Please, please let me know if aught goes awry."

With that, she holds her hand out over the wound and focuses her will.  "Lady of Love, grant this wounded heart a safe release from his pain," she quietly chants, the space between her palm and the wound flaring with a pinkish glow.

OOC - Cure light wounds!  Heals 4 + 5 for Eilieen's 'level' (modified for Healing Granted Power, or whatever they're called now :).

Perhaps not surprisingly, Aarnr knows a thing or two about the treatment of poisons (he does hail from a festering swamp, after all), though is surprised to learn Fergus has fallen victim to such an insidious and invidious ill.

The priest dutifully inspects Eilieen's poultice, nose wrinkling in disgust that it is not nearly smelly enough, but since he lacks the right kind of mud to improve upon that, contents himself with echoing her kind warning, less kindly.

"I'll froggin' kill ye if thou die, thou barnacle !"

The wounded Fergus, seeming a little better now, is helped into the cart, where he is instructed to rest for a while.  This situation, naturally, leaving Aarnr to drive the vehicle.

The dead monster moved from the road, and it's tail and head safely in the cart with Fergus, the highway is clear for traffic once more.  There is a brief surge of activity, and the caravan sets forth again, making its way eastward while the sun slides down the sky to the west.

Eventually, in the last glow of twilight, the caravan emerges from the forest to find a great wall, topped with torches, just ahead.  The road runs directly towards it, and through a large gate, which stands open (though guarded).  Beyond the wall, buildings can be seen reaching up towards the darkening sky.

The evening air carries the cries of hawkers and street vendors over the wall, along with the all the other sounds of a populous city.

The caravan moves on, past the wall, and in to Bard's Gate.

Honil waits as the caravan passes within and asks the party, "Is there anything you need help with?  I can direct you to a reputable inn, or to merchants that I know to be reasonably honest."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:41, Sun 02 Nov 2014.

Hooray!  A city!

A real, honest to goodness city, with clothiers, inns, and possibly baths!  Good ones!  And food, oh, variety in the food.  Eilieen draws in a deep breath, ignoring the scent of dung in favor of savouring the aromas rising from some of the vending carts.

Possibly best not to look too closely at what they're cooking, but the smells...!

"Both would be appreciated, Sir Honil," she eagerly replies.  "It would be nice to have some word of where we might safely spend some of our hard-earned, hard-won coin."

The business of haggling and dickering, Aarnr will leave to those best suited for such endeavours, and while safe is a relative term, around the barbarian and soft beds and perfumed baths are for fops and dandies, the prospect of food and drink is very appealing.

These city guards seem fat and lazy - how else to explain the lack of challenge as he passed their gates ?  Though perhaps the severed head and tail of the dragon upon the cart has them quaking in their shiny boots ?!!  Bah !  Aarnr dismisses them from his considerations - such men are not worth killing.

Ozzy asks Honil, " Would you know a nice apothecary I could visit?" he holds his grisly wrapped trophy of the wveryn's tail like a small baby in his arms, doing his best to avoid the nasty black poison already staining the sack. " You want for anything bro?" Ozzy asks Aarnr, looking up at him as a little brother naturally would, " I mean, ...other than another fight?" He planned on selling the tail and buying himself a nice hot bath and a new suit of clothing. He had rinsed off the Orc stink, but it never really went away.

"Ale," Aarnr replies, his broad grins at that 'apothecary' perhaps betraying a slight misunderstanding.  The priest is vaguely aware that people have been giving him coin from the various sources from which it's been acquired, but has no concept of the value, or indeed of needing anything other than a drink.

Honil nods cheerfully at the suggestions and requests.  "The Tradeway runs along this side of the city, inside the walls.  If you follow it, which is easy enough as it is nice and broad, you'll come to a market square, of sorts.  You can't miss it, the town hall stands at the north end.  Most of the traders will likely be closing down for the day, but there are a couple of decent inns around the square.  An apothecary too, as I recall, and that might still be open."

"I would suggest that you stay at The Full Moons tonight, and deal with the traders when they reopen for business in the morning.  Most of the trade establishments are honest enough, and the city watch keep them that way.  The same goes for the market traders.  Street vendors... well, those you take your chances with."

Standing a little way off from Honil, Colwyn sniffs at the air and smiles at the scents of the city.  Bard's Gate.  Famed far and wide for its cosmopolitan ways (though he has to say that being "cosmopolitan" doesn't make the air smell much better than any other city).

Still, it's a city.  He feels right at home already...