Open Chronicles More violence, less violets

[Blessed of the Forest]

Fire and ice, blade and bison – bit by bit they decimated the sprawling bits of possessed wood. It was difficult to tell if they managed to destroy all of them, but gradually the forest settled back into silence and the leaf litter on the ground grew still save for the sudden quake of a falling buffalo. Once the chaos of combat had finally settled, Tarid noticed a light at his feet.

The limb that Gromat had kicked towards him lay inert. Within the twisted, sinewy remains that might have once been the spriggan’s arm and shoulder, he could see the physical manifestation of what Josai had witnessed with her Eyes of Loch; a hardened shell – like a seed half the size of a fist – scoured by cracks emitting a soft green glow.

Not far away, Vengeful Thorns watched this all with grim fascination. From the camouflage of a pine, she had a rather poor view of the encounter’s outcome, but she saw enough. Grasping Roots had been destroyed by a group of confused mortals. Worse yet, she’d fractured herself in the process. Part of her found that amusing; Grasping Roots had always been weak. Yet part of Vengeful Thorns wanted to demonstrate for them her namesake.

She bent down to pick up a squirming thing that had emerged half-intact from a nearby tree. Glancing at the shard of Grasping Roots’s heart cradled in the remains of the spriggan’s wooden shell, Vengeful Thorns could see that it was quickly dying. Revenge would have to wait for another day if she wanted to potentially save her ‘sister’.

She paused, considering. Mother is going to be displeased, she thought. Whether or not Grasping Roots could be saved in such a state, Vengeful Thorns was eager to see what Seed Mother would do about prey that fought back.

Another day… she promised as she fled for the heart of the blighted woods.

@Gromat N'Daego @Tarid Ra’leem @Josai

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

(Gromat's axe bit into the last of the squirming plant creature fragments, it's barklike exterior giving way to split in two before his blade. After moment of surveying the surrounding area and sensing no more movement and the din of battle replaced with an eerie quiet, Gromat gestured for Thaja to return to his side. Thaja turned about to return, but not before kicking up the dirt behind her and upon the thoroughly flattened remnant of plant monster. Retrieving his bow from the nearby thicket he slowly approached some of the other participants in the skirmish, taking a moment to size them up.)

Gromat: (placing woodsman axe back upon his backpack) "Dat appears to be the last o' dem. Wit' da noise we made 'ere from sling'n ice and cleave'n wit fire blades we should pro'lly make some tracks elsewhere...and quiet like. Dun wanna be 'round for some other ichor corrupted beastie to come-a-look'n, yeah? Oh... name's Gromat. Dat dere iz Thaja."

(Gromat dusts the dirt off Thaja's brow as she stares at the other people.)

Gromat: (pointing) "I left a man fleein' from those wood horrors a hundred feet dat way. I'm prolly gonna wanna get him before I head out. Maybe once we get far enough away to make camp we can get some inklin' as t' what's goin'' on from 'im and more importantly... why. Eh?"

(Gromat awaits a response from his momentary allies, half turned to leave in the direction he pointed at.)

Blessed of the Forest Josai Tarid Ra’leem

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

Tarid hacked and slashed at all he could, bringing his sword down again and again to cleave whatever plantlife made motion. Working at a rapid pace, he continued until the forest floor was still. Uncertain whether his efforts had been to any effect, he could at least rest assured that he had tried as best he could to end the menace the spriggan had spread.

Only when there was no more motion did Tarid finally stop, panting laboured breaths with sweat dripping from his brow. After a moment of recovery from his brief but fervent exertion, he rose upright to survey his surroundings and ascertain the outcome of the conflict. Their foe appeared to be gone, for now at least.

Gromat gave commentary, and Tarid turned to hear it. He suggested a stealthy withdrawal, which seemed sensible enough. Now armed with the knowledge of what they faced, they could prepare themselves to face it and return with a plan to purge the forest of their corruption. He also introduced himself, giving his own name and that of his buffalo in accompaniment.

“I am Tarid, a squire of Anathaeum. Good to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were less dire.” He replied. Gromat shared his concerns of preparation, speaking aloud the same questions Tarid had. They knew not why the spriggan had acted so, nor why she had chosen to wreak havoc upon the forest. These were questions they would have to answer, though how to do so seemed immediately uncertain.

Gromat continued to mention a man he'd left behind, suggesting establishing camp once he'd returned to get him. Tarid gave a nod to the suggestion. It seemed apt, but the decision was ultimately one the more senior Josai ought to make. Tarid turned to hear what her answer to the notion might be.

 

[Josai]

Josai tried to bring heat back into her body with ragged breaths. Yet, each pull of her lung still bit with the cold of her false winter. Hands wrapped tight around the shaft of her spear, her arms a-tremble with shiver.

To draw on the forces of magick, so near to the balewood, so near to the blight. She didn't think it would cause such a strain on her. Yet, here she was, reduced to recovery after so few spells.

A puff of steamed breath left Josai's lips, swirling beneath the shade of her wide brimmed hat as she rest down on one knee. Her ears heard the rattle of her spear's bone charm, her hand felt the shake of the obsidian stone knock against the wood of the haft, and gentle ring of silver bell shook the fine hairs across her arms and the curls of her tresses. A hand reached down to touch the earth, and for a long moment, as Gromat and Tarid exchanged names and spoke of plans, Josai but focused on her own recovery.

Never quite warm, but cool rather than cold. Josai drew in that aspect of Loch, which dwelled beneath the earth, in between the soil and the stones, more resilient to the sudden shift in the air's freeze. It helped her cease her shivering. Helped her hand grow still and find its strength more easily.

An exhalation. Josai rose from her downed posture, and cast her eyes up to Tarid and their new companion. "I am Syr Josai, Knight Sworn of the order," she offered with a bow of her head, her spear looming tall and straight above her. Her eyes came up again, and she smiled at the orc man and his companion. "Well met, Gromat and Thaja," she nod to both in turn.

Not far from where Gromat had stricken down the baleful spriggan, Josai saw something. Her eyes narrowed, and she took striding steps toward the object, stopped before it, and saw the green light pulse through the dark, oily bark.

"Yes," she agreed to the plan proposed, and twirled her spear so that its point aimed down to the ground, and she jabbed it into the earth and traced a quick circle about it, brim-shaded eyes never breaking their gaze from the object. She spun the spear again, and its head pointed up. She extended one hand, flexing her fingers out, long and full in their extension.

She twist and contorted her elegant digits ins a series of seals, and the ring about the seed glowed with blue light. Water gathered there in the circle, as if the traced shape drew in every drop of dew the earth had drank. It filled the tiny trench and spilled, not over, but upward into a veiled sphere that surrounded the seed, engulfed it fully in orb of clear, clean water. Her hand struck into open palm, and she pushed it out with a sharp exhale. The water froze in to crystalline orb. She reached down and picked it up, examined the foul seed closely, though her own ice burned her hand. She was used to such pains.

"Before we venture too far, I must retrieve my pack," she said flatly, and moved off with ice sphere under arm, spear striding out like walking stick. She pointed with the spear head out toward the direction she had emerged from. "It's only some minutes this way," she would not let her studies go to waste.

Gromat N'Daego Tarid Ra’leem Blessed of the Forest

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

(In the middle of battle whilst one's focus is trained on his target the assistance of allies is seen but not with any scrutiny., but now that battle was over Gromat stared wide eyed at Syr Josai as she cast her ice magic. Having never seen magic aside the nature based spells his tribe's shaman used, let alone being able to witness it up close, Gromat stared slack jawed in wonderous amazement like a child seeing a snow for the first time.)

Gromat: "Whoa! Hey, how'd you do dat, Miss Joss?! What's dat thing? Does it have somethin' t' do with that ichor in dis place or somethin'? Are you gonna keep it?"

(Realizing he's begun a train of questions Gromat takes a breath a tries to regain his composure)

Gromat: (sigh) "Uh... sorry. Yeah so you go get yer pack n' I'll go bring dat sleeping man 'ere. When we leave you gotta tell me how you make ice come out from yer hands n' spear! And you too, Tarry! I wanna make a flamin' axe or somethin' like dat one day too! Come on, Thaja!"

(Gromat leaves bounding towards the thicket to return a moment later with a comatose man slung over Thaja's back. The half orc pokes the man with a stick.)

Gromat: "Dun worry, he ain't dead or anythin'. Just hungry n' tired is all. A bit o' rest an' some grub n' he'll be good as new... hopefully. Maybe?"

(Gromat pokes his body a few more times, the last time with a bit of force which causes the man to groan in pain.)

Gromat: "Probably. Welp... let's get goin' then!"

(With childish enthusiasm Gromat looks to the others for confirmation)
Tarid Ra’leem Josai Blessed of the Forest

 

[Ranvena]

It didn't take long for Josai to retrieve her pack from where she'd left it. Nestled in the embrace of a twisted pine, it had only fallen prey to the momentary curiosity of a squirrel who'd dislodged a single small bottle.

In the meantime, the survivor of the spriggans' attack awakened in a state of shock. It took a fair amount of gentle coaxing to get him back to a state of relative normalcy, but once that was done he introduced himself as Jurgon.


"I'm glad I managed to find help after all. You... you killed those monsters then? Are you Knights?" he asked one of his rescuers shakily and glanced around at the silent logging camp - the scene of the strange murders of many of his acquaintances, some of whom were still hanging in grisly cages formed of woven branches. He shook his head out of spite and sorrow.

"My home town, Wetzlar, isn't far down the road. I'll let their families know what happened here. We'll have to take these gods' damned atrocities down and give these men a proper funeral." The lumberjack closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He'd steadied himself, though his lacerated hands still had a slight tremor to them.

"I beg you, come with me. I'll see to it that you're fed and given rooms free of charge for the night. Seeing as you've rid us of this murderous scum, it's the least we can do for you!"

Jurgon turned away from the camp as if he could no longer bear to be here. The late afternoon was shining with cheerful indifference to the figures of the dead held aloft by the now blight-touched trees - the trees that were to be used for housing materials and cooking-fire wood. The trees that the lumbers had paid all the proper respects to before the camp was ever constructed. At least that's what Jurgon and his peers had believed.

Tarid Ra’leem Josai Gromat N'Daego

 

[Josai]

"Yes, Master Gromat," Josai said with a nod of her head, pausing her stride to give the valiant ox driver a nod. "I aim to keep it, and with some luck, learn of this enemy that has appeared before us," for it was not in the nature of trees and plants to grow alone. They, like many things in life, belonged to a web that connected them to kith and kin. Life that supported their life. Their existence.

Would blighted beings be any different?

Josai was not sure. Had she felt such a thing then? With the light of Loch in her eyes, and the pulse of the Wyld earth's mantle beneath their feet and all their magicks swirled about. But the way in which the spriggan had crawled and fled once it had shattered itself into pieces. It made the spear witch wonder if there were more of its kind, lurking just beyond the tree line.

It had put itself into a tree. Possessed those that were beginning to turn with blight. It was these thoughts and more that coursed through the rivers of the Sworn knight's mind. But she managed a small smile when Gromat shared his enthusiasm toward her spellcraft.

A point of the knight's pride, it did away with the dreary ruminations. "Well, you'll have to visit the Monastery in Astenvale, should you wish for such a lesson, brave axe man," she gave him a nod, and moved on toward her pack.

---

At the squat pine, Josai dug out her field pack, and spared a brief moment to lament the loss of one of her clay bottles.

"At least it wasn't glass," she comforted herself.

The knight sworn took a moment longer to properly store the ice-sealed-seed within the wooden confines of her kit. A special compartment, constructed of ebony wood, dark and lustrous, the edges of runes and sigils gleamed as day's light caught upon the grooves, and revealed the hidden reds and purples within the woods patterns. Like the other compartments, the ebon drawer was lined with a supple leather, and Josai hid away the wretched prize of their battle there in its confines, and sealed it shut.

They moved on.

---

At the lumber camp, Josai could not pry her eyes away from the swinging dead, and the torturous constructions of bale-wood that held them hanging like such strange fruit.

'You... you killed those monsters then? Are you Knights?' Jurgon asked.

Josai, beneath her wide brimmed hat, bowed her head to the man. "We are that, Jurgon, I am Syr Josai, Sworn Knight of Anathaeum," she raised her eyes and looked to him with assurance.

"We were able to fell one such creature," she inclined her head with question. "I would ask if there were more, but at this moment," she bowed her head again, this time toward those who hung in defilement from the branches of trees that grew ever more corrupt as they carried the weight of such hateful acts. "We must tend to the fallen, and see that their spirits are given proper rites." she bowed more deeply to Jorgan, and when she rose, she began to set down her kit once more. "Please, go and gather those who would help us, Tarid and I shall begin the work that must be done," she gave one last nod to the man before she walked forward, and tended to the dead, her spear's charms rattled against the black obsidian sphere though it seemed to stir and whirl about the weapons shaft, as if churning with currents unseen.

---

Tarid Ra’leem Gromat N'Daego Ranvena

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

(Gromat rode atop Thaja listening to the now awoken lumberjack give his thanks and offer to give lodging and a warm meal at his nearby village. Even as Thaja lumbered forward Gromat expertly wrote into a book with a quill, compensating for her swaying back and forth about the dangers of the place they were leaving. As he rode beside his new companions Gromat nearly fell off of Thaja upon hearing some surprising news about his new friends.)

Gromat: "What?! You're knights!? I didn't know knights use magic! Huh... I thought knights were...y'know..."

(Gromat gesticulates with his hands above his head as if trying to reach for the sky)

Gromat: "...bigger. I heard tales o' knights that'd fight off dragons and whatnot. Didn't know they'd look so... normal."

(As Gromat continued to listen to the advice of Syr Josai he considered what the large abundance of grotesque 'art' left at the grove would attract given enough time.)

Gromat: "Yeah, you're right to bury the dead. If not to jus' to be propah but also t' prevent cunnin' predators from group'n together while lookin' fer a free meal. If anyone's to do any business safely in that place, well as safely as one can, then ya can't have critters that'll be gnaw'n on men's bones be nearby. After finishin' their meal they'll likely turn on ya in a heartbeat!

I'll stay behind. I ain't got no shovel or anythin' but Thaja can dig the ground better than anyone with a tool... trust me. Isn't dat right, girl?"

(Gromat patted the Thaja's hump causing her to crane her neck up and over to regard Gromat with a snort.)
Josai Tarid Ra’leem

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

A burning axe? Why, that idea was as wild as the man who suggested it. A valuable ally, and fine and fun company, too. The notion of sharing an ale with the man over at the mess hall elated him, and his manner of speech was further endearing.

“An offer I’ll have to take you up upon Gromat, once this corruption has been dealt with. We ought to share a pitcher of ale, too!” Was Tarid's mirthful reply, proud and prideful of their victory here, beaming with motivation and belief that the battle would be but a pleasant victory.

* * *
He'd arrived to the seen in high spirits, but any cheer left him the moment he laid eyes upon the tragic sight that met them on arrival to the lumberyard. Bodies of the dead were strewn about, some still hanging. The day seemed far better, before the grim reality of Knightly duty lay apparent before him. Somber, but not discouraged.

"I beg you, come with me. Ill see to it that youre fed and given rooms free of charge for the night. Seeing as you've rid us of this murderous scum, its the least we can do for you!" Spoke the lone survivor greeting them on arrival. Jurgon departed, and Gromat graciously offered to bury the dead. Tarid expected he'd do the bulk of the work, but Jurgon deserved compassion after what he'd been through. An escort was the least of comforts he could provide.

Tarid wasn't sure what to do. He was shaken by the sights he'd seen, and without the confidence or experience to decide. Naturally, he turned to Josai for guidance. Distraught as he was, he could place trust in her to see them through the task.

“As always, I remain ready for what task you assign.” Tarid said. He expected he'd still be on digging duty. He was a squire after all. Still, he hoped he'd get to accompany Jurgon instead.

Digging was still labour, after all.

Josai Gromat N'Daego Ranvena

 

[Josai]

With Gromat's offer to put Thaja to work digging, and aiding in the burial of the bodies, Josai paused, and noted the look in Tarid's eyes, as well as the dejection in his voice.

"Have you a different, idea, Tarid?" She asked, measured, but not unkindly as she studied him with her spear still in hand. The obsidian charm that hung from its head slowed in its swaying.

Jurgon, with his head down cast, seemed to look to the road, his body tense and full of worry. And how could he not be after what he had just been through? His small, anxious movements had caught Josai's eye.

The Sworn Knight's eye returned to the squire. A heart for fire, and a rather personable young man. Josai saw in him the makings of a Dawnling. Only time would tell which side of twilight his soul would sway. And perhaps this day would tip the scales one way, rather than the other.

"I miscalculated," she admited and gave a small bow of her head. "Tarid, please accompany Jurgon back to the town, tell the people what dangers we now face, and what work must be done," she looked back to Jurgon, and bowed to him as well. "My apologies, for my calousness, Ser Jurgon, I was so worried for the needs of the dead, that I forgot those of the living," she raised up, and turned back to the work that needed doing. "Ser Gromat, please, aid me in cutting down these foul constructions, and careful of the bodies," she said, and set her spear down into the earth. A bit of wyld magick helped the shaft stand straight up and tall as the charms of bone and obsidian rattled and whirred.

Gromat N'Daego Tarid Ra’leem Ranvena

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

Gromat: "Nah, I'm not much of a drinker myself, but if y'know 'bout any places dat serve somethin' decent t' eat then let me know, Tarry!~"

(Enthusiastically patting his stomach, Gromat let out a hearty laugh before attentions shifted to the grim task at hand. Syr Josai had tasked Tarid with escorting the Lumberjack back while she, Thaja and Gromat set to digging and cutting down the grim totems erected nearby. Thaja needed little instruction and got straight to work, her massive hooves scooping up and throwing back dirt with enthusiasm while Gromat took out his axe and cut down the bodies swaying from the branches overhead.)

Gromat: (Sneer) "Nasty stuff. Ain't no one deserve dis."

(Each body had been twisted into position and held in place by branches and vines, some soft, some firm, but most covered in wicked briars and thorns. Upon close inspection this made their bodies appear somewhat similar to common poses seen in sculptures as though this were some grotesque upside down art exhibit. To make matters worse the facial position of each person was frozen via rigor mortis with eyes wide and mouth agape as though mid scream... small pin pricks upon the face and excess skin pulled near them proof of arboreal meddling having to do with their macabre post mortem visage.)

Gromat: "Ngh, think dats de last one."

(After about seventeen minutes Gromat cut down the last one, dragging him back to a clearing where Thaja continued to busy herself making several deep holes in the ground. In the latest, her upper half laid half hidden beneath the surface as a shower of dirt flew backwards from beneath her!)

Gromat: "Hoi, Thaja! You go any deeper 'n you'll find some dwarves stare'n up at you!"

(Upon saying this the shower of earth stopped behind Thaja who poked her head up from the pit she was in before braying loudly back at Gromat. He then looked around to find Syr Josai.)

Gromat: "How're y' hold'n up?"
Josai Tarid Ra’leem Ranvena

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

"Nah, I'm not much of a drink'r myself, but if y'know 'bout any places dat serve somethin' decent t' eat then let me know, Tarry!~" Spoke Gromat.

“Likewise, a lot of the food here is so bland. Bhathairk is great, lots of properly spiced food there. We'll share a meal.” Tarid replied. Bhathairk seemes suitable. It was nearby, and a plethora of cuisine could be found within. Plenty of imported spices could be found there too, and Tarid took regular trips to restock on the spices he used to properly season the dining hall food.

---

Have you a different, idea, Tarid? Josai asked, and Tarid delivered his earnest answer.

“If I may accompany Jurgon and help him deliver the news? He's surely been through much.” Tarid replied, making his offer clear. He felt himself suited to the task, and it was the least he could do. Anyone who suffered something such as he had seen surely deserved it.

"I miscalculated, Tarid, please accompany Jurgon back to the town, tell the people what dangers we now face, and what work must be done," Helena replied, and it was a hope answered that he could poor Jurgon on his way back. The horrors he had seen were disquieting, and the chance to do some immediate good to one who deserved it provided some relief. To give the man company and ease his soul was something he could provide. Delivering the dreadful news would not be any easier than burying the dead, and Tarid did not look forward to the task. But it had to be done, and it was good that Jurgon would not be alone in delivering it. The man surely deserved respite after what he'd been through.

“I'll return with you, Jurgon! Speak what grief you wish on our journey, I'll listen to all you care to say.” Tarid called out, stepping hastily towards Jurgon who was already on his way, unable to bear the presence of the grim scene he left behind.

Josai Gromat N'Daego Ranvena

 

[Ranvena]

Jurgon led Tarid along a wide, cart-rutted road that cut neatly through the forest for a few miles until they reached Wetzlar. Along the way Jurgon told him about the ambush on the logging camp, sometimes with tears in his eyes and at other times with stony, haunted stares out into the surrounding woods.

"My team and I were getting to work when that pair of monsters came out of nowhere, cackling like mad witches as they attacked us. They laughed while tormenting those folk, while sending some of us running into the woods like foxes before hounds; like it was all a game to them! Stringing up my neighbors like-" he stopped to brace himself with an angry shake of his head.

"You know, I've heard the tales of the Valenwood since I was a lad. The scary creatures said to prowl around the deepest woods, the blight... it's one thing to hear the stories. It's another thing altogether to live through them."

Birds sang a dirge from somewhere in the trees as the slowly sinking afternoon sun drew the shadows ever longer; shadows that Jurgon would occasionally glare at with deep suspicion. But with his story told, the logger kept his thoughts close to him until they reached his village, though he'd respond to anything Tarid would say with terse but honest answers.

Wetzlar was a compact village, built similar to the style of many settlements within the Valenwood - with as little impact on the surrounding ecology as possible. Houses of stone and wood and were built upwards and close together with small paths linking them to common areas. Most of the homes were surrounded with trees and shrubs kept tidy by industrious hands. It gave the illusion that the buildings simply melded into the greenery.

There was only one main road that ended at a larger building that probably served as a town hall. This was where Jurgon went first.

"Before we do anything, I think we need to tell the town council," Jurgon explained with a resigned sigh. He knocked on the building's large door, which had a hound carved on it. After a few moments, they could hear shuffling from the other side as someone meddled with a lock.

With some effort, an old woman with soft features shakily opened the door. Jurgon caught the door and held it open for her.


"Yes? How can I help you?" she asked with a friendly, if not slightly confused, smile before she saw who was at the door.

"Marina! Please call the council immediately. It's an emergency," Jurgon said urgently. The old woman frowned and looked at his wounded hands.

"Jurgon! What has happened to you?"

"Please, we must speak with the council."

"Come in, come in!" she backed away from the door and beckoned for them to enter. "I'll go get Sten and the doctor for you."

The interior of the town hall looked to be more of a public gathering place. A wide stone hearth took up the center of the room, its edges surrounded by benches for at least twenty people. A long table adorned with one brass candleabra occupied the far end of the open chamber.

The hearth held some smoldering embers that radiated a gentle heat - all that was needed on a rather warm autumn day. Jurgon sat down on one of the benches, though his boots twitched as if his feet were loathe to sit still after wading through so much tragedy in one day. Marina brought them some chamomile tea.

One by one, the town council assembled in the hall. First came a portly and bespectacled young man who looked every bit like a clerk who took his job very seriously. Then came the doctor with his medical kit. The clerk introduced himself to Tarid as Sten, and got right to the business of interrogating both him and Jurgon about the attack as if he fancied himself to be a detective. He was quickly interrupted by Marina, who insisted that he wait until everyone had gathered before asking questions.

Six more people showed up in a hurry, all humans but a mix of ages between maybe nineteen or twenty and Marina's age. Once brief introductions had been made, the council invited Tarid and Jurgon to the large table to tell their accounts of what had befallen the logging camp.

Silence fell over the room as the men told them of their experiences with the spriggans. Grief, rage and helplessness circled the room like vultures, diving down now and again to peck at the expressions of the group.

"We've always been staunch supporters of the Knights of Anathaeum," Sten said matter-of-factly at the mention of the Knights' involvement, and several times afterwards in the course of the meeting.

It is said that tragedies have a power to unite former enemies - even politicians, from time to time. To the credit of these office holders, they quickly and efficiently formed a plan of action. All work was to be suspended to allow able-bodied volunteers to help with however much of the burial efforts remained, and to allow friends and family of the deceased to hold a vigil. Undoubtedly, they would also be motivated to meet those who had put an end to at least one calamity. The matter of the threat behind it, they agreed, was a topic for a later session; one they made clear they hoped the other Knights would attend.

"I hope your friends will join us. In the meantime, my home is your home... as long as you don't mind the little ones bothering you a bit. My boys have heard too many stories of brave heroes with swords," Jurgon said with a faint chuckle to Tarid after the meeting adjourned. "Of course, I'm sure my wife will insist you stay for supper. Speaking of which, I had better go see her before word gets around of what happened - if it hasn't already. You're welcome to join me, although you may want to wait a bit... unless you are keen on hearing a lady saying some very unlady-like words."

With that, Jurgon held out his bandaged hand to shake Tarid's, gave a nod of respect and left. Several of the council took their leave with him, except for a couple who were huddled in a secondary meeting of their own. Standing to one side, Sten was giving Tarid a very political smile.

----------------------
​

The road between Wetzlar and the lumber camp was filled with a chorus of voices raised in sorrowful song and weeping. It appeared a bleak pilgrimage as young and old trudged along, adults out front wielding shovels and picks, elders bearing candles yet unlit, mothers carrying babies or holding the hands of older children. The villagers carried offerings of bottled spirits and food for both the dead and the Knights who had stayed behind to look after their burial; and all along the way they sang:

Cloak of mist hath passed away,
Sweetheart mine,
Which has veiled the heights all day,
Sweetheart mine,
See, the sun shines clear and bright,
Gilding all the hills with light,
To the arbour let us go,
Closely clinging, sweetheart mine.

But winter soon will be,
Sweetheart mine,
Lone and drear, bereft of thee,
Sweetheart mine,
I shall hear thy voice no more,
Never see thee cross the moor,
With thy pail at morn or eve
Tripping gaily, sweetheart mine.

Tarid Ra’leem Gromat N'Daego Josai

 

[Josai]

It was hard work. Preparing the bodies. Dressing them as best she could so that when those who loved them finally came to see what had become of them, there might be a chance for peace. Not now. Not so near to the loss. Raw and visceral as it was. But in time. As the stars burned and moons went on with their cycles. In time, what she did now might make a difference for the people of Wetzlar.

It was grim work. Hard work. Crushing. But she had been taught of the Pursuit of Death. Little still, but her obsidian charm was proof of her knowledge. The endurance it demanded. The frailty it inspired. A black pitch that consumed all, of that there was no denying. But like the cedar tree from which her spear's shaft was hewn, life came again. Fed from that depth. Given gifts no light could provide. So she readied the graves, and made ready those taken from the land of the living by vengeful thorns and grasping roots.

She loomed over one grave, and looked down at the young man who lay dead within. Her hand moved carefully, and she placed two dark stones upon his closed eyes. They were wards, runes of hallowed death marked upon them, so that the dark energies of blight and necromancy would not take these souls unwilling. Without rite and proper bargain.

She whispered words of life to the spirit that still loomed after such horror. Trapped by the raw hate and all it defiled in those who had lost their lives. So that it may remember the good still left within the realm of the living. So that it may find peace in the echo of its past. Its memory.

Go now, dear farer, across the midnight sea,
To what may come upon the lightless be,
To what star may find you, bright,
Go now, dear farer, sure
Breath taken, life drawn and full,
Go now, dear farer, upon thine voyage new,
To what truth doth come, overflown
When all joins mornings' dew,

The rustling steps of Gromat raised Josai from her twilight cant. Her breath filled her lungs, and she stood, and turned to face the brave adventurer, who dared so much and more. She nod to him, solemn. "There is much yet to do, Ser Gromat, and I the only who can tend to much of it," she moved to her traveling pack, the fine wooden box she took such care in stocking. "However," she said as she opened up one of the containers, revealed a clay jar, corked. Within it were fungul spores of the nymphaeus shroom. "If you could spread this around the graves... I would be wholly grateful," she said with a bow of her head. "You've done so much for us already, Ser Gromat," she said with wistful smile.

The voices of the villagers carried from on in the distance, and grew louder and more sorrowful with each moment that passed. They would help her ward the land, and plant the seeds for the Sentinel Growths, those trees that marked the fallen, and watched over the land and their spirits. Fir, Yew, and Cedar. Truth, Death, and Life.

Josai would hear them, as best she could, and aid their rites, as only a Sworn of Anathaeum, versed in the Pursuit of Death, could.

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

Gromat: "Yeah. Sure.

(After taking the contianer in hand he opened it which revealed what looked to him like... sand. Very fine greyish sand. Cocking an eyebrow he walked over to the closest graves and began throwing pinches of the dust within the shallow pits uncerimoniously much like a farmer throwing chicken feed. He knew not the purpose of the dust or it's importance, just that this was important to those around him and that was enough of a reason for him. Thaja followed behind as quietly as she could curiously inspecting the container in Gromat's hand. She opens her mouth and extends her tongue near the container...)

Gromat: "No, Thaja! No. Dis not for you! Not food to eat!"

(...before Gromat jerks it away from her face. The bison brays stubbornly and begins to circle around him to get at the container while Gromat pivots around to place his chest between Thaja and it.)

Gromat: "Thaja, stay! Stay! We'll eat later. Stay now, eat later, ok? If you don't stay then... no carrots when we next go to city!"

(Thaja's eyes go wide and she immediately stops circling around Gromat. She snorts heavily but stops nudging and advancing on Gromat who is left to finish spreading the 'dust' on the remainder of the graves before hearing a soft murmur behind him, faint at first but growing in volume as it neared. It would seem a slow procession of villagers was approaching, some young, some old, few able bodied and armed. This worried Gromat as the mound of corpses was a pungent lure for scavengers, experience telling him they could grow unusually bold around the large amount of potential food.

Thaja shook the dirt from her fur and pawed the ground nervously, head dipped low and ready to charge. Gromat put an arm around her fuzzy head and pulled her close to him, rubbing her cheek to calm her down. Thaja was bold, unusually so against bigger foes, however against large amounts of people she became very timid to the point where it was hard for her to take instructions well. He had learned this the hard way the first time they visited a city. With his other arm he handed the container back to Syr Josai.)

Gromat: "Finished sprinkling the pits. Here. I think there's some left over too. These friends o' the lumberjack? Dey don't 'ave weapons n' don't move very fast. Best t' bury their kin quick 'fore nasty scavs show up. We take to long... n' I'm 'fraid we'll have 'nother fight on our hands."
Josai Tarid Ra’leem Murk Altov

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

Tarid listened as Jurgon told his tale of sorrow, one that he had just laid regretful witness upon. Of a day that began much as any other, only to be cruelly interrupted by the unexpected assault on the spriggans. Once surrounded by friends, Jurgon recounted his tale alone to Tarid, who had hung onto every word.

“Such vile cruelty, my deepest condolences. We will do all we can to contain this evil, lest others suffer it. We will do whatever we must.” Tarid affirmed. Though but a squire, his faith in the order instilled confidence in his words. He’d not have joined the Knights, were they the sort to sit idle in the face of such malevolence.

"You know, I've heard the tales of the Valenwood since I was a lad. The scary creatures said to prowl around the deepest woods, the blight... it's one thing to hear the stories. It's another thing altogether to live through them." Spoke Jurgon.

“Truly, it would have been better for such a terrible fable to remain unverified.” He remarked. Still the offered information could provide a hint that was otherwise missing. What was happening seemed clear enough, but the cause for the calamity continued to evade him. Tarid hoped there might be one suggested by what legends could be recalled.

“How old are the tales? Does anything hint towards the cause?” Tarid asked resectfully. He didn’t wish to harangue Jurgon with further questions for the time being. Whatever response he received was terse, and after receiving his answers Tarid likewise fell silent. He might ask the villagers more upon meeting them. Jurgon appeared he could use the walk to recover from the terror experienced. After a short travel, the two had arrived at his village of Weltzar.

“Before we do anything, I think we need to tell the town council,” Jurgon stated, and Tarid returned a nod. The old lady who answered the door responded with suitable shock at the sight, but proceeded to gather the council and medical aid immediately afterwards. Tarid took a seat on the bench and awaited the arrival of others. This would be dreadful news to share, but lives were dependant upon it.

“Thank you.” He spoke once handed his tea, taking small sips from it until he was interrupted by a clerk by the name of Sten who had a plethora of questions for them. Tarid began to answer them with as much detail as he could, before Marina put a pause on their conversation and left Tarid sheepishly silent. Tarid continued to sip his tea as more and more of the summoned council made their way into the building.

Finally, it was time to tell of their account, and Tarid did his best to answer as completely as he could alongside Jurgon, which was received with appropriate shock, grief, and infuriation. It was a terrible tragedy that they;d arrived to announce, one that surely shook the small and quiet village. Doubtful they were even the least bit prepared for such a disaster, though the Knights of Anathaeum remained ready to combat the threat.

"We've always been staunch supporters of the Knights of Anathaeum," Sten remarked.

“On this day, we arrive in support of you. We shall put and end to this wickedness.” Tarid affirmed, with determination in his tone.

"I hope your friends will join us. In the meantime, my home is your home... as long as you don't mind the little ones bothering you a bit. My boys have heard too many stories of brave heroes with swords," Jurgon announced. "Of course, I'm sure my wife will insist you stay for supper. Speaking of which, I had better go see her before word gets around of what happened - if it hasn't already. You're welcome to join me, although you may want to wait a bit... unless you are keen on hearing a lady saying some very unlady-like words."

“I've no doubt they will. And that's hardly a worry. My ears can handle it, I'm sure.” Tarid replied, reaching out to shake his hand before exchanging a look of affirmation with Sten. The situation was grim, but at least the Knights had arrived to help. In this, Tarid found purpose.

It was among the primary reasons he had joined.

Gromat N'Daego Josai Ranvena

 

[Ranvena]

It soon became clear that it wasn't a fight that the crowd approaching Josai and Gromat was looking for. Two of the young women broke away from the procession and came to meet them with baskets of food and bottles in their arms. The lacy leaves of carrots drooped over the side of one of them.

"We are the villagers of Wetzlar, come to mourn our dead, and we are told you are the heroes who have given them justice," the shorter of the two said, her voice breaking as her gaze wandered over the mounds of fresh dirt where graves had been dug. "Please accept this as a token of our gratitude!" She would attempt to hand off her basket to Josai, though she turned around without another word as her composure and her expression crumpled back into mourning.

"We shall hold a celebration in your honor this night. We hope that you will attend as our guests," her taller peer finished and tried to hand the second basket to Gromat with a curious, if not cautious, glance at his companion.

The rest of the crowd had meanwhile broken up into groups: the young men helping to bury the last of the bodies, the women crumbling bread and pouring wine near the graves in some form of offering, the elders lighting candles and singing words of lamentation for those lost. Blissfully unaware of the nature of the gathering, some of the younger boys and girls had managed to slip the watchful eyes of their families. They were playing with sticks and leaves nearby.

A boy and a girl, the girl about 5 years old and the boy maybe a few years older, came up to Gromat with a couple of willow branches over their shoulders and unabashed wonder painted on their round faces.

"That's a big ox!" the girl exclaimed with big eyes. "Can I pet him?"

"I bet it'll bite your hand clean off!" said the boy with a smirk. "Hey mister, why are you green? Do you eat lots of cabbage?"

"It's gooseberries 'at turn you green!" the girl retorted confidently.

"Nuh uh, it's cabbage!"

"Gooseberries...!"

------------------​

About an hour ago, when Jurgon and Tarid had still been on the road, Jurgon thought hard on the answer to the squire's question.

“How old are the tales? Does anything hint towards the cause?” Tarid asked.

"Those stories are older than me, I'd wager," he replied after a long pause, his gaze set stoically on the road before them. "Most of them are just the usual sort to scare children away from dangerous places; some are the old fables, you know, warnings against fools who disrespect the Woods. There's tales of monsters, too..." He trailed off, his brow furrowed as he seemed to have some sort of silent argument with himself.

"Ilse would probably know something. She has a bit of an obsession with those sorts of stories but-" he sighed. "She's ornery and gone a bit daft since her papa died. Don't know if you could really take anything she tells you as more than fairy tales... if you could get her to tell you anything at all."

Jurgon thought back to that conversation with some regret once their meeting with the council had adjourned. Surely, the Knights of Anathaeum had better resources at their disposal than the ravings of a bitter hermit.

Tarid's proclamation of support from the Knights had bolstered their spirits immensely, Jurgon not least of all. He sincerely hoped that was enough to ward him from the storm that he knew was coming from his wife later. No, he knew that not all the knights in the land would spare him from her wrath and worry.

Josai Gromat N'Daego Tarid Ra’leem

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

It seemed the tales were as likely to be fiction as they were to carry any accuracy. It wasn't uncommon for communities to form their own fables for some ulterior purpose. Commonly to keep folks from places or activities, exactly as Jurgon described. From Jurgon's expression at the conclusion of his answer, he held the same concerns as Tarid. He spoke nothing on the matter however, but referred him to a woman who neither seemed as reliable as the lore he'd been given.

“Well, I see no harm in trying, though I doubt it could be considered reliable, as you say. Still, better to know than not know. It might be useful to learn.” Tarid replied. Even unreliable fables was something, and Tarid hardly knew much about Weltzar. Given the catastrophe he had just witnessed, learning had become of high importance. The more he knew, the better – and Ilse was an immediately accessible source of potential wisdom.

“I'll not place any true weight upon her words, but...could you tell me where to find her?” Tarid inquired.

Ranvena Gromat N'Daego Josai

 

[Josai]

Josai remained steely eyed, her expression calm as she took the gift the villagers had given her in offering, a gentle bow of her head. She represented something more than a single knight in this moment. Sworn Knight of the Order. She represented her kith and kin. Sworn brothers and sisters. The Knights of Anathaeum and how they carried themselves in the lands beyond their monastery.

She removed her proud wide-brimmed hat, and let it rest upon her back, letting her sweat matted curls, dark as blackberries, fall loose from its binding.

"On behalf of our Order, I thank you for these gifts, good people of Wetzlar," she said in solemn tone. Voice as warm and firm as the walls of a strong shelter amidst a cold and dreary winter. Earthen and sunbaked stone. "To find the strength and poise to give, amidst such tragedy," she added with another bow of her head in respect to those lost to the wrathful spriggans. "Its a testament to your enduring strength, and the warmth of your burning spirits," she too wanted to weep. To mourn. But she knew that amidst such sorrow. The grieving needed refuge. Needed something to dampen the harsh blows of the mournful winds. Her hurts, were not so deep as theirs. Her hurts, did not come from the loss of kin, lover, and kith.

She was but a visitor to this place. A distant stone, upon which the waves of their sorrows crashed.

"Celebrate, not to honor us, who but do as duty demands, as the old oaths and honored vows hold, but to celebrate that life shared with those who have passed on beyond the great sea of waking day, and into the cold peace of slumbering night," she knocked her staff against the earth, and the silver bell tied to its blue string did chime against the obsidian sphere bound by ebon twine.

She would hold rites, and give rites to those who needed. For she saw the need for ritual. The demand for structure. If only to hold together those who suffered so deeply. If only to aide them on to the next steps that came after such loss. Such a thing that none could ever truly be prepared to face.

She only hoped, her words would be enough. To ease. To comfort. To help.

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

(Watching silently from the side, Gromat and Thaja saw the humans arrive and give their token of thanks.)

Gromat: "Aw thanks. You didn't have to do that."

(Upon seeing what the gift was Thaja's eyes grew wide, pupils fixed upon the basket, already her hooves slowly stepping forward towards the human holding the basket filled with... carrots.)

Gromat: "Carrots? Oh...oh no. No Thaja, no!"

(But by then it was too late. Gromat's words might as well have sounded like a far off, barely perceivable noise to Thaja as her eyes remained fixed upon the attention consuming, orange majesty of the carrots. Even with Gromat placing himself before her and leaning upon her head with his body, she began to slowly push him back and take slow steps towards the human peasant holding the basket.

As the peasant woman took a step back unsure of the intentions of the beast before her, and Gromat quickly seeing the situation slowly growing out of hand he took a step aside as Thaja closed in on the basket and unlike his usual interaction with the animal began to bark orders with much intimidation!)

Gromat: "Thaja... away! Away!"

(Thaja stopped her advance, hooves rooted to the floor but her eyes remained fixed upon the basket, the peasant now realizing what the beast wanted moved the basket left and right and simultaneously Thaja's large head followed it side to side drooling all the while.)

Gromat: (pointing back) "Away. Stay away!

(With what must've been a monumental amount of restraint Thaja slowly and reluctantly took a step back, then another, her eyes still transfixed upon the basket, before eventually laying down. Sighing deeply Gromat then pats Thaja on the head before turning to face the peasant woman.)

Gromat: "Sorry 'bout that. She gets like this around her favorite foods. We appreciate it."

(Thaja watches as Gromat takes the basket, snorting audibly with much frustration. Growing hungrier by the minute but her trust in her friend surpassing her instincts... she lowers her head in resignation hoping Gromat will let her have some carrots later. Gromat watched as Tarid and Syr Josai talked with the villagers about knightly duties and responsibily. Such concepts were somewhat alien to Gromat but he saw the benefit of simply helping people who needed it. Where he came from aiding the tribe was everything and everyone else came second. If poised with the choice where he could only help his tribe or a stranger... the tribe came first. He silently wondered if these knights would but duty above family or friends?

It was at this time he noticed a little girl with a bundle of willow branches on her shoulder stare at Thaja with childish wonderment. Hearing her mates and her go back and forth about him and Thaja, Gromat replied to inform them about their species as the little ones mistakenly called Thaja an ox, and him a 'green man who perhaps ate too much cabbage.')

Gromat: "Hm? An Ox? No. This is Thaja. She's not an ox. She's a bison! Comes from da north, cold country. Has more fat and fur to live in the cold comfortably. And what's dis 'bout cabbages n' gooseberries? Ya never seen an orc before? Orcs are like you humans but are biggah, strongah, an' come wit' extra teef point'n out from their mouf, see?"

(Gromat smiles and pulls on his cheek to show his two small tusks curving up from his jaw.)

Gromat: (mischieviously) "I'm only part orc so my extra teef, called tusks, are a bit on da small side, but they're jus' enough to gobble up a bunch o bad little kiddies! You aren't bad kiddies are you?"

(The kids gasp in shock and shake their heads vehemently)

Gromat: "Oh, then good! I guess you're safe!"

(The kids sigh in relief)

Gromat: "I'm jus' kiddin' wit' ya, orcs don't eat people. Now orcs get a bad rep for bein' big, angry monstahs and the like but that ain't right. We're no different than you lot. Sure we look different outside but inside we're da same. We love our family and friends just like you and get sad when they leave us just like you."

(Gromat gestures at some peasants burying their dead while others nearby weep at the loss of their kin. Meanwhile Thaja's eyes still remain transfixed upon the basket at Gromat's feet all the while as a small puddle of drool seems to be growing on the floor under her head.)

Tarid Ra’leem Josai Ranvena

 

[Ranvena]

Jurgon nodded to Tarid. “Ilse lives in a cottage just north of town. I can take you there, if you want to speak with her; but I don’t think she’ll be back until tomorrow. She usually goes to Falgl, the next town over, once every couple of weeks. Couldn’t tell you why.”

The lumberjack turned and pointed towards a cluster of squat houses built within a grove of large trees. “My house is there – the cottage closest to the well. It’s not much, but you’re always welcome there.” He took a moment to look over his home and ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a heavy sigh.

“Now to go explain things to my lady dearest…” He said it with a soft smile. After everything he’d lived through today, he felt blessed to be back to hear her sweet voice scolding him.

-------------------------​

Beneath the canopies of trees splintered from battle and scarred with tendrils of blight, the world began to float onward again like a toy boat caught in a stream. The young imagined that their world had not changed; that the fallen would simply return home for supper as they always did. The older foresaw their loved ones’ spirits entwined harmoniously with the trees whose seeds they’d planted here. Forever a place the little ones could feel safe beneath the loving boughs of their ancestors. Much more work would need to be done to prevent the spread of this new infection the monsters had brought with them – toil for another day.

Not a breeze stirred the leaves. It was as if the entire forest was holding a respectful silence for the blood spilled in this man-made meadow. Once all of the dead had been buried and given their final rites, the villagers followed the road home, where celebration would lighten the weight of sorrow.

Gromat and Josai might have been covered in flowers, but lacking any they were peppered instead with curiosity. Questions about the mysterious and storied order to which Josai belonged. Queries regarding where the half-orc hunter and his exotic companion had come from. All in good spirit and nature, as much to let the past flow away into memory as to build the legend of those who may well have saved their entire village from the blightspawns’ wrath.

The sky bled brilliant orange as the sun dipped towards the horizon and its warmth fled into the shadows of the woods. The fading rays alighted briefly on the structures of Wetzlar village; on the two-story longhouse covered in moss and vines that was more-or-less central in an abstract town square.

A somewhat heavy-set young man with spectacles escorted an old woman out of this building. Bracing herself on a walking stick, the old woman made her way slowly out to meet Josai and Gromat. She gave the newcomers a warm smile, but did a double-take when Thaja came walking in with Gromat.

“Kittens’ britches! What in the world is that?” the old woman exclaimed as she gawked at Thaja.

The young man beside her adjusted his spectacles and replied, “I believe that is what in the northern realms is called a ‘bison’.”

The young man turned his attention back to Gromat and Josai with a very well-practiced smile. “I assume you are the ones who came to the aid of our lumber camp when it was under attack. You are most welcome in Wetzlar. I am Sten, this is Marina. We represent the town council.

“One of your friends, Tarid, was kind enough to meet with us and give us his account of the attack. We’re still trying to figure out the nature of out attackers. Perhaps you would be willing to give us your own opinions of what we are dealing with?”

“Always to the point,” Marina muttered and shook her head. “Sten, your questions will wait until tomorrow. There has been too much to think about today. Too much.”

Sten opened his mouth to say something, but looking between the weary heroes and the crowd of villagers giving him a unified stare of agreement, he wisely closed it again.

“I’ll give ‘em a place to sleep and bathe, if they wish to stay the night.” A short man with a white beret came forward and tipped his hat to Josai and Gromat in greeting.
“I even have a barn for your beast – warm and dry as long as she don’t mind horses.”

Gromat N'Daego Tarid Ra’leem Josai

 

[Gromat N'Daego]

(Gromat turned away from the children towards the young man who now addressed him, Sten.)

Gromat: (sheepishly) "Naw, I was jus' in da right place at the right time is all. Nice t' meet cha, Sten. Marina. Tarry talked t' ya already, huh? That's good."

(As he continued to listen to Sten and Marina a short man withh a white beret came forward offering a place to sleep and bathe.)

Gromat: (smiling) "Much appreciated."

(Gromat stepped over and patted the flank of the bison at his feet which still had it's eyes fixated at the basket of carrots in his hands.)

Gromat: "Oh yeah, Thaja don't sleep so well when I'm gone. Worries 'erself t' death. So if ya don't mind I'll stay in the barn wit' 'er. I'm used to sleepin' on the ground and this time I'll have straw under me for a change so it's a step up in comfort."

(Gromat looks down at Thaja then groans and rolls his eyes before taking three carrots out from the basket. Thaja's ears perk up as her eyes now follows his hands.)

Gromat: (annoyed) "Ugh, fine! Here!"

(As soon as he drops them to the ground Thaja reaches out and bites into them. Her eyes close, ears flick up and down and snorts periodically as she savors the sweet orange roots as if nothing else in the world mattered.)

Gromat: (scowling) "Ya make it look like I don' feed ya or somethin'! Sorry 'bout that. Jus' gimme one moment and I'll follow ya to uh... what was it again? Wetzlar? This'll only take a sec."

(Gromat surveyed the nearby flora and spotted the most sickly looking tree whose branches were both gnarled and oddly jagged and bark dark and mottled. Reached for his axe he chopped two deep gouges head level into the tree which quickly began to seep with the same black ichor he witnessed much earlier. He grunted in both satisfaction and affirmation to his theory on the telltale signs of the locale's unique corruption.

Reaching for a dry twig on the ground which was forked he then began to cut off the protruding sections till he formed a "Y" shape. Inserting the bottom end of the "Y" into the gouge on the tree made the inchor flow down the branch to the path on the "Y" facing the ground while he held the other section of the branch up and outwards. This kept his hands clean of ichor but directed the flow into the vial he produced with his left hand. Within the span of a few minutes he held a full vial of the corruption liquid and tossed the dirty twig to the ground before carefully corking the vial and placing it within his pack.)

Gromat: "Ok. Ready?"

(Gromat looks towards Sten, Marina and Syr Josai.)

Tarid Ra’leem Josai Ranvena

 

[Tarid Ra’leem]

It was a small disappointment that she wasn't immediately available. Tarid wondered whether the meeting would be worth the wait, given the doubt Jurgon placed in Ilse's wisdom. But it was the only lead that Tarid was aware of. Better to pursue questionable information, than to investigate nothing. On the grand scale of things, a single day was hardly much delay.

“I see. Well, perhaps tomorrow then? I’m not sure what she might have to say, but it seems fair to check. I’ve little clue of the legends and lore of your lands.” Tarid remarked in earnest statement. It was an accurate appraisal of his awareness. He truly knew little of those malicious spriggans, aside from their hostility and presence in the forest. He wondered if Josai had found anything further on the matter.

“I appreciate your hospitality.” Tarid replied with a nod. “And it is plenty – the home you’ve lived in and worked on all these years.” Tarid added. His own upbringing was rather meagre too, raised a peasant of Amol-Kalit before his encounter with and subsequent enlistment in the Knights of Anathaeum. Ever humble, he’d not forget his roots.

“And the meal as well. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” The ordeals of the day had left him famished, and whatever meal awaited him would be a delicious feast. Trailing behind Jurgon, Tarid followed him to his humble abode.

Josai Gromat N'Daego Ranvena

 

[Josai]

Kind greetings would be accepted, and the warm welcomes returned, when come Sten and Marina, she listened, heeding the elder and the younger in turn. The matter was settled without her interjection, the people wished to heal. Wished to try and take that first step away from horror and grief. However they could.

Another kind offer, shelter for Thaja. "Thank you, good people of Wetzlar, your generosity shall be remembered,"

Josai would give Gromat an approving nod for his quick action collecting the sample. A scholar, as well as a warrior, some part of her mind would remember. She followed the villagers, fielding questions as they came.

Syr Josai.

A witch of the Dusk, Sworn to the Order.

Astenvale, near the Monastery.

Many a thing.

No they could not wear her hat.

No they could not look inside the wooden box.

Absolutely not, they could not hold her spear.

No they could not have their minds read just for the fun of it.

She understood that grief took many forms. And she understood that, without her counterpart present, the Dawn Knight meant to accompany each Knight of Dusk, it was up to her to tend to the grief of they in mourning. And a bit of merriment. A bit of song. It did wonders for the weary heart. It mended the tattered fabrics of the soul. Josai smiled, a curl of the lips that seemed to hold the warmth of the setting sun. While her mind turned in the darkness of the coming night.

What had become of Syr Tarlogh.

Likely dead. Her logical mind stabbed forward.

Yes. He was likely that. But she could not grieve, she could not panic. The people needed something more than her grief. Something to hold onto through this dark hour. So she would sit at the table. Somber smile worn well, laughter shared, tale given.

When chance came, and time had been given, she would rise and find Sten. "I can tell you what I know," she said, for the burden of knowledge was great, and she too needed some ease.

---

Ranvena Tarid Ra’leem Gromat N'Daego

 

[Ranvena]

Gromat and Josai settled into their cosy lodgings:

The man who'd offered them a play to stay introduced himself as Collin. He was a friendly sort, though he lived alone on a few acres of land east of town where he took care of an old hunting lodge. Once Thaja had been settled in the largest stall of the barn with fresh hay and water - plus extra straw and a blanket for Gromat's comfort - he took them inside for a tour.

All of the rooms on the first floor met in a spacious trophy room that still had a few mounts on the walls, namely a ten-pronged elk that spread its captured antlers majestically over a stone hearth. Carved wooden chairs were arranged in a semi-circle around the fireplace.

"The big beasts the nobles used to come out here to hunt are gone now, but I still hire myself out as a guide every now and again. Hence the horses," Collin explained. There were rooms aplenty, and he told Josai to pick whichever pleased her except for the one upstairs that served as his living space.

"Kitchen yonder," he said, pointing down a small side hallway. "You're welcome to whatever's in the pantry, though it sounds like your supper is covered by the Council tonight. Oh, and there's a bath house attached to the lodge. You have to go around outside to get to it, but it's close to the hearth so it stays nice and warm in there when the fire's lit. I'll see to that whenever you're ready for a bath."

---

Tarid's lodgings were equally accommodating, if not more chaotic:

Jurgon's home had apparently become the scene of an ongoing battle between three dark-haired boys. So intent were they on their play-fighting, they hardly noticed their father's presence in the middle of them except as another obstacle to avoid while screaming at each other.

"Boys!" he called a few times, trying unsuccessfully to find a break in their roughhousing.

It was a sharp clang from nearby that managed to finally garner their attention. A plump woman with equally dark hair stood in the doorway with a pan in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"We have a guest now, behave yourselves!" she barked while waving the pan menacingly at them.

The trio of boys stopped in their tracks. Fearing their mother's wrath if they moved, they instead stared with unabashed curiosity at the newcomer. The smallest of them dared to run over and hug Jurgon's leg. He tried not to wince at the loving weight pressed against his recent injuries.

With some modicum of quiet returning, the woman smiled broadly at them. "Welcome home, husband. Who's this then?" she asked, nodding to Tarid with a friendly grin before noticing the bandages and oily paste the doctor had applied to Jurgon's wounds.

"And why are you all scratched up, love?"

Jurgon patted the young boy on the head wearily. "Go on outside now, boys. There's a tree out there waiting to be climbed."

"But Papa-" one of the boys started to whine but immediately stopped at a pointed glance from their mother. They scampered past them without another word.

Jurgon sighed heavily and explained what had happened at the logging camp. At the end of it all, his wife wiped away the tears that had accumulated in the course of his tale and embraced him.

"It's alright, Sonja. It's alright," Jurgon whispered to comfort her.

"Well..." she said finally through a stray sniffle and looked at Tarid, trying to figure out how she could ever pay back this man, or his friends, for saving her husband's life. The best she could manage was an unsolicited hug for the squire.

"Best I can offer is our hospitality, and that I will!" she said once she released him. "I'll warm up the water and you can have yourself a nice, hot bath. It's the fine plates and cutlery tonight! I'll open up that wine I've been saving for a special occasion!"

---

For everyone:

Once everyone had a chance to attend to their own needs, it was time for feasting, song and cheer in celebration of their victory. Most of Wetzlar's residents had gathered in the town hall for the event, and there was plenty of food and beer to be had. Although it had been but a handful of hours since the newly-proclaimed heroes of the town had arrived, the villagers had done an impressive job putting this gathering together. A banquet fit for royalty, complete with a roasted boar, was laid upon the great table.

The gathering at Jurgon's home was a quieter affair, but Sonja had put together a quite impressive meal all on her own, much to her family's delight. The main course was made of succulent sausages in a rich mushroom gravy topping something not quite a noodle and not quite a dumpling. A traditional meal in her hometown, she said with pride as she served the dish. Jurgon was happy to eat his share in relative silence, but the boys became enamored with Tarid - who they were convinced was a true knight no matter what he might say - and the sword he carried.

Whether they danced, drank and laughed or enjoyed the food and comfort in somber memorial of the horrors they had witnessed, the night was theirs. For now.

Tarid Ra’leem Gromat N'Daego Josai