Chapter III - Into the Unknown

The foot soldiers snap into place with raised pikes. The archers respond a little slower but within a few seconds they have arrows nocked. Adrasta is fairly sure that, in their haste, some of them have nocked training arrows.

"Good show, good show," the officer mumbles to his troops. Now that she can get a good look at him, Adrasta sees that the officer is older. He has silvery hair under his helmet and his well-trimmed mustache is silver too. The rest of his face is clean-shaven. He doesn't wear a green tunic like the others but instead has cuirass and greaves armor that has been polished to a high shine. The armor practically glows in the setting sun.

The officer indicates that his troops should lower their weapons. He steps forward.

"Aye, we may parley. This range has no tenants, save for nature and those sapients who occupy it on a transient basis. Like ourselves and, I presume, yourselves."

Adrasta notes the use of the plural. Either he's noticed Ardan and Otto and hasn't mentioned it, or he assumes that Adrasta isn't alone, or he doesn't know and he's fishing for more information.

"Your accent speaks of Brass Speech. Yet your Emedian is better than a damp squib. Well, satisfy yourself. Have a gander, butcher's hook. Your gamble has succeeded: parlay away."

Adrasta weighs how much she should reveal. The soldiers' intentions and reason for being were still a mystery. She decides to let a bit slip, hoping it'll help build a bit of trust between her and the officer. "Thank you for this kind indulgence, sir. My companions and I are explorers from beyond the Wall. We were on the verge of bivouacking when the chorus of your voices was carried to us by the wind."

She smiles ruefully. "If you know of a hamlet that may harbor accommodations beyond what Mother Nature so graciously provides, we would be exuberant at the chance to barter for our stay. We aim to cross the river on the morrow and would favor doing it well reposed."

"No hamlets, no," the officer responds with a twitch of his mustache.

"As I just said" (you can detect some smarm here) "there are no residents here. No habitations of any sort, except for whatever shelter you carry or construct."

It's not quite clear if he's a snob about Adrasta's accent or if he thinks she's a little slow in the brainbox.

He points to the east, upriver.

"If you go far enough, past the rapids, the river narrows. You may even be able to skip from rock to rock, light as a feather. The stones are slippery as snot though."

He points to the west, downriver.

"The river widens in that direction, until it joins with The River and becomes very wide indeed.

"Good day to you, miss."

The officer appears bored. It seems that he considers the conversation complete, unless Adrasta is going to say or do something interesting.

Adrasta, as a young woman, can feel some of the soldier's eyes on her. They are disciplined and are under control, but she has second thoughts about bivouacking with them for the night.

The soldiers' leering was a cruel reminder of why Adrasta had been sleeping armed for years. She holds back from making a rude gesture in response to their hungry eyes. "Good day to you, sir," she calls out to the commander, not willing to push any further. She still wondered who they were and what they were doing there, but she doubted they would say.

She makes her way back to her companions. "I don't think they'll give us any trouble, but just to be on the safe side, we should be extra vigilant overnight. If Naesala was still here, I'd've said we should double up on watch, but with just the three of us, I don't think we can afford it."

"Tomorrow, I think upstream, past the rapids, is our best bet for a safe crossing."

The officer bellows "ASSEMBLE!" to his men in an unnecessarily loud voice, given that they're all right there alongside him. They jump to their feet and fall into two columns. The spears and pikes are on the left while the archers are on the right.

"Left face!" and the men who had been facing south turn counterclockwise to face east.

"Forward march!" and off they go. Stomp stomp stomp stomp. Nothing particularly subtle or covert about it. Indeed, they are so ostentatious that they could be deliberately trying to announce their presence. Perhaps they are trying to give advance notice to wild animals that do not wish to be surprised, or perhaps this is their version of a lion's roar, staking claim to this territory.

Adrasta rejoins the others and fills them in if they weren't able to overhear the exchange.

It doesn't take long for the overnight camp to be complete. The sky is clear, which promises a dry but cold night. Luckily there are plenty of trees and no lack of fuel for the fire. You build a fire and then have the openings of your tents point toward it so that they might capture some of the radiant heat. The horses should be fine, but will be happier with blankets.

Your dinner rations aren't as good as what you were eating at the trading post, but at least the food is warm. There's plenty of fresh water from the river too, which can be heated for warm drinks. That helps, because it's not long after sunset that you start seeing your breath cloud up in front of you.

<<Dawn - Day 7 - Early Spring - A Day's March North of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

The night passes silently for the most part. In the morning, your face is cold and you have no desire to get out from underneath your blankets.

You eventually get up and get the fire roaring again. Breakfast is hot and that helps because the morning cold is sinking into your bones. You don't think it got down to freezing overnight but it was probably pretty close. Relieving yourselves in the morning is a chilly process as the frosty wind nips your nether regions.

The sky is blue and cloudlessas the sun rises in the east. Early birds sing in the trees and some small game - squirrels, mostly - skitter about. On the river, fish jump out of the water here and there to gobble up bugs on the surface.

"By Odin's ice-laden ass, it's cold!" Otto exclaims, shaking his arms in an attempt to improve his circulation. "We may want to cross before the warmest part of the day, yeah? Give us time to dry in the warmth of the day. How long do ya think before the crossing?"

He looks to the horizon to see the sun's position, gauging daylight hours, then leans in a little closer to the fire than is probably wise.

Adrasta sits by the fire, still wrapped in her blanket. She did not enjoy the cold. The Phalanx had mostly operated in lands farther to the south and she'd been miserable every time they had taken jobs closer to the Wall. She pulls the blanket a bit tighter. "Well, we still need to find a good spot. Hopefully, we can get that done this morning and cross after lunch."

moarhair wrote:

"Well, we still need to find a good spot. Hopefully, we can get that done this morning and cross after lunch."

"I suppose we should get moving then, before the chill sets permanently into our bones. Let's lead the horses, get our legs moving, and perhaps the horses will provide a wind break, eh? Otherwise, we'll just be riding high in the wind like a sail on the seas, grabbing all the wind for ourselves."

Otto regrets not having carved the night before, the chill in his hands just a little too much for whittling. Surely the griffon would be a worthy subject.

He starts the process of breaking camp, leaving the burning fire for the last. Moving seems to help, and by the time he douses the fire, he's gone from limb-numbing frostiness to just 'should have just stayed under a blanket' chilly. Before long, the group is moving upstream, Otto leading his riding horse and the pack horse.

The chilly morning puts Ardan in his morning mood, cursing the Wilderness and the day he left the city. Grumpily he feeds the animals and helps packing up, to lead the way he spied the day before.

<<Midday - Day 7 - Early Spring - A Day's March North of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

You head east after breaking camp. The morning cold isn't so bad once you get moving, and the rising sun quickly chases away the chill. It is spring, after all. It seems like it will be a nice day.

The morning is uneventful. This is... good? Nobody murders you and you don't have to murder anybody, so there's that. But you are in the Wilderness for fame and/or fortune, so the lack of action is somewhat counterproductive.

You hike upstream. As the officer said, there are indeed rapids. Once you get above them, you reach a possible crossing point. However, it's possible that the officer recommended this spot with people in mind instead of horses. A person might be able to skip from rock to rock and keep their feet wet the entire time, but doing so on a horse is doubtful. Ardan thinks that he could do it with Wolf, but it's would be nearly impossible with the draft horse. More realistically, the horses will just have to trudge through the water. It doesn't seem deep, but it is moving rather swiftly as it heads downstream for the rapids...

Or you could keep wandering up the river. It's been easy going so far, but you are moving east and your ultimate destination (the fishing village) is to the west.

Adrasta scowls at the river. She didn't like the idea of wading through the fast-moving icy water. She looks upstream, seeing the mountains in the distance. Every step upstream would take them farther away from their destination.

"So, what do you both think? Chance a crossing here? Ardan, do you think the horses can handle it?"

Otto eyes the river doubtfully.

"No."

He looks up river, he looks down river.

"If this crossing proves too much, the first one into the drink meets greater and greater peril with every passing moment -- just as they've discovered that this location here was already too perilous to keep their feet."

He looks up river, he looks down river.

"Maybe with ropes?"

<<Late Afternoon - Day 7 - Early Spring - A Day's March North of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

You continue east, upriver, searching for a better place to cross.

The terrain gets rougher at first, and a crossing seems less likely than before. You push forward, generally gaining elevation as you move east toward the foothills of the taller mountains in the distance. Still, all in all, it's a pleasant environment: you're walking next to a flowing river on a sunny spring day.

Finally, late in the afternoon, the grade becomes less steep and you finally get above a set of rushing rapids. And, lo, there even seems to be a bridge! To Otto's trained eye, it appears to be quite well constructed: sturdy enough to allow for the passage of heavily laden horses.

The catch - there's always a catch - is that you're not the only ones there. In fact, it seems you've stumbled upon a camp of some sort. It's composed men... dirty men with a ne'er-do-well look about them. In addition to their tents, they have a campfire going with some sort of animal roasting over it. When they see you - not hard to do, given all the horses - they jump to their feet, grab their weapons, and assemble into a rudimentary formation that blocks passage to the bridge.

"Halt!" one of them cries with a certain twinkle in his eye. You suspect that he has counted the horses and compared the tally to the number of people riding them.

There are nine of them. Adrasta's eye can clearly tell that they are not trained soldiers. They are bandits at best, with only a modest degree of cohesion. Their armor is in tatters, mostly war shirts and buff coats, although there are a few decent looking shields among them. The front three wield large shields and light spears. The six behind - in two rows of three - have both light and heavy spears available. It's some sort of phalanx. The principle is sound but the execution is sloppy.

"This is our bridge," the spokesman continues. "10sp to cross."

"10sp a leg!" one of them corrects.

"Yeah, a leg!" the spokesman agrees. You're unsure if he forgot this detail or if they're improvising on the spot and he liked the suggestion. "20sp for the humans and..." - some belabored mental math on fingers that does not speak well of his education - "... 40sp for each horse!"

They shake their spears in a menacing fashion and await your response.

"No, thank you, not crossing today..." says Otto pleasantly, guiding his horse in a wide arc around the men.

He gives them little care outwardly, but is counting men and weapons, looking at their formation. He feels the reassuring heft of the axe on his back but offers no offense.

Adrasta lets out a genuine bark of laughter. "Even if we did want to use your bridge, your ridiculous toll would make sure we turn around and ride away. You, sirs, grossly overestimate our means. If we had that much silver, we certainly wouldn't be adventuring out here. Has anyone ever agreed to pay your fee?"

"So says the lass with six horses for three people!" the spokesman barks with laughter. "I estimate your means rightly. If you think otherwise, then it is your estimate which is over. I mean under. I mean over." He pauses to puzzle out what he means before giving up.

"Aye, many have paid. Safest crossing for a day in any direction. Ye fat merchants know better than to risk your wares to a river rushing with the spring melt. Cold the water is, and swift."

"Puckers yer nuts," says one of the men in the back, making the others laugh stupidly.

"Ride off on your high horses, ye adventurers of such modest means." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. The others murmur their agreement.

Otto pauses and looks over his shoulder.

"By whose authority do you hold this bridge? To whom would travelers be paying this bridge-tax?"

He has other questions but holds them, interested in how their leader responds.

"Authority!" the man barks again with laughter. "This is the Marches!" He gestures to the surrounding wilderness. The group laughs at the folly of Otto's question.

"Strength's our authority!"

"Man provides his own out here!"

The spokesman continues. "We own this bridge the way you own that horse: you stand on it.

"You pay us to cross and to not poke you full of holes."

The wave their spears menacingly.

Tecumseh wrote:

"We own this bridge the way you own that horse: you stand on it.

"You pay us to cross and to not poke you full of holes."

See, that's the difference between us, isn't it. You stand by an abandoned bridge and declare yourself the owner. We, on the other hand, own these horses by virtue of killing the twelve marauders who thought to take our lives. He leaves out the part that it was two groups of eight and four, but he's not interested in quibbling.

Otto begins to point and count. "And I only see nine of you, so unless you and your friends are accomplished warriors, you appear to be outnumbered." He turns his back on the one doing the talking, and begins to dig out a package from the pack horse.

With a conversational tone, he continues. "I'd like to show you something, if I may. A little trophy from yesterday's fighting, you may find it interesting. I am sure you boys have slain your share of monsters, eh? Griffons too, I'll wager. Well, THAT is something I'm sure we share."

He pulls one claw from the pack, the rigor mortis having set in with the claw fully extended, showing the men the full span of the claw -- and allowing them to imagine the rest. "Just yesterday, in fact. The monster seemed quite intent on poking us full of holes, too." He laughs a brief laugh, putting the claw away. "I will ask nicely, just this once. Will you let us pass, one silver for each of you for your trouble, or will you try to poke little holes in me while I cleave you from skull to crotch?"

Ardan follows the conversation with barely hidden amusement. Knowing the real stories behind Ottos boasts makes him smile widely inside, explaining to himself in his head, how Ottos claims could be reasoned.
After Otto finishes, Ardan extends his hand to the right, let's his sword manifest only to let it go and disappear again immediately.
With a faint, some would argue slightly smug, smile he shifts his weight in the saddle to a more leisure position and waits for the response of the brigands.

Otto's speech is, if anything, counterproductive.

"Oi, you wretch, you lout, it wasn't abandoned. We built it. We're providing a service here!"

There's a roar of agreement. While this assertation is impossible to verify, Otto does have to concede - upon closer inspection - that the bridge is in good repair and has been actively maintained.

"And we didn't come to the Marches to give discounts to high-and-mighty lords who claim poverty while riding on hundreds of silver of horseflesh. If we wanted to do that, we would have stayed south of The Wall."

A cry of agreement goes up, with spears banged on shields for percussion.

"So take your back-scratcher there and shove it up your butt from whence it came. Then come try your luck. You know what they say: the fatter they are, the fatter they fall!"

There's a laugh and a shout as they start to whoop and holler. Otto has them riled up now.

Well, enjoy camping with your friends. You must be rich by now, so may your good fortune continue!

Otto turns to leave, leading the pack horse.

The men razz you as you head to the east.

To Otto: "Stevens, fetch me my ascot!" (affected accent) CLAP CLAP!

To Ardan: "One day you're gonna wet, and I ain't talking about the river. You wanna be a cutter or a leaker?"

To Adrasta: "I'm stuck on this bridge, big boy. Why don't you come over here and help me get off?"

Gales of laughter. Adrasta is clearly a woman so they seem to be intentionally misgendering her.

It's getting late in the afternoon and you only have a couple hours of daylight left. The toll collectors / entrepreneurs do seem to have the best spot on the river. From here the grade rises steadily as the foothills become the mountains. You may be searching for a while yet.

"Enjoy starvation, poutanas!" Adrasta throws back as she and her companions ride away.

She is silent for a good long while after that. Did this place drive everyone mad? So far, the bandits they'd fought seemed to be the most reasonable people they'd 'met' this side of the wall. At least their actions and motivations had made some degree of sense. Who builds a bridge in the middle of nowhere and expects travelers in clearly old and worn equipment to pay a fortune to pass? What kind of militia brings a unit of recruits to the middle of nowhere to train? How could they not have come from a nearby settlement? Did they not know about the dangerous wildlife? What kind of merchant wanders into such a dangerous place unescorted? What kind of salvagers aren't willing to negotiate for trade? What in all hells was up with the Tenebrae? It seemed like sanity ended at Emma's and Ignacio's trading post, and the latter seemed to be on the edge himself. Was this the fate that awaited Adrasta, Ardan, and Otto, or had she already lost her mind and just not noticed?

"There are no opportunities here. Just madness and death," she mutters to herself. Oh, great, I'm muttering to myself. I'm definitely starting to slip. She can feel the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all rising in her chest and clamps down on it. It would be an even worst sign.

Adrasta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She focuses on the coldness of the air on her skin, the gentle sway of Wanderer under her, the sound of the river flowing. She takes another deep breath and opens her eyes. She turns to her companions, her mind made up. "The fishermen are the last chance I'm giving this place. If they're assholes too, I'm leaving."

moarhair wrote:

"The fishermen are the last chance I'm giving this place. If they're assholes too, I'm leaving."

Adrasta has summed it up nicely. "Yes, everyone out here in this wilderness has been some kind of meat-sack." Otto hopes for better results with the fishermen. Hopefully, they will not be....fish-sacks. He begins to get a little anxious about getting across. That's when he remembers what the jackass had said, "safest way across for a day in either either direction", or something to that effect. So, worst case, it takes a day to reach the next crossing.

Traveling further upstream, the sheer volume of the river may be lessened. Somewhere, there must be rocks or a more settled, calmer area to cross. No river rushes forever.

Ardan stays mostly unphased by the snarky remarks of the bridge clowns. Then they'll walk more in this direction. He surprises himself a bit with his indifference of direction, did he care to get to the fishermen? Maybe in this Wilderness it's best just to go on and see what happens, why get nervous about some idiots trying to squeeze good coin of the odd traveller. If a caravan of sorts would pass, their project might pay off, because a caravan would clearly not appreciate a detour. But how often could that be?
Either way, it's spring they have horses, water and food, it could worse. He starts whistling a cheerful tune and waits for what might come.

<<Dusk - Day 7 - Early Spring - A Day's March North of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

Having left the bridge, you quickly find yourself going up a canyon that the river has carved into the foothills. Except the 'foothills' are looking less and less like foothills with every passing mile, and more like proper mountains. Instead of a wide plain alongside the river, you are now tucked into a steep canyon covered in trees. This would clearly be impassable for anyone with a wagon. Your horses are progressing, at least for the moment.

The canyon shields you from the setting sun, which means that it gets colder and darker faster than usual. You can only make progress for a couple hours after leaving the bridge, at which point you must stop for the evening. The horses have walked all day and no longer wish to carry you uphill. Having deposited you on the river bank, they dip their heads to drink from the cold, fast waters rushing downhill.

Hunting might be a challenge given the steep terrain but at least there's plenty of fresh water and fire wood. The horses are at ease now that you're off their backs. While the terrain isn't exactly flat, and rolling over in your sleep might send you downhill, this seems to be a safe place to camp.

Adrasta takes her blanket out and drapes it over her shoulders. "Next time we stop by Ignacio and Emma's, remind me to buy some warmer clothes. If we don't freeze to death before we get the chance..."

Having secured some modicum of warmth, she begins to set up camp.

<<Sunrise - Day 8 - Early Spring - River in a Canyon - Wilderness>>

It was a quiet night. If there are animals in the area, they avoided you.

Being in a canyon, the early morning sun struggles to reach your campsite. It was a cold night and there's frost on the ground when you wake up. Going to get water from the river, you find the rocks on the riverbank are icy.

As the sun rises, what you see confirms what you saw last night before sunset: the river is flowing swiftly downhill, and the terrain rises steeply. You can continue to follow the river but it won't be easy and you'll be moving east, away from the fishing village to the west. But at least you'll avoid the bridge entrepreneurs.

But for the moment nothing is trying to kill you and nobody's trying to rob you, and that's pretty nice. It's a tranquil spot without much going on.

"Good morning! Beautiful day, as it seems." Having had the last watch, Ardan is active when the others crawl out of the tents. The horses are tended to and the fire burning again (still?) On the fire is a small kettle with water and some herbs. " Looks like the upcoming terrain is less and less hospitable. Shall we change our course? Where to?"

It had been another cold, miserable night. The canyon drew in the wind, adding to the chill in the air. "Changing course sounds good to me. If we make it to the coast on this side of the river, we might be able to get the fishermen to ferry us over."

"Let's give the bridge trolls a wide berth, though. If I hear them run their mouths again, I'll be tempted to stick an arrow in their throats."

"You will have no argument from me, whether it be changing course or sticking arrows in their throats."

It was a cold, cold morning, but Otto seems to be warming up to the chilly environment, in a manner of speaking. Being cold in a tent by a stream was somehow different from being cold in a tent after being shut out by a band of dwarves. Besides, they'd had enough cold mornings recently, Otto appears to be adjusting. He pats himself down, slapping the blood back into his limbs, and jumps up and down and from foot to foot. He studies his frozen breath hanging in the air.

He busies himself breaking camp, checking on the horses, and loading the packs. He talks to the horse in a happy tone, "Come on, children, time for more sightseeing!"

"Alright, back down the way we came it is. And I agree to avoid those oafs on the bridge."
Ardan helps breaking camp and getting the horses ready. Then they ride off, with the sun in their back.

<<Sunset - Day 8 - Early Spring - A Day's March Northwest of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

Back west you go.

It's easier going this direction. For starters, it's downhill. Having blazed some of the trail yesterday, you know where you're going. It's cloudy but dry and there's no wind, so the weather doesn't slow you down.

You give up some of that time by avoiding the bridge and the bridge entrepreneurs.

You keep expecting to run into the Tenebrae - no doubt following your trail of destruction - but you never do. Is that because you're not leaving a trail of destruction for them to follow?

Likewise, you never run into the soldiers in training or their silver-mustached officer. You see their tracks and could probably follow them if you want to, but they don't seem to be headed where you are.

Eventually you get back to the camp you set after meeting the soldiers. The clouds break late in the day in time for you to see the sun getting close to the horizon in the west. You still have a bit of daylight left - including twilight - if you wanted to push further west to look for a different camp site or a place to cross.

"I say we press on, while the light permits. As beautiful as the landscape is, I'm growing bored of the daily in and out and yearn for an ale in the pub of the fishermen village." , he scratches his chin and adds with a worried tone "I sure hope they have a pub that sells ale..."

Adrasta groans longingly. "A mug of ale would be lifechanging. Agreed, let's keep going."

"I raise a mug of ale to ye, in a toast....to more ale!"

For whatever reason, Otto seems chipper. It doesn't seem to matter to him whether the troupe goes north, or east, or south, or west. With a mind to 'tame the wilderness', they were doing just that -- taming the wilderness, as they wandered to and fro, there and back. He just wishes the wilderness was a little warmer in the mornings, that's all.

But as night begins to fall, setting up a defensible camp becomes the priority. Crossing the river will come tomorrow, come hell or high.....well, come hell.

<<Sunset - Day 8 - Early Spring - A Day's March Northwest of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

You continue west. You toss some leaves in the water to try to get a sense of how fast the water flows. Your best guess is that the flow does slow down a bit as you move west and the river widens. The flow is about half of your walking speed (on foot, not on horseback).

There's no obvious place to enter the water; each spot looks equally good as any other. In theory, the horses shouldn't have any trouble with the current. The question becomes how deep is the river in the middle and whether the horses have to swim (especially with you on their backs). Alternatively, you could get off the horses and cross on foot yourself, although you are not so tall as a horse and thus would be more likely to swim.

Dipping a hand in, the water is bracingly cold. It must be melting snow from the mountains to the east. If you go in, you'll need to dry off as soon as possible on the other side. You could carry some kindling or firewood over with you to have it readily available, but it might get wet as you cross, negating the effort (and, in fact, making the crossing harder for the horse carrying it).

<<Day Break - Day 9 - Early Spring - A Day's March Northwest of the Trading Post - Wilderness>>

Not wanting to get freezing cold just as the sun is setting, you decide to wait until morning - when it will be even colder - to cross the river. You set up camp for the night; there's plenty of firewood and fresh water. The fire helps ward off the overnight lows, which are near freezing.

You're startled awake in the morning by rustling sounds from nearby. The horses whinny and are clearly unsettled. There's more rustling; something large is clearly moving through the underbrush toward you.

Leaping out from your blankets and your tents, you find a four-legged animal about six feet long. It has a beaked snout at the end of a long neck like a turtle, the body of a muscular reptile covered in spikes and dermal plating, and a long tail with sharpened bone deposits that make it look like a battle axe or a macuahuitl.

The animal is territorial and is pretty unhappy to find you and the horses where it wants to be. A quick retreat seems possible but might involve abandoning your camping gear. The creature loudly bellows its displeasure; the horses are starting to panic.

"Guys, grab what's important and the horses!" Ardan tries to catch the beasts attention and walks around it in a wide arch, close enough to keep its interest, but always out of direct reach of beak and tail. Calmly he tries to sooth the animal and lure it away from the camp. "Who is a good monster? You are a good monster. Come to papa. Don't eat the scrawny humans. Or their chewy horses."

Ardan studies the beast. It has a head that looks like the cross between a bird and turtle. The snout is definitely a beak, and when it snaps at Ardan he sees that it has no teeth. Whether it wants to eat Ardan is a bit uncertain; terrestrial animals like this are more often herbivores while aquatic animals like this are often more carnivorous. Being so close to the river, it's unclear which type this is.

The animal stretches its neck out. Its tail goes vertical then swishes back and forth. Ardan, given his familiarity with wild animals, recognizes this as a visual display. These displays will often exaggerate an animal's size or will show off its natural weapons. The animal may go through all the motions of fighting without ever actually attacking, almost like ritual fighting. The displays are generally performed best near the center of an animal's territory, where it is more likely to attack an intruder. Judging by the tail swishing, the animal really wants you to go away.

Ardan's plan appears to be working for the moment as far as a distraction is concerned. Otto and Adrasta have enough time to grab their weapons and put on their armor. Grabbing the backpacks, lanterns, waterskins,  cooking utensils, etc. would require Ardan to keep this up for a while longer, and packing up the the tents, blankets, and the sleeping rolls would take longer yet. But that tail swishing is looking less and less like show every moment...

Otto goes for the horses, fighting his urge to break into a run. He moves them quickly, away from the monster. He tries using a calming voice with the horses the way Ardan does, but if anything, his own adrenaline betrays him.

On a low voice, "Whatever we leave behind, we can fetch it later....I hope..."

"If we're lucky," he thinks, "this creature will not rout us like the keratops." He glances over his shoulder to see the creature waving its tail, his hopes for a peaceful withdrawal fading.

Adrasta, armed and armored, hesitates. "Camping is hard enough as it is. Do you really want to risk losing our shelter to this poutana animal? We killed a gryphon! Surely, we can slay this thing!"

Otto continues to back away, holding the reins of the horses in his left hand. Trying to spread out away from Ardan and Adrasta, he hopes to split its attention. "A confused creature is an uncommitted creature, and uncommitted creatures may not know who to charge."

Otto give the beast all the space he can, offering no hostility. Of course, he and the creature may differ considerably on what constitutes hostility...

Otto seems to be having some success in leading the horses away.

The beast seems to have had enough of Ardan's intrusion. It charges!

Ardan, anticipating the charge, gracefully leaps away like an elegant matador. Except that, at the end of it, he's on his butt in the dirt.

What happened? Otto and Adrasta had been looking away the instant it happened. Did he try to leap into a tree but miss? Did he succeed but a branch failed him? Did he slip, like when charging the bandits, or like on the rope, and end up on his backside?

The beast sees that Ardan is prone just a short distance away and sprints for him, its sharp beak open wide!

Backing up, Otto's heel had clipped a rock. The moment spent regaining his balance was just enough for Otto to miss what had happened to Ardan. His jaw goes slack in dismay, as his eyes settle on Ardan's prone form in the dirt. He releases the horses, and starts to run, yelling like a wild man towards the Ardan and the advancing beast. He tries to measure distances as he goes, deciding which weapon to pull as he closes.

As the animal closes the distance, Ardan rises to his feet, summons a fencing sword into his hand, and waits for his moment to strike. With big, lumbering brutes like this, precision is often more important than strength.

At the last moment, Ardan skips aside and plunges his spiritual sword into the creature's eye. While certainly a grievous injury, it does not fell the beast, whose brain must be either incredibly small or located somewhere else in its physiology.

The creature, in its rage, swings its tail at Ardan, intending to cleave him in half. Ardan nimbly vaults over the bladed tail, and even manages to duck underneath the backswing as the creature readies itself to strike again. Unfazed, Ardan swishes his sword, considering his options.

Adrasta had only looked away for a second, but when she turned back, Ardan was on his back with the creature looming menacingly over him. Without a second thought, she draws her mace and charges forward, trying to close the gap between her and the monster as quickly as possible.

Ardan's nimble recovery takes her by surprise, and she slows for a second, but the creature furious swipe at him shakes her out of it and she resumes her sprint.

Adrasta wheels the mace around as she gets close and smashes its head into one of the creature's legs, extracting a satisfying crunching noise and a grunt of pain from the turtle-bird.

Otto's charge into the fray seems to frighten everyone, including himself. With both Ardan and Adrasta hurting the creature badly, the animal seemed to regret its territorial stance.

With a roar of sorts, Otto crashes into the melee with his battle axe, and his overhand swing brings the blade straight through the creature's neck. The creature falls to the ground with a thud.

Breathlessly Otto pants, "Well.....that was....messy...."

Adrasta takes a step back as Otto's axe comes down, but still doesn't manage to fully escape the spray of blood and gore. She flicks her mace, then wipes it with a rag before stashing it. "Well, at least it's not the kind of mess that calls for my skills. Crossing the river ought to take care of most of it."

She looks Ardan and Otto up and down, and grins. "Though you may want to clean up a bit before we pack up the rest of our gear."