Korgul grimaces. "I would call him a weakling, but I feel it too." The orc takes a deep pull from his waterskin, pouring some on his face. He cocks an eye at Josie. "Damn woman. Picking the wrong shit."
"You still think it's just the berries?" Yldaren says, shaking his head in irritation. "You were the only two that the Watchers had taken. Don't be an idiot."
"Taken for what?" Vanthar asks, his face quizzical. "What did they do to you?"
Without thinking, Josie laughs aloud at Korgul's accusation that the food is the issue, the first light-hearted moment the others had likely ever witnessed from her before. "The berries are fine, I know what is safe and what isn't," she says, before shifting to a much more aggressive tone. "You're the fool who had to back-talk the guards and earn yourself a special trip to see Wolden, not to mention earning lashes for the rest of us in the process," she continues, narrowing her eyes as she glares at the man.
As Korgul announces his own ailments and chooses to blame the Ghian woman, Alerio remarks, "If it were the berries, the rest of us would be feeling sick as well. Are you sure you remember nothing of when you were taken?" What could Wolden have done to them to produce these results?
"Wolden?" Vanthar echoes. "What the hell did that madman of a Watcher want with you?"
"Not Wolden," Korgul growls. "He sold us out to some freak. Alchemist. I don't know." He turns to Josie, returning her glare. "You think I fucking care about your lashes? You want to do hurt me for that? Do you remember who I am, girl?" He laughs deep and hard, a rasping laugh that turns to a choking cough. The orc spits blood and phlegm on the dirt beneath him.
"The berries were fine," Bazros pitches in, his eyes wide.
Brelnia shakes her head. "But he ain't. And what are we going to do about the big fucker there?" she asks, pointing at Shakumon's unconscious form.
"A soon-to-be-dead orc, by the looks of that," Josie says matter-of-factly, eyeing the mixture of blood and phlegm he had spit on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight. "And trying to blame others for your condition isn't going to help heal it, now will it?" she says, her voice now more cold than angry, though her glare remains. "So if you're done enough talking - which, I'm sure everyone would be fine with - maybe we can get moving to someplace that has proper amenities and medication, rather than camping out in a forest."
Rajan shrugs. "Leave him, for what I care. I'm not carrying him." Least he'll die free.
"Damn," Yldaren says at Rajan's comment. "To think I was surprised to find your type in The Hole." He shrugs. "Though I can't say I disagree. He's too heavy for any of us to carry. Might be able to drag him. But why bother? We don't owe him anything."
"He worked hard and never crossed me," comes Brelnia's voice. "But that doesn't mean I'll opt to drag somebody twice my size across the savannah."
Bazros shakes his head. "If someone gives me a hand, I can help. Take shifts, maybe."
Korgul stares at Josie, a cruel smile finding his lips before he wipes a spot of blood from them. "You saying you'll take care of me?" He chuckles. "Then I'll shut up. Better spited than dead," the orc says, looking toward Shakumon's limp frame.
Josie rolls her eyes at the combination of Korgul's smirk and his assertion she plans to kill him. Perhaps if you continue to be insufferable, she thinks as she turns to Bazros. "Sure, I'll help. He took the brunt of those spider's attacks, I feel that is deserving of some aid," she continues, eyeing the others who'd stuck towards the back during the previous encounter, especially Ramis, Cassandra, and Yldaren.
"If we are to drag him, we should get a move on then," Alerio remarks, hoping that the hostilities have finally ended. "I doubt we'll be able to move as quick lugging him around." Perhaps this is their own form of justice for forcing the lashings upon us. But does that make this right?
With Bazros, Josie, and Alerio taking turns moving Shakumon, the ragtag group of prison escapees sets out once again. The morning sun shines down with warming rays as you try dragging him across soft patches of grass. Other times, you resort to carrying him (as best as you can carry someone this large) down slopes or rougher terrain.
It takes longer than yesterday, but progress is made. Vanthar continues guiding the group for an hour or so north, before cutting inward toward the river. "Safe crossing, and there's a village there," he informs those not familiar with the area. You continue onward for almost another hour.
The sun is almost at its apex as you approach the outskirts of the settlement. It is nothing significant -- a dozen wooden buildings spread across the shoreline of the river. The main avenue through the area leads to a dock, where several canoes, dinghies, and even a pair of cutters are tied up. Fields of barley, wheat, and some oats radiate outwards from the village, and there are a couple farmers toiling in the fields as you near.
"How we gettin' across without any coin to pay the ferry?" Brelnia groans.
"We'll find a way," Ramis says with a smile. "I always did."
Korgul takes a knee, sweating profusely despite the relatively easy pace you had set. "If I could smash the sun into tiny little fucking pieces, I would. I'm burning up."
Bazros lets Shakumon down, who is still unconscious. "The big guy feels like his skin is on fire, too."
"We've got two severely ill individuals with us," Alerio says as the party discusses ways to use the ferry without paying fare. "We could always use that as leverage, provided the ferryman has an ounce of sympathy." Looking towards the potentially-dying orcs, he thinks, I doubt Korgul is in the shape to do much smashing anyway, whether he admits it or not.
"Not too sick to keep me from stealing his damned boat if he won't let us by," Korgul says, his face curled into a pained frown.
Bazros sighs. "Don't think that will be necessary, friend. We'll find a way."
Josie frowns at the sight of Korgul's weakened state, not relishing the though of needing to carry a second bulky orc if he were to collapse. Whatever was done to them, this is getting out of hand. She looks around the village, not sure if she had been here before, hoping that if she had there is someone she can speak to about aiding them in their travels.
"There is an inn here," Josie says, a vague memory of this village coming back to her. "Should it come down to it, we may find some odd job or two to do to earn enough coin to cross, and possibly buy some medicine down the line. It's a small place no one ever goes to, so we should be safe if we needed to hide out in or around the village for a day or two."
Looking at the poor state of the ill orcs, Alerio replies, "That's if these two sorry sorts have a day or two. For their sake, I'd rather not stick around unless we absolutely have to." I doubt a village like this has much access to medicine anyways.
Rajan frowns at the sick orcs. I suppose we can use them as leverage, if nothing else. He looks to the others. "I might be able to talk them into letting us work for a few coins. Or, if we hide out, we might be able to steal a bit in the night. We should pick one or the other, though, our odds aren't good if we try both."
"I agree that sticking in this place is not ideal. That said, we are in rags and covered in dirt, walking with two very heavy, ill orcs," Josie adds, mostly towards Alerio. "For all of our sakes, it would do us good to at least have the appearance of honest travelers. Should Kelbis send a search party to find us, we will be much less conspicuous if cleaned and clothed, and carrying a few coins."
"Ain't against working for pay," Vanthar voices. Beside him, Bazros nods.
Ramis kicks at a pebble. "We've worked enough already in that tomb. These people live well -- fat off the travel and trade in this region. They won't miss a few coins. Or a boat."
Cassandra gives the Imardanian a fiery look. "I'll throw you in that river myself if you steal a vessel from these people."
"I've found there's always some bleeding heart that can't turn down a good deed in places like these," Yldaren says. "Could leave the big guy with them and make a swim for it. Quickest way out."
"Not all of us can swim," Brelnia admits.
Korgul spits more phlegm on the ground beside him. "I don't fucking care how we get across this river. But we need to decide."
[sblock=Party]PCs -- Alerio, Zhou Si, Rajanikant,
NPCs -- Shakumon, Korgul
Cassandra, Yldaren, Brelnia, Bazros, Ramis, Vanthar[/sblock]
"Well we shouldn't keep standing here, regardless," Josie says, walking towards the village with or without the others. The first villager she comes across she stops, asking, in a thick accent, "excuse me, which way to inn? Very tired."
"I guess the decision has been made then," Alerio says to the rest of the group as Josie treks forward. "It may be a small village, but perhaps they have some medical supplies." He glances at the ailing orcs, unsure of how long they'll survive untreated from whatever malady they're suffering.
"Guess so," Yldaren says, and the others reluctantly trail Josie while Alerio and Bazros help carry Shakumon's limp frame.
The first farmer turns as Josie approaches, watching the large group before her with careful eyes as she pauses her tilling. "The inn's that way," the orcish woman she says in response, pointing toward a two-story building along the avenue toward the docks. "You folk here to start trouble?" she asks, looking at the incapacitated orc being carried.
"No, ma'am. Rajan says reflexively. "Trouble's no good to anyone, especially with our friend sick, and we just want a bit of quiet."
"Sick?" the farmer says, her eyebrows cocked. "Talk to Torymel at the inn. He's the closest thing to a healer as we have around here. Tall, thin elf. Greying hair."
The woman pauses a moment. "Sick from what, though? You find a snake out in the brush?"
Rajan deploys his calming tone on the orcish farmer. "We ran into a spider. But that was a ways out. He was able to walk most of the way..."
"Nasty creatures," the woman replies, shaking her head in disgust. "Don't let me hold you up. Head to the tavern. Look for Torymel," she says, waving you all through.
"Okay, we go," Josie says in her accent, giving the woman polite smile and a nod, motioning for the others to follow along as they move towards the location mentioned. Perhaps this healer will save us the trouble of going all the way to Razak to get them cured of whatever they suffer from.
The large group of you head toward the general vicinity of the inn, Josie setting the pace. Pushing through the fields of staple grains, the dusty road gives way to a gravel path. Deep ruts from wagons and carts mar its span. It only takes a few minutes before you've made it to the outskirts of the dense but concise village.
The buildings around you seem to be constructed with longevity in mind, and while the village is small, you get the feeling that it is not without its minor wealth coming through. Farmers, traders, and other folk eye you as you walk the avenue, but none hold their gaze longer than a short moment. Their focus is mostly on Shakumon, who is being carried between Alerio and Bazros for now.
Coming to the inn's doors, you pile through. Inside, it smells of freshly baked bread -- with a whiff of citrus somewhere. A woman tending to a something in the adjacent room quickly steps toward the lobby as the several of you enter. "Oh, my!" comes her voice, looking you up and down. "More miners, hm? Thought you bunch were seasonal. You looking for an ale or two before you head back to your duties?"
The innkeeper cocks her head toward the carried orc, her eyes narrowing as she nods toward him. "He alright?"
"Far from it," Josie responds to the friendly inkeeper who greets the group upon arrival, mostly ignoring the offering of drink for now. "We come seeking aid if there is any to be found, otherwise we will continue on. We don't know what ails him, but he is in desperate need of medical attention," the woman says, hoping that would be enough to earn the sympathy of the woman. She seems nice, perhaps she won't require convincing. Unlike every other person we've come across.
"Huh," the innkeeper replies, at a loss for words. "We don't see much of this, but..." The woman turns, calling behind her. "Torymel! Got some people who need your help!"
She looks back at you. "Don't have many medical supplies to spare unless you've got the coin -- but the old man will do what he can."
"What are you volunteering me for?" comes a booming, yet croaking voice from the stairs. An old, elvish man with graying hair and a patchy, white beard clomps down the steps. He is tall, and rather portly, and he squints at the group of you when he approaches.
"That one's sick," the woman clarifies.
"This one too," Yldaren says, pointing toward Korgul -- who simply glowers.
"Ah," comes Torymel's reply. He looks over Shakumon's limp frame, Alerio and Bazros having lowered him to the floor for a moment. The elf's eyebrows raise, and he nods. "This looks... Doesn't seem great. I might be able to do something for him." His eyes wander up toward the several of you onlooking. "But I will clarify -- my ancestors placed me on this land to do good deeds, and for my aid, I require other than your gratitude. But the medical supplies this one -- no, these two -- might need... Well, will you be able to afford them?" He sighs, his eyes turning toward the roof as he quietly mouths the names of what you assume are herbs and materials he might need. "Somewhere in the range of 5 coins. Gold, not silver. Most of that is from the hemlock."
Rajan bows humbly, and turns on the charm. "I'm afraid we haven't such wealth as that. We were hoping those of us who are still healthy could trade our labor for what we need. We have some extra tools as well."
I can't believe those fucking watchers have still got us doing labor out here. Rajan thinks. Maybe I should cut my teeth on a few of them before going after that fucker who framed me.
The older man and the innkeeper both eye Rajan before exchanging a look. "Some religious fellow is staying here in Numinas," the woman explains. "Sort of an eccentric one. He came by two nights ago. Didn't want a room -- just wanted to spread the word that he was looking for volunteers. I don't know for what, and I don't know if he intends to pay them, but that's a start."
She looks out the window toward the fields in the distance. "Couldn't say if any of our farmers need hired hands. It ain't harvest season, that's for sure." The innkeeper shrugs. "Other than that, I ain't got many suggestions. We're a small village, and most work is toward Razak or Kelbis. I'm sure you're familiar."
Torymel narrows his eyes. "Just be sure you don't simply... leave him here. He's your friend, right?"
"More an acquaintance," Josie responds, trying not to cringe at the thought of these others being considered her friends. "But one close enough to warrant our aid, at the least. We will be back with coin or to collect him, you can be sure of that," the woman responds, turning to the others and moving her head to suggest they leave.
"Do you know where this proselytizer is staying?" Alerio asks the woman, both curious about what religion the man is spreading and eager to make some coin. "And yes, we will be back. Thank you for your help."
"He has a tent and a small caravan set up near the docks," the innkeeper says.
"Careful, now," Torymel advises. "He claims not to be religious, nor a proselytizer. I'm not quite sure what his end-goal is, to be honest."
Josie raises an eyebrow at the mention of the 'religious man' denying any religious affiliation. Clearly he must be a servant of some god if that is the impression everyone is getting of him. That or a Charlatan. Matters little if he pays well, I suppose, she thinks, watching the others to hear their reactions, while positioning herself towards the exit.
Rajan shrugs. "If he is no trouble, we may profit by helping him. If he is trouble, we may help do our part during our stay by finding out early and bringing it to light."
Korgul stays behind, having agreed reluctantly to be inspected by Torymel along with the unconscious Shakumon.
Outside, the remaining nine of you walk in a loose group toward the dock, as the innkeeper mentioned. From afar, you can see a large, red-and-gold dyed tent just off the main road. Parked next to it rest two heavy carts and a pair of donkeys tied up near a trough.
There are two figures standing guard in front of the tent, and they regard you with narrowed eyes as you approach. You are relatively unarmed, however, and only your number seems daunting. The elf and the dwarf seem to loosen up as you step up.
"Good day, friends," the elf says with a smile. "Are you here to meet with Renelaus?"
"Hope so," the dwarf interjects. "Nine of you, hm. Group that big could get our work done real easy."
[sblock=Party]In Town: Alerio, Zhou Si, Rajanikant,
Cassandra, Yldaren, Brelnia, Bazros, Ramis, Vanthar
At the Inn: Shakumon, Korgul[/sblock]
"I suppose," Josie says, as the group approaches the tent. She eyes the men suspiciously as they speak, attempting to size them up. We were told of a holy man, not a group. Odd for a holy man to travel with guards. "We are looking for work, the innkeeper told us you - or he - may have some," she continues. "Was that accurate?"
[sblock=Mechanics]Insight: 7 ._.[/sblock]
As you finish saying that, the flap on the tent draws aside. A tall, lithe man with a scruffy, patchy beard stands behind it. His features look elvish somewhat, but not entirely so. Wearing simple garb with a heavy chain necklace draped over his neck, he smiles at you, taking you all in. "You heard correctly," he confirms, motioning you inside. "Please. There is enough room for all of you!"
You file inside. It is a tight fit, but not too uncomfortable. The tent's interior is decorated modestly with a heavy bamboo mat on the grassy floor, as well as a couple small tapestries that have been hastily hung on the walls. There is a blocky, portable desk that the man has butted against one side of the tent, and upon its surface appears a wealth of documents scattered about.
The man shifts a few papers aside, sitting back down. "I see you've met my Pathfinders. Nal, and Barowyn. They're tough folk, but they keep things safe for me and those who seek to serve."
He sighs. "But I digress. Welcome, weary travelers. My name is Renelaus," he explains, nodding to you all. "I see you are... miners of some sort. That is great, then. I'm sure you will have no problem putting aside your picks in favor of shovels. But first -- from where have you came?" Renelaus squints at your faces. "It matters not to your employment. I only ask out of curiosity."
Rajan gives a slight bow. "I am born of Chathra, though I haven't seen it since I was a boy. My name is Bazad D'hewd. What sort of work needs doing? And I am sorry to be so forward, but what can you pay? We have friends under the local healer's care, but he asks a fee...I'm sure you understand."
"Amkhara," Josie adds, now curious if the man is even aware of her homeland - or that of her companion's, for that matter. Chathra, huh? Odd to meet another foreigner so far from home, I'd assumed he was just another local. She listens as the man speaks, nodding along at the mention of payment. "And how quickly? They are in dire shape and we are looking to pay their medical expenses as quickly as possible."
Renelaus' eyes narrow, and you feel his analyzing gaze upon the both of you as you admit your nationalities. "I see. Migrant workers. A strange place to convene, no? Most work is toward Razak or Kelbis" He sniffs the air, staring at your tools and clothing. "Miners, I see. An unlikely group of miners." Renelaus smiles warmly, giving a wink. "I won't pry."
He seems to be remember your urgency, losing the grin and sitting up straight. "Ah, yes. Payment. Coin runs everything, I know that too well." The man shifts a few documents around on his desk, sighing. "A day's work of wages will get you five silver coins each. You should be able to pay for your partner's medical expenses well enough with that."
"As for the work," Renelaus continues. "Well, you'll be shoveling gravel. You all look like you're able to do hard labor."
"We were headed to Razak when our friends fell ill," Alerio replies to the man, hoping to alleviate some suspicion, even with his promise not to pry. Alerio sighs as the man explains wages and task at hand. Escaping hard labor just to return to it. At least we're more than slaves, but not by much with that pay.
Rajan tallies up the numbers in his head, and finds them wanting. He turns up the charm, slightly. "Not to be rude, but we need a total of at least five gold to cover our friends' expenses, and five silver apiece leaves us a bit short. Perhaps it is not so much to ask, seeing as with this many of us, you can be assured of starting right away, rather than waste more time looking for hands."
"That, and a ferry out of here," Brelnia adds. "Dunno what that runs, but having negative coin ain't going to cut it."
Renalaus hms, his eyes going between your own and the notes on his desk. He clearly mulls it over in his mind, before jotting something down on a document. "Six silvers apiece, then. After all, it seems to me that you're working on a noble cause. Like myself," he says, smiling.
"Which is?" Yldaren asks.
Renelaus nods hastily, holding a finger up. "The gravel is for road construction. You have heard of The Path before, yes?"
[sblock=Mechanics]Roll History or Religion if you like[/sblock]
"Can't say I have," Josie replies with a shrug, though a bit more eager to listen knowing that the coin they will be earning is now likely going to be enough to get their companions fixed up and ready to continue on. "I have not been in your land long, so I've little knowledge of your local infrastructure. Some sort of major road project?"
Sounds like something profitable, if I still had access to my family's capital. Rajan smiles and bows. "Thank you. The Path is good work for good hands."
As the man brings mention to The Path, Alerio wracks his brain to see if he has heard of it in his travels.
[sblock=Mechanics]Religion to see if Alerio has heard of it: 3(1d20) +8 = 11[/sblock]
[sblock=Alerio]You have only heard the name, but no details past that.[/sblock]
"A major road project is one way to put it," Renelaus says. "But roads are only the surface of what the Path can bring to Serranak. Connecting people. Think of this: one village alone, far from others... What are they?"
"A target," Yldaren offers, eyeing the man.
The other man nods. "Exactly. But if they have safe passage connecting them to others, then they can flourish. They can bring trade and technology to themselves and their neighbors."
Renelaus flips through a few pages on his desk, before bringing up some sort of map. He shows it to you all, a bold grin on his face. On it is what looks like the region of Serranak, with labeled roads that currently exist. A network of smaller paths join those in a network, extending to dozens of small dots on the map that must be villages or towns.
"So, what do you think? Are you ready to get started?"
