Chapter II - Into the Mountains

<<Morning - Day 3 - Early Spring - Trading Post - Wilderness>>
The decision is made to leave the next morning. That will give the mud some time to dry up. Nobody really relishes the thought of spending the night outside at the bandit camp - scene of so much recent bloodshed - on damp ground. You stay with Emma and Igancio at the trading post. The ex(?)-bandits stay in the barn.

There's no additional rain overnight. In the morning, there's a bit of a breeze. The ground seems to have dried out.

Your hosts prepare eggs and bread for breakfast. The horses are fed, watered, and saddled for the trip. The ex(?)-bandits have a funny expression, as if they're both pleased and annoyed that you're leaving.

The early going is easy. The air is fresh and clean; the birds and animals all seemed pleased with the sun and the arrival of spring. Your horses splash through cool streams without running into a single thagomizer or other monstrosity.

It's mid-morning, a little over halfway to the bandit camp, when you spot some movement in the woods. About a hundred yards off, you see a dozen people walking in formation. At this distance, the most notable thing about them is that they all seem to be dressed the same. They wear long, hooded garments with baggy sleeves. Despite the pleasant weather, they all wear their hoods up over their heads. Each of them seems to be wearing a backpack (which also appear identical) and carrying a staff of some sort, which they use as long walking sticks. They march along, mostly in unison.

They don't notice you (perhaps because of the hoods) and at this distance you don't have to engage them, but they seem to be headed in the same direction you are. In fact, their course seems like it would take them to the bandit camp.

Naesala brings the group to the party's attention, then suggests tailing them from a safe distance.
"They stride with purpose toward illicit estate. Their intentions must be exposed."

Assuming there are no objections, the elf skulks off silently and in pace with the mysterious robed group.

Adrasta nods at Naesala. If they could know if the strange people were friends or foe before approaching them, it'd be for the best.

"That means she's going to check it out," Adrasta tells Ardan and Otto. Over time, while they were both with the Crimson Phalanx, she'd gotten used to the Elf's strange speech patterns, but she wasn't sure the others had.

Adrasta leads her horse in the direction of the bandit camp, making sure to give the group of robed figures a wide berth, but staying close enough to assist Naesala if things went south.

The people in robes are not walking fast. They're sort of trudging along rhythmically, methodically, at a measured pace. It's no problem to outpace them on horses.

Naesala's biggest challenge is boredom. She can entertain herself somewhat by walking up and down trees, but mostly she just watches the group march and march and march.

The biggest impact of the decision is delay. The team on the horses can make it to the bandit camp by lunch, but the plodding pace of the group in cowls means that they need extra time to get there.

Naesala doesn't notice anything particularly interesting, unless it's the absence of interesting things. The members of the group don't seem to talk. They don't seem to look around. Their lack of curiosity makes Naesala's job easier, but it also seems deeply unwise given the dangers of the Wilderness. Are they oblivious? Overconfident? Secretly aware of Naesala but they just don't care?

They march and they march and their cadence hardly varies and they never seem to stop to drink water or rest. They slow slightly to cross streams and brooks, not seeming to care if their feet or their cowls get wet. Once through they resume their previous pace, all the while pointed straight toward the bandit camp.

Ardan eyes the procession with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust. "This looks like some kind of ritualistic procession to me. In best case it is some monks, in worst case a cult that would sacrifice us or worse, parts of us... I wonder what they want in the palisade?"

Otto's facial expressions give away his doubt.

"If it were all the same to me, I'd prefer they were friendly, but we have no way to know. Keeping our claim to the camp is preferable....knowing who they are is preferable....and having a safe place to sleep is preferable. In any case, waiting for them puts us in a delicate place. What say you, we get betwixt the robed walkers and the camp, and measure just how friendly or unpleasant they may be. Inform them the camp belongs to us now, but they are welcome to use it while we are gone. If they get aggressive, well, we have horses -- we just leave for the mining camp. But let's not dilly-dally, let's get at it."

Otto gives a shrug, and hopes he hasn't overlooked a third, more unpleasant scenario.

<<Mid-Afternoon - Day 3 - Early Spring - Bandit Camp - Wilderness>>

Naesala catches up with the group and informs them of what she's seen.

A decision is made to wait for the group at the bandit camp. They'll need to cross the river before reaching the palisade. If they are hostile, or unwilling to parlay, the river will slow them down. Either Otto can hew them down as they struggle through the water, or you can retreat behind the palisade, or you can quickly ride away on horses.

It's halfway between lunch and dinner when the group finally emerges from the tree line. They seem to be walking in a straight line for the palisade. You're not exactly hidden but they don't seem to acknowledge you nor stop their forward march. Their faces are in shadows due to their hoods, but from what you can see they are human or demihuman.

They reach the riverbank and start to splash their way across. Their formation looses a bit and their pace slows as they're forced to navigate the slippery river rocks while the water current pushes them off-balance. Their walking sticks seem to help them stay upright.

They finally stop - almost in unison - when someone says hello.

Adrasta sits on her horse, which she has named Wanderer for her annoying habit of going wherever the hell she wants. She holds her short bow loosely in her left hand, her right sitting near her quiver. She frowns as the group of robed figures step into the stream, not even acknowledging her party's presence.

Wanderer snorts and stomps the ground, maybe feeling her rider's tension, maybe eager to go walk under low-hanging branches again. Adrasta pulls on her horse's reins lightly. "Easy, girl," she whispers.

"Hail and well met," Adrasta says in Trade Cant, her voice strong and clear, the tone she used to use to be heard over the din of battle. "I'm afraid that if you're looking for this camp's former occupants, they no longer reside here. We have claimed it as our own, so we ask that you please state your intentions."

Ardan is leaning casually against one of the first trees looking from the river. Wolf is grazing a bit behind him, hardly visible from the river, but in close reach for Ardan, should he need to make a hasty escape.
"I'm curious, who or what dictates your path. You must be very determined to follow it exactly if you cross the river here and in this fashion. I invite you to share your story at our fire so you can dry. Maybe our resident archer even manages to hunt us something for over said fire.
May I ask, which order you belong to? " He's hoping his shot in the dark is not too far of base and if yes, that it won't be offending.

The group stops when Ardan and Adrasta speak. They look up, almost as one, as if seeing you for the first time.

The one in the lead speaks. The voice is male and relatively deep.

"Hail," he says simply.

"We are aware they are no longer here," he responds to Adrasta when she says the former occupants no longer reside here.

"Or, more accurately, that they are here but no longer among us." Perhaps he is referring to the pyre. It's not smoldering, perhaps due to the storm, but its presence is unmistakable.

Now that they're standing in the river, they're more exposed to daylight than they were in the forest. Still it's hard to see differences between them. Some are larger and some are smaller, but their cowls and their equipment all appear the same. Perhaps some are women but the cowls are so baggy as to conceal their figures. Still, it's difficult to make out their facial features underneath their hoods. They're facing north and the sun is now to the west, so their faces are in shadows. The shadows do seem darker than what you might expect, almost as if the daylight has dimmed just for them.

Ardan asks which order they belong to.

"We are the Tenebrae. We have come here to worship," the man answers. "Our mighty goddesses command it!"

Adrasta frowns. The 'Tenebrae' didn't ring a bell, though the etymology of the word suggested darkness or shadows. Some sort of death goddess, maybe? "I've never heard of your order. What does your 'worship' entail?" Though she herself had no gods, she had seen many different religions during her travels. Most were benign, but some had used sacrifices as forms of communion with their gods. It was a fate Adrasta preferred to avoid.

Adrasta grins. "If it doesn't have to involve us in any way, my friend's offer stands."

"We'll have a feast," the man says. "After sundown. And a fire to illuminate the heavens!"

He reaches his arms to the sky rather grandiosely. The others don't do the same. Evidently there are limits to their synchronization.

"We'll sing and we'll chant and we'll sacrifice and we'll feast and we'll listen to the instructions of our mighty goddesses."

He lowers his arms and returns his gaze to you.

"This is holy land, consecrated by blood. The goddesses will feast here with us."

The words of the hooded figure tickle something at the edge of Otto's consciousness, a distant memory about the Tenebrae.

"Ah, yes, it's been many years since last encountering your order. Is it true that once the feast is over, the order picks up and moves on to the next holy ground? Does the ground remain holy once the souls have safely been escorted to the underworld?"

If their leader senses interest, Otto hopes explanations will spill forth. For now, his concerns about being slaughtered and roasted have been set aside.

Tecumseh wrote:

"We'll sing and we'll chant and we'll sacrifice and we'll feast and we'll listen to the instructions of our mighty goddesses. This is holy land, consecrated by blood. The goddesses will feast here with us."

Adrasta tenses, standing in her stirrups. Skata, they're the bad kind of cult, she thinks to herself. She looks at Ardan, then Otto, gauging their reaction to the ominous words.

Captain_Hoyt wrote:

"Ah, yes, it's been many years since last encountering your order. Is it true that once the feast is over, the order picks up and moves on to the next holy ground? Does the ground remain holy once the souls have safely been escorted to the underworld?"

Adrasta settles down somewhat when she observes Otto's relaxed posture and hears his casual tone as he asks his questions. Had she judged the robed people too quickly? The large craftsman seemed unconcerned by their strange demeanor and unsettling words. Perhaps they were grandstanding? Much like nobles, people of the cloth often liked to coat their words in a layer of unnecessary jargon and performance. Something to impress the common folk and make them think they ought to put these people on a pedestal.

Adrasta sits back down in her saddle, content to let the more knowledgeable Otto take the lead in this conversation. She hadn't known him long, but he had shown good judgement so far. If he wasn't worried, that was good enough for her.

From a hidden branch 20ft above the ground, Naesala watches and waits for the signal from Adrasta, keeping a watch on the surrounding area for any additional cultists.

"We do what the goddesses command," the man tells Otto.

"If they tell us to stay, we stay. If we tell us to go, we go. They lead us here to worship. After tonight, they may lead us elsewhere. Our worship will reveal their commands.

"Failure is impossible. For even in death, our blood and souls will feed the goddesses. Our deaths serve them just as surely as our lives do."

This tickles a memory in the back of Otto's brain. It wouldn't be fair to call their order non-violent, if only because of the nature of their goddesses, but it might be accurate to call them non-aggressive. They are generally not the source of the violence themselves (although the animals they sacrifice might object to that distinction).

The man seems to have decided that they have parleyed enough. He resumes his march forward and the others follow. They slowly splash through the river, advancing on the palisade.

Otto moves his horse aside for the procession. "Please, help yourselves to the modest comfort and security afforded by our outpost. We have other matters to attend to, so sadly, we will not be joining you for the feast tonight. We only ask that, should there be remains of your feast afterwards, that they be buried well outside the palisade so as not to draw more wild animals than usual."

He adds, bumbling somewhat for the right words, "We wish you safe travels, and peace to the Tenebrae."

With a nod to Adrasta and Ardan, he turns his horse toward the east and the mining camp.

<<Mid-Afternoon - Day 3 - Early Spring - Bandit Camp - Wilderness>>

As you mount your horses to leave, the Tenebrae move into the palisade and immediately get to work. They remove their backpacks and start to unpack them. They don't stop for food or water or to rest their feet. Several of them disperse into the woods with what look like snares and traps. Others begin to gather dry wood, presumably for their bonfire. Others look like they're preparing a ritual circle in the middle of the palisade.

Leaving, your primary concern is time. You lost a couple hours waiting for the Tenebrae to complete their slow march. You'll need to hustle to make it to the mining camp before sunset, especially since you don't know exactly where it is. All you know is that you're supposed to head northeast or maybe east-northeast. The foothills are there and they're not exactly hidden, so you hope there's an obvious trail.

Naesala finds the first clue, her keen elven eyes spotting some donkey scat hidden in the shadows. She silently nods and the rest of the team follows.

Ardan finds some bright red mushrooms with blue spots and jumps down excitedly, saying that they're delicious and sweet. Otto swats them out of Ardan's hand, sending them 3 yards into the underbrush. Otto says that red with white circles around blue dots are sweet, but the ones without the white circles around the blue dots will result in a long night of the screaming shits.

The ride resumes. Following the trail is tricky, but Naesala and Otto manage to piece it together. Otto spies a couple subtle trailblaze markers high up on trees (well above the snow line in the winter) while Naesala spots enough broken branches to keep the party moving in the right direction.

Things get easier once you reach the foothill and the path starts to ascend. The trail is more defined and easier to follow as it leads up.

<<Evening - Day 3 - Early Spring - Mountains - Wilderness>>

It's dinnertime now. You settle for water and a ration on horseback in order to not be delayed any further. It would be nice to set up camp and make a fire before sunset, if possible.

You're very confident of the trail that you're on now. Despite the rainstorm, there is clear evidence of its recent use. The climb is getting quite steep. You're glad you're on horseback but the horses don't seem to agree.

Deep into the evening, you're starting to reach the tree line. There's plenty of rock still above you, but the vegetation is starting to this out. The sun is setting and is getting close to the horizon.

Then, in the golden hour, you see it: a stone fortress carved into the side of the mountain. It seems that this isn't a mining camp but rather an ancient settlement of some sort. You continue to climb, the trail getting rockier as you go.

Finally, just as the sun dips below the horizon, you arrive. You can only see one side of the fortress because that's all there is: the rest of it seems to be inside the mountaintop. There's a deep "moat" in front of the fortress that's actually a severe crevasse, steep and sheer. On the other side of the crevasse is a stone wall with turrets and ramparts.

The craftsmanship is incredible. To Otto's trained eye, it seems almost impossible for the stone wall to be so perfectly carved into the granite mountaintop. Magic was almost certainly involved. Elementalists can sometimes ask stone to move, and sometimes the stone agrees. Powerful high mages can also manipulate vast quantities of rock and earth too.

There's a drawbridge that could cross the crevasse, but it's currently in the up position. It's made out of wood and Otto can see that its construction is much newer. It's a year or two old at the most.

For the size of the fortress, things are eerily quiet. If there's a guard, you don't see one. Dozens of soldiers could fit along the top of the wall, but all you see are stone statues of bearded warriors. Perhaps there are people inside.

Otto's jaw drops as the fortress comes into focus. His life, to this stage, has been spent in the crafting of wood, and occasionally metal. Even in the dying light, or maybe because of it, the crafting of the fortress doesn't speak to him as much as it hammers at his consciousness. Stark. Angular. Precise....and purposeful. To him, it appears as if the mountain itself had come to life, and had presented its own face to the world. Otto had never imagined that such a thing could exist. How he would love to meet those who had built it!

He struggles to maintain his composure in the weighty presence of craftsmanship on such a massive scale. He is suddenly conscious of his own slack jaw, which he closes promptly.

"We're here", he states simply as he springs off his horse.

Adrasta stares at the fortress with a scowl on her face. "Gamo ti poutana mou. All the gold in the world couldn't have convinced the Phalanx to assault this place," her tone making it clear what she thought of cowards who hid behind fortifications. "Even trying to starve out the huddlers would be a waste of time. Cut from the mountain...  it could have countless secret passages. The defenders could lead sorties against a besieging force, receive supplies, or just have endless stores..." She shudders at the thought.

Luckily, they weren't here to assault it. She puts on a smile. "Hail! We're four weary travelers looking for a place to spend the night! Is anyone home?" she calls loudly in Trade Cant.

<<Sunset - Day 3 - Early Spring - Mountain Fortress - Wilderness>>

Adrasta's voice stirs someone. You see the top of a metal helmet appear above the parapet. The parapet isn't that tall so the owner of the helmet must be short or on their knees. A moment later you hear a box screeching over, and then the owner of the helmet steps onto it. A beareded dwarven face appears over the parapet.

"Wot wot who who?" he says, mostly to himself, seeming to shake off some sleep or some other confusion. He looks perplexed by your presence.

"Adventurers!" he concludes, seemingly amazed by the concept. He eyes your weapons and your horses.

Now that the sun has set, there is a biting wind. You're high enough on the mountain for the overnight temperatures to dip near freezing. Most of the winter snows have retreated but there are still patches here and there around you, especially between rocks and other shaded places.

"Well met," the dwarf says, stroking his beard contemplatively. "You're looking for a place to stay. Understandably so, as the wind is chill and the nights are cold. Unfortunate to disappoint you, the answer is no. The fortress here is off-limits to outsiders. But if you need water or rations, maybe even a cup of wine, I may be able to assist."

Tecumseh wrote:

"Well met. You're looking for a place to stay. Understandably so, as the wind is chill and the nights are cold. Unfortunate to disappoint you, the answer is no. The fortress here is off-limits to outsiders. But if you need water or rations, maybe even a cup of wine, I may be able to assist."

"Fair, fair, understood. Well met, indeed! Rations we have, but we'd gladly share a cup of wine with new friends. In the meantime, would you be able to point us to a campsite a little better protected from this mountain breeze?"

Otto is glad for the tents so graciously 'donated' by the bandits, and begins looking for a suitable niche for the evening. He pulls a lantern from one of the packs on the draft horse, and lights it. Not as good as a proper fire, but with the sun going down, the warmth does him some good.

It was understandable. The Phalanx wouldn't have taken four armed strangers into their camp either. Adrasta frowns when Otto turns down rations, why eat their own when they could save them for later, but nods as he asks his question. The Wilderness had proven to be a dangerous place. Adding the elements to the perils they faced would be most unwise.

"Or a nearby settlement, perhaps? If not, any sort of shelter will do." Adrasta adds. She looks to the horizon as the last embers of sunlight begin to fade. They might not have time to reach another safe spot. "We can also offer our services as compensation for a warm place to sleep. I'm a Healer, my friend here is a excellent woodworker. We also have a skilled storyteller and..." she looks at Naesala, unsure of how to qualify her skills. The most honest description would guarantee the gate stays closed. "... an acrobat."

The dwarven head pops down, then reappears a moment later with a wineskin. He throws the wineskin in your direction, clearing the crevasse. He throws it overhand, like you would throw an axe. A wineskin is decidedly less aerodynamic than an axe but it flops end-over-end until you successfully catch it.

The wine is not particularly good, at least by your standards. It is sour, almost halfway between wine and vinegar. You're unsure if he shared it because it's bad wine that he's trying to get rid of (and maybe signal you to go away) or if it's pleasing to his palate.

"No, settlements, no," the dwarf says, stroking his beard some more. "There's a trading post to the southwest but it's a day's journey at least, even on horseback. At this hour, your best bet would be to return to the tree line or to make yourselves protective shelter out of rocks. Stack them, like a cairn but all around you, see? Then you have a windbreak at least. The horses will be unhappy though."

Indeed, the horses do seem cold. Wolf keeps looking at Ardan as if to ask, What's the plan?

"Well met, Ms. Healer," the dwarf tells Adrasta. "Your kind is a blessing. But we have no need for healing, nor storytelling, nor acrobatics. And we are excellent craftsmen ourselves."

The daylight is rapidly fading, but Naesala's elven vision has no trouble picking out details as she studies the scene. She scans the walls for other signs of activity but finds none. Nor does she hear the clinking of weapons or armor. There are turrets and arrowslits cast in shadows, but her vision can see that there is nobody behind them. After a few moments of consideration, she is reasonably confident that the dwarf is on the wall by himself. Which isn't to say that he couldn't conjure legions of guards on short notice, but for such a broad wall it seems curious that there is only one sentry. Perhaps such is their confidence in their fortifications. Of course, to a climber of Naesala's abilities, the crevasse and walls are mere suggestions rather than true impediments.

The "Acrobat..." confers all of this information to her allies as they pass the wine around, refusing the skin from Adrasta with a pointed expression.
"To explore such a cavernous place unfettered would prove a simple task, though its size is indeed an issue in regards to time pressing. I sense no ill intent from our acetic benefactor, but mayhaps he plays the part to have us lower our guards. Know any of you of the dwarves beyond hearsay?"

The run-in with the dwarf brought up memories of the time Ardan first met one. It must be five years back by now. Gormargmaedarum Waldmarfurrebreaken was sitting at a table with a group of fellow travellers. All were almost twice his size, but after the last beer was drunk that night, he was the only one left standing. Ardan had first tried to talk Gorm out of his purse of gold, but the mark became a friend quickly. A friend that would never shut up about 'his big plan'. He wanted to learn how to weave magic into metal and then craft the best sword ever made, a sword that would break the constant threat of marauders at his home. Poor sap had less than no talent in the magical arts and therefore was rejected time and time again. But he kept following his plan.
But Ardan had learned some things about dwarves (provided his findings about Gorm could be applied more generally).
"I know a thing or two about them.
Their physique aside, they are probably the most stubborn beings that roam this world. Once they decide a plan, there is little that can make them change or, God forbid, abandon it.
And despite their often grumpy or rough appearance, they are quite sociable. I once new one. Gormargmaedarum. Gormargmaedarum Waldmarfurrebreaken. Try to say that after three beers. The guy could drink for five, probably too stubborn to get drunk. He also had a plan..."
Ardan shares his story about Gorm.
It does feel odd that only one dwarf would man the walls. Something feels off to him, he just can't lay his finger in it yet.

Adrasta raises a hand to interrupt Ardan halfway through his story. "I would love to hear the rest, Ardan. Once we've set up camp." She looks around the mountainside. "Naesala, can your keen eyes spot a good place for us to settle for the night? I would prefer not to make an enemy of such a..." She looks at the wineskin and makes a face. "... 'generous' friend." She looks back to Ardan and grins. "Unless our resident wordsmith thinks his familiarity with dwarves might allow him to talk our way in?" She takes another mouthful of the awful wine before offering the wineskin to the duelist.

Ardan shrugs a I-don't-know-let's-see-shrug and faces the wall. "Hoi! I have a friend who is also of your folk. He is good company and always tells me about his plans.
Looking at this fortress of yours, you must have grandiose plans, which I would love to hear about. We are but humble traders, our arms are for protection only, in this rough wilderness.
Surely you must have a stable or warehouse for delivery personnel, that we could occupy through the night? "

"Nay, I do not," the dwarf responds. "We do not receive deliveries nor traders. When necessary, we go and fetch things ourselves. Visitors are uncommon rare on mountaintops. In truth, I cannot think of ever having received another. How did ye find us, aye?"

Adrasta leans in closer to Ardan. "I have a suggestion. Have you heard the Tale of Ka'aren the Relentless? Legends say she was a peasant woman who lived under the tyrannical rule of Managore in the kingdom of Kemart. By stubbornly demanding to speak to his guards' superiors, she managed to climb up the ranks and get an audience with the Tyrant himself. Impressed by her unstoppable fury, Managore agreed to ease his cruel, authoritarian policies."

"Maybe, if we insist on speaking to this dwarf's superior, we might be able to reach someone who would agree to let us in?"

"I can be insistent..." Ardan whispers to Adrasta. Louder towards the dwarf he continues "Why, we heard of a mining camp or town in the mountains over at the trading post. Word has it people come down from there occasionally and bring wondrous things with them. We went by their directions and followed a path our... acrobat found on the way. We must have found you by chance then. But where may be that mining operation?

Also, I know of dwarven hospitality and I know it would be unacceptable to leave friendly folks out in the elements. Surely you must have a commanding officer I could offer our humble request to. "

"Aye, we're miners," the dwarf agrees. "Have you ever known a dwarf who doesn't dig?" It's unclear if the question is rhetorical. However the implication is that digging proceeds within the fortress, and that its impressive façade does not confer completion. Either that or this is a tremendously protected mine.

"Aye, we occasionally descend to trade," the dwarf further agrees. "Treasures and crafts, wonderous to see, marvelous to behold." He looks pleased, even proud of this.

To Ardan's request, the dwarf opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, almost saying something but then reconsidering. He looks left and the right along the wall. It would be fair to guess that he is debating the merits of leaving his post to do as Ardan asks.

"Wait there," he says finally before disappearing behind the wall.

A minute passes, then two. When it becomes clear that this will not be a short wait, Otto begins to look around for viable camping sites. The prospects are grim. The ground is sloped, with few flat spaces. What flat spaces exist are covered in sharp stones and gravel. You face the prospect of a cold, windy night. Already the horses are starting to drift together, to huddle for warmth. Ardan realizes what's going on and fetches blankets to throw over their backs. They seem to appreciate it.

After five minutes, the dwarf returns with another dwarf. The new dwarf seems older than the first, with more grey in his beard. Perhaps this makes sense, as the senior man is the commanding officer while the junior man is on watch.

The senior dwarf steps up on the box to gaze over the edge of the wall. His eyes go wide when he sees you. "Wot's this!" he exclaims. Perhaps he had not believed the report of the junior dwarf, but his eyes now convince him. You can't hear the exact words, but you can tell that the junior dwarf is explaining the situation again.

"Long is the road," the older dwarf nods. "And hard. Yet the rules are hard too: no outsiders are allowed within the walls. You have walked a long way in hope, but I am afraid I must disappoint you."

"Perhaps there is some service we can provide for you, in exchange?", calls Otto, hopefully. "You know, one hand washes the other, as it were."

Otto has no expectations, but wonders if the dwarves were the type that "don't give nothing for nothing" as the saying goes.

"The Great Maker makes us all differently," the senior dwarf responds with a somewhat peevish tone. "Some parts larger, some parts small. For you, my great lumbering ox, I can see that the Great Maker has emphasized the muscles instead of the mind. I said 'no outsiders' and I meant 'no outsiders'. Wash your own hands and I will wash mine."

It's clear that the continued conversation is testing his patience.

"No need for insults, we'll trouble you no further", Otto calls to the self-important blow-hard of a midget at the parapet.

"Time for tents, it seems", he mumbles to his companions, and continues unpacking the tents.

You move to set up camp. The senior dwarf disappears behind the wall. The junior one watches you with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

It's dark now. Naesala doesn't have any trouble, but everyone else needs to work by lantern light.

As feared, the options are not going to be comfortable. There's a lack of large rocks to make a windbreak. There are a few but only enough to make a short wall. The wind blows over the top of the wall and catches the tent like a kite. The fabric of the tents flaps in the wind. Otto is reasonably confident that they are secured and won't fly off into the night, but inside the constant flapping is very loud and promises to interrupt your rest.

You have enough firewood to build a small fire, but the wind keeps the flames low and disperses the heat immediately. It helps to heat some water but is almost worthless for keeping you warm unless your hands are so close as to be touching the flames.

The ground is hard in places and sharp in others. By layering blankets you can prevent the feeling of sitting on broken glass, but the uneven nature of the terrain means you'll be laying down at an angle. Your head will be uphill and your feet will be downhill.

The horses are unhappy.

All in all it promises to be an unpleasant night. At least it's not raining. Or snowing. Yet.

At some point in the night during Adrastra's watch, the medic notices with a start that Naesala is sat at the meagre campfire which a second ago had been unattended. There is a spirited glint in the elf's eye suggesting this surprise was intended, and Adrastra has known her long enough to assume that her earlier 'acrobat' comment was now forgiven. The elf held a grudge over the pettiest of things, and would mete out vengeance in equally petty ways. Speaking in an even softer tone than usual so as not to wake the others, she talks into the fire. "A visit was paid to the halls guarded by the stocky purveyor of wine; 'tis indeed a fortress he wards, and a cavernous underground city besides, most worthy of a bard's song."

She turns to face Adrastra, her eyes like black mirrors in the darkness. "Now long dead, hundreds or mayhaps a thousand years passed since it hosted life. Our friends, who number no more than half a dozen, are far from altruistic with their presence, mind. Theirs is a purpose of plunder and thievery, no more intended to claim the location than the mountain in which the dilatant metropolis sits." Naesala then goes into detail on the dwarves' armour and equipment, listing off their gear and assumptions of their leadership and potential tactics as she had done so many times before in service to the coffers of the Crimson Phalanx. The dwarf on the gate was asleep at his post, likely the youngest and easily dispatched should such action be required. The elder he fetched seemed to be making the decisions for the group, and there were 3 others besides him looting a level of the huge undermountain fortress. Shields and armour seemed maintained well enough, and they could be expected to put up a fight if confronted directly. She doesn't know how they got in, but the relative modernity of the drawbridge suggests that they may have come in the same way she did.

With her report given, Naesala smiles, something she'd been doing far more frequently since they left the trade post. "What say you to a rivalry with a dwarven band?"

Despite being wrapped in blankets, Adrasta shivers in the cold during her watch. Perhaps the mountains had been the wrong call after all. Surely, the fishermen would have been more welcoming. Those dwarves, however... mou eprikse t’arxidia.

She reaches for the stack of firewood to feed the struggling campfire when she notices a shape sitting across the waning flames. She gasps and reaches for her xiphos, fumbling with her blankets, before realizing that it's just Naesala. The elf sits there, staring at Adrasta until she finally understands. The medic shakes her head and sucks her teeth in amused annoyance. "Den mas xezeis, malakia? What was I supposed to say? Our assassin would love to demonstrate her skills on one of your friends?" She asks with a laugh.

Adrasta feeds the fire as she listens to Naesala's report. "So they're adventurers too? Ta gamisa. The fortress is forbidden to outsiders." She chuckles and shakes her head. "Well played. The old dwarven mystique. They really put horns on us."

She sighs and turns her head to look at Naesala. "I can understand them wanting to protect their find. They're only preying on the long dead. Though I resent them for this shit night, I don't think they've quite earned the blade like the bandits. But maybe there's enough in there for all of us, eh?" She grins, the flames' light dancing on her teeth.

"We can discuss it with the others in the morning. You should get some rest while you still can," she says, tilting her head towards the tents.

<<Sunrise - Day 4 - Early Spring - Mountain Fortress - Wilderness>>

It's not a comfortable night but at some point the wind dies down and you manage to doze off. You wake up to the sun starting to rise in the east. The view, for what it's worth, is incredible. There are clouds underneath your mountaintop, low-lying fog in the valley below. The clouds stretch in all directions, a soft, fluffy blanket punctuated only by the occasional mountain peak popping up here and there.

The rising sun illuminates the sky in pinks and oranges. The clouds below reflect the same colors. It's a scene for a painter or a poet. There's a moment of peace and serenity, until until your bladder gets the best of you and you need the bathroom.

At least it's not windy; relieving yourself no longer means having to use your back as a windbreak so you don't pee all over your own leg. Still, it's a chilly experience.

Without the wind, you manage to light a fire that actually warms you somewhat. You huddle around the fire to melt some snow and cook something hot. It would be a stretch to call it comfortable - the sharp rocks still prick you, even through layered blankets - but it's a far sight better than your situation overnight.

Naesala's breakfast tale about the dwarves certainly raises Otto's eyebrows a time or two, and he nods happily.

"Short of the dwarves handing the deed to us on a silver platter, I can not imagine better news." Otto laughs, with a hint of excitement he can barely contain.
"If these folk were the rightful owners, I would be hard-pressed to invade their home. But this? Ah, we've been handed the keys to the kingdom, have we not?"

His intent is clear through hopeful glances at his companions.

"A decoy perhaps. We leave via the woods, let them see us all clearly. Naesala doubles back, lowers the drawbridge for us. Then on to the fortress."

Not exactly a complex plan, but if his companions are game, Otto is prepared.

The night had been bad for Ardan. He deals well with heat, but coldness creeps into him easily and this night had been lousy and cold. Grumpy and unrested he had gotten up with the first sunrise and taken a walk to get the feeling back into his legs. Now he is sitting next to the fire down-wind to catch more warmth, but catching plenty of smoke as well, which further lowers his mood.
"Do we really have to attack everybody that we come across? So they don't want us, big deal, their loss. We move on. This mountain expedition was a bad idea to begin with. Let's get down, while we still have feeling in our feet."
He turns around suddenly, rubbing the biting pain of the smoke out of his eyes and coughs long and thoroughly. Then he turns back towards the small fire, grabbing his cup with hot water with both hands, lowers his head so less smoke blows into his eyes and mutters to himself "Stupid dwarves with their stupid fancy fortress in the stupid wind..."

Still wrapped in a blanket to ward off the cold morning air, Adrasta stirs the pot over the fire, preparing a simple soup with some dried meat and vegetables. "I lean towards Ardan's position as well. These dwarves might be poor hosts, but they're just scavengers. As far as we know, they haven't hurt anyone." She takes a spoonful of the broth and tastes it, nodding in satisfaction. She takes the pot off the fire and pours herself a cup before putting the pot back. "Help yourselves," she says, gesturing towards the bubbling soup.

She sits back, blowing the steam off her cup. "Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement? From what Naesala says, it's a pretty big place. We could offer to give them a part of what we find." She grins. "More eyes, more hands, more profit, eh?"

moarhair wrote:

"I lean towards Ardan's position as well. These dwarves might be poor hosts, but they're just scavengers. As far as we know, they haven't hurt anyone."

Otto nods. "There's no need to attack or hurt, just get inside, and go about our business. Let them determine how they wish to respond. Live and let live." He sits for a moment, thinking. "And if we get a chance, give the their wine back. Blech."

He looks at the horses with a frown. "I guess we can lead them in, eh? They might be a bit of a weakness..."

Ardan shakes his head. "No, Otto, that's a stupid idea. Dwarves are two things. Fierce fighters and stubborn as donkeys. You do not want to piss them off, if you don't want to face the unhappy end of their axe or hammer. And just forcing our way in will piss them off.
Adrasta has the right of it. They were here first, they call the shots.
Maybe we can find a second entrance. This enclave surely has more than one exit. "

Thelonius wrote:

Ardan shakes his head. "No, Otto, that's a stupid idea. Dwarves are two things. Fierce fighters and stubborn as donkeys. You do not want to piss them off, if you don't want to face the unhappy end of their axe or hammer. And just forcing our way in will piss them off.
Adrasta has the right of it. They were here first, they call the shots.
Maybe we can find a second entrance. This enclave surely has more than one exit. "

Otto's brow furrows in confusion, as he slowly repeats the words. "...just forcing our way in will piss them off...maybe we can find a second entrance..." He scratches his head. "Wait, how is that not 'forcing our way in' by finding a second entrance? Won't the dwarves see it exactly the same way?" He looks at Ardan for clarification.

Not mired by the ethics of interloping on interlopers, Otto doesn't seem particularly concerned. Confused by the semantics, perhaps, but not concerned. He looks forward to getting inside the mountain, though what they'll do with the horses, he is completely unsure.

Ardan makes a waving motion with his hand, as if to dismiss the point "Ah, c'mon. They don't want us to get into their fortress. I'm talking about the caverns that are supposedly behind it.

I have one other idea. Gorm was always going on about his Plan as if it was a God given task. We could play the superstition card.
We'll tell them 'if it is part of the Grand Plan for us to enter the caverns, the Gods will open the gate for us. '
Meanwhile Naesala will have sneaked in and let down the bridge. If they are superstitious enough they'll open the rest of the gate and let us pass. If not, well, worth a try. We just must be sure Naesala won't be seen, otherwise the plan goes to feces. "

"Finding a second entrance is different because they only warned us about the fortress. They never mentioned what's beyond it, so we wouldn't be challenging their claim. They might not see it that way, but we wouldn't be the instigators if it comes to blows. Sneaking into their camp to get their door open, now that's a clear act of agression." She didn't know her companions very well yet, except Naesala. This dilemma was a good opportunity to see how they thought. Ardan had, unsurprisingly, suggested trickery. Otto's approach of 'get out of my way or get hurt' surprised her, though. It fit with the calm, unyielding impression she had of him, but was more callous than she'd expected. Perhaps she should have known. He had only shown kindness to Nedry after he'd submitted. He hadn't shown much concern for the others.

She sighs. Things had been simpler when she was just following orders. She fought who she was told to fight, killed who she was told to kill. But she had a say now. The blood on her hands wouldn't just be splatter. "Why aren't we considering diplomacy? We could tell them we know there's only a handful of them and a very large city to search. If we pool our resources, we might be able to all gain from this. We have horses to transport larger amounts of loot. We have skills they might not have. A unit is more dangerous than a handful of isolated soldiers. An army, stronger than multiple warbands, even with the same manpower."

moarhair wrote:

"Finding a second entrance is different because they only warned us about the fortress. They never mentioned what's beyond it, so we wouldn't be challenging their claim. They might not see it that way, but we wouldn't be the instigators if it comes to blows. Sneaking into their camp to get their door open, now that's a clear act of aggression."

Otto nods, comprehendingly. "Ah, of course, the fortress! WE know what they mean. THEY know what they mean. WE ALL know what they mean. But as long as we stick to the letter of it, while we sneak behind their backs, then we're not doing anything wrong, and we can blame them when the violence starts." He gestures as if striking his forehead with the palm of his hand, clearly in sarcasm.
"If it's only about the fortress, they will have no problem with us being inside the mountain." Otto hopes this sounds ridiculous. To his own ears, it sounds ridiculous, game-playing with ethics and morality.

The only argument lacking in moral ambiguity appears to be "leave and never enter this place, because entering will lead to a fight". We knew there were people 'mining' this area. And by miners, we mean looters. And if we're worried about fighting looters, why did we even come here? This thought leads to another, and another.

"This is a dwarven stronghold, is it not? Somewhere, there are dwarves who would have a far more legitimate claim than these six, am I right? And they wouldn't send just six dwarves to collect the riches, would they..."

He lets those words hang in the air, wondering who will pick them up first.

Adrasta smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. There's anger and pain behind them instead. "Ah, yes, much better not to have any sort of rules and let the strong take whatever they want from the weak. Might makes right, eh? Makes sense coming from someone with such big muscles. If we ever need anything from Ignacio and Emma's perhaps we should just take what we want and slit their throats if they object. After all, what claim do they have to that trading post of theirs?"

Her smile fades and her eyes narrow. "I see you're pointedly ignoring the diplomatic option again. Mock me all you want, but you're the one here who's advocating madness."

"I think you misunderstand me. I think you misunderstand greatly, in fact. Part of any negotiation has a component of force to it. Look at what we did with the twelve worshippers. We all know that force was implied, don't we? Both sides gauge their odds and their costs, to get what they need from the conversation. We all knew that a fight was a possibility, but we presented ourselves, regardless, until we were satisfied we had what we wanted."

"Now, in dealing with our height-deprived friends, they have something we want, and now we have something they want -- though you seem to have missed it. What we have is their secrecy. They know they are not supposed to be there. They know that if other dwarves come to make claim, they are done for. We have but to put the fear in them, that their secret is NOT safe with us. That they may not lose their lives, but their access to the city and its treasures will be gone for good, unless they share with us."

He looks at Adrasta. "Now do you see?"