The Dukes Knight
GAME: Thurid casts Heroes' Feast. Caster Level: 13 DC: 20 GAME: Thurid rolls 1d8: (2): 2
Isobar: the capital of Dalton, morning.
The Duke of Isobar has sent for adventurers, and that, in of itself, is a strange thing. Isobar, being one of the Myrrish Kingdoms, is more industrial in nature, especially with the adamantine mine that is situated underneath Dalton, the Long-Legged City, and so, with the exception of when the occasional creature is stirred from mining or some other industrial activity, there's not typically a need for adventurers, especially adventurers from Alexandria.
Today, however, after a Hero's Feast in the early morning (provided by Thurid) before setting out on an airship ride, the group has been ushered into the Duke's private domicile, although the Duke himself is not present. Instead, the Duke's most trusted advisor, a human gentleman with dark skin and spectacles perched on his nose, enters the room. He bows lightly to the group.
"His Grace will not be joining us today; he has an urgent matter to discuss with the lady of the household in her own estate," the man says. "I am Fernand Bamonte, chief advisor to His Grace. I have known him since we were boys."
Fernand smiles a little. "I would appreciate your discretion in this matter. We've opted for Alexandrian adventurers with the hope that this matter could be taken care of quietly and covertly. The knight in question is actually from Llyranost, and we'd rather avoid a diplomatic incident if we can help it. I trust you all received a small summary of the job?"
Indeed, there was one, albeit very brief. A knight belonging to the Duke of Isobar has been terrorizing the countryside. She hasn't been hurting people, per se, but populations of animals and magical beasts have been disappearing, and the Duke has been fielding complaints from the common folk.
Dirk is feeling good after three helpings from the most wonderful breakfast he's ever consumed in his more than three centuries of life. The airship trip was a pleasant one, and he hit the ground in a chipper mood. And getting assigned to work for an actual duke--it seems like the burly old ranger's mood couldn't possibly get any better. Fortunately, Fernand's description of the job does an excellent job of putting a damper on the snowbeard's good humor. His expression becomes a dour frown of concern. "Whole -populations-? Och, that dinnae sound like summat a Llyranosi knight would be doin'," he muses, giving his beard a thoughtful tug. "Can ye tell us where we might find this knight, Master Fernand? We'll head out there straight away an' get 'er sorted. Compared tae some jobs we've had, this should be pease porridge."
Auranar hadn't been overly ecstatic about the brief synapsis about the knight which had included very little about the knight in question. Nor even about the things that this knight has done to warrant hunting down. "Some more information might be helpful." She provides a bit quietly. "If you do not know exactly where to locate this knight... That is something I might be able to help with." Here she nods to her companions whom surely by this point might have guessed at her sorcerous abilities even if she is carrying a bow and arrows with her. Those that don't know her that is.
Thurid had partaken heartily in the feast herself, and given that the miraculously conjured food was more than enough for the entire party and then some, she has invited the innkeeper and their family to join in as well, and share stories about their home and business. The cleric of Angoron is clad in her gleaming golden chainmail, along with the rather less colourful blue and brown monastic scapular of Angoron. She has with her her great Adamantine earthbreaker- like as not the raw materials for which were sourced right here.
She currently lounges in a seat, the hammer head down and one foot on it as she listens. "And what can you tall us of the knight herself?" she asks. "Any idea what's caused her to crack? Surely this must be a new thing, if she's served the duke well in the past?"
A pile of food AND an airship ride? This duke is nice, paying them so well, and up front! Rhar was already ready to help with some kind of knight gone bad. Afterall, she's a knight, too! Or so that one guy said, and Gurr assures her. She's also the Baness of Night, so that's twice as nightish!
She listens to the Duke-buddy, nodding frequently. Though she shakes her head at the summary part. "Rhar get only food, ride, and told why go. But enough. Will stop bad knight!," she assures with enthusiasm.
Gurr pays attention and takes mental notes (possibly to correct a wolfling in the near future), though depending on the size of doorways, space in rooms, and/or staff opinions regarding shedding, may well be doing his best to listen from outside the room.
It was always a good time to have a feast amongst friends. It was even better, when that feast shared with fellow adventurers. Aelwyn's swagger had not been lessened any, despite the enjoyment of various delicacies and drinks - though he was still trying to adjust his armor and leather straps in place. "Tch, it is always 'with discretion'," He rumbles quietly to the rest of the party. "Golden Coast or here; it seems that titles only bring whispered murders in the dark." He amusedly says, before turning back towards the advisor.
"Surely the duke mourns the chance to meet us," The ruddy sith-makar cheerfully replies, "Do they have an army or a castle? This one is not familiar with how knights of this fair land live." His tail makes a motion.
"Her name is Cleiuin. Clei for short." Fernand frowns. "She is without surname, although the rumor that has followed her is that she was an orphan and was bounced around between noble houses as a tender of horses. She became a knight, and she participated in a tournament here that saw her win the top prize."
Fernand's expression grows a little stormy. "She was... an unorthodox fighter in the tournament. She seemed to go into some sort of state of battle-frenzy, and she would not stop until her enemies were vanquished. I warned His Grace to dismiss her, but he seemed... enthralled by the woman."
He pauses a moment before continuing. "Despite this, she has not yet been gifted an estate nor an army. She is one of our most junior of knights, and so she has lived out of the barracks. I am informed that she seems hungry to prove herself. Perhaps this is why she has been terrorizing the countryside, and has maybe grown more desperate as the Duke has not noticed her beyond his initial attraction. It is just that she leaves the corpses behind for others to discover."
He goes over to a map of Isobar hanging on the wall, pointing to a specific spot. "Just two hours ago, I received tell that she had arrived in this small valley, where we have some bestial populations that have been known to prey upon those who pass unprepared. Winged owlbears, to be exact." Fernand smiles a thin-lipped smile. "I am told they are a rarity outside of Isobar."
That's a fair bit more information at least, and Auranar nods. "Very well then, we had best make haste to this location in the hopes of catching her up before she moves on." Auranar motions to the map. "Might we have this for a time to use to keep us on the right path?" She looks to her allies. "I have no further questions to ask, and am ready to depart."
Dirk listens to Fernand, his expression growing more dour by the moment. "So... she's actin' out tryin' tae get -attention-? Och, if I dinnae ken better, I'd say she were bein' an angry teenager needin' a stern talkin' to," he grumbles softly. "Beards o' me fathers, she's worse than that Pryde brat." He turns his attention over to the map, studying it with a hairy eyeball. "A valley... hrm. If she's still there, should be easy 'nough tae catch 'er an' hem 'er in. -Then- we can set 'er down an' give 'er that stern talkin' to." He looks back to Fernand. "What's the terrain like out that direction?" he asks. "If she's in any kind o' forest... well. I'll be able tae track 'er easy as blinkin'. An' these owlbears... cannae say as I've ever hunted one o' those. But maybe I can talk to them, if we catch one in a friendly mood." Pause. "That's assumin' they -have- a friendly mood."
Thurid nods slowly as she listens and rubs the back of her neck, "A hard upbringing often breeds hard people." she laments and falls quiet as she listens to the rest. "So a one sided affection gone sour? One for the bards, for sure." she says and then stands and rolls her shoulders, placing one hand on the haft of the hammer. "If we've a lead on her location, I say we waste no time and make haste. We might head her off while she is still there, or at least have fresh tracks to follow."
She glances over at Dirk, and grins, a toothy affair revealing the source of her laughter lines and the chipped front tooth both. "I find most things have a friendly mood, if you've the patience for them." she assures, and then with a one handed heft lugs the hammer up to rest over her shoulder.
Aelwyn tilts his head towards Dirk, and then leans in close. "Or maybe the duke does." He quietly whispers. "Blade goes through the heart after all." He flashes his teeth, before he straightens and listens on in the more details.
The ruddy sith-makar steps closer and then tilts his hip, leaning his glaive against the side of his head. "And how does she fight? On mount, with blade? One said unconventional, what is unconventional in this land?" He clicks his teeth. "And what do they like or detest? Food, boys, girls, long starry nights or hunts that go on until the horses run out?"
Rhar bounds over to look at the giant picture Fernand points at. She stares at it while parsing everything that's said. Sort of. "Knight protect! Pack go, make knight protect. Maybe with words, maybe with sticks." She's open to conversational methods, even if she can't pronounce the phrase. She then nods at Thurid as she bounds back to the group. "Pack go, be quick!"
GAME: Auranar casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 13 DC: 17 GAME: Thurid casts Magic Circle Against Evil. Caster Level: 13 DC: 17
"She is deadly with both blade and bow," Fernand replies dryly as he works the map off of the wall, folding it up to give to Auranar, since she asked for it. "There are forests along that valley. I'm told that there are berries there in season, although hardly anyone goes picking there due to the peril involved. As for what the lady likes... I'm not certain. She seems to spend very little time among people if she can help it; most of the time, she's not in the barracks, but rather out in civilization."
With no other questions, other than where to find a mage who can teleport them, Fernand directs the party to the court mage, who teleports the group to the lip of the valley. Indeed, once they arrive, it's clear what Fernand meant. It's beautiful. The cliffs are lined with moss, and along the lines of the earth, bushes grow with little blueberries.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (15)+1: 16 GAME: Rhar rolls perception: (8)+23: 31 GAME: Thurid rolls perception: (12)+14: 26 GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (18)+5: 23 GAME: Dirk rolls perception+6: (4)+21+6: 31
Auranar's ears - pointed as they are - perk up as they arrive and the sound of something catches her attention. The unhappy noise puts her on edge, and she points in the direction of the sound, but doesn't say anything, not wanting to give away their own location, and starts in that direction herself, drawing her bow and an arrow for good measure. Just in case.
GAME: Dirk rolls knowledge/arcana: (9)+3: 12
Thurid was not the biggest fan of Teleporting, but since she suggested making haste, she was hardly in position to protest. Before they travel, she takes a moment to pray to Angoron from protection- while there's no indication that they are to face evil, per say, it never hurts to be prepared. "On the off chance we encounter fiends or their ilk, stay close to me." she advises the rest of the party. It's surprising how often her forays out of town do involve running into fiends.
Once they arrive in the location, Thurid takes in a deep breath of the outside air- in part to dispel the nagging nausea she always feels after teleporting, and in part to take in the sights, sounds and scents of the great outdoors. And then she freezes, "Scream." she tells the others. She clutches her holy symbol, the hammer of Angoron on an iron chain about her neck, and speaks a quiet prayer. Wings sprout from her back, and when she opens her eyes again there is lightning in them. "I'll take a look." she calls out and then takes off into the air, flying towards the sound. Subtlety? Not her forte.
GAME: Thurid casts Angelic Aspect. Caster Level: 13 DC: 19
Rhar doesn't mind walking, but she's usually not the one doing the walking. Appropriately, Gurr is grateful for the expedited travel, gastrointestinal discomfort or not.
"Eww. Dizzy." Rhar is less thrilled, but the cry out that is suddenly silenced makes her stomach flop more. "Trouble! We go!" With that, her guts lurch s'more as Gurr takes off in the direction of the sound.
Dirk is well used to traveling via translocation at this point in his career. He doesn't even twitch a whisker as the court mage magicks them to the valley in question. Once they arrive, he's taken by the lush beauty of the countryside. He looks around, tipping back the brim of his tricorne as he lets out a soft whistle. "Och, what a -lovely- patch o' forest," he muses. "Might could build me a summer home here. I wonder if--"
But then, there's that scream. In a trice, he has his thunderbelcher up to his shoulder. He peers around, trying to find the source of that heart-wrenching sound. "Och, I've never heard a beast make a sound like -that-," he mutters softly. "Be mindful, friends. Think our wayward knight's close by."
As Thurid sprouts wings and takes off, Dirk can only boggle for a moment. "Well, so much fer -subtle-," he grumbles quietly. He looks over his shoulder at his comrades. "I can slip down there quiet-like an' see if Thurid flushes anything out. Long as we stick tae the forest, anything what can spot me deserves to."
Aelwyn walks up to Dirk and slaps the dwarf on the shoulder. "Worry not, the forests shall remember Hero, yet this kingdom shan't if we do our job properly." He flashes his teeth and then takes a hefty gulp from his wineskin. He doesn't really comment on the scenery; or anything really, just focused on getting his gear in check. "Good with blade and bow - this one is quite annoyed. It seems that neither Advisor nor Duke know much about this knight; or do they wish to tell us if they did." He clicks his tongue and tilts his head with an exhale. "It shall be needlessly difficult task.
The group advances, Thurid on wing and the others tracking forward. The valley terrain eventually gets rockier, with more defined cliffsides as they go, although the forest still very much remains.
Unfortunately, it becomes all too evident what the source of the scream had been. In the distance is a giant nest that is covered in blood.
In the nest are the bodies of young winged owlbears, their little wings broken. One has been decapitated and the rest are riddled with arrows. In the center of the nest stands an elf woman with mithral armor, panting, her dark hair matted with blood. A tattoo of a feather lines her cheek, and her violet eyes glance up as the adventurers approach.
A smile curls across her lips. "You don't look like townsfolk," she says. "Don't tell me--did the Duke send you lot? Shameful of him to send murderers after me when all I did was turn him down for a dance at the ball." So says the woman covered in the blood of freshly killed baby owlbears.
In the distance comes another raspy scream.
GAME: Dirk rolls Sense Motive: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Thurid rolls diplomacy: (12)+10: 22 GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (19)+5: 24
Thurid pauses and grunts when she catches the scent of blood, and sees its source a moment later. Her wings beat once more, bringing her to a stop a few feet off the ground, hammer held at the ready in both hands. She calls out across the space between them, "We do not mean to kill you, but we *will* stop this. Come along, and there need be no more bloodshed. We will hear your tale. But if you do not, then we will be forced to bring you to heel." she calls out to the sil woman.
Her eyes dart up at the distant, raspy scream, but then return to the woman as she waits for an answer to her challenge.
It is easy enough to see the blood on the 'knight' and Gurr (and maybe even Rhar) can smell it, too. The wolf of unusual size looses a deep whine at the scene that lowers further in a low, warning growl of distaste. Meanwhile, Rhar is blinking. So much that she even flips some of her mass of fur out of the way to peer harder and takes a couple sniffs. "Why?! Cubs?! What happen?! Where mother?!" More information is necessary to process all of ... this.
Auranar is appalled by the sight of the carnage. Worse, there is no doubt in her mind that this woman is the one who killed these creatures. These innocent animals which certainly did not seem to deserve to die. She moves forward, striding toward the other woman, her own bow at the ready, her arrow pointed squarely at the woman. She needs not say anything about what has happened, Thurid has spoken more than well enough for all of them. She is ready to act should the woman decide not to listen. Then it strikes her... The purple eyes. The black mark on the woman's cheek. "You are a disciple of the Corpse Eater."
She does not say it as a question. She states it as fact. Her lips curl grimly and with her arrow-holding hand she lowers the front of her dress just a touch. To show the mark that lays there. "Cousin?"
Aelwyn starts walking on after the others, nonplussed by the carnage. He raises his hands (and his glaive) into the air. "This one has seen people hunted down for less, knight." The draconian replies. "It is simply the task." The Dragoon doesn't do any offensive looking gestures though, letting the others lead the discussion. After all, not instantly murdering the bounty usually has lead to twists and turns in the tales, he has come to notice; and the others seemed to have plenty to say.
"Ah, but this one is curious - what does Knight call themselves?" He cheerfully asks.
It's a heartbreaking sight that Dirk spies when they finally reach their quarry. His eyes get wide and his cheeks pale as his gaze takes in the carnage that surrounds the sil knight. His jaw works soundlessly, his voice a hoarse rasp in his throat. "Wha... what..." Finally, his gaze settles back upon the knight one last time. Hearing what she says sends the color racing right back to the old snowbeard's features. His cheeks turn red as his brows scrunch together in furious scowl that makes his beard bristle fiercely. "Ye did all -this-... because some noble ponce was makin' a -pass- at ye?! These poor wee little babbies?! YE KILLED THEM ALL BECAUSE O' -THAT-!?" It doesn't take long for his voice to rise to a thunderous, infuriated roar.
But no, Dirk. That's not the reason. Or, perhaps, not the only one. Auranar makes that particular observation--that the knight serves the Corpse Eater, a dread fae entity with which the old snowbeard is well familiar. He looks to his friend, eyes getting wide as teacups. "The -Corpse Eater-?" he gasps. For a moment, he turns pale again, before that hearty dwarven rage returns with a vengeance. He rounds back on the knight, racking his thunderbelcher with a firm CHK-CHAK! He starts stomping forward, snorting and snarling as he approaches. "Right, -that- tears it, ye've just earned yeself -one right proper arse-kickin'-!" he thunders.
Cleiuin's violet eyes fix onto Auranar as the other woman advances. There's a momentary bout of confusion on her face. "I have no family, and I don't know who you mean by 'Corpse-Eater'," she says. "All I have is the Rook..." She sweeps an arm around the nest. "For over a year, he's been silent, and I've been trying to get his attention again, but no matter how many families I cut down..."
Thurid and Dirk's words get a violet glare. Cleiuin draws her bow. "You don't understand!" she says. "I have to do this! I have to! The Rook left me all alone, and the only way I can get his eyes back on me is to _kill_!" Her violet eyes are crazed as she looks at Auranar. "You must have stolen his love and attention away! Otherwise, why would you have his mark!?"
As Cleiuin says the last word, two winged owlbears soar in, crying out as they appear and see their dead young. Cleiuin calls out, "O Rook Who Guides Me, see me spill blood in your name! Watch me strike down your favored one! LOOK AT ME!"
She knocks back an arrow, and it's pointed right at... Auranar.
GAME: Thurid rolls 1d20+2: (11)+2: 13 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+12+3+1+1+1: (15)+12+3+1+1+1: 33 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+7+3+1+1+1: (15)+7+3+1+1+1: 28 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+4+1d4+9: (3)+4+(4)+9: 20 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+4+1d4+9: (8)+4+(1)+9: 22
Auranar's eyes blaze with righteous fury. All of this in the name of the Corpse Eater. All of this pain because he had lived. Still causing agony though he is dead. She knocks her arrow and lets it fly, not once but twice. "I am the granddaughter of Alud'rigan, the Feathered One! It is his mark I bear, and those who serve the Rook, the Corpse Eater, have no place in this world!"
One of the winged owlbears screams out, charging ahead of its mate to the other intruders on their territory. It lands on the ground next to Auranar, screeching a mournful howl. It seems, as far as the owlbears might be concerned, everyone here is responsible for the death of their children. Pain and rage are not sensible things.
Dirk's eyes get wide as the mated owlbears arrive on the scene. They're bigger than he thought. The notion of having to put them down breaks the old ranger's heart, but... he can't let them hurt his friends. He snaps his infuriated gaze to Cleiuin and levels a finger at her. "-You-," he snarls, his voice brimming with wrath. "I'll -find- you. Nae matter where ye go, nae matter how ye might try tae hide, I will -find- ye." His prey has been chosen--now to deal with the owlbears. He trundles forward a short distance, to get within optimal range, and brings up his thunderbelcher. His thumb clicks back the hammer, even as his eyes well with tears. "O Blessed Lady, please forgive me fer what I must do," he whispers tightly.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls intimidate: (5)+21: 26 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (15)+26: 41 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (14)+26: 40 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (4)+26: 30 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (18)+34: 52 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d6+14: (7)+14: 21 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d6+14: (5)+14: 19 GAME: Riptide rolls 2d6+14: (6)+14: 20
The remaining winged owlbear lashes out with its claws and wings, pinning Cleiuin down to the ground as it tears into her armor. Her screams are absolutely horrifying, but then again... So was the scream of the baby owlbear that Cleiuin had killed.
The Dragoon was stretching the polearm behind his shoulders, striding forward in a lazy, haphazard fashion. "The Rook has forgotten, it seems, for they have taken what was left of Knight's mind." Aelwyn states, tilting his head. "Perhaps this is a mercy, after all."
The winged owlbear suddenly appears, and Aelwyn takes a sudden step back, his glaive lit in his arms. "What is that-" The draconian starts, but he leaves the question unfinished in the air. Instead, he takes long (relatively, due to his kind-of-tall legs). His glaive swipes at loose stones, flicking them at the owlbears eyes. "Beast! Begone!" He kicks a stone in the air and with an exaggerated swipe in the air, sends if flying at the large beast. "Lest we dice one to thinly cut slices!"
"Rhar no like you cousin," she notes to Auranar even as she and Gurr lumber up to stand with her. "Bear-owl angry, but Rhar not want fight. Not enemy. Pack go quick, go now, be close, Rhar protect pack! " Gurr's growl continues now vented at the nearby owlbear in warning. He is angry, too, but also knows they are not their true foe.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+24+17: (11)+24+17: 52
Underneath the owlbear's paw, Cleiuin screams out a terrifying war-scream, defying the physics of a small frame and surging with power as she throws the giant owlbear's paw off of her. She darts a small distance away, training her longbow on the owlbear. "You will pay for spilling my blood," she snarls, an almost bestial anger to her features.
GAME: Thurid casts Blessing of Fervor. Caster Level: 13 DC: 18 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+12+3+1+1+2: (10)+12+3+1+1+2: 29 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+12+3+1+1+2: (16)+12+3+1+1+2: 35 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+7+3+1+1+2: (10)+7+3+1+1+2: 24 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+4+1d4+9+2: (8)+4+(2)+9+2: 25 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+4+1d4+9+2: (1)+4+(2)+9+2: 18 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+4+1d4+9+2: (2)+4+(3)+9+2: 20 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (17)+26: 43 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (14)+26: 40 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+26: (8)+26: 34
Ducking around behind Gurr, Auranar levels her bow at her 'cousin' once again. She wants this fight over, so that they can flee from the owlbears and leave them in peace. She doesn't want them dead. Not if she can avoid it. Which means that 'cousin dearest' needs to die. This time three arrows flee from her hands and all three slam into the other woman. Between Auranar's attacks and the owlbear, the woman is looking quite wounded, but not dead.
Not yet.
GAME: Rhar rolls melee: (14)+23: 37
The owlbear by the group down to the south of the nest screeches some more, swiping at Gurr, but Rhar pokes with her sticks valiantly to keep the old wolf from being assaulted by owlbear.
GAME: Dirk rolls shoot: aliased to Ranged+2-4: (18)+18+2+-4: 34 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2d12: aliased to 1d12+2+8+2d12: (6)+2+8+(15): 31
Dirk steals glances between the owlbears and the fallen knight. Feeling Thurid's blessing settle upon him, he lets it lend swiftness to his feet. He dashes forward and skids to a halt, his cloak flaring dramatically behind him as he swings up his thunderbelcher. He lines up a single, perfect shot and pulls the trigger. CHK-BOOM! The blessed weapon kicks in his grip, and the shot hammers hard into Cleiuin's form. It leaves a grievous wound that pushes her ever closer to that final threshold, but even now, she remains up and kicking. "Grrraaah, fall down an' -die- already!" he snarls as he racks his weapon's slide, ejecting the spent shells with tinkle of hissing metal.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (2)+8: 10
Aelwyn hears the shouting, the cries, the really, really loud gunbelcher shot that he can never quite get used to - but mostly he sees the massive winged beast in front of him. "Tch." He grits his teeth, realizing he is stuck dealing with this massive monster. "Move fast!" He calls out, "Lest we are forced to dance the macabre!"
The Dragoon's eyes then turn towards the beast. Looking around himself - he then spreads his hands and glaive around him in a circle, standing still, ready to spring.
The owlbear back at the nest seems ready to charge at Cleiuin, but then there's a tiny, tiny sound.
It's a little warbling screech. One of the babies weakly, weakly lifts its head, despite the fact its body is filled with arrows to the brim.
The mother (or father) owlbear immediately stops what it's doing to tend to the baby, making distressed noises as it tries to figure out how to help its child.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+11: (11)+11: 22
The tiny sound is caught by big wolf ears and Gurr's growling stutters for a moment as his muzzle swings around towards the nest. There is another whine of concern; he is a parent of a cub, too, afterall. He has been for decades, now, and learned long ago his cub is never going to get any larger, or be able to take care of herself.
Rhar may not notice the noise this time, as she's still focused on her pack and the angry bear-owl. "Pack go go go! Be safe!" She waves the sticks in paw (the big round one and the sharp pointy one) around s'more to help keep it's attention or distract it.
Cleiuin hears the sound of the baby owlbear, and the distressed sound of the parent owlbear, and her violet eyes go wide. Thurid and Dirk both can see her visibly struggling, and her gauntleted hand goes up to her face. "N-No..."
Tears well in her eyes. "All I wanted... was a family... But Rook, I don't know that I can... I..."
Guilt wracks her face, and she goes to draw her longsword instead.
GAME: Thurid rolls sense motive: (9)+12: 21 GAME: Rhar rolls sense motive: (15)+2: 17 GAME: Auranar rolls Sense Motive: (11)+3: 14 GAME: Dirk rolls Sense Motive: (7)+4: 11 GAME: Aelwyn rolls sense motive: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Thurid rolls cmb+2: (19)+15+2: 36 GAME: Thurid rolls damage18+1d6: aliased to 2d6+9+1d6: (8)+9+(2): 19 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12 GAME: Thurid casts Archon's Aura. Caster Level: 13 DC: 17 GAME: Thurid rolls 3d8+13: (17)+13: 30
Thurid's eyes widen when the woman draws her blade, and with a grunt she brings her hammer up and then swings it- it comes crashing down on the blade which shatters in her hands. The hammer blow continues until it strikes the earth, where she relinquishes her grip on the weapon leaving it standing in a crater of its own making. "ENOUGH!" And then a steadying breath, "I am Thurid Freeborn. My hammer is the chain breaker." she tells the woman. "Not all chains are made of iron. Some bind the heart." she tells her.
She turns away and starts walking towards the still living Owlbear cub, hands held out before her- and heedless of any potentially stabbing in the back. "It's ok. I can help." she assures the mama owlbear, drawing near. She ignores the growls and the bristling of the parent, and drops to a knee. She clutches her holy symbol in one hand, and with the other reaches out carefully to touch the cub. "Angoron, Highest, Grant this little one the strength to hunt again." she beseeches. Positive energies flow from her fingertips, and begin knitting up the cub's wounds. She casts one more glance around the nest, incase any of the others show signs of life, but sighs heavily when she sees none.
GAME: Auranar rolls Diplomacy: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Auranar rolls Diplomacy: (18)+6: 24
"He was never going to give you a family." Auranar's voice is rough, and she lowers her bow then. "But if you come with us you have a chance at a life. One that isn't full of lies and pain." She doesn't know if her speech means anything to the woman, but she hopes that it does.
Cleiuin looks up at Auranar, and her violet eyes fill with tears--violet eyes that are so much like Cor'lana's, just like when Auranar's sister has cried (many times) in Auranar's presence.
She falls to her knees. "I don't know if I deserve a life," she admits. "Not after all the... horrible, horrible pain I've caused, but that's the way it always was. Ever since I was young..."
Cleiuin hangs her head. "I surrender."
With Cleiuin's surrender, and the fact that no one is making any moves to hurt the owlbears, things become much calmer. Mama (or Papa, there's still no real way of knowing without looking places that will start a fight) Owlbear permits Thurid to treat her baby and remove the arrows. Sadly, the other babies didn't make it.
When the group returns to Fernand with Cleiuin in tow, Fernand seems almost displeased. "Given that she has not committed any crimes, per se, other than disturbing the peace, we will overlook this... Although I highly recommend madame should return with you, to Alexandria." He looks pointedly at Auranar. There's something unspoken there. Better for Cleiuin to be unofficially exiled than for papers to be drawn up stating such.
"I'd rather not have the Duke sulk at me every time there's a ball, anyway," Cleiuin remarks.
On the airship back home, conversations with Cleiuin reveal that she's an orphan, with her name ('quiet feather' in Sildanyari) having been given to her by one of the various knights she squired for back in Llyranost--as no one had bothered to give her a proper name before then, simply calling her 'Girl' in sildanyari most of the time. Cleiuin had been approached at least two years before by a figure that Auranar most certainly recognizes as the Corpse-Eater. The Rook, as Cleiuin calls him, had promised to become her family... so long as she killed for him.
The thing is, Cleiuin never could work up the courage (and the moral bankruptcy) required to destroy mortal families and couples, like the Rook wanted her to do. She only ever hunted animal packs. Unfortunately, the Rook expressed his great displeasure in her for this fact during the last time they had spoken to each other, which was shortly before the Corpse-Eater's death at the hands of Auranar and friends.
Whether or not she's related to Auranar--through Alud'rigan or through Legus'elain--is still somewhat up in the air. But she expresses an interest in finding out... eventually.
-End