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Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

The Baker's warm invitation was very thoughtful, and he made a polite attempt at a short bow and tipping of the head to indicate his acceptance of the invitation, before moving toward the proffered bench.

"Thank ya kin'ly sir. Much apprishiated."

He was just about to draw attention to the sack of day-olds the Baker had graciously supplied, to share what was left, when Yvonne busted into the room.

Cedar frowned, then sat down at the table but continued looking at Yvonne.

"Wull--- I mos'ly jus' wan'ed tuh git cleaned up, and git a bite ta eat-- but de LAS' TIME I did 'at 'round 'ere, da lot a yas came up wit some cokamamie plan ta go topple a tow'r while I was out havin dinner, an didn' tell meh till mornin! Rounded meh up outta bed and stuff'd meh in a wagon wit nary an explanation! Had tuh put Two an' Two tugether muself watchin Veron'ca do 'er stuff in a cup o water."

It was not ENTIRELY the reason he had come inside, but it DID adequately deflect the implication that he was being willfully and needlessly negligent to their "VIP".

"I jus' wann'ed ta know if'n I shoulds be 'spectin gettin pounded inna da groun' like a fencepos' a secon' time roun' or not."

He snuffed at the air.

"Hey-- Whatcha been drinkin? --"

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

As the two finished their meal, Cedar waved goodbye to the old man, then placed the empty stew pot in the general place that the Baker had indicated.

He wasn't sure why, but he was very sad to see the old man go. He kept reminding himself that Reinhold was NOT his father, no matter how much the old man's personality and lifestyle coincided. He had his own life, and it was time to go their separate ways.

He heaved a sigh, then decided to go check on the horses. There was still some bread left, and the creatures would enjoy a nice treat, he felt.

The horses where tied up, right where they had been left. Absently, he tried to reassure the nags that he was not going to eat them, having already just eaten, before offering chunks of the bread. It was always a slow process, winning the trust of herbivores. Their instinct was to be wary, and his nature did not align well with circumventing that.

He rubbed their noses gently, despite the wide-eyed look it garnered him. He looked behind and saw Matilda and the Prince still seated within. Matilda looked all-business, and ready to chew iron into nails. He decided that was poor company, and the wary horses were a better option, in his opinion. Maybe they would like a good brushing?

He turned and headed to the small livery barn the Baker kept for all-nighter patrons to put up their horses for the night. He'd surely find what he was looking for in there.

The tackroom was immaculately kept, something the bearman noted as probably indicative of the man's fastidiousness, and he located a stiff boar-bristle grooming brush in short order. It felt small in his hand, but then again, anything human-sized always did. The door and interior of the tackroom too, were woefully undersized for a person of his stature. Carefully, he squeezed back out the door with his prize, then closed it neatly behind him, and returned to where the horses were tied, then started grooming them.

As expected, they were not the most receptive of his ministrations as a groomsman. After several minutes, and irritated horses that just wanted him to leave them be snorting air at him, he gave up. Then he had the idea of using the brush on himself-- and wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.

The baker did not seem to have an easily accessible well outside, for whatever reason. Cedar could only make wild guesses as to why, but for whatever reason, there just wasn't one. This lack had put a damper on his earlier plan to get a quick wash, and get the muck off of him that way, but the brush posed a less thorough, but alternative method of getting clean. At least it would get the majority of it off.

Idly, he returned to the door of the livery stable, took a seat on the ground nearby, then started brushing. Puffs of dust, and bits of mud flaked off with each passing of the bristles, as they worked through his fur, and did their magic. A few minutes later, and he felt like a new bear. He was still dirty of course, but the majority of it was now several patches of dirt, dust, and undercoat fuzz that clung to the grass where he had pulled it from the brush during the process. Respectfully, he returned the brush where he found it, then considered going inside. He had seen several of the others already go in without him, and now free of the dried on muck, he should be mostly presentable to go in, if still rather under-dressed. Clothing was mostly a formality anyway.

He stood up, and gave his fur a shake. A poofy cloud of dust billowed out as he did so, ejecting the last of the heavy soiling. The rest would cling to his skin until he could get a proper wash, but at least it wouldnt drop off and leave "leavings" for the baker and his daughter, if he went inside.

Eager to break the melancholy of his mood, he headed back to the terrace, collected the now mostly empty vegetable bag, then entered the door.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Cedar was still surprised about being gifted the entire pot of what was surely a fine stew that was only about a day old, tops, judging from smell and texture.

Slow cooked, but never allowed to just sit around and go rancid. The meat and vegetables might have a bit of a mushy texture, but there would be nothing at all wrong with it in terms of health complications. Some people preferred their stew this way in fact-- something his father had told him once. Something called "Braising."

(Not that he ever really had the patience. Getting it up to critical temperature and breaking down the vegetables enough to be tender was usually all he ever bothered with himself. -- In the times he bothered to cook the food anyway. Cooked food was more of a 'special events' thing. Raw wild vegetable, picked at the peak of ripeness, was his usual-- often fortified with insects and wild mushrooms. Depends on where he was in the forest that day, and what the day's itinerary was. He had been quite honest with the baker about not being picky. --HUMANS-- his own father included, some of the time-- were the ones that seemed needlessly picky on foodstuffs.)

He was ravenous, and was just about to simply cram his face into the pot, when a thought occurred to him. The old man, Reinhold-- He had no reason to stay any further with the group, and the man had been literally starving as well from the lack of good hunting. It would be almost criminal to send the man home to starve, while hoarding a free pot like this.

"HOY OL' TIMER!" he bellowed into the darkening hours near where the carriage should be. "YA STILL O'ER DERE?"

"What do you want, Bear?" came a bit of a surly answer. "I'm grabbing my shit and going home. I'm tired."

"Da baker feller lef'-us a big arsed pot o grub-- Wonder'd ifn' ya wanted some, at's all!"

"Baker huh.. For free? What, he didn't spit in it, did he?"

The question left him puzzled. Why would the baker spit in the soup? It was a thing he just couldn't wrap his head around. Why would you do that to perfectly good soup, and then give it to somebody? Was this one of those human rivalry things? Food is hard to get, and it clearly took a whole day to get the soup the way it was in this pot-- why would you? To the food?

He shook his head, then sniffed at it again, paying very careful attention, checking for traces from the baker, and coming up empty on the inquiry. There was no evidence of such an "Additive."

"Dun smell like it---" he drawled, as Reinhold sauntered up to the terrace, bow slung over his back for carry, and dusting the road dust off his trousers. "Why'd sumbuddy do summat' like 'at anuhoo? He lef' us sum bread tuh. Don' make no sense ta spit inna food like at, an' show'r us in so much. Hell, Dun make no sense ta spit inna food noway nohow. Ya sure at wizard didna zap ya in da head dere ol' timer?"

"Baker doesn't give ANYTHING away for free." the old man said flatly. "you've either impressed him, or somebody in your group has leverage on him somehow. If I were you, I'd be more careful with that one."

'Weren't e'zactly free-- Moars, 'whole lot fer a silv'r'-- But dey's plenty ta go 'round. It'd be criminal not ta ask if'n ya wanted sum afores ya head home-- As fer bein' careful....' Cedar leaned in close to Reinhold, and practically whispered at him "I'd be right scared ta jus' 'head home ta bed' ifn' I was you. People's as kin occupy a whole damn town like at bullshit at fanghorn an' pesti? Dey gots real strong opinions about gittin dey're plans fucked up, and lil' peoples like us tends ta git shit on. Like em poor barstards as had dere houses burned. I aint none tuh happy 'bout flattenin' their houses fer 'em on top-a-it all neither. Ifn' sumbody deserves ta git fucked o'er fer what happened, it be yours truly-- but em kinds? I might not be de oldes' an' wisest-- At's muh pappi's job-- but I dun noticed muh own self 'at 'at sort like ta gits revenge 'emselves, and dun' take tuh kindly ta havin' de're plans ruined. Ya needs a spot to disappear tuh, come track meh daown. I'll FIN' a spot fer ya. Caint stay awake fer many more weeks af'er dis, but hell, I'd put ya up in my own house while I sleeps off da winter downstairs, ifn' it come ta 'at. Ain't got no food at home, seein as I don' eat inna win'er, but I won' be usin' da fireplace nor da bed neither. Freeze up dere tryin' ta hibernate. Gots a nice cozy hole full a leaves un'er a trapdoor fer at. Nuh 'ere, have sum food wit' me."

Cedar extended a somewhat twisted and misshapen, but otherwise perfectly edible baguette style loaf to the man out of the bag the baker had deposited with the large cauldron of stew.

"Didn' leave meh no bowls 'douh." muttered the bear. "Mebbe ya fin' a loaf in 'ere ya kin use instead..."

It was a trick his dad had shown him. You bake an especially dry and crusty loaf in the shape of a ball, rather than a baguette or a slicing loaf, then you cut the top, and cut out a hunk of the inside with a knife before filling it up with a thick and heavy stew. The thick, dry crust keeps it from seeping all the way through, the soup softens the dry loaf, and you end up with a 'bowl' of soup that you simply just eat. If you are careful, you don't even need utensils. Out in the woods, and living with next to nothing like their family did, it was an inventive and useful trick.

He wished he hadn't left the kukri with his dirty robes in on the back of the carriage, but he figured Reinhold to be the prepared type, being another forest dweller, even if of a different persuasion, as he dug in the bag until he found what he was looking for, more or less, then handed it to the old man. "Dis'l hav ta do."

"I still dont know what to make of you bear." the man said with a bit of a wry smile, while accepting the bread loaf. "But you don't seem half bad. I STILL don't know how your dad didn't get eaten alive though."

Cedar chuckled, then dug around in the bag some more, looking for a similar loaf for himself, extracting it, before simply biting the top, and hollowing it out with his muzzle in lieu of having a knife. Humans he had found, had no conception of the idea of 'talking' to animals. If they did, they considered it a nonsensical aspect of a children's tale, not a practical aspect of life. Animals themselves usually lived a very 'inward' life, with vocalizations rather than words, and no conception that was even possible to share their feelings in ways other than outward action or simple utterances. The first few times you 'talked' with them, they were almost always terrified by the experience, no matter how gentle and calm you were about it. Humans -- and bears too-- were scary to most animals anyway, and the combination usually left them so rattled that they questioned what was real and what wasn't for days afterward. There was no easy way to explain the kind of 'slow growing' partnerships he and his dad forged with the other residents of their home to the old man. Even less of a way to explain how such a partnership could turn romantic. Humans, like the wild creatures he called his friends, had their own view on what things in the world were like. For humans, animals were dumb creatures without any comprehension of anything besides basic needs or wants. Many considered them incapable of feelings or desires, and thus a non-issue when it came to causing them harm. Such notions were simply unfounded, but explaining the truth to them was often impossible. Words lacked the... substance... that 'the connection' offered. You had to try and wrap up complex ideas like this in metaphors and analogies, and other abstractions, where with an animal, the core concept itself was what was presented, just as it was. (You just had to hope they could understand something that complex without blocking it out to protect themselves.)

"I's complicat'd." muttered the bearman before swallowing the mouthful of bread. He snapped the long baguette in half, then used half of it to scoop stew out of the pot and into his "bowl", while holding the pot by the wire handle and tipping it forward. "Les' jus' say 'at wil' critters has more in em an what mos' people realizes-- Dey jus' sees an' un'erstan's da world diff'rent. Ya gots ta speak 'er language, sorta speak."

"Hey, I didn't say I wanted a lecture, I said I didn't understand it." rumbled the old hunter, who had produced a pocket knife, and had more eloquently cut his own loaf, much like his dad did, before extending it to him to be filled.

"Fair 'nuff." rumbled Cedar, once more using the baguette to spoon up soup into the old man's 'bowl'. "I jus' wann'd ta poin' out-- ain't no part a mamma and pappa be 'forced'. 'em two loves each odder. Ain't no reason ta eat each odder, no more an you an some country girl would." He took a generous bite out of his bowl, slurped the juice back, then swallowed hard. "Fer sum reason, people's has a hard time unnerstan'in dat part. Thinks a bear caint fall in love. I kin assure ya, at aint da case at all. Momma an poppa gots ways ta talk wit each odder, an' dey does. Respects each odder. Loves each odder. Simple as 'at."

The old man shuddered a moment, shook his head, then distracted himself with his own bite of soup-bowl. "It's definitely not something I have ever considered even remotely possible." he said flatly. "I cant help feeling unnerved looking at you."

"At's 'ow mos' people's sees it. Ya gits used ta it. Hell, half da time, dey waitin' fer ya to try an' eat em or sommat. Muhself? I only half-unnerstands half da stuff you humans gits upta." He sucked down another bite. "Mos'ly seem like a big arsed waste a time, ya asks me."

"what do you mean?"

"Well-- takes people as has real big fancy 'ouses--- Like at 'king' fellar, or at crazy big place packed all elbow-ta-asshole wit' peoples, Rascade..." He made a general motion with the baguette in the direction of the capital. "Why does you human-folk live like at? What ya really git from havin' a house like-at? Gotta fin' ways to convince odder humans ta live wit, and help ya keep a big arsed thang like at from fallin in on ya-- Got so many a ya all packed inta one spot, ya'all goes nuts, an' robs from each odder. Keels each odder. If ya listen ta what people says in da dark alleys and such, ain't none a ya happy 'ere-- so why does it? Make no damn sense at all." He slurped in another bite, then sucked it down. "Meh? I gots a roof o'er muh head ta keep da rain out, ain't got no nosy neighbors all up muh butt worried 'bout muh damn lawn, nor hatchin crazy idears 'bout what uh might nor might not be plannin on doin' to em --or hell, ta dere daughters-- suh many a ya human types wit' young girls think's I's gunna just grab some girl up an' drag er off wit me and has muh way wit' er or sommat-- aint like at 'tall-- Da hells wrong wit de lot a ya, thinkin' stuffs like 'at--- True, uh wants ta start a fam'ly muself sumday, but NOT LIKE 'AT! Make no damn sense at all, but ya's seem real keen I be plannin it like at-- Naw-- Insteads, I just sit at home, wonderin' how it e'en might be possible ta broach da subject wit' a girl three times muh age, and likely as not ta take offence at da mere suggestion. What a fellar ta do, eh? So, fer da mos' part, I just sticks ta muh own self-- Gots friends wit' da fores' critters an' fores' folk-- Pixies an such-- Helps muh pappi out wit' plantin' trees, and flow'rs. Nice, hones' livin."

"I had... Not even considered this." the man said, eating another bite of his soup bowl himself. "But I understand how you feel. I prefer my little shack on the end of town myself. Quiet, and cozy, and its all to myself, mostly. More so since ..." he trailed off a second. then resumed ".. Since they murdered my friend. Thank you for helping me put an end to his killers, by the way."

"Dun mention it."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Oh--- Uh-- I didn' see ya 'dere." stammered the bearman, confused where the two had come in from. "If ya got business wit' da baker, by ull means, go'on 'head! 'ere, lemme move aside."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Aww... 'ats right kind a ya, buht I cain't ask 'at a ya.. I ain't got much coin, an' nuttin' wort' keepin' come free. An' really naow, I's used ta eatin' stuff mos' folk wouldna even think could be. Tabl' scraps 's jus' fine. ... An' I still dun wanna mess up ya floor. Fur hol' more gunk 'an ya realize. imagin' de bigges' dog ya ev'r sawr all covered up in mud, an' make it as leas' five times dirtier, an 'ats what it like. Gots ta clean up af'er muh own self a' home, and knows how right shit it be ta clean up, so I'll kindly stay ou'side. I won't c'nsidr' it no offense gittin scraps either-- S'long as it a favor tuh yeh tuh be gittin' rid o' it-- Work out fine fer us both."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Well uh.... Uhm.. Mebbe not come in. I's radder durty. Bit o' a mishap wit da weader 'n all...." stammered the bear, motioning at the dirt literally clinging to him in angry pointed spikes where it had dried.

"Ain't got time fer a bath firs... so, dis'll have ta do." He made a plaintive gesture at his appearance. "Dun wanna track all 'at in."

He flicked his ears, huffed a sigh, then continued.

"Well, I dun think dey gunna be askin' fer rooms tunight. Jus' stoppin ta rest da horses, git a drink, and such. Me? I's hopin' fer kitch'n & tab'l scraps. Anuthin' ya was gonna jus' toss out--s'long as i' aint moldy er gone rancid. 'work' tuhday really took it outta me."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Cedar took the moment to get down off of the carriage, and move around. Being up there was not at all comfortable, and holding still for so long was not good for the circulation.

Discretely, he slipped away and out of sight for a few moments to deal with toileting, then returned back to the elven man's inn.

His fur and robes were still caked with mud, now crusty and dried in place and not at all suited to entering an eating establishment, so he decided to politely inquire through the door about getting any extra day-old products that they would otherwise have to just toss out.

(In his childhood growing up with his family-- such as it was-- the very idea of "extra" when it came to food was a nonsense suggestion. However, the topic had come up later in life, once his dad had decided he was old enough to go drinking with. That is to say, Any food cooked, was food that was eaten-- Even if everyone had plenty when it was prepared and brought out. Food simply did not sit around long at home-- if nothing else, his mom would habitually just claim it, and pack it away. "Saving things for later" was a thing his dad did, and only his dad did-- and that was specifically to survive the winter with. In this case, he was aware that store keepers would make a certain amount of product for casual one-off sales, many routine orders for the village residents who should come and make pickups-- usually such orders were paid in advance or had very reliable business relationships to cover them-- and most of the excess would be recycled into the next day's offerings, where possible. That said though. there were circumstances where the casual baked products just did not draw customers, and were too abundant to recycle into new products the day after. Baker and his family would either have to eat this themselves, or toss it out. He was hopeful to score some of this "extra." He was also mindful that simply asking, did not mean he would be GETTING-- an important distinction-- but you never know for sure, until you ask first.)

He wasn't picky-- but he was VERY hungry. As long as it was not covered in mold or something, it would be fine.

Dusting himself off as best he could, despite the tenaciousness of the mud, he sauntered up to the door and knocked politely.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

The elf woman, Jazdia, seemed very eager to be underway, as did the orc woman, Matilda. He himself, was also eager to be away from this place.

He hated what had happened here. He hated that he had played a significant part in the demolition of this town. In the ruining of the lives of the people here. In a more forgiving world, where there weren't madmen out to do this or worse to other towns, in other nations, all over the place-- In that more forgiving world, he would stay and put things right. He HATED leaving these people in such a bad state. While perhaps not the kind of housing they were used to, or would really find favorable, there WERE ways to get certain kinds of trees to grow and mesh together into something resembling a home using magic. He had seen the rotting remains of them in part of mystville forest, though his dad did not like to discuss where they had come from, or who had once lived there. He had not been eager to press for that knowledge either; The place reeked of old death, decay, and corruption. (the very same kinds of corruption he and his dad tended to spend most of the summer tackling together.) That by itself was not reason to have prejudice against the idea of the structures though. Here, with still a small amount of warm weather yet before all the leaves drop-- It could be managed. It would take the rest of the month most likely, but at least the people would have places to live in when the winter hit. Hell, living houses like that require less upkeep even. They just look funny.

Jazdia indicated that he should climb into the back of the carriage.

Why is it people did not understand that you can't put this kind of weight back here? Cargo goes UNDER the carriage, or ON TOP of the carriage. If he climbed on back there, it would tip the whole thing and try to lift the horses into the air.

He shook his head, then climbed up directly over the rear axle, then very slowly and very carefully spread out over the luggage rack on top. It was not very comfortable, and he was sure it looked stupid as hell, but at least he wouldn't tip the carriage over up there-- So long as he didn't move around much. He sure hoped they didnt intend to try and drive the thing at breakneck speed. He'd need to be lashed down, and he didn't like that idea at all.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

It did not take terribly long to retrace the path back to the keep. Nobody wanted to be up there, it seemed.

Incidentally, that made searching what was left of the stable an uncontested affair. Much like Jazdia predicted, the villagers were hard at work assessing their livestock and properties, and would indeed surely notice-- and care very deeply-- about somebody making off with their horses-- wounded or not.

The livery stable was a nice, but not overly elaborate 10 stall affair, with more than half of it either burned or collapsed. The charred remains of five unlucky horses graced the destroyed end of the barn, the blackened curls of bone and bits of hoof being in the first stall, and varying degrees of "cooked" in the next four.

Three of the stalls had no sign they were occupied while the structure burned-- and at the very far end, one stall was half burned, and the other collapsed when the roof caved in from the flames and the winds caught it. Two unfortunate (or very fortunate, depending on your outlook on the matter) souls were found inside. In the charred one, a badly burned blue rhone laid on its side, gasping for air. In the collapsed stall beside, a lovely chestnut with black mane and tail laid prone beneath the ridgepole that had fallen in, breathing hard but paralyzed from the injury.

"That's bad-- We should put them both down." rasped Reinhold, shaking his head at the sight. "We'd be better off trying to find the three that ran off. They shouldn't be too hard to find-- the ground's real soft. They'd be easy to track."

"Take tuh long-- ain't got da time. We gotta git while da gitt'ns good." Cedar gruffed, pawing his nose at the rank smell of burned flesh and smoke that cloyed the air where the barn used to be.

"These ones are as good as dead!" the old man countered. "hell, They could go any damn moment!"

"At means nuh-one'll miss em." responded the bear flatly

Reinhold held his hand to his head, as if Cedar had just outdone himself on saying the single dumbest thing he had ever heard that day. "How do you expect to ride a horse missing half its skin, and another with a shattered neck, and probably broken legs?"

"How duh ya es'pect ta rustle horses wit an ol' fool zapped by a crook'd ol' conjuror?" Cedar countered coarsely. "Ya fix em up fir', at's how." He moved to the burned and gasping horse, which tried to protest at his approach with fear and screaming, but was unable to rise, and instead just snorted red foam. "Dis gunna be hard-- Dey's scared outta dey're minds. Duh me a favor, an' go says nice thangs ta da brown one o'er dere. Calm 'er daown while's I work o'er 'ere--"

"You cant be.... Fine" Reinhold groaned, then crawled into the remains of the collapsed stall, before sitting on the ground next to the prone mare inside, placing his hands on it, and trying to sound reassuring. "It'll be OK pony-- The crazy talking bear over there will come spoon your butt while you try to die like a decent fella, and make you all better."

"I hearded dat...-- Ya radder still be estra crispeh roas' pork? Give at fucker da satisfaction a killin' ya AN' Ya frien', aft'r ya track em fer days on end? Die face-daown inna dirt, same as him?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"'At's what I figur'd. 'Ese 'ere horses don' wanna die neader. So we helps em. Same as you."

Reinhold gruffed, then gently patted the bay behind its ears. "Pay no attention to that crazy bear. He's nuts, and thinks he knows something."

"'Ats more like it."

Cedar laid down beside the gasping, wild eyed horse, pressing his face gently against its own, and looking straight into the eye on that side of its head, clearing his thoughts and arranging them to be easy to understand.

The horse was full of terror. Suffocating, and in unbearable pain. It did not know what had happened, or how it had been hurt like this. It wanted to escape the fire, and tried to seek shelter, but this was what it had found instead-- and now a meat eating monster had come for it, and it could not run. Terror reverberated off pain, and painted a gristly tapestry in its mind.

Cedar did his best to be a source of calmness; Soothing, reassuring, instructional.

'breathe' and 'you wont die today, if you trust.' being concepts woven into a collage of what she should expect, and what he would do next. Incredulity, and resounding terror mocked his efforts, but he held fast, and worked anyway, carefully slipping behind the horse, leaning his head over it's neck to remain in close face-touching contact, eye-to-eye.

He laid his heavy arm over the top of its neck with one arm, stroking it gently, while tugging the beast close with the other. Blue light erupted like fire over the damaged skin. The horse tensed. Nostrils flared. The eyes darted with wide whites-- all the while, the bear-man held and stroked, while breathing hard and slow, laboring under the magic.

Time passed, then the light abated. The horse made nasty faces and stuck out its tongue repeatedly, trying to get the taste of its own blood out of its mouth.

"'Eree naow..... Erre naow..." he crooned, then nuzzled the grey's head affectionately. "All be'er naow..."

He released the horse, which staggered to its feet, squealed, snorted then turned and looked at the still prostrate bear with wild, incredulous eyes, nostrils flaring at the air, tail swishing, with ears darting between being forward and back.

Cedar was tired. This was hard work, and still not done.

"You OK over there bear?"

"Mind ya own bizness, ya ol' bastard!" he crooned back. "Jus' gimme a minute. 's Hard work ya know? Go see ta da laydee o'er dere. I'sll be up in a jiffy." Cedar waved his paw irritably in the air in the general direction toward the now mended blue rhone, which now sported bright white patches where the burned flesh had been, marring its otherwise beautiful smokey coat.

"Fine, but I'm not making out with it like you did." then down at the horse he was only half-assedly trying to calm "Better watch out- he's a hugger."

"Shut the fuck up-- dunno what ya goin' on 'bout. -- Ain't inta horses."

Reinhold cackled and wheezed as he clambered up out of the ruined stall, and moved to stroke and pet the dismayed rhone, tossing its mane with his fingers, and rubbing its nose, while cedar rolled, sat up, shook his head, then tried to get into the next stall over, failed miserably, then resorted to lifting and tossing the fallen roof beam like a caber-- the old hunter laughing harder and harder the whole time.

"ya don' shutup ya gonna suck in a fly." the bear said flatly before settling into position with the next horse, and repeating the process-- Blue light blaring around the horse's crushed neck and head, along with parts of its butt and legs. The bay shrieked a dismayed whinny, snorted then bolted to its feet the instant it was able, crowding in beside its companion, nostrils blaring and tail swishing, staring at the bear in the remains of its stall.

Cedar needed a drink. Something with some alcohol in it. Maybe a nice bottom ale. Good and brown-- and a whole bowl of salted nuts. Damn that would be good.

"Dey gunna need names." he wheezed, then labored to get up onto 4 legs.

Reinhold's horse laugh paused only long enough to gasp for air, before pointing at the bay-- "Schnitzel" then at the Rhone "And extra crispy!" The old man was having a hard time keeping air in his lungs. "So..." he wheezed. "Which one you ridin?"

"SHUT UP, an' help meh git em back daown wit' da odders." cedar protested, then staggered upright, then wobbled for a second before starting a fairly brisk walk. "Ain't got all day."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Cedar did not like the situation. There were horses, but an odd number.

Maybe they were broke to pull with a lead horse? Be that as it may, there was no way they could squeeze him into that closed top carriage. He'd be sticking out both sides of the darned thing, and putting him on the back could make it tip over.

Even then, there wasn't enough room for everyone.

Then there was the old codger, Reinhold, and news of that shifty thin man with the odd speaking habits, offing himself suddenly and without warning.

There were clearly some things about full blooded humans he would never be able to understand.

He huffed, then padded over to the injured old hunter.

"Hey 'ere ol' timer... ya still alive?"

The old man gave a weary grunt and a hard stare.

"I dun unnerstan' none a dis 'revenge' business ya got, but didya git what ya came fer?'

There was a pregnant silence, then 'yes.'

"Well, ya looks like shit. I prolly don' look much better muhself, but lemme have a lookatcha."

Reinhold raised his arms feebly from where he was laying, in a laxidasitical posture that screamed 'as if I could stop you' without saying anything.

'At wizard gone an' fucked us both, looks like. I's a boney shriveled up prune, an' yas' looks n smells like roasted pork. Well, at leas' one a us kin look a sight better in a bit.. jus' try ta relax..'

The bear settled in beside the man while the others caught and harnessed the horses, essentially curling up around him like a giant dog, or maybe a cat might, gently embraced the injured man from behind, and held him close.

"I'm not into that." Gruffed the old man crossly.

It took cedar a moment to process, but then he started laughing.

"Ain't wat it looks like fellar, hones'. You jus' fucked up good. Need all muh concentration, so gotta lay down, an fer it ta work, I gotta be holdin' ya. Don' get ya panties in a twist."

weary resignation dripped from the man's hoarse voice as he sighed in resignation. "Fine-- just get it over with."

Cedar chuckled mischievously, then sucked in a deep breath, held the man close, closed his eyes, then set to work with the magic.

Blue light glimmered all over the old man's body where-ever it was visible through his charred hunting outfit, as skin regrew, and charred flesh fell away to reveal healthy skin beneath. The man tensed as the unpleasant experience washed over, around, and through him, Caught in the bizarre talking creature's grip.

several seconds passed, then the light faded.

"Wooooof... muh head's swimmin..." drawled the bear, just before Reinhold elbowed him in the ribs.

"Let me up, you." The old man protested.

"Feelin better 'en?" Asked the bear, being cheeky.

"Yeah, fine, now cut it out."

Cedar chortled, rolled to the side and raised his arm and paw to release the distressed, no longer roasted old man, who got up, then tugged and shook his clothes, sending bits of charred skin tumbling out of his shirt and pants-- which still bore the tell-tale where the wizard's magic had torn through.

Cedar sat up shortly afterward himself, taking only a few moments to shake the dizziness from his head.

"They aint enuff horses." Cedar gruffed.

Reinhold stopped to look at the carriage, and made a dour face.
"I can see that."

"Would ya lend a bear a han' in roundin' s'more up? Horses be right cowardly thangs-- less willin' ta cuddle a bear an you is ol' timer." He joked. "And from what I sees, anuh we finds gunna need it, same as yuh did."

"Do I got a choice?"

"Well... s'pose we coul' jus' stay 'ere, git caught wit' our britches down, an' killed in our sleep, but I wouldna recommend it."

The old man closed his eyes, held a hand to his head as if he had just been subjected to the dumbest thing he had ever heard, shook it off with derision, then started walking.

"Enough-- let's just go get it over with.."

"Naw 'at's da spirit!" Drawled the bear happily, as the two plodded closer to the group to announce the plan.

"Hey yo! Me an' da ol' fellar gonna go roun' up more horses. We'll be right back."