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...