Fenris smiled grimly at the scout's report. Kord's Might, if there was one group of people he liked to put a fist to, it's a bunch of craven Hextorites. But aware of their numbers and weakened state, he knew better than to rush into the camp fists swinging.

"Avri is correct. They are tyrants looking for thralls, and these refugees are tempting targets. The advantage we have is that they are more likely to enslave than to slay on sight. If we could lure them out..." he rumbled, rubbing his chin. He was no tactician, but could conjure up a few brigand tricks when needed. "Do we have any horses that can ridden? If we sent in someone on horse that would make a tempting target, dressed as a noble, or a priest of Heironeous... Close enough to be spotted by their sentries... And then if he turned back as if to flee, would they not send out their two riders in pursuit? We set an ambush, they're down two cavalry, and they might send out more soldiers to investigate..."

He shrugged, the expression on his face showing his own distaste for such cowardice. "Not the most honorable method, but desperate times..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:44, Thu 06 Jan 2022.

"We do have a priest of Pelor." Avri reminded Fenris quietly. "But would they think a lone priest would be stupid enough to charge a full camp?"

Hunched down unhappily beneath her cloak, Cassidy hung back as the discussion went on, feeling very much as though she had shown up for the wrong meeting.  Apparently her coin and card tricks had been more impressive than she'd realized, she thought dryly, though it was more likely that someone had just noticed her crossbow.  But she wasn't entirely sure that even the weapon would do much good if it actually came down to a fight -- she was a decent shot in practice, but shooting at a moving target that was also shooting back was another kettle of fish entirely.

"Well, I'm certainly not a tactician," she began, uncertainly.  "But I do know something about avoiding fights.  If we want to make them move, there are two basic approaches: either make them think there's a much bigger, angrier group coming towards them that they won't want to fight, or convince them that there's something they want very much elsewhere and they need to go get it.  And it sounds as if they want our caravan, correct?  So perhaps we can try to convince them that we're someplace we aren't and they need to go after us.  I could -- " Here she paused, blushing faintly.  "Uh, I could put together some official looking orders for them saying that a caravan has been spotted on another road and they should go intercept it.  Or whatever other orders you think might be convincing.  If they believe the orders, we can continue on our way.  If they don't, well, then whoever we send as messenger can try to lure them into an ambush, as Fenris suggested.  It might be worth a try."

Nedal looked at Fenris, "I have some vestments of Pelor that might fit you."

With a quick glance to and away from Avri at those words, he shrugged. "I'm not going to charge a Hextor camp. No good for me or anyone else for me to do that. But you can have them as a distraction."

When Cassidy started speaking he nodded, "deception might work to clear them out if someone can forge documents and play a convicting Hextorite."

Durgo sighs.  If you want to try deception, than at least let the scouts set up around their camp in secret.  That way if something does go wrong, you'll have a better chance of fighting your way out.

"Hmph."
Bhagrim Dweomerdelf did not look impressed, leaning on his axe as he was. And he had no qualms about sharing his thoughts on the matter.
"Try yer trick if ya need to and ya got the balls fer it. I think luring out the bag of shite in charge and chopping him up is the best plan. Then the rest will scatter easy enough I'm guessing."

"Oh, no, of course no one should go to the camp alone," Cassidy said quickly at Durgo's objection, brushing a strand of light brown hair back from her face.  "We'd set up some sort of ambush, some kind of support.  But --"  Again she paused awkwardly and stared down at her toes for a moment.  Her next words came reluctantly, in more ways than one -- both the admission itself and the fact that she was about to volunteer for a decidedly dangerous mission.  But she was fairly certain that few other people in this caravan had anything like her skill set, and if those skills could be helpful, well, she would at least be glad of the chance to put them to good use for a change.

"I've had a fair amount of practice convincing people that I'm someone I'm not.  With the right clothing and equipment, I can probably manage a convincing Hextorite messenger," she explained, though she couldn't help making a face at the idea of pretending to be one of their number.  "Much as it pains me.  But if I insist on giving the orders only to their leader, then at least we should be able to see who that is, and target that person if necessary," she added, glancing over at the apparently still-angry Bhagrim.

If you wish, I will go with you, Durgo suggests, as your body guard.

"And what message would you be carrying? A new order? From whom? Order to do what?" Reobold asks the pleasant human girl.

Bhagrim took exception at the notion of his clanmate sticking his neck out.
"The blazes you are! Yer not risking yer life on that fool gambit!"

The rain begins to grow harder, the road turning to mud. The slow pace of the caravan you are sure will either get slower, or simply no progress will be mad today.

The terrain is covered in sagebrush hills dotted with outcroppings of trees. Some of the hill give way to steeper drop offs, walkable, but not traversable by wagon, and slow going even for horse. Some of the hills are larger creating canyons and gullies, the bottom of these locations filled with noxious weeds with vines and branches that would tie up even the best horses, greatly slowing down a walking man. Even worse now, the canyons are a rush with rain water. The road keeps to the high points crossing at the easiest elevation changes, going cross county, while possible, would be difficult if not trained and in a large weighted group.

OOC:
Keep discussing just feeling in some gaps of knowledge of the surrounding areas.
For a visualization of what I am seeing as the terrain.

https://www.google.com/search?...imgrc=qmEu4s43vRb2oM

Durgo chuckles at Bhagrim's outrage.  I have seen you risk your life against fare greater odds, with less at stake, he responds.  You who were willing to charge a platoon over mines and halls we were destroying anyway.  Then come with.  Maybe you will get the chance you want.

"What do you mean, less at stake? That's our ancestral halls yer talking about!" Bhagrim replies without skipping a heartbeat or care for the feelings of the nearby refugees, even as the idea of getting close to the Hextorite bastard begin to settle in. Right in the middle of a camp of the bastards, just him, his axe and his cousin. And some surface dweller, but who counted those?
"But someone will clearly need to deal with this, and it looks it will have to be me. As usual. Bah!"

Those halls and mines can eventually be dug out and reclaimed, Durgo advises with a sad shake of his head.  His voice is low, almost a whisper, but still heard clearly.  Or, they could be rebuilt elsewhere.  Had we stayed and fought, their would be no one left to reclaim or rebuild our clanhold.  Their orders were to kill every man, woman, and child, because we had chosen to stand against them to defend our home.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:02, Mon 10 Jan 2022.

"No need to remind me cousin, I was there."
The dwarf looked around at the sorry bunch he ended up with.
"Well, that's the plan then? Let's get to it, unless you love standing around so much surface dwellers!"

Durgo responds in a dwarvish mutter.  [Language unknown: Ek ave orttratic oreha omeamewas maio E k ie ion thi siis outhev inmo nd ivehercom hoss undut urnot plsach encyinart.]

"If you can forge legitimate-looking orders, let's try an order from Striking Hand Hurdam Dhikum." Avri suggested. "Telling him to send half his men back to the city for a secret mission, the particular of which are to be received from the Hand himself. We can ambush the rest, and perhaps overtake the first half when we're done."

Bhagrim waves away Durgo's outrageous suggestion with a growl.

Edging slightly away from the dwarves, just in case, Cassidy nodded to Avri.  "All right, Striking Hand Hurdam Dhikum," she repeated carefully.  "D-H-I-K-U-M?  Such terrible titles they all have, as though they're each trying to be the most intimidating.  But let me get under some sort of cover," she added, glancing around for a reasonably flat surface that wasn't being rained on.


OOC: 19:30, Today: Cassidy rolled 29 using 1d20+10.  Forgery Kit.  Bonus is based on Deception as the applicable skill, plus proficiency bonus.

We could be bringing word from Whiplar Gabram Barsk, Durgo says, waving a hand to indicate himself and his clanbrother.  He was the last one to attack our clanhold.  I believe he is dead, so no word should actually be forthcoming.

Avri helped Cassidy find an appropriate place to work (not an easy feat in these conditions) and gently touched her shoulder. "I'm afraid I've no further advice, beyond the name and appropriate spelling, but may Pelor's grace guide your hand. Perhaps if it is questioned, you could claim he made a slave or trusted servant write it for him." He suggested, leaving her to her work with one last grim smile. He had his own weapons to prepare and blessings to ask, for he could not leave one of Hextor's ilk alive to plague the people if he could prevent it.

OOC: Avri casts Guidance on Cassidy's forgery efforts. Target adds 1d4 to roll.

Disguised and Flanked by the two dwarfs riding on horse the three make there way toward back down the road toward the mentioned group of Hextorites. Rounding over the hill through the rain a small group of soldiers, covered by cowls and cloaks make there way toward them also. As stated two are on horses the others waling behind.

---

Meanwhile the caravan circles the wagons making a protection barrier from all sides. The rest of the main group, and the ten able bodied men armed with swords and bows follow a distance behind until they find a nice location to lay in ambush. The Road splits between two hills giving a slight, maybe just enough to turn the tides of a fight advantage.

---

As the three approach three of the men armed with polearms rush forward lowering their weapons. "Halt, Elena Hooded Menace of the Third Rank, Priestess of Hextor demand you give her the road." The three are covered in black splint mail, their faces completely covered by a wicked pointed helm. The rest of the group continues your direction about 50 yards off. Each equipped similarly, other then the two on horseback. One, obviously Elena, is where black Plate Armor with robes and cloak covering her. The other is clad in plate armor with gold ornate engravings, his hood is up against the rain, but you can see clearing he is a Red Dragonborn.

Cassidy had not been expecting to see a Dragonborn, in full plate no less, and her heart sank a little at the sight.  Thankfully there was a great deal else to think about just then, and she focused on doing her best to sound tired and flustered, as though the three of them had just finished a rushed and anxious journey.  As the men approached and gave what sounded like a standard, ritual sort of challenge, she pulled her horse up and dismounted, giving what she hoped was the proper salute.

"Elena, Hooded Menace of the Third Rank, Priestess of Hextor," she began, keeping her head bowed a little as though overawed.  Third rank didn't sound all that impressive, but as a mere messenger Cass would be outranked by nearly everyone else.  And she suspected that the best way to flatter one of these people was to behave as though they were far higher ranking than they actually were.  "We carry an urgent message from Striking Hand Hurdam Dhikum."  Still trying to seem flustered -- that seemed a useful way to excuse any lapses in etiquette she might already be committing -- she turned to her saddlebag and pulled out the message, now looking slightly battered, and offered it out.

Bhagrim, still bare-chested and looking absolutely miserable on horseback, glared at down at the halberds with contempt. His hand was on the haft of his axe, almost daring the guards to make a move. But he managed to keep silent for the moment. After all, that dragon-looking one was in charge and that was the first head that should take leave from its shoulders..
This message was last edited by the player at 09:30, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

And we come bearing word from Whiplar Gabram Barsk, Durgo says, indicating himself and Bhagrim, on the attack against out kinsmen of the Skyfall Mountains.
He utters the word "kinsmen" as if he is trying to spit something rotten and distasteful from his mouth.