Crossed Paths - Part I

[Guilt Puppy]

Nathaniel, in the midst of retelling his story of the defeat of the Wendol -- it has by now become a drinking game, and given its nightly retelling, the audience is now filling in so many blanks that Nathaniel hardly has to speak at all -- spies Octar and Brioc holding their counsel.

Normally, he'd let the two to their privacy... But Octar has been worrisome of late, and here there might be some insight into that, and as Brioc raises his hand...

As one more mug is emptied, he turns to his audience: "Pardon, but I have some business with the barmaids... Someone else pick it up?"

Before his words are finished the story is already going. He skips off, grinning to himself, and, once Brioc turns his back again, he catches the woman he has hailed, passing his book carefully under her serving tray.

"Excuse me," he says quietly through what is now a strictly worn grin. "My friend over there, not the one who called for you, the other... You think you could start watering his drinks a little? I think there's going to be a lot of talking done tonight, and I'd hate for the last half to end up slurred."

With that said, he jogs back to his duties, dropping in a few words of Octar's stalwart heroics -- the townspeople were noticing his behavior too, after all, and his good name could use a little help...

 

[Jarval]

"You are, of course, right. Our business here is done, and we've stayed too long." Brioc agrees after a moment's thought to reassemble Octar's fragmented speech.

"We should leave in the next day or so, and carry on our search." The druid pauses, looking closely at his friend

"If I may say so, you haven't been in the best of spirits this past week. What troubles you?"

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

Octar barks out a short laugh, and his speech becomes slightly more animated and correspondingly slurred. "I'm practicing, my friend. Have you ever seen old soldiers? I've seen many of them. My father's an old soldier. And what do old soldiers do?" Octar leans back in his chair. "They act morose, they think about old battles, and things they'd rather forget. And they drink so they don't have to do any of those things."

He slows down again, and hunches over. "I don't think we needed to kill the girl, Brioc. Even if she was Wendol. But I did because you asked me to. When an officer tells you to do something, you do it- that is what I learned, that is how a soldier acts to keep himself and his friends alive. If you had been an officer, and I a soldier, perhaps my concience could rest easier.

"But you are not, Brioc. You are my friend. And I killed her because you asked me to, not because I wanted to." His drunken monologue begins to wind down. "And that... troubles me."

 

[Jarval]

"I wish that I could comfort you with my own certainty, but it troubles me also. I could not be sure that we had solved the problem by killing only the crone. Both seemed capable casters, and I was unsure which was the mistress, and which the apprentice." Brioc rests his chin in his hand, all thoughts of ale forgotten for now.

"But you should take no responsibility for her death. It was my choice, and mine alone. There is no blood on your hands, at least with regards to the moral implications." He looks Octar squarely in the eyes.

"I've had little training as a leader of soldiers, adventures, whatever you would call our group. Until a bare handful of months ago, I was to succeed my father as priest for our village. A life of healing the poor, blessing the crops, fending off the occasional creature lay ahead of me. I need your help with this. You've taken orders. You've given orders. And you know far better than I what obstacles I might face. I need a trustworthy advisor, and I cannot think of anyone better suited to that role than yourself."

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

Octar lays still as he listens to Brioc, nodding imperceptibly, but jerks up at the last. He stares as Brioc, blinks once, and lets out a short, barking laugh. "I've not given many orders, Brioc. And all in drills. Truth be told, this' been my first taste of fighting, other than bandits." Octar begins to get more animated. "But for starters, you've got to assert yourself more. If you're going to be in charge, be in charge. Soldiers follow good orders, and they stay alive. If they don't follow orders, it doesn't matter if they were good or not, they get killed." He takes another swig of ale. "That arguing in the cave could've gotten us killed, if the Wendol had been a mind to it."

Octar pauses a moment, and then laughs again. "Hah! Your better at this then you think." Brioc motions the serving girl. "More ale, please!" he says, although his spirits are apparently working their way upwards.

 

[Manzanita]

At another time, in preparation for their departure, Brioc enters into conversation with Tula Popandreas, the merchant-ranger in Sevastopol. Her father, now deseased, did travel to the area indicated on the map Brioc got from his father. Tula's father reported it as swampy, but inhabited by a primitive tribe of humans, who generally aren’t too friendly with outsiders, nor do they have much to trade, thus he never tried to establish trading routes there. Tula says the group could best reach there on foot or on horses, but wagons would be a bad idea. "I don't know why you'd want to go there, but I'd suggest avoiding the locals. As I recall dad's stories, I believe they wanted to sacrifice him to some death-god of theirs. The locals are probably the least of your worries anyhow. I suspect there are all sorts of ugly creatures in those swamps. A couple weeks before you came, a couple Roman archeologist came through. I think they were headed up that way, although they didn't say precisely. We haven't heard from them since."

To complicate things, the weather has turned cold. Gusts of snow sprinkle the city. The citizens freely provide warm weather gear, but speed and available food will be reduced. The group has spend an entire week in Sevastopol, and the the earliest you could leave would be October 13th.

 

[Jarval]

"Seem sure of myself, regardless of my own concerns? I have to agree. Our delay in the caves could have turned very ugly." Brioc drinks from his own mug of ale. "And thank you for having faith in me. Command still seems strange, but with your help I hope to master it. My round, I think."

**********

"Aye, well I think I may have a fair idea of what happened to them." Brioc states to Tula. "We ran into a beast driven from the swamps, and found an archeologist's medallion in its possession. Thank you for the warning, we'll proceed with all caution."

Brioc will start to make preparations to leave Sevastopol the following day, but will wait for a break in then cold weather before setting out.


(OOC: What is the date today? I've lost track of the game's calender a little.)

 

[Manzanita]

"Today" is October 12th. I'm thinking you are all basically ready to leave after a bit of discussion. Your departure will start Part II of this campaign. I'll be starting that new thread as soon as it appears you're all done here.

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

ooc: I'm done here, I think, unless someone wants to RP some more.

 

[doghead]

The news that they are moving out the next day, and the change in the weather has Marcus prowling the markets one last time.

After a week of living like a lord at the towns expense, he is beginning to feel beholden, so he does try to pay for the warm weather clothes and rations he adds to his current ones. But the townsfolk are determined not to let him. He does manage to give something back - his old padded armour. Nothing fancy, but well made.* The next day however, he finds that even that was a phyric victory as the as the warden had a sheath and quiver added to his saddle kit overnight, containing a shortsword and bolts respectively.

*OOC: I spent an extra 150 on masterwork padded - for no reason! Padded Armour already has no Armour Check Penalty. That will teach me to read the small print more carefully. It must have been beautifully stitched.