Two horsemen ride up to a tavern...

Thezra immediately starts towards the two orc prisoners as they approach, but stops at Na'arik's words.  "The deceiver is dead,"  she shouts up to him, though the words ring more with disappointment than pride.  "But not without making things more complicated." 

Akiran watches the group's dealings with the wolf with an idle sense of curiosity, more focused on cleaning the blood, grime and whatever the hell it was Duar'ken became off his blade and armor.  Arriving back at the Tavern he hears Thezra's melancholy reply and in a boomingly cheerful voice says "Thezra today we had a great victory, Duar'ken is dead, the orcs are routed and Fireblade has been saved. M y friends i f there are complications, they are tomorrow's problems. Tonight allow yourself to enjoy our hard earned victory!" His snout taking on approximation of a human smile he looks to Na'arik "My friend we are going to need an abundance of drink to properly celebrate this night, myself I am most eager to sample your tavern's namesake. How better to cement the glory of this night than with the fiery whiskey that won us the battle"

"Don't misunderstand, Akiran of Dragons. T he sight of my blade piercing his chest and jutting out of his spine is an image that will bring me joy for weeks to come,"  she takes a few more steps towards the tavern,  "but without a body I now need another means of convincing my people of what we know was true. The man didn't just  lie , he sold his soul to a damn demon." She reaches the bottom-most step and looks up to Na'arik,  "Am I safe to assume I can enter undisturbed, or would some inside still like to cut down those who have twice now protected them?"

Na'arik's eyes pierce Thezra's, sizing up the orc. "You really can't see why we were cautious? You can't see why some inside harbor grudges? You go on about how your people are being misled. But this tavern, this village, all they have seen is death. From your  people. Regardless of how misled they have been, that will always be true. No matter their motivations or the driving force, orcs cut down some of their friends and family. And this is their home.  If you really think the orcs back in Ore'Agah would allow an armed outsider into the middle of their camp, you're sorely mistaken. And even now, after we allowed you to carry your sword, you still spit on our doorstep?" He turns to head back into the tavern. "If you can't come to terms with that, then by all means, wait outside. If you feel like talking about the battle that was and the work that is to come, feel free to come inside." With that, the barkeep turns and walks through the door.

She sighs at the melodrama. She had hardly spit on anyone's doorstep. To the contrary, she'd walked up and voluntarily fought to defend this human's property and the people of this community. Besides that his argument was just plain silly. The tribe did not collectively quake in the presence of a single armed outsider. Ore'agah may turn away outsiders to protect its hidden nature, but not out of fear it couldn't defend itself. It is almost sad, how little pride they have.   "Lead on," she shrugs to herself, stepping inside.

Akiran's smile stiffens as Thezra throws out a barbed hook, and it fades completely when Na'arik bites. He had already risked his life this night, "and tragically for free" a part of his mind interjects. He would not risk his good mood on those who would rather fight than celebrate.  Noticing Beshk preparing the dead he adds sincerely "Captain I am sorry for you loss, but know that your men fought honorably and did their duty." Akiran pats Jenkins on the back and says "Especially this one, Jenkins stared down wolves, orcs and monsters without blinking or missing a shot. I fear we may not all be standing here without his talents. The man went beyond his duty and held his own against the unnatural abomination  Duar'ken became. If it were up to me, I would say his valor has earned him recognition by the heartlands and it's people."  Climbing the stairs of the tavern he adds to both "Once your duty is done come share a drink, I would be honored to hear the tale of your battle and tell more of ours."

Captain Beshk nods in thanks to Akiran, and takes Jenkins aside for a report. The party moves into the tavern. The wolf draws a few stares, but not as many as the orc. This time, Thezra notes, they seemed less defensive, and more curious. The blatant question in all their eyes -- Why would she help us?   Gathering once again in the kitchens, Na'arik pulls a mug of Fireblade for each of those present. "So, nobody took the priest's head?" Na'arik says, looking somewhat chagrined. "I thought Kaed, or you-" he gestures at Thezra "-would. He is dead, yes?"

Kaed walks through the tavern holding the wolf carefully and fully aware of the looks he is receiving from all inside. He doesn't react to them, keeping himself calm so the beast would not feel stressed themselves. Moving through to the kitchens Kaed finds a spot to set it down, which he does gently strokung the back of its neck as he says, " Wait here, be patient, and there will be food for you soon, you must eat what you are given not take what you will. I suspect" He adds with a chuckle, " there may be a few more rules than you are used to, but we shall see." Turning to rejoin the others he gratefully accepts his drink and moves around the room to rest against an empty wall where he can still see the wolf. " She tried," He nods at Thezra, "but the demon flesh seemed to dissolve once Akiran finished the thing off ." He shrugs, "It is dead, that is what matters most."

As Kaed carries the wolf to rest in the kitchens, Katrin makes sure that Ascian sits down before he collapses. The exhaustion is evident, and Katrin can't help but worry. She smiles softly, then moves across the room, wrapping her arm around Rose's waist, listening to the conversation unfold.

Marianne raises an eyebrow. "Demon flesh?"

Ascian, so used to being the first somewhere, follows the others slowly through the tavern, every step a leaden chore. There's much yet to be said and logically he knows that, but it doesn't stop the desire to lay down for a year from pulsing through him – as if sleep could find him even if he did. His bow had been an extension of his arm for as long as he could remember, but now it's all he can do to continue holding it, feeling as if it weighs as much as the grain sacks they'd been sent to recover what feels like a hundred years ago. It clatters uselessly to the floor as Kaed puts the wolf down to one side of the tavern's kitchen and under Katrin's supervision Ascian slides unceremoniously down the wall beside it, his eyes open and listless as the others relay what happened. Aimlessly, his mind wanders over the night – of the orcs that had surrounded them and the hulking monster that had been Duar'ken and the reflection of fire in the dying wolf's eyes. Of its twin that had come before that, at his hand and Kaed's, and he'd seen himself in the woods begin to roar out of control. "There's fire," he says abruptly from the floor, wondering vaguely if he sounds as slow and slurred to them as he does to himself.  "In the woods."

"We've had plenty of rain," Na'arik says. "I don't think it will get too out of hand. You don't need to worry about it."

“Aye,”  Thezra calls out towards Marianne, “the dukhal  wasn’t simply lying about what the spirits said, he was taking orders from the abyss itself.”  She goes to spit on the ground in disgust, but thinks better of it and catches herself. “Second my sword pierced his heart he uttered something in a tongue I’ve never heard used aloud - only in my own studies - help me. ” She clears her throat before speaking the final two words, her voice taking on a more guttural tone as she speaks in abyssal. ”So yes,”  she shoots a look at both Akiran and Na’arik, “if I seem a bit less than excited, there’s your reason.”

"Abyssal..." Marianne frowns. "Do you think your chief could be convinced of Duar'ken's fiendish dealings? Would he take your word?"

Thezra’s brow furrows, her arms folding across her chest.  “By all accounts Kerak’s a wise man himself. A strong leader. A good chief... but much as I’d like to say ‘yes’, well...”  she shakes her head slowly. “I’ve never really met the man. I’m just a shaman’s niece, and not a particularly well known one ‘fore all this. And much as it’s all a crock, many there’ve come to calling me traitor .” She grits her teeth on the final word, then lets out a heavy sigh, “So an assumed traitor strolling into Ore’agah, possibly with outsiders from the very settlements we’ve been targeting, claiming not only to have killed the chief’s own advisor but to have seen him transform into a fiendish abomination ? A tough sell to be sure.” 

"Well, maybe it doesn't matter," Marianne says. "Now that Duar'ken is out of the picture, if we offer Kerak the ability to end the famine for his own people, maybe he would end these attacks once and for all. Does he crave violence like Duar'ken seemed to?"

"No, that's not the sort of leader he is. Before Duar'ken's lies, he had no interest in such raids." She raises a curious eyebrow, though, as her eyes flit up once more to Marianne. "But how is it, exactly, that you would go about ending it? As I explained to Katrin earlier, we have tried our own magics and methods to little avail."

Marianne gestures to the party. "These here found some ancient Tollanian magic that isn't restricted by whatever magic governs this famine."

She shrugs, "Can't say I'm all that familiar with such magic, but like a boar offering to put itself on the spit, it sounds too good to be true." Pacing slowly back and forth, she strokes the bottom of her chin, "What makes you so sure it works? Have you tried it yourselves?"

Marianne looks around at the rest of the party. "We haven't tested it, but the theory behind it is sound. As for it being too good to be true...sacrifices were already made to bring this magic here."

Thezra clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and runs a hand along the cool metal of the her gauntleted arm. Just because sacrifices were made doesn't have any bearing on its effectiveness.  She considers for a moment saying as much out loud, but a cursory glance around the room at a mix of grim expressions tells her all she needs to know on the subject. "Fair enough, though I'll wait to see it for myself. Am I-" W e? "-to take that and walk back  to Ore'agah then?"

Akiran steadily drains his mug during the back and forth of Marianne & Thezra's conversation, the realization dawning on him that he was not entirely sure what he had signed himself up for.  Fidgeting with his mug he adds as Thezra finishes "Orcs 've kept their cities hidden forever for ah reason. Any of us tries to stroll in and our heads 'll be mounted on a pike before lunch." Turing his grey eyes on Thezra " 'Specially you. Couple of the Orcs got away. Once they make it back to Oreo gah city like it or not your name means traitor." Looking  from Marianne to Thrand " Any of ya got a way to get a message to the chief?   Better to find a way to meet him on neutral ground. If you gotta way to cure the famine, Kerak 'll have to play ball and you lot can name your price."

Captain Beshk, who enters the kitchens at that moment, speaks up. "I've got a couple prisoners eager for the chance to return to their lives that would likely convey a message if I asked."

Akiran makes space for the other dragonborn, and enthusiastically says "That is a grand idea!" Looking around at the eclectic crew he adds  "If you all truly mean to make peace, it may help to demonstrate to the prisoners the power of your uncovered magics. Show them the cure, ply them with ample food and drink. And send them back to Kerak singing of your power and generosity . Hopefully without the monster's bad counsel, the chief will come to the table ready to make a deal."

Marianne thinks for a long moment, then speaks. "We can keep them comfortable here, show them that we have a solution." She looks at Thezra. "I know you're skeptical of our solution. If  I walk you through the research and explain why I think it will work, will you be able to convince your kin? If so, then we send them back to Ore'Agah to arrange a meeting."

Thezra straightens up, looming a bit taller as she crosses her arms to address the dragonborn, "You don't need to explain my own people to me, dragonborn. I was not suggesting you join me. I would return alone."  Her stance softens a bit and she shrugs, "Besides, as I said before, many there already  took to calling me as much. If anything, I see the escape of those two as a good thing. If they survive their trip home, they would have to explain exactly what I want them to - that Duar'ken was mad and had turned himself into some sort of fiendish abomination. It could actually help more than hurt." "Anyway,"  she turns to Marianne,  "We can certainly try. Like I said, I'll wait to see for myself."

Katrin clears her throat, looking at Thezra. "And what if you're not satisfied?" She looks around. "It's important to consider all outcomes." She settles her gaze back on Thezra.  "Hypothetically. If the research didn't satisfy you, what would you do?" 

Thezra looks down to the dwarven woman and laughs a bit, “It’s not a matter of satisfying  me. Either this magic works or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, why would I try selling my people on it?”  She shakes her head and turns back to Marianne, “So what do you need to do to test it? From what you said, it sounds like we’re all looking to see that it works.”

"I need to finish making a copy of the scroll," she says.  "We can invite all interested parties to the test, and then they can bring their own scribes to make copies of the scroll as well. But I need 6 more days to finish the copy. Thezra, you can stay in a room here if you should choose to. But first, we should speak to the prisoners. Go and send them back to Ore'Agah. Have them come back in seven days to see the end of the famine. Tell them to tell your chief that the solution will be free to all."

With a swift arcane phrase, Marianne's eyes flash a deep purple and Akiran feels a light humming near his ears. "You'll be able to speak and understand," she says to him. Captain Beshk leads Thezra, Akiran, and Thrandimir out of the tavern and down to the camp. A light rain begins to fall, and thunder in the distance suggests more is coming. Tied to two large wooden poles in the center of the camp are the orc prisoners. Both sit cross-legged at the base of the poles, speaking softly with each other. They look up at the group's approach with apprehension and contempt.

Thezra approaches the two and kneels down to meet them at their own level, stopping just a couple feet away from them.  In a soft tone she speaks in her native tongue,  " Ragh ala,  brethren. We don't come to kill you. To the contrary, you will see Ore'agah once more. There are things to discuss before that though."  She holds a hand up as several drops of rain splash and explode against her skin.  "You see me as a traitor. That I turned on the tribe, sabotaged our own cause. I see you - or at least the man you formerly followed, as the same. Has anyone told you yet what became of that bastard? Or rather,"  she turns her attention firmly back on the two, her eyes hardening as a low rumble of thunder rolls through the sky behind them,  "what he made of himself?"

The orc on Thezra's left is a mean looking man with a long scar running from below the left of his chin up to his right temple. She recognizes him from Ore'Agah. They're not overly friendly, but she knows his name to be Ergon. He speaks first. "Do not dance around your point, Thezra. Make it."

She shrugs and flatly responds, "Just curious to see how much you knew versus how much you were simply blindly following along with." She considers the scar that runs across Ergon's face. It seemed to her no accident that twice now had the man survived where he likely should have died. "As my blade pierced his heart and the life drained from his eyes, Duar'ken did not embrace death with honor. He did not go out a warrior. No, he went out a coward, and a particularly desperate one at that. He invoked the "spirits" he claimed to speak for - and they answered." She picks a small, spindly twig jutting from the damp earth around them and begins to etch a crude, jagged shape into the mud. Large, angular lines curve and twist into a fiendish visage: one not unfamiliar to the dragonborn and wizard behind them. "This abomination  is what you and the others aligned yourselves with. Not the will of the spirits, nor the wisdom of the chief's advisor, but the wretchedness of the abyss."

Ergon gestures with his bound hands. "The spirits were obviously not with us. But what proof do you have?"

"Consider more what proof I don't have , Ergon." She gestures to the blade on her back with her thumb, "Do you know what happens to a demon when it dies? It disintegrates. Melts down to nothing but ichor and bile and then that fades away as well. Their bodies aren't meant to exist on this plane."  She spreads her hands out before the two now, empty and upturned,  "Now, do you truly think for a second that if that traitor had died like a man, I wouldn't be proudly dropping his head before you to show it?"

A long silence ensues. Ergon furrows his brow, processing this new information. "...a demon?" he finally says. "His spirits were demons?" He swears colorfully, a long and creative tirade of orcish expletives. At the end, he says, "You're letting us go? What's the catch?"  

Thezra shakes her head, reclining back in the dirt a bit as the rain continues to patter off the metal of her gauntlet, "No catch. An offer." She nods back towards the wizard and dragonborn behind her, "The people here have discovered some manner of old magic - older than that which plagues the land. They don't want these raids to continue, and so have offered to use copies they're making at this very moment to cure both their lands and ours." She shrugs, "Truth be told I don't know it will work, but I believe they  believe it will. So no, there is no catch. Just an offer - not for you, but for Chief Kerak - to meet in a week's time for a test of this magic, and allow our own shaman's to copy it for themselves." Leaning back in, she grins up at Ergon, "All you have to do is deliver the message."

Ergon considers Thezra for a few long moments, then slowly nods. "We will deliver your message," he says simply. The look on his face tells Thezra all she needs to know. If this is a trick, you'll be the first to die. Beshk's men set the two orcs free and give them their axes back, as well as a few days worth of food for the journey back to Ore'Agah. With one last look, the two orcs head north into the forest.  Beshk's snout contorts in a frown. "I hope this Marianne knows what she's doing."

After a long night, the party finds their rest. Marianne frowns at the wolf in her tavern, but Na'arik gives Ascian small helpings of meat to feed to his new companion. The wolf snarls at each new person who comes near, but follows Ascian's lead and stays quietly at his side. The next morning, with no pressing adventure in front of them, the party beings to disperse around the village. Akiran and Katrin find themselves at Miller's forge, which the man is more than willing to allow. Akiran scavenges the sundered remnants of Duar'ken's armor and the chainmail from the orc bladesman to begin forging some new armor. Ascian prepares to enter Marianne's library. The wolf is endlessly confused and entertained by swimming around Na'arik and Marianne's room as it fills with water. As they arrive in the library, the wolf begins to shake off his fur, only to discover that he's entirely dry. He looks up at Ascian, evidently bewildered. In the library chamber, Marianne is hard at work copying the scroll, as well as Thrandimir in place, reading from one of tomes. The wizard nods to Ascian and the wolf, but returns his attention to the book. Kaed, now attunded to Na'arik's gift, heads out into the forest, where he is accustomed to riding, and summons his steed. The horse appears, ethereal at first. But it slowly solidifies into a large black horse with a white star shape on its chest. The saddle it bears appears to be made of ornately stained and carved leather. As Kaed gazes as the steed, a voice enters his head. "You are not Na'arik. Who are you?"

Akiran's last memory of the night was draining a mug of Fireblade, and regaling some of the Heartland Soldier's with the tales of the group's exploits that night. One of the soldiers suggested they play a few rounds of dice and from there nothing but blackness. Though his pouch was a quite a few coins lighter than before he left. His head pounded as he stretches out, his eyes catching the morning light gleaming off his armor. The Dragonborn chuckles noting that even in a blacked out state he took the time to clean and neatly stack his armor. Though as he looks at the shining mail, his prized possession the only thing he has contributed to this world that wasn't bull shit or death. He finds imperfections, points that could be reinforced, gouges from blows that would have ended his life if not for his second skin.  Leaving the armor in the corner he secures his sword belt and grabs his smithing tools. Borrowing paper and pen from Na'arik he sits at the bar eating a greasy plate of eggs and bacon as he sketches. The Dragonborn spends the morning making intricate sketches, designing a new kit that could both better protect him and incite aww and envy in those he passes. Finally finding his perfect design, he leaves the Tavern and gathers the armor from the fallen orcs and heads to the towns forge.  Seeing Katrin already there, he pauses and almost turns away but decides to press on. Nodding at the Dwarf as he sets up his tools and prepares the forge. He adds in a good natured tone  "It appears great minds think a like! I've often found that a good battle is the perfect tinder for sparking new designs. What will you forge today?" 

Katrin, who had just picked up her sword to begin sharpening the blade, pauses. "Nothing quite so grand as what it seems you're creating. Miller needs some new tools forged, and I offered to help. Give him the day off. And," she indicates the sword in her hands, "This needs a little work after the past week."

Akiran briefly looks the blade over and says "It has certainly seen some use. And I'm sure Miller appreciates the gift of time." He hangs up his design and begins heating the forge. As warmth fills the room, he lets go of a deep breath that he hadn't know he'd been holding. A forge, any forge really was as close to home as Akiran had anymore. Breathing in the smoky air he says almost to himself  "I've missed this. It has been far to long since I've had the time to work a forge." Stripping the orcish armor of any non metal pieces he throws the gear in once the forge is hot enough. 

Ascian runs his hand absently over the curiously dry fur of the wolf's head as the creature looks up at him, still re-acclimating to the newly-restored lightness in his bones. How many hours now had he spent lying on a bed willing sleep to come that never would, fingers knotting into this same fur like it was the only thing left him? They'd watched the dark of night bleed into the cool dawn together, he and his newfound silver shadow, slowly feeling their bodies bleed back into a semblance of what they once were. He just didn't like that his, like in so many things, had bled faster; not when it was milky searching eyes that lifted toward him or a stomach he could tell caused pain when the poor creature moved. Pain he'd caused, willingly, with an accuracy he now resented. Two days now he'd watched pass by him, listless and barely moving with the memory of that featureless face to pour over. He'd reach for a book if he had any idea where to begin. Glancing at Thrandimir, he leads the wolf toward Marianne's increasingly-familiar desk, stopping just shy of its threshold.  "I have more questions."

Marianne sets down her quill and looks up at Ascian, then down at the wolf, then back up to Ascian. "About what?"

Ascian looks down at the patient wolf and then back up at the sorceress, beginning as usual without preamble.  "I saw him there. In the other place. He's the only living thing I ever have. Except he was dying. And now he's not." He passes a hand haphazardly over thick silver fur.  "Is he going to become like me now. Whatever that is."

"You saw him there? The wolf?" Her lined face furrows even deeper as she looks back and forth between the man and the wolf. Her eyes flare with the telltale violet light that means she's weaving spells, and then she kneels down next to the wolf. Her hand passes through the wolf's fur, and she focuses on the grey eyes. After a moment, she says, "Yes. I suppose he is like you now."

"Yes. I shot him in the heart." He looks almost troubled to be saying it aloud, and adds quickly, "There, I moved him, and when we came back the arrow was gone." He watches her kneel beside his companion with wary, earnest eyes, accepting her judgment quietly. The wolf still breathed so far as he could tell; still slept. If his change, like Ascian's, had been gradual, he supposed it would come in time. Distantly, he wondered if the wolf would miss dreaming; if he'd realize what he'd lost. If he even dreamt at all. He looks down at the cloudy pale eyes again and then up into Marianne's striking violet ones. "Can it heal? Shadowfell. If we stayed there longer, would he get better faster."

"Not that I know of," she says. "It's a realm of death, not of life." She glances up at Ascian, noting the even more tired figure. "You seem to have used spatial  displacement to remove the arrow from his heart. The rest must have come from you. I'm surprised at you, Ascian. That was a clever trick." She inspects the wolf's eyes and notes the cloudiness. "No, I'm afraid his wounds will have to heal the old fashioned way. But he will get better with time." She pauses. "He is a he , right? Do you have a name for him?"

"You are right, I am not Na'arik. My name is Kaed, and I was given the necklace by Na'arik to fight the fight that is needed at this time. My people fight from the saddle often and I have ridden many a horse, but you... well you are something else. A true wonder." His long fingered hand, tanned and strong reaches out and gently strokes the side of the horse's face, feeling the strength palpably radiating from the beautiful animal. "There is such energy in you, may we run now?" The tribesman waits for permission before mounting the horse.

Tegan J. said: Akiran briefly looks the blade over and says "It has certainly seen some use. And I'm sure Miller appreciates the gift of time." He hangs up his design and begins heating the forge. As warmth fills the room, he lets go of a deep breath that he hadn't know he'd been holding. A forge, any forge really was as close to home as Akiran had anymore. Breathing in the smoky air he says almost to himself  "I've missed this. It has been far to long since I've had the time to work a forge." Stripping the orcish armor of any non metal pieces he throws the gear in once the forge is hot enough.  Katrin smiles to herself as Akiran prepares the forge. She's reminded of the chill nights and cool mornings spent by her father's side, the heat of the Forge the only warmth they needed. Her little sister playing in the yard to the rhythm of hammer and anvil, and she wonders..... "So, Akiran. Where do you come from?"