SEQUENCE 2: THE VILLAGE GREEN AT MISTY MORN

It's a late dawn in Oakhurst, the sun finally capping the high, mounded hills that rise to the east. In the early light, thick mist still clings to the air -- roiling through the deep, still-shadowed curves of the hills.

Lady Jastian and her company, emerging from the Ol' Boar, see Sgt. Llewellyn waiting for them. He's chatting with Hasor, who has already led several of the horses out of the stable.

Winthrop is riding in from the outskirts of town, patting Barnaby with absent-minded care on the neck.

OOC: If there's anything you feel you need to wrap in the Ol' Boar last night, go ahead. But let's wrap it up quick and move forward. Feel free to introduce yourself into this sequence at your leisure.

I'm going to give this scene on the village green until Wednesday; the primary goal being to get some connection between PCs who missed each other in the Ol' Boar last night.

Priority: Establish what your route/method of travel to the goblin portion of the ravine will be.

During the Night

As happened nearly every night, Jastian woke from her nightmare with a stifled gasp, yanking her dirk from its sheath.  Jastian’s free hand grabbed out into the darkness, still grasping the nightmare’s shadowy foe.  Her darkness-blinded gaze darted back and forth, trying to make out the chamber’s shadowy forms, struggling to spot unseen enemies.  

With a slow exhalation, Jastian recognized her surroundings, sensing the vague shadow of the side table with its pitcher, washbasin, and towels, her armor propped across the foldstool in the corner.  Judging from her fatigue and the awkwardness lingering from last night’s drink, Jastian suspected that several hours remained before dawn.  The sharp scent of last night’s illness wafted from her covered chamberpot, but at least her head had cleared.  

Should she return to sleep?  Jastian wondered.  She needed more rest, but the nightmares… She wasn’t ready to face her dead again:  So many dead.  The uncanny sight of her brother’s dead lips whispering the family’s curse, his voice the dust-filled muttering of a long-dead witch… Loren’s clawed body… a dozen other fallen allies…

It was too early to drink more.  What would the others think of her if she stumbled out besotted in the morning, like some drunken fishwife or slatternly southern courtesan?

Blindly stumbling across the darkened chamber, Jastian found her guisarme.  Her slender fingers fumbled at the oiled rags that shrouded its blade, finally managing to unfasten the cloth and expose the weapon’s comforting golden light.  She poured herself a goblet of water to wash the night’s foul taste from her mouth.  Spitting it out into the washbasin, she began her morning ablutions.  Goose pimples rose on her skin as Jastian sponged herself with the frigid water.  She considered waking a servant to warm a pot for her, but considering the way the locals had reacted to her words last night, she had best not coddle herself this morn.  She would be warm enough once she was done giving Paladin an extra brushing.  The sturdy bay would enjoy the extra attention.

Ambling into town, three roasted rabbits cooling on a line hanging from his saddle, Winthrop stretches and smiles.  It will be good to be on the road again.  Seeing the assembling company, Winthrop waves and calls out a greeting, then hoists the brace of rabbits.  "Anybody interested in a bite before we hit the trail? My own secret seasoning recipe."

As he dismounts, he considers the route ahead of him, his long years as scout and trail guide immediately taking over.  Were he alone, he would consider the direct route, heading straight to the ravine and lowering himself down on ropes.  It would be quicker, and might give him some element of surprise on the goblins.

But, surveying the rest of the party, he realizes that such an attempt would be foolish, and perhaps deadly.  Hasor was a great kid, but it was doubtful the boy could climb a ten foot ladder, let alone a rope.  And those weedy aides of the lady didn't seem much sturdier.  No, better to take the extra day or two, and take the safe route to the west.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Winthrop walks over to Llewellyn, nodding respectfully. "Glad to have you aboard, Sergeant."

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Winthrop walks over to Llewellyn, nodding respectfully. "Glad to have you aboard, Sergeant."

"Winthrop!  By the gods, we will eat hearty for this trip!" Offering his hand, Llewellyn greets the scout warmly, "I did not see you at the gathering last night, so I was unaware of our good fortune on this expedition.  I had despaired of leaving the horses and clambering down the ravine on foot, but I am sure you can find us a shorter way to take the horses with us.  Time is of the essence, and perhaps getting back as well..."

Hasor is used to waking early to tend the stables, but today was different. Too excited to sleep well, he rose several hours ago. With particular care, each horse has been fed, brushed, and led outside.

In total, the beasts make quite the herd on their own. His own Notos looks small even in comparison to Winthrop's trusty Barnaby, but is truly dwarfed by the Lady and Sergeant's heavier warhorses, Paladin and Justice. Still, Cudberct's pair of donkeys and trio of smaller warhorses would outnumber them all once Hasor had finished bringing them out from the stables. He remembered to give an extra apple to Aminda's donkey as well, recalling her stern request from the evening prior.


OOC: I'm working under the assumption that we'll be using Cudberct's cart and all available horses to mount the party. If anyone has another mount that I missed, let me know, otherwise at least one of us is riding in the cart.

Lady Jastian tried to keep a confident look on her face as she straightened her surcoat.  She raised her voice slightly to address the would-be adventurers and well-wishers slowly assembling in the inn’s courtyard.  “Good morn, worthy villagers!  A fortnight ago, the noble Sir Braford sallied forth beneath the ill-omened light of the moon Tiamat.  Under his banner traveled several young folk of this town, pure-hearted souls seeking adventure in a just cause.  These worthies have vanished out of all knowledge.  

“I am called Jastian, the Lady of Wyverntongue.   This day we ride, a mighty company called together in the name of a cause most worthy.  Together, our host shall face the wilderland, seeking to discover what fate befell Sir Braford’s band.”  Jastian’s tone grew more somber.  “With the guidance of those who know these lands, and the favor of the gods, we shall prevail over all adversity.”

She gestured toward the forester Winthrop. “Goodman Winthrop, your wood-wisdom should prove most helpful in choosing a path.  Would you guide our journey?”

Noting the gleaming mithral of Llewellyn's mail shirt, she strode toward him.  “Good Sergeant, I see from your gear that you will accompany our band.  You know more surely than I which of our company is most hardy and venturesome:  Surely you could best set who should stand at our van, flanks, and rear, that our stoutest veterans bear the brunt of any attack.  We shall not go seeking strife, yet we shall ever be ready should any offer us battle.”

Quote from: Tanthius;602494OOC: I'm working under the assumption that we'll be using Cudberct's cart and all available horses to mount the party. If anyone has another mount that I missed, let me know, otherwise at least one of us is riding in the cart.

OOC: Last night Aminda would have argued against the cart as we can move faster without the cart. And the boys went down the Old Road which would necessitate climbing down into the ravine. Cart (and steeds... eep) couldn't follow us anyways. If we aren't going to follow the boys directly and go the long way around into the ravine then speed is even more of the essence. So again no cart (but at least we'd be able to keep the mounts nearby). (We can go back and argue about this IC if desired)

OOC: If we are short a steed as Tanthius says Aminda would be willing to spot the gold for another donkey to be taken out of the recipients reward upon return. (Sorry for the long OOC!)

Aminda returns to the inn shortly before dawn hauling her new supplies with her. She nods approval to Hasor for assembling the horses and begins apportioning the supplies between the mounts to distributed the weight evenly.

She would go help Lady Jastian finish preparing in a moment and had hoped the lady would have had a good night's rest for once. But when she checked in before purchasing supplies it sadly did not appear to have been the case.

... And best make sure Gileus actually arose when she knocked 'pon his door... She sighed to herself as she tightened another strap.

Despite the late night, Haddon wakes at dawn as ever, to meditate and regain his focus for the day. He lost his temper last night, and regrets it even more after a night's rest. He resolves to be keep his peace in the face of mere annoyance, believing in friends old and new of the Lady Jastian's good intentions. He resolves to be sure Ashur retains his ability to thrive in the wild, for a wolf who forgets his true self is no wolf. The familiar ritual of analyzing his own actions and making plans for the better is soothing, and soon enough he is able to look forward to today.

Mindful of the day's goals, he sets Ashur out to hunt, cautioning him not to take too long or stray too far. So freed, Haddon keeps his promise in visiting the stables. He never feels the same connection with animals he cannot speak and listen to, but enjoys their company all the same. Hasor seems preoccupied and Haddon cannot even reach a horse's body, much less know how to tend it, but he offers what aid he can anyway.

Winthrop nudges Llewellyn with his elbow, gesturing discretely at Lady Jastian.  In a low tone, he murmurs "have you had a chance to meet our dear leader? She does go on, doesn't she? Doesn't she know brevity is the soul of wit?"

He is completely unaware of the hypocrisy in his statement.

OOC: Cudberct would agree that time is of the essence. However he finds using the ropes to go down and isolating the party from a cart and reserves to be madness. If they ever recover the lost party of Sir Braford, carrying the wounded or dead up the ravine on ropes in potential hostile territory is just asking for trouble.

Cudberct would plea talking to the ravine goblins first. His suggestion would be to race a parley group of the fastest steeds to the ravine with the cart following  apace. If diplo-party can call the goblins out of their ravine to talk they can get clues to Sir Braford's party whereabouts or understand how much damage they've done to relations. Either way the cart of supplies should arrive near enough to: a) provide a safe point to survive and regroup if goblins are hostile, b) prep going around & riding into the ravine to carry any wounded and dead safely.

As the morning preparations continue, Cudberct steals a moment alone with his wife. Looking down to Ermengilda as if scrying her eyes' depths (so dark, hard to read, but how have I relied on her reassuring mystery), "I know you will take care of everybody while we're gone. But I'll try make this foray as fast as we can." Caressing her cheek subconsciously, "This is a rescue mission to me first. We need to bring people back alive before we worry about mysteries, lore, and wealth. I know what is worth living for."

His wife's eyes glisten, but she recovers by smiling impishly and replying, "Besides what sort of inn would we be if our fame comes from filling our guests with stories of adventure that lead to their death?" Taking an opportunity to turn away before crying, "We have appearances to keep, the hospitality of a town to maintain. Oh, go eat breakfast now, I have much to pack for you in the meanwhile"

Embracing her back, Cudberct rests his lips in a kiss upon the crown of her head, "I will be back." Closing his eyes he breathes in the scent of her hair, (ahh, her... and lavender?) pulls away reluctantly and heads downstairs for breakfast. (There's so much I want to say. But the time for heavy words is past. I must focus or risk not coming back.)

OOC: Cudberct will send for at least two additional hirelings to guard the caravan, willing to cover the cost himself. He knows Hasor and Certh want to get a little "action" in and having them stuck guarding the caravan donkeys might be the fastest way to spoil their spirits. Besides, Aminda as healer and Haddon as 'the friendly goblin translator' and tracker, have greater responsibilities than being another swordsman guarding the van. Cudberct needs success in this mission, too much in the town depends on it.

"Thank you for that inspiring speech, Lady Jastian! Our cause is just, people depend on us! We work now as one to bring back all!" Changing tone, Cudberct adds, "Before we place our lives in each other's hands I ask one thing of you all: honesty.

"I don't need to know your intimate secrets. But as we work together, we all will need to know each other's feelings. Speak when things are too hard; speak when your talents know the answer; speak when your guts fear. Without sharing as a team and reacting instinctually as one we will surely die when danger strikes. What little travel time we have requires openness.

"When you are ready, stand in a line beside me for revue. Sgt. and our Lady will inspect us and our gear before we ride. There will be no casualties due to sloppiness!" Stands at parade rest, eyes forward, in his courtyard and waits.

Aminda comes up alongside Cudberct leading Ol' Frisky her mule.

"I hope everyone brought at least the twenty days worth of rations I recommended. We don't want to spend time foraging out there."

Lady Jastian stepped behind Aminda, her actions strangely furtive.  Jastian's voice lowered to a whisper.  "I can bestow but a few sovereigns toward the cost of supplies.  Make the best of them, for our purse grows most light!  Should we fare ill, 'tis like that long weeks of bare gruel and the meager comforts of the dusty ground be all our coffers shall afford.  Pray the gods soon favor us with some treasure!"

Jastian passed her a small pouch bulging with coins.  "Here is half of our current fortune, gold and silver worth 23 sovereigns or somesuch amount.  I trust not the foreign gold we received before we crossed that last river:  It had the taste of lead-tainted coin when I had leisure to check it."

“From what I hear of this canyon, t’would be wisest to traverse along its length, ensuring our retreat remains clear. While the journey may prove longer, this may allow our band to bring the horses, which may prove needful should we wish to evacuate wounded allies or survivors from the first expedition. Should we encounter an overwhelming force, ‘tis certain that a retreat on horseback would be preferable to clambering up a rope while suffering the slingstones or arrows of wrathful goblins.”

Lady Jastian’s jaw tightened as she examined the villagers’ zealous preparations.  “You know your land better than I, but this gorge’s terrain:  Is it such that a waggon would not slow us overmuch?  Should we be separate overmuch from our baggage train, I fear that we should lose more stout lads to the wild’s perils.  A pair of hardy pack mules would better suffice, if local forage be adequate to support all our mounts.  Such beasts readily traverse the rocks and scarps of a wilderness, while a waggon might force us to wield my trusty polearm as the pruning hook from which its type descended!”

Noting the shabby condition of some of the nearby cottages, Lady Jastian had an idea.  "Have you a fence nearby, one no longer vital for any purpose?  Were we to load a few stout pickets on each animal, we could carry enow wood to build a partial fence or stake barrier when we make our camp."

Leaning down, she traced out the shape of a stake barricade in the dust.