Volume 1 - The First Spark

Chapter 1 - Introductions

The county of Cardenfell, on the isle of Orslae, could have been a land of prosperity. It is rich in natural resources, with deposits of coal and silver, as well as large tracts of fertile farmland. In many ways, it is the beating heart of the Isles. As the saying goes, "Blood flows from Cardenfell." But when the Crimson Crown conquered the Bloody Isles and abolished serfdom, the peasants of Cardenfell’s lot didn’t get better.

The Duchess rules the county with an iron fist. As her motto goes "Steel needs to be worked to become strong." Under her stern governance, the cities have been turned into large factories, churning out the armaments needed by the Crimson Crown to hold its territory and expand its reach. The air in these towns is choked with soot. During the day, it resonates with the constant, deafening noise of industry. At night, it is deathly quiet, the strict curfew disturbed only by the marching boots of the Dramcoat patrols. The townies are but cogs in a huge machine, marching down streets lined with propaganda, worn down until they break.

The villages serve to feed this machine, in ore and feed. Crushed under the weight of ever-increasing quotas, the peasants and miners who toil in the fields and mines are barely kept at a subsistence level. These hamlets are places of mud, dirt, and stink, where the country folk toil under the patronizing glances of their landlords and the sneering glare of the bailiffs. More and more, the artisans’ work is being replaced by mass-produced, shoddy equipment from the towns’ massive factories, forcing them to shutter their workshops and move to join the faceless masses of cogs.

The few resistance movements that have managed to gain momentum over the years have been swiftly and brutally crushed, first infiltrated by the Duchess’ spies, then put down by her forces. The fires of hope have all but been extinguished…

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Unable to bear the horror of life in Cardenfell, four people have separately found their way to the Brinkwood. Though the ancient forest is said to be haunted, home to all sorts of mischievous spirits and demons, it is the one place in the county beyond the reach of the Vampires who rule it. Driven by desperation, these four have nowhere else to run.

The paths through the woods are labyrinthine and ever changing. Soon, the intruders find themselves hopelessly lost. But, not all about their predicament is grim. Time and time again, as they wander, they happen upon copses of fruit-bearing trees and crystal-clear streams. When they grow tired, they always seem to find shelter. When their spirits are low, songbirds always seem to be nearby to lift them up with their cheerful cries, or they come across some sort of natural wonder: clearings filled with beautiful wild flowers, magnificent waterfalls, towering trees so old they must have seen millennia pass.

At night, the woods are terrifying, filled with the sounds of large beasts’ steps and growls, the sight of strange lights leading them to marshes and pits, and the merciless, crippling coldness of the air. They feel observed, curious hungry eyes resting upon their vulnerable forms. However, the four travelers always awaken the next day refreshed and unmolested.

After many days of travel through the Brinkwood, the four arrive from four different directions, simultaneously, in a small clearing. The ground is covered in snow, though they are well into Spring. Icicles hang from the branches of the trees, the air feels crisp against their skin. The sound of the forest is muted here, and only the howling of the wind in the branches seems to get through. In the center of the clearing is a small campfire, with four wooden stumps arranged in a semi-circle around it. Opposite the semi-circle, sits a large wooden statue of a woman, buried in snow.

The four strangers stare at each other, taken aback by the strange, snowy glade and the sudden appearance of the others. They are startled, some reaching for their weapons, others jumping back, when the statue starts to move.

"Welcome," she says, in a clear, crystalline, female voice. "Do not be afraid. You are guests here, and you shall not be harmed." As she moves, the snow covering her cascades off of her form. The skin of her face is like the bark of a dark ash tree, with beautiful cracks running along its length. Her eyes are white, like windows caked in frost. Bare branches rise from her head like a crown. The rest of her body is covered by a cloak, made of ice-covered leaves. Her movements are smooth and precise, but when she completes them, she becomes as immobile as she was when they first laid eyes on her.

She lifts four arms out from under her cloak, each completely different. Towards Bartholomew, she extends a thin, smooth, alabaster-skinned arm, the fingertips of its hand stained with Ink. Towards Jaul, she extends a muscled, scarred arm, its hand callused. Towards the Eversor, she extends the strong, hairy arm of a badger, the claws of its paw caked with dirt. Towards Retenia, she extends an arm wrapped in bandages, its fingernails stained green with sap.

She beckons them with these disparate appendages, and indicates, with open, upwards-facing palms, the four stumps arranged around the campfire. Whether pushed by the biting cold, or enticed by the strange, mysterious woman, the four travelers disturb the smooth surface of the snow blanketing the ground with their steps, and take a seat around warm flames. As they do so, the arms retreat under the cloak, vanishing from view.

"I am Karzemal, the Warmth of Snow, Once Buried, Fae of the Winter Court. I was a teacher, once…" she says sadly. After a pause, she speaks up again, the sadness gone from her crystalline voice. "I have left the safety of the Wyld to be the balance of this realm. I will not rest until the evil of the Vampires has been driven from this land. If you have found this place, you too must be enemies of the Crimson Crown. Who are you, and why have you left your old lives behind?" Karzemal’s voice is peaceful and serene as she asks the question, but the four travelers get the feeling that a lot hinges on their answer. A chill runs down their spine as a feeling akin to hearing the ice crack while crossing a lake fills their minds.

Karzemal sits motionless, her frosted eyes fixed on the flames, waiting for their answer.

Jaul will look deep into the flames for a moment and then look up into her eyes, his voice is grizzled and steady, his tone polite and honest as he addresses Karzemal. "I am a warrior by craft and a believer by heart. I used to be a soldier, ordered by people I would never admire to do things I did not want for the good of those I now seek to harm. It is not to my immorality that I was in that situation but to my weakness to escape it. I come to this forest for the same reason I left my old job, I would rather save my soul than my life. You may call me Heatseeker for that is what I most honestly am." Jaul makes a small and polite bow

The creature perches on the ground it's claws rooted in the snow. a pale blue rune forms on it's withered forehead forcing the Shade to crudely hiss  "I..AM..HATE.AND...I..HUNGERRRR...for THE ABOMINABLE " It fully submits to the Frosted hearth recognizing It's enabler.

Bartholomew hesitantly approaches the fire. The strangers make him uncomfortable. His face hidden deep in his cowl, his hand hidden in his sleeves, he sits on the offered stump., "B-bartholomew" , he pauses shyly, then continues "They... They killed the only person who saw me. Everybody else just... They only see a monster not me. I see people how they are. I like to talk to people, if they are willing to listen, to face me. I left because I was alone. They killed him for no reason. It is not fair. " Bartholomew falls silent, secretly peeking from under his hood to the others. Then, with honest interest, he studies Karzemal.

Karzemal bows at her guests. When she sits back up, a single tear has escaped her left eye, and frozen on her cheek. "Thank you for sharing your pain. You have all lost something to the parasites that have burrowed their way into your world. Friends, family, your humanity. I cannot return these things to you, but I can give a chance at redress."

She looks up at the trees surrounding the frozen glade. "The Brinkwood has also suffered at the hands of the Vampires. It is of the Wyld, it will listen to my kind. If you swear an Oath to oppose the Crimson Crown, and treat the woods with respect, we can offer you shelter and the means to strike back at your oppressors."

She looks down and to the side, embarrassed. "It will not be enough to win." She turns her head and looks upon her guests once more. "But there are others who desire freedom, who wish to fight back." Two arms slip out from under her cloak, both from different folk. She clasps them in front of her heart and lowers her head. "I have heard their pleas. You can be the seed, hidden beneath the snow, ready to bloom at first melt. Find others, and you will grow."

She lifts her head back up. "What say you? While you swear an Oath in this sacred place?" The four strangers don’t get any sense that Karzemal is being deceitful. If anything, her question is pleading, heavy with the pain and suffering of thousands.

Karzemal unclasps her hands. Her left one retreats under her cloak and she places the other into the campfire. As the flames start to lick her skin, their color changes to shades of blue. "If you accept, place your hand in these flames and speak your Oath, that it be sealed with suffering and hope for relief."

The Creature rises on its hind legs, its stance mimicking its forsaken state. The ghoul plunges its hand into the Blue haze while releasing a stifled cry of pain. The mockery of life rattles in nostalgia before finally. It Pulled out its Limb, revealing it to have frozen over by a thin film of ice. The ice then shatters, revealing a midnight-colored bruise to have formed. The Jäger then extends the arm to the pact maker and declares. " I AM THE EVERSOR, AND I WILL HUNT FOR YOU!

Retenia was the last to approach, for she was not always the best at fighting. Despite the long staff she walked with, she seemed unarmed and she was. After a few moments she finally speaks, but it is quiet as if her voice could not go above a certain level, saying "I have left those behind who cared for me, for they no longer are the same. They have been killed for little more than sport, gone to the memory I have, and even that was tainted. I will take what path I can to bring those horrors down The pain was clear, but something was off. The words sounded as if the loved ones were dead, but it was known that those who die may not always be dead, but worse.

AS for taking an oath, anything was better than here and now. Perhaps through action I may find peace once again my heart. Wait for me. She approaches, the smallest of the group. She places a hand out, unsure what to expect, but willing. " I am no fighter, but I shall help. Those monsters make a joy in suffering and causing pain, something I swore to prevent and relieve. I gladly give my life to their end." Whatever was to come next, Retenia stood ready as best she could

Jaul searches in his pouches for as moment and then pulls out a few small bones. He proceeds to put his hand the iced flame whilst grasping the bunch of bones which then freezes over. "Blood for bones, a sword for a heart, i swear to tear the vampires apart" He then forces his hand open, breaking the ice in the process, and lets the bones fall into the heart of the flame. He then sits down and looks into the misty haze that his formerly frozen hand exudes before looking around the others again

Bartholomew listens closely to what the Fae has to say. Nodding with understanding at times, and frowning in agreeing sadness or anger at others.
When she finishes with her plea for their oaths he hesitates. Silence falls onto the clearing expecting eyes rest on him. The only sound is the whispering sound of the falling snow flakes and the crackling of the fire.
The fire.
Loud cracks and the rushing sounds of roaring flames, come back to Bartholomew. He can hear the screams. And the laughter of the bailiffs, watching the locked up monastery burn.
Hot fury builds up in him and he thrusts his hand in the fire. The fire caused his pain, the fire shall be his oath to right the deeds of the lord and his lackeys.
"I swear I will bring down the regime, or perish trying. This shall be my purpose from here on." There was nothing else left to do in this world for him. This was right.

Karzemal removes her hand from the fire last, and flames return to their natural, yellow color. She smiles sadly and bows to the four lost souls whose destinies were now bound to hers. In one smooth motion, she stand. She towers over the humans, her height well over 2 meters. Her cloak extends to the ground, shrouding her form beneath its frosted leaves.

"Come, your refuge awaits." She walks past them, her steps leaving no trace in the glade's snow, towards an opening in the dense ring of trees that the four humans could have sworn was not there but a few minutes ago. The four entrances they had past through have vanished.

They follow Karzemal out of the frozen clearing, down a winding path between the trees. Soon, they leave the snow and barren branches behind, returning to the green and noisy forest they had travelled through before finding the Fae.

They walk along the path for a few minutes, before emerging into a larger meadow. In its center stands an old well, its ancient stones covered in moss. A wooden roof hangs over it, with a worn winch and bucket. A few meters away is a large firepit surrounded by stones with strange runes carved into them. Off to the side, are a handful of animal-skin tents, held up by ash wood poles, and a larger pavilion with one open side in which rests racks of old-looking weapons, armor, and bags of gear.

Karzemal lifts an arm out of her cloak, the knotty, callused arm of an aged builder. "This paltry place is all we can offer you. I'm afraid you will have to secure additional supplies for yourselves, but we can expand this area to fit your needs. I leave you now to get acquainted. The path will remain, should you wish to seek my counsel. I know of some opportunities you may wish to pursue."

She bows to the humans again and walks back into the forest, heading back towards her grove.

The Heartseeker will proceed to pick a spot nearby the firepit and start setting up camp in an almost rhythmic manner. He sets up a tent with some waterproof tarps, a little tripod over the flame for food using some gear he finds around and then some tree stumps for siting. Whilst doing so he is humming a marching tune and occasionally tapping his heels together.

The Eversor walks beyond the hearth in search of a suitable hovel. It finds a nearby cave that seems to have been freshly cut and features a steep incline that goes into two separate caverns. "One for meat, the other for sleep."Its stomach grovels; the Creature then leaves its new lair continues its hunt.

After an hour, The Eversor returns dragging a small elk behind it.
The elk is pale and has bright pale eyes and weakly breathes on the verge of death.
The Eversor utters "EAT." then twists The elk's head off and proceeds to feast on it while perched on a nearby stump.

The Heartseeker seeing this will approach the remainder of the carcass, " i can make it taste better wild beast of the forest." He says to the Eversor " I can teach you how to do it yourself even" . His offer is friendly but his voice is anxious looking at the savage Eversore.

The Creature continues to crunch on the skull. It looks at Jaul with its vacant eyes studying his stature and face.  finally it responds " No taste. Need filling"  The Creature then tears into the elks brain matter resulting in the elks eyelids to ignorantly twitch at Jaul before they fully cease mechanical function. Upon closer inspection of The Eversor's skin Jaul can see faded markings and scarring on the body. Most of the markings were tribal runes of the forest but on the left shoulder In faded red ink was the letters CV.

Jaul steps back into his corner happy that it is the vampires that made an enemy of this creature and not him

With wide eyes, Bartholomew takes in the site of the camp. Incredulous about the gift he, in parts, just received. It has been a while that anybody gave him anything, but beatings or harsh words.
He stays a bit to the side, shyly following the others picking up chores and activities.
When the beastman suddenly runs off into the woods with a grunt, Bartholomew relaxes visibly. I wonder what this creature is. It is scary. Let's hope it finds enough food and does not turn on us. Bartholomew studies the rest of the crew and sees, with relief, that at least Jaul seems to feel the same as himself about the beast. This and the fact that Jaul has so far not been outright dismissive and condescending towards him, makes him feel like having a friend. Irrational as this might be, given that he hadn't even exchanged a word with Jaul, it makes Bartholomew immediately feel more comfortable. He picks a tent in his mind, but lacking things to put in, he walks over to Jaul, who is preparing a cooking place. "Do-do you need some help? I used to help out i-in the kitchen of the monastery.
Maybe over there we could prepare a small garden and grow turnips and pumpkin. "

" I know not how to work the earth, but what o do know is that o enjoy the taste of pumpkin pie, should you begin a garden you will find me next to you before the time you finish it" says Jaul wondering what manner of vile mind would craft a man like Bartholomew into am enemy. " By the first harvest we should be able to make a small furnace for cooking." Jaul will proceed to combine his effort with Bartholomew against the matter of chores, making sort work of them.

Retenia winces at the words given, and await the others to move first. While the Fae seemed friendly, she was unsure about her fellow... saboteurs? What are they exactly? I guess getting to know each other is important, though one of them seems more beast than man.. This idea was even more confirmed when the man brought back a still alive stag, only to savagely kill it, then start to eat on it. Her face showed just a bit of unease, despite having seen mortal wounds this close, animals always seemed more innocent and gentle.

As other two started to set about a camp, she offers forward " I am not much of a cook, but I can make herbs and other helpful roots grow. Even perhaps some that could help us in our quest to take down the scourge on our land." Her voice still sounded disused, as if she wasn't used to this much talking. She stepped lightly towards the group, but her position seemed ready to run if need be. You can never be too careful... this could be another plot by those soulless creatures.

The Eversor finishes it's meal and slowly approaches the Wound-mender only stopping at 7 feet.
It informs her "The vita-striders hate the parasites they will sponsor us"

"The Vita-striders? Who are they, or maybe, what are they?" the Heartseeker feels an opportunity approaching...or a problem, better to be in the know regardless

The four brigands take a few days to get settled in. The first time they light a fire, they are surprised to see the runes on the stones surrounding this fire pit light up, and amazed to see that the flames produce no smoke. Other wonders await them. At night, will-o-wisps wander into the camp, providing dim light until the brigands go to bed. Strange, distant music is carried on the wind, lifting their spirit as they do chores around the camp. On occasion, the humans spot other curious fae, amalgams of man, plant and beast, observing them from the safety of the woods.

On the third day, a fox walks up to the edge of the camp, coming from the path that leads to Karzemal's grove. It waits there until the brigands approach, then starts to walk back up the path, stopping every few steps to look back and wait. Once it reaches the snow, its fur changes from its luxurious orange to the pure white of its winter coat.

Karzemal sits where they had first seen her. The fox runs up to her, bows, and disappears into the forest. Behind the fae, hanging from the branches of spruce trees, are seven wooden masks, each with a different expression and traits. Looking at them sends shivers running down the brigands' backs. It feels like the masks are looking back.

Karzemal lifts her head. "It is time to begin."

The four brigands take their seats across the fire. "There are many who yearn for change. You may know some yourselves, people who could help you build a movement capable of opposing the Crimson Crown. If you know not where to start, I may be of help."

She brings two arms out from under her cloak, her right is a dark-skinned muscular woman's arm, her left a pale chubby male's. She clasps them in front of her heart and closes her eyes.

"An old man sits outside his home, a piece of wood and a knife in his hands. Though bent, he is not broken. When the sun sets, he prays 'Please do not let my craft die with me'."

"A fae woman stalks the woods. Her claws are stained with blood. The bark of her skin was blackened by the flames. When the sun rises, she prays 'Please let me shed their blood today'."

"A middle-aged woman sits at a large table, surrounded by men, women and children. When the last plate is emptied, she prays 'Please let me feed them again tomorrow'."

Karezemal opens her eyes. "All of them are within easy reach of the Brinkwood. I can show you the path to reach them. The rest is up to you."

Bartholomew listens to the Fae as if her words are a revelation of highest importance. When she finishes, he sits in quiet for a few moments, processing the words he just heard.
Then all of a sudden he sits up straight, forgetting his shyness and states "We have to help the mother. The craftsman will be able to keep his craft for some days. But without food the family will be in trouble very soon. We must help them.
The Holy Book also teaches us, sacred is he who giveth food. A little less sacred, but also important is he who valueth good craftsmanship. "
When he realises his self-confident speech, he hunches over again slightly and retreats into his cowl. "... I think. "

"I believe the craftsman may be a better choice however. Have you not had the hunger call at you for a day? Had that not increased your hatred towards those leeches? It may in turn be better for that to be missed slightly, if only to increase our gain from it." Her words held an anger to them, not at any member of the group, but mostly at herself. The nights of hunger were not unknown to her, but she also knew what anger they sparked. The unfairness and greater good may be the better goal of this first mission, though having people go hungry sat ill with her.

Bartholomew startles when the Eversor barks his comments. When he realises the tie in the votes he suggests "May-maybe we can go and hear their plea? See how dire the situation is and let them know we are here and will help, with time."

"It's important to have a good deal of facts before we act. Lets investigate and see which is the most dire case." Jaul replies in agreement to Bartholomew. "That said the place the woman has seems to be, even in a failing state, a place of happiness. It would not be a far guess that the leeches would try to leech from them too, nor that my blade will mark their hearts when they do so." he adds with a dark smile

Karzemal nods, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry I cannot provide you with sufficient information. You are wise to seek the truth of your own senses." She turns her head to look towards the east. "You will find her on the rocky shores across from Shepforth Isle."

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The four brigands gathered their travelling supplies and set off through the overgrown paths of the Brinkwood. They found their way easily enough, the winding path fairly easy to follow for most of them. Bartholomew struggles a bit more to make it out, but he simply has to follow his comrades.

It takes them two days to emerge from the forest, not far from the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing upon the cliffs reaches them before they can see it, the salty air carrying it between the trees. The sky is gray, overcast and heavy with the promise of rain. Into the distance, they can see Shepforth Isle, known for the quality of the fur it produces.

They find an old, dirt road and follow it north. Soon, they can see thin wisps of smoke of chimneys rising in the distance. As they crest a hill, they find a small hamlet, consisting of a half a dozen log houses and a large barn. A wooden fence surrounds a large field where a couple dozen of people are hard at work, tilling its poor soil as they prepare for planting season.

A middle-aged woman seems to be directing their work, dispatching the younger workers to where they are needed. She is wearing a dirty, patched dress and a headscarf to hold back her long, graying hair. A large mastiff lies at her feet, looking at the bustling activity with mild interest.

Bartholomew struggles internally to leave the new found nest. He started feeling comfortable with his newfound friends, even the Eversor does not scare him anymore... that much. They did not pick on him, laugh at him, they didn't even ignore him. It felt good to be here. Enthusiastically he had started preparing a little garden, when Jaul gave Bartholomew's idea his blessing, by not laughing it away.
The garden had come along nicely and Bartholomew tended to it passionately. Now they had to leave again, it pained him. But the woman needs their help.

Bartholomew watches the busy group for some time from a safe distance. He smiles faintly under his scowl, remembering the days when Marcian and he plowed the fields of the monastery.
After a while he hesitantly walks up to the lady, gently touches her calloused hand to get her attention, then flinches, when he has it and, hidden in his cowl, says "Excuse me. W-we heard your plea. I too want that you can feed them. How can we help?"
Oblivious to the fact, that the lady has no idea who he is, little less that she made a plea, that he could have heard, he patiently waits for her answer.

The woman pulls her hand away and wheels around, clearly startled. "GAAAAH!" she exclaims. People tilling the fields look up from their work, and two large, muscular men start jogging towards the group, their tools held tightly in their grip.

The woman narrows her eyes as she looks the group over. "Well," she says in a hoarse voice, "you folks sure are light on your feet." As the large men draw near, she lifts a hand and they slow down, relaxing somewhat. They take up position nearby, eyeing the group of strangers nervously. The woman looks down at the large dog resting at her feet. "You know, you're supposed to warn me when someone's sneaking up on me, you lazy old mutt." The dog merely yawns in answer, then lowers its head to rest it on its paws.

The woman chuckles and shakes her head. She looks back up at the group and smiles, wrinkling her tanned skin. "Name's Clindre. I guess you could say I sort of run things around here. Not quite sure what you mean about a plea, but if you want to help, I'm sure we can find you something to do. There's always work to do on a farm, my husband used to say. You folks refugees?"

evca7 wrote:

The Group decided it would be for the best if their "Raw Compatriot" distanced themselves from the group in order to not startle the settlers. The Eversor decided to race the around the property in search of "THEM" or at least anything that might prove harmful to "THE CRUSH" and in it's search it found.....

... no immediate threat. The large field the workers are busy tilling is poorly defined and could, in his opinion, use a fence to keep out vermin and predators. If someone wanted to attack the small settlement, they would find it pathetically easy. Their main defense seems to be their isolation.

Some of the workers look like they could put up a fight. Farm work is hard work and it breeds hearty folk, but many among them are too old or too young to be any threat. He doesn't see any weapons either, but some of the farmers' tools could be used as such if they were desperate.

"DULL BLEEDERS." The Eversor then lies low and awaits Conflict or Departure.

"It is very nice to meet you, Clindre. My name is Bartholomew. I-i didn't mean help you on the farm. I... I wanted to ask what you worry about. What keeps you up. What makes you feel that one day yo-you cannot feed your people anymore? We want to help with that. "
Despite the unfitting location and the fact that the woman was taken by surprise and half the farm watching, Bartholomew speaks with a subtle passion, his eyes glowing.

Clindre raises her eyebrows in surprise. Her sharp, quick eyes jump from Bartholomew, to Jaul, to Retenia, assessing them. When they come back to the former friar, she seems to have made a decision. "You're an odd bunch, I can say that much."

She nods. "Alright, fact is, the soil here is poor. My husband and I used to work it and could barely keep ourselves fed. The people here, they wandered up the coast, looking for a place to live away from all the... uh... issues, in the south. Some of them were farmers, others not. We've managed to get through last year alright, but if we're ever going to get this place off the ground we need supplies. Tools, seed, fertilizer. Good boots. I don't know what sort of means you folks have, but if you can get us supplies like that, we'd be real thankful. Come harvest, we'd be happy to share anything we don't need. Y'all need to eat too, right?"

Her eyes seem to loose focus as she looks through the three brigands, towards the south. "There ain't a lot of stuff like that floating around and I can't see those southern landlords being too keen and parting with the stores they got. I suppose thieving would be the surest way to get them, but that'd be a crime." She focuses back on the group and grins.

"If that ain't to your liking, one of my people used to work for some alchemist. Young lad full of ideas about plants and soil. The way my friend tells it, the boy wasn't a big fan of the way his research was being used by his patron. If you could spirit him away and bring him here with his stuff, he might be of good use to people like us. I'm sure he'd be happier too."

After observing the situation and letting it unravel itself, Jaul finally speaks up, his voice strict. " I used to be in the services of the Vampire armies miss Clindre " he says but he will then move closer to her and add " Though i have left them there are two things that i can always do:" he raises a finger " ONE, i can find out where they store gear and rations and which of these places is least guarded or more bridgeable. " he the raises a second finger " and TWO, i can always go back to them and fit in. If an alchemist is lost in transport it would be an issue to them " he then moves back to his original stance. " Thus i ask you, are you fine with being the reason the vampire masters are fooled and cheated like that miss Clindre ? "

Clindre squints, scrutinizing Jaul, looking for the telltale signs of deception. She must be satisfied by what she sees, because she nods to herself. She looks out at the field, and the people working there, a mix of pride and sadness etched on her face.

"All the people you see here are people who suffered at the hands of the 'masters'. We don't worry much about their feelings. We're no soldiers, though. So don't lead them back here if you don't want the results of your efforts to be short lived." When she turns back, Jaul can see that her heart is a strong, caring thing. This is one who would have stood up to him and his men, when they...

His train of thought is interrupted when she speaks up again. "And it's Mrs. Clindre to you, young man."

Jaul straightens his back on pure habit and puts his hands behind his back " Understood Mrs. Clindre " he says with the hint of a smile on hiss face, the strength of this woman leaving an impression on him.

The sound of heavy boots stomping on the stones of the street in lock step let's the small group of friars freeze. Sitting motionless at their supper table they anxiously wait and wish for the impossible - that the boots stomp past the monastery.
Wham, wham wham - a strong fist pounds on the door.
"Open up, in the name of the Duchess!"
A young friar shuffles into the back room, to hide what can be hidden, while the abbot reluctantly rises, walks over to the door and opens. A group of men in dark leather uniform march in, as if they own the place. "Stand over there", the frontman barks, "We came to pick up your generous donation for the Duchess."
"Have a mercy, good lord, we are just a humble monastery. We have barely enough to feed ourselves and help a few that cannot help themselves."
"Count yourself lucky, you can help her Greatness, the Duchess now. Go, get everything you find." The last part he barks to his men, who immediately start swarming out into kitchen.

A knot forms in Bartholomew's stomach when Mrs. Clindre tells them about their dire situation and lack of everything. He remembers all to good the raids, disguised as 'donations', that stripped the monastery of almost everything, but the least useful, or broken things. He nods to her in understanding, determined to help her find whatever they can find.

The brigands get a few more details from Clindre regarding the alchemist, in case they choose to rescue him, then take their leave, returning to the Brinkwood.

+++

A few days later, they emerge on the other side, somewhere between Fletchgrove and Hogswick. They make their way to the road. Even here, far from the county's towns, the roads are paved with interlocking bricks and slightly elevated to ensure rain flows into the ditches on its side. It stands out like a sore thumb, an artificial gash in the countryside's natural beauty. The scent of toil, sweat, freshly hewn stone permeates the air as the brigands travel along its length, clutching to it despite the spring breeze.

Luckily, they don't have to go far. Soon they step off the road and onto a dirt path. They walk for some time before reaching an old stone cabin with a small garden. An old man with rough hands and sad eyes sits on the porch, a loose cloak fraying at the edges wrapped around him. In his hands, he's got a piece of wood and a chisel-knife. He looks up at the brigands as they approach.

"Have you finally come to kill me?" he asks in a tired voice.

Jaul steps forward while pulling his sword towards the back of his belt. "No!" he exclaims while gesturing with his palms open " But maybe your craft would help us save some lifes and even end some that refuse to do so " he exclaims to the elder. " You can call me Jaul and i used to be a soldier, i know that they are looking for people like you and i can't let it come to pass " Jaul adds with a determined attitude.

As he looks into the old man's eyes, Jaul can see that this man's heart was broken long ago. The craftsman looks back down at the piece of wood in his hands. He starts working it again, but his movements are rougher, less precise and less careful. "My craft? My craft is carpentry, now. I don't know how many lives you can save or end with a chair or a cabinet, boy, but I reckon it ain't many," he says scornfully.

"You want my advice? Give up your foolish grandstanding. Find an out of the way place to settle down with that pretty young lady you're travelling with. Find whatever sliver of happiness you can before this miserable world does you in."

evca7 wrote:

"Don't...hide...We know...ALL...WE....NEED TO KILL...THE VAMPS"

The old man looks up, startled, and stares at the creature, clearly ill at ease. "It talks? Now, I've seen everything..." he mutters.

He shakes his head. "If you know all you need, then you go ahead and do it. Stop bothering me with your nonsense."

"Rude" The Creature then leaves the shack.

" This is not about greatness, this is about revenge and for my own salvation. The leeches killed all those that gave the people the means to truly hurt them. I recon you called some your friends if not family and i also recon that you took pride in your creations. So tell me old man is the only thing with a spine in the house this furniture " The Heartseeker speaks quietly but with vitriol in his tongue, not at the old man but at the leeches, as he speaks to the old woodworker

A mix of pain and fury washes over the old man's face and he jumps to his feet. "Listen here, you little shit! I've got decades on you, you can't begin to understand the horrors I've seen, the losses I-" He stops mid-sentence, shocked by his own reaction.

He scoffs, then chuckles sadly and sits back in his chair with a groan. "Oh, that wasn't good for my back," he mutters.

"Even if I wanted to help you, and I'm still not sure I do, I don't have the things I need to do so. I'd a steady supply of ash or yew, students to train... Most people nowadays have never seen a bow, much less held one. Besides, this place might be out of the way, but it wouldn't be safe. And I..." He looks into the distance. "I couldn't take their loss again."

" We can get you your tools and we can surely get you ashwood, as for students and a place... I have a couple things in mind. For now keep low but know that times are changing and you will have a opportunity soon, one I very much wish to sponsor. For now tell me where your tools are and me and my people will take care of the rest." Jaul replies with a regretful tone.

The old man gives Heartseeker an appraising look. "Jaul, was it, boy? I'm Aza," he says with grudging respect.

"I have all the tools I need here. I'd need supplies. The lords have banned all hardwood trade and you can't make anything with damned spruce. And people who want to learn. I'm too old to teach people who don't want to learn."

He waves the brigands away. "Now go, show me you're not just brave words and big dreams."

As they walk away, the old man shakes his head again. "I should know better than to try to talk some sense into eager young fools," he mutters to himself.

The brigands retreated to the safety of the Brinkwood to plan their next move.

Under the safety of the Brinkwood, around the enchanted warmth of the flame Jaul hands out diner plates. He hesitates for a moment before speaking up " I think we should start by stealing some farming supplies, the villagers need them. " he lets a moment pass by and then adds " and we need to get people in on our cause. " Though the day was not too demanding of him Jaul feels tired. The kind of siphoning feeling that tires the soul. He proceeds to then fill a bowl for himself and sits down to eat.

Bartholomew is exhausted. So much walking he isn't used to. He is however happy to be home in their camp at their fire. The stew is plain, but after the efforts of the day it feels like the best thing he ever ate.
What to do next?
His friend suggested stealing farm supplies. Steal. Though shalt not steal. Then again, even though it does not explicitly state so, Bartholomew is fairly sure 'Though shalt not suck thy brothers dry like a raisin' also applies. They just needed to make sure they take (avoid the word steal, maybe noone upstairs will notice then) the supplies from the right people. So the wrong people. Well those bad people. Yes, Jaul is right. This is what they should do. His friend is right. "Yes."