The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- For his part, Set's gut twists as the woman howls. Nevertheless, he resolutely follows through and prods her only to find her guilty of being sick in mind rather than body. His stomach roils as Milo's slap silences her, the sharp crack echoing off the trees. Set bites the inside of his cheek painfully as he lets his face go dead, molding it to be still. There's no cackle from the depths, just the pounding of his own heart as Milo makes his promise to the Mighty while Set helps Aylea regain her footing. As the Three discuss what to do, Set keeps staring at her through dead eyes, wondering what his sisters would think. Would they recognize him? Watching their brother lie and torment a woman who wasn't well. Would Sirus be proud to call him brother? Shame sent blood rushing to a face that showed no outward change as Set tried to quiet his mind, focusing on keeping his face set. He'd done it for their safety. Surely he owed the Three more than some random wolf-woman. Surely their safety mattered more than her well-being. Set finally feels his pulse slow and relaxes his face, giving it motion once more. He turns to hand the silver dagger back to his North Star, but hangs onto his misgivings about his part in all this. "A drink would be welcome," he says aloud without meeting anyone's eyes. Turning back to the woman draped in his robes, Set hesitates a moment. "You are no wolf, Aylea" Set says apologetically. "Will you follow our pack anyway, at least for the moment? Not being a wolf," Set says, grasping at an explanation, "offers its own freedom among us. You may come and go as you please, without risk of becoming prey yourself. Not being a wolf, you have the freedom to figure out who and what you actually are." It feels desperately inadequate, like a single drop of water to quench a desert, but it's all he has to give besides a helping hand. "Can you walk?"

[purepolarpanzer]

In the Depths of the Hartswood

Aylea struggles for a moment to regain her balance, and when Set speaks she turns to him. There is a terrified, helpless look on her face, as though she is trying to hear his words but is somehow too far away to make them out. For the briefest of seconds there is almost a look of recognition on her face, as though some inner part of her has heard and understood Set's words, and seemingly miraculously she shakes herself, blinks several times, and smiles at him. "Of course. I'll follow you. Of course I'm not a wolf. I'm a human. The silver didn't kill me. Of course!" She falls in with the party, eyes wide open and blinking slowly, as though she is seeing the world with brand new eyes for the first time. Periodically you all catch her talking to herself, whispering words like "I'm human. I'm not a wolf. Not a werewolf. I'm Aylea, human woman. Not a werewolf!". Then she pipes up and says "Can one of you buy me a drink when we get to town? I can't even remember the last time I had a drink of alcohol. Or cooked food for that matter..." The woman is woefully underweight, and after speaking of food she begins to hold her stomach, and a single trail of drool escapes from the side of her mouth as you walk.

On the Way Back to Dam'ess

The party and Aylea walks into more familiar territory as they make their way past the trail that leads to Milo's home. Back on the main trail, a certain sense of relief can be felt. You've won. You've defeated two of the three threats that face the village. There have been... losses... but you've conquered all that has stood before you thus far. It is well past dinner time as you make your way down the trail, close to Birel's home, when the trip is interrupted by another strange occurrence. The massive slab of a shield, possibly beginning to falter in Birel's less than mighty grip, suddenly feels weightless. It takes Birel a second to realize that the shield is floating in mid air and that instead of holding it up she is struggling to keep it down instead. The shield escapes her grasp, flips around to face her, and ignites in acidic green light, the runes and sigils that she recognizes so well appearing on the face of the shield. But then they begin to move. Wiggling, squiggling, and dancing across the face of the shield, they form into a caricature of a dwarven woman. She faces Birel like some emerald arcane reflection, and she looks just as much if not more surprised to see a stranger's face before her. "Oh. A she-elf. That's a first. Haven' been wielded by a she-elf yet. So who are you? Some mighty warrior queen, or a scimitar wieldin' dance fighter? Whatever you are, better you than the damn werewolf. Couldn' abide him. He was a FBTLEPTINGASSSSHNACH sonnuva bitch. That's why I melted him." Her sentence is interrupted by a loud, intense intonation of a thousand thousand voices shrieking in different scales and tones in pure static, and while this awful noise is heard the shield instantaneously reverts back to symbols, sigils, and squiggles, only to return to her face, her sentence, and her thick accent moments later. She does not seem to have noticed anything happening.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 23/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- As the shield starts behaving oddly, Birel gets excited rather that surprised and panicking. This is what she'd been waiting for. She's a bit surprised to be met with something person-like, much less dwarven. As she's adjusting to that, there's the sudden shrieking. Birel winces and holds the shield a bit away for a moment, but forces herself to focus on it so she can study the symbols all the same. When the face returns Birel says, "Greetings. I am Birel Amastacia, an archaeologist and wizard or witch if you prefer. Not a warrior of any kind really, though I've gotten myself wrapped up in some trouble that forces me to play something akin to the role. If still standing well behind those with swords and armor if I can help it. Are you aware you had an..... incident a moment ago? There was this terrible shrieking and these symbols of a kind I've been studying on another relic for quite some time."

[purepolarpanzer]

On the Way Back to Dam'ess

The sketch of a dwarven woman tweaks an eyebrow at Birel's words, seemingly disbelieving of what she is being told. "Incident? Shrieking? Ya must be daft, woman. And if yer no warrior, I don't know why yer holdin me. I don't know what an arrrr-key-olo-whatsit is, but I'm a shield. I'm meant to be wielded by a mighty warrior. I don't know if you've got what it takes to wield me. Maybe..." She starts to speak again, but the shrieking returns, even louder this time, and the symbols come in sharp definition, burning so bright it is almost painful to stare at them. This time, however, in a chorus of voices that are screaming in anguish and pain, you all make out the words MY FAMILY! yOu'VE gOT To hELp Me FINd mY FaMIlY!?! in the dwarven woman's voice, shrieking and warbling just a little bit more loudly and clearly than the myriad of others. Then the symbols are gone and she returns, still looking slightly miffed and mildly confused. "... I'd be better off with the tan one with the spear ovar there, or with that biggun half-orc ovar yonder."

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 31/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- "After what it did to the alpha, I think I'll hold off on getting anywhere near it until I'm cured." Vargath says simply in response to...the shield. That's talking. He's not sure what it is. He'd seen intelligent objects before back at the university, but this one seemed..different. Broken, almost. Shields didn't have families though, so maybe it wasn't so simple. The intelligence didn't seem to be particularly magic-inclined, so perhaps some sort of trapped soul? A copied memory? Why someone would bother escapes him, though there was enough madness in this place that he can just assume the creator was a madman and feel comfortable he's probably correct.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set shakes his own head in surprise, a genuine smile lighting up his face as Aylea struggles, but starts to sound the slightest bit better. "Indeed we can," Set promises, "a drink and a bite to eat would do us all some good." *** As the ground gives way to more familiar territory, Set finds himself staring at a shield trying to float out of his North Star's arms. A dwarven woman appears out of the the dancing runes before Set can think to look away, but it's all for naught anyway. Where before he'd heard nothing but a rumble, now amidst the static Set hears thousands of voices shrieking in unison as the dwarf disappears back into her runes. Set wards away the shield, covering his ears against it's wail, but a low, rumbling cackle greets him in its place. Oh Set, you meet the most interesting people. Truly, you do. And now this? What an absolute delight. MY FAMILY! yOu'VE gOT To hELp Me FINd mY FaMIlY!?! A kindred spirit! Oh, you wouldn't turn your back on her, would you Set? Set the Savior? Come now, don't you want to help her? Don't let me stop you. What about all the rest? A thousand thousand voices all crying out for their mothers. Crying out for fathers, brothers, and sisters. Their families! Don't turn them away on my account. Set slowly turns his back on the shield, trying to tune out the Shadowkeeper's taunts and the shrieks of a thousand thousand souls. He's face to face with Aylea as a dwarven woman seems to call for him from behind in thickly accented common. I should take one of those three and make you kill them, I really should. You're getting to be more petulant than a child and twice as stupid. But I can't kill them, not anymore. I am old Set. There are not many things that I wonder about, but I can't help wondering about these tools you travel with. I had thought to make you snuff out the green one soon enough, but oh, just what is happening to her now? I find myself concerned she might turn into a tree and be unable to scream if you wait too long, but I am too curious to stunt her growth now. We will burn that one someday, but we will be patient. And the runes! The runes that shriek and the runes that whisper! How, my dear Set, have you found the one creature that hears both? The orc-blood wishes not to carry the shield, too much fills his head already. But you'll not complain of the same. No, you will not. You'll offer to carry it and you'll learn from the one who studies these runes. The round-eared elf can't help herself, that much is clear. Nothing shall remain a mystery. And all the while good little Set will remain right by her side, learning what she learns and seeing what she sees. We'll learn together! We're practically a family. I have finally seen their use, Set, and for that, your punishment should be mild enough. Either take the shield and gain its trust, or we'll find out just how fragile your little she-wolf pet is. Set's eyes refocus for the first time as he stares at the woman barely starting to heal from a fractured mind and not even begun to heal in body. Set the Savior. Someday you're going to have to grow a spine and get your hands dirty. But you won't today. Take the shield. Offer to carry it to ease the dwarf-woman's howls and gain the round-ear's trust by giving it back whenever she asks for it. Do it now. Set turns back around obediently and marches over to his North Star with resignation. It's just a shield. Magic, no doubt. Intelligent even. But it is just a shield. Even His interest in the voices can't hide that fact. What's a shield against the life of a person? How does one gain the trust of a shield? The shield is not a person, and Set doesn't address it as such. Instead he looks and talks directly to Birel. "I will carry this thing for you when you are not studying it, but it is yours to take whenever you wish," Set says mechanically. "Whenever you wish. I don't know what it's saying, but perhaps it will stop shrieking for a moment if it's in the hands of someone used to carrying a shield," he continues, his voice taking on an edge of anger. "Please. Let me hold it for a while. Perhaps," he says, working to conceal his anger now, "do you think you could show me what some of these runes mean when we get back to Dam'ess?"

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16 HP: 23/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- "Shh, I'm busy here Set." Birel says, clearly not having heard (or at least not wanting to have heard and thus shoving it mentally aside) his words and dismissing his attempt to get between her and studying the shield.

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 28/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- The shield was cursed, haunted, eldritch, or a mixture of all of the above, and Selissa decided that shewas fine for Birel to mess with it instead of her... as long as it was at a safe distance. The wood elf waited until Birel, Set, and the madwoman were all distracted with each other, before she dropped back from her position ahead of the others, slowly coming closer to Vargath as if she expected a sudden approach would startle him like a deer. Finally she was walking next to him. She stole a glance at the half-orc's face, and her mouth quirked downwards. "Halfblood," she began quietly, a touch of uncertainty in her tone, before she corrected herself. "...Vargath."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set nearly breaks down in frustration as his North Star ignores him completely. Caught between the Shadowkeeper's threats and the certain knowledge that if the shield fell within his grasp, the souls within would obviously be forfeit to Him, Set feels himself crushed between a rock and a hard place. Thankfully, in such moments a mind fractured with anxiety can be put to good use. Without the thoughts fully forming in Set's brain, he knows: his North Star is doing this on purpose. She's protecting him as well as the shield. He suppresses a surge of fear, and the thought that wants to follow: Does she know to protect Aylea too? Could she? On the surface, Set radiates frustration as he seems to try once more to get her attention. "What does it mean that the runes can be reforged into a dwarven woman? Have you ever seen anything like it?" He points at the glowing dwarf with one hand, as if Birel could possibly see anything else right now. Set's other hand seems to move of its own accord, fingers slowly tracing the subtle arcane motions in the air at his hip before they dip into his pouch to grab the coin. The Focus acts even as Set's focus is split. A mirage of text appears in front of Birel's eyes, placed where only she can see, but where she would have to move her head or see through the illusion to clearly see the shield once more. PLEASE HELP ME KEEP THE SHIELD AWAY BUT PROTECT AYLEA SHE IS NOT SAFE PLEASE A hand squeezes Birel's shoulder even as Set carries on, asking about the significance of the color of the glowing runes and whether that means anything. "Do you think it has anything to do with...do dwarves like green?" Set asks lamely, trying hard to ask anything that might make sense. Spoiler: OOC Show Cast Minor Illusion for an image of text right in front of Birel

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 23/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel remains facing ahead as at first she was just trying to ignore Set's words interrupting her concentration. And then she suppresses raising an eyebrow as the words appear. "Ah, so I was correct in assuming his patron is the malevolent or at least malicious sort. Well, I had no intention of letting this shield out of my grasp anyway. As for the girl... as long as we deliver her safely to the Chief and don't allow Set to wander off unsupervised, that matter should resolve itself. Not that I thought a single one of my new associates being left unsupervised was a good idea since I met them more or less." she thinks, not considering for a moment whether or not it's a good idea for her to be left unsupervised. For why would such a thought occur to her after being alone to herself for so much of her life? She makes a point of actually bothering to reply aloud for the benefit of Set's patron, "What? No that's.... Set." and she gives an exasperated sigh and pushes him away with a touch at his shoulder. But as she does so, she gives it a little squeeze.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 31/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- Vargath twitches, only slightly, when Selissa falls into step alongside him. He would've jumped when he was younger, startled. Time marches on though, and he wasn't so easily alarmed anymore. Silently he braces himself for more warnings, more promised threats, about his new condition, as if he wasn't being constantly reminded himself of it preying on his blood every time he moves his arm. "Selissa." He responds in kind, not noticing this is the first time he's referred to by name. He doesn't feel in a particularly talkative mood, but also knows, frustratingly, that moping or seething quietly won't serve anyone. If anything it might make matters worse. Building connections had helped keep the worst of it at bay in cases he'd seen before. Maybe help stave off the madness until they could acquire a cure. "Some good work today, hopefully it'll be the last fight we get into." He didn't really know what else to say at this point, just banalities to ward against silence settling in.

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 28/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- "Hmm," was Selissa's non-comittal reply. She was silent for a moment, and just as the silence began to stretch she spoke again. "Today, maybe. But the witch - more fighting tomorrow. Always more in future. Talmai humi a chindro na pasi tu." Her last sentence she lapsed into elven, and the way she spoke it suggested it was some kind of saying. During her speaking, she rarely looked at Vargath himself, piercing green eyes still scanning the forest as they walked. The other three and the madwoman were noisy walkers, and after the adrenaline of battle it set her on edge slightly to be next to such noise, even if most of their foes had been purged from the woods. Again, she lapsed into quiet, as if she only ever had a limited number of words in her, and had to let them regrow before she could speak again. She looked at the half-orc, and let her gaze met his. "Your tribe. Speak of them."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set walks away, trying to ignore the throbbing headache and endless monologue that plague him. He approaches Aylea to urge her onward, flinching visibly at a horrible image presented to his mind's eye. "Go on," he says, biting the inside of his cheek as he tries to keep it together. "Take a turn up with Birel and her new dwarven friend. I just need to make sure nothing's following us." Set drops back to follow the others as they continue through the forest, slowing his pace to create a little distance between them without losing sight of the Mighty's height or his North Star's hat. He couldn't make out Evergreen through the foliage, but he was pretty sure she was up there. The only thing following the Three was him and the Shadowkeeper, which was something he could fix. He takes out the coin and holds it for a long time as they all step through the forest. The metal feels good on his skin. Unwavering. Set holds the coin as if to flip it several times, but he always lets it fall back into his palm. When the coin makes a choice, it's final. It doesn't budge. Set finally puts the coin away without flipping it, quickening his pace so that he catches back up with the others.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 31/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- It wasn't phrased as a request, but he could guess that was less her giving an order and more just her not knowing how to ask for things. "That's not easy to answer." Vargath replies after a pause. "How do you sum up a people? Rites and rituals? Food? Celebrations? I could tell you the name, role and more of every clan member we have, but that still wouldn't describe the Bloodwolves in any real way. I could go over their history, from inception to rises and falls to present, and it still wouldn't paint a full picture." He drops into quiet again, his brow furrowed in thought. "They're my family. I miss them dearly, and hopefully sooner rather than later I'll be able to go home and put everything I've learned out here to good use." The soft touch of melancholy is clear in his voice, pure sincerity, and a touch of vulnerability, in the otherwise assertive half-orc. "I'll tell you some stories over drinks, perhaps. Looser tongues always make for better stories. You should do the same, if you've got any family stories to tell." It's a soft invitation at best. Not everyone's family was one that was worth sharing, and some families were best kept locked away from the world - figuratively and occasionally literally. Set's apparent mood doesn't escape his notice, and when he finally catches back up to them Vargath slams his palm down on Set's shoulder, a little forceful but not aggressive. Just enough to break him out of whatever thoughtline was running through his mind - he has zero clue of what is actually bothering Set. "Not sure why you're looking so down. We did something good today, and we can probably get a cure before I go full wolf."

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 28/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- Selissa considered the half-orc's words in a thoughtful silence before she nodded, a single quick dip of her head. She supposed his words were true - an entire people were too complicated to easily sum up in a single forest-walk conversation. Perhaps it would have been easier to learn what she wanted to know if she'd asked outright, but her tongue had ever been awkward in Common, she felt, with its mongrel mix of words from all species and creeds mixed in. But to ask directly, even she knew, would be seen as offputting and strange, and no doubt gouge at the halfblood's already battered morale. "Fine," she said, "Talk and drink." She gave him another look and then, tenously, as if the action was something she'd only heard of distantly, reached out her wooden arm and gives him a pat on the shoulder, as if she wanted to be companionable but physical contact to do so was quite alien. Then, without another word and with a vaguely awkward air, she lengthened her stride once more and let the distance between them grow, and soon Vargath moved to give something similar to Set while she when back to her vigil in the vanguard.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set finally catches sight of Evergreen as he approaches the rest of the group, but she seems to glide forward through the trees effortlessly while Set is stuck brushing aside branches and tripping over roots. The Mighty's heavy hand falls on Set's shoulder a moment later, the impact jarring his thoughts free as he looks up at the tall half-orc. "Not sure why you're looking so down. We did something good today, and we can probably get a cure before I go full wolf." One week. The full moon would be here in just one week and yet even without a cure in sight, the Mighty saw fit to try to cheer Set up even as his blood circulated the disease. "How do you do it?" Set asks, the words slipping from his mouth without a second's consideration. He shakes his head, trying to clear the madness dwelling there and understand Vargath. Where earlier Set had tried to reassure the half-orc, he dropped all pretense now. Set couldn't keep it up anymore today if he tried, and he couldn't understand how the Mighty could do it when it was his fate that had been sealed. "You were bitten. Condemned to turn were, take your own life, or have that crazy bastard Milo hunt you down. I know you're strong--" Set says stopping abruptly, at a loss for words trying to describe that strength. He finally gives up with an exasperated breath. "Just...what's in your mind? Do the whispers...help?" Set asks, temporarily unable to stop himself from probing despite the crude nature of the question. "Is it something else entirely?" Fatigue and naked curiosity get the better of Set as he tries to understand, looking up at the Mighty hopefully.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 31/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- He doesn't know what to make of Selissa. Was there some other thought lingering behind her question? Maybe. And maybe the drink would show what that was. He watches her go, for just a moment, before switching his attention elsewhere. He could ask later, directly. Or wait? He wasn't really sure what the 'correct' move was. If it was an uncomfortable thing, maybe waiting would be better, instead of forcing it. Set's question, thankfully, is a lot easier for him to deal with. "Condemned?" He gives a short snort, though not maliciously. "When the whispers came to me I had a choice. I could cry the world as unfair, I could curse it and wallow in self misery, or I could try to fix it. I chose the latter. Now this," he shifts his arm to show the bite, still dull aching, "is unfortunate. Unfair, maybe, but I knew the risks when we started the hunt - we all did. We could have all died in these woods, on more than one occasion. Instead, we came away with everyone alive, and only one of us infected." He pauses to let the positives sink in before continuing. "There are things we can't change, and things we can change. I can't change that I got the whispers. I can't change being bitten. But I can change my future. I can rid myself of the infection, and I can rid myself of the whispers. So try to think positive. The alternative doesn't help." It was a lofty speech, one that he believed, but he'd be lying to himself if he said he always lived by it. There were some cold nights and dull mornings where he did curse the world. There were days, back at the academy, where he'd stayed in bed rather than face the world again. It was easier to say it out loud than to live, but a little bit of saying it helped him to believe it too.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set is silent for a few minutes as they pick their way through the forest together, thinking on the Mighty's words. He'd always found it difficult not to worry about most-everything, whether he could change it or not. The only time his head seemed to really clear was in a fight, but he'd always revert back to that same worried boy afterwards, regardless of what happened. Even now, Set couldn't help getting a lump in his throat at Vargath's advice. He'd heard much the same thing before, a long time ago, and it took a couple minutes for him to respond normally. "My brother Sirus called it the aindibat...the discipline. Focusing on what he could change intead of what he couldn't," Set says reverently, finally breaking the silence. "Didn't stop him from trying to move a few mountains, but he also used to think there was plenty he could change with enough time and focus." Set couldn't change what he'd done to Sirus after the Shadowkeeper had found them. He couldn't change the fact that he carried that presence, or that the only reason he'd been able to halfway keep-up fighting alongside the Three was by using the shadow. He couldn't change that Vargath had been bitten. But staying with the Mighty was the only way to make sure he could change what happened next. A fear clamps onto Set suddenly as he wonders whether he can really do anything at all to cure Vargath, but the half-orc's stoic presence beside him is a constant reminder that he should only worry about trying...as hard as that concept is to really live. "Whatever it takes," Set says, smiling weakly at the Mighty as he tries to engage in the discipline, "we'll make sure curing the were-bite is something we can change, right?"

[purepolarpanzer]

On the Outskirts of Dam'ess

As the party enters the town, they are met by a handful of villagers, armed with silver. They recognize many of them as helpers from the cultist search. All look tired, and all look incredibly stressed. One of them steps forward, shouldering their silver tip spear, and nearly whispers "Is it done? Are the beasts slain?" If an affirmative is given, the crowd of villagers lets up a cheer, followed by hugging and clapping on the back. Several of them approach the party with hands out for enthusiastic handshakes of thanks, and several more gives a small chorus of clapping for you all. "I'll go round up the others. We have several groups stationed around the village, rough and ready for a fight with the man-beasts! The Chief is waiting for you lot at the tavern. I'm glad it never came to combat, heroes, and for that, thanks to you!" The rest filter into town and head for the Oaken Larder, hungry for some celebration amidst the dark and dangerous times of their lives.

In the Oaken Larder

The mood upon entry to the tavern is one of hushed, worried anticipation. There are a few scattered patrons around the room, all drinking in complete silence, including Chief Moeller drinking his favorite cider at the bar. When the four of you enter with the village guards not long behind you, the bar flies raise their eyes, then raise their glasses, then raise their voices in a loud cheer. Horace immediately begins pouring, and their is a rush of activity- people drinking, a man brings out a lute and begins to play it with moderate skill, and a local drinking song is lifted up. There is more back clapping, more thanks, and many villagers asking you all to recount the battle. Horace, for his part, is quiet, but he motions to Alephandro, who heads into the kitchen for a few minutes and returns with big plates of steaming chicken and gravy served over big pieces of homemade bread, passing them to each of you and giving you all a beaming white grin.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 31/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- Still on the road with Set he gives a quiet nod. "For as long as we can change it." Inside the tavern, he understands the elation. Earlier they thought they'd all be butchered by beasts, and now that threat is gone. Two existential threats removed in as many nights. It was a cause for celebration, he can't begrudge them that. The curse - and the witch - still play on his mind though, and he finds it difficult to relax when there are still things to be done. His curse wasn't going anywhere unless he made it go somewhere. He keeps his part in telling of tales short, eager to grab the Chief. News of his curse couldn't spread for fear of provoking a...potentially violent response from the villagers, so when he finally gets a moment he uses refilling his drink as an excuse to head to the bar. There, he leans down, none-too-subtly, and murmurs in the Chief's ear "We need to talk, alone." Cryptic and vague in a way he found already frustrating himself, but concerns of being overhead even in a raucous drinking room, or the Chief's immediate reaction, were too pressing to ignore. Message delivered, he briefly approaches each of the group - such as it was - in turn to announce that he just needs some air, before heading out into the dark of night for some 'privacy'. He keeps his drink though. No sense staying totally sober for this conversation.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- As the crowd swells and carries them toward the tavern, it's difficult to share their celebratory mood. Even so, as they reach the Oaken Larder and the drinks start to flow, the good cheer is infectious. Set takes the food and ale gratefully, slipping a gold piece into Alephandro's pocket as the boy rushes to and fro. He excuses himself for a moment, making his way to the other side of the bar where Horace is busy enabling the revelry. "Do you see the woman there at our table, the one wearing my robes?" Set does not notice whether Horace is particularly silent or sullen, but he does begin to regret asking him for anything when he is so obviously busy. Still. "Do you have any clothes here that might fit her? Or nearby? And can you make sure she doesn't want for food or drink?" Set turns away to point, looking back at Aylea and catching sight of both her and the shield his North Star has by her side. He flinches, looking away to rummage through his coin pouch and dropping three gold on the bar. "Please? She's had a rough time of it." Set returns to the table, the taste of the ale improving slowly with every drink. As the endless questions seem to keep coming, Set finally abandons his food as he gets caught up in the retelling. "And that's when the alpha appeared. Twice as big as the others, and three times as mean. Thankfully I still had the flames Birel gave me so I didn't have to get too close. Between her and Selissa they shot it so full of ice and arrows it's amazing it stayed upright as long as it did. But the Mi--Vargath, he charged right in and went toe to toe with the thing as it howled and hollered..." Set catches himself a few times, staying on-guard somewhat as he glosses over certain details. It was quite the story already without talking about Vargath being bitten, the alpha's shield, Aylea's "affliction," and so on. Set nods as Vargath briefly interrupts to announce he's stepping outside for some air, but he's too caught up in explaining Milo's longspear to think too much of it.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 23/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel for her part gets to the bar and will recount the story (minus any details that might unsettle the villagers like Vargath getting bit) between drinks. But her main focus is the drinks. She really needed that drink after the day she'd had. And the rest of the day she was going to have. If possible she also gets a meat pie or something at least to eat.

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- Selissa, drink obtained, sat and ate nearby Set, letting him field any questions and only replying when she really had to; her terse answers and reculsive reputation meant that the desert human obtained the main focus. There she sat until the crush and hubbub of the crowd got too much; unnoticed, she fliched the chicken leg from Set's plate where it lay abandoned. Outside, she circled the building unti she cae to the stables, where a quick pair of jumps and a grab let her onto the gently sloped roof of it. There, she perched across the top, a silhouette in the gloom, and looked up into the sky for a while. She ate Set's chicken leg, too.

[purepolarpanzer]

In the Oaken Larder

The Chief nods silently when approached by Vargath, simply acknowledging the request. The old man's eyes follow the half-orc across the room to his companions, then follows him on his way out of the bar. Sighing, the Chief stands up, grabs his stick, and follows Vargath out of the tavern. Outside it is beautiful midsummer, with warmth, stars, and the gentle sounds of cheers, singing, and music filtering out through the door. In front of the bar rests the town well, a convenient enough place for a clandestine meeting, though it rests at the heart of the village. The Chief ambles over to the well, rests his drink on the stones, and turns to the wounded warrior. "As happy as they are in there, you are somber. As much as they sing you mourn. After today's fight there can only be one reason for that. What do you plan to do? Full moon comes in seven days."


Inside

Horace looks Aylea up and down, giving a curt nod to Set. He leans down to whisper to Alephandro, who swiftly dashes through the kitchen and into his family's living quarters. A bit of time goes by, with some tale telling, some eating, and plenty of drinking. Aylea, dirty, ragged, and wounded as she is, is something of the life of the party. There are plenty of questions for Set about the fair but savage looking woman, and she receives plenty of free drinks from men and women eager to help the captive of the werewolves. Aylea, for her part, adds to the story, exaggerating and magnifying deeds she didn't even see. She is a woman caught up in civilized community for the first time in years, but she takes to people like a fish to water. A few men slap Set on the back and make suggestive whispers about rescuing fair maidens from monsters under their breath. Alephandro returns with clothes, which he hands reverently to his father, and dashes back into the kitchen again. While Aylea takes up the tale, Horace approaches Set and hands over a blue wool dress, a pair of wooden shoes, and some underclothes. "Belonged to the wife." Horace grunts, with a heavy implication that they should be taken care of. Alephandro returns again, and this time he places a meat pie before both Aylea and Birel. The red head immediately abandons her story to indulge herself in food, eating maniacally and animalisticly with her bare hands, but no one seems to take notice in the jubilation.

Outside

Selissa's climb is short and easy, childsplay for an acrobat like her. Here, away from the light and the sound she gets the best view of the sky over Dam'ess. Constellations hang like old familiar friends before the elf's eyes, and the village sleeps in near silence. A moment of serenity and peace for the archer, but not for long. After about three quarters of an hour, her seclusion is interrupted. Just along the edges of her perception, a sound is heard. It is incredibly distant, barely audible to most ears, and certainly not heard by anyone inside the tavern over the hubbub. It is possible that her keen elven senses are the only ones in the whole village that can perceive it. From miles away, carried by the wind, nearly silent but somehow piercing and inexorable, she hears whistling.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 37/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- Vargath silently tuts, but when he speaks it's more flat, trying not to show disappointment. "If you could help, you'd have offered." It would have been too easy, he supposes, for the Chief to have a cure. He would've mentioned it before, just in case, to help allay fears before their forest excursion. He sighs. "If you can't fix it then I'll find someone who can. A week is a long time, and I've got enough madness to contend with without adding beasts to the list." He says with some finality, though his list of options was...thin. The fey, perhaps, though anything he got from them would have more strings than a spider's web. The witch, maybe? It'd be worth an ask. From her description he'd probably trust her further than the fey, though that wasn't saying much. Beyond that...his options were thin. He sniffs. "Any last pieces of advice before we see your witch?" If the Chief can't help him, he wants to move on. Stay productive, keep working the problems - because if he stalls and slows, it'd be that much harder to get going again.

[purepolarpanzer]

Outside the Oaken Larder- Well

Chief Moeller raises his cider and drinks it down without looking away from Vargath. When he is done there is a head of foam hanging from his moustache, but somehow the humor is lessened. He sets his mug down and speaks, slowly and firmly. "The Spirits give me great power. If I had the ability to heal your malady I would, I assure you. But it is not within my power." He turns away, apparently coming to some conclusion in his own mind, looking down the well instead. "Advice? For dealing with Moira?" He swirls the dregs of his drink and finishes them off. "She says what she means, but it's what she doesn't tell you that will matter. She's a master at getting her way. Hell, she strung me along for years. Nearly married the woman. Some part of me still loves her. That's what she does. Tells you everything you want to hear, but leaves out the fact that she's got a greater motive. Ask her hard questions. Pin her down. And don't let her get away with a an inch. But... if she tells you something... you can believe it. She's not one to lie outright. Hells, if anything she is too proud of what she does to hold anything back. She responds well to flattery, but her wit is razor sharp. And if she's grown stronger since the time she was... killed... than she might just be the person you need help from." The Chief extends his empty mug to Vargath for cheers. "To fighting the odds, no matter how steep they may be. And to a safe Dam'ess."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set warms even more to the people around him as time goes on, a genuine smile brightening his face as they take to Aylea. He notes with deep satisfaction that the derangement that afflicted her in the forest seems to have just been the tail end of a nightmare that she's waking from, or so he hopes. Set chuckles good-naturedly at the suggestive comments, simply shaking his head and smiling without adding anything further to encourage them. These men were free to say and think whatever they liked. For his part, Set tries not to let the Shadowkeeper's warning trouble him too much, but all the same he's intent on staying away from situations where he and Aylea might end up alone. The recent quiet in the back of Set's mind is little reassurance. Set accepts the dress with exaggerated care, picking up on the implication as Horace makes it plain this is a garment of significance. A brief memory flashes in Set's mind of a bright-blue, velvet dress trimmed with gold thread, a gift presented to his elder sister Sisi by a noble at court. Reality is quick to return as his fingers graze the wool, and yet Set holds this dress with just as much care. The pomp and circumstance surrounding a royal family had never held much sway over Set, particularly since he hadn't been allowed to participate in much of it. More important is the realization that this belonged to someone Horace had loved. A bit of gold thread from Abydos could change what the dress was worth, but it's value to Horace was something else entirely. "Thank you," he says, communicating more with his eyes and by the way he holds the dress than by words. He didn't know what would happen to Aylea tomorrow, but at least for the moment she was safe and surrounded by good people. Glancing back at her, Set frowns, moving quietly over to Birel rather than risk handing the dress to a woman eating ravenously with her hands. "When you're finished, do you mind seeing that she changes somewhere in the back? And maybe put a word in her ear about caring for the dress? I'll fetch my robes after." Set waits for her agreement or for a suggestion that one of the other women present could help instead before moving on. Stepping out the front door, Set sucks in a deep breath as he looks out into the night. Eyes unaccustomed to darkness and out of place among the shadows peer into the murk, but other than a pair of figures a ways off that he can't make out, Set sees little enough. All the same, it was good to escape for a moment. Set loved the good cheer and warm welcome from the townsfolk now that the Three had seen to their safety, but as wonderful as they seemed, he missed his own people. Set takes a short walk in a large circle around the tavern, a part of him wishing he'd at least brought a torch, but another part happy enough to just be a stranger in the dark. The silence inside and out is welcome.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 37/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy) Concentrating: -- Vargath had already felt like the witch might not be an enemy, necessarily, and the Chief's description only adds more weight to that. She sounds far preferable to the frustrating duplicity and stupid word games that the fey played. He raises his own drink to match the Chief's, before taking a gulp of the liquid. It tastes foul, and he coughs despite wanting to keep it down. Not just weak, but actively unpleasant. He'd watched it served though, it wasn't any cruel jibe at him, it was the same everyone else was drinking without issue. His tongue flicks across the inside of his teeth, tasting it a second time, then looking down at his bite wound, covered by clothes. It wasn't an issue with the drink, it was an issue with him. He'd seen it happen with some of the infected the clan had treated, but not all. Their tastes shifted to better suit the beast. Blood was the only liquid that satisfied, meat the only food. Little by little it'd change him, until he found a cure. Once he manages to choke down the drink, he replies back to the Chief's toast. "To a safe Dam'ess." It wasn't ideal to be reliant on an unknown factor like the witch, and doubtless she'd want something in return, but it was unlikely a worse option than turning or death. Temporary servitude was, after all, only temporary. The other two much less so. With his conversation concluded, there's only one place left to be tonight. Vargath heads back to the tavern (Chief in tow or not, it makes little difference to Vargath). On his way back he spots Set wandering outside, and for a moment considers not calling out, to leave him to his thoughts. He pushes the thought away though and hails the trouble soul. "Hey there, tired of the free drinks already?"

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel blinks rapidly a few times, broken out of her relaxed staring off into space, when Set approaches her about Aylea who she'd been keeping half an eye on. She understood why he was asking her and gave him a nod. Once she and Aylea were done eating she got her attention and said, "Got some clothes for you. Come with me and we'll get you cleaned up and changed yeah?" Birel then leads Aylea to the back, waves her wand over the woman to clean her off, and as Aylea gets dressed (or Birel helps her get dressed if she needs to) Birel tells her, "These are borrowed, so try to keep them in good shape. But if something does happen to them, let me know and I'll fix em up for you. If I'm not around, any of the women of the village can be relied on to know how to use needle and thread."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: -- Concentration: -- Set can hardly make out the Mighty approaching, but the voice is unmistakable. "'We accept such water as is offered,'" he says, smiling sadly at the words from his homeland, "even if they call it beer, in this place." A part of him feels bad for taking a dig at Horace's brew, especially after the kindness he'd shown, but the Oaken Larder made him yearn for a beer from his homeland. Set lets Vargath catch up before continuing his lazy circle around the tavern, closing back in on it. "They're fine people, aren't they?" Set asks absentmindedly, as if it was the only natural question that could come next. "I mean, really. I know they have much to be thankful for, but I can see why Birel and Selissa made their home here." Set takes a few more steps in silence before he admits, "I just miss my home. The free drinks are all well and good, but I miss my people." I miss my family. Looking up and over at the tall half-orc, Set asks, "don't you?"