[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

You track your eyes between the ogres, and Briant, and the pack of poor highwaymen behind. Why, in this land of vaunted chivalry, would none of the men try to accompany them to the next town? Slaveborn suspicions smoke away in your mind, but no amount of scrutiny yields a flaw in the demeanour of those accompanied to suggest some kind of ruse. Ultimately, it seems to be a matter of lack of choices. Sir Briant is reluctant to leave the outlaws alone with the ogres, lest a bloody fight erupt, or the outlaws return to the road and shake down a less accommodating knight and exchange steel over it. But however ready he is to bargain with the ogres and the Lord Donallo in their interest, he does not trust them to escort the two of you without an unacceptable risk of ribaldry.

But he does seem to trust you. He struggles to look at either of you directly with your scandalously uncovered hair, but while Bella remains a maiden to be protected, he has taken some combination of your stature, scars and personal bearing as a suggestion that you are a woman of action who can be trusted in the role of a man.

It is possible you managed to run into one of the most egalitarian knights in all of Bretonnia.

When you ask Giorno about how much they eat - I am assuming it is more than we? - he cannot resist the set up, and gives you a big jowelly grin.

"Oh, about as much as you, I think. But you're such charming conversationalists, I think we'll wait for the sheep, if it's all the same!" He laughs, and the other ogres look to him and laugh as well though they have lost the thread of his joke, and Bella grimaces a little. They were relatively peaceful examples of their kind; but eaters of men, all the same.

Perhaps, all the more reason to get them back on the line and eating orcs and goblins as soon as possible.

* * * * *

You set out with Bella and arrive in the village up the road after a few hours travel sharing Clémence's saddle, arriving just as the sun is highest in the sky and burning away the resistant chill in the air. It's not much of a village; not compared to those you're used to in Tilea. A collection almost two score small huts and houses, with a single larger cruck house that likely contains the village headman. The cruck house is mostly timbre and roofed in wooden shingles, but the rest of the homes are humbler still; constructions of crooked beams and boughs, made as straight and sturdy as possible with built up walls of wattle and daub. There is little color here; an abundance in Bella Collina that now seems to have been a priveledge. And the village has the enduring, lingering waste smell that is common to small, poor communities that have not ordered their disposal and cities whose order of the same has collapsed.

But working hard to redeem both sight and smell are clusters of lavender growing in rock-circled gardens at the front of the houses and in unbidden but welcomed clusters on thatched rooves and sometimes halfway up walls; the last burst of flowering before the plants yield to winter's advance.

The peasants are as uniformly poor as you have seen them, wearing likely their only sets of clothes well stained and repaired as they go about their petty industry. Beyond the town itself are grazing fields trimmed low by what you recognize as the flocking of hungry sheep. There is no market immediately apparent in this village, but there is atleast one familiar sight.

The little girl, the one who came with her father to offer eggs to Sir Briant, does her part for the village with admirable autonomy. Still in her plain dress but permitted to wear the fetching blue bonnet for the rest of the day, she bustles back and forth between the few clusters of grass near the edgemost house that the sheep have missed, and woven basket of tough reeds set down by the house itself. The basket, you gather as you approach, contains two or three rabbits, and the girl is fetching them fistfuls of grass one at a time and tossing them in through a hole in the basket's top. She does all this one handed, as under her left arm she holds a chicken which she seems to have decided is important to the process. The bird takes it all in with clucking indifference, obviously used to being so favoured.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You can roll me charm to win over the little girl. Difficulty is a mere +20%; but you can make as many as three preceding rolls at skills that you think a little girl might find impressive or amusing, and each that succeeds gives a further +10%. No penalty for failing - she's too poor to be a harsh judge of entertainment.

https://i.postimg.cc/T1Dbqdb9/wessgv.jpg Taalia Giovanni


There was still a part of the former slave that told her the men wanted to provide a gentle excuse to evacuate the two ladies from the area so that they may have their little showdown. Afterall, sheep would buy the ogres satiation for a few days, but enough arrows would buy it forever. And it wouldn’t be that hard to accomplish, Taalia estimated, her eyes sweeping the area. The ogres had brawn, that much was sure, and they were certainly frightening when roused to anger and violence. But a couple dozen men with bows melting into the tree’s? Moving from cover to cover? They’d take casualties, but there was a reason humans were so widespread across the world, and it wasn’t down to one on one punching matches with creatures bigger than themselves.

"Oh, about as much as you, I think. But you're such charming conversationalists, I think we'll wait for the sheep, if it's all the same!"

Taalia gave an amused, but unimpressed look at the chuckling ogre, one of her white eyebrows raised in paternalistic ‘really?’ as Bella grimaced beside her. The ex-slave had seen such a fate befall plenty who couldn’t keep up within the workpits and collapse into exhaustion, only to get tossed into the rat-ogre pens.

When they were set to depart, Taalia gave Briant a nod and a smile, her right hand coming up in a gentle little salute from the rim of her steel helmet.

oOo

Moving back through that country side and Taalia took in lungfuls of gentle, spring air. She mentally contrasted this verdant, green land with its rolling hills and plains that stretched out in all directions, save for that of the forest of course, and thought of her home back in Bella Collina and the slightly dryer atmosphere. And the fragrances! The sun was brighter back in Tilea, its greater presence lending a heightened sense of warmth. Such a feeling was still here in these richly green lands, but the girl thought about the slightly warmer weather further south and remembered back to her time in Norsca. Would the Empire be like this too? Already her mental comparisons between the trees here and in Tilea were moving through her mind like a slideshow, with the thicker, greender and more towering oaks and forests of this land dressing its woodlands with a slightly intimidating bent compared to the more open, lighter timbers in Tilea.

It was all so familiar yet so foreign.

Hah! Foreign! Like Taalia had grounds upon which to consign such a thing.

But if her sense of the recognizable was challenged by the beautiful lands of this nation, the village was something else entirely. The common folk of Tilea were seemingly little lords unto themselves if one were to judge solely by their lodgings, as Taalia beheld the dozen or so huts, shoddy hedges that passed for walls and the nucleus of the town – the head house. The distinct reduction in the local color palette also struck the former slave, as the riot of color that were Tilean villages and towns had always gotten her spirits up so much in her early days of ingratiation, but here the hues were more dour, less impressive. Indeed, Taalia’s own excellent quality riding boots seemed an item of luxury compared to what anyone was wearing in this town, let alone the beautiful, glossy golden cloth Bella frequently wore about her waist.

Why were they in such a sorry state? Were they out of dye to produce colorful fabrics? Had they none to begin with? The lack of a market was already a worrying sign to the girl, as she knew such locations were the heart of local commerce and provided access and opportunity for the locals to ply their wares and acquire new desirables. After all, that’s where Taalia had gotten her start: a silver mirror for credit, credit for sheep and chickens, the rest was history.

But here? Where could the locals cleave unto themselves such opportunity?

Drawing herself off the destrier and taking the reins in one gloved hand, Taalia looked up at Bella and exchanged a slightly worried look with her. The two of them would stand out like a like orcs at a fancy dress party. Bella, with her natural radiance and well-kept, beautiful clothes, looking the part of a foreign lady of good breeding, doubtless with a title to her name if she had no brothers to receive it first. While Taalia…well, Taalia was Taalia. Nature had seen fit to grant her numerous oddities to ensure she could never blend in anywhere she went, with her height, her athletic physique, the scars across her otherwise pleasing, angular features, her white-blonde hair back in a single braid and, of course, the eerie oddity of her heterochromia eyes: one blue the other green. That was before one observed her regalia of her mailed armor, clearly well-made clothes and boots, the steel helm upon her head and, finally, the pistols and sword on her hip and rifle and shield on her back.

Yes, they stood out.

But soon a sight evoked a sense of passing familiarity within the former slave – the girl they had seen tending her flock! She had also been the one that had passed by the old church and sold Briant some eggs.

Immediately, Taalia smiled her warm, welcoming smile.

“I’ll try and talk to her, do you want to stay astride, my lady?” Taalia asked up at Bella, her last words emphasized for some gentle teasing of her friend.

Handing the reins up to Bella, Taalia approached the girl as she moved back and forth between patches of grass, overseeing both her flock of sheep and…rabbits? The former slave smiled at the sight of the cute little things, as she neared close enough to speak at a normal decibel.

“Bonjourno, singorina…” she spoke with her sonorous, smoky voice, a warm smile on her face.

She gestured to the girls flock, “I used to tend sheep in my home village as well,” she continued, her voice slower than normal, but not condescendingly slow. She imagined the girl couldn’t understand most of what she was saying.

“But – I had help!”

Taalia then reached to her pack and drew it around to her front, opened the flap, reached inside and withdrew…the orange-and-white kitten, Milo.

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Originally Posted by Taalia 'Trollslayer' Giovanni

“I’ll try and talk to her, do you want to stay astride, my lady?”

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"As a matter of fact..." Bella preens, swinging one leg over the horse to adjust herself to sidesaddle, straightening her back a little to project a posture of feminine dominion. It's undercut by the fact that she is clad in traveller's leathers rather than a dress, somewhat; but she enjoys the pantomime it seems.

The little girl takes one step back when she spots you; but she recognizes you from the earlier encounter that went so pleasantly, and that seems to be enough to give you a chance. You speak clearly and warmly to her, and she looks up with big bright eyes in incomprehension at your foreign tongue. But tone accomplishes much of what a lexicon cannot; and you ensorcel her with big-sisterly gentleness. And then with Milo, your sleep but willing familiar, who snoozilly dangles from your hand and takes in the girl to whom he is offered.

"Ooh!" She releases, at once caught up in the moon-eyed rapture that comes upon little girls who idolize their mothers and who are presented with a chance to mother something. You establish a temporary trade, chicken for cat, so she can hold the soporific feline in both hands and stroke his fur with her palm. She sings Milo a Breton lullaby and rocks him in her arms; and that suits him just fine. You're able to communicate your name, the cat's and Bella's. The girl is named Fanette. The chicken is Aloïse. She points back at the rabbit hutch and out to the field beyond where somewhere the sheep are, and releases a torrent of additional names that blur together.

The girl's mother - intuited both by a fair resemblance and her emergence from the adjacent house; joins you shortly as she overhears the conversational gabbling. You hear Fanette ramble what you hope is a glowing introduction to her mother for you, Bella, and especially Milo; and the child's contented demeanour does heavy lifting cutting through outsider-suspicions. You gather her name is Naemi.

But once that part is clear, and you are obviously not a couple of strangers passing through but a couple of strangers stopping and a very strange couple of strangers at that, half the bloody village seems to come out to meet you with interest. Most of them are housewives with children in tow and a few old men; the dearth of industry in the village suggesting the men work mostly on larger farms during the days rather than our of their storefronts as is common in cities and not vanishingly rare in Bella Collina. It's an effort for you and Bella to try to communicate what you want. None of them seem to speak Tilea in full, but several of them speak it in part. When you speak, there is a conference of rapidfire Breton linquistic debate and then one of them answers you in what is usually a simple, comprehensible Tilean sentence.

"How are you come here south-ladies?"

"Who horse is this of?"

"Are you wife for Lord Donallo?" (this one, to Bella on the horse, now somewhat overwhelmed by the attention.)

"You will eat soup yes no?"

"Have you see large dog?" (this one, accompanied by a gesture to your facial scarring.)

"How you are very tall south-lady?"

"Are l'orque dead south-lady?"

Bargaining here will be challenging. But you're used to challenges.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Well, you've passed the first hurdle. Now give me a haggle roll! There's a language barrier, but you've thwarted that with the earlier roll, so we'll call it +20% because these peasants are quite eager to trade. You have 40 Ecu from Briant's purse. You can spend as much or as little of it as you want on livestock. They have plenty of sheep; they can spare an ox, and a half-dozen rabbits and chickens at the price of chickens for both. If there's anything else you want, feel free to make a gossip roll (challenging +0) and I'll let you know if they have it.

https://i.postimg.cc/T1Dbqdb9/wessgv.jpg Taalia Giovanni

To be in a small town again where she was visible outsider - the sense of deja vu was great!

But where last time in Bella Collina she had been a malnourished, escaped slave, both curious and frightened and awake in a new world, now she had matured under years of her own initiative and the warmth of a communities embrace. And so when the villagers popped out of their houses and gathered around with curiosity alive in their eyes and chatter upon their tongues, Taalia felt reassured and perfectly comfortable being the centre of attention. After all, with her striking image she was used to it where-ever she went, and that was without the remembrance of her trial and gladiatorial excursions.

Looking over her shoulder, the girl smirked at Bella's growing trepidation at the onrush of inspection, her previously amusing imitation of a lady upon her destrier eroding slightly beneath the innocent curiosity of the villagers - particularly at the mention that she was 'a wife for Lord Donallo'.

Comfortable with the crowds attention, Taalia formed the main point of communication between herself and Bella and the hamlet's inhabitants, and she visited particular affection on Fanette, allowing her to take temporary ownership of Milo the kitten and kissing her warmly upon the forehead before standing up to receive the attention of the rapidly expanding crowd of adults.

Though the questions came fast, Taalia tried her best, noting that she was almost a head above the tallest present, though they all seemed to be the women, children and elders of the hamlet.

"We flew!" she answered with a bright smile, drawing her gloved hands to her side and mimicking a birds wings.

"A Chevalier - Sir Briant"

"She is a wife for someone, but not Lord Donallo," Taalia answered this one while sneaking a cheeky smile over her shoulder at her friend, giving her a teasing expression.

"Yes - munga? Si!" she made gestures as if holding a spoon and drawing it to her lips.

"Non, non, burning house fell on my face when I was a child," Taalia's answer was bashful, her hand drawing to that prominent scar that run down her face, as if only half comfortable with it drawing attention.

"The gods have a sense of humor?" she shrugged and laughed gently, her left hand moving up her figure to the crown of her helm to gesture to her height.

"Most - it is still not safe yet. We flew over some - I shot two!" Taalia motioned to the rifle slung over her shoulder.

As to what was needed?

Lots.

Feeding sixteen humans and three ogres was no minor feat, and Taalia doubted that Bella and her had ever prepared such a vast quantity of food to be served at once. Nevertheless, after conversing with her friend over the matter, they came to the conclusion that simplicity would be best: the fewer ingredients, the shortest amount of time, the easiest to parse out etc Though these logistical problems were solved by military baggage chains, Taalia and Bella would need to improvise and take their first steps into the balancing world of culinary preparation for a unit of men, so that would mean...

"Si, si, five pounds of butter?"

"Ahhh, non, ten dozen eggs, madame..."

"Fifteen chickens - do you have twenty, monsieur?"

"Four sheep, five - two pigs?"

For the next few hours Taalia was mentally transported back to the streets of Verazzo and Paula de Silo where she had fostered an innate talent for bartering. Her personal key was never to be too greedy as to sour the pot, so to speak, and to ensure the other felt as if they had been treated fairly. After all, by estimating the condition of this village, she didn't want to trade poorly with them. Myrmidia would not look kindly upon her if she ripped off the peasantry.

Naturally, she left mead or spirits off the menu, as much as she desired to acquire some. The men needed to keep their senses sharp, and Verena knew how one could apprehend a drunken ogre if he became rowdy.

Spoiler

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So, I went through originally to try and mark out the precise ingredients they'd need. However, that was too much and a little too silly, with prices not making sense if you're trying to collect them in such a manner. So I decided to simplify it:

16 humans x2 good meals each = 576 p = 48 silver
- This'll be a mix of gnocci, ragu, mostly chicken based with good quality vegetables, with bread as asides. With 20 chickens that's a chicken per person which is already itself a meal for a day.

20 sets of wooden cutlery (100s) - 100 silver
Butcher tools (13gc) = 260 silver (these can double as cooking tools under the circumstances)
50 yards of rope (50s) - 50 silver (to leash together all the animals)
20 chickens (100p) = 8.3 silver

8 sheep (16gc) = 320 silver - 2.5 sheep each is about 110 - 280kgs worth of sheep per ogre.

= 786.3 silver

= 39.315 gold

Spoiler: OOC:

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That's a lot of animals!

You can get away without the rope; you know driving sheep is easier without it, as they're less likely to hurt themselves or become confused by their instincts to follow one and being tethered to another. But we can probably write of that 50 silver and the remaining change in baskets for the chickens, the means to secure all those baskets to Cleménce, and assorted herbs and spices. Perhaps even 11.

This is a remarkable sale for the people of the little village of Leveau; and the whole process gets everyone buzzing and marvelling. You end up with just about all you need, and by the end of the sale, the warhorse is an almost farsical walking bundle of netting filled with sacks and baskets and parcels, emitting a subdued but regular clucking. With the eight sheep you once again find yourself at the head of a small herd; and the villagers throw in for good measure a spry old billy goat that the sheep will follow, when he is tethered to the horse. Fanette and a trio of other girls of about the same age get about watering the beasts for you, working in a little crew to crank water up from a little well next to the town's only shrine - to Ishea and Karnos you recognize by their wooden likenesses carved into the doorframe, who north of the mountains you are given to understand are called Rhya, and Taal.

While the animals are prepared, the buzzing wifery of Leveau plies you and Bella with a somewhat tasty but thin soup that seems to be mostly onion and cabbage with the ethereal suggestion of protein cast about in the pot like a rumour. An old man sharpens the knives in the bundle of tools you buy before carefully rolling them in sack cloth; Naemi arranges for your extrodinary egg requirement as a combination of those available in the town. Some are duck, some are chicken, but all seem fresh.

And finally, after this rest, Fanette reluctantly surrenders Milo back into your care. The kitten bops combatively at one of the chickens during the handoff, but he's way out of reach, and no harm is done.

"They certainly are friendly; though we did wander in to town with a purse full of gold and a desire to spend it all. Still, they seem sweet enough," Bella decides. Neither are they so different to look at, as you might have guessed. While the lands are divided by strife now, the mountains alone have not been historically enough to prevent intermarriage between north and south; and a decent minority of the peasants here are as swarthy of skin as any Tilean.

When the time comes to go, Naemi and Fanette have additional tokens for you.

"Ici! Tiens, tu dois prendre, s'il te plaît."


For Bella, Naemi has a square of pale blue cloth that has been pressed with lavender; and a short game of charades teaches Bella how to draw it over her hair and tie it off beneath her chin, in the modest fashion of the ladies of the town for whom the full wimple is a cumbersome expense. The scent may help some peasants, too; though Bella herself is decidedly too well invested in her own hygiene for that have been a pre-existing problem. She doesn't seem to mind it, and is touched by the gesture.

You, with your helm, coif, and skullcap, have a scalp that is mostly spoken for; but Fanette reaches for your hand and, when plied with it, produces a slim, lapis blue ribbon that she ties around your wrist in a bow. It is the most colorful thing you have seen in the town; almost certainly, the most colorful thing her household possesses.

Then it's back you go, plodding with the beasts at a comfortable pace back to where you hope you will not find a massacre.

It's about halfway back when you smell it, on the wind as it shifts. Two things. The first, you're quite sure, is goblin sweat. You remember it from your desperate brawl with the little monsters with Gaulfredo, when you fought for your life and got a pick through the bicep for your trouble. The second scent you don't know directly, but close enough: dirty, unwashed... not quite canine.

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Have you see large dog?

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"What is it?" Bella says, picking up on your tension at once. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong is that there is a party of goblins behind you, with dogs - or, given the stories you've heard, probably giant wolves. Given that you can't hear them, they must be at distance, and tracking you by smell; and the change in the wind so you're smelling them will make that hard for them until it changes back. You're not far from where Briant at the nascent armistice of man and ogre should be - maybe twenty minutes out. You might make it.

Maybe.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Exciting decision time. Congrats on passing that smell roll.

If you want to hustle your animals back to Briant, give me your choice of Animal Care or Trade: Farmer, at +10 for passing that smell roll earlier. Bare success means you get back to where you hope the others are at the same time the goblins close in. Beating it by more, or failing it, will adjust the breathing room on that outcome.

If you want to stand and deliver, you can send Bella off with the animals and try to hide in ambush (which would be Hide, at +10). Same expectation as above; better success means better hiding spot.

Or you can do just about anything else you want to do, because this is an RPG woo hoo! But those are the most obvious options.

https://i.postimg.cc/T1Dbqdb9/wessgv.jpg Taalia Giovanni

For Taalia the bartering and trading for goods brought a bright smile to her face, as this is something she truly loved. There was something so human to this act, this exchange of goods and services, that it could penetrate the language barrier. Goods and services on offer for those with the coins or goods to exchange for them - it was the beating heart of human cooperation, and Taalia was clearly enjoying herself enormously as she pushed through the linguistic differences, inspected items and bartered in broken Bretonnian. To think she'd be here when just a few years ago she had been deep, deep down below...

For a moment the girl even sent her thoughts back to Bella Collina, and Gaulfredo and Polo, no in charge of Giovanni Farms. Taalia smiled on the thought, picturing Gaulfredo putting his gusto into the operations with his typical emotional energy and Polo sagely cataloging every expense and keeping his ear to the ground for incoming word of economic changes. She would see them again, one day, she promised herself, in the years to come. But if fate decided otherwise, if she were not to return to those quiet, pleasant lands that had been so good to her, she took solace in knowing she'd helped the man fulfil his aspirations and had given back to the town just a little of what they had given her.

"They certainly are friendly; though we did wander in to town with a purse full of gold and a desire to spend it all. Still, they seem sweet enough,"

Taalia nodded in agreement with a small smile, before Fanette and her mother caught their attention to grant them parting gifts.

"Ah - magnifique!" Taalia smiled brightly as Fanette wrapped the lovely blue bow around her wrist. In actually it was just a bit of colorful cloth, nothing more. But it was the warm sentiments attached that touched the girl, as she looked at it with a warm smile before turning back to Fanette.

"Merci, singorina," she said, giving her a hug with one arm before kissing her on the forehead before pausing, "Ah - un moment."

Taalia returned to the destrier, rummaged around in search for one of her bags and then soon returned after she found it. Kneeling down before Fanette, she made sure no one else was spotting the moment as she moved her gloved hand forward, turned it palm side up and opened her fingers to reveal one of her uncut malachite's, just like the ones she'd used to bribe the bandits. Taalia then drew one of Fanette's hands to her own where she conspicuously deposited the gem, using her other hand to draw her index finger across her lips "Sssh!" she smiled, giving the girl one more hug before standing up. The girl could keep it forever as a token, sell it when the need was dire, she could do whatever she wanted with it, Taalia didn't mind.

"Au revoir!" she bid the town farewell.

oOo

That smell.

She'd never forget that smell.

The moment the scent of the goblins reached her nose, Taalia froze, her head moving about and her keen eyes peering for the source.

They couldn't be far.

Her demeanor had shifted in an instant, having been walking alongside the destrier and holding the reins while Bella sat atop the great beast. Now, the shepardess was visibly on alert, her gaze shifting to the trees, then the trail from which they'd come, then to where they were going.

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"What is it?" Bella says, picking up on your tension at once. "What's wrong?"

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Taalia didn't answer at once, bit her grim visage suggested that it was nothing good.

"Goblins," she said finally, "and wolves. They're on our trail."

For a moment, the shepardess considered tying one of the sheep or some of the chickens in place, to buy them some precious minutes to affect a retreat back to the camp with the bandits. That would give them the necessary preparation to meet a group of wolf-mounted goblins.

Or she could stay here. Hide somewhere in the trees, count the minutes down. Twenty minutes to camp. Say twenty five or so back to this position. Could she wait that long? Armored or not, she did not want to end her new time on this world by being gnawed apart by a pack of wolves to the cheering delight of greenskins.

...but what if they didn't follow them into the forest?

A chill ran down Taalia's back. They'd go back to the village! Why follow humans and their animals into a forest? It was clear, even to low intelligence but cunning little beasts like goblins, that they were returning to some sort of camp. Why take that risk when they could just go back to the village instead, where there was currently only the elderly, women and children of a hamlet to defend it.

Feeling her heart seized, Taalia turned to look up at Bella.

"Direct the animals back to the camp and tell them what's happening here. The men there, Briant, the ogres; tell them to come to this location. If the goblins have no reason to stay here they'll go back to that town, and those people who were just so kind to us will be at their mercy!"

The shepardess wore urgency over her face like a mask, it was clear she would not broker dissent.

"I'll stay here. I and that village are counting on you to get back to the camp and tell Briant. Go!"

Bella's gaze flashes with fear and defiance. You are sending her away, again; trying to keep her out of danger so you can shoulder it alone... But sense clears her brown eyes, and she gives you a quick nod before setting off without a word; leaving you with one chicken in a basket under your arm for your plan. Even your very attached friend can see, this time, that her best opportunity to help you is to bring the others back here as quickly as possible. As Bella and the animals hasten down the road, you set the basket by the side of the road at a tilt, pressing it to break some of the weaving like it had fallen off and has been forgotten. The sacrificial bird within warbles in suspicion as you abandon it, dashing into the light cover of trees at the side of the road - near to where the outlaws had ambushed you in the first place. The trees themselves aren't great cover, and you get to work trying to clear a buildup of leaves and sticks that occupy a much better spot wedge between a tree and a shrub you could kneel in and peer from.

But the greenskins come too quickly, and you flatten yourself against a tree sparing glances when you can over your shoulder around the trunk. There are nine of them; green skin and bloodshot eyes, clad in hides and tatty furs with spears and short bows. And each one of them rides a massive wolf the size of a pony, bounding down the road with all boldness in pursuit of the smell of prey. The two lead wolves reach the basket first, and both scent the creature inside. They snap at it, ripping the wicker apart and shredding the bird within; leaving one of the beasts with most of the bird and the other with a mouthful of sticks. For a moment, you are able to hope this will work more to your advantage, as the wolves begin fussing and fighting with each other over the meagre kill; but the leadmost goblin (you can tell on account of the trophy rack strapped to his back, featuring three human looking skulls in helmets in various states of disrepair and defilement) roars at his minions and they get their animals under control.

They dawdle on the road for a couple of minutes; precious minutes in which Bella is continuing back to your motley allies. You are too far away to get a sense of their discussion from tone, and your hiding position is too precarious for you to try to look consistently enough to intuit body language. But after those few minutes, the order is given, and the party sets off down the road again.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Your stunt has bought time. Now, a critical decision: reveal yourself in ambush, or sprint overland after the pack to try to join what is likely to be a battle at the other end with your allies. The latter means your allies will likely engage the enemies before you do. The former means you'll be fighting a vastly outnumbering force. Before you ask, a blunderbuss shot at them as they past will catch, at the best point of timing, three riders and their wolves.

If you want to attack (which is a decision I would describe as brave), feel free to make a surprise round attack and I'll set up initiatives.

If you want to pursue on foot, give me an agility roll, and a toughness roll. If you had lucked out on a better hiding spot, I might have interpreted that as a better sense of the terrain to pursue without being seen and offered a bonus here; but as it is, it's challenging in both cases... though I'll give a +20 to the agility roll as a credit to your Flee! talent. You're not running for your life perse, but for lives you care about atleast.

https://i.postimg.cc/T1Dbqdb9/wessgv.jpg Taalia Giovanni

Taalia remained steely-eyed as she watched the three by three column of goblin wolf-riders paw their way into view, the slavering tongues of the beasts hanging wetly from the corners of their fanged muzzles. Though she was caught in a horrifying moment, the shepardess' mind couldn't help wander to the practicality of wolves as mounts. Horses were magnificent steeds, not just because of their speed, strength and trainability, but because of their long-distance stamina. Their short fur allowed them to sweat across their bodies and buffer them against overheating, just like humans, allowing them to run for hours and hours at a time. But wolves? Those long, ghoulish tongues dangling from their mouths, slathered with foamy ichor, was the sole avenue for cooling down, rendering them short-ranged beasts. That meant their camp must be somewhere within riding distance.

The death-wail squawking of the poor chook tore Taalia from her mental exercise, her face grimly acknowledging the little birds unwitting sacrifice as she uttered a tiny prayer to the gods of fertility in thanks for its deed. Peeking her eyes around the corner of the tree trunk that was her current separation between life and death, the shepardess watched as the goblins convened, every minute they stayed here a minute longer Bella had to escape and the men to prepare themselves. One...two...four...five...how many precious minutes had she bought them?

The goblins seemed to have decided their course of action. Consultation over, they reared about on their wolves once more and departed along their original trajectory. If there had been three or so, Taalia would have ambushed them. Pick them off from the trees and blast them with Leonardo when they got too close. But nine? She'd be insane.

Slinging her rifle back over her shoulder, Taalia turned towards the forest depths and took off, her long legs picking her over the umbrage and scrub and powering her forward into a sprint...

You run like hell. Like you haven't in a long time. Even when you were running from the rats in the swamp of Miragliano, you had to slow yourself not to outpace Bella. Here you're running like you haven't since - when?

Since you were fleeing with Rashabang up toward the surface, with a knife in your shoulder?

But you're not running from death this time, but toward it; and when your lungs burn and your legs ache, it is fear for Bella, and Fanette's village, that balms the pain.

As scramble over a green dusk-lit hill, you can hear the goblins whooping beyond, and the barking and snarling of wolves. You're relieved to see that it's not a killing field of scattered sheep and chickens over the rise, but a mounted chase. The wolfriders are there, and so is Briant on his destrier, racing away from them.

There odds are nine to one, and the pack keeps splitting and trying to flank Briant before the horse peels away from the jaws snapping at its heels and the wolves reform into a block. For the goblins, the chase must be tantalizingly frustrating; they keep almost getting him, and end up chasing him in a wild zig zag down the hilly slope while plinking away with their shortbows. The knight himself barely seems to be watching where he's going at all. He has one foot in a stirrup, the other up on the saddle, to give himself the freest range of motion to bring his shield about to catch the arrows flying his way and Cleménce charges on down the slope. It might be imaginable that Briant is making for the road and flatter ground so he can make a break down the straight.

But that isn't your assessment of the knight's character; and especially given the quality of horse and his skill as a horseman, you think he can probably outrun the wolves even on the hills. If anything he is holding back, even at risk of catching an arrow, to prevent getting far enough away from any of the wolves that they lose interest and go elsewhere. You think of Bertuccio and Gherardino, trading off the attention of the Troll of Bella Collina while leading to towards the town's volunteer militia. And true to your suspicion, you look to the best obscuring hill at the foot of the slope where it would be sensible to be leading a foe for a barrage, and you are quite sure you see the scruffy head of one of the bandits poking up for a moment.

Even if your whole body is screaming and telling you to throw up from the effort of sprinting, you have gotten here just in time for the fight.

Spoiler: OOC: Woo hoo! Battle time!

Show

It's that time again! Initiatives!

Sir Briant: [ROLL]1d10+4[ROLL]
Goblins and Wolves: [ROLL]1d10+4[ROLL]
Bandits: [ROLL]1d10+3[ROLL]
Ogres: [ROLL]1d10+2[ROLL]
Bella: [ROLL]1d10+4[ROLL]

I'll need your initiative; but basically, you can start as close as 30 yards from the wolfpack and the hiding spot of the bandits, with you as the third point in a sort of triangle. You can start further back, if you wish. Briant is halfway between them.

https://i.postimg.cc/T1Dbqdb9/wessgv.jpg Taalia Giovanni

This was, without a doubt, the furthest she had run at such a pace.

The shepardess paid particular attention to the road before her, taking care to leap, skip and hop where-ever an intervening branch or bush would otherwise impose itself upon her progress. Thus, by the time she arrived upon the scene, the only burning was within her chest as her lungs threatened to explode out of her ribcage, as the twenty minute trip on horseback turned into a ten minute sprint by human-foot - yes, Taalia was winded.

But she didn't let that stop her. It didn't take the former slave long to assess the situation. She could see and divine what Briant was attempting, something those on light horseback, typically horse archers, would perform against an enemy: a feign retreat. To reinforce this idea, the girl was able to spot the hidden bandits, their bows ready - but where were the ogres?

It didn't matter.

The shepardess, winded and trying her best to disguise her heavy breathing, threw herself at a nearby tree and planted herself behind it. Whipping her body around, using the trunk as cover, she drew a bead upon the trophy-rack displaying goblin she believed to be a leader, her finger drawing close to the trigger of her firearm...

Spoiler: Rolls for turns 0 and 1!

Show

Narrative pending the rolls. Stand by.

Turn 0: Goblins fire at Briant as he rides away. As his horse is 'running', and he has his shield out, they have a total of -30% to hit him. I'll generously give them a +5% because they don't care if they hit horse or rider, which you can also use when firing at mounted enemies. 1=Rider, 2=Mount.

[roll0] for [roll1]. [roll2]. Miss.
[roll3] for [roll4]. [roll5]. Miss.
[roll6] for [roll7]. [roll8]. Miss.
[roll9] for [roll10]. [roll11]. Miss.
[roll12] for [roll13]. [roll14]. Miss.
[roll15] for [roll16]. [roll17]. Miss.
[roll18] for [roll19]. [roll20]. Miss.
[roll21] for [roll22]. [roll23]. Miss.
[roll24] for [roll25]. [roll26]. Miss.

Presuming nothing dramatic happens there, turn 1 begins. Banditos and Bella move up the hill (half) and fire their longbows (and crossbow).

Bandit Leader [roll27] for [roll28].[roll29]. Miss.
Bandit2 [roll30] for [roll31].[roll32]. [roll33]. Miss.
Bandit3 [roll34] for [roll35].[roll36].[roll37]. Hits Wolf 5 for 4 Wounds.
Bandit4 [roll38] for [roll39].[roll40].[roll41]. Miss.
Bandit5 [roll42] for [roll43].[roll44].[roll45]. Hits Goblin 2 for 2 Wounds.
Bandit6 [roll46] for [roll47].[roll48].[roll49]. Miss.
Bandit7 [roll50] for [roll51].[roll52].[roll53]. Miss.
Bandit8 [roll54] for [roll55].[roll56].[roll57]. Miss.
Bandit9 [roll58] for [roll59].[roll60].[roll61]. Miss.
Bandit10 [roll62] for [roll63].[roll64].[roll65]. Hit Goblin 4 for 4 Wounds.
Bandit11 [roll66] for [roll67].[roll68].[roll69]. Hit GoblinNob for 1 Wound.
Bandit12 [roll70] for [roll71].[roll72].[roll73]. Hit Wolf 3 for 1 Wound.
Bandit13 [roll74] for [roll75].[roll76].[roll77]. Hit Goblin 9 for 1 Wound.
Bella [roll78] for [roll79].[roll80]. Hit Goblin 9 for 6 Wounds. (Had to externally randomize this one)

Once narrative resolves, it'll be Taalia's turn.

Briant carries on his admirable flight; two arrows thud into his shield, but none find flesh on he or his faithful steed. He gives out a cry of signal as he drives into the gully between the second to last and last hills, and the hooded bandits step up and loose a volley of arrows - Bella beside them firing off a shot with Cestie's crossbow. The volley is on target, but fortune is not with the arrows as they nick and slash past the goblins and riders; a handful finding purchase in wolf hide or goblin flesh, but no beast nor rider falling from their saddles. The goblin leader releases a cry of his own, and the wolf riders prepare to commit to the charge, rather than engage in a protracted shooting battle with the Bretonnian longbows. Thankfully, you have atleast this moment to take a shot of your own.

Spoiler: Remainder of turn 1, start of turn 2 Rolls!

Show

Narrative pending outcomes.

Taalia hits GoblinNob in the head location for 12 damage, down to 9. GoblinNob is heavily injured, but not quite crit.

Giorno, Bruk and Tiny take their ready action to move up infront of the archers, now that they have loosed a volley.

Goblins draw hand weapons (letting bows rest in the off hand) as a half action, and prepare an action to attack the enemies their wolves charge.

Wolves charge the ogres. Goblins attack too. Strictly speaking, Ogres should trigger fear right now; but the game falls apart if in group battles 2/3s of all opponents shart and faint whenever confronted with fear. Fear rules are designed to complicate small party play, and big group clashes are a different dynamic entirely, so I will overlook Fear until it seems more directly applicable.

GoblinNob attacks [roll0] for [roll1] (Miss)
Nobswolf charges [roll2] for [roll3] (Miss)
Both on [roll4]

Goblin2 attacks [roll5] for [roll6] (Parried)
Wolf2 charges [roll7] for [roll8] (Miss)
Both on [roll9]

Goblin3 attacks [roll10] for [roll11] (Miss)
Wolf3 charges [roll12] for [roll13] (Miss)
Both on [roll14]

Goblin4 attacks [roll15] for [roll16] (Miss)
Wolf4 charges [roll17] for [roll18] 3 Wounds to Giorno's Leg
Both on [roll19]

Goblin5 attacks [roll20] for [roll21] (Miss)
Wolf5 charges [roll22] for [roll23] (Miss)
Both on [roll24]

Goblin6 attacks [roll25] for [roll26] (Miss)
Wolf6 charges [roll27] for [roll28] (Miss)
Both on [roll29]

Goblin7 attacks [roll30] for [roll31] (Miss)
Wolf7 charges [roll32] for [roll33] (Miss)
Both on [roll34]

Goblin8 attacks [roll35] for [roll36] (Miss)
Wolf8 charges [roll37] for [roll38] (Miss)
Both on [roll39]

Goblin9 attacks [roll40] for [roll41] (Miss)
Wolf9 charges [roll42] for [roll43] (Miss)
Both on [roll44]

Ogre Parries:
1 (Giorno) [roll45]
2 (Bruk) [roll46]
3 (Tiny) [roll47]

Briant and Clemance blow through and loop around to charge in next turn.

Bandits aim and fire into the melee for a total of -5% (+10 Aim, +5 Rider/Mount, -20 Melee shot)

BanditLeader [roll48] for [roll49] on [roll50], [roll51]. (Miss)
Bandit2 [roll52] for [roll53] on [roll54], [roll55]. (Miss)
Bandit3 [roll56] for [roll57] on [roll58], [roll59]. (Miss)
Bandit4 [roll60] for [roll61] on [roll62], [roll63]. (Miss)
Bandit5 [roll64] for [roll65] on [roll66], [roll67]. (Miss)
Bandit6 [roll68] for [roll69] on [roll70], [roll71]. 7 Wounds, Wolf6.
Bandit7 [roll72] for [roll73] on [roll74], [roll75]. 2 Wounds, Wolf6
Bandit8 [roll76] for [roll77] on [roll78], [roll79]. (Miss)
Bandit9 [roll80] for [roll81] on [roll82], [roll83]. (Miss)

Bella Reloads.

Back to Taalia.

You struggle to still your breath, forcing yourself even to hold it as you kneel and squeeze off a shot to add to the volley. You swear you hit the one in the lead - the goblin leader sways in the saddle, but whether it is a skimming strike or the work of damn greenskin stubbornness, he rides on.

The ogres make themselves known, then; a common enough trade off for Tileans used to pike and musket combat, even if it's a little novel for the bandits. They bull forth, even knocking some of the outlaw archers over as Giorno, Bruk and Tiny put themselves at the fore; and the charging wolves and riders crash into the bulwark of fat, muscle and gutplates. The gobbos scramble for their hand weapons as the wolves snap and lunge at the Maneaters; but the kind of charge that would bowl over man sized opponents just bangs into the towering brutes and the whole offensive is blunted, with Giorno left shaking a wolf's jaws from his shin but the Bretonnian-Ogre entente otherwise escaping so far in tact.

Briant blows past through the lines of his allies and circles around to charge again; you note he swings close by Bella as she reloads Cestie's crossbow, gives her a protective glance, and then focuses on the combat again.

The charge is over, and the battle is joined; and it has been catastrophic for the goblins, who continue to receive arrows but draw little blood in return. You imagine they will break soon, if the battle does not suddenly reverse in their favour.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Taalia's up! I imagine you're about to get to Bussin'. I will permit a flanking shot to hit 1d5+2 wolves and 1d5+2 riders.

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni


Taalia drew in her hot breath and let it cage within her chest, the burning air threatening to knife through her own scalp as she quietened her body, aimed down her firearm into the throng of goblins and squeezed the trigger - the great Crack! sound billowing a puff of smoke from the weapons muzzle. In that split second she saw the goblin nob, his back adorned with the spikes that displayed his grisly trade, snapped around in his saddle, a red flare splattering from his ugly head, as the shepardess grinned for a moment and let out her breath.

But it was far from over.

The goblins screeched their hideous, shrill cries while the gnashing and barking of canine jaws filled the air as the almost-dozen strong patrol charged forward into the throng of bandits and their living wall of the ogre trio, while letting loose another volley of arrows that struck the greenskins and their mounts.

Spotting her new opportunity, Taalia dropped her firearm into the bushes and darted forward, hugging the cover of the next available tree as Leornardo was quickly within her hands, drawn up, aimed down the sights and Crack!.

Spoiler: OOC: Rolls for turns 2-3!

Show

Narrative pending!

Giorno Swift Attacks:
[roll0] for [roll1] on [roll2][roll3]
[roll4] for [roll5] on [roll6][roll7]
[roll8] for [roll9] on [roll10][roll11]

Bruk Attacks:

[roll12] for [roll13] on [roll14][roll15]
[roll16] for [roll17] on [roll18][roll19]
[roll20] for [roll21] on [roll22][roll23]

Tiny

[roll24] for [roll25] on [roll26][roll27]
[roll28] for [roll29] on [roll30][roll31]
[roll32] for [roll33] on [roll34][roll35]

Goblins will respond, but given how decisive these attacks may be, I will resolve them first. Stand by.

Spoiler: OOC: Goblin Reply!

Show

Goblins stick it out for another round. They All Out Attack the Ogres, and order their wolves to do the same.

[roll0] for [roll1][roll2] (Parried)
[roll3] for [roll4][roll5] (Hit for 11 down to 6 on the leg)
[roll6] for [roll7][roll8] (Miss)
[roll9] for [roll10][roll11] (Parry)
[roll12] for [roll13][roll14] (Miss)
[roll15] for [roll16][roll17] (Hit for 10 down to 5 to the leg)

[roll18] for [roll19][roll20] (Hit for 0)
[roll21] for [roll22][roll23] (Miss)
[roll24] for [roll25][roll26] (Hit for 0)
[roll27] for [roll28][roll29] (Hit for 12 down to 7 to the Head)
[roll30] for [roll31][roll32] (Hit for 6 down to 1 to the Head)
[roll33] for [roll34][roll35] (has to stand) (Miss)
[roll36] for [roll37][roll38] (Miss)
[roll39] for [roll40][roll41] (Miss)

Sir Briant Charges.

[roll42] for [roll43][roll44] (Hit)
[roll45] for [roll46][roll47] (Hit)

Bandit fire:

[roll48] for [roll49][roll50][roll51]. (Hit for 8 down to 5)
[roll52] for [roll53][roll54][roll55]. (Miss)
[roll56] for [roll57][roll58][roll59]. (Miss)
[roll60] for [roll61][roll62][roll63]. (Miss)
[roll64] for [roll65][roll66][roll67]. (Miss)
[roll68] for [roll69][roll70][roll71]. (Hit for 12 down to 9)
[roll72] for [roll73][roll74][roll75]. (Miss)
[roll76] for [roll77][roll78][roll79]. (Hit for 11 down to 8)
[roll80] for [roll81][roll82][roll83]. (Miss)
[roll84] for [roll85][roll86][roll87]

You heave in a few steading breathes, shoulder Leonardo, and fire. The report is satisfying, and the shot is good; it rakes down the line of goblins and wolves. Now you're sure you got the leader - with a squawk he topples of his saddle, as his confederates are peppered and pierced. Such a shot would not be advisable into melee most often; but the ogres have held the line like the Bella Collinans did against the pirates, and the effect is devastating.

The bowmen fire, Bella adds a bolt to the careful volley, and Briant thunders in, slashing with his sword to one side while Clemence tramples a goblin toppled from his mount. The greenskins and their wolves fight back, of course; brutally, wildly, in denial of the moment. Giorno, Bruk, and Tiny all suffer maulings and slashes; most to the legs, while one of the wolves leaps high and chomps on to Bruk's head. The ogre shouts in pain, but his skull is in no danger of collapse; and he drops one club to fumble at the creature's jaws as it chews on his scalp. Giorno chops down with his greatswords and splits one goblin clean in the saddle and carves the wolf beneath, bellowing something in his native Grumbarth. All the efforts of the allies warriors combine, and add to yours; three of the goblins have fallen dead, and almost all the others and the lupine mounts are badly wounded. You can see the greenskins, who charged in as light cavalry do hoping to engage and scatter enemy archers, recognize their position and begin to panic. They are certain now to break, and run.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You're up! They're presently in melee; you could draw your pistols and shoot at them next turn, start reloading, or whatever you think is best. This has gone very well for the defenders, I think. They were outclassed of course, but no wild Fury's or anything to take a toll.

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's keen eyes watched the shrapnel of her shot rake across the rear ranks of the goblins, careful to keep the line of fire away from the ogres. Her prudence was rewarded as she watched a wave of red mist and torn green flesh launch into the air with a chorus of screams, even the goblin boss disappearing into the pack of his own mob as a bloody, pock-marked mangled mess. The violent whir of the melee continued, however, as the towering ogres started to receive the attention of the wolves that, proving more adept combatants than their wicked riders, swarmed them and gnawed and savaged at their legs; one particularly daring and athletic one leaping up and going straight for the face of Giorno.

Taking stock of the engagement, seeing how the bandits were still relatively unscathed while the goblins had taken significant casualties, including their leader, Taalia knew the cowardly creatures would only need some more pressure to break and rout.

Knowing her pistols would be far less accurate from this range, Taalia dropped her blunderbuss and withdrew Daybreak and her shield. Her stamina restore and her vision focused on the nearest goblin, her tall, armored figure burst from the light forestry and charged into the melee, her beautiful blade coming about in a glittering arc...

Spoiler: OOC: Rolls!

Show

The goblins break! Attacks and parting shots from the ogres, and two volleys from the bowmen as they go.

Giorno Swift Attack, plus a parting shot!
[roll0] for [roll1]
[roll2] for [roll3]
[roll4] for [roll5]
[roll6] for [roll7]

Bruk Swift Attack, plus a parting shot!
[roll8] for [roll9]
[roll10] for [roll11]
[roll12] for [roll13]
[roll14] for [roll15]

Tiny Swift Attack, plus a parting shot!
[roll16] for [roll17]
[roll18] for [roll19]
[roll20] for [roll21]
[roll22] for [roll23]

Briant and Clemance Parting Shot, and Charge!
[roll24] for [roll25]
[roll26] for [roll27]
[roll28] for [roll29]
[roll30] for [roll31]

Volley and then a long range volley from bella and the boys
BanditLeader[roll32] for [roll33]
Bandit2[roll34] for [roll35]
Bandit3[roll36] for [roll37]
Bandit4[roll38] for [roll39]
Bandit5[roll40] for [roll41]
Bandit6[roll42] for [roll43]
Bandit7[roll44] for [roll45]
Bandit8[roll46] for [roll47]
Bandit9[roll48] for [roll49]
Bandit10[roll50] for [roll51]
Bandit11[roll52] for [roll53]
Bandit12[roll54] for [roll55]
Bandit13[roll56] for [roll57]
Bella[roll58] for [roll59]

BanditLeader[roll60] for [roll61]
Bandit2[roll62] for [roll63]
Bandit3[roll64] for [roll65]
Bandit4[roll66] for [roll67]
Bandit5[roll68] for [roll69]
Bandit6[roll70] for [roll71]
Bandit7[roll72] for [roll73]
Bandit8[roll74] for [roll75]
Bandit9[roll76] for [roll77]
Bandit10[roll78] for [roll79]
Bandit11[roll80] for [roll81]
Bandit12[roll82] for [roll83]
Bandit13[roll84] for [roll85]

If any escape, Taalia will get a pistol shot in the back of one.

Narrative pending.

You feel your breakfast burning in the back of your throat as you push your aching body into a charge. The nearest greenskin is desperately fending off Bruk, and you prepare to hack it from the saddle - but a furred lupine form the side of a pony thumps into you and knocks you back, its jaws snapping before your face. It's the biggest of the wolves - the mount of the leader you shot out of the saddle, its haunches peppered with flechette from your blunderbus. It has the power to rip your throat out, and the speed as well; but its efforts are impaired less by the fleshwounds from your blast, and more by the partial caving of its chest from one of the ogres. You recover before it can follow through with another lunge, and a straight thrust with Daybreak spikes into its open mouth and punches out the back of its head, severing its spine. It sags before you, in the churned grass and blood.

The goblins break. There is no room for an orderly withdrawal. One at the fringe of the combat looks around and sees his fellows are losing comprehensively, and bolts clean. The one beside him makes the same decision. Then they're all going, with the ogres vengefully bullying and bashing the wolves and greenskins as they flee and the archers whooping in glee as the put a close volley into the fleeing band, and another arcing, hopeful shot at the extreme of their range. Briant gives chase too, Clemence raming a wounded wolf and trampling it as Briant swings himself down from the saddle to exchange two clanging blows with the scrambling rider before killing him.

After all this carnage, only two wolves are breaking away with their battered and bleeding riders screaming with bitter hate as they go.

You have just enough time for a single shot, at the closest one, at the extreme of your range with your pistol as it breaks away.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Two wolves and riders escape. You can make one parting melee attack, and I'll give you one long range (-20%, but aimed for +10%) shot as they go!

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni


The tall shepardess grimaces and half-sneers at the hideous, big, fanged head of the goblin wolf gargled and spasmed upon her blade, its bloodshot eyes glazing over in their death-throes as the dribbling mixture of saliva, blood and brain matter seeped from between its yellow teeth. Wrenching her weapon free, Taalia managed to swing her crimson weapon at the nearest goblin rider that was attempting a retreat, her steel cutting flesh before she dropped her shield and withdrew her pistol to fire off a final shot, a puff of smoke announce, sadly, no last second impact.

"We have to track them back to their camp!" Taalia wasted no time, yelling out to Briant.

"Those were scouts - their camp will be nearby, the village could be in danget!"

Naturally, her inability to speak Breton might not have crossed her mind at the moment - but thankfully Giorno might have been within ear-shot.

You are gratified to see the goblin you slashed in your last effort sag and topple from his dashing wolf as they vanish over the hills north west of you, leaving just two wolves and one badly injured goblin to escape. Not a warhost; but a hazard still to an individual they might come across. Briant hears the urgency in your voice if not the word's meaning, and you catch the track of his eyes to the vanishing wolves and to Clemence beneath him. The great warhorse has been pushed to its limits in the delaying effort while the ogres and outlaws got in position; it is matted with sweat, drooling foam, but clearly wracked by the effort. The knight is reluctant to demand more of the beast, perhaps especially so given the other mount he left behind in the mountains. Giorno, who does understand you, offers a little comfort with his own assessment.

"Well, let's see here..." He hoists a limp goblin, its skull mashed in forcing its rubbery features into a comically flattened smile, and twists it about as he looks over its talismans and trinkets. "Bonespike tribe, I think. You see the splinter of bone there, through the nose? Bit squashed, but it's there. One of the little satelite tribes under the Broken Nose banner. Gobbos don't fare well outside of a mob; he'll circle back around and try to get back into the mountains to the rest of his lot. Shouldn't have made it this far at all; usually there's young knights with yeomen circling in the hills, and the shepherds give alarm to them when they see greenskins coming down."

Three of the outlaws confer quickly with their leader and break off to hustle overland after the wolves, preparing to track and hunt them despite all these assurances. Perhaps they are men of the village under threat, however slight; but either way, the forgo the celebration that follows to get about the task. But as you Bella arrives at your side and you quickly confirm with each other that you have both survived unscathed, you don't miss the cloud over Briant's demeanor. No doubt these patrols of yeomen were Donallo's responsibility as well; evidence of the lord's negligence escalating by the day, and increasing the likelihood of a difficult confrontation.

Medically, all of the humans (and the lone horse) have come through without more than small flesh sounds and bruises that need a little cleaning at most. The ogres have taken the not just the brunt, but the meaningful whole of the greenskin's damage.

All of them have spear and bite wounds around the legs that might have been near to fatal in the flesh of men; these have carved into walls of fat and muscle and drawn plenty of blood, but they have plenty to spare. Bruk, the smallest of the three, has some tearing wolf tooth marks on the top and side of his head, as well. Giorno, at the middle of the formation, has suffered the most; but none of them would feature to you as heavily wounded.

Bella looks to you, for a cue. "We should... help them, right? Though I don't know if we have enough bandages to get around their thighs."

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You can offer to make a healing roll on each of the ogres, if you want. Modifiers to the roll will be:

No hurry: +20
Not-Quite-Human physiology: -20
Nurse Bella: +10

In fact, let's make a minigame of it. Keep a running tally of the number of successful healing checks you've performed on creatures that aren't humans. Since you're trained to do so on humans (and domestic animals), there's no penalty for them; but for Dwarves, Elves, Ogres, Halflings, and anything more exotic that comes up will incur a -20 penalty reduced at a 1 for 1 basis with the experience you have working on those creatures. You can also erode this penalty with appropriate learning (direct learning from a dwarven physician, or reading an elven treatise on their own physiology). Maybe you could keep these tallies in your character sheet post? If you 'complete' these catagories, you can expect some manner of narrative reward.

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni

And just like that, Taalia had survived another battle.

How many had she been in now, since emerging onto the surface? How many times had she taken to the field, however small compared to a grand battle, and emerged the other side, weapon bloody and foes hacked down? It seemed like violence would always be a part of her life, a constant companion that would follow her from where-ever she came from to where-ever she was going. Only when she was long in the ground would she see the end of it.

And if there are any necromancers around, maybe not even then...

Flicking bloody flotsam from her weapon, Taalia used available cloth to clean the elven crafted sword before sheathing it and heeding Giorno's words. Nodding at what the ogre was saying, trusting that if anyone among them would know it would be him, the shepardess followed up with questions of her own.

"So there shouldn't be any threatening encampment near the village?"

That seemed her main priority. Call it deja vu, but the girl didn't want to see the elders, women and children threatened with the type of marauders that had carried her off to her present state.

After ensuring that most everyone was fine, particularly Bella, Taalia retreived her weapons and reloaded them. Some of the bandits might look on in with wonder or fascination at the gunpowder weapons the tall southern girl had used, and if any came particularly close, she would notice and present the part of the weapon they found most interesting. She'd even go so far as to 'fire' the firearm, though without a shot present, its hammer Click!ing down and connecting with where it would usually ignite the spark that would spell the end of another enemy of man. Then she would reload; powder, bag, musket, stuffed down and in, carried and ready to be fired again.

It was only then that she came upon the ones who were in need of some attention: the three ogres.

"Well...we can have a look?" she offered with little confidence, her eyes peering up at the wounds gashed across the thick bodies of the towering beasts.

"We can make some more later, we'll get some linen from the town if they have some spare to sell," she would return quietly to Bella, her hand on her friends shoulder and giving a re-assuring squeeze.

"Now, let's take a look at you..."

Giorno, unfortunately, came ever so close to receiving some treatment. Taalia would peer here, prod there, inspect here. But every time thinking she had come close to figuring something out she had to withdraw at the last second with an annoyed flick of her lips. When she moved onto Tiny, however, everything seemed to fit into place. Less wounded and having lost less blood, his clearer wounds allowed the shepardess to view the inner workings of the ogre's anatomy. To the others looking on and non-fluent in the Tilean language, the tall southern girl would draw Nurse Bella over, pointing at the exposed wounds of Tiny "Ahh, Bella, guarda qui, guarda la striatura della connessione muscolare e tissutale..."

Tiny was seen to and bandaged. Next was Thruk, with similarly enlightening results.

Retaining everything she had learned, Taalia's methodical mind seemed to temporarily forget about the issues around her as she gathered her book from her baggage train, along with her writing kit, and began committing it all to paper.

Treating the ogres is certainly a learning experience. Their hygiene is poor, but frankly, you've been in battlefields where people have been ripped apart by cannonballs now; and before that, you had been in the skavenpits. Their muscles and bloodvessels seem to be mostly in the same place you'd expect them to be, just scaled up and out; but everything is denser. Most memorably is the blood, which oozes thick and slow instead of running fast. The comparison to gravy leaps unbidden into your mind.

They bleed red wine jus.

You take a look even at the arrow embedded in Tiny's head, while you're there. It's in deep - probably in brain - but the penetration through the skull suggests the arrow was a bodkin and not barbed. You remember a conversation you had with Antonuccia the physician, talking about war wounds like this after a cup or two of wine.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Slightly Tipsy Antonuccia

"Medical learning is a gift, and I cringe every time I see a village where the midwives wash their hands in a shared bowl instead of pumped water. How many lives are lost because people do not know things? But then you will see a situation, particularly with the brain or some other organ, where a knife or a bolt is imbedded. The wisdom given to soldiers is not to move such things because moving them may do more damage, or let blood out. But the end truth is, in most such cases, at some point you just have to pull the bloody thing out and try to deal with what's left."

---

Fortunately, pulling the arrow free does not take anything with it. It makes Tiny's foot kick up and send his loose boot spiraling through the air, kicking an outlaw in the chest and sending him wheezing and sprawling; but no lasting harm from that misadventure. You patch and bandage, and take note. Giorno's wounds are not severe, but they are in that unfortunate lacuna of medical capacity where they are not deep enough to require surgery but not superficial enough to ignore. You use some of the herbs you bought form town to make two huge dressings of poultice and wrap his mighty shins, and instruct him, as much as possible, not to overstress them.

"You heard her, boys! I'm a patient in recovery, I am. I'll lie here and you manlings can toss the food into my mouth, har har! To be Greasus for a day!"

With the excitement of the fight, the feast had almost been forgotten. And just when you'd gotten the blood off your hands...

Several the outlaws are experienced enough with butchering animals that they are helpful slaughtering and gutting and draining; one even very insistent about rincing the offal and stuffing it inside of itself to create what seems like a profane pocket of animal guts. Unappetizing, but efficient. And Bruk even spends time skinning the wolves, and leaving them to drain from a tree. "Not good for mans," he explains, tapping the lean and scarred muscle of one carcass with a huge but very sharp knife. "Orc beasts got worms. Little tummy not good." He gives you a wink, like he's doing you a favor by setting these aside for ogre consumption at a later time. He does offer you something, however - the jawbone of the alpha wolf you killed, stripped and red.

"Cook him up, but not for eat. Here; this." He demonstrates something, holding the jawbone with two fat fingers around the 'chin' with the hinged ends pointed out in a fork, his arm straight ahead, listing his grip loosely left and right. "Godspeak", he explains, and turns back to his work.

Giorno explains a little, when you ask him later on. "Bruk did some apprenticeship under the butchers. They're, err... Well. Like a priest, maybe. He put you on to the jawbone, did he? A Telling-Bone don't normally work in less than a man's jaw. Must be a good wolf."

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I would like some Cooking rolls. These are poor, easilly impressed people and also ravenous, never unhungry monsters so whatever you roll will get eaten. But all the same, give me three Trade: Cook rolls at +20 each, to see how the feast turns out.

"

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni


And so as the daw went on, swords were turned into plowshares.

The animals were quietly and gently slaughtered, each one taken away from the other so that the scent of blood did not distress them. (and thus spoil the meat to come from within) Though confused about her new wolfen gift, Taalia took the jaw in the way it was intended, as an affectionate gesture. Or as close to such as ogres could summon. She'd keep the trinket, but make sure to stow it somewhere out of civilised sight, for she was self-aware enough now to know that such grisly baubles would be looked down upon in polite society.

Nevertheless, Taalia and Bella set about cooking, an activity they both seemed to thoroughly enjoy, particularly Taalia. Having grown up in the Skavenpits for most of her life, and as a scrap-fed slave before that, the girl had come to greatly appreciate the beautiful art of cooking. The aroma of roasting garlic, the scent of cooking potatoes, the delicious miasma of charred beef and steaming pasta laced with oregano, basil, paprika, salt and peppers...so when the time came to set out the pots and begin preparation of their feast, Taalia seemed re-energised and set about her task with as great a skill as she could muster.

Not everything turned out the way she desired, unfortunately. But, as it was just Bella and herself preparing a feast for sixteen humans and three ogres and doing so in a single afternoon, one might be rather forgiving, for what they did produce was cauldrons of mutton ragu with gnocci and tagliatelle pasta, chicken risotto and Abbacchio alla romana with mashed and buttered potatoes. And for those who wanted something simpler, a pot of spaghetti aglio e olio was prepared and served alongside.

You are exhausted from sprinting and battle when you begin, and the culinary work with the primitive workspace is more exhausting still. You and Bella blur back and forth preparing an immense amount of food, but your choices have given preference to foods that can be made in large batches, and the tools you purchased in the village are sufficient. Giorno rests on doctor's orders, occasionally pitching in as the group's translator for your sake; cheerfully haranguing outlaws to hold lanterns high so you and Bella can cut vegetables without cutting your fingers and so forth. Bruk builds out the fire into a great long pit, and cooks one of the goblin's wolves on a spit he rotates by hand with an almost monastic patience. This is good; the time permitted for the preparations has been squeezed by the battle, and there simply aren't enough hours to kill and prepare all the animals. With wolf-flesh supplementing the ogre's glutinous meal plan, it all works out; and about a some of the animals live to see another day, perhaps to become meals at some other point in your journey. The goat, two sheep, and four chickens are yours to give away or keep as you prefer (though strictly you might consider them Briant's).

By the time you're able to stop to eat, you and Bella are too drained to sing when Briant saws away on his violin. It might be a little raucous for your feminine harmonies anyway; mostly an earthy, choral burr of Breton voices that form an unprofessional, but not wholly unpleasant sound. Tiny, recovering from brain surgery, has a ball of a time teaching the humans to say 'molto bene', to salute the cooks. But their accents seem to soften it into 'monto bene', which you, Bella, and the Tilean speaking ogres know is less of a compliment to the chef and more of a clumsy carnal advertisement. The outlaws don't seem to be able to hear the difference in the words, and it leaves Tiny particularly falling over, wheezing and laughing like a giant, gross, fat toddler. The simplicity of the dumber ogres is childlike in some ways, which makes their monstrous habits and behaviours worse at times; but in this context at least, they are agreeable enough.

Late at night, as the humans are curling up to sleep off their full stomachs, the three who took off after the escaped goblin and wolves return just in time to snag the dregs at the bottom of the pots. They give a short report to Briant, who offers you and Bella an affirmative raise of the thumb - the remnant of the pack is no longer a problem. Battle and feasting has turned an ugly confrontation into at least a temporary alliance; would that all enemies could be so easily mollified. When you curl up in your bedroll, sleep takes you like a boot to the head; and you sleep a good hard eight hours. You stir only once and crack your eyes to see Sir Briant and Bella on watch. Your friend sitting flush to his side, leaning against his shoulder even, as they murmur back and forth. They seem comfortable; and so is your bedroll as you sink back into slumber.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You may gain 100 XP! Progress payment on your Carcassonne adventure, and untangling the web of Lord Donallo.

In the morning, the outlaws prepare to return to their homes, with the understanding that Briant will attempt to solve the greater problem with Lord Donallo and that the ogres are no longer a problem that requires aggressive maintenance. All this time and even now, they have kept their hoods on and tried to avoid showing their features to anyone. The same is true now, but their demeanor is less closed and more accepting. Their ringleader bids you and Bella farewell, before he goes.

"Bon voyage, mesdames Tilean. Taal vous permet de rester sur votre chemin."

Then it's time to head toward Lord Donallo's home. Bruk and Tiny carry two swinging wolf corpses each on boughs on their shoulders - trail rations, you suppose. Giorno, walking wounded, takes the liberty to carry nothing at all.

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That's a bunch of stuff so I'll give you a chance to respond before we move the scene! But also, give me a Perception (insight, non-sensory) roll at +20 and an outdoor survival roll for the overland travel. +0 on that one.

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni

What a day.

Taalia had greeted the morning from the vestiges of a church ruin, bartering with a passing little shepardess for some eggs. Then, she had been accosted on the road into town, the peace being bought with an uncut malachite that lulled the thievery appetites of the local brigands. Then she had mad acquaintances with three ogres, the leader of whom had not only recognized her, but informed her of how her name and image had spread beyond the boundaries of Verezzo and into the wider world, creating almost a bit of a little legend for herself and her prior deeds involving the slaying of trolls and demolition of previously imposing monuments to authority and apprehension. Then, she had moved into town where she had bartered with the locals despite barely being able to talk to them, before she then had to return to a camp of brigands only to evade a squadron of goblin wolf riders whom she then later battled alongside said brigands and ogres. Then, she played physician, tending to the wounded and putting pen to paper of perhaps the first human collection of ogorian anatomy. And then she and Bella had prepared a feast for sixteen people and three ogres.

What a day indeed. Needless to say, she fell asleep almost at the instant she lay down to rest. Though when she awoke and spotted Bella's 'leaning', Taalia smirked and pretended to remain asleep.

The next morning and the girls disposition towards the bandits had softened considerably. Back in Tilea, such roaming groups were doubtless a menace, as the road wardens possessed greater integrity and the roads were kept relatively safe, all things considered. Concepts such as Lords ruling over an area and all within entrusting him with protection (and their money...) was foreign to the Tilean way of life where republics were ingrained into the culture. This arrangement, however, of powerful nobles ruling the lands and those under their purview entrusting so much security and labor towards them? That sounded more like what the Skaven did with their clan system. Still, if Briant was anything to go by it was a hierarchy that could be more benign than the cutthroat world of the rat-men, if no less restrictive. As such, the brigands weren't "brigands" per say, that was just the best way to estimate them. Instead they were more like a militia, formed to secure the physical well-being of the local community in place of the local lords active efforts. This meant they were not just petty thieves out to exploit those who actually worked for a living, they were more like protective vigilantes.

And so, when the leader parted ways with "Bon voyage, mesdames Tilean. Taal vous permet de rester sur votre chemin!" Taalia returned a response that was warmer than what it would have been the day prior.

"Saluto. Vegliate sulle vostre case e sulle vostre famiglie."

With the morning affairs concluded, and considering the remaining animals to be Briant's property, Taalia packed things up and walked alongside the destrier as, doubtless, Bella rode sidesaddle upon it.

Next stop - Lord Donallo.

Briant lets the bandits - who will hopefully transmogrify back into ordinary peasants once out of sight - take the two sheep and chickens. But he has decided to take pity on the goat, and it trots along after Cleménce with a minimal of complaining bleats. Not so much pity as to name the creature yet, but enough not to send it back to a village so eager to get rid of it that they offered it as a deal-sweetener. If it runs off, then off it shall run, and that will be that.

The next couple of days of travel go smoothly, and you keep your legs moving so the cold doesn't get to you. Your cloak is enough for now; but how cold will it get in the Bretonnian winter? Not as cold as Norsca, surely? You recall knocking on the door of your master and mistress, your fingers and feet blue from the rebuke of the wilderness in your first escape effort.

Briant points out some of the plants as you go. Some of the time, Bella is able to translate the lost elements of speech - a capable student of the gallic teacher. Here are some wild strawberries, few but fair to taste and ripe by tomorrow if picked now. There is flatweed, which looks to you like a less impressive dandelion, which is perfectly edible if not particularly flavoursome and grows all the way from here to Couronne. These discoveries do not impress the ogres, who regard the direct consumption of vegetables with manifest disgust. You can smuggle them in with a hearty stew, like a mother hiding medicine in honey for a child, but they do not register plants as food, no matter how good the arguement.

"It's not food what you have there, Signorina Trollslayer," Giorno expounds, "but rather what food eats."

Travelling with these bulky goons for a long time would be very trying, however genial they are as an example of their people. They do, at least, have interesting stories to tell.

"Oh, si, signorina. Me and these boys, and a couple others gone now, made the Maneater turn eight years ago. Escorted a great big caravan of all sorts of goods from the Mountains of Mourn all the way to Karaz-A-Karak. Hah hah! You should've 'eard them haggling, funniest filth I've 'eard. '你和我父亲做交易，而不是我！', 'Не, әкең үшін тым жақсысың ба?' Hah Hah!"

Bruk, Tiny, and Giorno are apparently a sort of ogre pilgrim called 'Maneaters'; the name of which is misleading, since all ogres are maneaters given the chance. But the tradition is named after an ogre called Golgfag Maneater (who did infact eat his paymaster in a dispute over rations, in the end.) Ogres are burdened with a terrible appetite, but some find that, quite irrationally, their appetite will one day start to grade towards the more abstract. Such ogres are as hungry to experience cultures as they are to have full bellies, and frequently adopt the dress and fighting style of their host nation in as much as their bulk can accommodate it. The galoots with you now have settled for those years in Verezzo as you know, but before that, they have experienced combat against ogres, orcs, beastmen, skaven, trolls, giants, and humans of several nations of which you have barely ever heard such as Grand Cathay and The Kingdoms of Ind. You begin to understand that all of those battles and journeys were driven by hunger - it stalks them like a monstrous predator, and it is impossible for them to know more than short bouts of satiety.

"What an awful way to live," Bella whispers. "I can't imagine being so hungry to do such things over and over, and to eat... well. Things I wouldn't call food."

Bella is naive, of course. Ogres have a unique lot, but humans will do and eat all kinds of things they never imagined they would when they're desperate enough.

* * * * *

Lord Donallo's castle is a finely constructed; a stand-alone fort for the lord and his knights and their families on a high hill from which one could see, on a clear day, for miles to the many thorps and villages under his taxable domain.

"Mind head," Tiny warns, covering the top of his head with his hand and fixing his eyes on the crenelated gatehouse from which he was previously shot.

A group of six men at arms in leathers and flat topped helms observe your band's approach, and call out.

"Tenez bon, sire chevalier ! Vous pouvez annoncer votre fête de là où vous vous trouvez, si cela vous plaît!"

Sir Briant takes a few steps ahead of where you and the others halt.

"Je m'appelle Sir Briant DuBois ! Mon père, c'est Lucard DuBois, châtelain du château de Parravon ! Il faut que je parle immédiatement à Lord Donallo!"

The men on the gate seem to not enjoy this demand, but don't have much of a way to respond, and so confer with each other for a long time. Briant waits impatiently. Eventually, they respond.

"Je suis désolé, lord DuBois, mais je ne peux pas vous ouvrir la porte. Lord Donallo n'accepte pas d'invités avant la fin de l'hiver."

Giorno gives you the brief. "They say the Lord is taking no guests."

Briant responds, angrier than you have ever seen him. "Je ne suis pas en visite en tant qu'invité, je suis ici pour vous faire part de graves doutes ! Ouvrez la porte ou je l'enfonce !"

"'E says he's not havin' it and he'll kick the door down."

The guards: "Monsieur, notre seigneur et notre dame sont malades et vous ne devez pas le troubler pendant qu'il guérit!"

The knight: "Ces femmes sont des guérisseuses ; Ouvrez la porte!"

"They say the lord and lady are sick; 'e says you signorinas are healers so to open up."

They go back and forth for a while, Briant growing more frustrated and the men on the wall more frightened. They don't, at least, draw sights on you with their bows; the presence of a knight seems to be enough to ward against that indignity. Finally, Briant has had enough. He turns to the ogres, and after gathering himself from the brink of fury, directs them minimally.

"Décomposez-le."

Giorno is delighed, and barks a laugh. "Ah! Well, this is a pleasant surprise - a little siege never 'urt anyone. On you go, boys."

Bruk and Tiny hurry up to the gate, and put their shoulders do it. Soon they settle into a rhythm of backing up a few paces and ramming it together near to meeting of the doors. It doesn't give; but time is on the side of the attackers. The men on the gate start shouting and swearing, but they neither seem prepared to attack a lord and his entourage, not willing to open the gate. As the attack proceeds, Briant comes back to you and Bella.

"You with me, si? Something, uh..." He shakes his head a little. Barely articulating much, you and Bella both understand: something is wrong inside this place, and he doesn't know what to expect. Bella ties up the animals to a post, and readies her crossbow.

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Now is the time to decide what is in your hands, as you prepare to enter Donallo's fort. Briant doesn't seem ready to draw blood on these men who haven't drawn on him, but that peace might not hold.

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni


Taalia moved along with the impromtu caravan with a surprising relaxed demeanor, at least for one who had been in a battle the day prior. In actuality, Taalia had become almost desensitised to battles and mass combat by now. The sight of violence no longer frightened her, given her upbringing and her activities since emerging onto the surface. Whether that was a sad indictment or a toughening up would be left to an individuals discretion. But the shepardess listened to the stories the ogres offered and was genuinely interested in their travels, even if the tales of such were filtered through the minds of towering brutes that would ultimately devour you if they needed to.

And Taalia shared some stories of her own.

"A burning roof fell on me when I was just a child," she offered, pointing to the scar across her face.

"I don't know where I'm from originally, but one day I hope to find out," Taalia smiled bittersweetly.

"I was taken by Norscans, held in their freezing hell for a few years before I was sold to the rat-men. I survived them for seven years, see these?" she would pull back a sleeve, or open a collar-cloth, all to reveal one of the multitude of scars across her figure.

"I even learned the language! As far as I know, I am only one of two free humans to be fully fluent," that smile returned, but this time carrying almost a boastful edge. But there was the reminder: her thoughts were still in Queekish, and probably always would be.

Taalia would look over at Bella every now and then, granting her a small, friendly smile should her friend notice and return the glance.

"What an awful way to live," Bella whispers. "I can't imagine being so hungry to do such things over and over, and to eat... well. Things I wouldn't call food."

The shepardess would smirk and snort lightly in amusement. While still walking at a gentle place, she leaned up so that Bella could move her ear a little closer so her friend could speak softer.

"I starved for eleven years," Taalia said quietly without the presence of judgement or correction, "five days over-worked on an empty stomach, and even carrion starts to look appetising..." her little grin containing a hint of morbid humor.

But then came Lord Donallo's fort.

Immediately Taalia's guard was up, not because she sensed any great danger, but because she couldn't understand what was going on. She followed the bewildered but cautious demeanour of the six guards and the seemingly entitled and sweeping gestures of Briant, raising an eyebrow at the mans sudden assertive outburst, until Giorno explained what was going on.

"You with me, si? Something, uh..."

Taalia immediately nodded, unslinging her firearm from her shoulder and getting ready to pursue. But then she saw Bella arm herself with equal gusto, clearly ready to storm the castle if need be. Looking over her shoulder at her unarmored friend, her smaller stature dwarfed behind Taalia's tall, statuesque and mail-clad figure, Taalia shook her head.

"Bella no..." she uttered, "no weapon; you'll be seen as a threat. They won't strike out at a foreign lady and healer!"

She hoped her attempt to persuade her not to put herself in harms way would be welcomed as the tactical advice used to mask Taalia's protective concern.

Bella's eyes flash. She looks ready to defend her right to stay by your side again - but when you don't ask her to give that up, her look softens and she hears your reasoning, setting the crossbow down outside and carrying instead her staff, which surely no one would begrudge.

As the gate starts to crack and splinter, and the porticullis behind it warps and pops, Tiny and Bruk are able to pull back the twisted metal just enough for you, Briant, and Bella to squeeze through - and Briant does not seem inclined to wait for a full demolition to bring the ogres.

At the end of a short stone tunnel, the six men from the gatehouse have come down and arrayed themselves pointing spears forward.

"Dégagez!", Briant commands, drawing his sword and gesturing to the side in a sweeping motion to the men. They hold their line, spears trembling, suspended between loyalty to their lord and generalized submission to the caste of knights.

Spoiler: OOC:

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These boys are on the edge of indecision, and Taalia has a chance to move them off. You can make a charm or intimidate roll to try to move them; charm at a -20% for the language barrier. Intimidate is somewhat more universal as a concept!

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni


By the time the wooden barrier had been pried open in a hail of splinters, Taalia had swapped out her firearm for Leonardo. It was less accurate, by far, and packed less of a punch...but she didn't want to hurt these guys. She was swiftly gaining the sense from Briant that he was here to march over them, rather than through them. She found it hard to believe that a man who had been so generous with his coin and valor to the brigands would willingly slay half a dozen men under the employ of a local Lord. Though the social hierarchy here was foreign to Tilean culture, Taalia could recognize the underlying rigid caste system from her time among the rat-men, and Briant was well above these six poor bastards who stood between them and the lord of the manor.

Aligning herself next to Briant and ensuring that Bella was hidden safely behind herself, Taalia brought up the intimidating looking blunderbuss and aimed it at the pack of peasant footmen and the sheildwall they had formed, spears oscilating gently as the hands that gripped them quivered beneath the socially ingrained pressure to never defy a social better like Briant.

"Mettilo giù! Mettilo giù!" Taalia's sonorous voice barked down the corridor, her taller frame, bedecked in armor clearly superior to theirs, the uncertainty of her foreign language and the large-calibre muzzle of her blunderbuss pointing right at them that gestured down to the ground with each phrase yelled...

Between your foreign demands and Bir Briant's domestic dominion, the resolve of one of the men-at-arms cracks, and he moves back from the line; and the rest, given permission by this first fracture, settle back also. Some put their spears down; others sit on the ground and lay their spears over their laps, clearly shaken and exhausted by this conflict of their obligations. They are better armed and attired than the villagers, but not much less pitiable; they look frightened and uncertain to you, and not entirely healthy.

Briant has no time for them; he is going straight to the source, and storms on through the courtyard of the keep to the inner door, not reinforced for seiges but... which, from where you stand, appears to be barred from the outside. He throws the bar aside, wrestles with the lock, and gives the door a harsh pull that breaks something and flings it open, for him to stalk inside.

"Donallo! Donallo!"

Bella has peeled off to the dazed and defeated men-at-arms, looking them over, asking in her now semi-confident Breton about the state of the fief. They are uncertain of her, but not hostile; and when she produces some of the salted scraps of the mutton leftover from the feast the night before, they are hungry and agreeable enough to treat politely. She gives you a nod, of permission - she is alright here, not far away, if you want to follow Donallo directly; and the ogres will finish pulling open the portcullis in a few more minutes.

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Stay with Bella and the men at arms to ask some questions, or follow Sir Briant directly into the castle?

https://i.postimg.cc/sDjMwt1Q/rsgsr.jpg Taalia Giovanni

(God damn server busy ate my post)


Taalia breathed a sigh of relief as the weary and malnourished looking men-at-arms laid down their weapons or seated themselves upon the ground in surrender. The shepardess had no qualms shooting brigands, as they were thieving bastards. But men such as these? Under clear duress, hungry and all bark with little bite? Looking over at Bella now imparting tender mercies through food and medical inspection, Taalia was glad it had not turned violent. The idea of hurting such men was unsettling to her, and so she gave a small thanks to Myrmidia that such had not come to pass.

She returned Bella's nod, before turning and heading in Briants direction. She watched him wretch the door open, tearing away the barricades and barking the mans name as he gained access and marched inside. Her eyes alert, the shepardess followed him, still cradling her weapon in her hands. This Lord Donallo had a great many things to explain.