Earthday, 1 Summerrise, 1165 AS. (Quarter 2)





The village of Runething is currently home to the adventurers. It is a small settlement, numbering between 30-40 inhabitants, most of whom were at one time ghost children or escaped captives of a vicious clan of horse raiders.

There are a few militia guards, a small store with a blacksmith and a few patchy fields for growing vegetables and grazing for livestock.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:43, Fri 05 June 2020.

Two men, half-elves both, stand at the edge of the wood near a small settlement by a great lake. They eye each other with suspicion.

BREVIS: "Do you remember the ending to the credo? 'Birds of a feather, trees with no leaves, Darkness will reign, unless we're all...' The last word seems to escape me, you must have sung it..."

CAILE: "Thieves, of course, stealing back the light from the dark realm of death."

BREVIS: "Good to see you again, brother."

CAILE: "Likewise, brother. The years have not been kind, but at least I am still adding more to the tally. As are you. What happened to the other Childer? Faertid, Galen and Diara? Did they also make it?"

BREVIS: "I heard Galen was either killed by a Rust Brother or became one, the translation of the message was unclear.
The other two, I cannot say. Did you leave Harga on good terms?"

CAILE: "I'd rather not speak more of Harga, the Wastes lie behind me and only sorrow can come from dwelling upon it."

An elderly human emerges from the woods, he looks disoriented and seems to be searching for something. He notices the two men.

HARINDER: "What year is it? Where am I? You there. Name?"

CAILE: "Who? Me?"

HARINDER: "You two. Both of you. And the names of your fathers."

CAILE: "My name is Caile, and I just arrived here this morning. I came here seeking my old childhood friend, Brevis."

The travel-worn half-elf covered in dust and caked mud points to the man next to him.

CAILE: "The name of my father I do not know, for I grew up a street urchin in a small township south of Alderstone. As did my brother here."

Caile puts a hand on Brevis' shoulder. A slight smile appears on his lips and the fatigue from the journey seems to vanish into the air.

BREVIS: "It may require some patience on your part, for you ask difficult questions. Would you describe yourself as a patient man?"

HARINDER: "Then I know you not. What year is it? Does this place still go under the name of Thing? You, half-blood. How many winters do you count?"

BREVIS: "I'll take that as a "no", so i'll be brief.  Brevis. And I was here last winter. That's one."

CAILE: "I think he's asking for your age, brother. Though in a rather roundabout way, it seems. You'd think that humans would be quick about it, considering their short lifespans. Oh, such tragedy is life, here one moment, gone the next. As for the year, according to whom? The Rust Brothers? The dwarves, humans or elves? There are as many ways to count the years as there are kin in these forbidden lands. And as for the name of this here village, I was told the name Runething as I searched this land for my long lost friend."

HARINDER: "The Runes. Yes. That makes sense. *mutters* Could there be that there are no one left? I must seek elsewhere. Perhaps the stables..."

BREVIS: "Yes, Runething accurately captures the essence of this place.  A vague and rudimentary sense of it's own importance. Have you questions for the horses as well?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 18:01, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 2):

(whispers to Caile, while following with mild discretion, given the fact our Human seems to have but one leg to stand)

This one in particular (gestures toward Harinder) seems to have counted many winters, despite his overly inquisitive nature.  I must be tired to have given him my favored name.  Stay with me, Brother, for it seems my footing is unsure.  Let's find out why this Human is breathing our air.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Tue 26 May 2020.

In reply to Brevis (msg # 3):

Caile nods in agreement and lowers his voice to a barely audible hush.

"Forgive me, Brother, it was I who gave it up. I can only blame it on the joy I felt for finally finding you again after all these years. I will not be so careless again, I swear."

Caile quietly observes the elderly human as the two walk along behind him.

"I do not think we should discount this one, Brother, though he seems frail and unsound of mind. I sense that there is more to him than the naked eye can see. How else could such a seemingly broken soul have survived in these cursed lands for so long?"

He shudders and throws a glance over his shoulder, as if hunted.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:02, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 4):

Rounding the bend a village can be seen not too far off in the distance.

This must be the place, none too soon if I might add...

He says to himself aloud. After getting a bit closer he sees three persons having paused for a conversation and not wanting to be rude approaches, cautiously, and at a distance that would allow him an escape, or at least a chance to draw his sword.

Well met fellow travellers! Fine day for a stroll is it not?

As he is now close enough to get a good look at the two half elves and the old man, a quizzical look can briefly be seen in his eyes, a slight squint as if trying to focus, but quickly returns to a friendly smile.

In reply to Lothar (msg # 5):

To Caile: Perhaps the south is burning.  It seems we've more guests.

In reply to Lothar (msg # 5):

To Lothar:  I'm not one for strolls, certainly not at this time of day.  In fact, I don't plan on going very far at all, though plans can always change.  Come closer so that I may hear you better, my attention is hard of hearing.

The old man already hurried down the road, as if hunted, or even haunted.

Haunted he was. By the one demon he could not tame - that of an old man's shame. He had opened many doors in the dark mind of his during the hermit years. And there were things in his past that he had to deal with.

He passed the wall. The village of Runething had been brought back to standards by newcomers. Some of them were traders or adventurers, and they knew the druid by his reputation, which tended to travel before him. Harinder was welcomed by some, avoided by others, and soon found the young slave boy he had come looking for.

He was by the stables, saddling a horse. Only, the boy was now a man, recognizable by the promise of murder in his gaze and the trident scar across his cheek. Although the old druid bore the scar no more, the killer saw Harinder, and knew him instantly for who he was, and greeted him as a brother who had been lost.

For the first time in his life, Harinder felt something resembling fulfillment, if not joy.

"Killer. It is you" Harinder said with a smile. The man did not return the smile. He looked as if he wanted to. The lip moved. But perhaps he was not able to.


"My children do not know me by that name, Harinder." the man said. "They know me as Brander. It is the name I took for myself."

A hand trailed the scar on his cheek. Brander turned to the horse and patted it's hide, absently. " I have children now. Four who still lives."

Harinder nodded. "Brander it is then" he said.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:59, Fri 29 May 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 8):

Brevis pays him little attention, his focus upon Lothar.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:10, Fri 29 May 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 8):

Caile's gaze follows the old man as he disappears into the village. "What a peculiar and sad man", he thinks to himself. "There is a great ballad to be unearthed in his past, I can feel it".

He turns to the new arrival and leisurely rests his hand on the pommel of his blade. What is a halfling doing so far north? Could the little half-thing have followed him?

"Well met, traveller! What has brought you here, so far from home? Your kind rarely leaves Belifar, no?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 18:03, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 10):

Lothar's sword arm flexes slightly in response as Caile nonchalantly leans on his blade.

My travels have brought me here! What else? Tis true I might be farther north than most my kin but I have never been shy of travel unlike most my brethren. Your companion here...

Lothar's eyes shift from the pair of elves to the distraught looking hermit and then back again.

Is he alright?

Harinder showed up again in at the gate of the wall surrounding the village.

He waited by the gate while Brander passed them by. He was not a small man but his bent back and gait made him look less noticeable as he would had, otherwise.He approached the strangers wearily with one hand on the scabbard in his belt. One eye scuinting, the other rowing over the three men.

"Well met" he said and nodded to each of them in turn. His voice broke slightly. He straightened his back and for a moment broad shoulders and height became appearent by his posture.

"I am Brander. Stablemaster here. My friend tells me there were able hands out here. Most of the villagers are busy with the upcoming spring games preps. I could use some help, you see"

His shoulders slumped again and he grimaced, as if the pained him to keep his back straight.

"There is work to do for anyone who fancy cornbread and ale. And   a safe spot sleep. Not saying there's soft spots, mind you. Or even dry. But at least no need to keep watch. At night these walls are manned."

He gestured towards the village defenses; a broken stone wall patched with planks of wood. The wall was waist high in places but more commonly it reached man height and had rows of pointed wooden stakes along the rim. Also along the wall were rows of arrow slits. From some, curious eyes peaked out at the strangers and the stablemaster.

In reply to Lothar (msg # 11):

(Motions to Caile) My companion is here.  As for him, (nods toward Harinder) I can only imagine.  He seems half here, you're half there, and I've half a mind to leave the Tesseography to the better inclined.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:56, Sat 30 May 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 12):

While Brevis and the halfling exchange words Caile notices the stooped human approaching. He quickly jabs an elbow into Brevis' midriff before turning to greet what he surmises to be the unofficial leader of this hovel. Opening his mouth to speak he is interrupted by the man's greeting and proposal.

After listening to the man's words he clears his throat and replies.

"Thank you kindly for your invitation, master Brander, we will gladly stay the night and take what shelter we can within your walls. Kindness is scarce and should never be turned away.

While we are honored by your proposal, good sir, me and my brother must make haste. We have just found each other and there are other of our siblings still lost in the mists. We must find them before they are lost to the darkness."

Caile's eyes grow distant, as if overwhelmed by memories, before he shakes it off and fires off a blinding smile.

"Have you perchance heard the Ballad of the Lonesome Ogre? Elsewise I'd be glad to play it for you all in the tavern later tonight."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:54, Tue 02 June 2020.

The man named Brander turns to look off to the east, and those who follow his gaze spot a short, stout man trudging slowly towards them. A dwarf, with blond hair, dark, hooded eyes, and a well-used sword strapped to his hip.

"Another one? We don't typically catch this many lost souls in a day," Brander says, sizing up the dwarf.

From a distance, the dwarf calls out, his voice rough but powerful.
"You all locals?"

Waiting for the dwarf to get closer, the frailer minstrel responds.
"Nay, sir, most of us are travelers, as I presume you are. We have just arrived this fine morn."

The dwarf pauses in his approach for a moment, then lets out a quick barking laugh. "Sir," he mutters to himself as if the word is some kind of joke. He lifts his feet and shakes clods of mud off his boots. "Been here long enough to know where I could get a bath?"

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 15):

Caile suddenly bursts into a fit of laughter and has to grab hold of his old friend to not lose his footing. After a while he straightens back up, wiping tears from his eyes.

"A crazy old human, a vagabond halfling, a dwarf in search of a bath and two street urchins... this sounds like the makings of an epic ballad if I ever heard one! Come, let's find the local watering hole and a bath for our new friend afore our ballad becomes stranger still! Last one in pays!"

Still laughing he breaks off from the group and heads for the village center, urging the others to follow.

"Master Brander! If you would be so kind as to show us the way?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:55, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 16):

Brevis pulls his cloak nearly shut while cracking a subtle smile at Caile's optimism.  Running with a gang again, and after so much time, sounded surprisingly appealing.

Eins turns to the old man now beside him and gestures to Caile moves towards the town center.

"Is he..." Eins taps his head and raises his eyebrows skeptically. "Nobody's that cheerful and all there."

Brander leads the newcomers to the centre of the village, walking closer to Harinder than the others.

“We may not have much to offer, but what we do have we give freely to those in need my friend.” He says, his eyes briefly take in the others. “All are welcome, especially if they are able to offer some hard work in exchange for a place to sleep.”

“If it is a bath and a beer you seek master dwarf, then the Traveller’s Rest can provide that… It is the closest thing we have to a tavern here.” Brander points to a run down, but large building in the middle of the village.

Turning to Caile, the stable-master says “I have not heard that ballad, I’m sure it would go down well at the tavern… There is always a place by the fire for someone who can tell a great tale or play a tune. The folk here could do with cheering up.”

“There is ale and food, tonight you are all my guest here at Runething and you can wash away the dirt, drink your fill and share your tales of woe…” Brander says. “Tomorrow is another day.”

Harinder nods to Eins comment.

"That one has not seen more than a summer, he himself confessed. An elven offspring, no doubt. I've seen those before, from the communities of the Dankwoods. In the Blood Mist years, I travelled through. Travelled far and wide I did. Met some elfspawns like him. Close enough to frailers by look but so unaware, ignorant ... naive like children are. Not older than a summer! Yet they appear adult. Unnatural, I tell you."
The older human glanced down at the dwarf.
"Forgive me my manners. I have been ... away for a long time. I am Harinder, son of Rendin, of the Thunderclove clan. As far as I know, the last of my clansmen. In this forsaken land, we used to call the plains of Moldena home."

Letting his eyes wander, Caile takes in the village as they head towards the Traveller's Rest. It's little more than a shanty town, built on the ruins of an older settlement and its inhabitants seem worn down and burdened by life's hardships. He calmly brings out his ornamented wooden flute and raises it to his lips. A mournful tune issues forth and the minstrel slowly walks around the village square, grabbing the attention of the villagers as he passes. The tune bounces and echoes between the buildings and the sorrow it evokes is almost too much to bear. Then, with the switch of a key, the tune transforms into something innocent and playful. Caile starts dancing along to the rhythm and the captive audience soon begins to clap along as the song builds into a crescendo before ending in a flurry of notes and an artful flourish of the flute. The Frailer takes a bow and smiles from ear to ear.

"That was but a taste of my repertoire, dear dwellers of Runething. If you would like to hear more and share an evening of mirth and joy with me and my comrades, please join us tonight at the Traveller's Rest. Master Brander has promised that there will be ale and food and I promise merriment and pleasant company! Come one, come all and escape the gloom of the Ravenlands for a while!"

As Caile once again takes a bow he makes a discreet sign to Brevis, nods towards the tavern and heads inside.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:55, Tue 02 June 2020.

(In response to Harinder, MSG #20)

Eins puts out a hand and shakes Harinder's hand firmly.

"Eins Heold. I'm from..." The dwarf looks around. He points vaguely in the northwest. "That way, originally. Haven't been there a long time though." He shrugs and looks back at Hariner. "I'm at home with whoever I happen to be fighting with a the time."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:12, Sun 31 May 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 22):

Lothar walks with the group thru the town and pauses rather impressed with the impromptu street performance, though calling what they are travelling on a street is an exaggeration of some magnitude. Tonight he will try and earn a few coin with some of his magic tricks, making things disappear just comes naturally to Lothar and that thought puts a smile on his face.

I'm in no need of a bath as of yet, but am rather parched! Why not get things going with few ales! Lead the way kind sir!

The Traveller's Rest is one of the larger buildings still standing in Runething, but that is not such a difficult task.

There is only one floor, most of which is given over to a taproom, with wooden beams supporting the low ceiling. A small bar and kitchen is at one end of the room, with a fireplace at the other. There are several battered tables surrounded by stools and chairs of varying styles and the dusty trinkets and relics that adorn the wooden beams and bare plaster walls give the impressions that the whole place has been filled with things scavenged from other ruins.

There are a pair of doors to one side of the bar, leading to some private rooms. Other than that, the inn is rather small and run down. Behind the bar stands a bald man with a deeply lined face, a dirty cloth in one hand and an equally dirty cup in the other. He regards you warily as you all enter.

A half-dozen men sit about a couple of the tables, drinking and talking among themselves. Their chatter stops as you enter, with their eyes scrutinising the newcomers.

Brander warms the atmosphere somewhat as he introduces you all as his guests and the suggestion that at least one of you might sing later seems to help still further.

"Starm." Says Brander, turning to the innkeeper. "Ales for our new guests please." He gestures to some of the free seats, intending you all to sit.

Eins lifts himself up onto one of the empty seats and nods at the innkeeper.

"Not a bad place you've got here."

He accepts a mug of ale, and looks down at the rich brown drink, but doesn't bring it to his lips. He seems to be deep in thought.

After a brief chat with the innkeep, Caile saunters over to the group, unslings his backpack and rests it against the wall before taking a seat next to the dwarf. He watches him in silence for a moment before speaking.

"Find anything of value, master dwarf? I know many a man who has sought to solve the riddle of life at the bottom of a tankard. None seemed too pleased with what they found though..."

He grabs a mug for himself and takes a hearty swig.

"Ah, Thirstquencher, how I've missed thee. I don't care if you appear as fine wine or bogwater swill, I love thee still. To Flow! May she forever wet our whistles and lift our spirits!"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:56, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Narrator (msg # 24):

Brevis approaches Starm, his full drink in hand.

Cheers! (Raises drink but does not yet imbibe)

My hollow leg is over full, (motioning to the pair of doors near the bar) mind if I use the washroom?  I promise to tip the attendant.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:10, Mon 01 June 2020.

Harinder sits down on the floor, leaning against the wall, not far from the appointed table. His eyes are darting back and forth between the guests, the barkeep and down on his hands. He picks up something from within his cape and starts to eat.

(Rolling for food with D8: 3)
This message was last edited by the player at 06:27, Tue 02 June 2020.

Brander notices Harinder with his back to the wall and walks over to him, kneeling down a short distance from him.

"You need not be wary here my friend." The former slave says. "Come warm yourself by the fire, rest those weary bones of yours in comfort."

In reply to Brevis (msg # 27):

"There's nee washroom here, just the dorm and my own rooms... Yer can water the plants round back if yer need a pee." The old man says.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
EDITED: Damn Autocorrect on my phone..

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 10:35, Tue 02 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg #26)

Eins takes a short sip from his mug and smiles.

"Nothing that deep, master frailer. It's simply been a long time since I had a good swig of bad ale."

He takes another, heartier swig from his mug and turns to Caile.

"May she something something lift our spirits indeed."

He raises his mug, offering to toast with Caile.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:32, Mon 01 June 2020.

In reply to Narrator (msg # 30):

Brevis walks out back and sets his drink down.  Drawing his axe, he quickly and effortlessly carves a mark near the upper corner of the door jam.  It reads "2/10"

Pouring a healthy dose of beer onto the ground near the threshold, Brevis gives thanks with the hope that all Childer find warm beds with full stomachs tonight.

He returns to find Eins offering a toast to Caile and raises his mug as well.

Caile raises his mug to Eins, sensing a bond or connection of some kind in the gruff and battlescarred dwarf.

"To freedom and to the comrades we have lost, master dwarf!"

He then turns to each of his companions and offers them each a toast.

To Lothar - "To forging your own path and breaking the shackles of convention!"

To Brevis, with a tear in his eye - "To old acquaintances and newfound hope!"

To Harinder - "To old men and their various ailments!"


And finally to Brander - "To our gracious host, may the gods grant him wealth and prosperity!"

He finishes the round by draining his mug, slamming it down upside down on the table, waving to the innkeep for a refill.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Tue 02 June 2020.

Eins raises an eyebrow at the ever-energetic frailer beside him.

"You got a long way of saying short things, mate, but I like you."

Caile chuckles.

"Why, whatever do you mean? I say dwarf the same as everyone else."

He winks at Eins, pleased with his little joke.

"Though I'd rather call you by name."

He proffers a hand.

"Caile. Or Birdsong. Whichever you please."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:59, Tue 02 June 2020.

Eins glares at Caile for a moment, then sighs.

"Alright, I walked into that one."

He takes Caile's hand and shakes it.

"Good to meet you Caile. My name's Eins."

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 36):

Eins, I'm Brevis.  You mentioned that home is wherever your longsword is drawn.  I've found the itinerant life to be long and profitable.  Were you in a hurry home before this immovable object (raising his mug) met your unstoppable force?

In response to Brevis (msg #37)

Eins shakes his head slightly in exasperation.

"Do either of you ever speak normally? I think what you're trying to ask is if I was headed for battle, and my answer is no. Not this time."

In reply to Narrator (msg # 29):

"Old friend." Hardinder replies with a pained look. "Places like these are not for me. I have lived too long in the wild. I would prefer ... visiting the rune stones. Do they still stand? I have not been here since I left you here, alone, after we escaped the Trident slavers. How did you manage to rebuild this place? With Clay's belssing, no doubt."

He squints at Brander.

"And Horn has an eye on you as well, I doubt not."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:52, Wed 03 June 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 39):

What passes for a smile briefly flickers across Brander's face.

"The runes are still there, just to the north, though they seem to have less visitors with each passing season." He replies quietly.

"As for rebuilding, yes, the gods blessings help..." He turns to the others now, before continuing.

"Visitors who are willing to put in some hard work helps more." He says so all can hear.

"In exchange for our hospitality, all we ask is for willing hands to help. There are timbers to be cut, stones to be moved and the ground to be worked. But that is in the morn. This evening there is ale to be drank and tales to be told." He says, ending on a more cheerful note.

This seems to be agreeable to the others in the taproom, with nods all around and even a subdued cheer from a few.

Caile raises his second mug of ale in yet another toast to Brander.

"Hear, hear, Master Brander. Tomorrow, we toil. But tonight, we DRINK!"

The Frailer downs his mug in one big gulp and tosses it over to Brander as he begins to unfasten his leather harness and unbuckle his sword from his belt. He drops his gear on top of his backpack and leaps onto a table, flute in hand. For a moment he sways, dangerously close to losing his balance, before he recovers and turns to his audience.

"I promised you entertainment, and I am a man of my word, despite being a filthy half-thing." He flicks his slightly pointed ears and smiles. "Here is a ballad of another halfblood, though one much cruder and stinkier than I."

Caile raises the flute to his lips and plays a jaunty little melody before he starts to sing in a clear baritone.

"There once was an ogre so smelly,
folks claimed something died in her belly.
When she let one rip,
Those whom it did grip,
Found it to be rather quite deadly.

The ogre, whose name was Old Tuckett,
Always she carried a big bucket.
When her belly did shift,
Her skirt she'd then lift,
Fill it, and then she'd just chuck it.

But one day her journey was ended,
By raiders; in sleep undefended.
They cut her in twain,
From groin up to brain,
Through the wound her contents upended.

A goat, two dogs and a pig they spied,
Some rocks, a priest and a dwarf, deep-fried.
The gore, it shook'em,
The stench overtook'em,
And so, the Grim Butchers all died.

Old Tuckett, the ogre, no longer alone,
Her likeness erected in marble and stone.
In life, vilified,
In death, deified,
For the post mortem bravery she'd shown."

With a final warble of tunes from his flute Caile finishes the song and looks out over the room, waiting.

Eins cocks his head to the side, a little bit confused by the interesting choice of lyrics.

"I don't think I'm nearly drunk enough to appreciate such art." He mutters to himself.

He quickly downs his mug of ale, grabs another, and downs it as well. Then he waits a moment.

"There we go," he says and begins to clap heartily.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:40, Thu 04 June 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 42):

Lothar having taken a seat and having enjoyed an ale or or two... or three... Says rather loudly "Fine tune to be sure! Though the lyrics seem rather vulgar for an elf don't they? Something I'd expect out a goblins mouth!" This sets off a long bout of laughter from Lother that almost brings a tear to his eye.

In reply to Caile (msg # 41):

Brevis slow claps through to the crescendo at which point he raises his hands and cries,

Encore!  Three cheers for Ol' Tuckett, Master Caile here has done it, at sun up we'll curse as we ask for the bucket.  Let's drink and regret it, until then forget it and Caile may he bless us again!
This message was last edited by the player at 05:20, Fri 05 June 2020.

The gathered villagers all toast the minstrel's good health, laughing and cheering at the bawdy ballad.

For a time all are cheered by the song, then after a few more ales the mood becomes a little more sombre. Brander turns to Harinder, speaking of old times, of their time together.

"There may be more of us alive yet, scattered across the Ravenlands." The old man says, taking a drink. "I know there are rumours of those wearing the brand of the trident. Some travellers come through Runething and see my mark, tell me tales of seeing men and women bearing the same curious design."

"Hunters whisper of Grindbone, the village of slavers and thieves that lies beyond the Arina forest. Many have heard the cry of the village’s mill from the river but few have dared to approach. It is said that the millstones grind the souls of the enslaved to dust since slaves have no use for spirituality. Some come to Grindbone through compulsion, others in exultation. There, those captured by the cruel arrive. From there, those sold by the greedy leave." Brand re-tells the legend as if he's heard it innumerable times, before adding.

"To the south lie the ruins of the once great Wailer's Hold, beyond the Wash on the edge of the Moldena plains.. It is said that some of us fled there, seeking refuge from the Trident riders... But who knows what they found there, for none have returned with good tidings.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:24, Sat 06 June 2020.

The usually so cheerful and exuberant Caile listens to Brander with a somber face. A dark shadow seems to have crept into his features and there is pain in his eyes.

"While this brand is unfamiliar to me, I know its implications all too well. Slavery is an abomination to the gods, a sickness that must be rooted out. All souls are born free and should never have to suffer enslavement by another. We must make it our mission to thwart these slavers of Grindbone, there is no other recourse."

He goes quiet for a moment, deep in thought.

"But I fear we may be too few in number to take on an entire village of scum. Perhaps we would be best served by helping your brethren lost to that wailing ruin you speak of, to swell our ranks?"
This message was last edited by the player at 07:26, Sat 06 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 46):

Upon hearing news of his fellow Childer, Brevis becomes deadly serious.

This place you call Grindbone, it has many names among thieves. Fact has became difficult to parse from fiction, as often accounts of it were too terrible to believe.  If it does exist, and I refuse that Slaver's word for it, then it is an un-honored burial ground.

Brevis clenches his fists.

I've half a mind to set out tonight, but Caile is wise to grasp the scope of such a task.  Let me say it now...there is nothing I won't do to honor our fallen, crush their captors, and free those that belong to no one.

Brevis sets his hand on Caile's shoulder and stares into Harinder's eyes.

If we share this allied thread, then I implore you to join me.

Harinder mutters something about adult-looking elfspawns no older than a year. He rises and absently trace a hand over his scar. His eyes goes to Brander.

"Boy," he calls the younger man who must be close to forty. "I let you boys down once, in my youth. I fled the slavers with the only one I could ... use. I will not use you again. Not take you from your family. No, no, you must stay with them."

The old man pats the stablemaster's hands and glance at the two half-elves with a frown, as if they had argued with him.

"We will find others willing to slay slavers. Now how far lies these ruins? I may find more of ours there who yet live! Others with scars, who will call me brother. Fierce men, who share my ... our hatred."

Brander is starring at the floorplanks, as if ashamed to agree that he can not leave. Or will not. One hand is fingering the pommel of his sword.

"Seeking allies there is one option, yes." he says. "But it may be a fools quest. They could just as well be highwaymen and care less about shared slave brands. The Tridents disappeared from the plains some twenty years ago. Most likely the mist got them eventually."

he looks up and meet his oldfriend's gaze.

"There are plenty of able men comming tomorrow for the games." Brander said. "Some of them sellswords, looking for prize in gold. Since the blood mist cleared, they have come every year. Great fighters, some. And I bet they will be hungry for plunder, when they realize the prize Ruething offers is merely the blessings of the runes. Men and women like these champions. Most of them are not godly, but practical. And hungry for a cause to fight. Stay with me just a couple of days more, brother, and we will find fighters for you. A few more skilled swords."

The stablemaster turned to the rest of them. You don't want to miss the games, do you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:48, Sat 06 June 2020.

In reply to Harinder (msg # 48):

Lothar, still somewhat warmed by the local ale, sounders over to Eins and takes a seat next to the Dwarf "We seem to find ourselves mixed in with a few very interesting groups haven't we now? Quite a bit of history within these humble walls eh? What brings you here to this town? Have you some prearranged business like the others or are you another random traveler like myself?"

In reply to Narrator (msg # 45):

Brevis approaches Brander, sensing that consensus has not yet been reached within his group regarding their next move.

The news you've shared does come as a bit of a shock.  The ale certainly helps to wash down a bitter pill, so thank you for sharing both.  If I may ask, it is hard to get supplies here?  Surely a reliable source is needed to brew something as good as this.

Brevis raises his mug and downs the last of its contents.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:26, Sun 07 June 2020.

In reply to Lothar (msg #49)

"Any town would have done for me, but I'm glad to have landed in this one." Eins says to Lothar.

He sighs, and looks over himself, his dirty armor and well used sword. He had been listening to the conversation Brander, Harinder, Caile and Brevis. He stands from his seat and goes to stand by their table.

"I couldn't hear all you said, but I gather you're looking to bust up a slave camp. I ain't been a slave before, but I've had my share of captivity. You're in need of warriors and I'm in need of a cause. What say I join you?"

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 51):

As am I! I'll admit I was not looking forward to another dull, quiet town where not much goes on, and on first glance my fears came to be, but as this night has gone on we seem to have found quite the opposite! I may not have a noble cause like you lot, but am a capable fighter, and naturally quiet to boot.

Lothar points down to his bare feet with a grin.

I'd like to tag along if you'd not mind, I find myself with some free time as of late and could use the work and pay...

Caile smiles slightly at Lothar's joke, despite its awkward timing.

"I do not know what pay we can offer you, master halfling, but we could use your free time. And as for your lack of a cause, I'll be happy to lend you mine."

The Frailer becomes serious again, returning to the conversation.

"No offense, Master Brander, but I do not think it wise to trust in these practical 'champions' you speak of as allies in this. They would most likely betray us to the slavers for the promise of gold rather than aid us in our quest for liberty and revenge. Soldiers of fortune are not what we need, but true warriors who burn with conviction and loyalty."

He turns to Eins.


"As for Wailer's Hold, if I remember the stories correctly, it was once a dwarven city that fell late during the third Alder War. We might find some of your kin in the area, Eins, although the city has been lost to them for hundreds of years. Maybe they would join us in rooting out the slaver scum in Grindbone in return for our help in reclaiming their old home from whatever dwells there now?"

In reply to Caile (msg # 53):

"My apologies kind sir!" Lothar says with a slight bow.

"My timing is sometimes off with my tongue and has gotten me in trouble more than once I can tell you. Your cause is indeed a just one, and while I have had no run in with slavers myself I have heard many a tale of their brutality. I do not require you to pay me kind elf, though I do appreciate the offer."He says with some degree of smugness. "Having just recently discovered the freedoms self employment has to offer I am not looking for another boss anytime soon. A share of any... collectables... we come across is good by me. All that being said, as of now my stake in all this is rather small..." Lother pauses to let out a small chuckle. "sorry... but might I suggest we go north? If only because it was the direction I was already heading, plus this Grindbone place, horrible name! Might it contain some more of your lost companions?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:00, Mon 08 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg #53)

"Of course. Dwarves love nothing more than their 'homeland.' Seems that most of them think that the whole world is our homeland though, so the sentiment's never made much sense to me.

Caile looks at Lothar, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

"Go much farther north, master halfling, and you'll either end up with wet feet or in the belly of a clan of Saurians!"

He sweeps his hand across the map presented by Brander, indicating the Gargan Marshes and the wet expanse of Lake Varda to the north.

"If we wish to head to either location we must go back south. And like you I can't say I relish the thought. Though our dear host has made a good case for both Grindstone and Wailer's Hold, I wonder if it might be wise to look closer to home before seeking allies or foes in the south. What about these villages?" The minstrel points to the villages to the east and west of Runething on the map. "Do they still stand? Or this old tower? He points to the fortification on the northeastern shore of Lake Varda. "Who holds it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Tue 09 June 2020.

At the mention of Saurians, Brander's nose wrinkles.

"Stinking lizards... Those villages to the west on the shores of Lake Varda are, or at least were last time I heard from them, trading posts." He says with some disdain.

"Folk come to trade with the Saurians, giving them metal tools in exchange for their fish, frogs, shells and bread root. Bread root is pretty common around here and it's versatile enough that you can use it in many different foods... About the only good thing those scaled bastards are good for."

He looks again at the map. "As for the tower, I do not know. I'm afraid I have heard conflicts stories of it.. I haven't traveled far from this place in the time since the Blood Mist lifted, but some say it is the home of a reclusive elf sorcerer, some say it is the home of an orc tribe, others still say it's the lair of a fearsome beast... I honestly do not know the truth of it. There could be an ally to be found, or death."

In reply to Caile (msg # 56):

Lothar glances at the map and says to Caile with some red in his cheeks:

"I stand corrected! How I made it this far on my own must be some small miracle... I like your idea of sticking close to here for now, get a better feel for the lands and each other.

Looking to the group at large.

"To the tower I say then! If trading is our goal I'm sure it's much safer done here than in the company of spear wielding Saurians."

I do not wish to diminish the hospitality shown to us tonight, but my heart aches knowing slavers are so active.  The call to action moves me in a way that perhaps only a bard can express.

All roads that lead to Runething are similarly paved by the footsteps of freedom seekers and restless souls.  Those of you who hear the call, join me in making a pact tonight.  Let us waste no time.

Our Brander here seems a good man, but firsthand knowledge is worth a treasure room of tales.  I want to see the slavers camp in person and, perhaps, send a signal to our Childer that help is on the way.  Should they have nothing but hope, it will give them the strength to survive.

Caile listens intently to Brevis, compassion and understanding in his eyes.

"I feel you, Brother, and I will stand with you. Maybe we will find others who'll stand with us on our journey south, maybe we'll stand alone. But stand we will." He turns to Lothar. "I fear that the tower will have to wait, master halfling. My brother's vengeance cannot wait."

The minstrel takes another look at the map and puts his finger on the cave to the south, at the edge of the Arina Forest.

"If any of our fellow Childer have escaped Grindbone and its cruel masters I bet this is where they would be holed up. We should make sure to investigate it on our way. Either way it could make a fine staging area for our attack. Master Brander, do you know who, if anyone, lays claim to these woods?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:38, Wed 10 June 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 60):

Then we have two men headed to the slavers via this cave.

Points in agreement with Caile.

Who else is with us?  Speak now or forever hold your peace.

Turning to Caile, Brander replies, "Orcs... Roka Clan.. But I do not know if they would have kin at the cave, or exactly how large the cave is."

"I can provide supplies, to anyone joining you, though in return I would ask for your help in rebuilding the wall and helping us when needed.."

"Orcs... Fearsome adversaries, those beasts. And none to friendly when it comes to more 'civilized' kin. It may be worth a try to ally with them though. Their history as slaves to both humans, elves..." Caile throws a glance at Eins. "...and dwarves could make them sympathetic to our cause. If they'd hear us out, that is."

The minstrel raises his tankard and takes a swig, contemplating their options.

"Master Brander, I fear we cannot stay for these games, time is fleeting much too fast. But we are in dire need of supplies, so we will aid you in repairing and securing your wall before we leave. If we all pitch in it shouldn't be more than half a days work, no?"

In reply to Caile (msg #63)

Eins snorts. "Ain't nothing wrong with bein' a little uncivil in my mind. Folks are only civil when they got somethin' to hide. I think we got a shot talking a few orcs into our cause."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:23, Fri 12 June 2020.

Harinder has been quiet, but now stares at the dwarf skeptically.

"I have ever been avoiding orcs. You have been talking to Orcs?"

He turns tot eh half-elf minstrel with a disapproving look.

"I fail to see why we are in haste, but I do agree preparation is crucial"

Caile stares incredulously at the old druid. He can barely contain his anger and disbelief.

"You fail to see why... you... our brethren are held captive by slavers, their lives numbered in days, maybe hours, and you FAIL to understand the need for urgent action?!"

The half-elf slams his fist on the table, toppling the empty mugs of ale.

"YOU may have forgotten what oppression feels like, old man, but I assure you that I have not! Rescue cannot come too soon for those caught in the cruel hands of slavers!!!"

He stares at Harinder, his body almost trembling with pent up rage. With a sudden burst of speed he swivels around and storms out of the Traveller's Rest, into the dark night.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:48, Fri 12 June 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 64):

I hesitate to knowingly head into an Orc camp, but these are the days.  As Eins said, we have a chance they'll hear us out, especially given the relatively intact temper of the Roka.

Turning his eyes to Harinder, Brevis' body tenses underneath his red cloak.  Two large scars that span his upper back, one with particularly painful adhesion to the rib cage, ache as he draws in a long slow breath.

If you fail to see, then please understand there are invisible forces at play now.  I cannot expect you to see what I have seen, to see what I feel (the dull ache of his scars begins to subside as the lungs empty), so I ask you to reflect on what you value most in your life.  Take that away, and what do you have left?  This is not a threat, but a cry for help.  If these cries fall on deaf ears, then I'll know Brander's wall is all the better for it.

He stands, averting his gaze to the door.

Would time but stop, I'd muster an army.

Brevis dashes out the door to find Caile.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:42, Fri 12 June 2020.

Lothar hearing the outburst from the elves makes his way to Brander.

"You say supplies will be offered in exchange for some help with the wall? I've not entirely made my mind of what to think of those two" he points towards the door where the two elves left thru, "but I can hear the pain in their voices and the sincerity of their cause... what do you need me to do? I'm no mason but will not shy from hard labor. Perhaps our Dwarven friend here can be of some assistance as well? Allow us to get a head start while the elves sort their affairs."

Brander, replying to Caile before the half-elf storms out, says "Aye, after a half day it will be a good deal better than before.."

After the Brevis follows his kin outside, the old stablehand turns to Lothar and Eins, "Your help would be much appreciated kind sir, and certainly if a dwarf were to lend his skills, it would be even better."

"A good night's rest and a half day of labour... Then you are free to do as you wish, be that join the others in their quest for vengeance or stay for a while longer." Brander shrugs his shoulders.

"Yeah, I don't have much to lend, but I do have my skills. Just give me a hammer and show me where to swing it. I will admit my training has been mainly in... sieging walls rather than repairing them, but the concepts are the same."

"Elfspawns ... " Hardiner mutters "You'd think these frailers would be hammered by a rough childhood to mature faster. It seems not so. Not unlike the elves of the forest, by the way. But ... while naive, willful... unpredictable as young, the half bloods grow up to be men with cunning and ambitions beyond that of the commoner. They are assets, brother."

He puts a hand on Branders shoulder in passing, turning to leave.

"My friend!" the stablemaster bursts out. "I have prepared a bed for the night, here, just up the stairs. My long lost friends and brothers need not ..."

Harinder is only shaking his head and mutters something about the stars and runestones, before he, too is gone into the spring night.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:53, Mon 15 June 2020.

As Caile rushes into the night the cool air has an immediate effect on both his temper and his temperature. His racing heart slows and he stops in the middle of the square outside the inn, still angry but mostly ashamed over his loss of control. He sits down on a rickety bench next to the smithy, forge still burning through the night. Facing the forge he stares into the flames, mesmerized.

In reply to Caile (msg # 72):

Brevis sees Caile near the smithy and calmly walks in his directly until he is standing near the rickety bench.

I'd ask to have a seat, but I'm not sure the bench was designed for one person let alone two.  Brander is doing his best, yet Runething seems inexorably pulled down toward the land from which it came. Perhaps that is why Harinder is so hesitant to leave here.

Crossing his arms over his chest, the skin on his back crackles with pain.  Stretching the tight scars grants welcome relief after short moments of pain.

What are we to do?  Without help, we're no better off than the Ghosts of our past.  Without help, neither are our enslaved Brothers.

Brought out of his reverie by his old friend's words, Caile continues to look into the fire, a fire of his own building to roaring flames in his eyes.

"Then we must not go without help, Brother. But I'll be damned if I stay here one breath longer than I have to. They'll have our aid now, this very night, and on the morrow we leave for the south."

The minstrel gets up and picks up a hammer from the blacksmith's workbench.

"Come, let's gather those who'd join us. There is work to be done."

Fervent purpose now shining like a beacon from his eyes, the Frailer strides back towards the inn, kicking the door open.

Eins looks over his shoulder at Caile bursting back into the inn.

"Wonder what the evening air can do for a man's spirits."

He nods slightly to Brevis when he returns as well.

"What'll it be then, Sir Caile? Are we off to save the world or Nae?"

The old druid walks a not so well trodden path from the northern edge of Runething, trying to avoid stepping in the mud pools or getting caught in the spidery roots of trees. The trees, some dead, some just twisted, line the path and grow sporadically in the landscape of lose rocks and bushes.

The path leads from one small island to another, bridged with wooden planks, to a clearing among the trees, upon a rocky outcropping. Beyond the hill, the Gargan Marshes spread out far and wide. A thick mist prevents the eye from catching the horizon line. A white mist, not red, praise the gods.

As if the place wasn't gloomy enough, the sky starts to to weep. A gentle sprinkle at first, but soon it pours.

Harinder climbs the rock plateau carefully. At the peak, he bends down. There, in the rock surface, the gods have made their mark. Deep lines engraved, wide as a man's hand is thick, filled with moss and rainwater, shaping runes. Still readable, if you know the language. Harinder can only read one sign. The rune that means Clay. Another, he thinks, was made for Horn. And yet another, perhaps, is Raven. He reaches out his hand to touch Clay, but suddenly gets a fit and ... hisses like a snake.

A moment passes while he seemingly struggles with something in the cup of his hand, or perhaps his chest. Then he laughs, back to being himself again.

"Not to your satisfaction, much, no?" he asks himself. Or some self, within him.

"It is." says a female voice. "But to see you here, is not, wicked one"

Harinder gasps and turns around, surprised to see a strange woman there. He did not hear anyone approach. She is standing on the path behind him, unbothered by the rainfall. An elf in a long red robe. A full blood this time, really? This far from the Dankwoods? Slender and short - a girl or a woman? Hard to say with forest kin. He cannot see her face clearly, hidden as it is behind a maiden's veil and covered by the deep shadow of the hood of her robe, but the elven ears can be suspected by the shape of the hood. The veil and the cape are dark red. Like the blood mist was, he reflects.

"My ... fair lady" the old man finally gets out. This one is not young, he decides. There is an aura about her, one that can be felt by others who share her element. It is the calmness of the oaks. The stillness of the pines. All that harmony, mixed with a spark of the fire in Horn's breath, which once gave it life. Or so he likes to believe. That fire can very well come from other sources. "I did not mean to address YOU, I did not even ..."

"Nor was I addressing you, mortal" she cuts in. A sudden laugh lets out from under the hood, muffled by the veil. Now she sounds more like a girl. She moves, and her robe moves with her and at the same time, independent of her, seeming to float and sweep over the mud. It does not touch the ground. Nor does her feet, he suspects. The robe is velvet, but not natural. Some artifact. A sorceress?

"No, I was speaking to the other" she says softly. "The one who sounds like a snake and moves like a willful flame in your dreams. We call them the wicked. Oh, I know of your dreams. Your nightmares appear loud and are reaching wide and far. For those who listen. She must be hard to contain, that lost soul. But I am impressed by you, human, keeping a Wicked contained for so long. Caged and bound, even. That must have taken it's toll"

Harinder thinks she is smiling, but it is hard to see for the darkness of the hood. She starts to leave, floating down the path, her robe moving like a stream of water, downhill. He is dumbstruck by the unnatural sight.

"The runes won't help you. Did you think so?" she says and he cannot find any words to reply. "The gods cannot or will not help against Wicked. But ... "
she pauses halfway down the path. Somehow her voice carry over the smattering of the rain as if she was standing beside him still. "... the Redrunners may know a way. Or they used to know, I have been told"

She waves at him with a small hand. Not a girl. It is a woman's hand. A detail disturbs him - the nails are long and curling, as if left to grow with abandon. Like branches on a tree.

Harinder rises quickly to go after her, about to find his tongue again, but a loud crack and a sudden shake of the ground forces him back down to his knees.

Beneath him, a crack has opened the rock and split it's surface.

He finds his footing again, with effort. But the elf woman is already far down the path and gone in the mist. The event has left him with pain in his gut and taste of bile in his mouth. She. Contained within. The ... Redrunners? This was too much.

Harinder is staring at the rock surface of the plateau. His hair and coat are drenched, his knees muddy. The crack has forked and cut through each of the runes. All but one. The one that his childhood tutors taught him, the elven rune for Clay.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:13, Thu 18 June 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 75):

Tossing the hammer to Eins, Caile adresses Brander with the confidence of a man used to having his orders obeyed. It is a guise he wears with a peculiar sense of shame.

"Gather all your torches and all your able-bodied workers. We build your wall this very night, on the morrow we leave to seek out the Roka clan of the Arina forest. Then, Grindbone will suffer."

In reply to Caile (msg #77):

Eins catches and looks down at the hammer. He flips it through the air once and nods slowly.

"Not like I was planning on sleeping tonight anyway."

He stands up and turns to Brander.

"You got a foreman or somethin' I can talk to? Who knows the wall the best?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Fri 19 June 2020.

Caile heads over to the innkeep and asks him to stash his gear while they work. He then strides up to Brander and Eins, rolling up his sleeves.

"We're going to need more tools as well, master Brander. Maybe your blacksmith could provide what we need? I intend to give Eins here a run for his money as master craftsman of Runething."

He winks at Eins and gives him a firm pat on the back.

Eins raises an eyebrow at Caile and elbows him in the side. Or rather, the hip, as Caile towers a few heads over Eins.

"We'll see about that, Frailer."

Has anyone seen Harinder?  I could swear to have seen someone with his gate wandering outside the tavern?

The old druid, still on the Rune rock plateau, spends some time trying to figure out the implications of the various runes.

Harinder rolled 14 using 4d6 ((6,5,1,2)) - 1 Success.

He also drinks from the rainwater from a small traveller's cup of wild boar leather, before retreating to the edge of the village, falling asleep in the shelter of the wall, huddled up against it, some wooden planks covering partly from the rain.

It was worrying that the elven rune for Horn had been broken by the sorceress, or perhaps by Clay himself, given it was upon his rock those had been written? But either way, Clay was standing tall in whatever conflict was at hand. He should pay homage, somehow. Tomorrow.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Sat 20 June 2020.

In reply to Brevis (msg # 81):

"Never mind the old hermit. We have work to do, and the night and the rain isn't going to make it easier. Let's see what can be done."

Caile heads out of the inn, into the wind and the rain. The minstrel stops by the blacksmith and picks up an assortment of tools while he waits for the others to organize.

Brevis labors at the rock with nothing but determination and a beat up old hammer found among the town supplies.

There are times he seems to be striking the wall out of blind fury.  He does not sleep.

In the end, his forearms are scraped and bruised, hands blistered.  The wall is only slightly improved if at all, but the drive and willpower to press on have increased further still.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:39, Sat 20 June 2020.

As the night wears on, Caile realizes he is in over his head. He is rushing around all over the village, trying to act as some kind of manager of the working crews, but in the end he just manages to get in the way of any actual work being done.

After having had a near scrape with death when a large section of the crumbling old wall collapsed, almost crushing him beneath the rubble, he withdraws to the Traveller's Rest to lick his wounds. Exhausted, he falls asleep in a chair next to the fireplace as dawn is fast approaching.

In reply to Caile (msg # 85):

Lothar having spent a little more time than most resting, eating and drinking walks out of the tavern and seeing the amount of progress that's been made so far on the wall lets out a hearty chuckle.

All of your combat training, travels in these cursed lands and your knowledge of things bigger than most could even attempt to put into words... but stacking some stones is too much?!

He says aloud to all within earshot before letting another good strong chuckle erupt from his belly.

Let me remember my childhood years spent stacking wooden blocks and let's get this thing fixed up together my new friends.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Sat 20 June 2020.

After Brander brings some tools and, the majority of the group set about repairing sections of the wall around Runething. The evening wears on and the weather turns cold and wet. Working through the falling rain, some hear a distant crack like lightning and a rumbling of thunder, but there is no flash of light, nor does the sound come again…

Some have more success than others, with Brevis and Caile among those that end up looking like they have fought against the wall rather than try and repair it…

Nonetheless, after several hours of hard labour, the wall has been rebuilt in places and reinforced in others and Brander, along with a few other villagers thank the visitors with water from earthenware jugs and loaves of bread from their ovens.

Harinder meanwhile slumbers by the wall, the elven woman haunting his dreams, Clay too lingers in his thoughts.. Are the runes on the plateau a sign of something that is to come? The sundering of the stones of Horn and the Raven? What could it mean? Something to do with the fire god and the raven god? Are the two gods in conflict with Clay, or is it a sign that those gods cannot be trusted?

By the time Harinder awakens, he is sure of one thing, the servants of Clay are powerful and they mean to become more so.. For good or worse, he is not sure.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: I'm going to fast forward time through Q3 & Q4. So when everyone wakes up from Sleeping, it is Q1 on day 2 of the campaign..

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 06:51, Tue 23 June 2020.

Brevis has intentionally forgone cleaning up his appearance, merely tending to his wounds as best he can.  If there is any chance of swaying the favor of the Roka orcs, it belies him to be appear humble, cast out, and separate from his bloodline to the greatest extent possible.

Having woken up in his chair, Caile clutches his pounding head in his hands and stumbles out to the trough to dunk it in the cold water. He then staggers back inside to collect his gear, grabbing a loaf and a jug of water on his way back out. He mutters a thank you as he leaves the inn.

Once outside he sits down with his back against the inn's wall, wolfing down the loaf and chasing it with big gulps of water. After finishing his breakfast the minstrel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets up to don his armor. As he fastens his sword to his belt and slings his shield and backpack onto his back he spies Lothar over by the village well. Caile saunters over, helmet in hand.

"Morning. You did fine work last night, master halfling. I, on the other hand, seemed to make a mess of everything I touched. Clay must surely have abandoned my hand." The Frailer chuckles. "Or maybe I just had a bit too much ale? My mouth does taste like something crawled in there and died. What d'you reckon?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:54, Sat 27 June 2020.

Unable to eat all of his bread, Brevis offers a clean chunk to Eins.

This is more than I've earned for beating on a wall.  You'd be doing me a favor by sharing the wealth, I'd hate to appear ungrateful.

Of course, my appearance is likely to be a problem with the Roka as well.  I believe if they are willing to hear me out, a case against the slavers could be made appealing to the orcs, but they'll have to leave my throat intact to do so.

The dwarfs and orcs have a history, do they not?  Have you encountered the Roka or their kin during your travels?

In reply to Caile (msg # 89):

Looks as if this towns swill did not agree with you much? I can't say I cared much for the taste, but in these parts you learn not to be picky... Perhaps drink is not your thing? Nor masonry!

He says with a smile and a firm slap on the elfs lower back.

You truly intend to seek out the Orcs for help? Risky business the Orcs. Strong to be sure and more clever then most believe. They've no love of elves, not saying they won't help, I just don't see it coming easily, but if life were easy where then would be the fun?

In response to Brevis (msg #90)

Eins takes the bread.

"Thanks. And yes, Dwarves and Orcs got history. But let's face it, everyone has history with the Orcs."

Eins stretches out his muscles, working out the kinks.

"I've got quite the personal history with Orcs, though. Fought against them, then fought with them. It's a long story."

Eins looks like a mess as well, but isn't so intentionally. He actually seems more perked up today after a good night of work.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:40, Mon 29 June 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 92):

My shared history with orcs is one of persecution and a blood debt that has yet to be paid.  We're entering a new age in these lands, one where alliances can be forged and slaver criminals ought be brought to their knees.

If you've fought alongside them, then you may be able to help broker a diplomatic truce with the Roka.  I don't suppose you saved the chief's daughter at any point?  Any high ranking drinking buddies amongst their numbers?  I'd like to offer them a gift when we arrive.  Any suggestions?

In reply to Lothar (msg # 91):

Caile's face flushes red as he scratches the back of his neck with a calloused hand.

"Heh, you may be right, friend... Though I must contend that I usually am quite as adept at swinging a hammer as I am swinging a sword or playing a tune. But into each life some rain must fall, must it not? At least my misfortune did not befall me on the battlefield, and for that I am grateful."

He takes a deep lungful of air, holds it for a few seconds, and then lets it out in a deep sigh.

"Yes. I guess I do. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I bear no love for the elves either, though their cursed blood courses through my veins. My elven father abandoned me and my mother while I was still growing in her womb, the coward. She did her best to raise me on her own, but succumbed to a wasting sickness when I was but a child. My elven blood seemed to protect me from falling ill, so I had the 'pleasure' of watching her slowly die, unable to save her."

Caile spits on the ground, a dark look in his eyes.

"So I think we might find common ground in our hatred, if nothing else"

Caile walks over to Eins and Brevis, listening in on their conversation, motioning Lothar to come along. As he waits for them to conclude their business he scans the streets of Runething for any sign of Harinder. Where did the old man go? What was he up to? Caile didn't trust him or his 'confused hermit' act. No one could be that demented and survive in these lands for long.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:11, Fri 03 July 2020.

Harinder is found inspecting the wall. He looks as if he had been sleeping in the mud and rain, but cares not about it. He runs a hand along the wall and scoffs, then helps himself to some bread loaf. He brings out his skin mug and swipes up some rainwater from a hollow of a lose piece of rock, seemingly intended for the wall.

In reply to Harinder (msg #96)

Eins sees the old man approach and throws up his hands a bit with exasperation.

"Where were you?"

He looks over Harinder.

"Then again, if a man'd rather spend the night in a pigsty than do a touch of work, who am I to stop him?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:44, Fri 03 July 2020.

Caile nods at Harinder as the old druid approaches the group.

"Have you come to join us on our quest, master druid, or have you come to attempt to dissuade us from our 'fools' errand'?"

The minstrel glares at the old man with badly concealed contempt and turns back to Eins and Brevis.

"Anything you can tell us that may help prepare us for our encounter with the orcs would be invaluable, Eins. It would be a sad day indeed if our attempt at parley ended in bloodshed due to a simple misunderstanding."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:29, Fri 03 July 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg #98)

"Tip number one: Don't use fancy words like parlé. Tip number two: Don't show weakness. If one starts cursin' at you, you'd better curse right back and sock them in the face. Tip number three: Don't ever sound like you're helping them. They don't need your help. You need their help."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:12, Fri 03 July 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 99):

I'm not entirely convinced that when it comes to the Orcs you and I are allowed to play by the same rules, my dwarf friend.  That said, if you have my back, then I won't hesitate to knock the pointed end off one of those diseased stock-fishes pizzles.

This is Brevis' best and only attempt at orc cursin' to date.  He casually surveys his group to gauge any meter of success.

The old druid replies to the dwarf with raised eyebrows.

"I sleep at night, usually. Do you not? It prepares me better for a days journey than a night without. I believe you were all tasked with wall building for 'Things hospitality? Is it already complete, then?"

Harinder disapprovingly examines the wall.

"Well, no matter. There are needs for other preparations. How fare we with provisions? Hunting gear? I know little of the route to our location but dare say I know my way through the terrain. I will lead and you do the talking, then? The halfbloods can come along. Better they arm themselves and cover their faces, are we to meet with Roka, do you not agree? Now, wasnt there a halfling with us?"

He is searching the ground and vegetation, as if expecting the halfman to be hiding behind a stone or a bush.

Caile guffaws at Brevis' attempt at an orcish curse but quickly reins it in, seeing a crestfallen Brevis looking at him.

"Very good, Brevis, very good indeed. Eins, we'll do our best to keep your advice in mind. Maybe you'd be so kind as to do the initial presentation, seeing as how you're already well versed in the way of the orcs?"

The Frailer bristles at Harinder's use of the term halfblood, blood rising to his cheeks once more.

"Hah! Do you know so little of your own history, old fool? According to legend it was the humans who traded the enslaved orcs to the dwarves and elves in exchange for Alderland to the south. I can see that you aren't of as noble lineage as all that, but do you think the orcs of the Roka clan will see that? Or even care?"

The words fly from the minstrels lips in a rain of spittle. He is about to turn back to his conversation with Eins and Brevis but stops and stares straight into the old druid's eyes.

"Oh, and call me halfblood one more time and I will gut you like the mangy mongrel you are. Understood?"

In reply to Caile (msg # 102):

The fire that has been stoked in Caile's belly signals to Brevis that the time for action has arrived.  Dawn is upon them and there is much to be accomplished.  A journey lies ahead.

Save your energy, brother.  Let us set our sights on more important matters.  I've always found traveling after a night of rain to be quite fortuitous.

Brevis continues speaking to Caile, but now has his eyes affixed upon Harinder.  He slides the throwing axe out from his cloak, juggling it between his hands.

And thanks again for spotting me the axe.  Such a fine instrument.  Consider borrowing it any time the need arises.

Caile takes a breath, centering himself. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but something about the old man set him on edge. It was as if all of his senses screamed at him, warning of danger, as soon as the druid came close. He'd better keep his wits about him and his feelings in check.

"You're right, brother, of course you are. We must save our strength for the task at hand, not waste it bickering amongst ourselves. And yes, there is a certain quality to the world after a good night of rain, a feeling of something waiting in store. Hope, perhaps?"

As Brevis begins to juggle the axe, a thin smile appears on Caile's lips.

"Such a generous offer, brother, but I don't think I'll have need of it. Will I, old man?"

Considering the matter with Harinder settled for the moment, and eager to get on with the days work, Brevis dashes over to the general store and inquires about getting a map of the area.

Caile leaves Harinder and the rest of the group and strides over to the village well and winches up the beaten old bucket from its depths. He tops up his waterskin and then drops the bucket back into the well. It lands with a satisfying splash. He then proceeds to stuff his backpack with a couple of loaves of bread. That should keep his hunger in check for a couple of days, at least. He then heads over to the general store to see what Brevis is up to and to see if the shopkeeper has anything worth buying.

Eins rises from his seat and follows in Calie's lead, topping off his waterskin as well. He takes a hearty swig from the bucket as well before dropping it back down.

In reply to Caile (msg # 104):

Choosing to misunderstand the question and ignoring the outburst, Harinder replies with a lecturing on how to NOT use an axe for firewood, but to search for dead branshes instead.

"A petty axe wont do much to impress the orcs. They will not respect you if you do not appear more intimidating than a forester. Both of you halfb.. frailers need some combat gear. Steelcaps I would say, for hiding those pointed ears of yours. Wouldnt hurt to mud your faces before you face them as well. Now, where is that halfling hiding?"

Edit, added:
When he finds Lothar he approaches him with a suggestion. Soon they are both scouting the area around where the contestants for the games keep their belongings. Harinder is pointing out a pair of studded leather armors and caps of various quality that are being carrried into a tent by some duke's squire. Lothar nods discretely and disappears in among the tents.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:36, Mon 13 July 2020.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 107):

Upon seeing them enter the store, Brevis motions to Eins and Caile, brandishing the map as though it was a crib sheet to their destiny.

Look here!  This cave at the edge of the Arina Forest, with a bit of luck we can make it there before nightfall.

Caile enters the store, cutting off the inane ramblings of the demented druid outside. He grabs the map and pats Brevis on the shoulder.

"Indeed! A brisk march should get us there well before dark. But we should get going sooner rather than later, there's no telling what we might encounter en route to the territory of the orcs. Master shopkeeper, do you carry tents, by any chance?"

In reply to Caile (msg # 110):

To the shop keep (hoping to use the proposition of a tent purchase as a bargaining chip for the map):

And if not a tent, may I borrow this map?  Surely a shop keep like yourself has this area known to his heart.  When we return, I shall give you the map as well as a gift of good tidings for your trouble.  I am a fair man, if not a rich one.

To Caile the shopkeeper replies "I've got a couple of tents, a two-man.. er. person.. for 2 silver and a larger one for 5 silver." He indicates a couple of tents fashioned out of skins stowed on one of the large shelves behind him.

To Brevis, he nods. "You look like you're an honest soul, and I've heard of your plans from the drinking that went on last night."

"Take it, but be sure you bring it back in one piece."

Tossing his pouch of coin from one hand to the other, well aware of the dwindling amount of coin, Caile considers the price. It sure seems fair, but he'd be a fool not to haggle.

"Come now, Master Orla, you and I both know that these tents aren't worth that much. Just look at the quality of the skins, dreadful! I'll give you 1 silver for the small one, what do you say?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:10, Wed 15 July 2020.

Lothar is sneaking into the tent when he feels certain there is no one nearby.

11:48, Today: Harinder failed (no successes) using 3d6 with the Target Number system with a target of 6 with rolls of 5,5,3.  Stealth skill - Lothar: Stealth Skill

11:47, Today: Harinder rolled 2 successes using 4d6 with the Target Number system with a target of 6 with rolls of 4,3,6,6. Stealth skill - Lothar: Agility

Inside the dim but luxuruos tent, are two suits of leather armor upon a make-shift table and, lifting them up, Lothar find a fine studded leather armor. Hanging on hooks, there are two leather caps. He quickly dons one of the smaller leather armors, a bit too large at the shoulders, and snatches up a third cap from the ground. Now, what else will he be able to carry out of here? At least he thought of an escape route between the tents and the wall, where no one should be able to spot him. Hopefully.

(Will be updated based on GMs input)

Brevis steps outside Orla's shop, stretching mightily upward with both hands to relieve the ache that has returned to his scars.  He takes a last look around, the image carved into the Brander's doorframe flashes in his memory, and then quickly heads for the guard towers at the exit to Runething. 
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Mon 20 July 2020.

Discouraged by Orla's cold stare, Caile quickly abandons any hope of haggling over the price. Muttering, he pays in full for the small tent and then shoves his significantly lighter coin pouch into his backpack as he fastens the tent at the top of his pack. He then hurries after Brevis, dragging the bewildered Eins along towards the gates.

"Brevis! Brother! Wait up!"

In reply to Caile (msg # 116):

I'd like to make it here *points to map* before we eat.  It may be ambitious, but I've a full belly and good company.

He slaps Caile on the back, smiling.

Everything else, we'll hash out on the trail.  *glancing at Caile's new purchase* Nice tent.  Should we meet any attractive newcomers on the way, let them know I'm not above mud wrestling for my spot!
This message was last edited by the player at 15:26, Mon 20 July 2020.

Caile laughs, pealing laughter that echoes over Runething, infectious and full of mirth. He slaps Brevis on the back in return, mischievous smile on his lips.

"What spot would that be, brother?"

He laughs again, his bad mood from before already a thing of the past.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:49, Wed 22 July 2020.

Caile and Brevis notice the halfling, Lothar circling one of the tents that has been erected for some of the visitors to Runething overnight. Doubtless some petty warlord calling themselves a Duke or Baron or some-such.

The halfling seems to be overburdened by a leather jacket and cap of sorts, but it looks rather comical on the fellow, coming down past his knees with the cap covering his eyes.

He seems out of breath and flustered as he makes his way over to you.

"Have you seen the old bugger Harinder?" I'm sure he said to meet him here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:01, Fri 24 July 2020.

Stifling a laugh as the halfling comes up to them, Caile looks around with an annoyed look on his face.

"Raven only knows where that old cook has run off to. If he is such a great woodsman as he claims he'll catch up with us before long. Let's be off."

Adjusting the pack on his back to accomodate for the added weight of his new tent, the minstrel sets off out the gates of Runething, sights set on the horizon and the Arina Forest.

Seeing the halfling wobble like a happy drunk under the weight of his burden, Brevis encourages him toward the gate with an outstretched hand.

Follow close, Lothar, large black birds tend to fancy shiny objects.  I'd hate to lose you now, we've only just begun.

What could pass for a cordial smile among elves flashes upon Brevis' face.  It is entirely well meant.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:33, Thu 30 July 2020.

In reply to Brevis (msg # 121):

Birds I am not too worried for, but let us be on our way quickly, the owner of this borrowed armor I fear may want it back sooner than later. By the way either of you good with a needle and thread, you elves have the slender fingers for such work after all.

Lother motions to the long sleeves of the oversized leathers he is wearing.

In reply to Lothar (msg # 122):

I've always mended my borrowed goods with whatever the nearest edged weapon might be.  Tends to make the cut of your gib look meaner.  Also dissuades the borrowee from wanting them back as much.

If we're clever, you might just manage a pair of pants from the cutoffs!

Eins doesn't say much as he follows after the troupe. He straps on piece after piece of armor as he walks, securing them efficiently and snugly.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 124):

Feeling the rush of an epic quest at its opening, Brevis turns on his heels and addresses anyone within earshot.  Life is a stage, even for those that are not frailers, and in this moment he considers the spotlight to be focused on his intent.

Let me say now, for both those in front and behind the cheap seats, that a bottle of the finest wine you've ever tasted is in my cloak.  Yes, wine, though women tend to ask on occasion.

Once we make it to the slavers, I will freely give it to the man, woman or child that subdues their leader.

Trade this priceless bottle for riches.  Woo your beloved with it's majesty.  Drink of its nectar.  You'll deserve it all and the choice is yours.

It return, all I ask is that you allow me the killing blow on the soulless forsaken bastard that runs that slavers camp.

The ache in Brevis' back invigorates him.  A hunger in his gut drives him.  The faces in his presence enliven him.  Were there a charge to lead, no matter the odds, he'd gladly raise a sword to the sky and spur his steed to a blazing run.  His eyes flash and his teeth feel sharp.

He's dreamed of the moment he can so clearly imagine ahead of him, and he'll stop at nothing to see it through.

Spurred on by Brevis' speech, Caile brings out his flute and raises it above his head.

"And if that doesn't wet your appetite, I vow to compose an epic ballad for the one who slays the greatest number of slavers. Unless that is me, then you all owe me an epic ballad. Each."

The minstrel throws his head back and laughs.

"And brother, I think we'll have to flip a coin for the head of that monstrous beast, I've a thirst for vengeance too."

He claps Brevis on the shoulder and gives him a wink.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:28, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

In reply to Caile (msg # 126):

"A Thirst for Vengeance" is a fine title to the comitragic tale of the headless slaver.

Brevis walks on from the gates of Runething, not looking back.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:08, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

Caile quickens his stride to catch up with Brevis. Out of earshot of the others the bard whispers a few choice words to his old friend.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:59, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

Brevis begins to lengthen his strides, making sure that Caile can match.  Were he to push any  harder, his appearance of walking would nearly be broken for that of a galloping run.

In reply to Caile/Brevis

"When I beat the fellow to 'is knees, I'll give his wine-" Eins gestures to Brevis- "to you." He gestures to Caile. "In exchange, you never once mention me in any song of yours, epic or otherwise. Got it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:37, Sun 02 Aug 2020.

With Brevis and Caile leading the way, Eins and Lothar have to lengthen their (rather short) stride considerably to keep up.

Of Harinder, there is no sign so far, but the old druid can't be too far away, what with Runething being a small village.

It appears as if the rag-tag band of folk are off on their first journey together.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 130):

Brevis can't help but smile at the pitch-perfect demands of the dwarf.

Brilliant suggestion.  A mysterious, ghost-like figure haunts the slaver, even in death!  This ballad is getting better by the minute.

In reply to Brevis (msg # 132):

Brevis rolled 1 success using 6d6 with the Target Number system with a target of 6 with rolls of 2,1,4,2,5,6.  Scouting upon leaving Runething.

In reply to Eins Heold (msg # 130):

Caile snickers at the dwarf.

"I can't speak for all minstrels, master dwarf, but for this one wine has been known to loosen the tongue rather than clamping it down. I'm sorry to say that your name might just become legend, whether you wish it or not."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:26, Thu 06 Aug 2020.

[CUT TO THE NEW JOURNEY I.C. THREAD]