The Party reached Duskfair just after mid-day. Chevelle was helped to the healer, and Owin taken to where Lord Webborn had arranged for Owin's services. The service was short, but touching. The Party already knew he was a brave and honorable man, but they now wished they had known him for more than a few hours. Rather than join the march to the grave, something they did not feel worthy of doing, they spent the time obtaining supplies.
Following was the Life Celebration in the tavern which the Party was heartily encouraged to attend. Food abounded, ale flowed, and stories were shared. In contrast to the solemn nature of the ceremony, the celebration was exactly that, a celebration of Owin and all he was to the people that knew him.
After some short while, the Party was approached by a younger lad eager to hear tales of their adventures. He was, it seems, something of an admirer of the Party.
"I heard that you were attacked on the way here?" The young man, Ansgar, asked somewhat wide eyed.
"Aye", Brold burped. "Some daft knob with a blue sack on 'is head." Brold shook his head, returning to his tankard.
"A blue...hood?" Ansgar asked. "You mean the Sapphire Devil? He's deadly dangerous, and he's been a plague on these woods for years."
"If that's the name of the guy in blue,"Elman said, "which would make sense, then yup."
"They say he's always thinking ten steps ahead" Ansgar breathed. "So that none can see his men coming."
"Sigwald saw them before they left the trees" Alart nodded to his friend.
"Oh", Ansgar continued. "Well, they say he's the best fighter alive! That he twists like a snake and moves like lightning so that none can strike him!"
"Warton here shot him" Alart clapped his friend on the shoulder, and Warton mimed shooting a bow while his companions laughed.
"You...shot him? Is he dead?" Ansgar somehow managed to sound both incredulous and awestruck at the same time.
"We don't know" Sigwald answered, slightly less jovial than he had been. "The bodies of all the brigands disappeared when we turned our attention to Owin and our wounded. Dragged off, though damned if I know how they did that so quickly."
"You have much experience with them," Sigwald asked?
"Aye," the man nodded. "My name is Kell. Owin and I fought them many times."
"Kell,"Alart asked. "You speak, move, and carry yourself like a knight. But..."
"I was once." Kell nodded, regale in baring and tone. "I am not now!" He laughed uproariously and clanked tankards with Brold.
Alart leaned back. The mantle of knighthood is a heavy burden, not taken up without effort and purpose. Not cast away easily. Not cast away at all in the mind of Alart. A "former" knight is a contradiction in his mind, unless they're a coward. Or without honor.
Alart's opinion aside, Kell proved to be an amiable fellow that the rest of the Party took to immediately. He was asked to continue the fight against evil that he had begun with Owin, but to do so now at their side. Kell humbly accepted the offer.
After some time spent at the Life Celebration, both too much and not enough, the Party set out for Faygrove. Both Kell and Ansgar had happily joined them, but Chevelle had decided to remain in Duskfair. His injuries were severe, and though he would recover fully, he had decided it was enough. His announcement of retirement from the Party was met with sadness, but also well wishes and the jovial goodbye's friends give.
The party found themselves an ideal location to camp for the night. Beside the water, the foliage low and open, but protected by stone. A fire was made, dinner set to cook, and bedrolls prepared as the moon rose over the trees. It was a pleasant evening to enjoy the beautiful setting.
The relaxed revelry of the Party was suddenly broken when Kell called out a warning.
"To arms!" he shouted. "There are people moving on us, quiet, low, and obviously not friendly!"
The party was up and moving before Kell had finished his last words, naked steel bared in the moonlight as they raced to intercept the dark clad villains.
Sir Alart suddenly paused, unsure of where he was or what was happening. He felt the retreat of a strange slipping sensation, as if he had just awoke and was recalling the drop into sleep. Shaking his head, he rushed onward! At the same time, Warton let loose arrows into the midst of the approaching thieves, but the arrows did not fly true. Curving, twisting, even looping in insanity before flying off harmlessly into the darkness. These things Sigwald observed.
"There's a sorcerer here somewhere," his voice a growl as he cut through the first of the bandits to reach them.
The night quickly filled with the ring of clashing steel and sounds of combat. Alart held the left flank, fighting back multiple bandits at a time, the others struggling to engage. The rock that had served well as protection was now a hindrance! Kell and Brold scrambled up and over the sedimentary blockade, hacking at the outlaws as they crossed. Ansgar raced along the bank to flank the attacking brigands, but suddenly slid to a stop, panting and pale. He was frightened of course, no sane man wouldn't feel fear in deadly conflict. He knew that, accepted it, pushed on regardless. But now suddenly, he couldn't go forward, couldn't face the danger. His fear was still there, but that wasn't it, a sudden icy grip of absolute terror had seized him, locking him in place!
Sigwald saw the sudden change in the lad. Swiftly he beat back two bandits, then turned and dashed through the darkness toward the bridge. He couldn't yet see his quarry, but he had heard the warped and corrupted words spoken this time, and they came from the far end of the bridge!
"There is no place for your kind here!" Sigwald rushed to her, weapons glinting in the pale light. His words came out as a roar of rage, though in truth much of his anger was with himself. He had foolishly not considered the sorceress to be in possession of martial talents. He adjusted his view and plunged in to the fight.
Cold steel flashed in cold moonlight as the two struck and parried, thrust and dodged. Across the bridge the two fought, across the softly shining grass their blades rang. Every strike deadly, but turned at the final moment. Every step granting advantage, lost at the skilled step of the other.
Finally the witch landed her blade, crashing squarely on Sigwald, his defense inadequate to stop the plunging blade. His armor, true as the man that wore it, did not yield.
A mere moment passed as both came to realize, and then Sigwald moved. The ax knocking wide the witch's weapon, his sword cutting itself through the wretched woman.
Eyes wide, with surprise or sudden understanding Sigwald could not tell, the sorceress stumbled back. She sagged to her knees, then slumped to the side, sliding down the bank and into the river below.
Suddenly freed from the enchantment Ansgar rushed into the brigands, his fear turned to fury, cutting one down in a single blow. Warton put another down immediately now that his arrows were free to fly as they should.
Quickly the brigands found themselves outmatched.
A heartbeat later they found themselves out numbered.
And then they found themselves no more.
Faygrove
Outlaws Border Dark Secrets
5 4 3
The Dark Secrets danger decreased as a result of the fight by -3!
The Sorceress was someone of importance, apparently.
Odmar was recovering from his wounds. He's still out for a turn.
Loot:
A Fizzy Tonic.
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