Balancing the Scales, part 2

Log Info

• Title: Balancing the Scales, part 2
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Aimarra, Glasha, Locien, Joro
• Place: A13: Alexandrian Gates, Guardhouse, Eldwyn Road, Bridge
• Time: Sunday, August 02, 2020, 6:06 PM
• Summary: Locien joins the group at the gatehouse, while Tawyse has wandered off, and Glasha, a wizard who speaks Draconic responds to the job offer. They are taken below, where the sith-makar guard, Ichtacka, has extracted the confession Lt. Trygve required. The party questions the kobold, Trak, who has been ordered to help and appears to be doing so. When he isn't utterly terrified by the jotun woman. Trak agrees to show the party the kobold camp, and they acquire a wagon and set out. Along the road, they enter an apparent ambush, being told they are surrounded and to release Trak. Joro rushes into the bushes, capturing a single kobold, Jak, who is first is shocked to paralysis, but is shaken back to reality. Glasha pleads to the two kobolds to help, while the rest of the party suggests they should be harsher to their prisoners and makes her doubt this assignment. They progress onwards, arriving at the bridge over the river. On the far northern side, almost into the woods, the trio of kobolds are examining the road. Glasha calls out for them to surrender, the parties ready for a fight, and the kobolds take one look at what's come after them and take flight.
• APL: 2, Locien (Clr3), Aimarra (Rgr2), Joro (Bbn2), Glasha (Wiz2)
• Encounters:
  • (2) Alexandrian Gate Guards
  • (2) CR1 XP100 Kobolds

=--=--=--=--=<* A13: Alexandrian Gates, Eldwyn Road, Guardhouse *>-=--=--=--=-

The northern gate of Alexandria stands grand. The city's northern portal to the outside world, is tall, rugged, crafted from works of the arcane over generations. The city wall around it glows with manalights and is outfitted with the latest defenses. These gates stand larger than any man, and visitors passing beneath will travel by a pair of guard houses as well as towers, situated to either side. They open wide for caravans, from nearby farmlands and far off countries. To the west, lies the river. To the east, the rising mountains of the Redridge, which Alexandria emerges from like an artful outcropping.

Around the gates are a number of inns and taverns, ready to serve visitors to the Lord's City. These businesses show the eclectic mix that is Alexandria, with its mix of flavors, colors, and spices. Airships fly overhead, and towers oversee the pace of traffic into and out of the Lord's City while the statue of the Burning Phoenix overlooks it all. Beyond them lies the upper Gardens District.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Aimarra      5'1"     128 Lb     Half-Elf          Female    Brown hair and eyes, breastplate, leathers, pointed ears.
Glasha       5'8"     100 Lb     Half-Orc          Female    Green-skinned, young lady with bleached hair.
Locien       5'4"     140 Lb     Dawn Elf          Male      A handsome Sil male wearing the trappings of Vardama.
Joro         8'10"    532 Lb     Giantborn         Female    A towering female Jotun in kilted armor.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  As the GM  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'9"     267 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Waiting. Still Waiting...

Lt. Trygve left the small party to talk amongst themselves and returned to supervising and harrasing the other guards. No point going inside without Locien, whom he assumes is the party leader, or the translater or whomever else was going to show up. By his occasional glances their way, it's obvious he has very good hearing and is listening, and largely approves of what he eavesdrops on.

Eventually, the decision is made to go looking for the mourner and the short-range specialist. Tawyse heads off, with Joro lumbering along behind, Aimarra remains to wait. And, as usually happens when a group splits up, the missing people arrive and the departing ones aren't going to be back for a little while.

Aimarra hasn't moved. The half-sil is a study in browns, from hair to tanned skin to leathers, except for the dull green of the traveler's cloak she wears, and the breastplate she wears. She's leaned up against the inside wall of the gates, one foot on the stonework, arms crossed, chin headed for her chest in the way of one who might soon be dozing off.

Glasha holds a piece of paper in her hand. The top is torn where it's been removed from a post or some other board. In her other hand is a staff of a greataxe with a raven perched atop it. She looks unsure of herself as she approaches the group. "Um, yes, hello. Is this the group looking for someone that speaks Draconic?" she asks, holding up the paper.

The stray Mourner in question rides at last through the gate, looking a bit dishevelled. He passes the Lieutenant without a sideways glance, instead stopping before Aimarra and giving a nod in greeting. "My apologies...we had a passing early this morning, and a husband who was nigh inconsolable. It took some time to calm him."

Joro did indeed wander off, however there was a purpose! The Jotun girl returns with two fistfulls of meat kebabs, a few of which have already been decimated. She seems almost a bit more collected now, instead of clunky and heavy-footed. Making her way back over to the general area where Aimarra is, she pays little attention to the other two showing up, sitting down against the wall to finish her meal.

Aimarra looks up when Glasha speaks, blinking owlishly a few times, but looking the newcomer up and down assessingly. "Yeah. That's us, thanks for coming by. We've got a kobold who needs to answer a few questions." Her eyes flick to Locien as he rides up, and there is clear recognition there. "No trouble," she tells him. "I haven't seen the other one, but good morning."

Her eyes then wander over to Joro, who is sitting down to finish a meal, but she keeps whatever she is thinking to herself, instead returning her attention to the other two.

Glasha leans on her axe-staff, just silently kind of waiting for someone to tell her where to go and what to do. She's there to speak Draconic, after all, and is kind of expecting a Kobold or dragon or something.

The short lieutennant walks over, beaming at everyone with the sneer that is his smile. "So it this it then? The gnome hasn't bailed, has she? I like her. We can go in now if you don't want to waste the rest of the day."

He looks directly at Locien, "Glad you showed up."

Locien nods again and turns his ebon warhorse to face the two new (to him) faces. Glasha gets a muted smile and a small bow of his head. "Greetings. I am Locien, and this is Aimarra." he motions to the woman who had initially greeted her. "It's something of a retrieval, and we've some language barriers with the current owners." Trygve finally gets his attention when the soldier speaks, and he returns the look with one diplomatically devoid of emotion. "Yes, I do apologize. Vardama's work can be delayed at times, but never ignored. We all must prepare to be judged, after all."

Aimarra shifts a little uncomfortably at the mention of facing judgment, but nods. "Tawyse might be back," she tells the lieutenant warily. "The guardians of the wild do as they please, and I'm not stupid enough to try to stop one." Another look over at Joro, and back to Glasha. "And you are?"

Someone does indeed seem to enjoy her food! It's a bit difficult to tell if the noises she emits while destroying kebab after kebab are happy grunts, or the underbreath humming of some sort of song. Regardless, Joro makes work of enough food to stuff at least three people at a pace that would lose most folk their appetites. That being said, she's not animalistic in her eating, just obviously was quite hungry. It takes less than a minute for a small pile of kebab sticks to rest beside the woman, with only one remaining in her hand. Mouth open, about to lay into the remaining kebab, Joro's attention is suddenly pulled over to the conversation at hand. "Kooo.. bolt?" Her head cranes towards the others nearby, as she is obviously now actively listening in.

"Nice to meet you all," Glasha says, looking around at the various faces. She looks back at Aimarra to respond. "I'm Glasha. I am ready whenever you want to take me to the person who needs to be spoken to." She clears her throat and grips her greataxe tightly, clearly a little nervous.

"Ha ha! Long as you judge some kobolds today and get my thunderbelcher back, I don't mind how you do Vardama's work." Trygve laughs, a cold and cruel chuckle. The jotun's noisy eating is noticed, then ignored. He steps away from her, to avoid being sprayed by any food when she speak. His attention turns to the green-skinned woman, nodding, "Yes, so, Glasha, and you're the translater?"

"Looks like this group has grown to a bit more than four, but... ah... I can afford it. Yes. Will have to make some more arrangements. When you're ready, we can go in."

Yawning, Aimarra straightens up entirely and unfolds her arms, nodding to Locien and Glasha. "Lead the way. I'm just here to help with the retrieval."

Locien gingerly dismounts, tying his horse to a nearby fencepost. The beast, for its part, seems to have no particular interest in going anywhere anyway. He glances over to Joro, having judged her as an oddity in the background, only now realizing that she is part of the new collection of souls. "Ah, hello..." he offers the abundant woman as he begins to walk toward where the Lt. guides, "Forgive my manners. It's nice to meet you. I'm Locien."

"All right, follow me." Trygve orders, turning and heading into the guardhouse. The door opens on a large room that fills the entire space, at the far end are stairs going up and down, against the wall. There's a gathering table, a few work-descs. It's a guard room, for them to sit in, take lunches and breaks and do some work. The armoury must be upstairs.

In the basement of the guardhouse are the cells. They are small, intended only to be holding cells for prisoners being transferred in, and occasionally, out. The stairs enter at one end of a room the same size as the one above. It is subdivided, with most cells having one stone wall and three composed of bars, with no gaps in between. A couple of the cells are clearly no longer in use, having been converted to storage and holding boxes of notebooks and broken furniture.

At the far end of the room is a much larger cell, possibly to house important prisoners or big ones. It looks nice, or it used to. What was once a decent bed is now a mess of torn up fluff. The fluff, is all over the floor and some of it outside the cell, but mostly gathered into a large pile. There's a bucket, a table, a chair, and a conspicuously clean corner. Two of the bars, just above a horizontal metal beam, are visibly bent. The basement smells very clean, bleached.

It has two lizard people occupants. A larger one, wearing guard gear and dark of scale. Not exactly black, the scales seem to have several colours all bordering on it, and depending on how the light hits they reveal themselves. The smaller one is coloured like a garter snake, a brown-green with yellow stripes and some darker scales. A sith-makar and a kobld, crouched in a huddle. Both turn as the Lieutennant and the party enter, staring silently through them at the bars.

"Are you fraternizing with the prisoner?" Lt. Trygve demands harshly.

The sith-makar stares back. It stands, moving slowly. While the sergent moves slowly from age and pain, the sith does so because of contained power. It is restrained. It stands, revealing a scroll. On the back is a large handprint, his. On the front, is a lot of writing, and a smaller, similarly shaped handprint, the kobold's. "Sssignaturesss. It isss. Not a threat. Not friend." There's a shiny patch on the sith's face, another small handprint. There are several on the guard's armour. The sith gives the kobold a long look, exits the cell and holds out the scroll for someone to take.

GAME: Joro rolls int: aliased to Intelligence: (3)+-2: 1

Glasha works her way to the front, standing in front of the cell that contains the Kobold. "What do you want me to say?" she asks, not really sure who she's supposed to be translating toward just yet.

The last remaining kebab is suddenly dropped, for whatever reason, at the moment Trygve says 'kobold' once again. The Jotun girl seems almost in a panic, as she starts feverishly checking her travelling pack, both exterior and interior. She gives her armor a few pats here and there, as if to check for lost items, and then after a relieved sigh, visibly calms down. "Phew... kobolty no take." Seems everything is in order, though at least now it is safe to say the Jotun girl has had some experience with kobolds. When everyone starts heading off, she quickly shoulders her travel pack, and clambers to her feet to follow. Of course, once they reach the guardhouse, her posture changes. The Jotun girl has to stoop a good deal to enter, and through every subsequent entryway. That being said, she does show off the inklings of grace, by actually not knocking over any objects once inside.

The last tasty kebab is, sadly, left forgotten.

Aimarra follows the others in, looking askance at the jotun, but keeping her mouth shut for the moment. She really does seem to be prepared to let Locien do the talking, although she does look over at him. "I'd like to know whether he knows where his friends probably went?"

Locien softly raises a pacifying hand to Glasha. "Patience, please. Your work will come in time. For the moment let's see what the guard has been able to find out. The little one can guide us along the way." He accepts the offered scroll, spreading it open at arm's length so that his companions can also read if they choose.

Lt. Trygve reads the scroll over Locien's shoulder as he examines it. He looks up briefly to Glasha to say, "That is up to you, my dear. Her question is a good start. Ask whatever your group needs to get my thunderbelcher back. It looks like I have my answers for my report."

Everyone reading would see a list of questions, and answers. All yes.

Do you associate with a red, green, and blue squad of kobolds: Yes. Did you participate in stopping a caravan: Yes Did you demand money: Yes. Did violence ensue: Yes. Were you involved in the violence: Yes. Did you aid the kobolds who planned this: Yes Do you understand that this is a crime, and you admit to abeting it: Yes.

There's a small paragraph beneath them all, handwritten, although the name is in a different hand, which says: I, Trak, have had these questions explained to me and I understand them and I swear that my answres are truthful. The small inked hand-print is beside this.

In the section where the questionning officer would sign, is a simple note, 'over', and a line which is drawn to the large handprint on the back.

Trygve snorts, "Good work Ichtacka." The darkscaled sith-makar stares at him, the small man coughs, "The fraternizing was a joke. I know you're nothing like that vermin."

Ichtacka continues to stare, looking at the way out, blocked by an immense jotun. His head swings back to the lieutennant, "Sssa. Jokesss." The sith chuckles in a forced way.

Glasha nods to Aimarra, thinking through syntax in her mind as she turns to face the Kobold. "Hello," she says in a particularly pleasant-sounding voice, leaning idly on her greataxe. "Your name is Trak?" <draconic>

Joro has absolutely no interest in the sheef of paper the others are pre-occupied with. Instead, her eyes have locked onto the small prisoner. Her gaze is squinty, brow furrowed. It's rather obvious from her grumpy look that she is not a fan of kobolds. She scoots over in a hunched manner, given the height of the room, and gives the cell door a little test by shaking it a couple times. Once she's satisfied that the creature isn't free to go about knicking people's items, she backs off once again, and sits against a wall near the entrance leading back up to the guardhouse. Whether she just enjoys sitting out of the way, or is actively trying to make room for non-gargantuan folk to move about the area is anyone's guess. Regardless, the sith-makar now has their escape route opened.

Aimarra likewise finds a wall to hold up nearby, close enough to listen, but not close enough to be in reach, and crosses her arms, waiting.

Locien doesn't seem overly impressed, rolling the scroll back up and offering it to Trygve. "This will be useful for the legal recordkeeping, no doubt, but it offers nothing we weren't there to see." He nods to Ichtaka. "Thank you." Once divested of the paperwork, he looks to the others. "We should continue the questioning while mobile, I think. From what I've heard, kobolds scatter easily, and this one might be a better guide if we're near where their 'toll booth' was set up. Does anyone know where we could rent a small wagon?"

"Yesss! Trak. Name isss." The kobold says, bouncing up and down, but mostly down, closer to the ground. Its eyes are on the greataxe, and not Glasha. It's staring at the edge. Until the jotun woman approaches. At that point, it makes a bark of terror and then scurries to the far side of the cell and tries to get under the bed. Where it stays, even after she retreats.

The sith-makar meanwhile, watches Joro's back, then examines each other preson in the room, finally gazing at the kobold hiding under the bed. It's a long stare, perhaps something meaningful is conveyed between the two lizard people, it's hard to tell. One cowers, the other doesn't move. The gaze is broken, Ichtacka says only, "Ssssa. Ssshow them. Camp," then lumbers upstairs. <draconic>

"Lots of merchants and stables just inside the gates, I'm sure you could find one. Those would be those expenses you were talking about." Trygve says.

Joro remains where she parked her large form, keeping an almost dutiful eye on the kobold. Her gaze never sways from the approximate direction of the cell, though she remains where she is, with her backpack squished against the wall protectively.

Glasha blinks at Ichtacka, then says, "Sith-makar basically said it. Trak's been instructed to show us to the Kobold camp, I think. The command was very terse."

"A camp, eh? That sounds like a good place to start." Again, Aimarra pushes herself to her feet, snorting. "Tell him if he leads us wrong, I'll give him to the jotun to play with. If he leads us right, let him go. He's the pawn. Red's the one I want." Steel crackles across those words. Someone isn't feeling nice, although why may not be at once clear to the newcomers.

The questioning can continue on the road. Where to take the prisoner, and how, is discussed. The bridge seems the best point to start at, and the methods of securing Trak range from mummifying him in chains so only his muzzled mouth sticks out, dangling him like a purse off Joro, crafting him into some sort of snappy flail. Finally it's decided that binding him hand and foot in the back of the wagon will suffice. Well, hand, feet and tial.

There are wagons aplenty for hire, although one with suspension that can handle a jotun's weight takes a little seeking out. One is located, then the group is underway. With the instruction to show them the camp, and Locien's suggestion to start at the bridge, there isn't much deviation. Follow the Eldwyn road. The side roads branching off it are really just long driveways to farms, at least until one is a good ways out from Alexandria. The kobold is trussed up, bound hand and foot and tail and in the bottom of the wagon, having no choice but to stare up, and up, at some very large, very hostile people.

On the road, Glasha speaks to the kobold. "Okay, these people are really intent on getting back what was stolen. If you lead is wrong, I think they're going to hurt you a lot. Maybe kill you, I don't know. If you do right by us, at least one of them wants to set you free. She said something about red being the one she wants." She looks up at her axe-staff, then back at the kobold. "Yeah, I carry this, and I'm just the wizard, so please don't make the rest of them angry, okay?" <draconic>

Thankfully, the wagon's suspension will be spared. For whatever reason may be, Joro has opted to walk to the rear of the wagon, rather than rest on it. Even with her armor and travel pack, keeping pace doesn't seem much a problem for the girl. Her eyes are rarely on the kobold any longer, instead, her gaze darts back and forth to the sides of the road, sometimes craning her head to see around the sides of the wagon, further up along the road. Her hands hold her pack straps for balance, much like a hiker would on a path. For those who have seen her demeanor while at the city, the change is noticable. She seems alert, almost wary, like a guard keeping watch.

Aimarra opts to ride up front with the driver, bow across her knees and arrow nocked but not pulled, eyes scanning the sky, the brush, and the road itself for anything else that might be amiss.

Locien rides alongside the wagon when the width of the road allows, falling behind when it doesn't. After clearing earshot of the city walls (and guards) he speaks up, loud enough to address the group as a whole. "To our new friends; there is a bit more to our task than fetching a pretty toy. The kobolds we encountered were armed considerably better than you would expect: you don't exactly have kobold-sized armor lying around to steal. We think they have some manner of supporter, and we aim to find out who while we collect the Lieutenant's pretty thing. So some restraint is in order, for as long as their actions allow it."

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+10: (17)+10: 27 (hide for Jak)
GAME: Aimarra rolls perception: (7)+9: 16
GAME: Joro rolls Perception: (6)+8: 14

Trees, Underbrush. Some good ambush points are all around. No ambushers in sight.

Giant boots, giant axe. The kobold wriggles but isn't going anywhere, and is panting hard from its struggles. When the half-orc speaks, it stares at her, then nods, looking in the half-elf's direction, "Yess. Reki. Sshee killss. Killss Track. Go bridge. Ssstart bridge. Helping, no be anger."

The wagon with its outriders roll onwards. Approximately two hours outside of Alexandria, it's more wilderness than settled land, and some parts of the forest and underbrush get quite close to the road. As the wagon is rolling by a particularly dense section, a barking, high-pitched voice comes from the depths.

"Trak! On wagon?"

"Jak! Run! They kill!" The garter kobold calls back frantically. <draconic>

"Jak! Wait! We won't hurt you if you're not hostile toward us!" Glasha calls out after the tied Kobold toward the forest around. (cont) <draconic>

"There's one out there named Jak. I told it we wouldn't hurt it if they're not hostile. If we massacre them, there will be nobody to lead us to the shiny thing," Glasha says to the rest of the party.

"Bet you a round the Lieutenant's their money tree," Aimarra calls from up front, eyes still on the road ahead. "Look sharp, too, there's a few ambush ..." She cuts off instantly and jumps up to stand on the seat with a curse, pulling the bow and aiming it at the underbrush, but at Glasha's words, she doesn't let fly. Not yet.

Keeping pace and keeping a look out, Joro starts to approach little dense areas of brush that border the sides of the road. Sometimes, she'll just walk right through the underbrush, taking a quick look in some of the more obscuring ones. When the air is suddenly full of draconic speak, she hustles back to the road, and takes up a position on the opposite side of the wagon that the kobold out in the field is, back to the wagon.

There is silence, a very long silence, which could represent any number of things. A single kobold holding its breath, a well hidden troop of them slowly readying sling and spears. As small assault squad, preparing to snipe. Butterflies flutter around the bushes, accompanied by other flying bugs. In the shadows of the trees there is the occasional glint of a mosquito or bee. A couple birds, flying about. Nothing large moving, nothing small disturbed.

Finally, a voice, the same one as earlier, Jak. "Let Trak go. You surrounded!" <draconic>

Glasha listens to the voice, then says, 'Jak says we're surrounded and wants us to let Trak go.' She follows with the draconic, "We really don't want to hurt Trak. We're trying to recover something your people took, recently." She says it as she moves toward the wagon. She looks at Trak and says more quietly, "I don't know if my companions are going to be able to do this without your people dying. Please, if you can help us, I don't want anyone to die who doesn't have to." <draconic>

"They're a pack of liars, Glasha. Maybe we are, and maybe we're not." Aimarra doesn't move from her ready pose, staring hard at the brush on either side. "Got any spells that'll scare them? You don't have to hurt them, just scare them. Or maybe alchemist's ..." She stops short, a look of naked fear crossing her face, and she shakes her head quickly. "Never mind."

Locien looks warily outward in the direction of the others' attention, his body tensing, but hands remaining on the reins and saddlehorn. "Tell them Trak has been sentenced to death by the Alex guards, and we need him with us to keep him and his friends alive. We have already taken him away from the people who wanted to kill him right away. That should be proof enough that we mean no harm."

Joro does not seem to take very kindly to that information. Almost immediately upon being told they are surrounded, she whips her pack off her shoulders, and up over the side of the wagon into the cargo area. She throws a /very/ threatening gaze at the kobold tied up in the back, locking eyes with it for just a moment, as if to send him some sort of unspoken message. After that momentary exchange, she turns back around facing out towards the field once again. Her stance drops ever so slightly, and she gives her fists and arms a few prepatory shakes, to get the blood flowing. Other than that, however, she remains eerily quiet.

GAME: Aimarra rolls perception: (12)+9: 21
GAME: Glasha rolls Sense Motive: (10)+1: 11
GAME: Locien rolls perception: (4)+7: 11
GAME: Joro rolls perception: (20)+8: 28

"They going kill, Jak! Jak not have to die. Jak help get back what took." The kobold at the bottom of the cart shouts into the sideboards. Until Joro leans over and looks at it. It freezes and stares. And shuts up, a lot. It's very quiet and wishing it never broke the egg.

"What Jak take?" The barking in the bushes asks back. Then, "Trak?" Another moment of silence, followed by, "Trak? You dead now?" Finally, "Ssstill sssurrounded!" <draconic>

'Just translating as directly as I can,' Glasha says to Aimarra. She thinks about Locien's words. 'They're speaking Draconic, but not eloquently as a dragon would. I'll do my best.' She clears her throat. "The city guards want to kill Trak. We're keeping Trak safe. Please come talk to us and don't fight." Glasha puts her hand on Trak's arm if the Kobold will let her. "Trak is scared, not dead. Safe from harm." <draconic>

"Better than I do," Aimarra returns, pleasantly enough, although while Glasha has her hands full, she turns her attention to what is happening in the wagon. "Joro," she calls, her tone pleasant even if her manner is steely, "would you please go and find out if there really are any kobolds in the bushes on the other side?"

Joro mutters slightly as she looks around, her eyes darting this way and that. After a moment, she circles around to the other side of the wagon, and repeats her inspection, eyes narrowed. Her head moves this way and that, showing that she's scanning the area for this would-be kobold army. She visibly perks up when her name is called, her head craning to bring Aimarra in view. "Joro no see kolbolties. Joro see kobolty." Her massive arm swings up and extends a finger, to point out into the field a small ways. It might not be enough to pinpoint the perpetrator to the rest of the group, but the kobold being pointed at definitely knows he's been had. Seeing as how Joro was told to 'go find out', she heads out into the underbrush on a direct course towards the hidden kobold, taking her time as she grins, popping her knuckles while she approaches.

GAME: Joro rolls Intimidate: (19)+7: 26

"Eh..." Locien begins to object to Aimarra's direction, but pulls up short as Joro begins to move, much like one would stop arguing with a rolling boulder. Instead he watches her move out, looking from her to the unseen (to him) quarry, waiting for a reaction.

The bound kobold, Trak, can't stop Glasha if she wants to touch his arm. He's trembling and getting over Joro's attention. He barks with a shakey voice, "Alex want kill Trak. These Sstop. Ssay talk. Don't fight. Sshow Camp!" <draconic>

Out in the field, there should be a reply. And Jak wants to make one. Yet, as the jotun woman lumbers towards him he finds he can't. His instincts take over. Freeze, they say. It can't see me if I freeze. Except the giantborn keeps coming, crushing bushes and small trees out of her way. Freeze harder! His instincts command, so he does. He watches paralyzed as she approaches. Growing taller, taller, blotting out the sun. His pupils grow steadily wider, until his eyes turn black. Finally as one of her massive feet slams down in front of him, his instincts reverse. RUN!

The little garter kobold bolts.

GAME: Joro rolls CMB: (4)+7: 11

Glasha shouts out to Joro, 'Don't hurt him! Trak told him to help us!' Then she continues quickly, "Jak, we're not going to hurt you, please come back with the nice, giant, scary lady!" <draconic>

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20-1: (4)+-1: 3 (Jak's CMB to reverse)

Aimarra can only watch as Joro flushes their rabbit from hiding. She raises the bow, but as others seem quite belt on not hurting anything or anyone, she stays her hands, and just waits.

As Joro approaches the stunned creature, a giant meaty paw reaches down towards it. This happens at basically the exact same moment the Kobold's fight or flight response registered. Unluckily for him, not fast enough. Just as the creature attempts to make a break for it, Joro takes a huge step to compensate for the movement. The poor little creature is snagged by the back of whatever clothing/armor they might have on, and then picked up without so much as a grunt of effort from the Jotun. She turns and starts heading back towards the wagon, with the now thrashing kobold held at arms length, suspended in the air. "Got kobolty!"

In one painful wedgie.

Locien sighs as Joro comes up with a handful of kobold, pinching the bridge of his nose and addressing the group at large. "These things seem very prone to mindless, gibbering terror. Therefore, they might be more useful to us if we do not begin every conversation by shooting at or grabbing them." There is tension in the last few words, but the elf manages to remain diplomatically placid for the most part.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The little kobold keens in terror, voice rising almost to the ultrasonic. Being grabbed and hoisted by his loincloth is a large reason. There are some advantages to non-mammalian anatomy, and this is one of them. He stinks, struggles, FLAILS and fails to escape the jotun whose giant hands are everywhere and impossible to avoid. Arms, legs, tail, slap at her arm, but he can't free himself. Suddenly, he goes limp, dangling, hanging like a rag-doll as she carries him back to the wagon.

"Sssound like Jak hurt." Trak hisses, still lying immobile. <draconic>

Glasha winces as Joro lifts the Kobold high by that strip under its body. She looks at Trak, then back at Jak. "I'm sorry! We're trying not to hurt you, but we need your help!" She looks Joro in the eye. 'Can you hold him some other way, please? Diplomacy fails if they think we're not holding up our we don't want to hurt you message.' She rubs Trak's arm, trying hard to just maintain through this. It was like dealing with children on both sides, in some ways. <draconic>

Aimarra lowers the bow as Joro hauls back the unfortunate kobold, but only turns to Locien. "Make nice, and they will think you prey for their schemes. They make threats until they are shown who holds the most power. Show them who is in control, and _then_ make nice, if you must." There is a nearly visible eyeroll in the final words. "We have now established who is in charge. Carry on." <sildanyari>

Teetering back over to the wagon, Joro is forced to switch to holding the Kobold much like one would a struggling cat, hands clasped around it's side, under the armpits. She keeps her arms fully extended however, her neck craned back to avoid getting slapped in the face by a tail. As Glasha addresses her, she takes on a facial expression that can only convey confusion, while keeping the Kobold suspended. "Joro no hit! Joro find kobolty. Joro get kobolty!" Her tone and quickness in response make it seem as if she's defending her actions to Glasha,

Locien looks back to Aimarra, gesturing between Joro and the wagon that holds Glasha and the half sil. "Nothing about us says 'nice'. I would settle for 'not going to kill you when we get bored'." Another sigh, and he speaks to Joro with a parental tone of approval. 'Well done. Try not to jostle it too much'. Then, to Glasha, 'What can out new friend do to help us? We're not giving joyrides'. <sildanyari>

"Jak, you ok?" The bound kobold asks.

Jak's slapping and struggling has stopped. He hangs limply as the jotun carries him at arms length. His eyes are wide and dark, his breath comes in gasps. It's not clear if he's heard Glashka's, Trak's words at all. He's in shock and it may be a while before he snaps out of it. He will likely be no use until he does. In the meantime, he's very pliant, can be placed anywhere. Gear wise, he has a loin-cloth, a sling, and a small pouch of what are likely sling stones. Not much. <draconic>

'What?' Glasha says, looking at Aimarra, then at Locien. 'What are you two saying?' she tries again. Glasha's jaw tenses with everything going on around her. She looks at Joro. 'Yes, thank you. Good job,' she says to the Jotun. She lets out a huff then takes a breath. "Jak, lead us to the camp," she says, her patience wearing thin with all this. "I'm trying my best to keep you both safe, but these people are really keen on making sure you're not a threat anymore." She seems to realize she's being too flowery with her words. 'Damn it, Glasha,' she swears at herself. 'This is not some formal meeting with a dragon. Dumb it down.' She bares her stubby, little tusks and lets out an almost bestial growl of frustration. "Jak! Trak! Stop being such cringing little hatchlings! All we want is one shiny thing! Big people want to kill you! I want to save you! Don't be stupid! Just take us to the camp!" She's practically barking out the Draconic, doing her best to put on the Kobolds' lower-class accent. <draconic>

When the little creature she's holding doesn't respond at all, Joro hoists it a bit closer to herself, to inspect it. "Joro not break. Kobolty snooze?" Once she's sure it's physically un-injured, the little creature is given a gentle (for her) wiggle, to try to bring it back to it's senses. Thankfully, she doesn't actually shake the Kobold around, else it might snap it's neck, or incur some sort of head injury.

GAME: Joro rolls Heal: (19)+2: 21

"Maybe that's true of me, I don't think you could carry off _mean_. Make him think you're stopping me from killing him." An evil grin cracks Aimarra's face at that, one she turns on Glasha. 'Some of us might not want to hurt him...' Blast. She can't explain in Trade, she's going to have to hope Glasha catches her drift! <sildanyari>

Locien narrows his eyes and drops his gaze to his horse. "...I could pull of 'mean'..." he mutters, mostly to himself. He rides in silence for a few moments, letting Glasha converse with the scaly duo uninterrupted. <sildanyari>

The jotun's (not-so) gentle shaking was the right combination to snap the kobold out of it. Perhaps he believes he's being eaten. As he realizes where he is, the struggling returns. Escape is not possible. The other kobold stares up at him, their eyes meet, and some subtle communication seems to happen between them. Althought, their words are rather juvenile.

"You wet Jak!" The bound kobold laughs.

"You captured by Alex!" The dangling one responds.

"You still wet!"

Their tails wiggle in synch, then they both look at Glasha. "Ya, go camp." <draconic>

Glasha sighs and huffs out a breath. She says, 'They're amused Jak wet himself, and they agree to take us to the camp.' She rubs her jaw with one hand. "uke uuk kepav wiavh chipuk noav fun" she says to herself, massaging her jaw as if her recent outburst was uncomfortable or embarrassing. <unknown>

"Then let's go." Aimarra's not moving, and seems content right now to let the others lead the way. Her bow remains in her hands, though. The Jotun holding the kobold at arm's length puts on a quizzical look when the tied up kobold starts to chuckle, looking towards Glasha for some sort of insight. After hearing what she has to say, Joro lets out a soft 'Hmmm...' before she squats down to place the kobold on the ground. Either she trusts the creature, or is quite convinced she could easily catch it again, should it bolt. More obviously the latter, as she immediately moves to retrieve her travel pack from the wagon, and slings it over her shoulders once again. She eyes the new kobold warily, but keeps her distance.

Locien watches the peculiar exchange and change of heart take place with bemusement, only commenting when Aimarra suggests movement. "I agree. Let's make good on the offer before they can think better of it...or come up with a better plan."

GAME: Locien rolls perception: (6)+7: 13
GAME: Joro rolls perception: (12)+8: 20
GAME: Aimarra rolls perception: (19)+9: 28
GAME: Glasha rolls perception: (6)+1: 7
GAME: Glasha rolls Sense Motive: (17)+1: 18

Joro 'n Aimarra are watching the horizon, while the others are watching the kobolds.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (2)+7: 9 (Gila's Percp)

The kobold looks around when he's placed down. He's crouched low to the ground, posture a little craven but also ready to move. When no one rushes him, he jumps up, scrabbles on the side of the cart and hops into it. He crouches down beside Trak, doesn't touch him, and stares at the others who are visible. Jak seems docile, for the moment.

Quietly, about a half an hour later when he thinks no one is listening, Trak says something to Jak in draconic. It's only a couple words, and when questionned he plays it off as something about Jak's clutch-sister, but it's clear to Glasha, it wasn't.

Unable to get any further information, and the kobolds otherwise being well-behaved, the group travels on towards the bridge. It is another hour before the Eldwyn road crosses the Bendywine River. The cart is moving along the bottom part of the Z, coming out to the forest, around the bend, and north towards the bridge. As the bridge comes into view, it's almost a reversal of the previous encounter.

At the bridge, pulled up on the far shore, is the kobold's previously sunken boat. It's hull-upwards and sitting in a sunny spot. Across the bridge, far up the northern leg of the road and almost at the bend into the forest is a brightly coloured parasol. It's exactly where the caravan stopped previously, and there appears to be shadows underneath it.

Glasha is no dummy. She belts out impatiently in Draconic, "Just come out and surrender peacefully! We know you're out there, and we know you're planning to attack us!" <draconic>

More quietly, she says, "Just taking a gamble. If nothing's there, I look a little foolish. Otherwise, I may have cost them the element of surprise." In trade, she says loudly, 'There aren't too many. Honestly, Joro could take them alone.' <sildanyari>

"That assumes they'll want to be taken." Locien replies. "This is about capturing them, and that means getting control before they scatter, without killing them outright."

Aimarra's eyes are on the far horizon, her bow once more across her knees, an arrow nocked but not pulled. This time, though, she does not stand up. "They're beyond the bridge, on the other side," she breathes, disbelievingly, then looks down at Glasha. "Oh, so you do speak sildanyari. Good. They're there, all right, on the other side, up the road a piece. I do not think they've seen us yet. Let's get the drop on them." <sildanyari>

Maintaining the rear guard, Joro clambers along after the wagon. She continues to scan the sides of the road, only glancing at the kobolds in the back of the wagon in passing. Once the wagon slows, she gets a good stretch in, along with a yawn that threatens to use up everyone else's oxygen in the vicinity. When people start talking amongst themselves, she closes distance on the wagon, to listen in. There's only one part of the conversation that seems to interest her, to which she replies, "Joro get kolbolties?"

At the far end of the northern stretch of this part of the road, it's not exactly a Sunday afternoon stroll, but it also sort of is. The three kobolds are walking along the road, the red is holding the parasol and occasionally spinning it. The blue carries the thunderbelcher that has sparked all the commotion, holding it at port arms, the barrel point off to the side but still angled in such a way it would blow a hole in the parasol if it went off. The green kobold is picking up rocks. It stoops, grabs a stone from the road, examines it, then tosses it back down. It's not clear exactly what the green one is doing, although it carries a small shield and is making marks on the inside of it. Picking out good spots for traps, perhaps.

So occupied, they are still keeping an eye on their surroundings. The blue watches the bend up ahead, tilts its head to listen. The red seems easily distracted, but the sides of the road are what it is looking at. The green is checking the back trail, usually after it finishes with a rock, snaking it's head around the parasol to see, as the umbrella blocks that direction with the current placement of the sun. Thus, it doesn't immediately notice the party's cart and outriders when they emerge from the forested section of the road. They are rather far away.

Glasha's shout is what gets all their attention. The parasol spins, and they stare. The green shades its eyes to peer past the bridge. The red shoves the parasol at the blue and grabs the thunderbelcher before the bluescale has a chance to react, and it ends up hugging the umbrella handle.

"Ssscalesss! They coming kill uss." The red's hands are a blur as it loads the weapon. <draconic>

"There giant!" The blue one adds. "That one big'gun." <draconic>

The green gives a simple order, "Run! Jussst Run!" <draconic>

All three turn and bolt up the road, the parasol bobbing behind them as light shade and inadequate cover. As they flee, one calls out.

"Free Toll Today! Enjoy Bridge."