Chapter III - Into the Unknown

<<Morning - Day 5 - Early Spring - The Mountain of the Dwarven Fortress - Wilderness>>

Morning comes. Sleep was easy, although Naesala never returns... or does she? You find a mysterious piece of paper in the middle of camp that's been folded up into a geometric shape that is difficult to interpret. Naesala was the only one who was known to carry any paper. Did she return and then leave again? Mysterious elven ways.

You're still on the mountain but well below the fortress, back at the tree line with the horses. They seem comforted by your return. The morning dawns crisp and clear and cold. You get a fire going with some water from a nearby creek, the one that Otto used to wash his trophies.

In the light of day, you have a chance to examine what you collected from the fortress: a war hammer of exceptional quality, a mace that's equally exquisite, and some jewelry that might not be worth a literal fortune but will still collect a tidy sum should you choose to sell it. The carved horn is also very fine and may be worth something too.

You've heated some water and some food to ward away the early-morning chill when you notice some movement among the trees. Statues? No, the movement is below you on the mountain.

It's the Tenebrae. There's a dozen of them walking in line. They still wear long, hooded garments with baggy sleeves. Each of them wears a backpack (which also appear identical) and carrying a staff of some sort, which they use as long walking sticks. They march up the mountain the same way they did before, largely in unison. Their cadence hardly varies even over uneven terrain.

They seem to be headed toward the fortress, but their course will take them right past your camp location.

<<Earlier, before the arrival of the Tenebrae>>

"Are you sure?" Adrasta asks Ardan. She holds the mace with both her hands before her, gently, like it is a small animal.

Maces were simple weapons, meant to be swung as hard as possible, and generally demanded less skill than a sword. Blades needed to find gaps in armor. Maces were basically a rock at the end of a stick. Blunt and brutal, made to cave in armor, rather than slip past it. This particular one, however, felt different. It was perfectly balanced. Its head was skillfully shaped, the metal free from imperfection. The handle was wrapped in fine leather, pleasant to the touch. Wielding a mace in battle could quickly get taxing, as the impacts would reverberate through the wielder's arm, draining their strength, but Adrasta got the feeling she could swing this one for hours without getting tired.

When Ardan answers in the affirmative, she nods. "Thank you, my friend. I swear I will put it to good use."

<<Later, as the Tenebrae approach>>

Adrasta watches as the hooded figures make their way up the slope. She wonders how often they would cross paths with the sinister cult. The way things were going, it seemed certain they would become well acquainted.

She turns to Otto and Ardan. "Maybe we should let them know about the statues. I doubt those things are very discerning when it comes to non-dwarves and I'd hate to see the only people we haven't fought on this side of the Wall to meet such a bad end."

moarhair wrote:

"Maybe we should let them know about the statues. I doubt those things are very discerning when it comes to non-dwarves and I'd hate to see the only people we haven't fought on this side of the Wall to meet such a bad end."

Otto nods, perhaps a bit skeptically. "Agreed", he replies, "in spite of my reservations about them. I do not understand their path, but a word of caution is the least we can do. If I remember correctly, even their own deaths and their own blood serve their goddesses. They may not fear their own deaths, as such, and such a warning may be utterly moot." He gives a faint shrug "Still, it is the neighborly thing to do."

Otto awaits their arrival with his companions, no weapons at hand.

The Tenebrae pay you no mind. As best you can tell, they don't even look at you. Their faces are hooded, so you can't see their eyes, but their faces never turn in your direction.

Now there are those whose sight does not depend on eyes, like Naesala, so it's entirely possible that they are aware of you, but even so they don't speak to you or greet you or even nod to you. Instead, they silently march on by, less than 30 feet from your position. They make no noise save for their footsteps. They don't even grunt or breath heavily, despite the fact they're carrying backpacks uphill.

Adrasta frowns. These Tenebrae were an odd lot. She didn't understand them at all. Still, their last interaction had gone well enough, and she did not wish for their blood to be spilled needlessly. "Hail, Tenebrae!" she calls out to them. "It is good to see you are well. Fair warning: You are heading towards a dangerous place. The fortress ahead is guarded by aggressive, animated statues. I know better than to try to talk you out of it, but be careful on your approach. They will throw large rocks on you."

The Tenebrae look up, almost as one, as if seeing you for the first time, although they don't jump or show any sense of being surprised or startled.

The one in the lead speaks. The voice is male and relatively deep. You recognize the voice from the last time you interacted with them.

"Hail," he says simply.

"We have come here to worship," the man continues. "Our mighty goddesses command it!" He raises his arms to the sky. You remember this speech from last time.

"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." He turns his raised arms toward the mountain to indicate the holy land in question, then lowers them. "The goddesses will feast here with us."

This is the same as everything he said before. But, then, something new:

"The goddesses favor you," he says with piercing intensity, the timber of his voice resonating strangely in the tiny bones of your ears. You can't see his eyes or his face but it feels like he's looking straight through you. "They delight in your ways. Rejoice, o highly favored ones!" He raises his hands to the sky again but nothing happens. It appears to be a theatrical flourish... or is it perhaps a real blessing? ("Blessing" in quotation marks, to call into question the desirability of such a thing.)

Ardan sits silently at the fire, brooding. What had happened there at the down climb? He should be dead by all laws of nature. Who can survive a fall like that? Did the Gods that until now he so thoroughly ignore favor him and spared his life? Or was it just straight up dumb luck?
He barely notices the arrival of the Tenebrae. "The goddesses favor you," Ardans head jerks up in anxious surprise. These goddesses seem like a questionable patron of one's life. Usually not superstitious at all, a worried look spreads on Ardans face. But he remains quiet.

Adrasta smiles to hide her discomfort. Becoming favored by the goddesses of death, or blood, or whatever it was the Tenebrae worshipped, wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping for when she came to the Wilderness. She feels like it speaks poorly of the path she had walked thus far.

"Wonderful!" she says, trying to sound pleased. "Then, perhaps, you'll heed our words and be careful as you approach the mountain. We would hate to see the goddesses' worshippers come to harm before the rites are performed." She doesn't feel like spending more time with them then was needed, so she adds: "Farewell!"

Once the Tenebrae have left, Adrasta shudders, before turning to the others. "Where to next? There are still the fishermen by the river we haven't killed. Yet. We could really cement our position with these 'goddesses'."

"Or," she says in a serious tone, "we could go back to the bandit camp and talk about what we want to do here. Things haven't gone how I pictured them, so far."

Otto watches the exchange between Adrasta and the Tenebrae, discomfited. If anything, he finds their second meeting with the Tenebrae more uncomfortable than the first, and is anxious to see them gone. The group's warning has been delivered, their obligation fulfilled.

moarhair wrote:

"Where to next? There are still the fishermen by the river we haven't killed. Yet. We could really cement our position with these 'goddesses'."

The thought stings Otto like a bee. And like Adrasta said, things certainly have not gone the way he thought they would. Heroes to Emma and Ignacio, potential villains everywhere else. He hopes deep down that the wilderness affords better than 'kill or be killed', though he's not sure how.

"We could travel past the fishermen, if for no other reason but to reassure ourselves that we can, indeed, see other people without killing them." The thought seems like it should be humorous to him, but it comes out humorless.

"'Tis a strange thing, but as I consider our travels, I find myself overly curious as to the Tenebrae's welcome at the fortress. The whole thing is macabre, though, and I might welcome a more wholesome alternative." He looks to his friends, almost imploringly, for a better choice than to assuage his curiosities.

"We serve our goddesses in death just as certainly as we serve them in life," the leader reminds Adrasta. "We follow their instructions or die trying. But, even in dying, we succeed. We cannot fail."

The other hooded figures nod in agreement. It seems that they mean that failure isn't possible because any outcome is acceptable to their goddesses. That must be nice, to succeed no matter what. The Tenebrae turn and continue their march up the hill.

Ardan seems shaken up and not particularly inclined to follow the Tenebrae. Instead, the trio break camp after breakfast. Naesala did not take her horse so there are now five horses for three riders.

You begin to ride down the mountain, which takes you west. Go far enough west and you'll hit the ocean and the fisherfolk, but that might take days of walking and adventuring. Or there's the bandit camp to the southwest. At least the Tenebrae aren't there anymore. Or there's always Emma and Ignacio, where you could trade in the dwarven jewelry and arrange for any purchases which might interest you from the civilized world to the south.

Feeling a bit demoralized and out of sorts, Otto tries to focus on the practicalities, hoping that those will bring clarity to the group's decision. His horse picks its way down the mountainside, Otto occasionally patting him on his neck, and speaking to him in a low voice. He's thankful for this little distraction.

"Hrrrm....we've left two ropes on the mountain....most of our spikes for climbing...my good lantern! That tiny little bastard has my lantern!" It seems strange to Ardan and Adrasta that Otto lays blame for the loss of his lantern on a now-deceased dwarf. "And food. Do we have enough to get to the west coast?" He looks around at his companions, hoping they had stashes of supplies squirreled away.

"If supplies are the priority, it seems Emma and Ignacio may be our best bet, unless we wanted to reclaim a few things at the fortress. Not sure any of us have the stomach for that. If we want to go west, perhaps we would like to stop at the camp for a safe night's rest. But again, supplies. What say you?"

"Agreed," Adrasta says, "but we have to decide what we'll tell them. The dwarves were some of their trading partners. Do we keep our mouths shut or tell them about our... uh.... conflict."

moarhair wrote:

"Agreed," Adrasta says, "but we have to decide what we'll tell them. The dwarves were some of their trading partners. Do we keep our mouths shut or tell them about our... uh.... conflict."

"The same has crossed my mind, and it pains me. It's my hope that they weren't friends." Otto fidgets with the reins, the saddlehorn, anything to take his mind off the situation. "But if they ask, for good or ill, we should tell them. My inner self hounds me as it is, lying to our friends would only compound it. What does your inner self suggest you do?"

Otto vows to himself to carve tonight. His inner self demands it, though he dreads it.

"I'm not much for deceit. If I try to be vague, I'm afraid it'll show and might get their hackles up," Adrasta says. "I know that kind of evasiveness would rub me the wrong way."

Adrasta thinks for a minute. "The truth is basically in our favor. We tried to negotiate. When we saw it wasn't going anywhere, we started leaving. They attacked us and we killed them. Emma might not like it, but Ignacio would understand, I think."

"Sure, I don't care, let's just get out of here. This place... If I stay longer I have a feeling it will kill me..."

<<Noon - Day 5 - Early Spring - Bandit Camp - Wilderness>>

The morning proceeds uneventfully as you travel down the mountain and through the surrounding forest. The weather is sunny but cool and crisp in the shade of the trees. There's a brisk wind from the west that has a fading touch of winter in it. But that also means that you're downwind from the direction you're traveling, making it easier for your horses to smell what's coming and making it harder for things to smell you. In the end, you don't run into anything or anyone.

On your way back to the trading post, you pass by the bandit camp because it's the natural half-way point. There you see... something? It looks like a giant altar has been constructed in the middle of the palisade. It's made out of wood; Otto recognizes the wood as being from the trees that are all around the bandit camp. The construction is crude by Otto's standards, perhaps a testament to the fact that it only sprang up in the last 48 hours or so. Or even faster if you account for the time that the Tenebrae must have spent walking up to the dwarven fortress where you crossed them this morning.

The altar is six feet tall and seems to have space for a bonfire on top of it, as there are obvious remains of a large fire. One wonders how or why the entire altar didn't burn, but it didn't. On the altar, surrounding the bonfire, are four crude effigies about the size of a person. Their carving is hasty and they lack significant decoration. It's unclear if they are the objects of veneration (being on the altar as they are) or if they are the ones doing the venerating (surrounding the bonfire as they are). Three of the figures seem to be holding things in their hands. The things are mostly just sticks so it's difficult to interpret intent, but a couple of the sticks have been sharpened to a point.

There are also remnants of a feast. It seems that animals were hunted from the surrounding area and then barbecued on the bonfire before consumption. Their bones litter the area. Evidently the Tenebrae weren't as concerned about griffons as Nedry was. You don't see or any any griffons, but your horses do stamp and seem to have a sense of unease.

With the horses' unease, Otto gets an ominous feeling. He looks to the sky, recalling Nedry's warnings about griffons -- that is, if they exist. But then again, Otto never imagined that a trikeratops existed, either...

"Let's get the horses inside, stand them next to the walls. If griffons attack, the proximity of walls will hinder their flight. Then, we throw the Tenebrae's refuse over the walls."

Otto is unsure where this trepidation came from, but uneasy horses was never a good sign. He helps the others bring the horses in quickly, lining them noes-to-tail against the wall before casting the Tenebrae's discarded remains over the walls.

Ardan casts a glance around the former camp and stares at the altar. After he studied it for a bit a wide smile spreads on his face. "Look, Otto, that big guy, that's you. And the one without the stick is Naesala. Which means the other two are Adrasta and me." He frowns and continues skeptically, "I'm not sure whether I should feel horrified or honored. Either way, I'm happy the vertebraes are not here anymore."

Then he takes over calming the horses, while Otto cleans out the remnants of the feast.

Thelonius wrote:

"I'm not sure whether I should feel horrified or honored."

"A bit of both seems fair", Otto nods agreeably. "They are a strange bunch, and I'm thankful that we didn't tangle with them at the outset. There's nothing quite so dangerous as a zealot." He stops pitching bones over the fence for a moment, and stands to his full height. "Well, maybe a trikeratops. Or a zealot ON a trikeratops." He resumes his work, tossing refuse over the pointed wall. He stoops to pick up more bones, and mutters one last permutation, "Or a trikeratops on a zealot....now that would be dangerous. For the zealot, anyway..."

By and large, the campsite grows more and more tidy by the minute, until the group is satisfied that scavengers will remain outside to fight amongst themselves for the scraps. He nods a simple thank you to his friends for helping and looks to the sky, wondering if Nedry was right, or whether he was crazy.

Looking at the altar again, you can see that Ardan has a point: the figure with a stick that isn't sharpened (thus looking more like a club) is larger than the others. One of those with a sharpened stick has something in its other hand that looks like it might be a shield. Yes, it does seem like these are effigies of you.

The feast was presumably last night and/or the night before, so it's possible that scavengers have already been through the area. Perhaps there's less to clean up than there would have been otherwise. In either case, you don't any wild animals before you finish.

You leave the bandit camp and cross the stream just to the south. As you're crossing the grassy meadow beyond the stream - pleasantly blooming with spring flowers - you see a figure emerging from the treeline ahead of you. You pause for a moment to study him and conclude that he is most likely a merchant. He is little bowling ball of a man, dangerously obese, and he tries to pull forward a stubborn mule laden with wares. The man is sweating and exhausted, although his obesity suggests that it wouldn't take much to make him tired. He appears unarmed and unarmored. He wears a large-brimmed sun hat made out of woven straw. His outfit is a purple tunic (a muumuu, really) that might be terribly fashionable in the city but is garishly out-of-place in the Wilderness.

"Hallo there!" he calls out when he spots you approach. He pulls off his sun hat and waves it just to make sure he has your attention. "Do you speak Trade Cant by any chance? Is this the trading post?" He points to the palisade of the bandit camp.

Tecumseh wrote:

"Hallo there! Do you speak Trade Cant by any chance? Is this the trading post?" He points to the palisade of the bandit camp.

"Hallo there, yourself! We do, and no, I'm afraid not! This is our palisade, but you're welcome to stay and use it. If it's the trading post you're looking for, you are but a few hours from one. It's the direction we are headed, if you care to travel together."

Otto is a bit uncertain. In his short time in the wilderness, it has seemed to be anything but forgiving to travelers, let alone this roundly unfit man traveling alone. "Might I ask your name, and where you've traveled from? We're new to the region, and unsure where civilization can be found, save the trading post to the south."

Otto wonders if there is more civilization close by. This man cannot be too far from home, can he?

"Your palisade," the man repeats rhetorically. He seems to be studying the effigies at a distance. "Yes, yes, I see that..." He eyes you warily, perhaps considering what sort of people might build stick representations of themselves to place upon an altar.

He takes off his hat and mops his brow. He's sweating profusely, even though he's been walking through the shade of the trees. Perhaps his muumuu is very well insulated.

"The direction you are headed," he repeats, turning around and seeing that is the direction he has come from. "A few hours..." He trails off, seemingly dejected and lightheaded about the setback.

He sits down with an unceremonious flop. "My name? The Honorable Theodore Thistlewick!" He extends his hand to you with the palm down, although it's unclear what the intent is. He is sitting on the ground and you are sitting on your horses, so his hand is far below your reach. You note jeweled rings on his fat fingers.

"I come from beyond the Wall and the River," he notes. "I wished to reach the trading post to barter, but apparently I have far overshot my mark." He still looks dejected. "It makes sense, I suppose, as I expected to reach it hours ago."

He staggers to his feet and rummages around the packs on his mule. He emerges with a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a waterskin.

"I would be delighted to travel together, thank you my good man. But first I must partake in a brief repast."

He flops down again and gets to eating, not offering you any nor inquiring about your names. He drinks greedily from his waterskin, and from the dribbles down his cheek and chin you can tell that it's a dark red wine. It splashes on his muumuu. "Oh bother," he says, trying to wipe it away, although it can barely be seen against the purple fabric. "Do any of you gentlemen - or gentlelady - have a kerchief at the ready?"

Tecumseh wrote:

"Your palisade. Yes, yes, I see that..." He eyes you warily, perhaps considering what sort of people might build stick representations of themselves to place upon an altar. "Do any of you gentlemen - or gentlelady - have a kerchief at the ready?"

Otto glances over his shoulder at the stranger's gesture, then rolls his eyes. "Oh, that. The work of 'admirers' of a sort. They are a strange lot."

He shrugs with a look of remorse. "I'm sorry, we seem to have left all implements of fine dining behind. Best I can offer in the way of a kerchief is a piece of sack cloth. Would that work in a pinch?" With that, he sidles up to the pack horse, and rummages for one of the spare sacks he brought for the trip.

"Thistlewick, you say? The name is familiar -- does your family do much shipping along the coast?"

Thistlewick looks disdainfully at the sack cloth. "No, but thank you," he says with poorly-disguised scorn.

"My family is involved in many mercantile pursuits, yes. We specialize in trade up and down the River. We don't venture down to the coast much." He makes a vague gesture west, which is the direction the River flows before emptying into the Ocean. "The risks presented by the leviathans are much too great."

Adrasta scans the treeline. This man felt like bait. An unarmed, goods-laden merchant wandering on his own in the Wilderness? It seemed far-fetched. Adrasta finds herself wishing Naesala had stuck around. Her keen eyes would have seen the truth of it instantly.

She looks at the obese man. She had seen his ilk many times before. They tended to be insufferably self-interested and this one's haughty air when offered the sack cloth was a good indication he was no different.

Still, he had introduced himself. It seemed rude not to return the favor. "Well met, Mr. Thistlewick. I'm Adrasta, this is Otto and Ardan. Is this your first time beyond the wall?"

The man nods to Adrasta between bites. "Yes, well met, Miss Adrasta.

"I have been on the River many times, which is technically beyond the Wall, but this is my first venture so deep into the Wilderness. By accident, I assure you."

It's unclear if he has any sense of the danger that he is in, or if he's simply annoyed that he walked unnecessarily for several hours and will now need to walk for several more hours to undo the mistake.

If you escort him it will slow you down significantly. Not only is he fat but he's also on foot, and he's fighting tooth-and-nail against a stubborn mule that's heavily laden and would rather not go anywhere at all.

Ardan dismounts from Wolf and walks over the to the mule. "You should know that many a danger creeps in the theses woods. Let me help you with your companion and let's make haste to the post."
It felt like karma giving them a chance to do good after all the granted only semi voluntary bad they did. Ardan tries to gently persuade the mule to follow him and Wolf.

"Good fortune must be your middle name, Mister Thistlewick. Had you wandered into this part of the wilderness just scant days ago, you'd have been robbed blind by the former occupants of this palisade."

Otto eyes the 'merchant' cautiously, remembering Thistlewait's comment about "your palisade", and wonders whether Nedry and the others will recognize this man. It strikes him as odd that he is 'wandering' here in this wilderness, so close to the palisade. Returning his ill-gotten gains to the leader of the brigands, perhaps?

"Say, you seem to know your way around things of value", he says, gesturing at the man's wares. He continues digging in the packs on the horse, digging out the war robe of the brigand chief. "What do you suppose this might be worth?"

Otto fixes his gaze on Thistlewait's face, looking for signs of recognition.

Mr. Thistlewick inspects the war robe. He sniffs disdainfully. "Bits of metal, layers of thick hide, weaves of tough cordage? Frightfully little in the city, I'm afraid. The larger cost would be in the hit to your social standing.

"No, I'm afraid that such garb only has significant value in rough realms such as these." His arm sweeps grandly to the forest around you. "You may fetch five silver in the city if you were lucky, but out here - where standards are, ah, different - it might summon ten times as much."

He wipes his fingers off, having dared to touch the offending piece while inspecting it.

While Otto is up close, he also notices that Mr. Thistlewick has either a dagger or a stiletto hidden up his sleeve. Otto can't tell which, but a short blade of some sort.

The quiz complete, you begin to walk. Ardan works his magic with the stubborn mule, which seems a bit happier now that it's walking south instead of north.

It is slow going with the rotund Mr. Thistlewick. You had been confident of arriving at the trading post before dinner but now you're not so sure you can make it there before nightfall.

Mr. Thistlewick had initially demurred about riding Naesala's horse, claiming that he wasn't much of a horseman. But finally your patience wears out just as he slumps to his rump for the third time in an hour. Getting him into the saddle is a challenge and unpleasant - his legs are too short to reach the stirrups on his own, so he needs a boost - but eventually Otto hoists him up onto the back of the unfortunate horse, who looks around plaintively for relief.

Mr. Thistlewick's riding is not graceful not practiced, but at least the terrain is even and the horse is sure-footed. The riding proceeds, although Thistlewick regularly dismounts (with assistance) to relieve himself in the woods (on his own, thankfully) before returning to the saddle (with assistance).

Mr. Thistlewick's conversation is self-centered and self-important. Deals he did with this illustrious personage, sales he made to that generous patron, etc. etc. None of which really indicates why such a "successful" businessman is on his own in the Wilderness. His girth confers some degree of economic success, and the wares the mule carries are not worthless, but one would certainly think that he should remain south of the Wall. Or, failing that, he should be traveling with armed guards. But for all his chatter and bluster you never get a sense of why he's here on his own. An extreme sense of thrift? A baseless belief in his invulnerability? It's not clear.

<<Evening - Day 5 - Early Spring - Trading Post - Wilderness>>

Finally, around dinner time, you see the trading post across the open field. The sun won't set for a couple hours so there is still plenty of daylight. A trail of smoke from the kitchen chimney suggests that something is cooking.

The feeling of "Oh gods, what have we done" that Otto had at the fortress has given way to a feeling of "Oh gods, what have we done" as he watches Thistledick try to climb on the horse for the umpteenth time. Still, one of the more valuable skills he'd learned at the shipyards was about being patient with the over-privileged buyers of the family's beautifully-crafted ships. He could show patience -- but he didn't have to like it, as he helps the round merchant back onto the horse yet again.

"You're going to owe this horse a whole bucket full of apples when we get back, you know...", knowing full well that the last word a merchant ever wants to hear is 'owe'.

The trading post is a welcome sight when it comes into view. Otto sees the smoke, and hopes it comes from the kitchen, and not because of invaders or bandits. The thought surprises him, and he wonders how this fatalistic streak has crept into his thinking. He feels the need to carve, the need to dig these thoughts out of his mind.

Ardan winces every time the voluminous merchant heaves himself, or better is being heaved onto the poor animal. During his life in the city he had lost the feeling of closeness to the animals that he had loved so much back in his parents home. Now, back in the Wilderness, back in nature he realises how much he missed it and how much he felt for and with the beasts.
Luckily the ride/walk is over eventually and Ardan looks forward to a warm meal for himself and fresh hay for the animals.

You enter the trading post. You find Emma and Ignacio cooking dinner. Emma looks up with happy surprise. "You made it!" she says, rushing to give you a hug. You can see that she's wearing the ring you recovered from the bandit camp.

"It is I, The Honorable Theodore Thistlewick!" the fat merchant interrupts, presenting himself with a flourish and a bow. "I have traveled a long and lonesome road to arrive. I would appreciate a repast. Do I see wine there? Wine would do nicely."

"Yes... yes, of course," Emma says, clearly caught a bit off guard. She retrieves more earthenware cups and pours wine for all. "Any friends of yours are friends of ours," she tells you, concluding that Thistlewick is your companion.

She ladles bowls of stew for you. You note that there is not much in each bowl; it's clear they were not expecting visitors and had only prepared dinner for themselves. With food for two stretched to four people, each bowl is only a half portion. Emma retrieves some hard tack and some dried sausage for herself and Ignacio. The hardtack crunches loudly. Thistlewick sniffs at the small portion size and, once finished, turns his attention to what else might be available. He helps himself to some cheese.

"Behold, the finest wares from behind the Wall!" he says grandly when dinner is complete, gesturing to the cargo on the back of his mule. Emma and Ignacio step forward politely to inspect the wares before negotiations begin.

Tecumseh wrote:

"Yes... yes, of course," Emma says, clearly caught a bit off guard. She retrieves more earthenware cups and pours wine for all. "Any friends of yours are friends of ours," she tells you, concluding that Thistlewick is your companion.

"Mr. Thistlewick here is still a bit of a mystery to us, as we found him wandering in the wilderness with his wares. We thought it best to escort him back from the wild before he met an unfortunate end out there. We've known each other for all of a couple hours, but we are as curious as you to see what items he has to sell."

He accepts the cup with a smile and a gracious nod, and settles back to see whether Thistlewick has anything worthwhile to buy.

A wild animal's life was fraught with danger. Predators could be hiding anywhere and strike from any direction. If something in the wilds didn't bother to conceal its presence, it usually meant it was extremely dangerous, and wild animals tended to avoid them. This thought was the only thing keeping The Honorable Theodore Thistlewick's inane prattle bearable.

The sight of the Trading Post is a welcome one, a chance to be relieved of this self-inflicted bodyguard duty. Having to tell Ignacio and Emma about the unfortunate events with the dwarves didn't seem so bad anymore.

Adrasta accepts the bowl of stew gratefully, then heads outside to eat, leaving the traders to get acquainted with the verbose merchant.

Otto watches Emma and Ignacio peruse Thistlewick's wares. Otto notes that there are a lot of luxury items. Emma picks up a bolt of cloth that's a pleasant golden color.

"Please don't touch that. Your hands may be dirty," Thistlewick rebukes her.

Emma looks embarrassed. She puts the cloth back down and sheepishly wipes her hands off on her apron. Ignacio looks annoyed.

"Your wares are very fine, Mister, ah, Thistlewick," Emma answers politely. "But our customers are practical people looking for practical things. Trappers and miners, for example. They need rope, shovels, picks, hammers, iron spikes, things of that nature. Lanterns and oil. Boots and backpacks. Extravagances tend to be small, like sweets or tobacco."

"Nonsense!" Thistlewick responds grandly with a sweep of his hand. "Surely there are those who would appreciate the delicate touch of such fine fabrics. Why, dressed in these, you would not look out-of-place in the highest capitals of the land! And how would you know what the demand might be if you have never offered them before?"

Emma and Ignacio exchange a look, as if Thistlewick might have a point. The fat merchant senses his advantage and presses it.

"And if I do not unload my wares, surely I will have no capacity to carry yours back with me, will I? For my beast of burden complains constantly of his load and will not bear any more. No, if I am to carry your pelts and skins south then you must relieve me of my cargo."

Emma and Ignacio exchange another look. Emma reaches out again toward the golden cloth. "Well it would be nice to have a sun dress for the summer..."

Ignacio seems to cave instantly. "Yes, of course. We'll take the lot."

"Excellent!" Thistlewick agrees, happily drumming his massive belly at the prospect of some lucrative business.

Ardan takes the bowl with steaming stew with watering mouth, but when he realises the hosts have nothing left for themselves, he offers it back to Emma and helps himself to some of the dried goods.

++++

Watching the fat trader boast of his wares Ardan cannot help but get angry. "Dear Mr. Thistlewick, clearly you can see that your wares are of no big use to miners and trackers and these here are honest folks. I propose the fair cloth for the generous lady of the house as payment for her hospitality. 
Your dear mule is not overladden, but simply disagrees with your choice of direction, heading into the dangerous Wilderness to the north.
I'm sure it will happily carry a few more pelts. Otherwise we might have a fine horse to sell that will make your arrival in any town proud and impressive."

Thistlewick looks affronted.

"No payment was requested and none was offered. You rob the lady of her hospitality if you insist it was merely transactional."

"I said we would take the lot," Ignacio chimes in. "I am a man of my word. The fat merchant is right" - this earns an elbow from Emma - "we do not know if these items will sell because we have never tried. We will see if there is any demand for them as such."

The mule looks at Ardan with pleading eyes, perhaps wishing to be rescued. Maybe it likes Ardan better, perhaps it doesn't like the Wilderness, or maybe it really is overburdened. Its load is rather large.

Thistlewick's eyes twinkle at the notion of an additional horse. "Yes," he says, stroking his double-chin. "With an additional horse I could carry more, or perhaps be carried myself. Yes, what is your price?"

"It's a very fine horse. Strong and proud, yet patient and mild. Up at the mines they offered us 220 pieces of silver, but to you, I'd be willing to let it at 210, knowing you will be able to take good care of it."

Thistlewick is a savvy negotiator and stands his ground firmly.

"Spare me your lies," Thistlewick replies brusquely. "The first rule of horse trading is that there is always 'another buyer'. They offered you nothing at the mines and your flattery falls flat as you know I am no savant. The horse will receive cost-effective care and no more."

The riding horse looks at Ardan, seeming to wonder if this is really happening. It looks at him with baleful eyes.

"I need no thoroughbred nor quarter horse. A shire horse or a Percheron will best suit my needs." Ardan knows he is referring to the draft horse.

"I would acquire your draft horse and its tack for 150sp. A fair price from a fair man. Truly, I do you a favor, as you have no need of so much horseflesh. I relieve you of the cost of their care and shine your purse in the process."

Tecumseh wrote:

"Spare me your lies," Thistlewick replies brusquely. "The first rule of horse trading is that there is always 'another buyer'.

Otto bristles, looks up from his stew, and wipes his mouth.

"You are welcome to continue struggling on your way, then. But putting that extra silver to good use will save you much of your burden, and an extra horse could coax your poor, over-taxed mule into better service. It is clearly worth your while to spend it, and your mule will thank you for it with a longer life in your service. Hoarding that silver only makes misery for the mule, and for the one who must convince the mule to do his bidding."

Otto has a bad feeling that no matter how many animals Thistlewick has, he will load them to the breaking point.

Adrasta watches the haggling with mild interest. It's almost like a battle, with feints, strikes, parries... She's genuinely surprised when Ignacio and Emma accept to buy the annoying merchant's whole inventory. Still, it's none of her business.

The matter of the horse, however, is. "We have riding horses to spare, but only one draft horse. Do you think we can do without it?" she asks Otto and Ardan. Logistics were key to an army's success. The three adventurers wouldn't need as much supplies, but it was still a matter worth considering.

moarhair wrote:

"We have riding horses to spare, but only one draft horse. Do you think we can do without it?"

Otto shakes his head, "No, a good draft horse is hard to find. Not sure we would part with it for any amount of coin right now. Is that what he was asking about?", Otto asks in slight surprise. He must not have been paying attention, getting lost in the twists and turns of Thistlewick's endless rambling.

"Two hundred silver is the going rate for a riding pony, and if a single pony can't carry enough for ye, then you'd best buy two. We have need of this draft horse, and that need won't be changing any time soon. A pony would do you some good to change your mule's foul mood, and if that doesn't change soon, it looks like you're in for a rough walk home, my friend."

Otto's demeanor towards Thistlewick appears to have changed, his patience with the bombastic merchant appearing near its end. He turns his back to the man in a display of profound disinterest. What had gained his interest, however, was something stuck in his teeth. Was that a seed? What was in that stew that would get stuck up there like that?? He digs a bit with his fingernail. Thistlewick is saying something behind him, but since none of what he's saying seems to be advice about getting things from between his teeth, Otto no longer cares. The round man will probably stop talking, eventually.

"We could earn more slaughtering the mare and sell it for meat. 200 sp is my last offer for the riding horse, the drafter stays with us." His primary objective of trying to save Ignacio and Emma from having to buy the merchants wares has failed, thanks to Ignacios self destructive sense of honor, something seen often in soldiers. Back in the Wilderness a horse will help them more than a bag of silver, so selling it under price seems like a self destructive act and he is not a soldier.

Thistlewick shrugs indifferently. "Suit yourself. I'll be here until the morning if you change your mind."

He negotiates with Emma and Ignacio over the value of his cargo versus the value of theirs. In the end he hands over his luxury goods while accepting as large a load of pelts as the mule will accept. The value of Thistlewick's goods exceeds the value of the pelts - or so they conclude via negotiations - so Emma and Ignacio also hand over a fair amount of silver. You can tell that their purse is rather light as a result. They still have many more pelt available for trade, at least enough for another mule or horse.

Thistelwick retires for the evening, having negotiated for room and board as part of his trade of products.

Adrasta watches Thistlewick leave with a newfound modicum of respect. He may have been a useless lump of man in the field, but he was a shrewd and skilled negotiator. She can't help but feel that Emma and Ignacio had been preyed upon, and their lightened purse worry her. Should the worst happen and they be forced to flee, they couldn't take their goods as easily as they could a pouch full of silver. Besides, Adrasta felt a certain amount of guilt for having recently removed some of their trading partners from the land of the living...

She turns to Otto and Ardan. "Are you both sure this is the right move? An extra horse will need feed and care, and we can't say when we might next find a buyer." Her eyes flick to the trader couple, then back to her companions. "Not to mention the fact that selling it would mean the fat man would be able to buy more of our hosts' stock."

moarhair wrote:

"Are you both sure this is the right move? An extra horse will need feed and care, and we can't say when we might next find a buyer." Her eyes flick to the trader couple, then back to her companions. "Not to mention the fact that selling it would mean the fat man would be able to buy more of our hosts' stock."

Otto give Adrasta a thoughtful look. "Your heart is well-placed", he says with a nod. "Do you not suspect that encouraging another transaction with Thistlewick would simply leave them more poor?" Otto shrugs, almost apologetically. "Perhaps we can buy some of the finery from them, and use it for barter in the fishing village." He has no inkling what use fine cloth could be to anyone in a fishing village.

Adrasta may be right, she may be wrong, or a bit of both. Otto cannot discern which, but seems certain of one thing -- that getting Thistlewick to move on would be best for everyone concerned.

The conversation is more pleasant with Thistlewick gone.

Emma and Ignacio have not heard of the Tenebrae. But they also confess that they have not ventured far beyond their palisade. They are more familiar with the lands to the south - past the River and the Wall - than to the north. Most of their knowledge is due to second-hand reports from travelers like yourselves.

They have heard of the thagomizer - what Adrasta called the keratops - from Silvanus, the outdoorsman who offered Ardan 200 gold for Wolf. But Emma and Ignacio have not seen a thagomizer themselves. They have seen griffins but only in the distance, never up close. Comparing notes, it seems that Silvanus gave them similar advice to what Nedry said: namely to burn corpses quickly.

Emma and Ignacio have a good number of supplies, including rope and spikes and rations. They have ample stock of most basic items. As for the fishing village, it is perhaps twice as far as the dwarven camp but in the opposite direction, which is to say northwest instead of northeast. So travel north for two days and then west-northwest for another two days and you will reach it. That said, they have never been there themselves nor spoken to anyone from the village; they have only conversed with passers-by who have seen it. The directions are less-than-ironclad for such journey, as four days is plenty of time to go slightly astray. The villagers are known to appreciate metal crafts and goods, as they are far from the mountains (and thus the mines) themselves. Speaking of which...

"I recognize that hammer," Emma says to Otto. "The designs are unmistakable. Did you see the dwarves then and trade with them? Did you see my friend Bachan Budur? He's always so joyful and full of life. I look forward to his return." She smiles pleasantly some happy memory involving the dwarves.