Erista, too, has been awake but somewhat reluctant to leave the warmth of her blanket until Eileen calls out to her.  She brightens at that, quickly climbing out, smiling.  Hurrying over to the priestess, a bit self-consciously brushing her hair into place - she's about to have the attention of a Goddess, after all! - she looks at her with a mix of anxiousness and anticipation.  "What do I do?" she asks.  "Does it matter how I stand?  Do we pray together?"

"Bad luck and a dangerous road..." Eilieen murmurs.  "Fell beasts walk when the moon's light is gone.  We shall need to be more careful."

She says that quietly, in the hopes of not antagonizing Aarnr.

"But the cold I could do without," she continues more normally, staring with some amusement at Colwyn and his blanket.  Then Erista arrives, all full of energy.  "How you stand?  Be yourself is all Zadastha ever asks...well, that and love one another*.  You might pray if you wish, but no, there is  no need."  With a happy smile, she sits herself in front of the sorceress.  "This is a blessing upon you; reciprocation is unnecessary.  And it is my pleasure," she finishes with a small wink.

The priestess cares not for what they teach at the temple.

Reaching out, Eilieen takes Erista's hands in hers.  "Oh Zadastha," she begins.  "Lady of Love and Care.  Regard this shining heart with favour, that her raiment may be as bright and new as her beautiful spirit!"

Rosy light fills the dawn air, coalescing about the two women.  It focuses further, seeping into the mage's cloak and white dress.

OOC - Mending!  :D

* And smite undead, but that goes without saying.

Aarnr does not heed Colwyn's new slur upon their faithful cart-pullers.  Indeed 'ekin oxen !' is but a mild curse by the standards of his best invective.  Nor does Eilieen's suggestion that more care be taken cause even a stir, though if it had, he would have assured the priestess that he'll be taking the utmost measures not to miss the fell beasts.  And perhaps someone could bang together a couple of pots in the hope of attracting them ?

No, neither his companions, nor the smell of bacon (another invention of a decadent civilisation of which Aarnr thoroughly approves) causes him to turn a hair.  For this morning the priest is embroiled in silent battle with is god ...

For Bowbe in what some might call wisdom, but those who truly know the god know as low cunning, does not insist that his faithful remonstrate long and loud to wrest their daily due from him when surrounded by a sea of foes ... no, in such time his priests bite their tongues (sometimes literally) and loose their litany of abuse in silent if not at all serene contemplation.

Aarnr sits on a log, lost in that inner battle, his face a rictus of strain and annoyance.

Eilieen intones a prayer to her goddess, and Erista's outfit is rendered whole again, and so clean that it fairly gleams in the fog-dimmed sunlight.  Colwyn makes a mental note not to sit too close to the halfling - her nigh-radiant attire would make his own dishevelled and grubby garments look a thousand time worse.  Also her dazzling appearance could attract arrows from concealed archers...

Both of these concerns he covers up in one simple phrase, and a broad grin: "Blimey!  Yer cleans up nice, doesn't yer?"

Then he turns his attention to Eilieen, "'Ere... is that there grub bein' near ready?  I's bein' starved, an' it's smellin' so good as it's bein' makin' me 'ungry"

Erista beams as the frayed edges of her dress fill themselves in and the stains of the road fade away.  Though it's the wrong season for bluebirds, Astral does perk up, flying over to perch curiously on her shoulder, pupils wide with predatory instinct.

When it's done, she looks down, and actually blushes a bit.  "I'm not sure my spirit is this bright!" she admits, laughing.  "Thank you!"  She does a quick twirl, humming to herself.

Eilieen laughs with delight, clapping her hands together; this is what she lives for, to put smiles upon faces.  Not humor, no; she fails miserably in that category.  Rather, smiles that reflect a love of life are her calling.

Could she do this for all, she would give up everything.

"Glorious!" the priestess concludes.  "I should have done this ages ago...unsurprisingly, you look splendid, Erista!"  A smile is shot to Colwyn, next.  "Indeed she does, and the food is ready, my friend.  Enjoy as you will."  That said with a wave of the hand toward where breakfast, now cooked, awaits.

A glance toward Aarnr dims her ebullience, though,  and she ponders his expression.  It seems...more fierce than usual.  Glowering, even.  Is it something she said?  "In any case," Eilieen continues, "I shall ensure things do not fall into such disrepair in the future."  An errant thought pulls another laugh from the pale woman.  "A reason to keep me well, I suppose," she muses.

By no way of coincidence, the serving up of breakfast sees Aarnr abandon his morning struggle with his god in favour of food, as Bowbe expects of his priests.

With no sign of the outer turmoil that gripped him, Aarnr greets his companions with enthusiasm, cheered as he is by the way the subterfuge is progressing nicely, though Erista's appearance is somewhat different in an alarming sort of way.

Having ascertained that the Halfling does not actually appear to be on fire (there have been outbreaks before of which he'd had no memory), the priest looks around the rest of his grimy fellows, assuring himself that none of them share Erista's affliction.

The way they're talking to her suggests that she's not actually died and become a celestial being of any kind (his training was filled with warnings about them, though he nor any other heeded them at all).

Some sort of curse, perhaps ...

As breakfast proceeds, Arkan (who had been sitting quietly, pondering the books, since waking) suddenly speaks.

"Some of the volumes are harmless enough.  Treatises on beasts and birds, on herbs, or on the geography of the world.  Most are less so... books on magic, and its use and misuse, or grimoires of spells.  These latter I have set aside in the trunk under the bench of the new cart.  In common with most wizards, Tursach has protected these tomes with fell magics to prevent rivals gaining access to his notes.  Attempting to read them without the proper incantations would slay a person outright, or blast the mind  into nothingness."

He pauses for a moment, taking a sip from his cup, then asks Eilieen, "This tea is uncommonly good.  What is it?"

He savours the tea for a little while, before continuing, "Where was I?  Oh, yes.  I thought to check in Derindin.  If there is a powerful mage there, or a college of the arcane arts, they might have the means to remove the protective charms, or to destroy the books."

"Froggin' burn 'em !" Aarnr suggests helpfully.

Aarnr never touches tea himself, taking only water if he must and anything alcoholic when he can get it, though Arkan's question confuses him.  It seems rather obvious that the answer is 'gleepin' tea, thou hedgepig', though of course the priest is too wise to say so, merely narrowing his eyes and scowling a little more.

The place Derindin is entirely unfamiliar, but as he understand such things it is necessary to pass through some places in order to get to other places, such is the way these civilised folks lay out their roads.  In his homeland, of course, if you want to get anywhere you just face the right direction and start walking.  And as the occasion demands it, wading, climbing, swimming, slaying ... whatever is required en route.

"Burnin'd be workin' fer me." Colwyn chips in, "Only as I wouldn't be likin' ter be sittin' on that there bench with them there books bein' under it, like."

Arkan frowns and shakes his head.  "The books are only dangerous if you try to read one of them.  Sitting on a bench, with the books locked in a trunk below you does not present any danger.  I will note, mind, that sometimes these books will protect themselves... trying to burn one might present as much danger as attempting to read it, depending on which spells have been used to ward it."

"Why, I heard tell of a man in my homeland who tried to tear some pages from such a book, with the intent of selling them, and he was devoured by a demon that was bound into the cover."

Colwyn pales under the dirt on his face.  "Yer right.  It's probably bein' best ter give them ter somebody else ter sort out.  Burnin' ain't bein' the answer ter ever'thin'."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:20, Wed 04 Sept 2019.

While Aarnr can spot the obvious mistake in Colwyn's logic (which coincides with his general belief that burning can solve all problems), even he is impressed with the sheer malice involved in inflicting dangerous books of a possibly demonic variety upon someone (which coincides with his general belief that all books are dangerous).

Sitting on them ... amuses him, though it may mean he has the bench to himself if others don't see the humour in it.

"Will we reach froggin' Drmmnumnum today ?" the priest mumbles a little over the name of their destination as he inquires politely of his companions.

With a shake of his head, Arkan says, "As far as I can tell, we should reach Derindin tomorrow, or maybe the day after, depending on the weather, the condition of the road, and how many times we have to battle enemies along the way."

The latter is, of course, not really a factor, since the battles are usually over fairly quickly... but it seems like a wise idea to give Aarnr something to look forward to in order to distract him from troubling details, such as the duration of a journey.

"The tea?" Eilieen muses. "I'm not entirely sure...it's a blend we picked up some time back, at one of the cities we visited."  Truth be told, she has little idea exactly which one it is; when Eilieen purchases a bag of new tea, she tosses it into the satchel for tea, then chooses randomly from the contents every morning.  "But I am well-pleased you enjoy it!" she replies; that's true enough, as when each tea is chosen, it's with an eye (and nose) to quality.

It's just that she can't tell them apart.

"Only a day's travel to Derindin.  Hmm."  The priestess ponders.  "I wonder how many battles we COULD fight between now and then.  I would think if the road were clogged with evildoers, they might end up turning upon one another until only the most strong remained."  Further consideration reveals that to be a bad thought, and Eilieen pales slightly.  "Hopefully not."

The day is going well for Aarnr.  The subterfuge is working and they seem to have completely fooled this camp of varlots, flap-dragons and whoresons, while there seems to be a general consensus that the journey on will be punctuated with battles and blood a-plenty, so the longer, the better !

Eilieen does raise a serious concern, though the solution (suprisingly not involving burning, at least not directly) is a simple one to the priest's mind.

"Not if we froggin' kill the filthy fen-sucked footlickers first !" Aarnr avows, albeit with accidental alliteration.

As the group eat their breakfast, engaging in discussions of tea and the dangers of the road (though to some, such dangers actually seem to be the major attraction of a long journey), others in the camp are stirring.  Some seem to be keen to leave - horses and wagons are moving and making their way through the fog and back to the road, amid shouted farewells and occasional snatches of song.

The party's own horse and oxen seem restless as the animals around them begin to move.

A man clad in deep blue robes walks past, accompanied by two of the camp guards, and his deep, melodic voice is raised in a chant as he passes by reading from a scroll...

"... never to be lost.

The road awaits all who will walk it,
Welcomes them with open arms.
Sefagreth's blessing upon the travellers,
Swift journey all, safe from hazard.
Mighty Sefagreth, Soul of the Highway,
Guides and defends all who travel.
Merchant, mendicant, noble, priest,
He leads them all to journey's end.

Matters not which road you follows,
Sefagreth will guide you true... "

The priest vaguely recalls a drunken conversation (one of many in which he learned of gods other than Bowbe) regarding Sefagreth, who he surely knows to be an evil god of Death.

Certainly the song the Death-god's priest is singing confirms that ...

... though it matters not, for it seems Sefagreth lies in wait only for those who are walking, so while oxen and horse will have to take their chances, those who ride this day will handily avoid Sefagreth's clutches.

Aarnr smirks.

Erista waves thank to the blue-robed man, and starts cleaning up after breakfast, using a bit of her own magic to clean the pot and dishes in a matter of moments.  As she works, she happens to glance up at Aarnr, and smiles to herself as she turns back to putting things away - even he's smiling!  Things are certainly looking up, she muses.

Once that's all done and put away, she takes her spot in the wagon, ready to set forth to Derwhatever.

Colwyn studies the two carts, and considers his options.

Obviously riding a cart has got to be better than walking, but beyond that things become a little more foggy.  On the open hand, the new cart is to be driven by Arkan, but is apparently loaded with dangerous, possibly even lethal, books of magic).  And on the knife hand. the other cart is to be driven by Aarnr, who is equally dangerous and possibly even just as lethal.

It's a tough choice, and the longer he thinks about it the more attractive walking looks.  But in the end he decides that sitting right at the very back of the ox cart might be the way to go.  From there he can easily drop to the ground if danger threatens.

Whether it be from Aarnr, or from some other source.

Before too long, the group are ready to leave the camp.  With no little shouting and cursing the carts join the other traffic moving down the hill.

At the base of the hill the carts veer eastward, following the Trade Way towards Derindin and their ultimate destination,  Traffic on the road here, east of the Forest Kingdoms, seems to be a little heavier - the group of bold adventurers see several wagons and numerous riders on horses, as well as a goodly number of people simply walking to their destination.

The early fog clears somewhat as the morning progresses, but by noon much of the surrounding terrain is still little more than hazy suggestions of hills and trees glimpsed through patches of lingering mist.

The road itself runs along a sort of raised causeway, elevated an average of five feet above the general level of the land, which seems somewhat marshy hereabouts.  From somewhere, out in the mist, comes the occasional calls of cranes, or the booming of a bittern.

Towards noon, a group of horsemen appear out of the mist, heading west.  Closer, and it can be seen that they appear to be a troop of armoured knights...

Aarnr curses himself for ever listening to the squirrel-chewin', wart-necked followers of Oghma, for whereas before he could have joined battle with these armoured pignuts, now he is forced to at least consider not immediately launching the attack.

"These feckless toadies might," his tone reveals how much he hopes that's not true, "be the froggin' guards of Gonder," he warns his companions, at least those who are within shouting range.

"Or bawdy, dizzy-eyed haggards from Rappan Athuk," the priest continues, much more hopefully, showing how keen he is to consider both options.

"Greet the gorbellied, scale-sided skains-mates as they froggin' deserve," he suggests, not unreasonably.

It has been a more delightful journey of late, and the priestess is especially enamoured of the bitterns...but now, an interruption.

"Best we greet them, then," Eilieen states, rising to her feet in the cart, "and discern their intentions.  But with the traffic, I expect they are road wardens...of a better sort than we have encountered before."  She waves a hand in the air.  "Ho!  What news on the road?"

Colwyn twists around to look at the knights, casting a critical eye over them.  "Blimey!  They's rich buggers.  Fancy armour they's 'avin'."

The knights themselves divide into two groups which file past on each side of the carts.  Their helmeted heads turn neither right nor left as they go by.  One of them, their leader perhaps, stops when Eilieen calls out.  He waits for the rest of the troop to pass, before riding closer to the cart.

He tilts his head forward, though his face remains concealed by his helm.  "The road from here to Derindin should be clear.  At least we encountered no trouble on the way here.  Derindin itself is currently holding a festival to celebrate the forthcoming marriage of the Honorable Sargolf Hergost, the Lord Mayor of the city.  Those who travel there should be aware that most of the better inns have no rooms available."

Aarnr listens glumly.  That the bitterns which Eilieen pointed out have invaded Derin-dindins and stuffed themselves to the point where they have no room available is a blow indeed, for the one thing cities usually provide is a good feast.

Though it's unusual that one of the rabble would be appointed mayor ...

Arkan clears his throat, and asks, "If you don't mind, Sir Knight, where is your troop bound for?"

The man's helm turns towards Arkan, then turns back to briefly study Eilieen and Erista.

"We are going to Bard's Gate, where we will meet the bride-to-be, and escort her to Derindin for the nuptials.  This wedding will forge an alliance between the families of the mayors of the two cities.  Something that will increase stability and safety on the Trade Way."

Aarnr doubts these tin-clad puttocks will survive the journey to Bard's Gate (the name rings a vague bell), but since he has no idea what nuptials are (some kind of exotic pudding, perhaps), he wisely doesn't pursue the issue.  Besides ...

"The road back that way is froggin' clear too," the priest jerks a meaty thumb over his shoulder.  "We didn't have any gleepin' trouble either," he boasts.  There were quite a lot of sudden deaths, but to his mind it was all in sport.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:09, Thu 26 Sept 2019.