"We--" The young man begins, before the elf's booming voice cuts him off. He scowls, hooking a thumb into the belt that held his weapon as he whirls on whoever had dared to interrupt, only to find the elf standing before him. Instantly, his attitude shifts, as he stumbles over his words and summon up some excuse. "Brimthenel-thegn! I was just-- Every second we waste could mean more harm to the village, I thought it best we act, uh, quickly." Though the party wouldn't recognize it, the elf would know this use of the witches' tongue ousted the man as a member of the people's militia instantly, eliciting unhappy grumblings from the crowd's older members who thought the language cursed. The militia, however, whose founding members had once had a good relationship with the lady-witch who'd brought the language to their village, took the other stance and used it prolifically. Dregnas they had called their members, thinking the power the language held would make them that much more effective. It wasn't long after that a half-dozen different terms had been coined to describe different ranks and honours. The thegnar were soldiers to be held in high regard, experienced, knowledgeable men that were to be respected, but prescribed no direct rank in the militia itself.
Archibald's hand interjecting between them, the mans attention turns back to the matter at hand. Instead of shaking the young lord's hand, the militia-man kept his thumb hooked in his weapon belt, and demanded again, skeptically, "You wounded it? Where was this fight? We've already seen the stables."
The sight of the Elf intrigues the Kreen, this being the race’s first representative he has seen since crossing over those strange waters. For one who values knowledge, the last several days have been bittersweet; new fauna and flora have stimulated the imagination but have also stymied the survival instincts. Elves, who usually share an intimate connection with their surroundings, would make excellent teachers.
The wizard follows the crowd, stepping in pace with the Elf before reaching out telepathically.
A good kos-r-iik/sky’s fire/morning to you. I am Chatcho/Chat’Cho/One Who Remembers Lost or Unusual Knowledge.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Brimthenel's hand cut through the air, silencing the young man, "Enough! I was aware of this matter and was looking into it myself. If our guests were as reckless as you, blood would already be spilled." Having made his point, Brimthenel allowed his harsh expression so soften, though only enough to avoid the look of furiousness. "Count yourself lucky we need every soldier we can get. Now silence."
He turned to the Thri-Keen, straightening his belt and leaning forward to deliver a short curtsey. "Sir Brimthenel. A knight, pledged to the local township. I had been investigating the livestock attacks and heard that you lot managed to drive off the beast." He quirked an eyebrow toward Archibald's claim and followed him to the barn.
Branch holds back a bit as the boys seem to test each others testosterone about the whole thing, and is glad when they start moving back to the barn to show them what they found. As she overhears the elf, she asks "You've been investigating the attacks... what have you learned?"
Sir Brimthenel had heard much of the new visitors, considering how short their stay had been as of yet. In the same stroke, they'd at once pledged to assist the town, and beat a handful of militiamen who--depending on who you asked--may or may not have been over the line, all while in the middle of the council chambers. Now, 'ere the day was done, they've also tangled themselves up in this mess. In truth, he had not the slightest idea what to expect of these people, besides the fact they seemed to have a knack for finding trouble. If that was good, or not, has still yet to be determined.
Though the young soldier had shown respect for the elder knight, there was only so little his pride could take before retorting in a much harsher tone, "And if we were 's lazy as our guests the beast will never be found." In a lower tone he continues, hissing, "You're no captain yet, dreng. Don't forget it," before dropping back in step.
Together, the crowd and the party walk around the side of the barn to the scene of the crime. Much to Archibald's surprise, however, things have changed. No longer do the fingers he'd severed lay neatly in the ruined stall. In fact, nothing remained at all of any blood, bone, or flesh they'd carved from the creature's body. Only the destroyed, and the earth torn-up from their fight lent credence to the idea there had been such a creature here last night at all.
"So, then, fearsome stranger." The militiaman mocks, "Where is this hand ye've gone and cut off, hey?"
The soldier's irritation bounced off Brimthenel like an arrow off a shield."Disgrace before dishonor, my young brother in arms. We must not forget our roots."
As the crowd filled into the barn, Sir Brimthenel found himself giving the party a waiting stare. He had no reason to suspect them of deceit, and the group didn't seem interested in false glory. But still, a hand was missing, and not in the manner described by Archibald.
"True, it is odd that the hand is missing... but what is even more strange is that the blood that was let from the creature is also absent from the scene." Branch looks around at the area they fought the creature just hours earlier, perplexed as to why it didn't look the way they had left it the night before.
"Whether there is proof to satisfy you or not, we tell you we are here to help hunt these creatures down, why are you questioning that? How does that help your community?"
The words said, and the movements made, Chatcho's senses expanded around him. Nothing came to the forefront of his mind, however. Through experience, and innate knowledge of the spells workings, he knew that anything magical should light up like a torch amidst the dark of night, but nothing came to him except for the faintest of glows around each of the party members, so dim he might've been mistaken.
"We're a tight-knit community, stranger." The soldier glowered. "Ye've already caused trouble, and now Mr. Sparklebraid drags us all out 'ere on your word alone, then ye start making wild claims that ye can't back up." He spits on the ground in open disdain. "I can't say 's yet to what purpose you'd have in lying, but I wouldn't be surprised, and if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, you'll answer for it." For what it's worth, most of the crowd seems to side with the older, more respectable, elven knight, or at the least doesn't show any intention of siding with or against anyone. The militiaman seems to speak only for himself.
Archibald, who has spent this time looking over the scene, finally locates the area where he thought the errant fingers had landed after he severed them. But, instead of half-rot flesh and bone, nothing remains but the smallest dusting of--he takes a whiff of it--ash? Spreading it over two fingers, it certainly feels and smells like burnt... something. But no evidence of any burning surrounds the area, it's almost more like a small pile of ash had been brought here from elsewhere and dumped where the fingers once lay, the most of it blowing off with the wind.
Archibald holds his ashen fingers up to the others. "Now what should we make of this? An odd tradition of spreading ash near barns? Or some sort of clue to lead us to whomever stole the signs of our victory?"
Sir Brimthenel rubs his chin thoughtfully as Archibald announces his finding. "I've seen stranger things." He turned to the militiaman. "Patience, comrade. One thing is clear: the issue bears further investigation. I will accompany the strangers, to verify their findings and ensure the beast's proper extermination." The knight held his gauntleted hands behind his back. "If their word proves false, you'll be the first to know."
Archibald raises his eyebrow at Sir Brimenthal. "You are one of the first reasonable men I've met since arriving at this place. I'm Archibald. It's good to meet you."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
With the elf's declaration to accompany the party in their hunt, most of the crowd slowly began to disperse, mumbling well-wishes and happy tidings, all. It was only right, a good half of them were far beyond the physical aptitude of their youth, and none of them had maintained their arms and armour well enough. The young soldier lingers for a moment longer, before glancing back at Archibald's discovery and conceding, parting after the rest of the crowd with the warning, "It's on your honour, then, 'knight.'"
And then they were alone, the party and the town's knight. Perhaps a journey into town was in order, the farmer had said there'd been attacks before, maybe someone would know something... On the other hand, the creature hadn't proved hard to track. With Tik-Tik's keen nose, perhaps they could find the creature's trail and find out where it ended up after the long night.
Branch looks at the knight with trepidation. So far, the only people that have been decent to her since they have arrived are the farmer and his wife where they stayed. She doesn't say anything as she waits for the crowd to finally disperse. Once it is just them and the knight, she asks him, "So, do you think anyone would have any insight as to where to find this monster or shall we start from our track last night?"
Brimthenel sighed, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose as the turbulent young soldier left the barn. Once the crowd left, he turned toward the others, hands again meeting behind his back. "I was hoping you all would have an answer to that. This is an illusive beast. Few have seen it, and you all are the only ones I know to have driven it off. Still, though," The knight took a quick breath of air as he paced around the barn, looking for any trails of blood, loose fur, prints and clawmarks and the like. "If the creature was as wounded as you say, it can't have gone too far. Perhaps we could still track it?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Brimthenel Survival: 14
So near to the animal pens, the ground in the area was torn up and ripe for becoming a mud-pit long before last night's visitor. However, the elongated, splayed, taloned digits of the creature proved quite distinctive from the hooves that had come before. And, with Tik-Tik's help, the tracking got off to an amazingly easy start. It was not long, before the dessicated, now hours-old corpse of a goat appeared before them, the site of the attack on Tik-Tik last night. Chunks of bloodied fur and discarded flesh surround the dead goat, instead, it was the offal that seemed to be largely missing from the animal. Chatcho had witnessed such through his familiar's eyes the night before, watched as it dug around in the now-empty cavity, and ultimately consumed what it brought forth each time.
"We--" The young man begins, before the elf's booming voice cuts him off. He scowls, hooking a thumb into the belt that held his weapon as he whirls on whoever had dared to interrupt, only to find the elf standing before him. Instantly, his attitude shifts, as he stumbles over his words and summon up some excuse. "Brimthenel-thegn! I was just-- Every second we waste could mean more harm to the village, I thought it best we act, uh, quickly." Though the party wouldn't recognize it, the elf would know this use of the witches' tongue ousted the man as a member of the people's militia instantly, eliciting unhappy grumblings from the crowd's older members who thought the language cursed. The militia, however, whose founding members had once had a good relationship with the lady-witch who'd brought the language to their village, took the other stance and used it prolifically. Dregnas they had called their members, thinking the power the language held would make them that much more effective. It wasn't long after that a half-dozen different terms had been coined to describe different ranks and honours. The thegnar were soldiers to be held in high regard, experienced, knowledgeable men that were to be respected, but prescribed no direct rank in the militia itself.
Archibald's hand interjecting between them, the mans attention turns back to the matter at hand. Instead of shaking the young lord's hand, the militia-man kept his thumb hooked in his weapon belt, and demanded again, skeptically, "You wounded it? Where was this fight? We've already seen the stables."
"At the barn. Allow me to show you." Archibald is smug as he leads them towards the site of the fight
Paladin - warforged - orange
The sight of the Elf intrigues the Kreen, this being the race’s first representative he has seen since crossing over those strange waters. For one who values knowledge, the last several days have been bittersweet; new fauna and flora have stimulated the imagination but have also stymied the survival instincts. Elves, who usually share an intimate connection with their surroundings, would make excellent teachers.
The wizard follows the crowd, stepping in pace with the Elf before reaching out telepathically.
A good kos-r-iik/sky’s fire/morning to you. I am Chatcho/Chat’Cho/One Who Remembers Lost or Unusual Knowledge.
Brimthenel's hand cut through the air, silencing the young man, "Enough! I was aware of this matter and was looking into it myself. If our guests were as reckless as you, blood would already be spilled." Having made his point, Brimthenel allowed his harsh expression so soften, though only enough to avoid the look of furiousness. "Count yourself lucky we need every soldier we can get. Now silence."
He turned to the Thri-Keen, straightening his belt and leaning forward to deliver a short curtsey. "Sir Brimthenel. A knight, pledged to the local township. I had been investigating the livestock attacks and heard that you lot managed to drive off the beast." He quirked an eyebrow toward Archibald's claim and followed him to the barn.
Insight check on Archibald's claim: 16
Branch holds back a bit as the boys seem to test each others testosterone about the whole thing, and is glad when they start moving back to the barn to show them what they found. As she overhears the elf, she asks "You've been investigating the attacks... what have you learned?"
Sir Brimthenel had heard much of the new visitors, considering how short their stay had been as of yet. In the same stroke, they'd at once pledged to assist the town, and beat a handful of militiamen who--depending on who you asked--may or may not have been over the line, all while in the middle of the council chambers. Now, 'ere the day was done, they've also tangled themselves up in this mess. In truth, he had not the slightest idea what to expect of these people, besides the fact they seemed to have a knack for finding trouble. If that was good, or not, has still yet to be determined.
Though the young soldier had shown respect for the elder knight, there was only so little his pride could take before retorting in a much harsher tone, "And if we were 's lazy as our guests the beast will never be found." In a lower tone he continues, hissing, "You're no captain yet, dreng. Don't forget it," before dropping back in step.
Together, the crowd and the party walk around the side of the barn to the scene of the crime. Much to Archibald's surprise, however, things have changed. No longer do the fingers he'd severed lay neatly in the ruined stall. In fact, nothing remained at all of any blood, bone, or flesh they'd carved from the creature's body. Only the destroyed, and the earth torn-up from their fight lent credence to the idea there had been such a creature here last night at all.
"So, then, fearsome stranger." The militiaman mocks, "Where is this hand ye've gone and cut off, hey?"
The soldier's irritation bounced off Brimthenel like an arrow off a shield. "Disgrace before dishonor, my young brother in arms. We must not forget our roots."
As the crowd filled into the barn, Sir Brimthenel found himself giving the party a waiting stare. He had no reason to suspect them of deceit, and the group didn't seem interested in false glory. But still, a hand was missing, and not in the manner described by Archibald.
Archibald looks around to see what happened to the hand, confusion plain on his face
Paladin - warforged - orange
"True, it is odd that the hand is missing... but what is even more strange is that the blood that was let from the creature is also absent from the scene." Branch looks around at the area they fought the creature just hours earlier, perplexed as to why it didn't look the way they had left it the night before.
"Whether there is proof to satisfy you or not, we tell you we are here to help hunt these creatures down, why are you questioning that? How does that help your community?"
Odd, but certainly not evidence of absence, thinks Chatcho.
The Wizard reaches out to the ether to summon Tik-Tik.
Should the hand be hidden, it would not take much effort for The Guardian to discover it. Still…
Chatcho breaks away from the crowd and begins to cast detect magic, assuming a greater effort has been made to conceal the hand.
Archibald Investigation: 15
The words said, and the movements made, Chatcho's senses expanded around him. Nothing came to the forefront of his mind, however. Through experience, and innate knowledge of the spells workings, he knew that anything magical should light up like a torch amidst the dark of night, but nothing came to him except for the faintest of glows around each of the party members, so dim he might've been mistaken.
"We're a tight-knit community, stranger." The soldier glowered. "Ye've already caused trouble, and now Mr. Sparklebraid drags us all out 'ere on your word alone, then ye start making wild claims that ye can't back up." He spits on the ground in open disdain. "I can't say 's yet to what purpose you'd have in lying, but I wouldn't be surprised, and if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, you'll answer for it." For what it's worth, most of the crowd seems to side with the older, more respectable, elven knight, or at the least doesn't show any intention of siding with or against anyone. The militiaman seems to speak only for himself.
Archibald, who has spent this time looking over the scene, finally locates the area where he thought the errant fingers had landed after he severed them. But, instead of half-rot flesh and bone, nothing remains but the smallest dusting of--he takes a whiff of it--ash? Spreading it over two fingers, it certainly feels and smells like burnt... something. But no evidence of any burning surrounds the area, it's almost more like a small pile of ash had been brought here from elsewhere and dumped where the fingers once lay, the most of it blowing off with the wind.
Archibald holds his ashen fingers up to the others. "Now what should we make of this? An odd tradition of spreading ash near barns? Or some sort of clue to lead us to whomever stole the signs of our victory?"
Paladin - warforged - orange
Sir Brimthenel rubs his chin thoughtfully as Archibald announces his finding. "I've seen stranger things." He turned to the militiaman. "Patience, comrade. One thing is clear: the issue bears further investigation. I will accompany the strangers, to verify their findings and ensure the beast's proper extermination." The knight held his gauntleted hands behind his back. "If their word proves false, you'll be the first to know."
Archibald raises his eyebrow at Sir Brimenthal. "You are one of the first reasonable men I've met since arriving at this place. I'm Archibald. It's good to meet you."
Paladin - warforged - orange
With the elf's declaration to accompany the party in their hunt, most of the crowd slowly began to disperse, mumbling well-wishes and happy tidings, all. It was only right, a good half of them were far beyond the physical aptitude of their youth, and none of them had maintained their arms and armour well enough. The young soldier lingers for a moment longer, before glancing back at Archibald's discovery and conceding, parting after the rest of the crowd with the warning, "It's on your honour, then, 'knight.'"
And then they were alone, the party and the town's knight. Perhaps a journey into town was in order, the farmer had said there'd been attacks before, maybe someone would know something... On the other hand, the creature hadn't proved hard to track. With Tik-Tik's keen nose, perhaps they could find the creature's trail and find out where it ended up after the long night.
Hidden Roll ;) : 24
Branch looks at the knight with trepidation. So far, the only people that have been decent to her since they have arrived are the farmer and his wife where they stayed. She doesn't say anything as she waits for the crowd to finally disperse. Once it is just them and the knight, she asks him, "So, do you think anyone would have any insight as to where to find this monster or shall we start from our track last night?"
Brimthenel sighed, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose as the turbulent young soldier left the barn. Once the crowd left, he turned toward the others, hands again meeting behind his back. "I was hoping you all would have an answer to that. This is an illusive beast. Few have seen it, and you all are the only ones I know to have driven it off. Still, though," The knight took a quick breath of air as he paced around the barn, looking for any trails of blood, loose fur, prints and clawmarks and the like. "If the creature was as wounded as you say, it can't have gone too far. Perhaps we could still track it?"
Tik-Tik, the trail please. Worry not, we’ll accompany you this time.
Keen Smell: 18
Brimthenel Survival: 14
So near to the animal pens, the ground in the area was torn up and ripe for becoming a mud-pit long before last night's visitor. However, the elongated, splayed, taloned digits of the creature proved quite distinctive from the hooves that had come before. And, with Tik-Tik's help, the tracking got off to an amazingly easy start. It was not long, before the dessicated, now hours-old corpse of a goat appeared before them, the site of the attack on Tik-Tik last night. Chunks of bloodied fur and discarded flesh surround the dead goat, instead, it was the offal that seemed to be largely missing from the animal. Chatcho had witnessed such through his familiar's eyes the night before, watched as it dug around in the now-empty cavity, and ultimately consumed what it brought forth each time.
"What sort of trail can we follow but the stink? Maybe stake out a goat and draw it to us?"
Paladin - warforged - orange