In Faygrove once more the Party was
able to relax their guard. The sorcerers attack last night had
disturbed all of them more than they were willing to admit, even to
each other. But Odmar was once again up, and he was waiting for them. It was good to
see him recovered and about.
While catching the dwarf up on
recent events over cold ales the Party began to feel better, more
normal. Alart thought that it may have been the lingering effects of
the magic used against him that was giving him the awkward feeling,
but now he wasn't sure. Events of late had seemed less...random, he supposed.
Brold caught their attention from
the door, a jerk of his head told them to follow him outside.
“This is Mezar,” Brold
gestured. The man stood nervously looking everywhere but at the Party
as they filed into the street. “He's Idona's brother. She told him
to come to us, he needs help.”
“Done!” Sigwald said, and Alart
nodded in agreement.
“Er...” Mezar began. “Thank
you. Idona speaks so highly of you, and your reputation is of such
stature, I had thought my plight beneath your time.”
“Any that need our help are
worthy of our time.” Alart said in a reassuring tone. “Now, tell
us what you need from us?”
“There is a cult, new but growing
quickly,” Mezar said. “They've been threatening me, my family,
my farm. They want Sir Volgrath! But they can't have him!”
“Calm, lad.” Brold placed a
hand on his shoulder. “He says the cult gave him until noon today
to hand him over. If he doesn't, then they're coming for him.”
“We know who's coming,” Elman
said in an amused tone, “where they'll be, and when? I think we
can handle that.” His confident smile was infectious, and Mezar
suddenly felt quite better.
The day was warm and pleasant while
the Party waited for their foe's arrival. Spread across the farm,
the men were lounging in what seemed to be completely a relaxed
state, though they were all very aware of their surroundings.
“Explain this 'ta me once more,”
Odmar turned from watching the pigs feed to look at his companions.
Elman sat against the sty fence working on one of his tree carvings.
He had become quite good at them, and had even developed something of
a following in the area. Indeed, owning an “Original Elman” was
considered quite a status symbol in the cultured circles.
“We're protecting Sir Volgrath
from being kidnapped by the cult,” Elman said, only partly
successful in hiding his smile. “It's not really complicated.”
“Except”, Odmar huffed “he's
a pig. We're protecting a pig from being kidnapped! Who names a pig
'Sir Volgrath, anyway? It's weird.”
“If it helps”, Kell spoke
without looking away from Elman's carving. It fascinated him.
“There's a placard on the other side giving his full name as 'Sir
Volgrath the Mighty, Scourge of Darkness, Defender of Truth,
Embodiment of Justice'”.
“Oh, well then.” Odmar tossed
up his hands in disgust. “It's still a pig!”
“It's important to Mezar, and he
asked for our help.” Kell said as if that settled it.
It did.
It did.
Warton was the first to see them,
and let out a “hup!” that drew the attention of the others. From
the woods across the road men were approaching the farm, spread out
and armed. At the center was obviously the cultist, robed, masked,
and armed with an actual sword. The particular garments were not unknown to most of the Party, having seen such before. Though in that time they were worn by the man leading a patrol of enemy soldiers, not heading a cult of farmers.
Alart strode into the field towards
the men. They had discussed this. These men, excepting the leader,
were little more than farmers and peasants deluded into joining a
cult. Injuring or killing them was to be a last resort, attempting
to convince them of their error was the right thing to do. “The
blade doesn't know, or care, who wields it”, Sigwald had cautioned
everyone. And he was right, steel in your ribs was lethal no matter
who put it there.
The rest of the Party moved quickly
into their positions. Sigwald circled wide to the flank, while Brold
hurried to join Alart. The others took up positions to defend the
sty. Alart was giving a pretty good speech, but it seemed that none
of the cult were in a listening mood.
The cult Leader didn't slow, his
gaze never wavered from his goal. He appeared to not even notice the
Party, let alone the knight's words. His confidence was bolstering
that of his members, no one would falter so long as that man
continued on.
“Stop!” Warton called to the
approaching figure. “I warn you again, stop, or be stopped!”
The man paid no heed to the words,
his pace never changing. Warton dropped him into the dust with an
arrow.
The fall of their leader did not
have the affect the Party was assuming it would. Not one of the men
seemed the least bit uncertain. In fact, they suddenly rushed
forward, determined and violent.
Sigwald found himself engaged in
skilled combat, his foe refusing to hear his pleas to abandon this
course, his parries being only barely able to contain the fury of the
cultists assault.
Both Alart and Brold were finding
the same as they clashed with the men in the field. Whether it was
their own reluctance to harm the men, some dark cult effect, or
something entirely else, the simple farmers were proving to be a
martial force. Alart parried a bit to slowly, and was wounded as a
result. Reacting without thought, the knight cut down the farmer in
a single blow. Again, this disturbingly had no affect on the morale of the
remaining men.
With most of the party engaged in
combat, one cultist was able to slip past and into the sty, though he
did not do so unnoticed. Kell, Odmar, and Ansgar each saw the man coming, but couldn't move quickly enough to intercept him.
Brold saw him out of the corner of his eye,
and that proved too much of a distraction. The peasant farmer
cultist suddenly lunged, cutting Brold down where he stood. Alart
made certain that moment was the last one the cultist ever knew, and felt no remorse because of it.
Odmar and Ansgar moved quickly into
the pen, but climbing the fence and trying to move in the deep,
slick, wet mud was not conducive to speed. Warton fired, but in his
effort to not hit his friends or the pigs, could not land an arrow. Slipping in the slop, sliding around the screeching and squealing pigs, the two couldn't lay their hands on the cultist kidnapper.
Incredibly the cultist managed to
snatch up Sir Volgrath and escape the sty without being caught, and
then to race across the farm to vanish in the trees!
“Are you kidding me?” Odmar
roared into the forest as he realized that they had lost the man. And the pig.
Alart helped Brold from the field, and handed him off into the more enjoyable care of Idona. Though he was fine, the dwarf seemed to be in no hurry to convince his doting love of that fact. Idona fawned over the man, thanking both God and luck that he was still whole.
God, luck, both, or other, something was certainly watching out for Brold. Alart contemplated the small metal point he held, the severed point of a pitchfork tine. It had broken sometime during the battle, and it was that blunted tine that had slipped through the dwarf's armor and relieved him of consciousness. Had the point been intact it would have been his life instead.
Alart took time to pray his thanks, pocketed the tine as a keepsake, then headed to gather the others. The cultist had escaped for the moment, but a man carrying a pig doesn't move terribly fast. He could not have gone far.
Alart helped Brold from the field, and handed him off into the more enjoyable care of Idona. Though he was fine, the dwarf seemed to be in no hurry to convince his doting love of that fact. Idona fawned over the man, thanking both God and luck that he was still whole.
God, luck, both, or other, something was certainly watching out for Brold. Alart contemplated the small metal point he held, the severed point of a pitchfork tine. It had broken sometime during the battle, and it was that blunted tine that had slipped through the dwarf's armor and relieved him of consciousness. Had the point been intact it would have been his life instead.
Alart took time to pray his thanks, pocketed the tine as a keepsake, then headed to gather the others. The cultist had escaped for the moment, but a man carrying a pig doesn't move terribly fast. He could not have gone far.
Outlaws Border Dark Secrets
5 3 3
The Border danger decreased as a result of the fight by -1
Brold should have been dead, but succeeded on his Luck Roll, so he's fine.
Loot:
3GP, Full Armor, Silver Jewelry, Greaves, and a Hand weapon in a sack.
(This loot is...odd, for the scenario. One of the things was payment from Mezar, the rest was presumably taken from the cultists. So we have gold and jewelry, which is fine. Then we have a full suit of armor, greaves, and a sword. So either Mezar had the outfit in his barn and gave it to us, or the cultists were transporting someones armor and weapon. Either option is weird, but flavorful. I'll have to think about that one.)
I used a Story Point on this game. If my guys won the combat roll, then instead of causing a Wound, they could force the figure to make a Morale check. It represented the guys trying to “talk down” the cultists instead of killing them.
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