Chapter I - Into the Wilderness

<<Noon - Early Spring - Trading Post at the Edge of the Wilderness>>

It's early spring, the sun is soft, and trees are starting to bloom. Birds chip as squirrels skitter about.

You're having lunch, such at it is, at a trading post at the edge of the wilderness. The wilderness has many names: Stormshire, The Marches, The Wilderness. The land in front of you involves a great deal of mystery; similarly, so does the stew that you're eating.

The trading post is surrounded by a wooden palisade. The craftsmanship is questionable at best and makes Otto raise his eyebrows. The sharpened wooden posts don't bear signs of cutting so much as they do of bludgeoning, as if someone had carved them with a sledgehammer instead of an axe. It's very odd.

Your hosts for the meal are the proprietors of the trading post, Ignacio Severo José Rubio-Rosso Delgado and his partner Emma Josefina Isabela Marta Alfonsa Elena Ludovica Carlotta de Borbón y Parade. They are a mismatched couple. Ignacio is ugly, snaggletoothed, socially awkward, and often uncouth. Emma is everything he is not: witty, pretty, socially gifted, and gracious to guests. Neither of them are that old, perhaps early 30s at most.

"You're very welcome here," Emma says with a smile as she offers to dish up seconds of the stew. It contains a brown meat that cannot be reliably identified, along with some root vegetables. The flavor is somewhat dull. "We so rarely get visitors out this way."

"Which is the point," Ignacio mutters under his breath.

"What he means to say," Emma smiles, evidently used to covering up social faux pas on a regular basis, "is that we appreciate our seclusion. None of us had much taste for the hustle and bustle of the city. And so here we are at the edge of the Marches." She gestures to your surroundings, which are admittedly lovely and probably deceptively inviting. "We do have some modest rooms if you need to stay the night. Just a silver piece, which includes supper and breakfast. Bread and fresh eggs!"

The trading post is that the very southern border of the Wilderness, which extends to the west, north, and east. West leads toward the ocean, east toward the mountains. To the north? Nobody knows. If anyone has successfully mapped it, they're not sharing.

To the south of you, separating the Wilderness from civilization, is The River. It's a mighty flow a thousand yards wide. And, on the southern shore of The River is The Wall, a stone fortification which was built centuries ago by a long-lost civilization to make sure that things on the north side of The River stay on the north side of The River. The Wall features milecastles with two watchtowers between each, plus a larger fort every five miles or so. The forts and milecastles also serve as gates to get from one side to the other.

"We have a steady stream of adventurers like yourselves," Emma says. "Hunters and trappers, prospectors and miners too."

To serve their clientele, their post has most of the basics, including simple weapons and armor as well as supplies for traveling. They also purchase items of value from the wilderness, especially furs. Caravans supply the post about once per week. They can special-order items for you with at least two weeks of notice.

"And bandits," Igancio says darkly, eyeing you warily as if you might flip the table and draw swords at any moment. He makes sure that wandering eyes don't linger on Emma for too long. He's skinny and doesn't look like he could do very much about it. His nose is crooked and suggests that he's been in more than a few fights, or that he was dropped as a baby more than a few times.

"And bandits," Emma agrees sadly. "Be careful if you venture north. I believe there's a camp within a day's ride on horseback."

"When are you leaving," Ignacio says, not really phrasing it as a question.

Emma tries to smile politely. "Which way will you go?" she says to cover Ignacio's bluntness.

Adrasta sits on a simple wooden bench, enjoying the crisp, spring breeze and its contrast with the warm midday sun. She eats the mysterious stew without complaint. The Crimson Phalanx had always promised its hoplites three square meals a day, but there had been many campaigns when supply lines had been unreliable and those three meals had been whittled down to precious little. She had learned from a young age to eat while she could.

Ingacio's brusque manner doesn't bother her much. She'd met her share of ornery folks. If anything, he reminded her of her former master, who was himself a right grumpy bastard. She smiles sadly at the surfacing memories, then brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and digs back down into the stew.

When the question of the group's departure and destination comes up, she swallows her mouthful of stew and clears her throat. "At most, we'll stay one night and set off in the morning. We didn't come all this way just to sit on the edge and enjoy the weather." She pauses and looks at Ignacio. "And the company," she adds mockingly, but without malice.

She leans back against the simple wooden table, resting her elbows on its rough surface. "As for where we'll go..." She looks out at the Wilderness' tall trees with a twinkle in her eyes. "I don't know." She smiles broadly. "We haven't decided yet."

"Mayhaps to these bandits, if they might prove worthy of our attention."
The question is asked in an alluring tone tinged with the elegantly enthralling elven accent, each syllable flowing into the next with seductive precision. "Many moons have waned since last we dispatched a worthy adversary."

Naesala leans against a stantion a ways off from the table, positioned where she can keep every one of the building's points of entry in her peripheral vision. Her thick travelling hood sits down around her neck, exposing the long ears of her race for all to see; a sign to the party that she either trusted all present, or was assured that she could easily kill those she did not. The elf is otherwise motionless, having stomached a modicum of the mystery stew some time earlier and allowed Adrasta to finish the rest, a recurring occurrence since their first encounter in the Crimson Phalanx where the elf had served as a forward scout.

Upon asking her question, Naesala turns to their hosts. "What know you of these brigands?"

"I could take them," Ignacio growls. Emma puts a hand on his arm to help settle him.

"They come here about once a month," Emma says, "usually the day after the full moon. They show up around midday, extort a payment, and then go. I'm guessing they leave their camp after breakfast, arrive here midday, and then are back in their camp by nightfall. Their horses don't look lathered so I'm guessing they ride at a walk instead of a trot. So, maybe 15 or 20 miles north?

"They used to send 8 or 12 bandits as a show of force. Now they only send 4."

"Lazy bastards," Ignacio grumbles.

Emma looks sad. "It's all I can do to hold him back," she says of Ignacio. Evidently he's got some fight in him, skinny as he is.

Adrasta takes her time chewing her current spoonful of stew as a plan forms in her mind. If they took these rogues by surprise... "When are these bandits next due?"

She looks at her compatriots. "We could use horses."

Emma gulps a little. "Tonight is the full moon. So... tomorrow."

Otto listens distractedly, alternating between his stew and his whittling. Emma's face is easy...smooth, flowing...graceful curves of her cheekbones. He finds Ignacio's face to be a little more difficult...craggy, uneven, unpleasant. He softens Ignacio's lines, turns the ends of his mouth upward slightly, giving him a slight smile in the carving.
He grabs another bite of stew, hardly noticing the flavor, and focusing on the lines of Ignacio's hands. He picks up his whittling knife again, and rapidly outlines a hand, carved gently on the wooden shoulder of Emma. He glances back at Ignacio's carved mouth, trimming the slightest notch of a crooked tooth, making sure that that it doesn't detract."Carve to compliment, not to insult", he can hear his father saying. "Find what is best, pay tribute to the flaws, and you will show character." Otto was never sure if he spoke of the character of the carved or of the carver. Perhaps he meant both.
He returns to the hand -- a gnarled hand, surely, but gentle on Emma's shoulder.
Otto resumes eating his stew, taking more interest at the mention of brigands. His axe leans against the bench, and Otto considers a different kind of carving.

Otto has the eye of an artisan. Studying Ignacio's hands, he realizes that they're a story in contradictions.

Ignacio's knuckles are gnarled and malformed, like his face, with intense callouses across the knuckles. But his palms are smooth as silk, and at odds with what must be a challenging profession in a challenging setting. One might go so far as to call his palms his best feature - a low bar, admittedly, given the rest of his appearance.

Ardan had eaten his share of the stew quickly and efficiently and is now listening to the conversation. He knows to enjoy a meal, drag it out over hours, fill the time with drinks, stories and games. But those meals are usually in other company, other surrounding and more often than not on those meals he is someone else.
Today's meal was about nourishment and nourishment only, no need to celebrate that.
At the mention of the bandit tax, he grimaces and purses his lips "Why, we cannot allow that a fair lady, such as yourself and a hard working, peace-loving man such as you are troubled by such good-for-nothing wanna-be bandits. One ought to do something about it." he finishes his little statement with his winning smile and faintly winks at Emma, more out of reflex than with a message. "How about we do visit their camp and see what can be done." . He pauses, thinking quickly, "Or we wait for them tomorrow and prepare a trap for them. I might have an idea."

Thelonius wrote:

"How about we do visit their camp and see what can be done." . He pauses, thinking quickly, "Or we wait for them tomorrow and prepare a trap for them. I might have an idea."

"A trap tells them that our hosts are involved with setting it. If the quarry gets away, a heavier hand might land on this establishment."
Raising the spoon to his mouth, Otto stops. "How about we spoil their breakfast in the morning? Welcome them to the new day with a splitting headache, as it were." He grabs the haft of his axe, a sturdy, double-headed affair, and raises it slightly. He glances at his companions for approval, before cramming the spoon into his mouth, some stew dribbling into his dark brown beard.
He rubs his chin against his shoulder, a little self-conscious about being sloppy in front of Emma. His tunic absorbs the stew easily, and darkened patches on the fabric make it clear that he's cleaned his beard in this manner before.

Adrasta grins at Otto. "Feeling confident, are we?" She thinks back to her training. Her sergeant had always said that the best kind of battle was one you didn't have to fight. The second best was one with the odds heavily stacked in your favor. Fair fights got you killed.

"There are at least 12 bandits. Even if we catch them by surprise... Those are bad odds. One misstep and we'd find ourselves at the Battle of Aklomery." She eats another spoonful of stew, then continues. "Better to fight them in multiple, smaller engagements."

She looks at Ignacio, figuring he might be more forthcoming than his wife. He seems to hate the bandits with a passion. "How does the payoff usually go down? Do they come in or do you head outside? Do they dismount? Do they ever stay for lunch?"

moarhair wrote:

Adrasta grins at Otto. "Feeling confident, are we?"

Otto smiles a sheepish grin, rightfully corrected for his overconfidence. "Maybe this area breeds a better quality bandit, but where I'm from, they're all the same. Lazy. And the work looks awfully hard to them once the first head comes off."
He goes back to his stew, his whittling set aside for the time being. He hates these little interruptions from his carving, preferring to complete them in one sitting. "Senseless interruptions make the work haphazard, disjointed, like a crazy man did the first half before handing it to the village idiot for finishing." He remembers his father's smiling face as he said those words, while meticulously carving tentacles into the handrailing at Iron Dolphin's prow.

Otto himself had only fought bandits a handful of times near the village. They were brief and distastefully brutish fights, and Otto being the youngest of the clan at the time, clean-up responsibilities fell to him. The blood, the gore...the smell...he hated the smell most of all. But when it needed doing, it needed doing, and shying away from it only made it worse.

"Do these bandits keep a schedule, or do they attack when the mood strikes them?", he says to no one in particular, before picking up his bowl, putting it to his face, and draining the last of the broth.

Adrasta seems to have tapped into a font of knowledge with her question to Ignacio.

"Diamond formation," he says gruffly, although his tone starts to transition from grumpy to factual. "They don't dismount. They expect us to leave the palisade walls to deliver payment. There will be a draft horse or donkey in the center position of the diamond where I deliver payment - often furs and other trade goods - usually within reach of two bandits and in line-of-sight of the bandit at the rear.

"Front three will carry hand weapons. Short swords, war hammers, hand axes, spiked maces. Usually right-handed, with small shields on the left forearm. Person is the rear will have a bow or crossbow and will be set back 50 feet from the others to provide covering fire. Bow at the ready, arrow nocked for intimidation."

"Rear position will be a woman. A good shot," he grudgingly admits.

"Light armor only, as much for warmth as protection. Buff coats, war robes, heavy on the furs and hides. Basic helmets. Bascinets, spangehelms, kettle helms."

Ignacio falls silent, having answered the question and more.

"They don't stay," Emma says to answer that question. "They don't trust our food. Probably wise of them. In the past they would come in and... disrupt things. Flipping tables and breaking dishes and the like." She fiddles with her hands bit at the memory, rubbing her fingers. "But now they seem to want to leave as quickly as possible. The whole exchange will be a few minutes at most. They come, they go. They don't linger."

"What is with all the homicidal ideas? Ah, right, you're all soldiers or fighters and if all you know is a hammer, every problem is a nail.
There are a other powerful motivators than death. And dealing out death has the inconvenient habit of spreading also to the one starting the dealing.
Fear is a fine alternative. If you we manage to put fear into enough of them, they might go away by themselves. Granted that does not solve the root problem.
Or dispute. We can try to split the group by getting them to fight with each other." he smiles a sheepish smile. "And the smart people don't run away into the Wilderness. That puts us at an advantage."

Tecumseh wrote:

"Diamond formation," he says gruffly, although his tone starts to transition from grumpy to factual. "They don't dismount. They expect us to leave the palisade walls to deliver payment. There will be a draft horse or donkey in the center position of the diamond where I deliver payment - often furs and other trade goods - usually within reach of two bandits and in line-of-sight of the bandit at the rear.

"Front three will carry hand weapons. Short swords, war hammers, hand axes, spiked maces. Usually right-handed, with small shields on the left forearm. Person is the rear will have a bow or crossbow and will be set back 50 feet from the others to provide covering fire. Bow at the ready, arrow nocked for intimidation."

Otto listens, somewhat surprised at the thoroughness of the details. It seems to him that Ignacio has been measuring the bandits, paying careful attention to arms, armor, and formation, as if he'd been trained this way.

He picks up his carving, reassessing the figure behind Emma. With a deft couple of slices here, a slight shave there, the Ignacio figure's jaw becomes a touch more square, shoulders press back slightly.

"Dig a hole a hundred feet out, use it for ambush?" His brow furrows as he holds the carving out at arm's length, twisting it in his hand as he scrutinizes the work.

Naesala scowls silently as Ardan refers to her Art as a 'hammer', though she has long since stopped rising to the provocation.
"Fear is but a fleeting measure, transient by nature. If our quarry be so frail as to be cowed by such, then mayhaps they are a prey unfit for our attention."

The elf listens to the description of the attacking force, then to Otto's reply. "This woman, the one gifted of true aim. She sounds to my ears the overseer of the other three. Know you more of her?"
A glint in Naesala's eye would put Ignacio in mind of a cat that had discovered a new mouse.

Adrasta frowns as Ignacio and Emma describe the bandits' habits. They might have lowered the number they send to collect, but they were still being very careful. Clearly, they weren't idiots. At even odds, it would still be a tough engagement.

She listens to Ardan's thoughts on the matter with skepticism. How did he think they could make them afraid if not with bloodletting? "These aren't some back-alley muggers looking to scare some civvies out of their pocket change. They're well-equipped Wilderness bandits using military formations. They won't scare easy."

She leans back again. "Living out here, with only each other's company. They're going to be tight-knit. Won't be easy to drive a wedge between them." She grins at the scoundrel. "I know that silver tongue of yours has got quite a shine to it, but I think it might just be a well-polished hammer."

Adrasta nods when Naesala asks about the bandit woman. Their time together in the Crimson Phalanx meant they knew each other's capabilities and preferred tactics well. When she'd heard of the archer, she'd instantly pegged it as Naesala's target. Which left the other three to Ardan, Otto, and herself. Keeping the bandits from fleeing would be a challenge, as would fighting mounted enemies. Her face turns grim as she remembers the Count de Boisvilliers' last charge, and how his knights had broken the Phalanx... She shakes her head to clear the dark memories away. This time was different. She'd be the one with the element of surprise.

She scrapes the last of the stew out of her bowl as she waits for Ignacio's answer to Naesala's question.

"Aye," Ignacio nods slowly to Naesala. "She is likely that," he says, referring to her role as an overseer of the other three.

"But she never speaks. She sits there with a scowl and a scar" - he traces a finger down, drawing a straight vertical line that crosses the eyebrow and then continues down onto the cheekbone - "but never says nary a word. Instructions are either understood from habit or delivered ahead of time. Perhaps the former, as the crew has been the same these last three moons."

He continues on unsolicited. "Bandits are bullies, and bullies stay bullies until you PUNCH THEM IN THE MOUTH."

Emma puts a hand on him to restraint him. He calms somewhat, although it's clear that his solution to the problem differs from Emma's.

Tecumseh wrote:

"Bandits are bullies, and bullies stay bullies until you PUNCH THEM IN THE MOUTH."

"'Tis true, exactly that" says Otto, with a nod to Ignacio. "And they have mouths what need punched."

"So they come to make their demands. While they wait fer a response, I creep from the trap door behind Miss Scarry-Face. When you see me, or if she gets wind of me, give her the arrows from behind the palisade. When the other whirl their horses, rush them from the back. By this time, we should have the advantage of numbers, and their archer will be fighting for what's left of her life."

Otto sits back and crosses his arms, convinced that he's delivered an iron-clad plan that could never fail. He waits for the enthusiastic response with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

"Or mayhaps our body might make use of the arm capable of such subterfuge." Naesala knew Otto to be many things, though stealthy was not chief amongst them. Besides, she had already marked this woman as her own, and would not give up her prey so easily. "With their attention held towards the gate, her detention by my hand would be assured. The remaining would be ours to do with as we pleased."

The elf nods once to herself, ever happier to have the ambush happen at the moment of the drop. There was no real reason to avoid linking the assault with the trading post; it was not like the bandits would be any less ruthless in their raids on the place after losing some of their own on the way back from a collection, and if things went to plan there would be no bandits left to plague the area anyway. Why deny this human his chance at the much-deserved retribution he so craved? It was two extra bows and the advantage in numbers, after all. Following the trail back to the main camp would be simple with such fresh tracks too, so there was not even a need to leave any alive.

She locks eyes with Otto before finishing. "And no digging required."

Faanku wrote:

She locks eyes with Otto before finishing. "And no digging required."

Otto feigns a hurt look with an exaggerated shrug. "What's wrong with digging? It's good honest work, digging is. Shoveling in the sunshine, digging in the dirt. It's good fer ye!" he says, eyes wide, and waggling a finger for emphasis.

He sits back, acquiescing. "Have it yer way", a hint of mirth escaping from behind his tangled beard.

"I rather like digging..." he mutters to himself in feigned indignation.

Adrasta chuckles as she places her empty bowl onto the table. "Well, then good news. We'll probably need four rather large holes."

She continues more seriously. "So, to sum things up: Naesala will wait outside to ambush the archer. Otto, Ardan and I will be inside the palisade, ready at the door. When the bandits hail, we spring our trap."

She looks at Ignacio, narrowing her eyes as she assesses him. "Are you any good with a bow? An extra man would tilt the numbers in our favor. Especially if he can pick off a bandit that'd try to run."

As the conversation proceeds, Emma gets cooler and more distant with a growing look of horror in her eyes that says "oh please don't." Ignacio, conversely, gets more excited and far more voluble than he had been before.

"Not with a bow, no," he answers Adrasta. "But with a javelin, yes! I was the finest shot in the Tercios!" he announces proudly. "A knife, a spear, a stone, I can kill any man at fifty paces."

Emma puts a hand on his shoulder as if to restrain him. He pats her hand before leaping to his feet to survey the terrain with you.

"They will expect the gate open," he says. "The gate faces north; they will approach from the north. They want to see me in the gate or in front of it." In front of the gate there is an open field with waving grass up to your knees. "Once they see me, they'll approach from the tree line." The tree line is maybe a hundred meters to the north. The tree line itself is fairly wide; there are many possible points to emerge from it.

"The front portion of the diamond will proceed to about here." He marks a point maybe thirty feet in front of the gate. "Then they expect me to advance with their payment. Sometimes, they insist on seeing Emma. They want to see her..." He mimes a bit, as if swishing an imaginary skirt. You can see his blood boil at the thought. He shakes a skinny fist menacingly while cursing fluently in Llaigisan.

He eventually calms himself and continues. "The one in the rear watches as the three in front turn and go. They return to the northern tree line and we do not see where they go after that."

Emma is wringing her hands. When no one else is watching, she pulls Ardan aside. "You mustn't let him fight!" she says, clutching his hands tightly. "He thinks nothing of danger! He's a brave man, and not unskilled, but if I lose him..." She trails off, the thought to horrible to speak. Ardan can see tears welling in the corners of her eyes; her lips tremble like a cold songbird.

A brief look of surprise flashes over Ardans emotionally usually well controlled face. Why did Emma come to him? He clearly was no leader. Maybe because he was the only one trying for a less violent approach?
"I hear you Emma. Usually I take violence as my last option as well and more often than not it didn't come to it. But I admit to my fellow brigands, that this is likely a situation that asks for a more direct approach, especially with the crew we have at hand.
But I will try to keep him out. Don't worry." It is an instinct to find out what he can about a person he needs to convince. What angle is most promising?
"How much of a soldier's is he? Does a promise, his honor mean anything to him, over a good fight?
Is he superstitious?
I'm asking, because I need to know how to plead with him, you know? I'm guessing a pretty please, with cherries won't do. "

Emma twists her hands, clearly debating what to say.

"He's... very good," she says reluctantly. "Very good. But there's the trouble: he doesn't know his limits because he's never found them. It's entirely possible he could take out four bandits, but what then? Could he fight the eight remaining on his own? That's madness and folly. They'd come here and burn this place to the ground, putting us to the sword or worse." She shudders involuntarily.

"I know a bit of the bow," she tremulously admits, "but only for a rabbit in the garden or a pheasant for the pot." There may be some false modesty here, as a pheasant in flight is a damnably difficult target. "But I have no taste for violence! I could live my live very happily never seeing another fight." She shakes her head at the thought.

"Ignacio doesn't fight because I ask him not to. Any line about him losing me, or me being hurt, or me being left alone, will likely find the greatest success.

"But whatever you do, you must take it to the end! Killing four bandits does more harm than good if eight remain."

Scratching his chin, Ardan nods, while listening to Emmas thoughts and worries. "I agree that this is a all or nothing endeavor. But we have to try or otherwise you will never live in peace. Today they demand payment, but tomorrow that might not be enough.
Regarding Ignacio, I will talk to him. But I cannot promise you anything. I talk better than I fight and I'm not a bad fighter. But I am not a mage or mind bender. So I can only nourish thoughts someone already has. If he decided for good, that he will fight, I cannot make him change that.
He is an intelligent man, so there is no way I can trick him into something he ordinarily wouldn't do. " His face changes to a reassuring smile, "But since he is an intelligent man, I can also reason with him." He tabs her on her shoulder while getting up, in an semi-successful attempt to be reassuring and walks over to Ignacio.
In a moment where the others are talking between each other, he turns to him and says, "Ignacio, listen I want to talk to you about something and didn't want the whole group to chime in.
Everybody is very thankful for your offer to help, don't get me wrong, but you have to keep Emma in mind. I'm sure you could take out most if not all of those four bandits. But if anything happened to you, Emma would be alone.
The four of us have nothing to lose, noone to leave behind. But you do.
You are a smart man, so I hope you understand where I am coming from. There is four of them and four of us. Don't worry, we will handle it, without the risk of Emma being without protection, once we leave. "

In terms of physique, Ignacio and Ardan are equals. Ignacio looks like a stick figure, like he came from a twig rather than a tree trunk. He hardly matches Emma's description of his prowess. And his clothing mirrors Ardan's as well; it's all for comfort instead of protection. The biggest difference between the two is that Ardan is suave and charming while Ignacio looks like he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

He scowls and frowns and puts up some resistance about how important it is to neutralize all four bandits before any of them get away to warn the others, but Ardan just keeps chanting "Emma" like a ritual sorcerer. Eventually it works.

Igancio looks disappointed but relents, agreeing to stay out of harm's way while the group has all the fun.

When Ignacio relents, Adrasta nods a few times as she reassesses the tactical situation. "Alright, even fight it is."

She knocks her fist on the table twice with one hand and stands. "Let's go check out the terrain and finish up our plan."

Naesala narrows her eyes at the mention of an even fight; not if she could help it. The elf joins the others outside and silently leaps to the roof of the trade post as swiftly and easily as one might sprint a dozen metres on even terrain, resting on her haunches like some lithe, cloaked gargoyle to survey the area. She pays special attention to the treeline to the north, choosing her hiding spot and simulating the ambush in her mind.

Once happy, she rolls from the rooftop and lands by the others to make final preparations before retiring.

After the meal, Ardan steps outside once more and walks the entire area of tomorrow's events. He is used to preparing his performances, be it social or less social. Always know your stage and always know the other actors.
He has no chance to learn anything else about the other actors, but the stage is right here for him to see.
He stands at the center of everything and slowly turns. Estimating distances, angles and lines of sight.
Then he walks everything once more and tries to memorise all stones that are too big to move, all potholes.
Smaller stones that are still large enough to trip over he lifts and carries inside the palisade, out of sight and out of the way.
Only when the sun starts setting he finishes up and rejoins the others.
He learned as much as he could about the battlefield. He is as ready as he will get.

As the aftenoon advances into the evening, the roles of your hosts have flipped: now it's Emma's turn to be sullen and withdrawn while Ignacio is animated and engaged. He happily paces the field with Ardan, moving rocks and setting aside those that could readily fit in the palm of your hand. He stockpiles these near the palisade gate. He happily rehearses the positioning and sequence and various contingencies that could emerge.

For dinner, Ignacio turns into an impeccable host. He brings out a fine salt ham, something he had been dry-curing himself in the cellar. He also brings out a couple specialty cheeses that aren't for sale to the general public. You get the sense he's raiding his personal stash. After dinner, Ignacio clears the table and goes over things again using the salt container and various cups and utensils as props, chattering happily all the while. Emma, on the other hand, retires quite early, barely making it through dinner. A keen eye will spot her carrying a bottle of elven wine with her to her chambers.

As afternoon passes, the others go out and survey the field. Otto visits briefly to get a sense of the terrain and the footing. Roots are few, and burrowing animals haven't left a field of holes. Satisfied, he returns to his carving. He'd accidentally given Emma a slightly worried look, and though her evening's demeanor seemed to warrant it, that wasn't an impression he wished to leave. He softens her brow with a deft flash of the knife-tip, and uses the flat of the blade to press the forehead. The slight furrows in her brow hold less shadow, now, apparently easing the concerns of the wooden Emma figure.
The evening meal was certainly better than today's lunch stew, earning a hearty thanks and a doff of Otto's cup. He wanted to ask Emma where he could install his carving, but her early departure didn't allow. Otto's awkward feeling about how to present the carving caused him some discomfort. It wasn't a free-standing piece, it needed to be set in place. To do that, he'd have to carve the setting. The posts holding the ceiling were perfect, but Ignacio might not take kindly without his permission.
Otto decides to take this step, regardless, at the risk of offending his hosts. If they get upset, he'll apologize profusely.
While Ignacio busies himself with clean-up, Otto makes quick work of carving the setting out of the post. He always enjoyed this part, creating the mounting posts, drilling the mounting holes, and readying the rough structure to accept a detailed piece of handiwork. He does this quickly, and sets his carving into the post. There are a few spots where the carving's elevation protrudes from the post, and that just won't do. He quickly removes the carving, shaves the back plane slightly, and re-fits it to the post. Perfect.
He smiles slightly, sits at the table, and cleans up the wood shavings he's left.

He tells no one.

Ardan digs into the proffered food and wine enjoying company and atmosphere. When Emma leaves he can't help but notice her change of mood. He makes a mental note to see what is up with that tomorrow.
As the evening progresses the mood lightens, ignoring the looming danger of the fight the next day. As the topic comes to bandits once again, Ardan offers an anecdote. "Did I ever tell you of the time bandits near Louffenbourgh tried to rob me and my friend?
So we just left Louffenbourgh, pockets lined silver, thank you very much, and are joking about this and that when suddenly this group steps out onto the road. We are outnumbered 10 to 2 and surrounded, so neither running nor fighting is an option. Ironically we had a young pig with us, earned it in the city and had planned dining nicely on it.
Obviously we had no intention of giving our hard earned coin over to those thugs, so when they say 'hand over your coin' I answer 'I won't do such thing. Beware, this pig is a mage that turned himself into the current form and will wreak havoc on those that harm us'. Of course they don't buy it and I propose, I'll prove it. The pig will read minds. " Ardan laughs hard, takes a sip from the wine and continues "The bandits are sceptical, but superstitious, so they rather are safe than sorry. So I bind the pigs eyes and my friends eyes and tell the bandits they should stand in a line and one should raise the arm silently and the pig will know who did.
My friend of course was in on it and he knew, as a sign that the arm had been raised, I would say something. And the sentence I say would have the number of words as he had to count from the left to get to the bandit in question.
So the fourth bandit raises his hand and I say 'Now, mage find him.' and sure enough my friend and the pig walk straight up to the right bandit.
They couldn't believe it. We had to repeat surely 10 times, but in the end, they ended up paying us and left. "
Ardan laughs long and hard about the memory and the evening continues.

In the morning, after breakfast, he waits for a calm moment and finds Emma, when she is out of earshot and asks "Excuse me, I might be way of base here, but it seemed to me, you were sad yesterday evening. But Ignacio promised he won't fight and soon those goons will not trouble you any longer. What is it that is troubling you? Is there something I'm missing?"

Emma is still cold and borderline rude toward Ardan. Her lip curls up in what might pass for a scowl.

"You men and your violence," she sneers, ignoring Naesala and Adrasta out of rhetorical convenience. It is Ardan, after all, that she is currently squaring off with. "Murdering your way out of your problems.

"We give them some furs, so what. They want to see my legs, so what. Should twelve people die for that? Twelve sons and brothers and sisters and daughters? Is there no hope for any of them, no chance for redemption, for a different life? There certainly won't be if you cut off their heads!"

She leans into Ardan's face, visibly angry.

"Do you know how hard it was for me to get him to stop fighting? To give up that life and make a new one? And now you're dragging him right back to the edge of the cliff and making him lean over the edge!"

She twists away angrily and storms off.

Taken aback by her reaction, Ardan lifts his hands, palms out in a defensive motion. His city charm, that earned him plenty a coin, obviously was of no use here at the border to the Wilderness. "But we're trying to help you, stop them. They have no reason to stop taking from what is easy prey. And tomorrow they might not be content with looking at your legs. But then it's too late. Do you really want to take that chance?
Out here, where the law is with the strong, words don't get you far, it seems... " The last part being more a message to himself, than to her.

In the afternoon, Adrasta goes out to inspect the field with Ardan and Ignacio, talking strategy and going over the information about he bandits multiple times to make sure she's memorized as much of it as possible.

During supper, she hungrily wolfs down the food and goes over the plan on the table with their host. Once the lady of the house has retired for the night, Adrasta eyes Ignacio and asks: "Earlier today, you said you were 'the finest shot in Tercios'. I've travelled quite a bit during my time with the Phalanx, but I've never heard of it. Is it a place? An organisation?" She leans back and grins. "Depending on what it is, 'the finest shot in Tercios' might not mean much."

Ignacio doesn't take the bait. Perhaps he might if he were drinking more, but in fact he's hardly drinking at all. On top of that, he seems to be less-generous with the wine than with the other delicacies at the table. You get the sense that he's trying to keep you sober and clear-headed the night before the action.

He wags a finger and gives a snaggletooth smile to Adrasta. He picks up a knife from the table and flips it expertly, even balancing it - tip down - on the pad of his finger.

"The Tercios!" he exclaims proudly, pushing his skinny chest out. "The finest fighting force of Qpoirewyewqorlhfdlksah!" You're not sure if that's a person, place or thing. The language is probably Llaigisan.

"Professional volunteers, NOT levies nor mercenaries." He dry-spits theatrically toward the dirt floor to give you his opinion of levies and mercenaries. "Year-round training, established veterans. Career soldiers." His pride is evident.

"Three components," he says, holding up three fingers in case you're unintelligent or have been drinking too much.

"First, the swords-and-boards. The front ranks carry large shields with xiphe, short swords for thrusting." He mimes thrusting around the edges of a shield.

"Middle ranks, the pikes and halberds. Twice as long as a man! Although some men are longer than others." He laughs stupidly and elbows Otto (a much larger man) in the ribs. "They extend beyond the shields, allowing them to fight simultaneously with the front ranks.

"Third rank, the missiles." He beams proudly. "Javelins fired over the front ranks against a fixed enemy unable to dodge. I was the best! Anything I could put my hands on: one shot, one kill."

But then a dark look crosses his face. "But not everyone could kill so efficiently or consistently. And so we were replaced by crossbows... and hurlants." He barely manages to speak the last word. He spits again and this time he actually expectorates on the floor. "Nasty weapons. Loud, crude. They allow the idle rich to kill as effectively as a soldier." This notion is clearly anathema to him. "A dark tool."

But then he's reminded that soon you'll be murdering some banditos, so his mood brightens again. "Eat, eat!" he encourages you. "You need your strength for what is to come."

The evening passes into the night. Ignacio graciously shows you the outhouse, which he encourages you to use liberally so that you don't soil yourselves during combat. He then shows you to your room: a dorm-style room with four beds. The wooden beds are raised off the ground to protect against anything that might crawl or slither across the floor. The mattress is a rough sheet of wool stuffed liberally with hay and a generous dusting of ash to help discourage pests. The pillows are the same. Their cushioning is uneven but better than the floor. The mattresses give a little puff of ash when you lay down on them. There's no charge for the evening.

In the morning, breakfast is fresh eggs served with circles of unleavened flatbread. This is accompanied by beans and a fermented relish of cabbage, onion, carrot. Ignacio does all the cooking; you barely see Emma, especially after her confrontation with Ardan.

You spend the morning sharpening your weapons and reviewing the plan ("Get them"), such as it is. When the sun is getting near its zenith, you get into position. Naesala climbs a tree as easily as walking up a flight of stairs while the others hide behind the palisade walls. The weather is clear and sunny with a bright blue sky. The sun is almost directly overhead and shouldn't help nor hinder anybody. There's a light breeze which is pleasant but in no way distracting. The grass of the field waves gently, the serene setting belying what is about to happen.

"They come," Ignacio announces to those in the palisade. They peek around the corner and see figures on horseback emerging from the tree line.

Ignacio is dressed in a simple shirt and trousers; he's not visibly armed or armored, although a sharp eye might have noticed him slipping a couple stones into his pocket. He has a thick packet of pelts that seems to be his monthly payment. He stands in the middle of the open gate, presenting himself to the approaching bandits.

At the tree line, from her perch Naesala notes that something is slightly amiss: all four bandits are men. The person in the rear has a bow, as expected, but is definitely NOT a woman.

The four bandits cross the open field on horseback at an easy pace. They don't speak as they close in on the trading post. As they approach, those hiding behind the palisade - peeking through the cracks - can also see that the bandit in the rear position is not a woman.

The elf frowns at this development, clearly disappointed that her promised mark hasn't shown up. The plan remained the same though, and as the bandits fan out into their expected diamond formation she rolled from her vantage points and lands on the floor without breaking a single twig beneath her feet. She pulls her hood up, takes a silent breath, and enters the true form that the Art allows, senses heightened and every muscle acutely responsive. Moving as intangibly as a forgotten memory, Naesala shadows the rear horseman and waits for the bandit to call to the garrison before striking.

Adrasta hugs the palisade, her small shield strapped to her left arm, her light spear held tightly in her right. She focused on her breathing, keeping it steady despite her pre-battle nerves. Every time you draw steel, it could be your last.

When she hears the bandits come to a stop and the lead start to speak, she springs from her position and pivots to stand in the opening. Her shield held high, her spear resting in its notch, she bolts forward towards the lead bandit. She sees his eyes grow wide, his fumbling to get his shield up and draw his weapon. She feels the impact of her spear on something hard and pushes as hard as she can.

The closer the battle comes, the more nervous Ardan grows. He didn't normally intentionally fight to rid the world of a band of people. His fights so far had been situational, spontaneous and usually defensive in nature. No time to mentally prepare, no time for doubt and usually, no casualties.

Now the moment is there, the bandits are riding towards the palisade. Naesala is already behind them. Ardan leans with his back against the palisade, sweat on his forehead. Then Otto gives the sign and without further thought, Ardan jumps out and starts running. From afar he must seem insane, running without armor and without weapon towards an armored, armed bandit. When Ardan is almost at his opponent, he attempts to jump, but his last step lands in one of the holes from the stones they removed, he twists his ankle and the jump comes out short.
Before even being able to conjure his weapon he lands flat on the belly right in front of his opponent. The air gets pushed out of his lungs, his vision grows blurry for a moment.

Naesala strikes the second the wind changes, instinctual and decisive. She pulls hard on the rear bandit's left and slides a her left arm under his shoulder as he topples, catching him in a suffocating hold before the man can so much as blink. A flex of muscle in her right arm pinches his throat closed and within seconds the elf holds an unconscious meatshield between her and the other bandits, in case they happen to turn their attentions from the frontal assault.

Otto lumbers out from behind the palisade, his 2-handed axe at the ready. He sees Ardan break left, Otto stays right, closing on the surprised horseman as he tries to bring up his shield in time to fend off the huge axe arcing towards his head.

The shield interposes too late, and Otto feels the blade bite through furs and flesh. He's unsure, but it seems the blade ends its stroke with the scrape of bone.

The lead bandit yelps in pain as Adrasta's spear sticks him in the ribs. Whether it makes it all the way through his thick furs and into his ribs is unclear, but it's obvious that he doesn't enjoy the experience. He raises his hand axe to bring it down directly onto Adrasta's head when a rock SMASHES him in the face! The velocity and force of the rock are superhuman, borderline supernatural. There's a sickening CRUNCH as his nose pops and his forehead caves in. He flops over backward, his boots in his stirrups preventing him from falling completely out of the saddle.

Behind him, Otto's axe goes through the bandit's shield, then the bandit's forearm, then through the thick fur coat and into his chest. The bandit goes limp with a spurt of blood from his gaping chest wound.

The the side, Ardan's target is aware of the carnage around him. He yanks the reins to the side and spurs his horse to flee.

Ignacio removes his second rock from his pocket. He carefully lines up his shot, taking into account a moving target, and then whips his throw with a speed that defies human physiology. The rock scores a direct hit, beaning the bandit in the back of the head, but his helmet absorbs the worst of the blow. The man slumps forward from the kinetic force but doesn't drop from his saddle.

As the last bandit starts to flee, Adrasta hefts her spear and raises her shield, extending her left to get in a throwing stance. She waits until a gust of wind dies down, then throws her weapon. It follows a perfect arc up, then down, and plunges through the fleeing bandit's chest. He sags forward in his saddle.

Adrasta turns around and smirks at Ignacio, then gives him a short, respectful salute.

Otto pulls the haft of his axe, and the recently deceased bandit topples from the saddle to the ground. While extricating his weapon from the bandit's stubborn ribcage, Otto scans the treeline for signs of movement. There are normally four bandits come to collect -- four that Ignacio and Emma could see, anyway, and Otto doesn't relish the thought of being caught by surprise.

The excitement of battle is slow to fade, his heart continues to race. Out of breath but not tired, Otto looks at his companions one by one, spies Ignacio at the top of the palisade. Relieved that everyone appears to be unharmed, he checks the bandit for coins, weapons, anything of value, and begins to gather horses.

Ignacio clicks his tongue. Perhaps he's impressed with Adrasta's throw. Perhaps he's disappointed that his own strike was insufficient. He did say "one shot, one kill" as a point of pride, and he fell short in this case. Perhaps he's rusty after time away from the battlefield, although his tremendous accuracy would suggest otherwise.

Ardan leaps to his feet and quickly calms the panicking horses before they bolt. He jumps into the saddle of Naesala's victim and tries to chase down the horse with the bandit that Adrasta impaled, but it makes it into the tree line and into the thick forest before he can reach it. He feels confident that he can track a large animal running wildly through the underbrush but he needs to help settle matters in the field first.

The bodies are gathered, including the unconscious bandit that Naesala choked out. Otto shakes his head at the poor craftsmanship of the shield that he shattered. Not only was the wood much too soft for its purpose, but the grain of the wood was completely misused by the 'craftsman' who created it. Shoddy work indeed.

"I recognize him and him," Ignacio says of the dead bodies, "but not him" he says of Naesala's victim. He bends down and admires the smashed skull that he caved in with a rock the size of a hen's egg. He seems pleased.

The belongings of the bandits are collected. There's remarkably little cash; there aren't 5 silver pieces between the three bodies. Instead, they mostly seem to have modest jewelry (undecorated rings, a basic chain necklace), along with some shells and beads. The bodies have tattoos, although they seem decorative rather than something tribal. Between the bodies, there aren't any designs in common between the tattoos. Many of them are uneven, either suggesting an unwilling recipient or a tattoo artist with an unsteady hand.

Once their belongings are collected, you tally:

- 1 short sword
- 1 hand axe
- 1 small shield
- 1 small bow with 20 arrows in a quiver
- 3 daggers
- 2 buff coats (bloody)
- 1 buff coat (not bloody)
- 3 sets of boots
- 3 simple helmets
- 3 waterskins
- 3 days of rations
- 6sp worth of simple jewelry

They're not carrying lanterns or torches, so evidently they expected to be back before dark. Their relative lack of food and water also suggests that they were not out for a long expedition.

The lack of money is notable. In fact, Ignacio's payment was mostly furs and simple trade goods, like needles, thread, strips of leather, rope, nails, a hammer, iron spikes, and so on.

Beyond that, the most valuable loot of the day is undoubtedly the horses. You now have three riding horses and one draft horse, along with saddles and saddlebags. In Ardan's opinion the horses are average beasts of no special stature or repute. Serviceable enough for now, they'll save the leather on your boots at the expense of saddle sores on your butt.

Adrasta watches her spear ride away on its panicked stead with a dejected look on her face. She'd had it for years and was loath to see it go, especially after having served her so well in this battle. "Leviathan's breath." She mutters the coastal curse under her breath.

She shakes her head. Perhaps they could catch it, but if not, there was no use dwelling on it. She helps Otto gather the bandits' belongings, then checks on Naesala's captured foe. The elf was as reliable as always: the man did not need a chirurgeon, he'd recuperate with some rest.

Once the group is gathered again, they take stock of their meagre loot. "I'll take the bow. I've been meaning to learn to use one properly." It would compensate for her spear. She had a handaxe, but the thing couldn't be thrown accurately very far.

"With the helmets, the coats, and these horses, we can ride into their camp as if we're injured. Their eyes will be drawn to the bloodstains. If some of us look doubled over on horseback, they'll be drawn to these details, rather than our faces. They won't be looking with suspicion if we're missing a horse, they will have answered these questions for themselves already. We can surprise them once we've gotten close."

Otto's grim look seems at odds with the sparkle in his eye.

"Ignacio, is there anything here you can use to regain some of your losses?"

Ignacio nods, perhaps a little scornfully, as he surveys the pickings.

"The iron is crude and of little worth but, ya, I can sell it." He picks up the short sword and examines it with a skeptical eye.

He spends another moment looking over the jewelry carefully before tossing it back onto the bodies.

"The woman of the sharp eye," he says in response to Otto's plan, tapping his temple. "She is still out there. She will not be fooled." He looks over Otto, wondering how someone of such size could ever hope to pass as a midsize bandit.