Chapter 1: Echoes of the Dead
Torstein delivered the mercy stroke to the wounded half-orc, quickly and painlessly ending things. The dead were placed in the impromptu grave and soil placed over the bodies. The remaining half-orc shrugged his shoulders indifferently at the mention of the Pale Son. His reaction to mentioning the fate of most glory seekers was met with a similar reaction.
Atrocles was shocked and made a superstitious gesture to ward off evil at the mention of the Pale Son, but he kept his peace, not wanting to risk anyone's ire.
"Aye, just a name and an empty promise bandied around since the time of my grandfather's grandfather and well before, I'm sure." The half-orc answered Ahvylyn, shoulders sagging. "I am what I am, miss. Ain't out for glory, or having my name in a song. Just enough coin to get by and maybe a little extra for harder times." He said of raiding honest folk and settling down. "Ain't in me to toil like that, but maybe instead of banditry I'll go sign on with some mercenaries. Always someone in the Realms with coin and a need for fighting men. Honest enough work, yeah?" He hedged to the group.
"Anyhow, I promised you to tell about a cache of coin. About half a day's walk north-east from here there's a tall tree with bark white like fresh cream. About . . . oh, some fifty feet high, with a fine scent to it. Coin's buried on the south side of the tree, amid the roots, about four or five feet down in a wooden strongbox. Reckon as I can go now?" The half-orc asked, and once given permission, he left without incident and due haste. Any further questioning would make it abundantly clear that he was just a hired strongarm with no real knowledge of Baddar, the man in the blue cloak, beyond trivial details such as remarkable - by the standards of the half-orc - fastidiousness, cleanliness, and a sharp insistence on temperance.
The research assistants returned to their work, although without the same heart and enthusiasm that marked their worked earlier in the day. They were skittish and nervous, constantly looking over their shoulders. Atrocles rejoined them and while the older scholar tried to project strength and certainty for his students, the brave front did not do much to hearten them. Eventually, towards the end of the day, they did settle when no further violence threatened. Persens eventually emerged from the wagon and began to contribute in his own timid manner. He earned gentle, cautious praise from his fellows when he unearth a bronzen helm of ancient manufacture.
Baddar remained unconscious for some time. He murmured indistinctly, shaking his head to and fro with obvious distress at times, but no efforts to stir him would prove successful.
With an hour of sunlight left, Atrocles declared the work done for the day and pronounced a return to the village due, which his students welcomed. They packed up their finds, stowed their tools, and talked in hushed tones about looking forward to a warm meal, assuring each other that the day's events were anomalous and unlikely to be repeated.
The return trip was uneventful, and the return of the expedition was welcomed, if only because the villagers they passed recognized Ahvylyn and Aleesia from their performance before. The two received hearty hellos and waves of greetings, as well as kind inquiries as to whether they intended to perform again that night. At the Blue Boar, the innkeep cheerfully informed Ahvylyn and Aleesia that the locals had left some small gifts for them and he had placed them in their rooms. The gifts were not lavish things but heartfelt in nature - a small pot of honey, a pouch of candied fruit, a freshly baked pie, and things of that nature.
Baddar awoke in the wagon. There had been no other choice but to leave him or bring him along, and so the latter was done. He was not pleased to waken in the wagon, his arms as well as his wounds bound. The man gave a curse and struggled briefly and weakly with his bonds, but gave up quickly when he got nowhere with that effort.
He looked at Faaid with disgust and shook his head. He spoke some harsh, shrill words to the High Man in bright clothing, and gestured with his chin. It was not in a commonly spoken language.
He turned to Torstein. He looked him up and down, and spat at Torstein's feet. "Unbind me and give me a blade, you cowardly dog, and let me finish what you lacked the stones to finish that I may go to Paradise as unsullied as possible." Baddar demanded harshly and with open contempt, switching to a common language. He snorted. "How I wish I could have sent you screaming to your end like I to your feckless cur of a brother! He died, weeping like a small child!"