Chapter II - Into the Mountains

"Owowow, calm down everybody. My point was not to find a second entrance to get into their space. I figured the place is bigger, therefore we get in and mind our own business, hopefully not even seeing them, or they us."

Adrasta laughs, but unlike her normal, good-natured chuckle, this one has an edge to it. "Mou eprikse t’arxidia, Otto. Are you patronizing me or were you simply not listening to me?" she asks, ignoring Ardan. "Of course, I can see that. I literally said that we should tell them what we know when I first suggested diplomacy."

"What you suggested was getting inside and seeing where the chips fell, which would most likely lead to a fight. If you now think that negotiation is worthwhile," she smiles, then spreads her arms wide causing the blanket to slip from her shoulders, "then great! We agree." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "But I'd also rather have them as partners than rivals, if possible. Either way, I think we'd be better served addressing them from out here. If they turn us down, we can just leave and make good on our threat by spreading word of their operation."

"That was my first suggestion yes, but that is the nature of negotiation, yes? Don't start with a weak stance, right? If the dwarves were on their heels trying to figure out how we got to the top of 'their' wall, they would wonder what else we had up our sleeves. Adding the possibility that their kin may come to claim what they've looted, well, that either forces cooperation, or forces them to try and silence us."

"We both spoke of diplomacy, but in this card game, we both selected a different opening hand." He smiles, happy to have this part behind them.

"No matter how we play this, do we have agreement that one way or the other, our intent is to get into that city? And most preferably without violence?"

Naesala sits by the fire, listening intently to the back and forth between Otto and Adrastra. Both of them raised some interesting points. Diplomacy leading to cooperation and a shared loot site would definitely be preferable to a straight up fight with the dwarves given that they could work perfectly will in the pitch black of the undermountained city, but would calling the looter's bluff be enough to gain the party access? Could the be assured that the dwarves remain loyal to their word even if such an accord were reached. The elf voices these concerns, once again stating the home-field advantage the dwarves have should a fight break out. "The shortened ones navigate the black needing no source of illumination; would only be by torch that you would be granted vision. 'Alrish'en sil vishar kalah'ad;'" she says in the Elven tongue, implying that the party so equipped would be easy pickings for any dwarf with a crossbow. "As brightest stars in the night."

"Mayhaps Ardan has the right of it. Words failed once before, and such desire to encroach in force upon this claim shall doubtless lead to bloodshed." She addresses the party, but her gaze lingers on Adrastra. "Are all here prepared for such an outcome?"

Adrasta scoffs. Damn Naesala's keen sense of observation. The young medic's hesitation had not expected her. She thinks back to her time in the Phalanx, of her eagerness to prove herself to what had become her family. Prowess in battle was the only way to earn respect, and so she had fought hard and with unrestrained savagery. Seeing the result in the chirurgeon's tent afterwards... Well, she'd had to get pretty good at compartmentalization. The Crimson Phalanx had been run tightly, like a true military company. Without that structure... The old rationalizations didn't work anymore. She wasn't 'just following orders'. As a result, Adrasta's carefully constructed walls were starting to fracture.

She sighs. How long did she have before they came down completely?

As her focus drifts back to the present, she realizes she's been quiet for some time. And that Naesala is still staring at her. Adrasta clears her throat, embarrassed. "Well. I'd rather to avoid hostilities, but should a fight find us, you won't find my mettle lacking." She nods at Otto. "Agreed."

"All that remains is the manner of our entrance. I say we let ourselves in, horses and all. When they object (and they will object), we make our case. Tell them that they have three options.
1) Ejecting us means we inform their kinsmen, and they will lose it all when their kinsmen come to take the mountain for themselves. We know that they are looters, and their kinsmen will agree.
2) Fighting us means that at least one of them will surely die. That one will most assuredly be their leader, that regardless of the eventual outcome, we will make sure that he will no longer draw breath. Could be more than one, could be all of them -- but we will guarantee that the leader will not survive the confrontation, should they choose this option.
3) Or, they let us pass, free to come and go as we please. We will not interfere with them, they will not interfere with us. In fact, we would even help if there s something they need, and their kinsmen will not hear from us. We will take far less than their kinsmen will."

Otto looks at his companions, and gives a light shrug. "Too much?"

"Erm, yes, too much! We just almost all said we don't want to force our way into the fortress and your conclusion is 'so all we need to decide is how we get in'?
And our arguments are suddenly 'Let us do what we want or we'll kill your leader?'

Otto we said we don't want to force a confrontation where it is not necessary. Yes, a discussion or negotiation has an element of tension, but it does not require force or aggression.

We can talk to the dwarves once more, we can, if you all insist, threaten that we spread the word about their activities, but frankly I don't think that'll bear fruits.
In my eyes we can decide to fight our way in, ignore the whole cave or find an alternative entrance and let the dwarves be dwarves. "
Ardans mood darkens over the bad start and now the feeling of being utterly ignored. "I'm going for a walk." He starts walking away in a random direction, kicking loose stones and muttering indecipherable things to himself.

"Well, it looks like I will not be doing the talking", Otto laughs to himself.

"Do what you must, but for the love of all that's holy, do something before we all freeze to death."

"Well, it looks like I will not be doing the talking", Otto laughs to himself.

"Do what you must, but for the love of all that's holy, do something before we all freeze to death."

The Wilderness wasn't safe and wandering off alone was most certainly a bad idea. "I'm going to make sure he doesn't get eaten or something," Adrasta tells Otto and Naesala. She turns to Ardan's retreating form. "Ardan, wait!"

She gets to her feet, grabs her weapons, then speed walks to catch up to him. She slows down as she comes up next to him. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just want to make sure you've got company if you get snatched by a gryphon." She looks up, then back at Ardan and grins. She then looks away, admiring the view while keeping pace with him.

"It's alright, I don't mind talking. It's just... It feels like the bear is not listening at all. Not everything needs to be solved with a smack on the head, is all." Ardan walks a few steps in silence. "It just felt like the discussion was not leading anywhere, so I needed to move away for a moment." It's not clear whether it's the clear air, the rising sun or the movement of the small walk, but Ardans mood seems to lighten up. "What do you think we should tell the dwarves. If anything?"

"Na miriso ta nihia mou?" Adrasta shakes her head and chuckles. "Truth be told, I'm not much of a diplomat. I'd still rather make a deal with them. I..." She hesitates, unused to being open, but she pushes on. "I didn't come her to leave a trail of corpses behind me."

She walks silently for a bit. "You must have heard me or Naesala mention the Crimson Phalanx, yes? They were a mercenary company. One of the best on the Coast. They took me in when I was but a child, after my parents were killed. First as a runner, cleaner, cook. Eventually, as a soldier and medic. I lived my life by the blade, surrounded by death. That kind of life... you don't think too far ahead."

She retrieves the dwarves' wineskin from her bag and takes a sip. "When the Phalanx was smashed, I found myself with only my equipment and a handful of coin. I was at a crossroad, unsure of where to go, what to do. All I knew, was that I was done with the life that had led my friends to their deaths."

Adrasta looks around, once again taking in the view. "I came here, because if I was to have a different life, I needed money," her eyes harden, "and I didn't want to earn it from the poutanas I used to work for. I want to do it myself, for myself."

She turns to look at Ardan, then chuckles ruefully. "Sorry, I am rambling..." like he used to "... and not answering your question." She sighs. "The dwarves... I would like to see that underground city, truly, but this place," she says, gesturing towards the seemingly endless forest, "is full of opportunity. We don't have to take this one from these dwarves. If we establish contact with more people, we could become traveling merchants, linking all these enclaves. We can keep looking and find other wonders... From what Nedry told us, there are plenty."

Talking this out seems to have cemented Adrasta's opinion. As she continues speaking, her confident demeanor returns. "Forcing our way in is a commitment to violence, and would make us just as bad as the bandits we fought. We can stay outside, offer them an opportunity for collaboration. They have short legs and no horses, it must be long and perilous to go for supplies. Perhaps we could help them with that? If they say no, we can look for another opportunity. And if we change our minds, we can always come back and take this place."

Ardan listens to Adrastas story with interest and nods occasionally. "See, I agree with you completely. My story is a bit different, but with a similar take away.
I come from a peasant family. My folks did as they were told by whoever was in charge at the given time. Living in the border region, that meant the person in charge could change three times a year. And they always took what they wanted, because they were stronger.
I left home by my own choice. My brothers would continue my dad's job, my sisters would marry, there was nothing waiting for me. So I went to the city and learned to live of what chance and skill would give me.
But never did I take anything by force. Sometimes I would have to convince a merchant or 'noble' to have the same idea as I did, but they always acted by their own choices.

There are those that will never learn, but by the stick. But in most cases the stick will just come back and hit yourself on the head.

I'm also very curious about the city inside, therefore I still believe that we could find another entrance. Naesala can always scout ahead and make sure we don't run into the dwarves. Plus I guess they won't be whispering down there, I'm sure even we would notice them on time. "

Adrasta listens to Ardan's story. She wasn't surprised he'd left. Life in the boondocks sounded dreadfully dull. Once he gets to the matter at hand. She shakes her head. "Naesala made a good point about the light. If the dwarves don't need any, we could be as easy to spot as the moon in a starlit sky. They'd have every advantage if they find us underground."

Ardan and Adrasta walk a little more and return with a much lighter mood to the camp. "Hey fellow campers, shall we see what the short ones think of our plea?"
After a scarce breakfast the group packs up the rudimentary camp and ones again returns to the fortress. A different dwarf is manning the fortification and reluctantly fetches the leader after a bit of back and forth of arguing.

Ardan addresses the leader dwarf with a smile much too big for the lack of comfort and sleep they had. "Top of the morning, oh guardian of the fortress. Thank you for hearing my humble request once more.
We respect and admire your task of keeping the fortress safe. But I think we misunderstood each other yesternight. We do not intent to infiltrate your castle, but merely ask to pass through into the old city. We do not intend to linger in your home, or hinder the important work you are doing behind these huge walls.
We would also gladly take a different entrance to the city, should you be able to point us to one.
What say you? "

The older dwarf appears again. He appears to be blinking a lot: perhaps he just woke up, or perhaps the early-morning light disagrees with him. His mood does not seem much improved.

"There are no other entrances," the dwarf responds. "It would not be much of a fortress if there were." You can tell he wants to be gruff but something about Ardan seems to soften people, even if only a little bit.

"Yesterday I said 'no outsiders' and I meant 'no outsiders'. This is as much for your safety as ours. There are ancient defenses in place that will evict you. They are inescapable, inexorable."

The dwarf, of course, does not know that Naesala has been skipping about under his nose, rather undermining his claim. Or is Naesala so good that she avoided defenses that she didn't even know existed?

Otto's eyes close, and he rubs at his temples, quietly exasperated..Swearing isn't Otto's style, and the whispered words come awkwardly. "Oh, for the......" Otto stammers under his breath, "...for the love of Freya's tits..."

He draws his breath and bellows, "We're headed north, is there anything you'd like us to tell your kinsmen? "Thanks for the fortress, and the treasures", or anything like that?"

He has no idea whether dwarves live to the north, or the east, or the west, or in mud huts on a tropical island. But north is unknown, and it's vague, and he hopes the bloviating stump with legs takes his bait. He so wanted to like these people, after laying eyes on the fortress. That avenue hasn't closed (yet), but the walking termite mound tries his patience.

"We're not looking to set down roots and rob you of your claim. We're explorers, not miners or salvagers. We're just curious. None of us have ever seen an underground city! This place," Adrasta says, gesturing behind her at the expanse of the Wilderness, "is full of opportunities. The more we're aware of, the more useful we can be useful to each other."

"We have horses, we can do supply runs for you. Once we've found other communities, we can bring things you can't find at the Trading Post. If we better know what your situation is, we might even think of things you need you didn't even know you needed! Like better wine," she adds with a grin.

"Am I not making sense? Is my Trade Cant so poor?" the older dwarf asks, presumably rhetorically.

"NO OUTSIDERS MEANS NO OUTSIDERS. There is ancient magic in place to DESTROY intruders. You MAY NOT ENTER, whether as a merchant or an explorer or a courtesan."

This seems to be a jab at Adrasta's sex. The dwarf's patience is clearly exhausted. What's unclear is if:

1) He really believes his story about the defenses;
2) he knows it's bullshit and wants you to go away; or
3) the defenses are real but Naesala is just that good that she didn't trigger them.

"If you head north, find us some ale. Or lager. Or mead! We'll trade generously for as much. If you find our kinsmen..." He throws up his hands, not knowing what to say. "Tell them a bunch of fat, smelly, bearded dwarves seek females of the same description."

Adrasta squints, giving the dwarf a log, hard look. Was he just trying to get rid of them or did he really believe in that ancient magic? Soldiers liked to gamble, so she'd played her fair share of cards and learned to pick up on people's tells. Well, sometimes at least. The dwarf seemed genuinely (and understandably) annoyed, but there was a hint of concern to his warning. Perhaps she was just projecting a kindness she wished was there, but he seemed like he was being honest.

Adrasta nods. "Very well. My apologies for insisting. Underground cities are rather rare where we're from, so you can understand our curiosity." She smiles. "If we find ale that can compete with your wine, we'll be back to trade."

In a lower tone of voice, she addresses her traveling companions. "I don't know if he's right about the ancient traps, but he seems to truly believe it. We're better off seeking our fortune elsewhere." With that said, she mounts Wanderer and gets ready to leave.

Surprised, flustered, and a bit flummoxed by his companions' lack of stomach, Otto pitches his last gambit.

"Only dwarves I've heard of were strong, brave, and never fearful of a challenge, so I'll tell you what. Good sport it would be if you and I blunted our axes, and clashed as gladiators. No need for blood, bruising would suit us fine. Winner gets his way. You win, we leave in peace and friendship. I dust myself off, extend a handshake acknowledging you as the better. But if I win, we gain access to the mountain through this fortress. We stay out of your way, you leave us be."

The words hang for a moment, before adding, "That is, if dwarves are as brave as I've heard..."

He smiles at the dwarf with the briefest of shrugs, and makes no eye contact with his companions, expecting disapproval. But Otto is cold, Otto is annoyed, and Otto has no particular interest in either returning from whence he came, or wandering around for days praying to find a door hidden in the foothills.

"Well, lad," the older dwarf says contemplatively, "that is a big dumb idea from a big dumb ox.

"What, you think my kin builds impregnable fortresses on mountaintops just so we'll come out for one-on-one combat as soon as someone challenges us to do so? You're either stupid or you think we are.

"If you want a one-on-one challenge, winner take all, you need to put up an equivalent treasure. Every treasure in this fortress, plus the value of the fortress itself, against every treasure you carry. And I'm not talking about your belly button lint, favorite pocket knife, and your grandma's recipe for cacao cookies. Unless those horses are laden with gold, and you have another train of them coming, I don't see what you could possibly have to offer that would even remotely tempt me to bash your brains in."

Tecumseh wrote:

"What, you think my kin builds impregnable fortresses on mountaintops just so we'll come out for one-on-one combat as soon as someone challenges us to do so?"

Otto doesn't mind the dwarf's words. They roll off his back easily, and he'd heard what he needed to hear.

"Surely you think you would win, yeah? What risk is there for you -- that you'd be bested by a big, dumb ox? How could that possibly be?" Otto laughs, a bit whimsically, and a look of recognition crosses his face.

"Ahh, I see it now...", Otto says with a smile and a slow nod. "Fear is hard to hide, my friend. What a thing to show your younger compatriots. No worries. I hear you, and I'm certain that your partners won't see you as afraid or weak."

Otto shakes his head slowly, almost ruefully.

"Surely, in your line of work, fear and weakness won't come back to bite you in the ass. Greed and envy never embolden anyone to take from the weak in his sleep, does it..." He looks at the other dwarf, giving him a wink, before addressing him directly. "I'm sure the Boss-man gives you all you deserve, eh? Holds nothing back for himself?" He smirks again. "Of course he doesn't. He's brave."

He looks at their faces, hoping to find a crack in the facade.

The dwarf sighs and picks up a loaded crossbow from behind the wall. The younger dwarf beside him does the same. The older grabs a horn and blows it, which creates a bellowing blast. Presumably this is to summon some backup.

"I'll count to five," the older dwarf says. "Then we start shooting. Maybe I don't hit you. Maybe I hit one of your friends, or your horses."

"I expected better. Very well, have it your way."

Otto nods to the group, mounts his horse, and waits for the others.

Pulling on the reins, Adrasta turns Wanderer around. With a kick, she urges the horse forward. With a displeased whinny, the mount starts walking down the slope, away from the fortress.

Adrasta looks relaxed, but she is tense. Her shield readied on her arm, she keeps her ears peeled for the telltale sound of crossbow fire.

With an annoyed sigh, Ardan mounts Wolf and makes his way for the tree line

You turn to go.

The older dwarf fires his crossbow. It's a terrible shot and flies well over the top of your heads. Was he giving you a warning or is he really that bad of a shot?

The shot lands a hundred feet in front of you. It's a testament to the viable range of a cross, especially when fired from an elevated position.

The tree line is a good distance below you. If you want to ride out of range, you'll have to ride hard, downhill, in rocky scree. It's challenging footing for your horses, doubly so when running downhill fully loaded.

Ardan makes a point of riding slowly, but directly towards the trees. He hopes the tingling feeling of anticipation on his back won't turn into seering pain.

The dwarves watch the three interlopers hurry to the tree line, one of them loosing a bolt at them as they... wait. Three? Wasn't there four of them? The elf seems to have vanished in plain sight. Coward probably fled faster than her compatriots! No great surprise, given that the dwarves hold such an impenetrable position. That will definitely be the last they see of any elves for a while.
Meanwhile, a trackless step whispers through the forest off to the left of the party, circling back around towards a blind side of the fortress...

"Skata sta moutra sou!" Adrasta mutters. She turns around in her saddle and glares at the dwarves. "Hold your fire, malakia! Can't you see we're leaving?! Stand on each other's shoulders if you can't see above the battlements!" she yells at them, the frustration that had been building in her bubbling to the surface. If Otto had gotten the hint earlier, it never would have gotten to this, but now it had, and those poutana dwarves were proving to be as stupid as the big man. She makes a rude gesture at the diminutive jerks. "You're just wasting your ammunition, kriòmyxos!"

She turns back around and goes on riding towards the treeline, keeping Wanderer at a walking pace.

There's another shot that - sorta, kinda - might be in Adrasta's general direction. It's difficult to discern intent. The shot is not particularly close. One could even suppose that it was aimed at Otto but ended up near Adrasta by mistake. Or maybe they're still contenting themselves to shoot well over your heads, just to make sure you don't get any ideas about turning around. Or maybe dwarves aren't natural marksmen.

"Mou eprikse t’arxidia!" Adrasta exclaims as the crossbow bolt flies by in her general vicinity. She pulls on the reins and stops her horse. She drops her shield, letting it hang from its strap and grabs her bow. She notches an arrow and sights down its length, taking aim at the statue next to the dwarven crossbowman. She lets it fly. It follows a clean arc and strikes the statue's head with a clatter, sending a puff of dust into the air.

"Keep shooting at us and next time I'll aim for your head!" She bellows at the dwarves. She turns back to face forward and, with a gentle nudge, gets Wanderer moving again.

Muttering to himself Ardan continues to make his way to the tree line, the tingling feeling gone, since he knows he's pretty far away and the dwarves shoot worse than a drunken grandma after sundown.

Adrasta absolutely nails the the the stone statue in the eye. It's a marvelous shot at this distance, especially firing uphill over a fortress wall.

The dwarves, conversely, couldn't hit water if they fell out of a fucking boat. The older dwarf sends a shot that might be 45 degrees in the wrong direction. A lip reader might see him mumble something about wind, or the sun, or a crossbow malfunction, but really there's no disguising the fact that the shot is an embarrassment.

Adrasta pauses a moment to marvel at her shot. But, as she does so, there's a deep rumbling. There's an intense vibration coming from the mountain that almost feels like the onset of an earthquake. The dwarves seem to feel it too. In fact, it must be stronger for them because they stagger to keep their balance.

Then there's a tremendous CRACK that sounds like boulders breaking. And not just one loud CRACK but a dozen of them in sequence, and not just a single sequence but a dozen of them. It's loud and what you might imagine an avalanche sounds like, except Adrasta has an unobstructed view and there's clearly no avalanche.

However, there are a dozen stone statues coming to life. The silent sentinels of the fortress wall begin to animate, stepping down from their vantage points to man the battlements. They're currently armed with stone swords and stone shields. Can statues squint? Or scowl? Either way, they spy Adrasta below and seem to take a dim view of her.

Ardan stops when he hears the cry of surprise and turns. When he sees the gargoyles come to life his eyes widen with awe. He turns around Wolf subconsciously and without even realising it slowly heads back toward the fortress to get a better look.

(OOC: Statues coming to life and dwarves' reaction happens in CT2.)

The dwarves look gobsmacked. The older ones stops reloading his crossbow. The younger one was raising his crossbow to fire, but lowers it to watch the statues, slackjawed.

The statues step forward to line the battlements. Their gaze is outward, down the mountain toward you. They don't seem to acknowledge the dwarves. The statues don't attack the dwarves nor push them aside. The golems line the fortress wall, stone swords and stone shields ready to defend the battlements.

Ardan and Otto watch amazed as they edge back uphill toward the fortress.

The statues drop their swords. From your angle it's hard to see, but it appears that the swords fuse into their bodies rather than being stowed in hollow sheathes.

Then the statues raise their hands. In each hand is a fist-size lump of stone. Where did they get those? From the walls? From their own bodies?

You don't have time to ponder the question because they simultaneously LAUNCH all the stones in your direction! Or, more precisely, Adrasta's direction.

Otto and Ardan see what's coming and are able to give a shout of warning. Adrasta, a trained soldier, is alert enough to quickly stash her bow and raise her shield the instant before rocks come pummeling down.

Most of the stones miss but two don't: one slips under her shield and cracks her in the ribs while the other smashes her uphill thigh. It feels similar to getting hit with a club or a mace. She does manage to intercept one stone that was bound for Wanderer's head.

The dwarves jump and cheer with this development. "Yeah!" the younger dwarf cheers, forgetting for the moment that his crossbow is reloaded and ready to shoot. The older dwarf also jumps with excitement, and hurries to reload his crossbow to get in on the action.

Ardan stands dumbstruck not moving forward or backward. His curiosity is pulling him towards the fortress, caution of the flying stones trigger a subtle flight instinct. So he stands and observes the development of the situation.
Those living stone statues stir a fascination in him that does not allow him to take his eyes of them. Are they shaped after warriors? Are those warriors dwarven or human? Where do they get their stones from? Do they notice him standing there, unmoving?

The commotion, the rumbling, and the shaking from the mountain startle Otto as he rides steadily from the fortress toward the trees. Catching glimpses of his departing friends, he sees them turning and looking......no, gawking back in the direction of the fortress.

He turns his head in time to see at least ten stone figures moving on the battlements. A moment passes before Otto realizes that he's frozen with a mix of both terror and fascination. "This place is a wonder!" he exclaims to himself, as he watches a series of stones hammering into the hillside near Adrasta. "And it will be a wonder if it doesn't kill us all..." passes through his head as he turns his horse for the trees. He holds his shield behind his head as he retreats, giving his horse as much time as it needs to pick his footing, his heels making sure the horse knows not to tarry.

Adrasta keeps her shield up and Wanderer moving towards the treeline. She spots Ardan just... sitting there, on Wolf, staring dumbly at the unfolding spectacle. The statues seemed to focus their attention on her, for now, but there was no telling what the dwarves would shoot at when they got over their initial surprise. "Ardan!" she hisses at him through clenched teeth. "Don't just stand there! Move!"

Ardan gets a good look at the statues. They are stylized as warriors, with helmets and armor, even though these things are presumably redundant for soldiers made of stone. They have shields in one hand and weapons in the other. Previously the weapons were swords but now they are rocks. Their hands dip below the horizon of the battlements and then come up with new rocks. It's unclear if the rocks are coming from the castle walls or from the bodies of the statues themselves.

They statues are tall, like humans, but broad-chested and bearded like dwarves. Perhaps they represent idealized dwarves, or maybe it's a practical consideration so that the statues have the necessary height to better defend the walls.

"Shoot the ox!" the older dwarf cheers, raising his crossbow. "Turn the big lummox into a pin cushion!"

He fires his bolt and it's much closer to Otto than previous attempts. The younger dwarf follows his lead and fires. This bolt is on-target, despite the growing range. If Otto had not been alert to the attack, it would have lodged in his neck.

The statues seem to follow the dwarves' lead: six continue to throw their stones at Adrasta while the other six begin to throw at Otto. The stones rain down like fist-sized chunks of hail. They slam into the mountainside, making the horses nervous. Despite her best defenses, one manages to strike Adrasta, hitting her squarely in the back low on the spine near her waist.

Adrasta keeps her shield up, but shifts her focus away from the incoming hail of stones. She focuses inward, on the the inner wellspring of life animating her body, and urges it forward. The pain in her lower back and on her thigh quickly fade as her flesh knits itself back together.

Wanderer keeps walking forward, frustrated by the lack of low-lying branches or meandering paths she could go towards instead of the annoyingly distant treeline.

Adrastas cries snap Ardan out of his paralysing fascination and he turns Wolf around to follow the others towards the trees. As he is far behind the rest, he makes haste to follow them.

Ardan double-times it. He's now maybe 20 feet behind Otto and Adrasta, who continue to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Naesala is well ahead of everyone, her sure-footed running giving her a 50-foot lead. No rocks seem to be targeting her, although she sees and hears plenty as they crash down behind her and roll down the mountainside.

The statues also seem to be ignoring Ardan, but will he catch any crossfire when he catches up with Otto and Adrasta? Wolf remains composed and manages to pick up his pace to a trot even though he's moving downhill on rough terrain.

The bad news is that Otto and Adrasta continue to get pelted. The good news is that Otto's head, along with Adrasta's neck and shoulder, manage to intercept all the rocks before they hit the horses. Adrasta's self-healing comes just in time: the latest flurry leaves her dazed and confused. She's quite certain that she would have lost consciousness had she not mended herself moments before. As it is, her vision is getting fuzzy and it's getting harder and harder to stay balanced on Wanderer. She's tempted to just lean forward, cover her head and neck with her shield, and hope that she wakes up somewhere below the treeline.

(CT6)

Adran spurs Wolf on, who responds admirably. Wolf senses the danger and weighs the risk of going off the trail. Leaving the path is risky: the hill is much steeper and the rocks are looser. Wolf takes the chance and the sure-footed horse navigates the hillside like a pro, sliding and jumping and slaloming the larger boulders. It's dangerous and exhilarating.

Adrasta simultaneously heals herself while bracing for the next round of rocks... which doesn't come. There's no crash of stones nor impact on her shield. The only thing she can hear is her own labored breathing and the crunch crunch crunch of Wanderer's footsteps on the rocky trail.

Otto isn't quite so lucky. The statues may have paused their onslaught but the dwarves have not. Another bolt zings over his head - not particularly close either - but the other one finds its target. It hits Otto low on the saddle, lodging into the meaty part of his butt. The leather of the saddle slows the bolt down just enough to make it more of a flesh wound, but it's still bleeding. Plus there's a hole in his pants now.

The dwarves cheer at their success, such as it is. You hear them mocking you from a distance.

"Ride fast, fat man!"

"Fear is hard to hide, friend-o!"

"What a thing to show your younger compatriots!"

"I'm certain that your partners won't see you as afraid or weak!"

"Surely, in your line of work, it won't come back to bite you in the ass!"

This, apparently, is a reference to the successful crossbow strike. The dwarves howl with laughter and cheer and bite their thumbs at you. But they are no longer attacking, and you are free to retreat to metaphorically lick your wounds.

As the group reaches the relative safety of the trees, Otto lets out a groan, and droops his way out of the saddle to the ground. His eyes close, both in pain and in relief at having gotten clear of the stone terrors on the battlements.

"I hate those dwarven tallywhackers........murderous midgets......" He lays back on the ground, meshes his fingers together and lays his hands on his stomach.
"My misunderstanding, I expected they'd have a sense of humor and possibly a sense of fair play. Their leader will be much more humorous with an axe in his skull." His laugh mingles with a groan.

Naesala, who escaped the clumsy dwarven assault easily thanks to their focus on her allies, nods at Otto's joke.
"Diplomacy's place is perhaps beyond this wilderness' borders. A stance more severe should serve us well in future."

As the others tend their wounds, the elf asks in a hushed tone. "I would venture inside once more, this time allowing the Art to feed. I would do so the moment you claim readiness."

Adrasta brings Wanderer to a stop as they reach the trees. She ties her up to keep the mare from being true to her name, then looks at the others. She hadn't paid much attention to them as they retreated, focused as she was on keeping herself alive. Her trained her quickly notes that only Otto seems to have taken a beating. Good, she thinks to herself, serves him right.

Adrasta makes her way to his side and kneels down in the dirt. "It's your misunderstanding, alright. If you'd gotten the hint when the rest of us did, you wouldn't be in this state. Now, lie still." She focuses, feeling for his life energy, and nudges it. His body responds, knitting the torn muscles and pierced flesh closed with unnatural speed. "There, all better." She stands up and brushes herself off. "Sorry, though. I can't fix stupid."

She looks back up at the mountain after Naesala says she'd like to go back in. "Be careful," she says, knowing she won't talk the Elf out of it. "These poutana dwarves have no honor, and we don't know what the statues can do. Do we still have that large bow?" She asks, turning her head to look at the pack horse. "I could try to draw their attention if you get in a tight spot."

moarhair wrote:

Adrasta makes her way to his side and kneels down in the dirt. "It's your misunderstanding, alright. If you'd gotten the hint when the rest of us did, you wouldn't be in this state. Now, lie still." She focuses, feeling for his life energy, and nudges it. His body responds, knitting the torn muscles and pierced flesh closed with unnatural speed. "There, all better." She stands up and brushes herself off. "Sorry, though. I can't fix stupid."

"Thank you, that feels much better." Otto sits up, feels around to his backside, and notices the hole in his pants. "Damn it...", he observes quietly.

His brow furrows, his visage somewhat offended. "Let me get this straight. The smart thing was to travel all this way in the hopes of finding a hidden door somewhere in the mountains? And for all the posturing, no one offered any plan to actually do that, and no one made a move to take the reins, either. Pardon my ignorance, but getting lost in the mountains with five horses in tow, fumbling like a blind man for a hidden door (that no one even knows whether it exists) does not strike me as the workings of a strategic mastermind. But trying to goad the dwarf into a contest was stupid. I see. And who was it who cleverly shot the statues?"

He huffs a little, but doesn't appear to hang on to the feeling long.

"Be that as it may, we've now seen these dwarves for who they are. If they'd simply let the statues do their work, a fair case could be made that they were decent enough fellows, as surprised as we were by the stone defenders. Do any of us harbor those illusions now?"

He looks up at his companions, still seated on the ground near his horse, begrudgingly grateful for Adrasta's healing. His current position wouldn't be possible without it.