10 hours before
The beaten and battered party returned to the camp. After some discussion, Kudjik decided not to move the caravan until the fast approaching morning. Sounded like the villainous creatures had been defeated as far as the trader was concerned, though he did seem horrified to realize that it was one of the driver’s he’d hired in Welford that had been the shape-shifter.
At least as Fen could tell before leaving his post, they wre not being followed by the trolls. The druid was also confident, that this late into the night, they’d dare not stry too far from the swamp for fear of the coming day.
The party all went to the tent where Fen and then Haelan were administering to Duor. Braddok was also battered and bruised, but shunned the cleric’s offer at bandaging. Haelan insisted on rinsing the were-rat scratches with some of the last of their Pure Water from Tidemaster Kama. The water did seem to bubble a bit around the edges of the wound, but left a cool soothing feeling that Braddok was thankful for.
Between some quickly administered “special berries” from Fen and the druid’s and Hilltender’s non-magical healing skills, they were confident the dwarf would survive the night. Haelan offered to stay the dwarf through the night and sleep in the healing tent so that he might pray for healing as soon as he could.
Duor himself remained unconscious through the bulk of the ministering and eventually seemed to pass into a restful sleep. His eyes weakly opened once to look at the surrounded companions. His eyes fell on Coerraine. The young Redstar’s face was a palette of shame and sorrow.
The dwarf mumbled something beneath his beard and again fell into unconsciousness.
Alaria looked at the mournful paladin and then to the cleric. “Did you make out what he said?” Alaria asked Haelan.
The daelvar’s face blushed a bit. “I think…” Haelan’s eyes went to the floor. “I think, my dwarven isn’t very good…but I think it was, ‘I hate you.’”
At this, Coerraine’s head slumped and he left the tent.
Haelan shrugged an apology at Alaria. “But I’m not sure!” Louder, hoping Coerraine might hear, he added, “He might not have said that.”
Confident that Duor would live the companions, other than Haelan, quietly left the tent.
Fen began moving away from camp. The magics of his druid’s cloak seemed to begin wrapping him in the shadows of the early morning hour. Alaria stopped him.
“Fen, I appreciate your motives to staying behind and attentiveness to our safety. But I really must ask…No, I insist, as long as you are choosing to travel with my group, that you keep us aware of your comings and goings.”
Fen opened his mouth, presumably to make some kind of defense, but closed it again without saying anything.
“Things tonight may not have become so dire had we all been present from the beginning.” The magess concluded.
Braddok walked up behind the wizard, as if to enforce her ‘request.’
Fen looked at the swordsman, slightly hunched over clasping his side and what the druid was sure must be some bruised, if not broken, ribs. A large bruise was also puffing up impressively around the warrior’s left eye and cheek.
“You are right, of course, magess. I will endeavor to keep myself in your more…immediate surroundings.”
“Thank you, Fen.” Alaria said. “And when you next see Gnobert…I suspect you talk to him more than we…relay it to him as well…and my thanks for his intercession.” The exhaustion was plain in her voice. “Now, good night to you all. I can barely keep myself on my legs.”
The wizardess accepted Kudjik’s offer to use his covered wagon, even his own cot, for her rest. She knew she would need to sleep well into the day to recover her strength andKudjik had been clear on getting on the move at first light. The border of Daenfrii, Bridgetower, was less than a day’s march and the Thelitian meant to arrive as soon as possible, preferably without further trouble.
Braddok bedded down, with multiple moans and groans at the varying soreness up and down his body. He looked at Coerraine as the paladin stared aimlessly into the failing embers of their fire. The night was, indeed chilly, but neither of them had the motivation to re-stoke the fire.
Across the fire from him, he was surprised to hear a loud snore. The source of the noise was the gnome. He was sprawled, limbs akimbo on top of the giant furry circle of his ferret, which also seemed asleep. As he watched, the gnome’s cowl and clothes slowly faded from their bright green and blue he had seen earlier to yellow and brown, effectively camouflaging him among Buttercream’s coat. The swordsman from Denil had to admit to himself, the quirky creature (and his pet) had proved themselves that night.
6 hours before
The day began, as Kudjik wanted, very early in the soft pinks and oranges of the pre-dawn. The farmers and refugees were a flurry of whispers among themselves relaying the stories of the night’s battle as they packed up and the caravan began moving off for the expected haven of Bridgetower and the realm of the Dragonmage.
Haelan attended Duor with his healing magic as best he could and helped to dwarf into a crowded but comfortable spot in the wagon of the farmer, Maracus, who had offered to carry the still wounded ‘hero.’
Coerraine came slowly up to the wagon as Haelan finished situating Duor and hopped down from the back of the cart.
Haelan smiled weakly at the paladin and answered the unasked question. “He is fine, if still a bit weak.”
The paladin made no reply and looked down, surprised, when the daelvar priest grabbed his gauntlet.
“It wasn’t your fault, Coerraine. It was the were-rat’s magic wand. You are not to blame.” Haelan said.
The paladin grinned and nodded a thanks at the halfling’s face bathed in its innocent sincerity.
Coerraine neared the wagon. When Duor’s eyes met his, the Redstar Knight lowered his to the ground.
“Come to finish the job then, Goldshield?” Duor said in a grumble.
The words pierced Coerraine’s heart as sure as any blade. “My friend, I cannot…” the paladin began.
His words were interrupted by the most unlikely sound of the dwarf’s strained chuckles.
“An’ who’s the liar now, paladin? Heheh.” The dwarf paused a moment and coughed. The effort elicited a moan before Duor continued. “Let’s not dishonor ourselves and your god. We are not ‘friends.’ That much is clear.”
Coerraine felt his face go red. The dwarf was correct, but Coerraine knew that some recompense must be made. His honor demended it.
Duor continued. “But…I know…it weren’t yer fault. Them charm spells’re tricky things. We dwarves have never been much fer sorcery an’ last night is an excellent example fer why. I know we can agree on that much, at least.”
Coerraine, heartened by the dwarf’s apparent understanding lifted his gaze to bandaged and swaddled rogue. “Indeed, that much is true, Duor Darksmythe. Still, it is on my faith and honor that I will make it up to you..I must.”
“Well, if you must, gold’s always good.” Duor smirked.
Coerraine forced a grin, though the suggestion left a sour taste in the paladin’s mouth. The dwarf really did not have any understanding of honor. The Redstar Knight found this odd considering all he’d come to hear or know of other dwarves. But, Coerraine reminded himself, he could not fault the dwarf for being himself. His was not to judge others, but protect them, and he had failed miserably in that duty.
“As you know, I am duty-bound to Alaria at the present. The tenets of my order do not permit the acceptance of more than a single charge and that charge is clearly set. But when my time in Alaria’s service, when our current course is complete,” the paladin took his spear and stuck the blade into the ground as he bent to kneel before the cart.
Duor’s bushy eyebrows nearly rose off of his face.
Coerraine continued, eyes downscast, “I swear to you, Duor Darksmythe, by the Shield and the Lance, that I will submit myself and my spear to your protection for no less than one cycle of the seasons so long as my Lord and God permit me breathe or take me.”
The Redstar Knight then rose, pulled his spear from the sod. Without another word, he turned returned to the front of the caravan. The oath he had spoken did not require the dwarf’s consent. It was an oath to his god and his duty. If Duor released him from the oath at some point before a year passed, that was his prerogative. But for now, Coerraine had done as he felt he must. The bond was made. The man’s blond shoulder-length hair and crimson tabard flowed behind him as a breeze swept up. He walked, head high, to Kudjik’s wagon at the front of the train. He also denied the offer of a horse, feeling a day of marching would also serve as an acceptable penance for his transgression against, no not a friend, but a companion-in-arms.
Duor watched the paladin leave, eyes wide. “Ehrmmm. Ok then.” the dwarf mumbled in response.
Haelan then saw Braddok and cast another healing spell on the swordsman. The swelling and bruising on his face disappeared. Those on his side (which Haelan did not admit concerned him more than the man’s face) got smaller but did not disappear. Despite the swordsman’s objections, Haelan tightly bandaged the warrior’s middle.
As Haelan finished, Braddok thanked him. “You do honor to us and your goddess, Haelan. Were it not for Her graces, our company would surely have been lost many times over in our short journey. You should be proud, daelvar. You are as sure a hero as any told in the tales of bards.”
Haelan smiled broadly at the warrior. “It is by Faerantha’s blessings that I am able to serve us. Your praise should be for her, Braddok, not for me….But I thank you. Still, I think myself no more a hero than you.”
He caravan moved out beneath the pale grey clouds that extended across the sky as far as any could see. Jarood make some offhanded comment to the Thelitian sky god that they not see rain before reaching Bridgetower. Apparently, Braddok thought, hauling wagons out of a muddy tranch in the rain was no one’s idea of a good time.
1 hour before
The weather cooperated and by shortly after midday, the wagons and refugees came over a low ridge to look down over sprawling fields and spotty sparce woods. The river D’Evand wound lazily through the fields in the distance, a ribbon of pale grey-blue. The ribbon was broken some distance away from them by a structure of white and grey with pendants flying above it. A set of guard towers at either edge of the river with a broad expanse of a bridge crossing the wide flow. Details were not possible from their vantage point, but all in the caravan knew it was their destination, the crossing of Bridgetower, southern entrance to the realm of Daenfrii, the vale of the Dragonmage.
The beaten and battered party returned to the camp. After some discussion, Kudjik decided not to move the caravan until the fast approaching morning. Sounded like the villainous creatures had been defeated as far as the trader was concerned, though he did seem horrified to realize that it was one of the driver’s he’d hired in Welford that had been the shape-shifter.
At least as Fen could tell before leaving his post, they wre not being followed by the trolls. The druid was also confident, that this late into the night, they’d dare not stry too far from the swamp for fear of the coming day.
The party all went to the tent where Fen and then Haelan were administering to Duor. Braddok was also battered and bruised, but shunned the cleric’s offer at bandaging. Haelan insisted on rinsing the were-rat scratches with some of the last of their Pure Water from Tidemaster Kama. The water did seem to bubble a bit around the edges of the wound, but left a cool soothing feeling that Braddok was thankful for.
Between some quickly administered “special berries” from Fen and the druid’s and Hilltender’s non-magical healing skills, they were confident the dwarf would survive the night. Haelan offered to stay the dwarf through the night and sleep in the healing tent so that he might pray for healing as soon as he could.
Duor himself remained unconscious through the bulk of the ministering and eventually seemed to pass into a restful sleep. His eyes weakly opened once to look at the surrounded companions. His eyes fell on Coerraine. The young Redstar’s face was a palette of shame and sorrow.
The dwarf mumbled something beneath his beard and again fell into unconsciousness.
Alaria looked at the mournful paladin and then to the cleric. “Did you make out what he said?” Alaria asked Haelan.
The daelvar’s face blushed a bit. “I think…” Haelan’s eyes went to the floor. “I think, my dwarven isn’t very good…but I think it was, ‘I hate you.’”
At this, Coerraine’s head slumped and he left the tent.
Haelan shrugged an apology at Alaria. “But I’m not sure!” Louder, hoping Coerraine might hear, he added, “He might not have said that.”
Confident that Duor would live the companions, other than Haelan, quietly left the tent.
Fen began moving away from camp. The magics of his druid’s cloak seemed to begin wrapping him in the shadows of the early morning hour. Alaria stopped him.
“Fen, I appreciate your motives to staying behind and attentiveness to our safety. But I really must ask…No, I insist, as long as you are choosing to travel with my group, that you keep us aware of your comings and goings.”
Fen opened his mouth, presumably to make some kind of defense, but closed it again without saying anything.
“Things tonight may not have become so dire had we all been present from the beginning.” The magess concluded.
Braddok walked up behind the wizard, as if to enforce her ‘request.’
Fen looked at the swordsman, slightly hunched over clasping his side and what the druid was sure must be some bruised, if not broken, ribs. A large bruise was also puffing up impressively around the warrior’s left eye and cheek.
“You are right, of course, magess. I will endeavor to keep myself in your more…immediate surroundings.”
“Thank you, Fen.” Alaria said. “And when you next see Gnobert…I suspect you talk to him more than we…relay it to him as well…and my thanks for his intercession.” The exhaustion was plain in her voice. “Now, good night to you all. I can barely keep myself on my legs.”
The wizardess accepted Kudjik’s offer to use his covered wagon, even his own cot, for her rest. She knew she would need to sleep well into the day to recover her strength andKudjik had been clear on getting on the move at first light. The border of Daenfrii, Bridgetower, was less than a day’s march and the Thelitian meant to arrive as soon as possible, preferably without further trouble.
Braddok bedded down, with multiple moans and groans at the varying soreness up and down his body. He looked at Coerraine as the paladin stared aimlessly into the failing embers of their fire. The night was, indeed chilly, but neither of them had the motivation to re-stoke the fire.
Across the fire from him, he was surprised to hear a loud snore. The source of the noise was the gnome. He was sprawled, limbs akimbo on top of the giant furry circle of his ferret, which also seemed asleep. As he watched, the gnome’s cowl and clothes slowly faded from their bright green and blue he had seen earlier to yellow and brown, effectively camouflaging him among Buttercream’s coat. The swordsman from Denil had to admit to himself, the quirky creature (and his pet) had proved themselves that night.
6 hours before
The day began, as Kudjik wanted, very early in the soft pinks and oranges of the pre-dawn. The farmers and refugees were a flurry of whispers among themselves relaying the stories of the night’s battle as they packed up and the caravan began moving off for the expected haven of Bridgetower and the realm of the Dragonmage.
Haelan attended Duor with his healing magic as best he could and helped to dwarf into a crowded but comfortable spot in the wagon of the farmer, Maracus, who had offered to carry the still wounded ‘hero.’
Coerraine came slowly up to the wagon as Haelan finished situating Duor and hopped down from the back of the cart.
Haelan smiled weakly at the paladin and answered the unasked question. “He is fine, if still a bit weak.”
The paladin made no reply and looked down, surprised, when the daelvar priest grabbed his gauntlet.
“It wasn’t your fault, Coerraine. It was the were-rat’s magic wand. You are not to blame.” Haelan said.
The paladin grinned and nodded a thanks at the halfling’s face bathed in its innocent sincerity.
Coerraine neared the wagon. When Duor’s eyes met his, the Redstar Knight lowered his to the ground.
“Come to finish the job then, Goldshield?” Duor said in a grumble.
The words pierced Coerraine’s heart as sure as any blade. “My friend, I cannot…” the paladin began.
His words were interrupted by the most unlikely sound of the dwarf’s strained chuckles.
“An’ who’s the liar now, paladin? Heheh.” The dwarf paused a moment and coughed. The effort elicited a moan before Duor continued. “Let’s not dishonor ourselves and your god. We are not ‘friends.’ That much is clear.”
Coerraine felt his face go red. The dwarf was correct, but Coerraine knew that some recompense must be made. His honor demended it.
Duor continued. “But…I know…it weren’t yer fault. Them charm spells’re tricky things. We dwarves have never been much fer sorcery an’ last night is an excellent example fer why. I know we can agree on that much, at least.”
Coerraine, heartened by the dwarf’s apparent understanding lifted his gaze to bandaged and swaddled rogue. “Indeed, that much is true, Duor Darksmythe. Still, it is on my faith and honor that I will make it up to you..I must.”
“Well, if you must, gold’s always good.” Duor smirked.
Coerraine forced a grin, though the suggestion left a sour taste in the paladin’s mouth. The dwarf really did not have any understanding of honor. The Redstar Knight found this odd considering all he’d come to hear or know of other dwarves. But, Coerraine reminded himself, he could not fault the dwarf for being himself. His was not to judge others, but protect them, and he had failed miserably in that duty.
“As you know, I am duty-bound to Alaria at the present. The tenets of my order do not permit the acceptance of more than a single charge and that charge is clearly set. But when my time in Alaria’s service, when our current course is complete,” the paladin took his spear and stuck the blade into the ground as he bent to kneel before the cart.
Duor’s bushy eyebrows nearly rose off of his face.
Coerraine continued, eyes downscast, “I swear to you, Duor Darksmythe, by the Shield and the Lance, that I will submit myself and my spear to your protection for no less than one cycle of the seasons so long as my Lord and God permit me breathe or take me.”
The Redstar Knight then rose, pulled his spear from the sod. Without another word, he turned returned to the front of the caravan. The oath he had spoken did not require the dwarf’s consent. It was an oath to his god and his duty. If Duor released him from the oath at some point before a year passed, that was his prerogative. But for now, Coerraine had done as he felt he must. The bond was made. The man’s blond shoulder-length hair and crimson tabard flowed behind him as a breeze swept up. He walked, head high, to Kudjik’s wagon at the front of the train. He also denied the offer of a horse, feeling a day of marching would also serve as an acceptable penance for his transgression against, no not a friend, but a companion-in-arms.
Duor watched the paladin leave, eyes wide. “Ehrmmm. Ok then.” the dwarf mumbled in response.
Haelan then saw Braddok and cast another healing spell on the swordsman. The swelling and bruising on his face disappeared. Those on his side (which Haelan did not admit concerned him more than the man’s face) got smaller but did not disappear. Despite the swordsman’s objections, Haelan tightly bandaged the warrior’s middle.
As Haelan finished, Braddok thanked him. “You do honor to us and your goddess, Haelan. Were it not for Her graces, our company would surely have been lost many times over in our short journey. You should be proud, daelvar. You are as sure a hero as any told in the tales of bards.”
Haelan smiled broadly at the warrior. “It is by Faerantha’s blessings that I am able to serve us. Your praise should be for her, Braddok, not for me….But I thank you. Still, I think myself no more a hero than you.”
He caravan moved out beneath the pale grey clouds that extended across the sky as far as any could see. Jarood make some offhanded comment to the Thelitian sky god that they not see rain before reaching Bridgetower. Apparently, Braddok thought, hauling wagons out of a muddy tranch in the rain was no one’s idea of a good time.
1 hour before
The weather cooperated and by shortly after midday, the wagons and refugees came over a low ridge to look down over sprawling fields and spotty sparce woods. The river D’Evand wound lazily through the fields in the distance, a ribbon of pale grey-blue. The ribbon was broken some distance away from them by a structure of white and grey with pendants flying above it. A set of guard towers at either edge of the river with a broad expanse of a bridge crossing the wide flow. Details were not possible from their vantage point, but all in the caravan knew it was their destination, the crossing of Bridgetower, southern entrance to the realm of Daenfrii, the vale of the Dragonmage.
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