After no further immediate attack materializes, Hotspur nods in agreement with Morseth. "Yes, let's get to what passes for civilization in these parts. The sooner we can get rid of Le Turd here, the sooner I can check out the local vintage."
Le Cloche is loaded onto the litter and the companions take turns dragging him the rest of the way to Axbridge.
The villagers help you to carry Le Cloche to the meeting hall—there is no inn in the village—where they cluster round as he is dumped unceremoniously onto a long table. He is still paralyzed and his joints are swelling up.
The local healer, Widow Bealing, is brought at a run but she takes one look at the victim, then at Morseth and Tana and shakes her head, " This nobs been elfshot, not a doubt."
" He’ll be in no state to travel under his own power for a week, maybe two.”
As the villagers disperse back to their work, Bretwald, the priest of Axbridge, approaches recognising the retinue.
He comiserates over Le Cloche’s injury, and suggests that you talk to Odo, the old man you met last stay, about accomodation.
" Now Widow Bealing knows her poultices and such but I'm not sure about her diagnosis....Though perhaps it is fate, you remember our conversation last time you passed through...."
"'Elfshot'?"repeats Hotspur. "Is that what it sounds like? Is there a cure?" He looks at Tana and Morseth hoping for good news.
The old widow followed his eyes to Tana and Morseth then harrumphed and ventured,
" Aye, some bit o' fay mischief. Likely some imp or piskie took offence to a crushed mushroom or some other slight."
" A cure? Well....sometimes theres no cure but death...but I've seen this like before. It'll wear off in a parcel of days. Unless one of you can lift curses?"
“Elfshot? Fey mischief? It couldn’t be, could it?” Thatch asks in disbelief. “Still, I did see something out in the woods.” And after his experiences with Erkiss and the White Witch, Thatch was not as quick to dismiss children’s stories and old wives tales. “A week until he is able to travel? What should we do Sir? Drag him along or wait here until he is recovered?”
"'Elfshot'?"repeats Hotspur. "Is that what it sounds like? Is there a cure?" He looks at Tana and Morseth hoping for good news.
The old widow followed his eyes to Tana and Morseth then harrumphed and ventured,
" Aye, some bit o' fay mischief. Likely some imp or piskie took offence to a crushed mushroom or some other slight."
" A cure? Well....sometimes theres no cure but death...but I've seen this like before. It'll wear off in a parcel of days. Unless one of you can lift curses?"
Valor nods politely at the woman, gently redirecting her, "Thank you for your wisdom, Mother. Will he be hurt if we travel with him?"
“Elfshot? Fey mischief? It couldn’t be, could it?” Thatch asks in disbelief. “Still, I did see something out in the woods.” And after his experiences with Erkiss and the White Witch, Thatch was not as quick to dismiss children’s stories and old wives tales. “A week until he is able to travel? What should we do Sir? Drag him along or wait here until he is recovered?”
"While he deserves it, I will not unduly risk injury to him. He has noble blood, even if he does not take that responsibility seriously. It is for the Baron to judge his fate, and I would not take that responsibility from him."
"But if we are stuck here waiting for him, we may look for something to fill our time."
“Elfshot? Fey mischief? It couldn’t be, could it?” Thatch asks in disbelief. “Still, I did see something out in the woods.” And after his experiences with Erkiss and the White Witch, Thatch was not as quick to dismiss children’s stories and old wives tales. “A week until he is able to travel? What should we do Sir? Drag him along or wait here until he is recovered?”
"'Elfshot'?"repeats Hotspur. "Is that what it sounds like? Is there a cure?" He looks at Tana and Morseth hoping for good news.
The old widow followed his eyes to Tana and Morseth then harrumphed and ventured,
" Aye, some bit o' fay mischief. Likely some imp or piskie took offence to a crushed mushroom or some other slight."
" A cure? Well....sometimes theres no cure but death...but I've seen this like before. It'll wear off in a parcel of days. Unless one of you can lift curses?"
Valor nods politely at the woman, gently redirecting her, "Thank you for your wisdom, Mother. Will he be hurt if we travel with him?"
“Elfshot? Fey mischief? It couldn’t be, could it?” Thatch asks in disbelief. “Still, I did see something out in the woods.” And after his experiences with Erkiss and the White Witch, Thatch was not as quick to dismiss children’s stories and old wives tales. “A week until he is able to travel? What should we do Sir? Drag him along or wait here until he is recovered?”
"While he deserves it, I will not unduly risk injury to him. He has noble blood, even if he does not take that responsibility seriously. It is for the Baron to judge his fate, and I would not take that responsibility from him."
"But if we are stuck here waiting for him, we may look for something to fill our time."
Widow Bealing blanched a little at being directly addressed, " Ah...Milordship. He might be ok, but in my experience its probably best he get some bedrest rather than roaddust."
Hmm.. Fey mischief. "I also cannot do much with a curse. If its a regular injury then I can do something"says Morseth.
Bretwald invited Sir Valor and any of his retinue that wished to come to his home again that evening for elderberry wine and supper much like their previous stay.
“You recall of course when I last spoke of Vallandar?” asks Bretwald.
.................................
Any who do not join are free to play Nine Mens Morris at Odos home, there are no festivities at this time and most of the other villagers retire to their homes once the sun goes down.
" Last we spoke I think you knew there was more I had to say, and I will do so plainly now."
" You are not the first to whom I have spoken about the Tomb...the Test...accounts vary..."
“About a year ago I found a suitable band of mercenaries—at least, I thought they were suitable. Agnar Wolf-eye and his men turned out to be the most bloodthirsty cutthroats one could hope not to meet? We entered Fenring Forest, and while we were searching for the exact location of the tomb, one of Agnar’s ruffians spied an a fay nearby. The damned fool shot at it with his crossbow.....I know he hit it though there was no body to be seen."
“That was the start of our troubles. The next day two of the men took sick, poisoned by bad water from a spring. A man we sent out scouting failed to return. At dawn we awoke to find his severed head set on a pole by the camp fire!"
“Most of the men were for turning back then, but Agnar was a mad dog and I—for my sins, I was too proud and greedy to abandon the search. We went deeper into the forest, keeping our scouts closer now. At last one of them called out to us—’Here! I’ve found it! Here!’
"We rushed through the trees, and came into the clearing where the colossal stone portal of the tomb stands. But the man who had called out was lashed upside-down to a frame, and fay....Elves?...Sidhe? stood all around with bows."
“Agnar bellowed crazily and charged them, swinging his axe. A tall faerie lord strode forward, spoke a word. Agnar fell dead in his tracks. Then the Elf-lord came to me, and I held my cross in trembling hands."
" I looked right into his pale cold eyes. He said, ‘You are not one of them. You did not desire this madness, and we shall spare you our retribution. Go now; take my cloak and the wolves shall let you pass.’
" Sure enough, he gave me the cloak from his shoulders. I could see a circle of red-eyed wolves about the clearing now. Agnar’s men were pleading with me to help them, but I could do nothing. I went to the edge of the clearing, and though the wolves snarled they parted to let me go. I walked at first, then began to run. Behind me, the men began to scream. As God is my witness, they deserved their fate—but I covered my ears as I ran."
“It was bitter to know I had found the Test of Vallandar and lost it. Then a wily thought came to me. I snagged the Elf-lord’s cloak on a briar and began to unravel it as I went. When I reached the forest’s edge I had used up all the thread. I went quickly to Saxton and lay in a fever there three days. When I went back, I could not find the thread, though I had marked the tree where I had wound the end of it."
" Abbot Adrian, whom I later consulted in a circumspect manner, was of the opinion that a fine faerie thread might only show in strong moon-light, for the fay make garments to keep themselves hidden. I believe him to be a considerable authority in such matters. The first full moon of Michaelmas falls three days from now, so if you wish to join me we shall depart on the morrow.”
Hotspur thoughtfully replies, "Three days? I believe I can squeeze in enough debauchery in two days to be ready to depart on the the third. I mean, they'll probably have to restock the tavern at that point anyway... Coz? What say you?"
“You will have to speed up your plans”Thatch grins Hotspur “He plans to leave tomorrow. Can you fit all of that debauchery into one night? It may be best for the tavern in any case. Don’t worry, I will roust you out of the stable. Just like old times.” Thatch himself listened to the priest's story with obvious interest and excitement and is eager to explore the wood.
"Tomorrow??" grumbles Hotspur. "My poor aching feet... Well, fine, if there's no revelry to be had here, one spot's as good as any other in which to suffer the dreariness of sobriety. Tonight shall have to suffice." He looks mournfully down at his empty mug, and then glances at Bretwald hopefully.
"Well, it seems clear that Thatch and Hotspur are interested," Valor looks at the rest of the party, "what do the rest of you think? We are diminished from our might when we first came this way. Teryl died to those hellhounds, and Yessenia and Argyle returned to my father."
Tana smiles lightly in Valor's direction, "I am always up for more travel." She surveys the group for a moment, "If you believe more might is needed, I'm sure Hotspur could easily rally a few soldiers from the village."
“Interested for certain, mi’lord. Any chance to see a Fey lord.”Thatch replies to Sir Valor, then nips a glass of wine from one of the bottles in front of Hotspur. Thatch was not as young as he looked, but he only had a few before finding a place to settle down for the night. If they were going to leave tomorrow, he would be ready.
"I think we should get Le Cloche situated before searching blindly through the woods" says Morseth. He peers into the woods "Lets just be vigilant"
After no further immediate attack materializes, Hotspur nods in agreement with Morseth. "Yes, let's get to what passes for civilization in these parts. The sooner we can get rid of Le Turd here, the sooner I can check out the local vintage."
Le Cloche is loaded onto the litter and the companions take turns dragging him the rest of the way to Axbridge.
The villagers help you to carry Le Cloche to the meeting hall—there is no inn in the village—where they cluster round as he is dumped unceremoniously onto a long table. He is still paralyzed and his joints are swelling up.
The local healer, Widow Bealing, is brought at a run but she takes one look at the victim, then at Morseth and Tana and shakes her head, " This nobs been elfshot, not a doubt."
" He’ll be in no state to travel under his own power for a week, maybe two.”
As the villagers disperse back to their work, Bretwald, the priest of Axbridge, approaches recognising the retinue.
He comiserates over Le Cloche’s injury, and suggests that you talk to Odo, the old man you met last stay, about accomodation.
" Now Widow Bealing knows her poultices and such but I'm not sure about her diagnosis....Though perhaps it is fate, you remember our conversation last time you passed through...."
"'Elfshot'?" repeats Hotspur. "Is that what it sounds like? Is there a cure?" He looks at Tana and Morseth hoping for good news.
The old widow followed his eyes to Tana and Morseth then harrumphed and ventured,
" Aye, some bit o' fay mischief. Likely some imp or piskie took offence to a crushed mushroom or some other slight."
" A cure? Well....sometimes theres no cure but death...but I've seen this like before. It'll wear off in a parcel of days. Unless one of you can lift curses?"
“Elfshot? Fey mischief? It couldn’t be, could it?” Thatch asks in disbelief. “Still, I did see something out in the woods.” And after his experiences with Erkiss and the White Witch, Thatch was not as quick to dismiss children’s stories and old wives tales. “A week until he is able to travel? What should we do Sir? Drag him along or wait here until he is recovered?”
Tana shakes her head following the widow's question, glancing over at Hotspur briefly.
"I'm afraid curses aren't really my specialty. I can really only mend small injuries, nothing quite like this."
Noire Havensong | Harengon Archfey Warlock 6/Lore Bard 4 | Westmarch - Guild of the Phoenix (Discord)
Tanatari Crelieu | Kalashtar Druid 2 | Damian_May's Sleeping Gods
Jynx Starrkeep | Changling GOO Warlock 2 | Astien's Tyranny of Dragons
DM | Eberron Eternal (Discord)
Valor nods politely at the woman, gently redirecting her, "Thank you for your wisdom, Mother. Will he be hurt if we travel with him?"
"While he deserves it, I will not unduly risk injury to him. He has noble blood, even if he does not take that responsibility seriously. It is for the Baron to judge his fate, and I would not take that responsibility from him."
"But if we are stuck here waiting for him, we may look for something to fill our time."
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Hmm.. Fey mischief. "I also cannot do much with a curse. If its a regular injury then I can do something" says Morseth.
Widow Bealing blanched a little at being directly addressed, " Ah...Milordship. He might be ok, but in my experience its probably best he get some bedrest rather than roaddust."
Bretwald invited Sir Valor and any of his retinue that wished to come to his home again that evening for elderberry wine and supper much like their previous stay.
“You recall of course when I last spoke of Vallandar?” asks Bretwald.
.................................
Any who do not join are free to play Nine Mens Morris at Odos home, there are no festivities at this time and most of the other villagers retire to their homes once the sun goes down.
Bretwald gave a tired smile.
" Last we spoke I think you knew there was more I had to say, and I will do so plainly now."
" You are not the first to whom I have spoken about the Tomb...the Test...accounts vary..."
“About a year ago I found a suitable band of mercenaries—at least, I thought they were suitable. Agnar Wolf-eye and his men turned out to be the most bloodthirsty cutthroats one could hope not to meet? We entered Fenring Forest, and while we were searching for the exact location of the tomb, one of Agnar’s ruffians spied an a fay nearby. The damned fool shot at it with his crossbow.....I know he hit it though there was no body to be seen."
“That was the start of our troubles. The next day two of the men took sick, poisoned by bad water from a spring. A man we sent out scouting failed to return. At dawn we awoke to find his severed head set on a pole by the camp fire!"
“Most of the men were for turning back then, but Agnar was a mad dog and I—for my sins, I was too proud and greedy to abandon the search. We went deeper into the forest, keeping our scouts closer now. At last one of them called out to us—’Here! I’ve found it! Here!’
"We rushed through the trees, and came into the clearing where the colossal stone portal of the tomb stands. But the man who had called out was lashed upside-down to a frame, and fay....Elves?...Sidhe? stood all around with bows."
“Agnar bellowed crazily and charged them, swinging his axe. A tall faerie lord strode forward, spoke a word. Agnar fell dead in his tracks. Then the Elf-lord came to me, and I held my cross in trembling hands."
" I looked right into his pale cold eyes. He said, ‘You are not one of them. You did not desire this madness, and we shall spare you our retribution. Go now; take my cloak and the wolves shall let you pass.’
" Sure enough, he gave me the cloak from his shoulders. I could see a circle of red-eyed wolves about the clearing now. Agnar’s men were pleading with me to help them, but I could do nothing. I went to the edge of the clearing, and though the wolves snarled they parted to let me go. I walked at first, then began to run. Behind me, the men began to scream. As God is my witness, they deserved their fate—but I covered my ears as I ran."
“It was bitter to know I had found the Test of Vallandar and lost it. Then a wily thought came to me. I snagged the Elf-lord’s cloak on a briar and began to unravel it as I went. When I reached the forest’s edge I had used up all the thread. I went quickly to Saxton and lay in a fever there three days. When I went back, I could not find the thread, though I had marked the tree where I had wound the end of it."
" Abbot Adrian, whom I later consulted in a circumspect manner, was of the opinion that a fine faerie thread might only show in strong moon-light, for the fay make garments to keep themselves hidden. I believe him to be a considerable authority in such matters. The first full moon of Michaelmas falls three days from now, so if you wish to join me we shall depart on
the morrow.”
Hotspur thoughtfully replies, "Three days? I believe I can squeeze in enough debauchery in two days to be ready to depart on the the third. I mean, they'll probably have to restock the tavern at that point anyway... Coz? What say you?"
“You will have to speed up your plans” Thatch grins Hotspur “He plans to leave tomorrow. Can you fit all of that debauchery into one night? It may be best for the tavern in any case. Don’t worry, I will roust you out of the stable. Just like old times.” Thatch himself listened to the priest's story with obvious interest and excitement and is eager to explore the wood.
Bretwald chuckled, " I'm afraid my parlour is the closest Axbridge has to a drinking house.....we are a very small holding..."
"Tomorrow??" grumbles Hotspur. "My poor aching feet... Well, fine, if there's no revelry to be had here, one spot's as good as any other in which to suffer the dreariness of sobriety. Tonight shall have to suffice." He looks mournfully down at his empty mug, and then glances at Bretwald hopefully.
Bretwald fetches another three bottles of wine from the cupboard with a smile and pushes one across to Hotspur.
"Well, it seems clear that Thatch and Hotspur are interested," Valor looks at the rest of the party, "what do the rest of you think? We are diminished from our might when we first came this way. Teryl died to those hellhounds, and Yessenia and Argyle returned to my father."
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Tana smiles lightly in Valor's direction, "I am always up for more travel." She surveys the group for a moment, "If you believe more might is needed, I'm sure Hotspur could easily rally a few soldiers from the village."
Noire Havensong | Harengon Archfey Warlock 6/Lore Bard 4 | Westmarch - Guild of the Phoenix (Discord)
Tanatari Crelieu | Kalashtar Druid 2 | Damian_May's Sleeping Gods
Jynx Starrkeep | Changling GOO Warlock 2 | Astien's Tyranny of Dragons
DM | Eberron Eternal (Discord)
“Interested for certain, mi’lord. Any chance to see a Fey lord.” Thatch replies to Sir Valor, then nips a glass of wine from one of the bottles in front of Hotspur. Thatch was not as young as he looked, but he only had a few before finding a place to settle down for the night. If they were going to leave tomorrow, he would be ready.
"Yep, I am ready to go with you as well Sir Dayne" says Morseth