NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2783499" data-attributes="member: 15187">Past the cottage the path led directly to the edge of cliffs. When they looked down from  this vantage they perceived a steep trail that led down to a secluded patch of beach some fifty yards below. As they carefully negotiated the rocky stairway, Gerard began calling on survivors to come forward, citing the name of Baron Yorath as a guarantee of safety. At last his cries elicited a response. As the companions reached the sands at the base of the trail, an old man and woman and two young children emerged from a small cave set far back against rocks. All four blinked in the bright sunlight, clearly shaken and bewildered by whatever had befallen them. Frightened tears had left silver trails on the dirt blacked cheeks of the children. The old man wrung knobbed and weather beaten fingers together in complex patterns as he proved incapable of answering Bastien’s urgent questions on what had befallen Ravenswood. The woman composed herself by smoothing her long white hair into place and brushing the dirt from her simple but durable clothes. Though slight of frame there was a strength to her. It was evident in her bearing, still upright despite her years. She identified herself as Alice Copthorpe, who along with her husband Perry and their grandchildren Nevin and Anna had fled to the caves at the first sounds of the violent disturbance the previous night. It transpired that the Copthorpes lived in the house the companions had recently explored. Alice was a healer of some skill and the well ordered herb garden they had seen was a vital adjunct to her profession. Now that the threat of physical harm had passed, she proved herself to be remarkably self possessed. Her old eyes had lost none of their sparkle and she showed little sign of unease in the presence of the group of armed strangers who had come to Ravenswood. As they accompanied her back to her home she explained that they had heard shouts and screams in the early hours before dawn. Convinced that some awful catastrophe was befalling the village, they had not hesitated in fleeing. On hearing that the small community had been completely devoid of inhabitants, Alice suggested that the survivors must have fled into the safety of the woods. There they would have stood an excellent chance of evading capture amongst the trees in the dark of night.When they reached the top of the bluff they saw a tall weathered man in his late forties approaching them from Ravenswood. The old couple identified him as Ger’Maron Devlis, a woodsman who lived some six miles east of Ravenswood. He was something of a wanderer by nature and was often to be seen rambling about. The party reached the Copthorpe’s home at the same time as the newcomer. Greetings and questions were exchanged. Maron Devlis was a man without ostentation save for affecting the archaic practice, dating back to convocation times, of not allowing his first name to be used in idle conversation. Hence, the prefix ‘Ger’ stood for the name he chose not to reveal. Despite his mature years he appeared quite hale, with sun browned features and strong sinewy limbs. Once satisfied with the party’s credentials he relayed his findings with complete candour. He had arrived in the village not long after them and had found things much the same as they had. Being an experienced tracker, he had picked up the signs of many booted feet leaving and entering the woods and also signs that the villagers had fled into the forest. Everything appeared to indicate bandits as being responsible for the raid. The tracks left by Ravenswood’s inhabitants gave hope that at least some had escaped the pillage. While Maron talked with the party, Alice and Perry served day old bread, fruit and a deliciously spiced tea. With the exception of Moxadder, who was too enmeshed in his battle with the Big Fear to appreciate it, those who drank of the tea felt their spirits lift and their fatigue dissipate. Even Gerard, who had initially regarded the offering with disdain made a surprised moue of appreciation. All the while, the small children stared goggle eyed at Mortec, small mouths hanging open in unashamed wonder. Despite being of a stature close to them, the gnome’s pronounced nose and vaguely fey features were irresistibly fascinating to the young ones.As the companions were finishing their improvised repast they noticed some villagers returning in a disorganised straggle from within the woods. With a hasty farewell to the Copthorpes they jogged back towards the little community. Maron accompanied them, the grim set of his features somewhat alleviated by the relief he felt in seeing survivors. The villagers were disheveled and wild eyed from the terrors they had endured, but appeared otherwise unharmed. Bastien took charge and organised a head count while the others questioned various individuals, trying to find some sense from the hysterical hubbub of each villager relating their personal travails at the top of their voices. The sun had begun its long descent into the West before some semblance of coherence was achieved. By now, the agitated chatter had changed to wails of bereavement at lost relatives or cries of dismay at the sack or destruction of their homes. Not troubling to move out of earshot of the victims, Bastien had his young charges gather around and listen to his summation of the testimony. “From what I can gather, bandits attacked in the early hours before dawn, firing huts and capturing villagers while the rest fled into the woods.” Bastien paced back and forth, counting each fact off on his fingers. “Six people are unaccounted for: Senjik the Hetman, Olvan the boatwright, old mother Wilima and three young women; Kareena, Leesha and Nadine. Most likely they were captured as there is no sign of bloodshed and they would have returned here by now if they were able. There does seem to be some confusion over Senjik as a couple of them swear that he made it into the woods with them. What is still unclear is why brigands would have attacked here, and of what use an old boatwright or crippled crone would be to them.”“Pirates, not Brigands”, Moxadder interjected, his eyes blazing with the zeal of his certainty. “It is very clear to me that pirates come here and take what they want. They sink the boats so no one thinks to chase them and they take the old boatwright so make no one can fix ‘em”. He turned to face the tearful villagers. “You are right to be crying as those bastard pirates are raping your women even as I am standing here and talking to you”. Tears of grief and outrage greeted this announcement as Moxadder warmed to his vision, no doubt encouraged by the rare attention he was receiving. “Yes, they’re sailing and raping and pillaging and stealing, and no-one is stopping them because no-one has a boat! It’s a terrible thing” he added as the cries of the villagers built to a new crescendo. “Maybe they turn up in some dirty portside side stew five years from now and maybe not.” As Moxadder paused to gather the inspiration for more ghoulish insights to offer, Bastien took the opportunity to steer the conversation to more productive ends. With an appeasing glance towards the distraught fisherfolk, he pointed out that pirates would have been unlikely to kidnap an old woman. He suspected that there was more to the calamity than a simple raid, and the obvious next step would be to investigate the nearby abbey. It was worrying that no word had been heard from it despite the upheavals of the night before. With the daylight hours rapidly fading, Bastian decided to divide his forces in order to get as much done as possible. He directed Argonne to join Ger’Maron Devlis in trying to track the attackers to wherever they had gone. He sent Moxadder with them as well, more to get him away from the villagers than because he would be useful. The rest of the party he proposed to take to Leith’s Abbey, one of the centres of learning for the Lasterian faith. *****</blockquote>

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