Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Yanin, Jaelnec, Nabi, Jordan and Madara – Fadewatcher station, Borstown – Collab
“Their moods?” Quintin repeated, then paused. “They were nervous at first, of course, but as they calmed down after the raid... I supposed some of them seemed unhappy, but most of them seemed pretty jovial, all things considered.” He winced. “Every now and then the patrols would stop in the central yard to look at their decorations there. I even heard several of them laughing. I didn't risk getting close enough to hear much of what they said, but I think I overheard one of them talking about 'going home'.”
“It certainly sounds like the services of a healer are required to enable them to return home, then... But I wonder: what could be so pressing that they couldn't simply ask? If this was an abduction and they mean to keep Bren with them long term, why wasn't his equipment taken too? The cupboards were looted, his stock taken, but... I suppose the equipment is delicate and bulky, unsuited to a hurried extraction. Perhaps there's something I'm missing, but their motivations don't currently make much sense to me.” Irah spoke, brow furrowed in thought. She looked over at the others (Lhirin and Yanin in particular) with an unspoken invitation to opine.
“It's strange that they think they have a 'home' to return to in the first place,” Quintin pointed out. “Outlaws usually survive by always being on the move, keeping things light and staying ahead of the law.”
“They seem more like a mercenary company than just a group of bandits--too well equipped, too many of them working together cohesively for too long.”
Quintin nodded his head in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Mmn…mercenaries or perhaps defectors of some military force,” Lhirin commented idly, rolling the information around in his mind. His words came off as…distant, distracted almost, but he was clearly paying close enough attention to have heard everything and made a potential inference. “Quintin. Their gear. Was it standardized? All similar? Well cared for, from what you could see.”
Lhirin’s silver eyes rose from where he’d been gazing down and to the side at the spellbook he was still holding. As always, his eyes were slightly too wide as they met Quintin’s, faintly manic in his way—though the scout would not be familiar enough with him to know that this was Lhirin’s norm. Aside that, there was something faintly twitchy about the deigan mage, the fingers of his free hand drummed along the crystal hilt of his sheathed blade, his foot occasionally tapping at the floor. Nervous energy…or perhaps it was the drug he’d imbibed earlier, it was hard to tell exactly with Lhirin. All in all, it just made him come off a bit…off-kilter, eccentric, noticeably strange.
“Uh...” Quintin muttered, visibly a little unsettled by Lhirin's demeanor, but disciplined enough to not let it faze him too much before responding: “Not standardized, but definitely well-cared for. I didn't see any signs of a uniform among them.”
Noticing Quintin's discomfort from the corner of her eye, Irah offered him a gentle smile. “Lhirinthyl took some piaan earlier in the heat of combat--please forgive his demeanour. He is quite lucid, though, I assure you.”
“Hmm…a mercenary company does seem the most likely then,” Lhirin said, before pausing for a long moment. For some reason it seemed to take him much longer to process the fact that Quintin might be having some kind of reaction to him. The deigan’s eyes shifted from Irah to Quintin, then back…then back again, then he looked away. He stopped looking in Quintin’s direction after that. “Small actions, fidgeting…offsets the distracting qualities of the drug,” Lhirin explained, his voice somewhat more subdued than before. He’d taken extra time, but between Irah stepping in—something that typically happened when he’d made a social misstep of some kind—and Quintin’s reaction, he’d managed to deduce that he’d made the man uncomfortable. “Apologies,” he half-muttered.
"It could be worse," Caleb commented grimly from the back of the crowd. He did not elaborate on what he meant.
“It also bears mentioning that there is another weapon I have at my disposal: I can summon an Angel of Fear. I know that Lhirin and I are both immune to its aura--is anyone else? This could offer us some tactical advantage, depending on which of us can operate freely within its aura.” Irah looked instinctively over to Freagon, figuring that if any of the assembled would be immune it would be him. She shot a glance to Vela Bor as well, given that she had famously been part of an adventuring group it was likely she'd faced one before too.
Freagon made a single, resolute nod of affirmation. “I'm immune.”
“I'm not,” Vela admitted, shooting a nervous glance at Irah. “Never had the pleasure of runnin' into one o' those.”
“Who they are...” Jordan muttered, briefly closing his eyes. “That would mostly only matter if we expect them to be the kind of people who maybe could be talked down, or if we want to track them all down, afterwards... People who have homes to go back to might be more willing to surrender. Maybe." There was a short pause. "I did wonder earlier if it wasn't something as simple as needing a healer - but wouldn't they just walk in like normal people, then?”
“Not if they expect to be shot or arrested on sight,” Sir Yanin replied, almost instantly.
“I guess.”
“Does Bren have a reputation of any kind - as a particularly proficient healer or otherwise? It might be as simple as this place being comparatively little defended and easy to scout out without raising suspicion at this time in particular - I'd expect more than those mere coincidences if whoever ordered the service wasn't at least somewhat regional, however.” A metal-clad finger absently tapped the table. Unlike Quintin, the human knight didn't appear to even notice Lhirinthyl's perhaps-unusual demeanor. “The dead didn't have much pattern to them, either - all physical fighters, though. Quintin, did you spot anyone you have a reason to believe was magically inclined?”
Turning to Yanin, Vela responded to the question he had asked: “Not especially, no. The only reputation he has is to give freebies now and then, when people need healin' but can't afford payin' for it. He's just a nice guy, that's all.”
To Yanin asking about signs of mages among the bandits, Quintin replied: “Nothing obvious, no. Everyone I saw just looked like armed thugs.”
Answering Deo'Irah's last question was easy, though all things considered, a bit unfortunate. “I haven't fought one, no.”
Nabi had remained silent, thinking and observing the group until this moment, but an idea flashed across her mind. She figured she would speak up now, before the conversation moved onto another topic and leave her idea in the dust.
“I have heard talk of something called the... Crusader Guild? Might these brigands belong to them, perhaps? They were told to me to be little more than jumped-up armed criminals extorting and ransacking local villages and expecting them to be grateful for their assistance.”
“They are usually not shy of identifying themselves, via tabards or speech,” Yanin noted. There didn't appear to be many non-humans in Borstown, Lady Bor's would-be adventurer visitors left aside. “And I'd expect their main target to be the Baroness. If it's their orchestration and not not one of those at the farm had an appearance of a Guildsman, it'd likely be a trap. Perhaps too specific one if they didn't know Quintin was there and opt to let him leave.”
What would be the odds of the Guild hiring outside help and not one of their representatives - of which one would presumably be present to oversee the mission - making an appearance in half a dozen hours?Vela's expression darkened when Nabi brought up the Crusader's Guild... and though he was standing behind Freagon, half-hidden behind the knight, so did Jaelnec's. When Yanin commented on the possibility, Vela told them: “I've clashed with the Guild before, they'd have reason to mess with me. But the rest of the town? I don't know... and as Sir Yanin said, they usually wear red tabards with a big ol' drake on 'em. But I agree with the squire-boy: who they are doesn't matter right now, we'll have time to figure that out later. Right now I just want Bren home safely.”
Freagon turned to glance at Irah. “Unless you want to try to talk with these guys, too?"
Irah's brow furrowed. “I would prefer no more lives be lost... but they have ruined lives today with their careless indifference. They have foresworn mercy, and thus invited any malice that comes their way. If we can work out their motivations, there is something to be said for trying to speak with them and get Bren back safely. My worry is that an incursion of any kind will cause them to execute Bren--and I no longer have Kinder with me to have access to divine healing. I would certainly not be able to summon both angels, Greater in the hierarchy as they are.”
“About that,” Caleb interjected, “I never apologized for sending your friend away. I am sorry, Deo'irah. But I would offer that, if you show me their names and give me fifteen minutes or so each, I can summon these angels of yours for you.”
“Thank you, Caleb--I bear you no ill will for it, given the circumstances. Kinder is the name of the Iriao, and Weriz the name of the Swaigh--I have the spells I use to summon them in a notebook, would that be sufficient for you to bring them here? Having access to both would greatly improve our options. Still--coming back from death is not a pleasant experience, I'm given to understand. If we can avoid harm coming to Bren I think we would all agree that that's ideal, but perfect cannot become the enemy of good.”
“The spells would contain their names, so they should suffice, yes,” Caleb nodded appreciatively.
Nabi took out a pipe and packed it with some tobacco, before lighting it with a flame from the tip of her finger and taking several long breaths, puffing smoke off to the side. She snickered at Freagon's remark. “Considering the last time diplomacy was used instead of the clashing of swords everything seemed to go well enough, perhaps not quite the snide quip you intend it to be. Though point made.”
She took another long puff. “If we are to liberate our man, speed and overwhelming violence is the key. Something needs to be done to catch them off guard, disorient them - perhaps blind them or stun them all so that we may move through their numbers easily enough. Sadly I fear my own magic will be of... limited... utility in this regard. I can surround them in darkness, but whether any of you folk can see in said darkness is not something I know.”
Freagon shrugged. “We can talk, but I'd recommend a show of force first. It's better to bargain from a position of power than one of desperation.”
“Indeed,” Lhirin commented idly in reply to both Irah and Freagon, one hand running patterns over the exposed crystal of his runeblade. Silently, he considered Quinton’s accounting of the various arms and armor of the supposed mercenaries. Much of them did not bother him overmuch…the only weapons that struck him as rather problematic were the bows and crossbows. Those would need to be targeted first, he figured. His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the potentialities. Then Lhirin’s gaze shifted over to the table again, looking over the drawn map. He noticed something about the patrol pattern in that moment.
“Their patrols seem less focused on the western wall of the barn…” he commented, sounding thoughtful.
“... considering what they went through to get Bren, I would argue that they are the desperate ones. They lost some of their own members, too, after all.”
Lhirin winced slightly at Irah’s words. “Desperate is bad. Cornered animals are often at their most dangerous.”
Even presumably knowing nearly as much about the Crusaders' Guild as he did, Lady Bor seemed to still give them some kind of benefit of doubt? Sir Yanin genuinely doubted inflicting damage upon the town would matter that much to the organization at all, if it benefited their overall goals.
“I dare not contemplate how far the Crusader's Guild is willing to stretch the concept of acceptable collateral – especially since they frequently deem sympathizers nearly as bad as nonhumans themselves.”
“I did wonder if we could deal with Bren and the Bandits separately, somehow,” Jordan offered. “I mean, if we knew precisely where he was and there were just a few guarding him –” he glanced at Caleb – “mask what is going on under an illusion for long enough that we could take out a handful of guards and carry him out or something? That probably would be a couple of minutes or something. But I guess this might be significantly more difficult since I doubt Caleb can tell which human he is even without them being likely to sense him in turn. Or, can you, somehow, without the bandits realizing?”
“If I had met him, maybe,” Caleb said with a shake of his head. “But trying to remotely target, or avoid targeting, someone when my only familiarity with him is his name is beyond me.”
Oddly hesitant and seemingly reluctant, Quintin heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and winced once again. “I should probably tell you about their decorations. In the yard here,” he pointed to the area of the map just north of the farmstead and east of the barn, “is a big tree with five bodies hung by the neck. Fresh bodies, no more than a day or two old at most. I got as close as I dared to get a better look. Two are penin, a man and a woman, and the other three look human.” He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “One of them is a child.”
Nabi clenched her fists involuntarily, and let loose a stream of colourful language in Erashyir as Quintin finished his last comment.
Child murderers...Lhirin seemed to freeze in place, his train of thought similarly interrupted. His silver eyes slowly swiveled towards Irah and he took a step closer to her, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed lightly and swallowed.
Irah's eyes narrowed, and her upper lip curled in a barely restrained snarl. “... well, then.” Irah brought her hand up to Lhirin's placed on her shoulder and squeezed it in return.
“... Anyone complicit in the harming of a child is beyond words. You said that... some of them laughed?” Irah continued, her voice just as cold as it had been in the more terse moments with Caleb earlier.
Quintin nodded his head affirmatively. “At the tree.”
“... A display of force seems appropriate, then. In fact, I think meeting a Swaigh is something they all very much deserve--it should be easy enough to administer justice with them trapped in the depths of their minds.”
Caleb loomed over everyone gathered around the table. “Given enough time, I could summon even more angels and bind them as wraiths, like I did at the manor. If I am to control them rather than let them run loose, however, I think I can only manage four or five at a time. And if I move, I lose control.”
“Though... perhaps the subtle blade is the most appropriate. I could brew an exquisite poison, and we could slip that into their victuals--did you see anything about their food situation, Quintin? I... am trying very hard not to let anger cloud my judgement, but to harm a child...” Irah began, closing her eyes for a moment and inhaling shakily through her nose.
“They did more than harm. They hanged the poor thing.” Nabi spat with unconcealed venom in every word. Unlike Irah, she seemed entirely happy to allow anger to “cloud” her judgement. There were some things that one just did not do, no matter the situation.
Quintin shook his head grimly. “I didn't see any food or water. I'm guessing they're keeping it inside. And even if we found it, wouldn't we risk poisoning Bren, too?”
Looking at Lhirin, Quintin remarked: “There weren't less patrols on the west side, they were just more consistent in their pathing there.”
Freagon, who had taken the news of the tree and its gruesome ornamentation with his usual stone-faced calm, nodded his head once. Someone particularly observant might spot the faintest tremor in his jaw and the fact that he was subtly rubbing his right thumb on the index finger as the only indication of what his internal reaction to the atrocity might be. “It's still useful,” he noted, referring to the patrol path. “Consistent means predictable. We can ambush a patrol there more easily.”
“Maybe,” Quintin said, “but their patrols are short; if one went missing, they'd notice in a few minutes.”
Jaelnec, whose eyes had widened at the news of the tree and who had gone even paler than usual, actually had step away for a second and go face the wall behind him. At first his breath quickened for a couple of seconds, and it might have seemed as though he was about to hyperventilate, but then it immediately slowed back down and turned to slow, deep breaths as his fists clenched at his sides.
“
Fewer.” Nabi murmured beneath her breath. She watched as the young black-eyed one - Jaelnec, she reminded herself - seemed to take the news of the corpse tree with significant difficulty, and quietly walked over next to him, offering him her pipe. “If you need to calm yourself. I understand your disgust.”
Her voice remained quiet, so not to disturb the other members of the group still discussing the strategy of how to deal with these thugs. If only they hadn't taken a damned hostage... But then that was perhaps exactly why they took one, though perhaps they just needed a healer for now and planned to add him to the corpse tree after they'd finished with his talents... Nabi's heart sank at the very thought of it. They'd already murdered a child and japed about it, these were vile black-hearted scum who would be more than happy to use someone for their needs and then kill them afterwards so they couldn't talk. In truth, Nabi could also see the cold logic behind such actions too - anyone the bandits had taken hostage might be privy to secrets or plans they had accidentally spoken about in earshot of the hostage, and the risk would be too great to allow them to live.
“I believe Caleb should be able to telepathically reach out to Bren and warn him not to consume the poison, if that is what we wish to do. With Kinder's aid and a healing potion, as well as Madara's considerable surgical skills, we can ensure he emerges hale and whole. Of course, brewing a poison will take time that we may not have--there is also every chance that we could pick something up that would do the job as we travel. The forest should be full of quite viciously poisonous mushrooms at this time of year; I could easily identify and gather some to be placed into their foodstuffs. Sir Yanin, Lady Bor, do you have any strategies we should consider? We should not overthink things, but nor should we underthink them either.” Irah offered, eyes glinting crimson in the dim firelight as she imagined all of the various ways they could dispose of an entire camp of mercenaries.
“It would be preferable to not harm Bren, of course, but even should he perish he can still be brought back so long as he holds on. I... think it worth the risk to incapacitate everyone else without risking further harm to our own. If attacking them is a more viable option I am perfectly open to that, but... I think that our ambush should take out a considerable number of enemies. I am not fussy how that happens, nor who dies--my vows prevent me from taking a life directly, but that is all. I can stand by and allow you to kill them with a clear conscience.”
“While I could use telepathy,” Caleb mused, “it is subject to the same limitations as other magic. I would need to have met him, or at least have a stronger connection to him than just knowing his name.”
“We could, but we don't know how to use you guys,” Vela shrugged. “I know what me and my guys're good at, but you all bring more to the table.” She put a hand on her chest. “I'm not as strong or nimble as in my prime, but I'd wager I've still got some vim left in me. I'm probably best used climbin' a tree and snipin' people with my crossbow.”
“I can do whatever is needed of me,” Quintin offered. “I used to be a bounty hunter, so while I'm not exactly an adventurer, I know how to adapt. These wouldn't be the first bandits I've dealt with, but they are the first with a hostage.” He paused, glancing at the baroness, who returned his look knowingly. “At least not one I cared about.”
Jordan, who was usually quite talkative, had grown entirely quiet, and seemed to have shrunk a little as he seemed to just numbly stare at his hands with crossed fingers in front of himself.
“Hanging isn't an efficient way to kill.” Those looking closely at him might notice he had closed his eyes, though Sir Yanin's tone remained unchanged. “Whether it was them or someone prior, it was for show. Not anyone you recognized as local, I take it?”
“It was not,” Quintin confirmed. “By their garb I'd say they're migrating villagers that happened by on the road. Either that or Borstown isn't the first place these bandits have kidnapped people from.”
“They are all humans, correct? I don't have any poisons in the true sense of the world, and most substances that would be incidentally harmful if used woefully incorrectly would be too slow or too imprecise - unless you wished to render them dizzy and not much more -, but I do have these.” She held up the two vials, tapping one with a fingernail. “This one, I would ordinarily use to numb pain and paralyze – useful, if you want to avoid undue suffering and also make sure there is no accidental twitch or movement that could disrupt your work. Would also be quite terrible indeed if you somehow managed to breathe it in, such as if it were vaporized - though, I would heavily implore you to keep in mind that there is also no true antidote, so the only way to survive that particular happenstance would be to figure out how to live without being able to breathe yourself for an hour or two.”
She tapped the other vial. The first one had been a clear liquid, almost like slightly languid water, but this one was dark yellow and discernibly oily.
“And then there is this. You mix a couple drops of it into a salve and you apply it to your skin if your joints are giving you trouble. Takes away the pain and swelling, and warms them up. You don't want to get it on your face or anywhere with particularly sensitive skin, nor your mouth, or your eyes. It doesn't technically harm you - but it would hurt for some half a dozen minutes. A lot. The pure stuff will feel approximately like being set on fire, for far longer than that, and even through thick skin after a minute. Very distracting.”
She paused for a second.
“Was anything left behind in Bren's lodgings? Myself or Deo'Irah could surely figure out if anything remaining was useful to our cause.”
“You're welcome to check,” Vela replied to Madara's inquiry about Bren's home. “We haven't touched what was left 'sides stuff we knew what was and how to use it. He didn't exactly label his stuff, though.”
Jaelnec turned to look at Nabi, then at the pipe she was offering, then her again, all with an expression of surprise that rapidly turned to embarrassment. “Thanks, but I'm all right, I think... sorry, I didn't mean to distract anyone.” He sighed. “It just brought up some... bad memories, I think.”
“Lhirin and I checked out Bren's house when we arrived. Much of the equipment remains, but all of his stock was taken and the cupboards rifled through. I am not certain there's anything there we could actually use... rifling through it in more detail might give us a little more information, but... I doubt there is a lot of use to be found there.” Irah replied to Madara, turning her head to look up at Lhirin with an expression he'd know as “fill in anything I missed”. She turned then to Jaelnec and offered him a wan smile. “You should not apologise for being shaken by such awful news. It is proof of your good heart.” she spoke softly, eyes a little dewy but mostly still seething with unspoken rage.
