As Hoppy flies up and up and up into the mountain air, the owl catches the sight of the impressive Torken village in full view. The village lies slanted atop the steep ridges of the mountain, with houses more often than not building directly into the dirt and rock instead of on the slant itself. Several thousand homes and buildings comprise the village's bulk - the lack of gardens or farmland indicating food and produce is hunted elsewhere, or perhaps grown underground. Several arenas and rings cut out to the open air. Roughly in the center of the village is a larger, stone-carved building; moss and oak trees spiral around the center - it seems to be a building of importance, but its purpose is difficult to tell. 

What is strange is the lack of people milling around town. Normally, Erbert would expect vendors in the streets and people going about their business. Today, the village seems entirely deserted - had the loud cheers emanating from the topmost area of the village not given away the unusually active Torken Arena. Open to the air, the stone-hewn arena is visible even from afar; soft sands coat the arena's floor, while a truly astonishing arrangement of carved benches and viewing towers hold a veritable sea of green-and-black clothed individuals. It appears the bulk of the citizenry is occupied at the Torken Arena. Even more than the usual. 

A hint of recognition flashes in the guard's eyes as Nico speaks. Perhaps they had seen each other before. Or, maybe, a Torken recognizes a Torken when he sees one. The man nods and steps back. "Aster may be occupied. The arena is in session. Ak'hela (OOC: any Wilderling would recognize her as the current Torken Champion) has been challenged. She is defending her title. If you hurry, you may witness the battle." The guard's voice seems somewhat irritated, as if he clearly wished to see the battle himself. The gates creak open, giving sight to the well-worn stone alleyways of the Torken.

 "I've tried to be the change before. I have no intentions of stopping." Asha's smile doesn't quite pull to the corners of her lips - a hint of nervous indecision still lingers in her eyes. 

"Feed us?" Kionel scoffs, not bothering to reciprocate the politeness. "Look at us. What do you think? Old pumpkin mash from the Zavas, once every other day. The maggots usually get to it first." Kionel sneers. There's no hope remaining in his eyes. "Go ahead and try. They're already convinced. Maybe you'll stand next to me on the noose if you push them too hard." One of the Wilderlings elbows Kionel in the stomach. The man coughs, spits some blood, and averts his gaze from Malon. 

Midnight arrives and swiftly passes. The Wilderlings move on, unhindered by the trek - Malon and Alabaster, however (unless Malon has certain Ranger features which allows him to avoid it), will need to make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw or gain one level of exhaustion.

 At nearly four in the morning, the troop - as if the woods parted before them randomly - breaks into a clearing. Gaz places two fingers to his lips and emits an intricate whistled pattern. Shouts and other whistles return moments later. Despite the time of night, the area seems extremely active - judging by the looks of the place, you have arrived to the main Outcast camp. 

A word on the Outcasts; they are, for one, respected by the other tribes as an actual organization. They are no fringe group, even if their citizens are less than stellar and their methods often conflicting with the other tribes. That does not, however, mean they are an ally of any. Most Wilderlings consider them lunatics or terrorists.They are the refuse of the others - for one reason or another, a moral code broken, a crime not quite severe enough for death was committed. They are the exiles; the ones who don't fit in for one reason or another. Cast into the wilderness, most people sane enough to have an ounce of self-sufficiency seek the Outcasts for protection and a community - equally often do Outcasts seek the wanderers of the woods and offer their aid, however nuanced it may be. The Outcasts expect everyone here to contribute to the survival of the camp. The woods are dangerous. Survival of the fittest is their motto - ironic, considering the Outcasts claim to be a haven from the woods. 

The destitute state of the camp shows the poor conditions the Outcasts tend to live in - makeshift tents spring from the ground wherever they can, fashioned from whatever material is available. Smoke crackles from fires randomly sprung up wherever campfires are convenient. The clothes of most are ratty and tattered, teeth yellow and hair unwashed. Armor and blades seem to be precious commodities and are usually the only surfaces with a hint of polish. The ground below is packed dirt. The sound of a stream sounds vaguely in the distance.

The most interesting feature of the camp is unquestionably the citizens within. No other tribe can offer the diversity seen - an equal amount of crazy-eyed humans, dwarves, elves, and the usual sit next to scarred orcs, goblinkind, large dragonborn. Kobolds scurry underfoot. The occasional gnoll can be seen towering over the crowd. Despite their differences, the community seems somehow tightly knit - drinks are shared along with stories and jokes. Even at the time, the camp is entirely active. Most likely, the nature of the kinds who end up among the Outcasts means the difference between day and night matters little for some. 

The half-dozen Imperials being led through the camp brought attention to the Outcasts. Erupting laughter, jeering shouts, and taunts ring through the air as the Outcasts begin to gather around Alabaster, Malon, Gaz, and his crew. Screams of 'gut them' and 'kill the Imps' echo. 

Gaz raises his arms and bellows at the crowd to cease their advance, but his shouts are drowned by the noise - until a voice booms through the clearing, clearly augmented by some form of magic. The cheering chokes to silence nearly immediately - and all turn their eyes to a man slowly approaching. A dirty-brown hood hangs over a salt-and-pepper bearded face. Age pulls wrinkles over the elderly human's eyes. Worn clothes that may have once been blue hang in a cowl to his waist. A leather buckler and belt supports a book hanging near a pouch at his waist. The man commands respect. His imperious gaze holds cold, bitter eyes - clearly a man who has seen better days. 

The hunched man halts as he catches view of the Imperials, casting his loathing gaze over the assembled party. The rabble surrounding the group maintain their distance. The man is clearly some sort of commander. It is clear the man's contempt extends not only to the Imperials - but to Gaz and his crew as well. "Gaz - would you like to explain the reason for returning to my camp, and with the arrival of six Imperials into our groups?" 

Gaz nods - and, strangely, bows. Seeing a man like Gaz bow to someone tells of the man's rank. "They're captives. Ambushed us. We fought back and won. Simple as that. Figure I'd bring these six to a trail of sorts." Gaz grins. "Maybe send a message to the Imperials-"

The man interrupts, tone reprimanding and strong despite his age. "The last time you orchestrated a message to be delivered to the Imperium we all loathe nearly led this camp to be discovered, Gaz, and if you refused to heed my warning to contain your hatred, you may very well jeapordize the Outcasts I have gathered." 

Gaz's jaw clenches as his shoulders shift, but after a moment of silence, he quiets. 

The man then turns towards Alabaster and Malon - dark eyes glittering with uncanny intellect. "And who are you? You seem too well-dressed to be one of this one's followers."

At the initial hints of the Torken village beyond the gates, Herrena fatigue melted away and she couldn't help but grow excited by what she was able to see.  Now this is more like it!  She thought to herself as she began to take in the new locale.  As her mind began to drift and daydream about what was to come, the talk from the guard about the Arena and a challenge snapped her back into current events.

"A challenge?  At the arena?  We should go watch!"  Herrena told the others, growing excited at the thought.  Though she wanted to immediately run off and spectate the bout, she turned to the guardsmen and asked, "Can anyone fight in the arena?  Even a non-Torken?"  

Still lost in thought, Thea looks around the alleyways visible from where the group is standing, taking in the view. She snaps out of it as the she hears the arena being mentioned. Taking a deep breath, Thea closes her eyes, scenes from the recent fight replaying in her head. She waits patiently, continuously inhaling and exhaling deeply as she was taught while the memories rush over her, and only reopens her eyes ones they have faded away fully. She keeps a straight face throughout it all, giving a simply nod in response. "Sure, let's go." She then turns to Nico, her voice uncharacteristically neutral. "Would you recognize Aster if we pass him somewhere around the spectacle?"

Erbert nods to Thea and offers  "If you knew Aster and could describe him a little more, I could have Hoppy fly around and look for him..."  He plods forward toward the arena.  This was definitely a day for the journal.  As they are walking, he takes it out and makes some drawings, of the architecture, the people.  He draws some detailed pictures of the faces of some of the warriors.

Quote from PlumPie >>

Midnight arrives and swiftly passes. The Wilderlings move on, unhindered by the trek - Malon and Alabaster, however (unless Malon has certain Ranger features which allows him to avoid it), will need to make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw or gain one level of exhaustion.

 Con Save: 12 

Quote from PlumPie >>

The man then turns towards Alabaster and Malon - dark eyes glittering with uncanny intellect. "And who are you? You seem too well-dressed to be one of this one's followers."

 Alabaster eyes Gaz curiously, then turns back to the leader. Instead of bowing, he only nods. "My name's Alabaster." And he cocks his head to Malon, "And this is Malon. We are travellers. We ran into Gaz and his men fighting the Imperials. So we jumped in and helped. Turns out some people in our group were actually siding with the Imperials. Hah. So Malon and I ditched them. We wanna see this through anyway."

"Aster's a Goliath. You can't miss him, he's over 7 feet tall and completely bald, there's not a ton of people in there that would fit that description." 

As we are walking toward the stadium, Erbert holds out his hand to Thea and says, “Hold on to me, keep me from falling or bumping into someone.  I’m going to look for him.”  He sends Hoppy up again, flying toward the stadium, looking out for a 7 foot tall bald Goliath, to report back his location.  

Hoppy perception:  9 

"There are always fights before the main spectacle," the guard replies to Herrena. "Most enter for the chance to be noticed by the elites. Others fight for a better view. Ask, and they may be able to accommodate you."

Hoppy, the little owl, soars high into the sky above the gigantic Torken arena. Etched into the jagged slate and stone of the mountain are dozens upon dozens of rows of multilayered spectating stands; ingenious architecture has truly maximized the potential of this arena to be crowded - and, by all means, today it is entirely full. Torken by the hundred swarm into the stand, loudly make bets, promises, and munch on food. All seem to be looking forwards to a good time spectating the fights - and, oh! Several combatants seem to be duking it out in the arena; clad in traditional vibrant green, black, and white combat attire, a few Torken brawl over the sands coating the arena's floor. Hoppy can make out a pronounced ridge jutting from the side of the mountain which seems to have a better view over the arena's center; a platform carved from the stonework holds a handful of people, making it clear this is the location where the higher-ups spectate the fights. Unfortunately for Erbert, Hoppy becomes too distracted doing its best to snatch a snack from a random Torken family below too seek out a specific Goliath. 

The group walks towards the stadium, walking up the steep stone embankments and traversing the age-worn buildings carved into the mountain's slope. The large, metal-studded doors are open to the public; it takes some fighting through the swarm of Torken congregating in the stands, but eventually, the group manages to secure a relatively comfortable seating area with a good enough view of the fights. A stand near the walkways leading into the arena indicates there are a few more fights left to sign up for - and the winner's prize is a prime seat atop the viewer's platform where the main spectacle can be watched in all its glory. 

 "You 'ditched' them?" the man spits, once again throwing a glowering glare in Gaz's direction. "After hearing they're siding with the Imperials? Idiots, all of you. I take it you weren't followed, Gaz. If you were - a line will be drawn, and an example will be made." The weathered man exhales sharply, runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper beard, and locks his wrists behind his back. The crowd is exceptionally silent. "None of you idiots actually plan ahead, do you? No forethought, no consideration. I am Tumor," the man speaks, pinpricks of green, piercing eyes boring into Alabaster. "Self-proclaimed leader of the Outcasts. Our goal is simple; by ridding the Wilderness of the Imperial plague, we seek survival and recognition by the other tribes." Tumor's final word is spoken with a hint of bitterness. "And seeing you share the philosophy of slaying the Imperials for what they are, perhaps you will fit in. However-" Tumor's voice rises- "You must heed my instructions, Gaz and all of you. Temper your rage. Our situation relies on tact none of you except myself possess, and acting without thinking jeopardizes us all. Now - Alabaster, Malon. Who are you? Where are you from? And what skills do you provide?" 

Erbert says "I can't see him.  Dammit Hoppy, now is not the time for a snack!  Let's just walk up there and see what we can see."  Erbert continues drawing, the arena, the people, he nearly trips over his own feet he is so fascinated by the environs.  "Amazing... maybe we will see a display of fisticuffs and martial prowess."

Thea continues to follow in silence, but with the sheer mass of people around them and the atmosphere they create, she cannot help but feel an ever so slight sense of excitement creep up on her. As she others gaze at the stand offering registrations for upcoming fights she stands back, obviously not interested to dabble in these kinds of affairs. Finally seated, Thea fully focuses on the fighting grounds of the coliseum. "To be honest, I doubt said Goliath would have been very happy about us interrupting him here anyways..." she mumbles,  more than herself than to anyone else in particular.

“Good to know.  And I think I just might.  Thanks!”  Herrena replied before following the others into the village proper.  As they approached and eventually entered the Arena where the bouts were taking place, she took everything in with a look of pure joy on her face; bumping into random folks as she walked with little awareness for her immediate surroundings or when she occasionally stopped to look around.

“Same.  And maybe I’ll pick-up a something I never thought to try before!”  Herrena replied to Erbert.  Then turning towards Nico – her joy and excitement getting the best of her – she asked the man excitedly in a rapid-fire manner, “Have you ever competed down there before?   What was it like?  Are they usually one-on-one bouts or do they have a wide range of events?  What’s the prize for winning?...” (She’ll pretty much keep going till someone stops her XP)    

During the march, the Imperium soldier's resonate again and again in Malon's ears. That is the choice he made ... is it not ? True enough, there was no real "good" choice there, however a part of him feels terrified and wrong.

He did not quite know what to expect from the Outcast camp. He had seen at some occurences Imperial camps, where discipline is held up to some degree ... this place looks quite little like it. What is more, a lot of unfamiliar types of folks seem to live in it. He must push himself not to stare and hold the chin up, despite their looks and words sending a shiver through his spine. He startles as a louder voice booms over the rest.

For the first few minutes, he feels too intimidated to take part in the conversation, but carefully listening. He keeps the head a bit low, but does not bow either. Eventually, he clears his throat.

"I am Malon, as my friend said. I come from ... the coast. Tribeless."

For failure of finding a good lie, he prefers for now giving vague truths. He takes in the rebuking, and despite the loud beating of his heart, manages to hold hiz gaze.

"Gaz d-did not tell the whole story. He and his group were ... were prisoners of the Imperium, and we helped them escape. They took the soldiers in custody, p-promising a trial for them."

He does his best to ignore that many eyes are likely on him. And that those eyes tell him much about the results of such a trial.

"Those Imps ... they're not ... not all just bloodthirsty conquerors ... they are often dragged by force or necessity into a war and ... and ..."

He gasps as tension keeps building in his chest. His voice tone gets a little lower, however it seems to slightly increase in power.

"I refused to watch a senseless slaughter of them once ... I am here to ensure their voices are to be heard before any decision is made."

He crosses his arms, doing his best not to shake, his gaze on Tumor.

As they walk towards the arena, Iver appears especially grim and quiet, but also restless. His eyes closed, he slips through the crowd at a pace that's hard to keep with as he's unbothered by the larger people around. 

An arena. Rumoured to be completely different from the one he knows, yet an arena nonetheless. Memories of bloodied corpses. Of surprised enemies and the cells. Memories of Alata. Blood, death, the horrifying laughter of the Ochori watching. Darkness. 
However, once they're in, he notices the differences. Slowly opening his eyes, there's light around. People are fighting below, but it doesn't appear that they're being forced to do so. The fact that there's a stand where one can sign up to fight just makes it clearer. A reward for winning is more than living another day. 

Despite his realisations, he can't quite shake his feelings. He'd rather leave the arena as soon as possible, but there's something they must do here first. Trying his best to raise his head as high as he can - standing on his seat to see a little more - Iver tries to spot Aster. Nico described him as a seven-foot-tall Goliath. How hard can it be to spot one like that, even among all the people around?

Perception: 4.

The hustle and bustle of Torken eagerly finding the best areas to watch the imminent fights comes to an uproar as a green-masked individual much too short to be a goliath stands at the center of the arena. While it's difficult to hear over the loud cheering of the villagers, you can likely guess the man sought to announce the first batch of contestants competing for glory. A dozen or so people step from raised portcullises arranged in a circular shape around the arena's walls, each wearing different arrangements of armor and weaponry. A favorite seems to be a shield and mace, while others wield spears or swords - and some wear no armor nor weapons at all. 

The Torken settle in to watch the fight; some making bets, others critiquing the combat maneuvers and stances of the contestants. A triage wing of presumably healers stands near the entrance of the arena, prepared to rush out at any moment's notice. The Torken seem to be generally settling in for the time being - though the chatter of Ak'hela's challenge outweighs any attention focused on the current battles. 

(Sidenote: if any of you wish to sign up for a fight with the Torken, now's the time - if not, I'll be moving things along shortly. I'd also like general Insight checks from the party / anyone attempting to listen in to the chatter of the Torken.)

 The aged leader of the Outcast stands, arms crossed behind his back, nodding at each of Malon's words. Tumor's reactions are difficult to tell. He pauses for merely a second to make certain Malon finished before speaking. 

"From the coast, eh? Tribeless?" Tumor chews his lip. "Think we care? We don't, we're Outcasts. It's clear you aren't, funnily enough." Tumor's age-speckled hands begin jittering and forming arcane glyphs in the air as he speaks. "And it's clear you know nothing about us, Malon. You think we - as you put it - want to be dragged by force or necessity into the war?" 

Tumor utters a word of power and raises a hand. A wash of sickly, green light bursts from his palms, washing over the captured Imperials - avoiding Malon, Alabaster, Gaz, Asha, and the assembled Wilderlings. The Imperials let out cries before the wind is apparently snuffed from their lungs. They fall at once; veins in their eyes and wrists bulged and blackened. The smell of rot immediately hangs in the air as the bodies seem to have decomposed in the matter of a split-second, looks of terror and pain on their still faces. 

DC16 Arcana check to reveal;

 "No, we don't. There's no point to hearing their voices, right? Do you understand what the Outcasts have been through?" Tumor gestures vaguely around the scraggled settlement. "There's nothing they can say we haven't heard before. It's horrible. We know. We also have decisions to make in our own self-interest, and since we value our independence and survival, we have sided against the Imperium. This land's too scarred to care about emotion or tears. Call me heartless." Tumor spits on the ground and gestures for the other Outcasts to strip the Imperials of valuables and take care of their bodies. "I would rather spill some blood than have the blood of my people on my hands, you hear? Now - if you're planning on being of any use to us, then you'd best get to it. Two more mouths to feed. Go out hunting, or build something, I don't care. Contribute. You don't want to watch senseless slaughter, eh? I don't want to watch another Outcast starve either." Without bothering to salute or offer any departing niceties, Tumor slowly turns and walks away. 

Gaz grumbles something under his breath. Asha raises a brow as if thankful Gaz didn't say it out loud. The Outcasts eye the two 'new guys' with a mixture of interest and challenge, weighing their strength and danger. A few crack jokes. Most turn away and return to their business - once the decaying bodies of the Imperials are taken care of, of course. You can swear a kobold or two snags a bite while they still can. 

Alabaster's eyes widen slightly as he watches the rotting, decaying beam of light shoot through him, leaving a pool of dirty swampy reflections in his brown eyes. "Damn," he gasps, half in awe and half in surprise. He looks back up at the grim leader of the Outcasts and keeps quiet. He waits for the crowd to disperse before he bumps Malon with his shoulder.

"I know what you are thinking." He says, "But the fact of the matter is, they don't have a choice, but neither do we. You know full well the same thing will happen if we end up in the hands of the Imperials. I mean, hell, they slaughtered Gaz's whole clan for no reason at all, and they were gonna execute him too. If anyone were to blame, it's the Imperium who brought the war to us in the first place. We can't afford to be kind to the hunters when we are being hunted." He shrugs. "Like I said, there is no middle ground. You choose your people, and you stand by them. This is the way." 

Insight: 3

(Huh, missed the part about the insight check. Only checking back to see why Thea would roll for one I realised it was asked. Also, unlike my last roll, I'm not forgetting that Halflings can reroll 1's this time... Insight: 21.)

As Tumor speaks, Malon has to push himself to hold his gaze. Despite him being hard to read, he gets the feeling of someone who has seen a lot, a lot more than his young life could even imagine.

A lot of harsh, unspeakable things.

He feels forced to admit that man is right; he knows nothing about them. He only had glances about how much they suffered. By the gods, he even knows little about this very land. As Tumor begins doing incantations, Malon feels a surge of terror. Did his words upset him that harshly ? He casts an alarmed, frightened eye on the people around him ...

... something putrid and dreary in the air seems to slightly touch him, before avoiding him. As he opens his eyes wide in disbelief, he takes an involuntary step back as he sees the Imperium soldiers rotting alive, and falling dead. The brief yet extreme pain makes him feel like someone just drove nails into his very skull. He staggers, and it takes an extreme struggle for him not to drop to his knees as he listens to the Outcasts' leader's last words before leaving. Naively, he almost expected that saving Gaz and his retinue would give their words some weight.

He startles as he feels a shoulder bumping into him. Chasing away his bout of nausea, he weakly nods at Alabaster's words.

"I suppose you're right ... I guess I knew it would end like that but tried not to think of it ... it's just, I have to admit ... I didn't really train for that ..."

Straightening up, he looked at the feral man and nodded again.

"I need some time to be alone ... he mentioned doing something to make ourselves useful, I might as well try to do that."

Malon then quietly leaves Alabaster and tries to find an Outcast that could look slightly friendlier than the average, hoping to enquire about the presence of nearby ponds of water or rivers, although guessing his best chances will probably be hunting over fishing.

Arcana : 12

Erbert is drawing in his notebook the scenes of the day, but he also keeps his ears down, makes notes of any interesting snippets of Torken conversation.  

Perception :  6 

(Herrena would like to join the bouts in the arena.  How would she go about doing so?)  

Herrena is taking in all the sights and sounds of the arena around her, trying to figure out how she could possibly join the fights herself! 

• Insight: 19