"Titles, eh? I know how that business works. Fuck 'em," Brannik says with a hearty laugh. "The name's Brannik, but some folk call me the Bull. Makes no difference to me. Owin and yourself are welcome to journey with us. As long as there are bandits and foul-folk afoot, allies are invaluable," the dwarf says, giving the man a firm but amiable handshake.
Gemma politely introduces herself as well. "Hopefully with Owin we have a good chance at finding these Red Piss-ants," she says, giving her spear a short jab at the air for emphasis.
"I'm partial to my own title, myself, but I guess that comes from my upbringing," Wes responds at the mention of titles. Ser Wesley Tarkin... It's got a great ring to it!
To Rardan, the Menoran responds, "Owin sounds like our best shot at finding these brutes then. And those longbow skills could come in handy too." With a light smile at Owin, he says, "Glad to have you with us!"
Hm, another knight. Who'd have thought we'd find one out in a backwater like this?"It is nice to meet the both of you," Adrian says, toning back his accent to his normal method of speech - still foreign-sounding, though not extremely so. He unfolds his arms as he becomes more comfortable with the now-friendly men.
"It is good to have more capable fighters among us. I am sure we will need as many skilled combatants as we can find to fight these men on their home turf." Turning to Owin, he asks, "how easily do you think you will be able to find this hideout? The faster we find it the better, enough people have died or been otherwise harmed by these cowards already. I'd like to separate their heads from their necks."
"If we can get close and draw them out it'll definitely be easier," Owin says to Adrian. "A week tops, less if they've left a decent trail," he adds answering the Gleosian's question.
"Best place to start looking would be the Southern fields. The ones that ran away here fled that way. With any luck their trail could lead us right there," Ser Rardan says. "Come, it's this way," he says setting off through the village.
"Then let's get to it," Brannik says, satisfied that they have grown in size and skill-set. "Do you lot know anything else about the Red Whispers? Their leadership?" the dwarf asks as they walk.
"Maybe their structure will be disorganized and allow for us to take them on more easily," Wes responds to the dwarven man. "I'm not sure how good bandits and ruffians would be at creating a successful hierarchy."
"All you need is one effective leader to keep the others in line," Adrian responds, remembering the vast gaps in organization between the regions he'd seen in both Gleios and Tulrisse. This boy needs to learn more of the world. I suppose he will soon enough."They'd have collapsed long ago if they didn't have at least that. Let us just hope that is all they have, and that their leader can be easily dealt with."
"And likewise," Brannik adds, "all you need is one hammer to the leader's skull to create a power funnel. Though I've found that bandit and raider scum like these bastards seem to be much like rats. You can stamp out the fuckers all you care for, but at the end of the season, you're going to find a whole nother nest of them."
"All else I know about them is that they're said to led by a man named Artin," Ser Rardan says. You quickly reach the edge of the small village, the houses and farm buildings giving way to fields and low dry stone walls.
"We should spread out a bit a look for any sign of where they went," Owin says, kneeling down to look at the ground.
"That's true," the Menoran says, turning towards his dwarf companion, "but at the end of the day, the people are still a little safer."
At mention of the Red Whispers' leader, Wes says, "Artin, huh? Do you know anything about him?" At Owin's suggestion, Wes begins to search the area for any clues on their whereabouts, be it footprints or something else.
Brannik keeps his eyes low, searching for any signs of the Red Whispers. Considering how they've managed this long, this Artin fellow is likely to be a decent leader. Probably pretty cunning, I'd imagine. His distracted mind and excitement leads him to hurry over the ground, however, possibly missing anything useful.
"Not really," Ser Rardan says in reply to Wes. "We haven't heard too much about them. It's only with the lack of patrols due to the war that they've grown bolder."
As you search the edge of the village, you spot a small patch of long grass near a dirt track into the fields, glistening in the sunlight. On closer inspection you see that the grass has blood dripping from it. The track heads through the fields to the South East
Walking around the edges of the fields South of the village, you spot several areas at the edges of the fields where it looks like the crops have been disturbed, perhaps by someone running past. However you are unable to discern what direction they might have been going.
Adrian nods along as the newcomers talk, trying to pick his brain to see if he can recall ever encountering information on Artin or his gang before. As he does so, he also scans the rooftops and horizon near the town, looking for signs of smoke and listening for any sounds that would suggestion a population in distress.
"I think they were here," Brannik calls out, finding some disturbed terrain. "Though I can't tell which way or how many," he admits. "Keep your eyes out."
"Southeast," Wes adds onto Brannik's observation, keen to the direction of the tracks. Pointing to the tall grass, he says, "There's some of their blood here too, so I guess we've got our lead."
"Good find," the Bull offers to the Menoran, nodding southeast. "Seems like Rardan and the others in Mawic gave them a parting gift," he says with a chuckle.
Owin walks over to Wes and inspects the blood for himself. "This is good. If they've got wounded with them, they'll be moving slowly and should be easier to track," he says, starting to follow the dirt track Southeast.
You recall traders in Red Bridge talking about the Red Whispers the last time you were there. They preyed on caravans passing through the hills to the North of the town. They developed a particularly bloody reputation and survivors' stories tend to feature the group appearing out of the hills, seemingly from no where.
Scanning the sky, you see no signs of smoke or any other indicator as to where the brigands have gone.
"On your lead," Brannik says, letting Owin guide the group forward. "Though if they have been injured, they will fight more recklessly. Never get between a retreating enemy and his home."
"There does not appear to be any other distress in the distance, so retreating is most likely," Adrian says, in support of Brannik's comment. "Caution is best even if they are not wounded. I've heard of these men before, and they tend to attack in large numbers and with little warning. Best to keep our wits about us as we move forward, lest we be taken by surprise by our quarry."
"Let's hope we can be the ones to catch them off-guard instead," Wes replies, beginning to follow Owin again. "And though they may fight more desperately given their injuries, maybe their defense'll suffer. Though I guess we should still be careful."
Nearing sunset, after tracking the Red Whispers for the rest of the day off the farm tracks and into the rocky hills, you come across a body slumped against a boulder further up ahead. Owin silently knocks an arrow as you approach.
Raising a hand, Brannik signals dangers. "Careful, we may walk into an ambush," the dwarf says as he steps slowly forward. "Of course, one of the bastards may've succumbed to the beatings you and your lot gave him," the Bull notes with a grin to Ser Rardan.
Keeping his eyes flitting to and fro, Brannik creeps toward the body to investigate for any signs of death.
Keeping an eye on the surrounding rocky outcroppings and hills, you cautious make your way over to the man. On approach you see an arrow sticking out of his thigh. However once you are closer you see that his throat has been slit.
"Looks like somebody slowed this fellow down with an arrow to his, before catching up and cutting his throat," Brannik reasons aloud, having judged the sight safe to approach. "Does this look like one of your assailants?" the dwarf asks Ser Rardan and the tracker. "Hopefully not one of your own men."
"He'd be one of the assailants," Owin says, joining the dwarf by the dead man. He slips his arrow back into his quiver and grasps the one embedded in the corpse's leg. With a firm tug, the arrow comes loose and Owin twirls it in his fingers. "This is mine," he says before putting the arrow in his quiver.
"Did they seem like the type that would silence one of their own that is slowing them down, to safeguard from spilling secrets?" Brannik asks, curiously. Brutal, he comments inwardly, with disgust.
Wes winces for a moment at the grisly display of the slit throat before saying, "Well, I wouldn't think they're called the Red Whispers for nothing. The red is just the blood of their own, apparently."Gods, so much for friendship and camaraderie if that's what they do.
Cruel but effective. It is no wonder they've lasted so long."As gruesome of a thought as it is, it would explain their effectiveness. It seems this 'Artin' is as cunning as he is ruthless." As he speaks he begins to search the man's person, looking for any useful items or piece of parchment that could give clues to where the Red Whispers were headed.
"He must have some sort of charm to attract the type that would be okay with pure opportunism like this," Brannik theorizes. "Hell, I hardly know you bastards but I doubt I could do a thing like that to you to save my own hide." The dwarf watches on with interested eyes as the Wind Dancer swiftly searches the slain man. Of course, I'm not the type to become villainous scum like this poor shitstain here, eh?
"Well that's certainly good to hear," Ser Rardan replies to Brannik, the old knight turn to watch the slowly setting sun. "We should probably make camp soon. We'll want to make the most of the light tomorrow."
"There's a good chance we're drawing near their hideout. We should plan for how to find it," Owin says. "Tracking them so far hasn't been too difficult, but if they've been able to operate all this time without being found then they probably go to extra effort to hide their tracks near to home. Drawing them out was mentioned earlier wasn't it?"
In the man's pockets you find 2 golden coins stamped with the head of the now dead king. However he has little else on his person. You notice the lack of a weapon, suggesting the other bandits took most of what he had with them.
"Looks like he was cleaned out by whoever did this. By the lack of any weapons, probably his allies as predicted," Adrian says as he pockets the two pieces of gold. "Camp sounds good, but we should be on alert tonight. A band as known for sneak attacks and ambushes can't be allowed to sneak up on us while we lay sleeping. We should camouflage our camp in whatever foliage we can find."
"No fire tonight, friends." Brannik notices Ser Rardan's eyes on the sunset, and he too watches for a moment. "Do you think they're watching us now?" he asks, curiously. If there's anything I hate more than bandits, its an ambush by the bastards.
"Maybe we should split up into pairs or something to keep watch tonight," Wes suggests as the discussion shifts to setting up camp and the night ahead. "Since I'd rather not get killed in my sleep and all." At Brannik's question, Wes observes the nearby area, looking and listening for any signs that they may not be alone.
Your two new companions nod in agreement. "They could be, although with this one here, I think we managed to truely rout them back in the village.," Ser Rardan replies to Brannik, pointing to the dead man still slumped against the rock. "Ser Wes is right though, I'd definitely sleep a lot better knowing they're not going to slit our throats in the night."
Having not seen or heard any other presence in the area, Wes says, "I don't see or hear anyone else nearby, but we should still be careful." With Ser Rardan having agreed with the suggestion of watches, the knight says, "I'm not too tired yet, so I'll take a spot in the first watch group."
Adrian discusses with his lover for a moment, before responding "Chloë and I are fine taking any of them. You folk decide amongst yourselves what you prefer."
"First watch sounds good," Brannik responds. "Tomorrow we'll get some more progress on finding these sneaky little bandits," the dwarf promises. It's about time somebody showed them a little humility.
The discussion on watches continues for a few more minutes as you move on from the dead body and look for a good site to camp. The camp is erected quickly, mostly due to not needing to collect wood for a fire. You turn in early wanting to make the most of the light the next day.
The night passes uneventfully and the last watch rises the rest of the party at first light. After a quick breakfast, you pick up the bandit's trail once more and continue to track them.
Around late morning, after seeing no signs of the bandits for a mile or so, Owin speaks. "I think we've lost them," he says solemnly. "They probably took more care hiding their movements this close to their home. They won't have done it perfectly but another plan might be quicker than continuing to search for a trail."
"Shit," Brannik responds, agitated at the sudden lost of the trail. "Should we double back to where we last saw it?" he asks. "Or perhaps we can make some noise to draw the bastards out to us."
You are now quite deep into the hills that span the southern part of Fausta's Steppe, stretching from the Dwarvern mountains to Vlyast Peak. As a result the surrounding area is less open than the steppe to the North. Rocky hills surround you, dotted with the odd patch of woodland. The occasional stream cuts through the hills forming small cliffs and ravines.
"I'd imagine there are a lot of little caves and stuff for them to hide in with terrain like this," Wes says, noting the drastic change in landscape from the rest of the region. "So we should be extra careful proceeding. They could be anywhere."
"A subterranean base of sorts would make sense for this crowd. Hah," the dwarf laughs, regarding the idea. "And I thought I'd never be doing any more spelunking after leaving my home." Brannik takes stock of the immediate terrain around him. "We should keep our eyes low. Look for possible ravines, caves, or other ways of entrance. It's also highly likely that they've obfuscated an obvious entrance, so we may need to find a secondary one."
"So our options appear to be to search for their base of operations or to try and draw them out and chase them back there," Ser Rardan says, summing up the discussion so far.
"By the looks of things it would be far easier to lure them out than to try to find them. They could be anywhere in these hills, and once we're close enough they will surely be able to spot us long before we spot them. Best we bring them out into the open with us, than try to fight on their land."How fortunate we have Brannik here. Having a dwarf while chasing them through a cave will surely be useful
Wes nods in agreement to Adrian, saying, "It sure beats checking every nook and cranny. We should remain especially on guard, though. They've got the advantage of knowing the terrain, so they could come from anywhere."
"Are there any villages nearby? If not, then a wildfire would be easy to start. But it won't be good to do so if it could spread to anyone's home," Adrian replies, looking around at the foliage. We'd be no better than the brigands if our trap to lure them out ended up razing a farm town.
"There's not anything for at least a few miles as far as I know," Ser Rardan says in reply to Adrian. "With this terrain I doubt it'd spread too much either."
"A wildfire is a bit bigger than I was thinking, but I like your thinking Islander," Owin says.
"A bigger fire should provoke more of a response too," Chloe chimes in. "It'd be better to fight more of them on our own terms rather than in their home."
"Then it's settled. Here's a good a spot as any," Brannik notes. "Let's fan out and start collecting some kindling, logs, anything you can find to fuel a fire. We'll draw these sad excuses of life out." The dwarf begins to spread out from the group, collecting anything worthy of burning. Ambushing the ambushers, he muses to himself.
