Gus and Cleo retire to his room. As he makes preparations to cast find familiar as a ritual he discusses the process with Cleo, explaining how she can really help us out in our quest. An hour later the spell concludes and the cat is transformed, taking the form of a marsh owl. Gus opens the window and encourages Cleo to try out her new wings. As she flies out the window Gus will reach out to her, using his ability to see through her eyes and hear what she hears.
Madame Cleo, in Owl form, has a commanding view of the area surrounding the Keep. From a hundred yards high, she can indeed see small rodents scurrying in the underbrush, and has to fight the temptation not to swoop down upon everyone she sees - there's a LOT. The Lizard Marsh stretches out for many miles to the west, but to get to the ridge from there she'd be well past the limits of where you'd be able to see what she sees. But you can tell it'll be useful - she can move 100 feet away, but then she can see 300 feet on top of that, and very clearly.
(OOC: OK - given that you're staying up to do that we'll say you get an extra hour of reading in - so your 2 hours gotten all at night - but then you'll sleep in to make up for it).
Remembering that Bree had been given the instrument and instructed on how to use it, when midnight rolls around, or at least when the hourglass empties for the 24th time that day, which can safely be taken to mean close to midnight, you gently rouse Bree, and the two of you climb up to the ramparts where Feydon had been looking out from earlier. There's a clear shot of the stars im the sky - the brightest one being "Mystra's Star" - something you'd all have learned and heard about many times before, as it carries a lot of mystery and cultural significance all over Faerun. Aiming the device at the star, Bree begins to read off the set of numbers, with periods, single quotes, double quotes, and more periods interspersed between them all in a way you've never seen before. The result is two sequences of characters that are almost more punctuation marks than numbers. But, its clearly what the device read. With your first recording taken, you're set for the next four. This part of the assignment couldn't be easier, you can't help but think.
You are roused by attendants just as the sun is beginning to rise. Your morning in Crom's Hold is in stark contrast to that at the ducal castle - while everyone of the soldiers more or less wishes you well, they don't seem to understand the dangers or importance of your mission in the same way the people of Daggerford did. It's also clear that they haven't fully been able to relax around Feydon, a fact not lost on the pirate. But there's little evidence that he cares. Nayeli welcomes you into the dining hall as you each file in for your last meal not to come out of a can for at least four days or so. The spread at the table is purposefully light. Remembering her warning about not eating too much on a day when you know you've got some potentially heavy exertion ahead of you, she more or less took the temptation away. There are griddle cakes, soft pastries, bowls of gruel adorned with berries and nuts, and a variety of fruits and juices to drink. Feydon picks up decanter after decanter, sniffing them, before giving up after not being able to find one with booze in it. He sits in the back, hardly eats a thing, a gaunt, and haunted expression quickly overtaking him in the shadows.
Eventually, Nayeli clears the air. "I hope you've all gotten what you need from your horses - if not, they're still in the courtyard. But you should see to doing so as soon as you finish eating so you can be on your way."
Sir Jory, the only other occupant in the room besides Nayeli and two attendants, has clearly already finished his breakfast and appears to be anxiously awaiting the group to announce their decision regarding which way they'll be going today. He doesn't need to ask, the curiosity is almost more than he can contain. Feydon seems to note this with some amusement, but says nothing.
Finally, he can bear it no longer. He doesn't come right out and ask, but it's clear that he's beginning a kind of dance toward the topic of interest. "I pray that you all had a good rest, and have been able to see and sort through things better in the morning light of a new day, hmm?"
Gus eats a little, remembering what was said about over eating. As the others discuss plans he studies through his spell book, double and triple checking his spells for the day. Absently responding to the knight, yes, prayers of thanks for the morning light of a new day, gods rest ye merry gentle folk. Drat! I should have inked some scrolls for you all, he suddenly thinks out loud. oh, um, sorry. Didn't mean to think that loud.
Sir Jory's wide smile diminishes slightly. It almost seems impossible for him to NOT smile. Even if he's clearly not pleased. "Er, yes... uhm... thank you? I uhm, well what I was hoping to discuss, was... um.... where are we going today? Did you decide a course of action? We can't leave it to the moment we walk out the gate to decide, that'd be far too whimsical for such an important.... you know... what're they called? You know, the thing," he stutters, flustered, but still smiling like an idiot. Nayeli looks embarrassed.
"Quest?" Feydon offers, helpfully, but his tone not sounding thusly.
"Yes! That. Far too important a quest to leave to whim. So! Pray, please tell me you did come to an accord? I don't think I'll fare well following a group that just... well... makes things up as they go!"
Feydon smiles. "It's called adaptability. The less you plan, the easier it is to do. I didn't plan on anything that I did, it just happened."
Jory scoffs yet smiles even wider. "I highly doubt you just 'happened' upon a group of pirates that decided to follow you for no apparent reason, then just 'happened' upon ship after ship full of expensive goods, relieving the merchants on board of their wealth, and if they resisted, their lives."
Feydon, listening along, nods slightly the whole time. "Yup. Pretty much, that's how it went."
Jory Scoffs again, his smile finally beginning to crack. He throws up his hands. "Fine! I get it. I'm used to people just ignoring me. I'll just... kill lizardmen, if necessary, and otherwise stay out of your way."
oh, yes, Gus closes his spell book, plan for the day, um, well might as well take the western path into the marshland. Scout out the ruins marked as one on the map and work our way along the cliff, checking the caves. Finally finishing up with the ruins marked four on the map. Exiting the marshland at the southern path then back here in time for dinner?
oh, yes, Gus closes his spell book, plan for the day, um, well might as well take the western path into the marshland. Scout out the ruins marked as one on the map and work our way along the cliff, checking the caves. Finally finishing up with the ruins marked four on the map. Exiting the marshland at the southern path then back here in time for dinner?
At first, Sir Jory is thrilled. "Wonderful! I knew you'd come round to seeing the.... ehh..." he slows as he contemplates the rest of what you said. "Er, no, my boy. This is going to be at least a four day trip. We're not going to be back in time for diner, I should think... unless you mean diner on Seventhday, maybe Eighthday..." he offers, laughing heartily. Then seeing no one else is laughing, he stops. "You see, since today is Thirdday, and its going to take at least four days... so... dinner on... Seventhday... never mind. But I AM glad you're not going with that... sorry. With our... lovely guide's crazy idea."
"This is the route you are to take then? From 1 to 4, West to East?" Nayeli asks, to confirm. Sir Jory answers for the group. "You heard the lad, he clearly speaks... eh.. for the group. I should think. Wizards ARE smart, you know? And all that. So we better get going so we'll have time to rest a while before night fall. You do mean to wait until evening to descend, yes? I think its a much better idea than leaping. I've seen nothing to suggest that they can 'see body heat', whatever that means. If we climb while there's still SOME light left, we'll get the best of both worlds so to speak! SO! I've had enough of these tarts and pastries, I'll go get my bag and we can set out. This is going to be GREAT - I feel a song coming on. An epic ballad about this day. Yes. Yes. I'll need to bring paper," he's babbling now, excited that things are going his way - or so he would like to believe anyway. Nayeli does her best to ignore him for the moment, and focuses on the group to confirm her question.
Feydon starts to laugh. It's a sound he's only heard himself produce once before - just last night - and already he's doing it again. He tries to stop, but this time he can't seem to. A look that almost resembles panic flickers across his face, and then - he bursts into a full blown, uncontrollable laughter that goes on for nearly an entire minute before he's finally able to stop. By the time he does, it's clear that tears have streaked down his face. He looks entirely discombobulated - like he just had a paroxysm of some fitful disease, much worse than a sneeze, like he just barfed out his soul onto the floor in full view of everyone, including himself to see. Is it embarrassment? Shame? Does he see laughter as a kind of weakness? It's hard to say what the source of his confusion and discomfiture is. It's almost like he just doesn't understand why his body just did that... thing that it did. What was the point of it, his expression seems to read. What purpose does doing THAT possibly serve other than make you look crazy? Yes, there's embarrassment, but more than that, there's a sense that he's losing control over his own emotions for the first time in his life, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. If he'd had the option to make fun of Sir Jory, he surely would have, but for fear of what Nayeli had begun to say the night before, he dared not, and so the options for his emotional release funneled down to... THAT. That bizarre, seizure of snorting and hacking. He shakes his head, no longer amused... but weary. The journey has yet to start and already he looks exhausted.
Eltra stops eating the gruel for a moment “Excuse you babbling baboon…he does not speak for the group. I have voted for Feydons plan. It’s a shorter walk, shorter climb and shorter fall. Unless you hulking hulk of a man plan to carry me down your steep climb than I suggest Feydons route” Eltra clearly didn’t read the book on catching more bees with honey
Feydon, wary that he might do that THING again, tries to speak evenly. "No no no, by all means, lets do his idea - I REALLY want to hear this ballad he's going to write: In fair Crom's Hold, Our story Told, Seven Adventurers, More Wise than Bold, Did find themselves with Feydon the Cold, but rather than heed his word, they followed the man that sounds like a Bird, down a steep cliff, and into the Night, they stumbled and fell into free Flight, their faces turned downward, full of fear and of Fright, just before impact it was quite a Sight, for they all had the same thought - that Feydon was Right," he stands, and gives a theatrical bow.
For the first time since you've known him, Sir Jory is frowning. Directly at Feydon. He seems to be turning purple almost, as his little poem goes on. By the time he's done its more of an indigo. It's really quite unnatural looking.
Gus laughs along with Feydon, looking around at the rest of the party, surely you're not going to let a 16 year old run away apprentice speak on behalf of an experienced scouting party? Sir knight, to be honest I have no idea which way would be best to take. I suggested that route because it makes orderly sense. To be perfectly honest, if I had to then I'd defer to Feydon's judgement. Logically he's had the most recent experience within the marshland, additionally, sorry to bring this up, but he's under a spell that compels him to help us or he suffers. Let guide, so say I. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see to gathering things from my horse while you more experienced folks decide our next course of action. he stands, bows slightly to Neyeli, mi'lady. turns and heads toward the door to the court yard, whistles for Cleo, who leaps off the table flys over landing on his shoulder.
Gus will go to Whimper and start pulling items from the bags, moving them to his shoulder bag. Taking each item, holding it for a moment and calling it by it's name before dropping it in.
He's hardly back in his seat before he's clutching his temples. "I was kidding - no - we should NOT do his idea - I was kidding -I was kidding -I WAS KIDDING!" he shouts, at no one in particular. His hands tremble for a moment, and then suddenly, whatever discomfort he was feelings seems to have faded.
At Gus's suggestion of climbing down the taller cliff instead of the short drop Bree pipes up
"Actually I believe Feydon's suggestion is the better one. It's better to drop a short distance than climb a longer one. Who else agrees? Or would you rather follow Sir Jory's lead?"
Geren sighs at the squabbling, not looking up from the book he's continued reading at breakfast.
"I agree with Feydon's suggestion."
It was both the better plan and almost as importantly Geren's views Feydon as more valuable than Sir Jory. Knights are just jumped-up guardsman who managed to luck into a title. Meanwhile Feydon actually earned his reputation for better or worse. For the worse when it comes to his hiring choices since his crew betrayed him, but oh well.
"I will follow Feydon," says Hnefa - it's now a majority. Not waiting for the invitation to get any warmer, Feydon wordlessly gets up and departs to gather his things sans weapons, without so much of a hint of a 'told-you-so' or anything else obnoxious toward Sir Jory. But! Then he reappears in the doorway to the dining hall once more, he turns facing Sir Jory, and gives another elaborate bow, with far more flourish than his first one - a lot could be read into a bow like that, but given the context, there's only one thing it reads: "I TOLD YOU SO." And with that, he departs, managing to avoid any further paroxysms of emotional vomit people call 'laughter'.
Geren sighs at the squabbling, not looking up from the book he's continued reading at breakfast.
"I agree with Feydon's suggestion."
It was both the better plan and almost as importantly Geren's views Feydon as more valuable than Sir Jory. Knights are just jumped-up guardsman who managed to luck into a title. Meanwhile Feydon actually earned his reputation for better or worse. For the worse when it comes to his hiring choices since his crew betrayed him, but oh well.
Sir Jory sighs - well, at least Feydon wasn't around to hear it ended up unanimously against me, his expression seems to say, as he looks at the exit where Feydon had bowed. He slumps his shoulders instead. "OK", is all he can say.
"Jory, why don't you help everyone that needs help getting what they'll need from their horses?" Sir Jory nods his understanding, and departs to do so.
Returning her gaze to the remaining people in the room, Nayeli clear her throat. "Well - that was interesting. It's indeed a very bold plan. Almost TOO bold really. But then, Jory's idea really was quite smelly, between us. I didn't task him to accompany you to tell you what to do, I was a little surprised he had the audacity to assume that I meant 'lead' you - what I had said was 'escort'. You are your own leaders - that you have Feydon the Cold bound to your will by a permanent geas... well... I don't impress easily, but that would impress anyone. Of course, it was a team effort with my liege involved, but still - that she's placed her faith in you means that we should to. Are there any last questions anyone has for me? Otherwise, I'll see you off at the gate when you're ready to go."
(OOC: Geren we'll say you an extra hour of reading in since you read at breakfast. Your horses, with any feed for them are all left behind, and everything else we'll assume is distributed either to your equipment, or to Hnefa if you're getting weighted down, with Feydon able to carry quite a bit too. Even if you haven't done that at this point, its okay, we'll assume you had, and so you still can - anything that's too heavy for you but you want to bring, let me know, and I'll give Hnefa or Feydon a copy of it, and you can delete yours until you need it, then we'll reverse the process. I would also recommend leaving the bulk of your money, and any other valuables on your horses - they'll be safe there in Crom's Hold, it's super disciplined, and there's very little reason to bring coinage into the Lizard Marsh - if you were to get captured, you'd just lose it; that's not foreshadowing, its just something your characters would intuitively know).
A short time later, everyone is in the courtyard, by the gate on the opposite side of the keep as the one you entered from. Once again there's a stark contrast to the farewell committee that has assembled here compared to Daggerford, which was practically the entire town. Now it's just Nayeli Goldflower, the two guards at the gate, and the captain who'd been so hostile on seeing Feydon the day before.
Surprisingly, the captain is the first to speak. "No hard feelings about yesterday, I hope. I wish you all well. Even the murdering pirates amongst you. Come back in one piece, hear?"
Nayeli smiles. "Thank you, captain - that was, touching," he bows and departs, having apparently said his peace. Vaguely rolling her eyes back over to the group, she echoes the sentiment regarding coming back in one piece. "Jory, be sure to give them a rundown on what you know on defeating the specific type of lizardmen that are unique to our lovely marsh here. You should have plenty of time to cover everything before you get to the ridge." Then she gestures for the gates to open. As you funnel out onto the path, heading away from the Hold the the west and south, Feydon exiting last, is stopped by the paladin baroness. She hands him his sword - or at least a sword that looks its twin, but freshly sheathed, along with a longbow and a significant numbner of arrows. Several arrow cases full of them. While the sword and bow look average, the many of the arrows look to be very high quality.
"You didn't think I was going to send you into the Marsh defenseless, did you?" she asks, managing to give him the closest thing she can muster to a magnanimous smile on his behaf.
He accepts the weapons without hesitation, putting the sword at his side, the bow slung over his back, along with a couple arrow cases, stuffing the rest into his pack. "The thought crossed my mind you might. But I'm not defenseless." He turns a points to a scorpion on the ground that was moving from under one leaf to another, and suddenly shouts "Frigidus ignis!" while making a quick corkscrew with his finger toward the scorpion. Two short lived rays of frost fire from his finger tip and encase the arthropod in ice entirely, along with a fair bit of surrounding mulch. He returns his gaze to her.
She has look that is simultaneously displeased and impressed. "Have to say, I wouldn't have guessed you to have that kind of ability. I'd always imagined you to be a heartless monster. You're not what I'd call a kind soul, Feydon. But, for what it's worth, I don't think you're a 'monster', as you said."
"Probably just a function of not knowing me well enough, Baron," he answers, his tone neutral.
She smiles and nods. Then she smiles at each of you, give you a personal farewell that isn't very 'personal', as she's yet to learn much of you. And then the group begins the hike toward the ridge.
For the first few minutes, Sir Jory is subdued, though his smile has returned already in its full, disingenuous splendor. It seems he's on his way to bouncing back from his bruised ego. Feydon, seeing this, starts then stops to say something to him multiple times, as if its a kind of reflex he can't help, but the moment the words begin to form, his expression becomes pained, and he stops, sighing. You get the sense that by including psychological harm to mean harm in Feydon's mind, the Baroness has, either inadvertently or otherwise, disallowed him to be himself, a fact that is causing him no end of distress. But then, as frustrated as he appears, you also get the sense that this entire chapter - regarding the geas and his forced servitude to you - is a mere foible in his collective story, and far from the darkest thing he's had to endure. The story of his skin says that much alone.
Eventually, Sir Jory begins talking to no one in particular, as if he'd been talking the whole time. "So, in an overview of Lizardmen - there are some things to know. Firstly, their wet, rubbery skin gives them strong protection against fire and electrical damage - so no lightning bolts or the like and especially no fire. Not only are the protected from it, but for some reason the warmer they are, the faster they can move. This works both ways. They are vulnerable to cold, which also has the effect of slowing them down - potentially to a complete standstill. It's the reason they pick wetlands like the Marsh here, because it always maintains a fairly warm temperature, even in Deep winter. It's got natural hot springs to assist with this., Though in those cooler times they tend to hibernate. We only EVER have issues with them during the warmer months of the year. It's really quite simply - no fire, no shock, just as much cold damage as you can do. If you've got a limit to that, don't waste it on the regular tribals - the 'Skirmishers' as we call them, because they engage in hit-and-run tactics almost exclusively. One way to ensure they don't get away so easy, is to blast em with a spell like the one you should Nayeli," he says, gesturing to Feydon's finger, just as his finger happens to be making a rude gesture towards him - all on its own, of course. Feydon plays it off like he was simply examining said finger, unaware of the gesture it was making.
Sir Jory sighs. "Anyway - you can try to detain them with spells or with nets, but don't grapple them - don't bother. It won't work. They'll just slip right out from your grip, then you'll find that you're in one yourself. Their favorite thing to do, if they manage to grapple a target, is to dive back underwater with it - they can stay underwater for many, many minutes. An hour maybe. Goes without saying what that would do to any of us. So don't let them get near you -its the warriors that do that the most. You can always tell a warrior cause they'll be using a sword instead of a trident or javelin. Only shamans use tridents in melee, though fighters will throw them sometimes. But mostly they all throw javelins. Tribals, or Skirmishers, only have javelins - if you manage to corner one into melee, they'll use their last javelin as a spear. Their weapons are crude, but occasionally they'll have something they picked up from a previous... eh... group like ourselves. Not that we'll suffer the same fate!"
"Please shut up," Feydon says eventually. He rubs his temples, looking pained, so adds nothing else.
Sir Jory scoffs. "I was bid to share my expertise about the lizardfolk."
By mid-day, the party has reached a part of the road where according to the map they should begin moving over the path, directly toward the ridge - and so you do. By well into the afternoon, you have nearly made it - the ridge is ahead, maybe just a few hundred yards left. It's clear that Feydon was write about the land above sort of funneling down into a ramp leaving to the edge from this point onward something that you can easily imagine happening as the result of underground water movement causing the weight of the cliff above to sink somewhat - you can image this because the 'ramp' forming the downward incline has a vaguely river-like shape.
"Well, we may as well get a short rest in before we... plunge into the unknown," Sir Jory says, trying to sound non-plussed, but clearly growing anxious. But he's not wrong - you are all hungry and tired. It hasn't been a long day, but the offroad walking takes it out of you. Every other step, it seems, ends up being much muddier than it appeared. A small smattering of stones the right height to sit upon marks the location that you stop at (Magenta X on map below)
It will only be another 15 minutes of walking, maybe 30, before you'll be at the ridge. When its quiet enough, you can hear the sound of water rustling in distance. You are each trying to listen to this, almost meditatively, while you eat, when your musings are jarred into pieces by a discordant strum on a lute.
Opening your eyes, or otherwise diverting your attention to the source, Sir Jory, perched above everyone on the largest, most central rock as if attempting to give a performance, has pulled out his lute and begun to play. This might not have been entirely unwelcome, if not for a couple things. 1: he also sings as he plays, 2: the tone and tempo of the words doesn't seem to match whatever the heck it is he's playing, and finally 3. after a short while his voice begins to carry so well that you fear it might be heard by anything or anyone residing in the cave below you - at the very least, at its entrance ahead. He begins playing relatively quietly and thus it is the first 2 points that are the most irritating.
"I gave my love a cherry that had no stone, I gave my love a chicken that had no bone, I gave my love a story that had no end, I gave my love a baby with no cryin'..."
By the end of the fourth line, the third issue is becoming a problem, as his voice doubles in volume, as does his strumming.
Without any visible emotion whatsoever, Feydon is suddenly on his feet, and Sir Jory's lute is in his hands - grabbed away from Jory with such deftness that a short cry of surprise escapes the knight's lips. Lute in hand, Feydon then begins to violently and repeatedly smash the instrument into shreds across the rock just below Sir Jory. The instrument being made of what it was - light wood, and fairly cheap at that - breaks to pieces without nearly as much noise as it made being played. Even after there's virtually nothing left to bash, Feydon gives it a couple more swings, then puts the last piece that was in his hand on the ground and begins stomping on it repeatedly until it disappears into the soft mud.
The instrument now totally destroyed and/or buried in the ground, Feydon looks at Sir Jory, his face still entirely devoid of anger despite the ferocity to his movements. "Sorry," he says, and shrugs. Then he sits back down, away from the group and continues to eat.
Sir Jory is about to protest, when a single word comes to him form Feydon's location, without him turning to face him. "Geas," he says. Then after a moment he adds. "Had to."
Sir Jory, not understanding, but seeing little sympathy in anyone else's eyes, decides to just let it go. He sighs and spends the rest of the break sulking.
(OOC: 25XP to the first person to name the movie that's from)
Madame Cleo, in Owl form, has a commanding view of the area surrounding the Keep. From a hundred yards high, she can indeed see small rodents scurrying in the underbrush, and has to fight the temptation not to swoop down upon everyone she sees - there's a LOT. The Lizard Marsh stretches out for many miles to the west, but to get to the ridge from there she'd be well past the limits of where you'd be able to see what she sees. But you can tell it'll be useful - she can move 100 feet away, but then she can see 300 feet on top of that, and very clearly.
(OOC: OK - given that you're staying up to do that we'll say you get an extra hour of reading in - so your 2 hours gotten all at night - but then you'll sleep in to make up for it).
Remembering that Bree had been given the instrument and instructed on how to use it, when midnight rolls around, or at least when the hourglass empties for the 24th time that day, which can safely be taken to mean close to midnight, you gently rouse Bree, and the two of you climb up to the ramparts where Feydon had been looking out from earlier. There's a clear shot of the stars im the sky - the brightest one being "Mystra's Star" - something you'd all have learned and heard about many times before, as it carries a lot of mystery and cultural significance all over Faerun. Aiming the device at the star, Bree begins to read off the set of numbers, with periods, single quotes, double quotes, and more periods interspersed between them all in a way you've never seen before. The result is two sequences of characters that are almost more punctuation marks than numbers. But, its clearly what the device read. With your first recording taken, you're set for the next four. This part of the assignment couldn't be easier, you can't help but think.
(OK- advancing things to the morning)
You are roused by attendants just as the sun is beginning to rise. Your morning in Crom's Hold is in stark contrast to that at the ducal castle - while everyone of the soldiers more or less wishes you well, they don't seem to understand the dangers or importance of your mission in the same way the people of Daggerford did. It's also clear that they haven't fully been able to relax around Feydon, a fact not lost on the pirate. But there's little evidence that he cares. Nayeli welcomes you into the dining hall as you each file in for your last meal not to come out of a can for at least four days or so. The spread at the table is purposefully light. Remembering her warning about not eating too much on a day when you know you've got some potentially heavy exertion ahead of you, she more or less took the temptation away. There are griddle cakes, soft pastries, bowls of gruel adorned with berries and nuts, and a variety of fruits and juices to drink. Feydon picks up decanter after decanter, sniffing them, before giving up after not being able to find one with booze in it. He sits in the back, hardly eats a thing, a gaunt, and haunted expression quickly overtaking him in the shadows.
Eventually, Nayeli clears the air. "I hope you've all gotten what you need from your horses - if not, they're still in the courtyard. But you should see to doing so as soon as you finish eating so you can be on your way."
Sir Jory, the only other occupant in the room besides Nayeli and two attendants, has clearly already finished his breakfast and appears to be anxiously awaiting the group to announce their decision regarding which way they'll be going today. He doesn't need to ask, the curiosity is almost more than he can contain. Feydon seems to note this with some amusement, but says nothing.
Finally, he can bear it no longer. He doesn't come right out and ask, but it's clear that he's beginning a kind of dance toward the topic of interest. "I pray that you all had a good rest, and have been able to see and sort through things better in the morning light of a new day, hmm?"
Gus eats a little, remembering what was said about over eating. As the others discuss plans he studies through his spell book, double and triple checking his spells for the day. Absently responding to the knight, yes, prayers of thanks for the morning light of a new day, gods rest ye merry gentle folk. Drat! I should have inked some scrolls for you all, he suddenly thinks out loud. oh, um, sorry. Didn't mean to think that loud.
Sir Jory's wide smile diminishes slightly. It almost seems impossible for him to NOT smile. Even if he's clearly not pleased. "Er, yes... uhm... thank you? I uhm, well what I was hoping to discuss, was... um.... where are we going today? Did you decide a course of action? We can't leave it to the moment we walk out the gate to decide, that'd be far too whimsical for such an important.... you know... what're they called? You know, the thing," he stutters, flustered, but still smiling like an idiot. Nayeli looks embarrassed.
"Quest?" Feydon offers, helpfully, but his tone not sounding thusly.
"Yes! That. Far too important a quest to leave to whim. So! Pray, please tell me you did come to an accord? I don't think I'll fare well following a group that just... well... makes things up as they go!"
Feydon smiles. "It's called adaptability. The less you plan, the easier it is to do. I didn't plan on anything that I did, it just happened."
Jory scoffs yet smiles even wider. "I highly doubt you just 'happened' upon a group of pirates that decided to follow you for no apparent reason, then just 'happened' upon ship after ship full of expensive goods, relieving the merchants on board of their wealth, and if they resisted, their lives."
Feydon, listening along, nods slightly the whole time. "Yup. Pretty much, that's how it went."
Jory Scoffs again, his smile finally beginning to crack. He throws up his hands. "Fine! I get it. I'm used to people just ignoring me. I'll just... kill lizardmen, if necessary, and otherwise stay out of your way."
oh, yes, Gus closes his spell book, plan for the day, um, well might as well take the western path into the marshland. Scout out the ruins marked as one on the map and work our way along the cliff, checking the caves. Finally finishing up with the ruins marked four on the map. Exiting the marshland at the southern path then back here in time for dinner?
At first, Sir Jory is thrilled. "Wonderful! I knew you'd come round to seeing the.... ehh..." he slows as he contemplates the rest of what you said. "Er, no, my boy. This is going to be at least a four day trip. We're not going to be back in time for diner, I should think... unless you mean diner on Seventhday, maybe Eighthday..." he offers, laughing heartily. Then seeing no one else is laughing, he stops. "You see, since today is Thirdday, and its going to take at least four days... so... dinner on... Seventhday... never mind. But I AM glad you're not going with that... sorry. With our... lovely guide's crazy idea."
Feydon snorts. He made his argument. He clearly doesn't care. He almost looks pleased.
"This is the route you are to take then? From 1 to 4, West to East?" Nayeli asks, to confirm. Sir Jory answers for the group. "You heard the lad, he clearly speaks... eh.. for the group. I should think. Wizards ARE smart, you know? And all that. So we better get going so we'll have time to rest a while before night fall. You do mean to wait until evening to descend, yes? I think its a much better idea than leaping. I've seen nothing to suggest that they can 'see body heat', whatever that means. If we climb while there's still SOME light left, we'll get the best of both worlds so to speak! SO! I've had enough of these tarts and pastries, I'll go get my bag and we can set out. This is going to be GREAT - I feel a song coming on. An epic ballad about this day. Yes. Yes. I'll need to bring paper," he's babbling now, excited that things are going his way - or so he would like to believe anyway. Nayeli does her best to ignore him for the moment, and focuses on the group to confirm her question.
Feydon starts to laugh. It's a sound he's only heard himself produce once before - just last night - and already he's doing it again. He tries to stop, but this time he can't seem to. A look that almost resembles panic flickers across his face, and then - he bursts into a full blown, uncontrollable laughter that goes on for nearly an entire minute before he's finally able to stop. By the time he does, it's clear that tears have streaked down his face. He looks entirely discombobulated - like he just had a paroxysm of some fitful disease, much worse than a sneeze, like he just barfed out his soul onto the floor in full view of everyone, including himself to see. Is it embarrassment? Shame? Does he see laughter as a kind of weakness? It's hard to say what the source of his confusion and discomfiture is. It's almost like he just doesn't understand why his body just did that... thing that it did. What was the point of it, his expression seems to read. What purpose does doing THAT possibly serve other than make you look crazy? Yes, there's embarrassment, but more than that, there's a sense that he's losing control over his own emotions for the first time in his life, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. If he'd had the option to make fun of Sir Jory, he surely would have, but for fear of what Nayeli had begun to say the night before, he dared not, and so the options for his emotional release funneled down to... THAT. That bizarre, seizure of snorting and hacking. He shakes his head, no longer amused... but weary. The journey has yet to start and already he looks exhausted.
Eltra stops eating the gruel for a moment “Excuse you babbling baboon…he does not speak for the group. I have voted for Feydons plan. It’s a shorter walk, shorter climb and shorter fall. Unless you hulking hulk of a man plan to carry me down your steep climb than I suggest Feydons route” Eltra clearly didn’t read the book on catching more bees with honey
Feydon, wary that he might do that THING again, tries to speak evenly. "No no no, by all means, lets do his idea - I REALLY want to hear this ballad he's going to write: In fair Crom's Hold, Our story Told, Seven Adventurers, More Wise than Bold, Did find themselves with Feydon the Cold, but rather than heed his word, they followed the man that sounds like a Bird, down a steep cliff, and into the Night, they stumbled and fell into free Flight, their faces turned downward, full of fear and of Fright, just before impact it was quite a Sight, for they all had the same thought - that Feydon was Right," he stands, and gives a theatrical bow.
For the first time since you've known him, Sir Jory is frowning. Directly at Feydon. He seems to be turning purple almost, as his little poem goes on. By the time he's done its more of an indigo. It's really quite unnatural looking.
Gus laughs along with Feydon, looking around at the rest of the party, surely you're not going to let a 16 year old run away apprentice speak on behalf of an experienced scouting party? Sir knight, to be honest I have no idea which way would be best to take. I suggested that route because it makes orderly sense. To be perfectly honest, if I had to then I'd defer to Feydon's judgement. Logically he's had the most recent experience within the marshland, additionally, sorry to bring this up, but he's under a spell that compels him to help us or he suffers. Let guide, so say I. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see to gathering things from my horse while you more experienced folks decide our next course of action. he stands, bows slightly to Neyeli, mi'lady. turns and heads toward the door to the court yard, whistles for Cleo, who leaps off the table flys over landing on his shoulder.
Gus will go to Whimper and start pulling items from the bags, moving them to his shoulder bag. Taking each item, holding it for a moment and calling it by it's name before dropping it in.
He's hardly back in his seat before he's clutching his temples. "I was kidding - no - we should NOT do his idea - I was kidding -I was kidding -I WAS KIDDING!" he shouts, at no one in particular. His hands tremble for a moment, and then suddenly, whatever discomfort he was feelings seems to have faded.
At Gus's suggestion of climbing down the taller cliff instead of the short drop Bree pipes up
"Actually I believe Feydon's suggestion is the better one. It's better to drop a short distance than climb a longer one. Who else agrees? Or would you rather follow Sir Jory's lead?"
Geren sighs at the squabbling, not looking up from the book he's continued reading at breakfast.
"I agree with Feydon's suggestion."
It was both the better plan and almost as importantly Geren's views Feydon as more valuable than Sir Jory. Knights are just jumped-up guardsman who managed to luck into a title. Meanwhile Feydon actually earned his reputation for better or worse. For the worse when it comes to his hiring choices since his crew betrayed him, but oh well.
"I will follow Feydon," says Hnefa - it's now a majority. Not waiting for the invitation to get any warmer, Feydon wordlessly gets up and departs to gather his things sans weapons, without so much of a hint of a 'told-you-so' or anything else obnoxious toward Sir Jory. But! Then he reappears in the doorway to the dining hall once more, he turns facing Sir Jory, and gives another elaborate bow, with far more flourish than his first one - a lot could be read into a bow like that, but given the context, there's only one thing it reads: "I TOLD YOU SO." And with that, he departs, managing to avoid any further paroxysms of emotional vomit people call 'laughter'.
Sir Jory sighs - well, at least Feydon wasn't around to hear it ended up unanimously against me, his expression seems to say, as he looks at the exit where Feydon had bowed. He slumps his shoulders instead. "OK", is all he can say.
"Jory, why don't you help everyone that needs help getting what they'll need from their horses?" Sir Jory nods his understanding, and departs to do so.
Returning her gaze to the remaining people in the room, Nayeli clear her throat. "Well - that was interesting. It's indeed a very bold plan. Almost TOO bold really. But then, Jory's idea really was quite smelly, between us. I didn't task him to accompany you to tell you what to do, I was a little surprised he had the audacity to assume that I meant 'lead' you - what I had said was 'escort'. You are your own leaders - that you have Feydon the Cold bound to your will by a permanent geas... well... I don't impress easily, but that would impress anyone. Of course, it was a team effort with my liege involved, but still - that she's placed her faith in you means that we should to. Are there any last questions anyone has for me? Otherwise, I'll see you off at the gate when you're ready to go."
(OOC: Geren we'll say you an extra hour of reading in since you read at breakfast. Your horses, with any feed for them are all left behind, and everything else we'll assume is distributed either to your equipment, or to Hnefa if you're getting weighted down, with Feydon able to carry quite a bit too. Even if you haven't done that at this point, its okay, we'll assume you had, and so you still can - anything that's too heavy for you but you want to bring, let me know, and I'll give Hnefa or Feydon a copy of it, and you can delete yours until you need it, then we'll reverse the process. I would also recommend leaving the bulk of your money, and any other valuables on your horses - they'll be safe there in Crom's Hold, it's super disciplined, and there's very little reason to bring coinage into the Lizard Marsh - if you were to get captured, you'd just lose it; that's not foreshadowing, its just something your characters would intuitively know).
A short time later, everyone is in the courtyard, by the gate on the opposite side of the keep as the one you entered from. Once again there's a stark contrast to the farewell committee that has assembled here compared to Daggerford, which was practically the entire town. Now it's just Nayeli Goldflower, the two guards at the gate, and the captain who'd been so hostile on seeing Feydon the day before.
Surprisingly, the captain is the first to speak. "No hard feelings about yesterday, I hope. I wish you all well. Even the murdering pirates amongst you. Come back in one piece, hear?"
Nayeli smiles. "Thank you, captain - that was, touching," he bows and departs, having apparently said his peace. Vaguely rolling her eyes back over to the group, she echoes the sentiment regarding coming back in one piece. "Jory, be sure to give them a rundown on what you know on defeating the specific type of lizardmen that are unique to our lovely marsh here. You should have plenty of time to cover everything before you get to the ridge." Then she gestures for the gates to open. As you funnel out onto the path, heading away from the Hold the the west and south, Feydon exiting last, is stopped by the paladin baroness. She hands him his sword - or at least a sword that looks its twin, but freshly sheathed, along with a longbow and a significant numbner of arrows. Several arrow cases full of them. While the sword and bow look average, the many of the arrows look to be very high quality.
"You didn't think I was going to send you into the Marsh defenseless, did you?" she asks, managing to give him the closest thing she can muster to a magnanimous smile on his behaf.
He accepts the weapons without hesitation, putting the sword at his side, the bow slung over his back, along with a couple arrow cases, stuffing the rest into his pack. "The thought crossed my mind you might. But I'm not defenseless." He turns a points to a scorpion on the ground that was moving from under one leaf to another, and suddenly shouts "Frigidus ignis!" while making a quick corkscrew with his finger toward the scorpion. Two short lived rays of frost fire from his finger tip and encase the arthropod in ice entirely, along with a fair bit of surrounding mulch. He returns his gaze to her.
She has look that is simultaneously displeased and impressed. "Have to say, I wouldn't have guessed you to have that kind of ability. I'd always imagined you to be a heartless monster. You're not what I'd call a kind soul, Feydon. But, for what it's worth, I don't think you're a 'monster', as you said."
"Probably just a function of not knowing me well enough, Baron," he answers, his tone neutral.
She smiles and nods. Then she smiles at each of you, give you a personal farewell that isn't very 'personal', as she's yet to learn much of you. And then the group begins the hike toward the ridge.
For the first few minutes, Sir Jory is subdued, though his smile has returned already in its full, disingenuous splendor. It seems he's on his way to bouncing back from his bruised ego. Feydon, seeing this, starts then stops to say something to him multiple times, as if its a kind of reflex he can't help, but the moment the words begin to form, his expression becomes pained, and he stops, sighing. You get the sense that by including psychological harm to mean harm in Feydon's mind, the Baroness has, either inadvertently or otherwise, disallowed him to be himself, a fact that is causing him no end of distress. But then, as frustrated as he appears, you also get the sense that this entire chapter - regarding the geas and his forced servitude to you - is a mere foible in his collective story, and far from the darkest thing he's had to endure. The story of his skin says that much alone.
Eventually, Sir Jory begins talking to no one in particular, as if he'd been talking the whole time. "So, in an overview of Lizardmen - there are some things to know. Firstly, their wet, rubbery skin gives them strong protection against fire and electrical damage - so no lightning bolts or the like and especially no fire. Not only are the protected from it, but for some reason the warmer they are, the faster they can move. This works both ways. They are vulnerable to cold, which also has the effect of slowing them down - potentially to a complete standstill. It's the reason they pick wetlands like the Marsh here, because it always maintains a fairly warm temperature, even in Deep winter. It's got natural hot springs to assist with this., Though in those cooler times they tend to hibernate. We only EVER have issues with them during the warmer months of the year. It's really quite simply - no fire, no shock, just as much cold damage as you can do. If you've got a limit to that, don't waste it on the regular tribals - the 'Skirmishers' as we call them, because they engage in hit-and-run tactics almost exclusively. One way to ensure they don't get away so easy, is to blast em with a spell like the one you should Nayeli," he says, gesturing to Feydon's finger, just as his finger happens to be making a rude gesture towards him - all on its own, of course. Feydon plays it off like he was simply examining said finger, unaware of the gesture it was making.
Sir Jory sighs. "Anyway - you can try to detain them with spells or with nets, but don't grapple them - don't bother. It won't work. They'll just slip right out from your grip, then you'll find that you're in one yourself. Their favorite thing to do, if they manage to grapple a target, is to dive back underwater with it - they can stay underwater for many, many minutes. An hour maybe. Goes without saying what that would do to any of us. So don't let them get near you -its the warriors that do that the most. You can always tell a warrior cause they'll be using a sword instead of a trident or javelin. Only shamans use tridents in melee, though fighters will throw them sometimes. But mostly they all throw javelins. Tribals, or Skirmishers, only have javelins - if you manage to corner one into melee, they'll use their last javelin as a spear. Their weapons are crude, but occasionally they'll have something they picked up from a previous... eh... group like ourselves. Not that we'll suffer the same fate!"
"Please shut up," Feydon says eventually. He rubs his temples, looking pained, so adds nothing else.
Sir Jory scoffs. "I was bid to share my expertise about the lizardfolk."
"And you did. Now... shush. Head. Hurts."
Gus will ask Cleo to fly ahead a bit and to alert me if she sees someone.
sir Jory, is there just the one tribe living in the marsh?
By mid-day, the party has reached a part of the road where according to the map they should begin moving over the path, directly toward the ridge - and so you do. By well into the afternoon, you have nearly made it - the ridge is ahead, maybe just a few hundred yards left. It's clear that Feydon was write about the land above sort of funneling down into a ramp leaving to the edge from this point onward something that you can easily imagine happening as the result of underground water movement causing the weight of the cliff above to sink somewhat - you can image this because the 'ramp' forming the downward incline has a vaguely river-like shape.
"Well, we may as well get a short rest in before we... plunge into the unknown," Sir Jory says, trying to sound non-plussed, but clearly growing anxious. But he's not wrong - you are all hungry and tired. It hasn't been a long day, but the offroad walking takes it out of you. Every other step, it seems, ends up being much muddier than it appeared. A small smattering of stones the right height to sit upon marks the location that you stop at (Magenta X on map below)
It will only be another 15 minutes of walking, maybe 30, before you'll be at the ridge. When its quiet enough, you can hear the sound of water rustling in distance. You are each trying to listen to this, almost meditatively, while you eat, when your musings are jarred into pieces by a discordant strum on a lute.
Opening your eyes, or otherwise diverting your attention to the source, Sir Jory, perched above everyone on the largest, most central rock as if attempting to give a performance, has pulled out his lute and begun to play. This might not have been entirely unwelcome, if not for a couple things. 1: he also sings as he plays, 2: the tone and tempo of the words doesn't seem to match whatever the heck it is he's playing, and finally 3. after a short while his voice begins to carry so well that you fear it might be heard by anything or anyone residing in the cave below you - at the very least, at its entrance ahead. He begins playing relatively quietly and thus it is the first 2 points that are the most irritating.
"I gave my love a cherry that had no stone,
I gave my love a chicken that had no bone,
I gave my love a story that had no end,
I gave my love a baby with no cryin'..."
By the end of the fourth line, the third issue is becoming a problem, as his voice doubles in volume, as does his strumming.
Without any visible emotion whatsoever, Feydon is suddenly on his feet, and Sir Jory's lute is in his hands - grabbed away from Jory with such deftness that a short cry of surprise escapes the knight's lips. Lute in hand, Feydon then begins to violently and repeatedly smash the instrument into shreds across the rock just below Sir Jory. The instrument being made of what it was - light wood, and fairly cheap at that - breaks to pieces without nearly as much noise as it made being played. Even after there's virtually nothing left to bash, Feydon gives it a couple more swings, then puts the last piece that was in his hand on the ground and begins stomping on it repeatedly until it disappears into the soft mud.
The instrument now totally destroyed and/or buried in the ground, Feydon looks at Sir Jory, his face still entirely devoid of anger despite the ferocity to his movements. "Sorry," he says, and shrugs. Then he sits back down, away from the group and continues to eat.
Sir Jory is about to protest, when a single word comes to him form Feydon's location, without him turning to face him. "Geas," he says. Then after a moment he adds. "Had to."
Sir Jory, not understanding, but seeing little sympathy in anyone else's eyes, decides to just let it go. He sighs and spends the rest of the break sulking.
(OOC: 25XP to the first person to name the movie that's from)