This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Vardis hammer comes across the back of Sir Digbys head pitching him senseless to the ground in a heap even as the robed Harbinger takes the opportunity to beginning running off to the north west.
The stag moves forward and assists Thatch with a huge sweep of his antlers at he Harbinger he is grappling..
Ori starts in a run after watching Digby fall, pursuing the fleeing enemies. Though after a quick sprint he reaches behind his back to pull a handaxe to throw. Finding them missing and remembering what he had last done with them, he slowed down to a walk, eventually watching the last of them disappear. He drops to his knees and the rush of battle flees from his viens and the pain and hurt crashes back to his senses. What had happened, almost killed by touches? Ori was determined never to let that happen to him again, now that he had experienced that kind of... hurt, he was focused on never let that bother him so much again while he is focused on fury of fighting.
He pulls one foot up, using his club to steady himself, he just sits there, not sure how the other will see him now after being bested by touch, not even push or kick, just touch. Thankfully he was able to talk his way out of that last encounter.
Cainneach breathes a sigh of relief while scanning their unexpected battlefield. Though some rather strange things had transpired, that was nothing new for this party. Most fortunately, none of their party appeared to be among the fallen, though several had taken mighty blows. With that thought in mind, the ranger hangs his longbow on his back and reaches into a pouch on his belt. His fingers wrap around a small sprig of mistletoe while Salt pads along beside him. With a few quickly muttered words and a discreet gesture with his other hand, the pouch is now filled with ten small berries. By the time this is done, Cainneach reaches Almeric and will assist the knight with the binding of the Capellar's roguish counterpart. "I'm well enough, though not nearly as well as I'd like to be. And you, Almeric, how do you fare? What of this ass that you've captured? Why would a knight be associating with the Clan Harbinger?"
Goodberry - 10 hp available to distribute (primarily to Ori and Vardi, I think?)
(Cainneach is out of spell slots and at 7/22 hp. How's everyone else holding up and who wants some berries? :-)
" Bruised and battered but not dead yet. Sir Tallow lives.....currently. A knight.....I suppose he is still....Harbingers are hired usually are they not? To settle things between warring Clans in ways that the field of battle cannot?"
" But I dare say Digby was here for me....and by his words I'd say he......or his Lord.....hired the Harbingers. We need move on to Beltayne at haste.....perhaps we were merely a secondary target? Though to attack a guest of Duke Carnasse whilst under his hospitality would be daring indeed."
" Our list of enemies is not so long that I do not have suspicions. What of yourselves? Hale and ready to move out? We're going to need to drag, carry or wake our prisoners."
Thatch pushes himself off of the ground from where he fell trying to tackle the fleeing harbinger, and brushes the dust from his mop of unruly hair. He looks for the majestic stag that felled the enemy, but the creature has disappeared.
Thatch moved to the man, quickly disarming him and searching through his belongings for anything of use, or any clue to who had sent them, before binding the prisoner with rope.
“Over here, Ser!” Thatch calls to Almeric. “We got one of them. Should we question him now? I’ll not be dragging this one anywhere, we will have to wake him.” Thatch slaps the man, not gently, on the cheeks to raise him.
(Thatch is bruised and bloody but standing strong - 9/17 hp)
"I have not met so many knights, but I guess they are not all so noble as you, Almeric. In Ereworn and in the Pagans, the Harbingers were used by the warlords, but I wouldn't have expected Duke Carnasse's dominion to be plagued with them as well, or that another knight would employ them in opposition."Cainneach looks up to Thatch's location, then scans the scene for signs of Famh.
Ori, now hearing other speak behind him tries to pull himself together a bit, pushes himself back to a standing position, "No worries, I didn't run off, still here I think." Ori turns back to the others dragging the club behind him. "I say bound and gag the knight, make him walk his own damn self to answer for his actions." Ori doesn't try to hide the fact that he himself has seen better days, he was still fighting in himself to figure out what had happen to him, and how to never let it happen again. That old bull wouldn't let somebody take him down so easily.
Thatch pushes himself off of the ground from where he fell trying to tackle the fleeing harbinger, and brushes the dust from his mop of unruly hair. He looks for the majestic stag that felled the enemy, but the creature has disappeared.
Thatch moved to the man, quickly disarming him and searching through his belongings for anything of use, or any clue to who had sent them, before binding the prisoner with rope.
“Over here, Ser!” Thatch calls to Almeric. “We got one of them. Should we question him now? I’ll not be dragging this one anywhere, we will have to wake him.” Thatch slaps the man, not gently, on the cheeks to raise him.
(Thatch is bruised and bloody but standing strong - 9/17 hp)
The bound man eventually rouses looking about in annoyance but not speaking.....
"I have not met so many knights, but I guess they are not all so noble as you, Almeric. In Ereworn and in the Pagans, the Harbingers were used by the warlords, but I wouldn't have expected Duke Carnasse's dominion to be plagued with them as well, or that another knight would employ them in opposition."Cainneach looks up to Thatch's location, then scans the scene for signs of Famh.
" We're near the northern Pagans......but yes it likely took a fair purse to tempt them to the lowlands."
" The crusades made monsters of many a man, knight or knave, some of us came out of it with oaths to do better.......others found their truth in foul deeds and fell ruminations".
" If you had to guess who would you think hired Digby and the Harbingers?"
Ori, now hearing other speak behind him tries to pull himself together a bit, pushes himself back to a standing position, "No worries, I didn't run off, still here I think." Ori turns back to the others dragging the club behind him. "I say bound and gag the knight, make him walk his own damn self to answer for his actions." Ori doesn't try to hide the fact that he himself has seen better days, he was still fighting in himself to figure out what had happen to him, and how to never let it happen again. That old bull wouldn't let somebody take him down so easily.
" Ori......like a fir tree in a storm you were whipped back and forth but still come through standing tall.", Sir Almeric nodded with a smile and began not gently rousing Sir Tallow.
" Famh!", Vardi boomed into the northern trees. " Are you hale and whole?"
The bound Harbinger got to his feet and regarded Thatch neutrally as he was led over.
Sir Tallow sputtered awake and looked about himself, " Well, Sir Dayne. You've got me. What do you think is a fair price to set me free or will you rob me like brigands on the road?"
Sir Almeric rubbed his temple with a finger, then spoke evenly and plainly, " Who were you acting for? Your current Lord, who is he? Answer and I'll consider your request. You made no formal challenge and acted as a bandit would.....it is only my own honour that does not see you spilled across the roadway, Murderer and defiler as you are."
Sir Tallow looked hard at Sir Almeric and then craned his head around at the others trying to take their measure..........
Ori starts lumbering back towards the group as he sees Sir Tallow turn his head and see him returning. Ori stares at Sir Tallow, looking pretty disheveled without being all that bloodied, "the Sirs honour, not mine." Ori lofts the spiked club up over his acrossed both shoulders, hoping his look and demeanor woukd do the job before he got too close to see if he was bluffing or not.
"Not wholly whole, Vardi, but A dinnae think I'll be leavin' ye aw juist yet." Famh appears disheveled and somewhat pale as she emerges from the underbrush and scrub trees that line the northern side of the road before the thicker woods begin, but her step is still firm and her eyes clear (OOC: Famh - 7 / 16 HP left; no permanent healing spells [yet another reason to MC in bard}, but she does have false life and 2 spell slots left so she could totter along for a while if she had to).
"I must confess though ... yon Harbinger can throw a dearg wi' the best, white'er else ye might say o his fightin'." She winces as she takes hold of the hilt and withdraws said dearg from her shoulder. Walking over to the still-bound figure, she places his blade on the ground in front of him (albeit a few spans out of reach even if he were somehow able to free his hands). She is just straightening up from this gesture of respect when she notices who the retinue's OTHER captive is. Fortunately for the situation, she is able to bite back the first six remarks, observations and insults that are battling for utterance at the tip of her tongue; but the mighty internal struggle puckers her face into a countenance none present have ever seen on Famh's normally pleasant face before. And in the end, she must admit to herself that she really doesn't feel the same revulsion for Sir Tallow as she did in the case of Loch. She completely failed to hear Sir Almeric's categorization of the retinue's prisoner as being a "ravisher" as well as a murderer (PER in log: 1); and as for his arrogance and disdain ... well, she's faced plenty of that in her somewhat variegated life, she supposes she can deal with ane mair or less without losing all her composure.
Which doesn't prevent her, once she learns that Sir Tallow's ransom is one of the subjects under debate, from suggesting that he should be ransomed in Duke Carnasse's hall, in full view of the entire ducal court and of Baron Aldred as the Albish king's representative, and that one of the conditions should be a humble acknowledgement of wrongdoing and a binding oath to 'go and sin no more', as it were. (If pressed for details, she will suggest that the exact specifics and wording be determined by the Duke and Baron in consultation with Sir Almeric, to best make sense in the world of court and camp that they share with the disgraced robber knight.)
And OF COURSE she agrees with Ori that until that point he should be made to walk as a guarded prisoner whose disposition is still not fully determined.
Almeric looks between Ori and Famh as if weighing up the two options as Digby begins to look more and more nervous at both Oris approach and Famhs words.
Almeric grins crookedly, " As you know, I am well known for giving those under my command much leeway in their conduct as long as it is not unbecoming.....as such Seargent Ori's suggestion holds a certain appeal."
" But I believe, if my guess as to your Lord is correct, that Braw-woman Famhs suggestion is the one that will sting the most..."
" You and the Harbinger will march afore us until we arrive back in Beltayne."
" Gather what you wish from the fallen, we'll leave them by the roadside as a notification that banditry will be met with force....though I daresay the Harbingers will return for their own before the sun rises tommorow."
Digby and the Harbingers arms were bound more securely and their legs hobbled by Thatch and Cainneach.
The retinue continued their march toward Beltayne......
(Sorry, life's been fairly chaotic the past week or so ...)
Cainneach heartily agreed with Almeric, Ori, and Famh's various statements regarding the handling of the remaining Harbinger and the scoundrel, Digby. However, he was too badly wounded to either think very clearly regarding Digby's employer or to add anything coherent to the discourse. It seemed like using what energy he had left to secure the prisoners was the best contribution he could make. Well, that and distributing his berries. Cainneach took a look at his bloody palm and grimaced. Ten berries, six of us. His magic was spent, so that was all he could muster until the morning. Always of a noble spirit, though certainly not upbringing, he made his way to each of his companions, passing two berries to each. To Famh, he also gave a quick embrace and a kiss on the forehead. "Careful there, leannan. That one was finely balanced for a bit." To Salt, who came up to the forester with a whimper and a nuzzle, he whispered, "I know boy, I'll be okay, I promise. I have you and Famh to look after, you know! Can't fall down on that duty." He smiled and gave the furry hound a vigorous rub on his head.
(2 hp to each party member! Every little bit helps, I hope.)
The Dayne retinue warily resumes its journey south, after ensuring they have mopped up the last remnants of a Harbinger ambush which all are aware ... in despite of all their vaunts to the contrary ... only failed in its purpose by the grace of the Cailleach, or Gatanades, or Freyja, or Morkaan. If Cainneach muses over this subject at all while his legs establish their own rhythm for the march and his mind searches for a topic to time his moving meditation to, he finds himself beginning to understand his beloved's viewpoint on matters of faith a little better. Given how many of Sir Almeric's retainers were still badly wounded in spite of his healing magic, it most likely took all four deities working in unison to save the retinue's metaphorical boar's head from getting roast in the battle beyond all further help of sauce or kitchen to repair. And if all four saw the others' earthly followers as being worthy of the same effort at salvation as their own were, then surely the priests of any faith who preach heresy and fire against all the others couldn't possibly be in the right of it. Then again, since it was Famh who first introduced him to this moderate point of view, he actually never found himself all that driven to resist it in the first place.
Whatever his walking meditations may be, the sharp-eyed forester is presently drawn from them by a faint sense of dà shealladh. Something in the landscape that ought to be the same has varied; or something that ought to vary has stayed the same. His senses may not have the extra starting advantage that Famh's faerie blood gives to her, but his training in Fenring Forest and subsequent seasoning through many perilous adventures have sharpened them to the usual sights and sounds of his calling far beyond the scope and understanding of the average market churl who might decide to go a-poaching afterward. Thus it does not take him long to notice that he has been seeing the same squirrel flickering in and out of his vision for some time now. It is a foxy-looking, clever red-brown female, larger than the average gray squirrel; and its left ear looks like it had been torn or chewed at some point but had healed fairly cleanly. In fact, the tip of that ear twitches and wriggles with as supple a grace as the other despite having healed in such a way that it is folded over at a rakish angle. It reminds the Highlander of how some Mercanian freebooters' headgear was described in the exaggerated sea tales that worked their way slowly from mouth to mouth over the mountains throughout his boyhood and indeed for generations before that; until they finished their salty days curled up by a fireside far inland giving him one of the refuges of memory and daydream he could slip into momentarily for respite in the terrible days that followed. Now, having served in the retinue of a Capellar new-returned from the Principalities of the Crusades, he suspected that detail was borrowed from similar tales concerning buccaneers of the far south who were either Ta'ashim or plain and absolute foreigners worshiping strange and foreign gods. Famh had paid far more attention to those stories than he had; but strangely enough, when it comes to the unusual behavior of the squirrel presently before them, she never seems to be looking in the right direction to see it at the times it is plainly in his view.
His attention drawn to his sharp-eyed beloved by this unusual circumstance, he slowly begins to note that she is not simply missing her chance to see it by coincidence. She actually seems to be consciously reluctant to look in the direction of the squirrel, and several times he catches her glancing hastily away when it seems as if she is going to be forced to acknowledge its existence or the fact that it is following the retinue with an assiduous interest. His fears of a last-ditch "Emphidian horse"* spying attempt by the Harbingers using some poor woodland creature enslaved by dark magic evaporate as the morning mist does; and he begins instead to suspect a much more benign and homely sorcery whose compounds and simples lie in no darker place than the food pouch inside Famh's pack.
The lowland sorceress' e'en, meanwhile, flicker with nearly as much wariness as the little woodland beast's as she considers how to broach the subject to her betrothed. She hadn't MEANT to entice the fox squirrel vixen into following the retinue!!! It was just that the poor thing had looked so HUNGRY, and so SAD, ... and just before the battle’s end, slipping through the trees,she'd seen the hollow high up in the lonely half-dead alder, and the traces of old long-dried blood and red fur still clinging to the weathered bark in places where splits and fissures held onto the sorrows of old long-gone years; and the little glints of white just barely visible deeper in the shadows where her nest must have been ... ... And with that memory her jaw firms and she strides over to her dear Cainneach with the clear light of love, trust and truth shining in her e'en. "He's a guid man," she whispers tenderly to herself as she approaches him, "or he'd no ha' chosen me, ragged waif that I wis back then. And he loves the harmless beasts and the natural beasts," (by which she means beasts which only kill in pursuit of food that they might live themselves, or to defend the mate or kits through whose love they pass on life), "as much as I do."Yet even so, there is a hesitant look in her eyes and a frankly wheedling tone to her voice as she begins.
"Ah ... Cainneach... dearest leannan mor ghraidh ... um ... that is ... " Then her face works as if she's about to cry, though there's no reason for it that he can see; and she suddenly blurts out all in a rush, "Oh, but Ethlinn's sae CUTE!!!!! And she wis sae terrible hungry, and sae brave tae go on after her terrible wound. An' I think she lost her kits, or her mate, or summat -- I saw ... it wis heartbreakin' ... !" At this point, as if on cue, the big red squirrel leaps from branch to branch across the road and then sits on a broken limb just above the level of Vardi's head, looking down at Famh and chittering. The brave Highland ranger could be forgiven for groaning in dismay at this point as he realizes the magnitude of the forces stacked against him, the least of which is the instinctive bond that already seems to exist between Famh and this little woodland waif strongly enough for the creature to come as if on cue to support her pleas. The fact that she has given it a name already is a very bad sign in itself; but that she has named it after Ethlinn ... no less a figure than the grandmother of Fionn MacChumail himself in the ancient Madhir legends so dear to his Famh's heart ... ! No less a figure than the Old God Lugh's own mother! He begins to suspect he will have a very difficult time indeed convincing his intended to leave this little creature behind to live out its natural existence in the only forest home it has ever known. And the squirrel herself seems far more interested in following Famh in the hopes of more food than it does in remaining in its territory.
+++++++++++++
(ooc: unless that should be 'Asun horse', Damian_May? On the map (see below) it looks like Asun is the city closest to the Emphidian Isles and mainland which might stand in for Troy. Technically though, of course, the IRL expression really ought to be "Greek horse", since it was they rather than the Trojans who conceived and deployed the idea. And as an admirer of clever heroes such as Odysseus and Fionn MacUail, and an artist and writer to boot, I'm eccentrically prickly on the subject or at least I play such on TV when it's good for a laugh ... ahem, anyway, you're the Legend sage, so I'll get your nod on which expression (if either) really would have made it up to Thuland before I try having Famh actually use that particular phrase herself instead of hijacking her dear and long-suffering Cainneach to do it and ... um, well, the dread writer's disease Purple Prose Frothing Mouth Madness kinda carried me a ... ooops, I did it again ... hmmm, seems I've heard that one somewhere before too LOL ... Anyway, I really don’t think it’s Selentium or Ibrahim that’s the Troy equivalent since they’re already parsed to Rome and Jerusalem)
===***===
(OOC: likewise apologies for the lapse, thouch all's turnit oot weel that's better, as it were. My mom went into the ER Sept. 11th with a sudden uptick in the level of her chronic cardiac insufficiency ... gained 10lbs fluid in a week and very short of breath ,,, but she was admitted to UVM Medical Center Cardiology immediately for inpatient care and laparoscopic (tube inserted through a blood vessel via a small incision, much less invasive than trafitional but gilmme a break its still surgery LOL) surgery to put two stents in her right shoulder. That plus some PT intervention which suddenly gave her respite from long term chronic and serious orthopaedic pain has basically restored her energy and focus to being able to manage again :-D _
Ori would search the elder for any answers to the man's power over Ori, perhaps something to remember the man by, to help remind Ori how little he could do to stop him.
Bound hands and gags on the prisoner's, Ori walked with leads to each bound hand as they walked. Stopping for a quick rest, Ori un gags each man in turn and gives them each a drink from a canteen. He found himself thinking on Dochartaigh, and missing hand axes, wondering if he had done right by the lad. Harshness is what Ori had done to himself, perhaps it wasn't the right approach to turning the young man's life around. He really was hardly more then a kid, though Ori, and probably Sir Almeric, felt that way with most of those he traveled with. Ori wished he had himself as pulled together as this lot was when he was thier age. He had been so proud and prideful, he had worked hard to bulk up like he was, but that was just a temer outlet for Ori more than trying to accomplish any sort of goal. He finally got his chest as big as he was in his showmanship days,aye even a bit bigger, but his gut was much rounder then it used to have been. Where he used to have hard definition in his mid section, he now only had suggestive dents. The curse of wisdom he supposed. "Alright, you had your fill. Time to move again Aye?"
Famh is brought back to seriousness again as she watches Ori manage the Dayne retinue's prisoners. For all the gruffness of his words when these two were initially captured, the big sergeant's basic decency and humanity prevails in his conduct towards the captives on the road, and he makes sure that their basic needs are cared for and they at least have clean water and a chance to rest when he gives it them to drink. She can't tell anything about his demeanour as he gives water to Sir Digby (Insight in log: 5); but when he comes to ease the Harbinger elder's thirst it does not need Famh's faerie sight to see the respect with which he is treating him. As this chimes in quite excellent tune with her own respect for the fellow as compared to Digby, a subtle smile of approval begins to mix in with her previous artful expression as she waits to see how Cainneach will respond to her latest impulsive gesture. And as soon as that is resolved, she looks to see whether the Harbinger captive's mouth is yet unbound; and if it is not she will wait her opportunity until the next time Ori gives him drink. Whenever it may be, she will conceal her interest at first, wandering over as if by chance and turning to the Harbinger with an artful look of indifference on her face .. she hopes (Deception %$_).
"Well, at least A can talk tae ye. No like thon snooty Albish fellow blames everyone but his ain self for his failure. An ye dae at least ken hou tae throw a dearg wi' some kynd o snap behind it. A'd be a guid bit better inclinit towards ye gin ye happenit tae have some idea hou a lass seekin' tae prentice herself tae a filidh micht find ane wha's seekin' a prentice. An as they're a poet an a filidh , and ye're a proper Thulishman, ye ken why A micht be inclinit tae trust thaim e'en thouch they're recommendit bi a foe."
EDIT: "... when he comes to ease the Harbinger elder's thirst it does not need Famh's faerie sight to see the respect with which he is treating him. (Insight in log: 19)"
Vardis hammer comes across the back of Sir Digbys head pitching him senseless to the ground in a heap even as the robed Harbinger takes the opportunity to beginning running off to the north west.
The stag moves forward and assists Thatch with a huge sweep of his antlers at he Harbinger he is grappling..
Attack: 11 Damage: 13
10
The Harbinger is torn from Thatchs grasp and thrown across to land hard against a tree and fall senseless to the ground.
( For most intents and purposes....unless you are pursuing those fleeing Combat is over. Both Digby and the Harbinger are unconscious.)
Ori starts in a run after watching Digby fall, pursuing the fleeing enemies. Though after a quick sprint he reaches behind his back to pull a handaxe to throw. Finding them missing and remembering what he had last done with them, he slowed down to a walk, eventually watching the last of them disappear. He drops to his knees and the rush of battle flees from his viens and the pain and hurt crashes back to his senses. What had happened, almost killed by touches? Ori was determined never to let that happen to him again, now that he had experienced that kind of... hurt, he was focused on never let that bother him so much again while he is focused on fury of fighting.
He pulls one foot up, using his club to steady himself, he just sits there, not sure how the other will see him now after being bested by touch, not even push or kick, just touch. Thankfully he was able to talk his way out of that last encounter.
Sir Almeric moved to secured Sir Tallow with some rope.
" Is everyone well? Where are you all?"
Cainneach breathes a sigh of relief while scanning their unexpected battlefield. Though some rather strange things had transpired, that was nothing new for this party. Most fortunately, none of their party appeared to be among the fallen, though several had taken mighty blows. With that thought in mind, the ranger hangs his longbow on his back and reaches into a pouch on his belt. His fingers wrap around a small sprig of mistletoe while Salt pads along beside him. With a few quickly muttered words and a discreet gesture with his other hand, the pouch is now filled with ten small berries. By the time this is done, Cainneach reaches Almeric and will assist the knight with the binding of the Capellar's roguish counterpart. "I'm well enough, though not nearly as well as I'd like to be. And you, Almeric, how do you fare? What of this ass that you've captured? Why would a knight be associating with the Clan Harbinger?"
Goodberry - 10 hp available to distribute (primarily to Ori and Vardi, I think?)
(Cainneach is out of spell slots and at 7/22 hp. How's everyone else holding up and who wants some berries? :-)
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" Bruised and battered but not dead yet. Sir Tallow lives.....currently. A knight.....I suppose he is still....Harbingers are hired usually are they not? To settle things between warring Clans in ways that the field of battle cannot?"
" But I dare say Digby was here for me....and by his words I'd say he......or his Lord.....hired the Harbingers. We need move on to Beltayne at haste.....perhaps we were merely a secondary target? Though to attack a guest of Duke Carnasse whilst under his hospitality would be daring indeed."
" Our list of enemies is not so long that I do not have suspicions. What of yourselves? Hale and ready to move out? We're going to need to drag, carry or wake our prisoners."
Thatch pushes himself off of the ground from where he fell trying to tackle the fleeing harbinger, and brushes the dust from his mop of unruly hair. He looks for the majestic stag that felled the enemy, but the creature has disappeared.
Thatch moved to the man, quickly disarming him and searching through his belongings for anything of use, or any clue to who had sent them, before binding the prisoner with rope.
“Over here, Ser!” Thatch calls to Almeric. “We got one of them. Should we question him now? I’ll not be dragging this one anywhere, we will have to wake him.” Thatch slaps the man, not gently, on the cheeks to raise him.
(Thatch is bruised and bloody but standing strong - 9/17 hp)
"I have not met so many knights, but I guess they are not all so noble as you, Almeric. In Ereworn and in the Pagans, the Harbingers were used by the warlords, but I wouldn't have expected Duke Carnasse's dominion to be plagued with them as well, or that another knight would employ them in opposition." Cainneach looks up to Thatch's location, then scans the scene for signs of Famh.
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Ori, now hearing other speak behind him tries to pull himself together a bit, pushes himself back to a standing position, "No worries, I didn't run off, still here I think." Ori turns back to the others dragging the club behind him. "I say bound and gag the knight, make him walk his own damn self to answer for his actions." Ori doesn't try to hide the fact that he himself has seen better days, he was still fighting in himself to figure out what had happen to him, and how to never let it happen again. That old bull wouldn't let somebody take him down so easily.
The bound man eventually rouses looking about in annoyance but not speaking.....
" We're near the northern Pagans......but yes it likely took a fair purse to tempt them to the lowlands."
" The crusades made monsters of many a man, knight or knave, some of us came out of it with oaths to do better.......others found their truth in foul deeds and fell ruminations".
" If you had to guess who would you think hired Digby and the Harbingers?"
" Ori......like a fir tree in a storm you were whipped back and forth but still come through standing tall.", Sir Almeric nodded with a smile and began not gently rousing Sir Tallow.
" Famh!", Vardi boomed into the northern trees. " Are you hale and whole?"
The bound Harbinger got to his feet and regarded Thatch neutrally as he was led over.
Sir Tallow sputtered awake and looked about himself, " Well, Sir Dayne. You've got me. What do you think is a fair price to set me free or will you rob me like brigands on the road?"
Sir Almeric rubbed his temple with a finger, then spoke evenly and plainly, " Who were you acting for? Your current Lord, who is he? Answer and I'll consider your request. You made no formal challenge and acted as a bandit would.....it is only my own honour that does not see you spilled across the roadway, Murderer and defiler as you are."
Sir Tallow looked hard at Sir Almeric and then craned his head around at the others trying to take their measure..........
Ori starts lumbering back towards the group as he sees Sir Tallow turn his head and see him returning. Ori stares at Sir Tallow, looking pretty disheveled without being all that bloodied, "the Sirs honour, not mine." Ori lofts the spiked club up over his acrossed both shoulders, hoping his look and demeanor woukd do the job before he got too close to see if he was bluffing or not.
If needed Intimidation: 18 (advantage or not)
"Not wholly whole, Vardi, but A dinnae think I'll be leavin' ye aw juist yet." Famh appears disheveled and somewhat pale as she emerges from the underbrush and scrub trees that line the northern side of the road before the thicker woods begin, but her step is still firm and her eyes clear (OOC: Famh - 7 / 16 HP left; no permanent healing spells [yet another reason to MC in bard}, but she does have false life and 2 spell slots left so she could totter along for a while if she had to).
"I must confess though ... yon Harbinger can throw a dearg wi' the best, white'er else ye might say o his fightin'." She winces as she takes hold of the hilt and withdraws said dearg from her shoulder. Walking over to the still-bound figure, she places his blade on the ground in front of him (albeit a few spans out of reach even if he were somehow able to free his hands). She is just straightening up from this gesture of respect when she notices who the retinue's OTHER captive is. Fortunately for the situation, she is able to bite back the first six remarks, observations and insults that are battling for utterance at the tip of her tongue; but the mighty internal struggle puckers her face into a countenance none present have ever seen on Famh's normally pleasant face before. And in the end, she must admit to herself that she really doesn't feel the same revulsion for Sir Tallow as she did in the case of Loch. She completely failed to hear Sir Almeric's categorization of the retinue's prisoner as being a "ravisher" as well as a murderer (PER in log: 1); and as for his arrogance and disdain ... well, she's faced plenty of that in her somewhat variegated life, she supposes she can deal with ane mair or less without losing all her composure.
Which doesn't prevent her, once she learns that Sir Tallow's ransom is one of the subjects under debate, from suggesting that he should be ransomed in Duke Carnasse's hall, in full view of the entire ducal court and of Baron Aldred as the Albish king's representative, and that one of the conditions should be a humble acknowledgement of wrongdoing and a binding oath to 'go and sin no more', as it were. (If pressed for details, she will suggest that the exact specifics and wording be determined by the Duke and Baron in consultation with Sir Almeric, to best make sense in the world of court and camp that they share with the disgraced robber knight.)
And OF COURSE she agrees with Ori that until that point he should be made to walk as a guarded prisoner whose disposition is still not fully determined.
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Almeric looks between Ori and Famh as if weighing up the two options as Digby begins to look more and more nervous at both Oris approach and Famhs words.
Almeric grins crookedly, " As you know, I am well known for giving those under my command much leeway in their conduct as long as it is not unbecoming.....as such Seargent Ori's suggestion holds a certain appeal."
" But I believe, if my guess as to your Lord is correct, that Braw-woman Famhs suggestion is the one that will sting the most..."
" You and the Harbinger will march afore us until we arrive back in Beltayne."
" Gather what you wish from the fallen, we'll leave them by the roadside as a notification that banditry will be met with force....though I daresay the Harbingers will return for their own before the sun rises tommorow."
Digby and the Harbingers arms were bound more securely and their legs hobbled by Thatch and Cainneach.
The retinue continued their march toward Beltayne......
(Sorry, life's been fairly chaotic the past week or so ...)
Cainneach heartily agreed with Almeric, Ori, and Famh's various statements regarding the handling of the remaining Harbinger and the scoundrel, Digby. However, he was too badly wounded to either think very clearly regarding Digby's employer or to add anything coherent to the discourse. It seemed like using what energy he had left to secure the prisoners was the best contribution he could make. Well, that and distributing his berries. Cainneach took a look at his bloody palm and grimaced. Ten berries, six of us. His magic was spent, so that was all he could muster until the morning. Always of a noble spirit, though certainly not upbringing, he made his way to each of his companions, passing two berries to each. To Famh, he also gave a quick embrace and a kiss on the forehead. "Careful there, leannan. That one was finely balanced for a bit." To Salt, who came up to the forester with a whimper and a nuzzle, he whispered, "I know boy, I'll be okay, I promise. I have you and Famh to look after, you know! Can't fall down on that duty." He smiled and gave the furry hound a vigorous rub on his head.
(2 hp to each party member! Every little bit helps, I hope.)
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The Dayne retinue warily resumes its journey south, after ensuring they have mopped up the last remnants of a Harbinger ambush which all are aware ... in despite of all their vaunts to the contrary ... only failed in its purpose by the grace of the Cailleach, or Gatanades, or Freyja, or Morkaan. If Cainneach muses over this subject at all while his legs establish their own rhythm for the march and his mind searches for a topic to time his moving meditation to, he finds himself beginning to understand his beloved's viewpoint on matters of faith a little better. Given how many of Sir Almeric's retainers were still badly wounded in spite of his healing magic, it most likely took all four deities working in unison to save the retinue's metaphorical boar's head from getting roast in the battle beyond all further help of sauce or kitchen to repair. And if all four saw the others' earthly followers as being worthy of the same effort at salvation as their own were, then surely the priests of any faith who preach heresy and fire against all the others couldn't possibly be in the right of it. Then again, since it was Famh who first introduced him to this moderate point of view, he actually never found himself all that driven to resist it in the first place.
Whatever his walking meditations may be, the sharp-eyed forester is presently drawn from them by a faint sense of dà shealladh. Something in the landscape that ought to be the same has varied; or something that ought to vary has stayed the same. His senses may not have the extra starting advantage that Famh's faerie blood gives to her, but his training in Fenring Forest and subsequent seasoning through many perilous adventures have sharpened them to the usual sights and sounds of his calling far beyond the scope and understanding of the average market churl who might decide to go a-poaching afterward. Thus it does not take him long to notice that he has been seeing the same squirrel flickering in and out of his vision for some time now. It is a foxy-looking, clever red-brown female, larger than the average gray squirrel; and its left ear looks like it had been torn or chewed at some point but had healed fairly cleanly. In fact, the tip of that ear twitches and wriggles with as supple a grace as the other despite having healed in such a way that it is folded over at a rakish angle. It reminds the Highlander of how some Mercanian freebooters' headgear was described in the exaggerated sea tales that worked their way slowly from mouth to mouth over the mountains throughout his boyhood and indeed for generations before that; until they finished their salty days curled up by a fireside far inland giving him one of the refuges of memory and daydream he could slip into momentarily for respite in the terrible days that followed. Now, having served in the retinue of a Capellar new-returned from the Principalities of the Crusades, he suspected that detail was borrowed from similar tales concerning buccaneers of the far south who were either Ta'ashim or plain and absolute foreigners worshiping strange and foreign gods. Famh had paid far more attention to those stories than he had; but strangely enough, when it comes to the unusual behavior of the squirrel presently before them, she never seems to be looking in the right direction to see it at the times it is plainly in his view.
His attention drawn to his sharp-eyed beloved by this unusual circumstance, he slowly begins to note that she is not simply missing her chance to see it by coincidence. She actually seems to be consciously reluctant to look in the direction of the squirrel, and several times he catches her glancing hastily away when it seems as if she is going to be forced to acknowledge its existence or the fact that it is following the retinue with an assiduous interest. His fears of a last-ditch "Emphidian horse"* spying attempt by the Harbingers using some poor woodland creature enslaved by dark magic evaporate as the morning mist does; and he begins instead to suspect a much more benign and homely sorcery whose compounds and simples lie in no darker place than the food pouch inside Famh's pack.
The lowland sorceress' e'en, meanwhile, flicker with nearly as much wariness as the little woodland beast's as she considers how to broach the subject to her betrothed. She hadn't MEANT to entice the fox squirrel vixen into following the retinue!!! It was just that the poor thing had looked so HUNGRY, and so SAD, ... and just before the battle’s end, slipping through the trees,she'd seen the hollow high up in the lonely half-dead alder, and the traces of old long-dried blood and red fur still clinging to the weathered bark in places where splits and fissures held onto the sorrows of old long-gone years; and the little glints of white just barely visible deeper in the shadows where her nest must have been ...
... And with that memory her jaw firms and she strides over to her dear Cainneach with the clear light of love, trust and truth shining in her e'en. "He's a guid man," she whispers tenderly to herself as she approaches him, "or he'd no ha' chosen me, ragged waif that I wis back then. And he loves the harmless beasts and the natural beasts," (by which she means beasts which only kill in pursuit of food that they might live themselves, or to defend the mate or kits through whose love they pass on life), "as much as I do." Yet even so, there is a hesitant look in her eyes and a frankly wheedling tone to her voice as she begins.
"Ah ... Cainneach ... dearest leannan mor ghraidh ... um ... that is ... " Then her face works as if she's about to cry, though there's no reason for it that he can see; and she suddenly blurts out all in a rush, "Oh, but Ethlinn's sae CUTE!!!!! And she wis sae terrible hungry, and sae brave tae go on after her terrible wound. An' I think she lost her kits, or her mate, or summat -- I saw ... it wis heartbreakin' ... !" At this point, as if on cue, the big red squirrel leaps from branch to branch across the road and then sits on a broken limb just above the level of Vardi's head, looking down at Famh and chittering. The brave Highland ranger could be forgiven for groaning in dismay at this point as he realizes the magnitude of the forces stacked against him, the least of which is the instinctive bond that already seems to exist between Famh and this little woodland waif strongly enough for the creature to come as if on cue to support her pleas. The fact that she has given it a name already is a very bad sign in itself; but that she has named it after Ethlinn ... no less a figure than the grandmother of Fionn MacChumail himself in the ancient Madhir legends so dear to his Famh's heart ... ! No less a figure than the Old God Lugh's own mother! He begins to suspect he will have a very difficult time indeed convincing his intended to leave this little creature behind to live out its natural existence in the only forest home it has ever known. And the squirrel herself seems far more interested in following Famh in the hopes of more food than it does in remaining in its territory.
+++++++++++++
(ooc: unless that should be 'Asun horse', Damian_May? On the map (see below) it looks like Asun is the city closest to the Emphidian Isles and mainland which might stand in for Troy. Technically though, of course, the IRL expression really ought to be "Greek horse", since it was they rather than the Trojans who conceived and deployed the idea. And as an admirer of clever heroes such as Odysseus and Fionn MacUail, and an artist and writer to boot, I'm eccentrically prickly on the subject or at least I play such on TV when it's good for a laugh ... ahem, anyway, you're the Legend sage, so I'll get your nod on which expression (if either) really would have made it up to Thuland before I try having Famh actually use that particular phrase herself instead of hijacking her dear and long-suffering Cainneach to do it and ... um, well, the dread writer's disease Purple Prose Frothing Mouth Madness kinda carried me a ... ooops, I did it again ... hmmm, seems I've heard that one somewhere before too LOL ... Anyway, I really don’t think it’s Selentium or Ibrahim that’s the Troy equivalent since they’re already parsed to Rome and Jerusalem)
(OOC: likewise apologies for the lapse, thouch all's turnit oot weel that's better, as it were. My mom went into the ER Sept. 11th with a sudden uptick in the level of her chronic cardiac insufficiency ... gained 10lbs fluid in a week and very short of breath ,,, but she was admitted to UVM Medical Center Cardiology immediately for inpatient care and laparoscopic (tube inserted through a blood vessel via a small incision, much less invasive than trafitional but gilmme a break its still surgery LOL) surgery to put two stents in her right shoulder. That plus some PT intervention which suddenly gave her respite from long term chronic and serious orthopaedic pain has basically restored her energy and focus to being able to manage again :-D _
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Ori would search the elder for any answers to the man's power over Ori, perhaps something to remember the man by, to help remind Ori how little he could do to stop him.
Bound hands and gags on the prisoner's, Ori walked with leads to each bound hand as they walked. Stopping for a quick rest, Ori un gags each man in turn and gives them each a drink from a canteen. He found himself thinking on Dochartaigh, and missing hand axes, wondering if he had done right by the lad. Harshness is what Ori had done to himself, perhaps it wasn't the right approach to turning the young man's life around. He really was hardly more then a kid, though Ori, and probably Sir Almeric, felt that way with most of those he traveled with. Ori wished he had himself as pulled together as this lot was when he was thier age. He had been so proud and prideful, he had worked hard to bulk up like he was, but that was just a temer outlet for Ori more than trying to accomplish any sort of goal. He finally got his chest as big as he was in his showmanship days,aye even a bit bigger, but his gut was much rounder then it used to have been. Where he used to have hard definition in his mid section, he now only had suggestive dents. The curse of wisdom he supposed. "Alright, you had your fill. Time to move again Aye?"
Famh is brought back to seriousness again as she watches Ori manage the Dayne retinue's prisoners. For all the gruffness of his words when these two were initially captured, the big sergeant's basic decency and humanity prevails in his conduct towards the captives on the road, and he makes sure that their basic needs are cared for and they at least have clean water and a chance to rest when he gives it them to drink. She can't tell anything about his demeanour as he gives water to Sir Digby (Insight in log: 5); but when he comes to ease the Harbinger elder's thirst it does not need Famh's faerie sight to see the respect with which he is treating him. As this chimes in quite excellent tune with her own respect for the fellow as compared to Digby, a subtle smile of approval begins to mix in with her previous artful expression as she waits to see how Cainneach will respond to her latest impulsive gesture. And as soon as that is resolved, she looks to see whether the Harbinger captive's mouth is yet unbound; and if it is not she will wait her opportunity until the next time Ori gives him drink. Whenever it may be, she will conceal her interest at first, wandering over as if by chance and turning to the Harbinger with an artful look of indifference on her face .. she hopes (Deception %$_).
===***===
Persuasion 7
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
EDIT: "... when he comes to ease the Harbinger elder's thirst it does not need Famh's faerie sight to see the respect with which he is treating him. (Insight in log: 19)"
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1