The party defeats the southland patrol and returns to rest and recuperate with Annabelle Cirrus and her Halfling refugees. After several days at the eastern camp, they take the three day trek to the western camp. The following day, they hear the sounds of battle and the sound of a Warder’s war horn and rush to provide aid. The party arrives to find an Avenger, terror of the Kisharan armies, about to lay a finishing blow on Warder Erik. The party intervenes and slays the Avenger, though not without divine intervention in Banagher’s aid.
After the battle, the find Warder Xander dead in addition to two dying Society soldiers, Fern and Donus Farrier, both from Sergeant Sergei Volkov’s unit. Donus’ dying breaths were to impart to Alton that he was a loyal Northman and not a traitor, and that he should go to “the source of the gun” and to “ask Futz, he knows a secret he doesn’t think he knows”. It appears to the party that there was a battle between the two Warders and a group including Donus and Fern, and then the Avenger and over a hundred orcs and goblins came across the conflict quite on accident and took advantage. Erik single-handedly slew the entire company of greenskins, but was overwhelmed by the Avenger in the end. This also, notes Gronk, marks the first time the Kisharans have been connected in any way with the greenskins – a tiding that not only bodes ill, but sheds a grim light on the decades since the Kisharan invasion.
With the bodies of three of their fallen brethren and another critically wounded, the party hastily begins the long trek back to Hillcrest.
They heard the enemy before they saw them. Most of the soldiers were walking, with one officer riding. The thought of killing them did not bother Moriel at all. All she could think of were the exhausted, terrified halflings. And as the battle started, and she let the arrows fly, her heart singing in tune with the song from her bowstring.
One of the soldiers charged towards her, swinging wildly at her with her sword. Her arrow hit him in the face, and though a part of her felt guilty, another part of her laughed wildly as the soldier crumpled to the ground, his head half gone. This soldier, at least, would never again kill innocents.
The fight was quickly over. The last soldier standing, one of the archers, turned and ran, and Moriel downed him with two arrows in the back of his head. And while shooting a fleeing man in the back would have bothered her a year ago, now, it meant nothing, except that she knew they could not let even one of them escape.
As the others started looting the soldiers, Moriel went after the horse that had fled, and had stopped further up the road. It did not run as she approached; the horse was not a warhorse, it was willing to let itself be handled, and it seemed happy to follow her back to the others.
Back with the others, one of the humans was waving a string of several severed halfling hands in the air, asking if someone wanted it. Moriel watched in disgust, any remorse she might have felt for killing the humans gone.
Poppy took it, saying she wanted to give them a decent burial, and headed for the forest. Moriel followed. She did not know what to do, but at least she would not let Poppy do this alone. She watched in silence as Poppy gathered what she needed and burned the sad remains. The young halfling prayed, and Moriel watched, wondering if she should do or say something.
They returned to the others, who had, it seemed, stripped the soldiers for anything of value and loaded it onto the horse. The dwarf was hurt, as was one of the humans, but, it seemed, not life threatening. Still, it was close to sunset before they were back at the camp.
Most of the halflings were asleep, but one of them was sitting by the campfire, preparing food, and Annabelle, the human woman, was sitting by a tree, dagger out, and apparently trying hard not to fall asleep. The food was excellent, even better than Poppy’s.
Moriel wondered what could have led anyone to want to exterminate this unassuming, peaceful people. Perhaps the Kisharans’ world had people like them who were different, dangerous. Or maybe they, in some way, posed a threat to the Kisharans. But she knew, then, that no matter the reason, her own decision to leave her forest and join the war was the right one. She just hoped it would be enough to keep her from heeding the Calling. She wanted, more than ever, to stay and fight.
Moriel and Poppy, together with some of the halflings, spent the next few days foraging and hunting, waiting for the rest of the haflings to recover enough for them to travel on to Hillcrest.
During those days, the refugees watched Moriel almost warily. Several times, she noticed them watching her when they thought she did not see it. It bothered her a little, to see them so skittish around her. It was not that they seemed to actively avoid her, they just tended to not be where she was going.
While she would have liked to talk to them, hear their stories, and maybe tell them some stories in return, she did not approach them when she realised she made them edgy. Instead she watched them, quietly enjoying their chatter among themselves, hoping that the army would find a way to keep them safe, to make sure they would not again have to flee for their lives from the Kisharan forces.
After several days at the camp, the halflings were rested enough for them to continue on their journey to Hillcrest. As the group of refugees started down the road, Moriel spoke to Annabelle, offering her a couple of coins. The woman smiled, but declined, saying she and the halflings would be provided for.
As she watched Annabelle and the halflings walk down the road, she heard Gronk ask one of the humans why he had been so suspicious of the refugees. The human said something about being careful about who they trusted. As if the Kisharans would use that many halflings for a trap. And halflings, at least, were definitely not likely to work for the enemy. Oh, maybe, just maby, they could have found some way to convince one or two to help them with a trap, by threatening loved ones or somesuch, but there was no way, as far as Moriel could see, that they would be able to a dozen halflings to cooperate with them.
With the halflings gone, it was time to head for the next camp, further west. As they travelled, Moriel could feel the forest getting closer. They travelled more slowly, the road obviously being one rarely used.
After a couple of days, they arrived at the second camp, this one clearly not having been used for a while. The light was waning as they started setting up camp, but away in the distance, far away and far below, she thought she could see a city.
Though it was little more than a shimmering of green, she knew what city it must be. She had walked through the streets of Tir Valar, the heart of the forest. At that time, she had been overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Now, though she longed to walk the streets of Tir Valar once more, there was a sadness there. It was a dying city, with a dying people. The signs had been there then too, the streets seemed too large, built for far more people than those who lived there now. So many houses vacant. Not that they were allowed to fall apart, but it was so clear now, that the city was built to house ten times its current number or more.
As the dark fell upon the camp, she kept looking out towards the city, long after she could no longer see it, singing softly to herself, old Elven songs, whose lyrics she had to struggle to remember. She wondered, then, if they too would be forgotten when the last of her people died. If the city would crumble and decay, or if someone else would move in, put their own marks upon the brilliant city and make it theirs.
Eventually, she turned away from the north and settled down to get some rest.
A shout woke her. She sprang to her feet, grabbing her bow. It was still early, but something was obviously amiss. Then Banagher awoke, grabbed his sword and raced off. Before she had time to react, they heard the sound of a Warder’s horn calling for help.
She quickly mounted and headed towards the sound. Keeping pace with the others, who were running, was hard. A Warder had called for help, and she was certain that the etu’sari was involved. Her mind told her she might very well be mistaken, that the etu’sari and his partner were not the only Warders in these mountains, and even if it were him, if an etu’sari Warder could not deal with it, what use would this motley crew be? More, at least, than she could do alone.
Suddenly they broke through the forest and looked down on a small dell. The ground was strewn with goblins and orcs; there had to be at least a hundred of them. An armoured figure was standing, weapon raised, above the prone etu’sari.
One of the other humans gasped and said something, clearly recognising the creature. Not that it mattered; the creature, whatever it was, would kill the etu’sari in a moment, unless they could stop it. Moriel called out to distract it while readying her bow for a shot, and then Banagher charged in, followed by some of the others.
“Pull him away!” Moriel was not sure if Banagher heard her, and she was not even aware that she had reverted back to the language of her own people.
The thing was fast, and seemed impossible to damage. Moriel’s arrows kept bouncing off without doing any damage at all, and she watched with growing unease as one of the humans withdrew from the fight, badly wounded.
Then the creature turned towards Banagher and attacked the human. He deflected one, or maybe two, blows, but then the creature’s sword struck home, impaling the man. Moriel watched in horror. Noone could survive that, and Banagher was the only human in the group that she actually liked. He spoke her language, the only one who did. He was polite and knowledgeable, and he had been willing to teach her, without telling the others.
And then the arrow dropped from her bow, as she watched, not the expected blood and gore, but a brilliant light radiate from the wound. Then he struck back, and another brilliant light lit up the dell. The creature collapsed to the ground, while Banagher was still standing, unharmed. Moriel stared in awe at the scene, which might well be something out of a legend.
That thought yanked her back to reality, and at the same instance the creature hit the ground, she drove her horse towards Erik, leaping clear off the horse without bothering to stop it first, to sink to her knees at his side.
The etu’sari was badly wounded, though not yet dead. “Don’t die. Don’t you fucking die! If you do, I’ll kill you!” Nonsense, of course. Not that it mattered. The only one who understood Elven would be Banagher, and she was fairly certain he would not tell the others. She was not sure why the man’s life was so important to her, she only knew that it was.
One of the humans was shouting at her. It was the one with the strange accent, and this time, she did not bother to even try to figure out what he was saying. He stalked towards her, kicking at the etu’sari’s sword. Kicking the sword. And then his words registered.
Moriel rose, bow ready and an arrow nocked in moments, aimed directly at the human. “Step away from him!” The rage inside her was unlike anything she had ever felt. “He is an etu’sari. He would _not_ betray the Society. Step away, or I _will_ fire. And do _not_ touch that sword.” ‘That sword’. She winced mentally. Stupid human language. That was not what she had meant to say.
The human said something. His accent made it hard to understand, but she understood enough of it to know it was a threat. One of the other humans was yelling something, but she noticed Poppy pointing her crossbow at the human too. It was a good feeling to know she was not alone in this.
“Move away, human.” She spit the last word out, anger and contempt seeping into her voice.
The other human was yelling at her. “I SAID STAND DOWN! I’m telling you all to put your weapons away. RIGHT NOW!” She ignored him.
“Lady, you better pot dat bow down.” That was the first human again. “Vee got odder things to worry about den yoo protecting your lover.” She almost let the arrow fly at those words, but did manage to stop herself in time. What did it matter to her if that was what they thought? That was the least of her concerns, what the humans thought of her. Her main concern was Erik and his blade.
Moving slowly, all the while keeping her arrow trained at the human, she placed herself by the sword, to prevent the human from touching it. And if he stepped one single step closer to the etu’sari, she would fire, and damn the consequences.
The other human stepped forward, so he was standing between Moriel and her target. Much as she hated it, she knew the etu’sari needed more help than she could give him. Reluctantly, she lowered her bow, letting the human tend the etu’sari’s wounds.
For lack of anything else to do, she picked up the sword reverently, carefully cleaning the blood and gore from it. Whether there were anything she needed to do with it apart from cleaning it and oiling it, she did not know, but she would do what she could to treat it the way it deserved. When the sword was clean, she took the scabbard from the etu’sari, sheating the blade and strapping it onto her back.
Only now did she notice the other two soldiers; Society soldiers, from the look of them. They were both dead, but it did not look as if the orcs and goblins had killed them.
One of the humans, the second one, told her to get the Warders’ horses. She wanted to refuse, but common sense won. They did need the horses to be able to get the bodies and the wounded etu’sari back, and she was the only one with sufficient experience with horses.
Unlike the horse they had captured earlier, these two were proper warhorses. Massive, black and intimidating, she approached carefully, taking her time, talking calmingly to them in Elven. Fierce and deadly, they were also beautiful, and more intelligent, she suspected, than the two other horses.
As she returned to the others with the two Warder horses, she heard the discussion. It was obvious that at least one or two of the humans were still suspecting the two Warders of having turned on the Society soldiers. That made no sense to her, but perhaps she would understand it after she had spent more time among the humans.
Had the situation been less dire, she would have laughed. Two Warders, one of them an etu’sari, against two Society soldiers; if anyone had betrayed the other here, it would not be the Warders, of that, she was certain. And the Warders, most likely Erik, had, after all, called for help. Erik, who seemed to have taken on the entire army of goblins and orcs by himself. And they thought _he_ was the traitor.
“You have _no_ idea what you are talking about. He is an etu’sari. His blade was forged two thousand years ago. Those who by right carry those swords would never betray their allegiances.” Somewhere along the line, without noticing it, she had switched to Elven again.
Then Banagher spoke. “An old dwarf, an elf, a halfling and some humans on the west road.” He had a note in his hand; Poppy was standing, looking at him eagerly. Vaguely, she thought she remembered Poppy had started searching the corpses, and she assumed the halfling had found the note on one of the orcs.
So, at least someone had betrayed them. One of the humans said something; “The only ones who knew…” she thought.
“Everyone who wanted to know could find out. We were sent on a patrol, I doubt that was much of a secret.” She realised she was still speaking Elven, but she saw Banagher nod, so she did not bother to repeat it in the human language.
She returned her attention to the wounded etu’sari, wondering how she would get him onto his horse. She realised that she would need help with that, though she did not much like it. But with the help of the others, she got the etu’sari onto his horse, the three dead ones were loaded onto the other horses, and the group started on the road back east.
Poppy’s soliloquy of laments…witnessed by a babbling brook
I have…
The blanket
Weapons…still the same old crossbow
Dinner stuff…still got a lil bit of that red pepper.
My clothing…dwarven blood just doesn’t wash out! *she scrubs at the stain more vigorously*
Gold…shopping here I come!
A Moriel…she almost shot a human who wanted to shoot her, but then I would have shot him first, any way it went he’d of lost the game. Human’s can be dumb. I wish we got to play.
An idol…but he lost.
Xander was his name. I thought I was the best shot until I met him so it was only proper that he become my idol. I just wish he wasn’t so short lived so he’d have time to hear the tales sung about me. Xander, one of the masters of the game, shot dead, through the eye, a lesson to me. I will walk upon his footprints until I surpass them and take up his position as warder. I will be the pinnacle of warders, not leaving footprints of my own since all they lead to is the ending of the game. Instead I will be the warder legend, so fast, sure and true of aim even the mists will be baffled and awed! I will be Poppy, The Halfling Crusader, The Warder. Xander will be avenged, remembered, and his legacy shall be redefined so that the name Poppy will whisper through the winds and all will know it was he who inspired the legend.
Now to figure out who killed Xander. Orcs can’t read or write. I know a couple of humans who can read and write and one in particular who decided to guard a smokehouse who’s capable of writing a note. I’ll have to talk to Moriel to see whether or not I should shoot HIM through the eye.
*sighs*
Well I guess that’s as good as it gets.
*Poppy smoothes out the threadbare, mildly stained surface of her cloak, and tosses it around her shoulders. She picks up her crossbow, poses like royalty about to shoot a shoot a stag and breaks her pose to grimace at her cape*
Perhaps I’ll have time to get a new cloak before the archery competition. I must look my best, legends should never have stains!
*As Poppy stalks off towards the camp, the babbling brook continues to babble about nothing even remotely related to the Halfing*
Sketch found in the dirt near a battlefield.
http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc188/Mayvik/DirtSketch5.jpg
Sgt. Alton Mission Report: Massan Range Patrol
Our first days were easy, just a standard march to base camp. We secured the camp and foraged. Later we were joined by Warders Eric and Xander. We ate together and shared a night watch, the next day I was taken aside by Warder Eric and told to be very careful about who I trusted “out there”. I took his warning seriously because of his rank. The Warders left to continue their mission and we left toward the west and left Diego to.. watch the horses and our food.
On the patrol, we ran into a woman that I now know to be Annabelle Cirrus of the Halfling Underground, leading a bunch of halflings toward us. Taking Warder Eric’s warning seriously as I did, I drew my weapon in order to make sure they were who they said they were, and to make sure that this wasn’t a trap. After some talk, we learned they were being followed by a bunch of Southlander army soldiers.
After a minute for planning, I decided that our position was perfect for an ambush, and had everyone get up on the sides of the mountain path and get ready, while Gronk and I hid behind a big tree with a blunderbus. When the soldiers got in range, I blew a bunch of sharp rocks right into the lot of them, and the fight began. During the fight Diego showed up, hearing the guns going off, I got injured bad, but we won. We ended up with a bunch of southlander tabards and gear, we took the lot of it and went back to base camp where Annabelle helped heal us some, and we gave a bunch of food to her and her halflings.
The next day Annabelle’s group moved on, and a few days of patrolling later so did we, toward the western base camp. Not even a day after we got there, it was very early in the morning, I heard a gunshot and the sound of a Warder warhorn. We got up quick and ran off to find where it was coming from. When we got there we found Warder Eric on his knees in front of an Avenger who was about to kill him. After firing a shot to distract it, we rushed in to the fight. We took some heavy hits.. none heavier than Banagher, but I’ll leave it up to him to explain what the hell happened to him, as I still have no fucking idea. He got run through and started to glow, and the damned avenger’s sword melted. Whatever it was that happened, it was the turning point of the fight, and we killed the avenger.
After the fight, we started trying to find out what happened. It looked like Warder Xander had been shot in the head and killed, leaving Warder Eric to fight an entire horde of orcs and goblins, and the Avenger. We also found two society members, Fern and Donus Farrier. They were both mortally wounded by what looked like Warder Eric’s weapon. Donus was still conscious, but I knew he was done for, he decided to try and keep Fern alive long enough for someone to help her. I might have been able to save Donus if he’d tried to save himself, Fern was already gone. With his dying breath he swore to me he was no traitor, and gave me his gun. He then asked me a personal favor that I am willing to discuss in private, but I’d rather avoid writing it down. I knew Donus, and I believe him.
After searching the dead orcs, we found a piece of paper that would have given away our location. It seems the horde of orcs and the avenger were meant for us.. Warder Eric likely saved our lives. This makes me worry that he killed Donus and Fern out of a mistaken assumption. Gronk also said to us that it seems the greenskins were working with the Kisharans, which is something that has never happened before. We tied the bodies of our fallen comrades to the horses, and headed back to Hillcrest. Moriel seemed unusually agitated about Eric’s sword, and wouldn’t let anyone near him but myself for the entire duration of the trip. So far she seems unwilling to talk about it.