Rise of the Runelords

1 Rova 4: Wealday

It was fairly late in the morning before (most of) the party got up, with the smell of cinnamon-spiced porridge in the air at the Rusty Dragon. Hrolfr, at least, was suffering another of his headsplitting hangovers, but when he woke he found an anonymous love-letter resting on his pillow.
Bergi had arrived at the Rusty Dragon from her parents' abode shortly before breakfast was served. She had told her parents about her plans to go with the heroes in the late hours of the night before, and they took the news of her deviation from their way of life well, as they had suspected that she would do as much since the Swallowtail Festival.
At breakfast, no sooner had they downed their hot porridge than Lord Foxglove came down the stairs, looking pleased to have caught them. He seemed to vibrate with energy as he kissed Amismara's hand and then sat down with them, and he spoke so quickly it took a moment to understand what he had said. "Early lunch, eh? Terrible business with those goblins. Nasty things, kill you as soon as look at you. I suppose you'll be going to the funerals? Yes, of course you will, of course. However, I'll be returning to my townhouse in Magnimar in a few days, and before then I'd like to invite you on a boar hunt as thanks for all you've done. Your new friends are welcome along as well, of course. What do you say, my friends?" He leaned forward on the table, eyes flicking between them with almost frightening intensity.
Bergi had taken a seat close to Amismara, as the woman had proven herself warm and inviting, and continued to eat as Aldern made his appearance. She had no business butting in on such an affair, but love always added a nice touch to the general feel of a room. The noble's invitation caught her attention, though.
"If it isn't too much trouble, I'd love to go!" Bergi immediately chimed.
Breakfast had removed some of the haze from Amismara's mind, but she was still confused when she noticed Bergi looking back and forth between her and Foxglove, a large smile on her small face.
"What does she think is going on here, I wonder?" Amismara thought to herself. "Certainly not that this twitchy man is interested in me." She leaned back as the intense noble leaned forward. "Or vice versa."
Her eyelids still a bit too heavy, she shrugged off the thought and tried to deal with the issue of the boar hunt. Amismara didn't really care for hunting, but knew it was an important social gesture from the nobility. And Bergi seemed excited.
She decided to demur to Hrolfr, Andok and Nacklewocket on the issue while trying to judge why this might be so important to Foxglove. "What a generous offer," she said, smiling at Foxglove. " I feel my friends are better judges of whether or not we have time to accept."
Despite the vast amounts of intoxicants he imbibed the night before, Hrolfr is only looking slightly under the weather. This does not stop him from consuming his usual three bowls of oatmeal (albeit more salted than usual). He stops for a few moments to consider Lord Foxgloves proposition, and can't help shaking a nagging feeling that something is off. He can't think of any logical reason why, and decides to let this play out. "I have never hunted boar before, sounds like fun." He waits for the others to give their 2 copper's worth. For a split second, he makes eye contact with Amismara to see if she, too, has reservations about his proposal
Nacklewocket grinned, pausing amidst the ravaging of his breakfast to chime in, "Hunting boar sounds like a unique experience one one would only expect to have the opportunity to partake in but rarely. I myself would like to come along, even if the activity wouldn't be suitable for me to directly get involved in."
He brusquely shoveled more food into his mouth, continuing to consume more than would be expected of a humanoid his size without showing signs of stopping. Living out in the wild for some time had definitely left him with a breadth of storage space for a hot meal.
Nacklewocket's eyes darted back and forth between Amismara and Hrolfr for a moment as he continued his breakfast, before settling back onto Foxglove. The man had interesting eyes indeed, and they seemed to pierce in a manner that Nacklewocket couldn't recall seeing before. Focusing more intently on the man, then, Nacklewocket wondered why he spoke so quickly, as if he was rushing to blurt out words before one could somehow identify his intent.
Lord Foxglove clapped his hands together in delighted satisfaction, leaning back again. "Marvelous! Shall we say noon? Meet me at the Goblin Squash Stables next door and I'll see about getting you all mounted. I believe you've met Master Hosk? Something of an adventurer himself, once upon a time." The handsome man bounced to his feet, beaming at them. He nodded his head (as close to a bow as they'd get from a noble) and said, "Ladies, gentlemen. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some arrangements to make. I'll expect you there, then. Until we meet again!" With that he strode out of the Rusty Dragon, his servants trailing him.
From behind the bar, Ameiko (her ink-black hair up in a new, fanciful hairdo) gave Bergi a thumbs up and an encouraging grin. The barmaids, who had respectfully kept their distance while Lord Foxglove was speaking with the party, returned in force, not least to fawn over poor, hung-over Hrolfr. Conversation swirled around their table; people were beginning to get over the shock of the goblin raid, and were remembering goblins accidentally lighting themselves on fire, getting stepped on by horses and drowning in half-full rain barrels. It was another fine morning at the Rusty Dragon.
Bergi returned the gesture of the thumbs-up to Ameiko, whom she stopped to admire momentarily before turning her attention back to those seated near her. "I've never been on a hunt of any kind." she admitted. "Unless you count catching butterflies. I know it's a poor parallel, but there it is."
"Well, let us hope this boar hunt is equally safe", said Amismara, stretching. "If we're meeting at noon, I'm just going to rest until then. But when we get back, or tomorrow, we should talk to Father Zanthus about the graveyard."
The halfling pursed her lips together. It be difficult to have to bury one's friends. At least, that's what she assumed the visit would be about. Father Zantus was a kind soul, at least.
"Should I wake you when the proper time comes, then?" Bergi asked Amismara in between spoonfuls of porridge.
"I can make the same offer to you,-um... Nacklewocket, correct?"

2

At the White Deer, there was a tasty broth and fresh bread for breakfast, and the staff of the inn hopped about with alacrity to keep from being reprimanded by the gruff Viskalai. For his part, the innkeeper nodded a greeting to Andok and Gronk, leaving them alone to talk. In truth, the White Deer was nowhere near as crowded as the Rusty Dragon, but even so, there was a bit of gawking as the Hero of Sandpoint took his breakfast.
Andok tucks into his breakfast with relish, eating as much of the fresh bread as the servers will bring him. After his appetite has calmed a little, he seems to finally notice Gronk, and gives his fellow Shoanti a respectful nod. "Well met, young Gronk," Andok says in Shoanti, mouth still full of food. "What brings you away from the tribe?"
Gronk gave a laugh, "I grew up and needed to see the world. I went to Korvosa but I hate that place as much as they hated me. I found myself in Magnimar and wanted to get out of the city. I just happened to be passing through town when I heard you were a big hero. So I figured I would stay here until I saw you again."
Gronk looked at Andok seriously, "Are you heroes up to anything else? I am broke and itching for some action if you need any help. I may still be called Slays-the-Earth, but I can wield my weapon as well as anyone in the tribe now!"
Andok smiled at Gronk's brief tale of travel. "Few are our kind who need to see the world beyond the hinterlands," he says. "Korvosa and Magnimar may not be for Shoanti like us, but remember the world isn't all Varisian. Many are the places who won't care about your tribe or tatoos." He gives a gesture towards his own tatoo, resplendent upon his face.
When Gronk changes the subject, Andok too turns serious. "You've heard of the goblin raids if you've heard of my 'heroics,' I suspect?," the elder Shoanti asks. "My new companions and I have reason to believe that this was no goblin lark. Other powers are moving the goblins, and we aim to find out who. Perhaps you once slew the earth, but you'll find I have no interest in those old names - mine were plenty, and rarely flattering. You and I, we understand the strength in different battle-strengths. I will be honored to suggest your presence to my companions, Gronk." Andok respectfully inclines his head to his companion.

3

After a bit of rest and recovery, the party was joined by Andok and his clansmate Gronk, who Andok introduced to the others. They emerged onto the busy street to smiles and a number of hails as they went next door to the Goblin Squash Stables.
There Hosk was conversing with Lord Foxglove, who turned with a broad smile on his face when they approached. "Ah, here they are now! And you have a new friend, I see - Master Hosk, another gelding for this fine Shoanti fellow." Hosk waved a friendly greeting at them and went back into the stable. Lord Foxglove gestured, and immediately three servants emerged from the barn holding the reins of several fine riding horses and ponies, saddled and ready.
"I took the liberty of procuring these mounts for you - you're welcome to keep them, of course." He ran his hand down a smoky gray mare's leg and clapped it on the neck, leading it over close to Amismara. "You won't find a more beautiful animal within two days' ride. Master Hosk knows his trade," he said with a smile, offering her the reins.
Turning to the others, he waved a hand at the ponies. "Good, strong stock - they will serve you well, I would imagine," he said to Nacklewocket and Bergi. "And these geldings may lack the fire of a stallion, but they're much less likely to throw you should they be spooked, eh? Ha ha!" He clapped a hand on Hrolfr and Andok's shoulders, half-pushing, half-pulling them towards their horses.
Hrolfr manages to stifle a nervous look as he eyes the large horse in front of him. His upbringing in the northern lands did not include many horses, and those were only slightly larger than the ponies meant for the Bergi and Nacklewocket. He takes a few moments to approach the animal and to get a feel of its' temperament. Having assured himself that it is not going to throw him off or run away with him, he clambers into the saddle.
"I'm rather amazed that you're so mobile after yesterday, Hrolfir. I'm not even sure I can haul this bell, and I've not had a drop of the gift in two months!" Bergi remarked, using some slang absentmindedly. In this instance, she didn't even notice.
Hrolfr shoots a blank look of incomprehension at Bergi. Several seconds later, his aching brain manages to decrypt the halfling's slang and his usual grin re-appears. "Can't let a bit of carousing get in the way of a day's work, mistress halfling. Some fresh air and I'll be as right as rain"
"You know, you're a lot like my father that way. Otryl Kauflebaum can really put it away-relatively speaking-, but give him an hour the next morning and he's as unpickled as a riverbed. My mother, Niulu, however... a bit of a monster the next morning, and it doesn't but take a single pint to put her out for hours on end."
The halfling bard chuckled as she tried to mount the gelding Aldern Foxglove had provided. Her eyes sparkled with affection for the gift itself; this was to be only the third time she'd ever been on a mount at all, and it was to be on one that now BELONGED to her?
Bergi might've protested like Amismara, but her father had told her it was a grave insult, as well as a stupid decision, to turn away any gift that came without any obvious attachments.
Before long a horse had been found and saddled for Gronk as well, and Lord Foxglove mounted up, his green eyes alight with good cheer. "Tell me, who among you have been on a boar hunt before?" he asked, tugging on leather gloves.
Amismara took the reins happily...it was indeed a beautiful animal. However, she demurred quietly on keeping the horse, unwilling to accept such an expensive gift.
"I have not been boar hunting before, Lord Foxglove, but hope I can provide some help. I also am not accustomed to such amazing generosity, and hope you'll forgive my inability to accept the horse as a gift."
"Nonsense! 'Tis but a trifle, my lady," Lord Foxglove laughed, spurring his horse into motion. Children ran alongside the horses and waved as they turned up River Street; the smell of hops and barley hung in the air as they passed the brewery. Lord Foxglove's three servants followed them on mules (though Fencechewer wasn't among them).
Their relaxed pace makes it possible for Hrolfr to enjoy his surroundings once he can stop concentrating on the riding.
Lord Foxglove rode beside Amismara, giving her a bright and charming smile. "Now, you really must do two things for me, my dear. First, call me Aldern, please. 'Lord Foxglove' sounds so stuffy, don't you think? Second, do take the horse with my compliments - I shall be returning to Magnimar shortly, and I have no use for another horse. It would be a pity to have the beast knackered for lack of space, eh?" The smell of brewing was soon replaced by the mingled smell of sawdust and the tannery, and they hurried over Tanner's Bridge to the fresh air outside of town.
Nacklewocket was caught up enjoying the ride, seeing as how he'd never been on a pony before. The new vantage point provided to him was breathtaking, even though the general scenery hadn't changed drastically. He was lost in his own thoughts for a while, wondering if this was how the world generally looked to tallfolk such as Andok, Hrolfr, and Gronk.
Still bursting with energy, Aldern pointed out landmarks and chatted with them all as they rode along the southern bank of the Turandarok River. "Tell me, what persuaded you all to lead the life you do? Dangerous business, adventuring. You simply must tell me where you come from as well. I do live in a townhouse in Magnimar from time to time, but it must seem terribly provincial to some of you. A life on the road must take you many places, eh?"
Andok sits uncomfortably on his mount, shifting himself often and wishing that his feet would allow him to keep up to his mounted companions. He tries to immerse himself in the conversation to distract from his discomfort on the animal.
"My destinations are really the least important part of my journey," the Shoanti says. "My journey is one of self-discovery and self-perfection - I will be content to stay wherever I feel there is something to learn, not constantly seeking the horizon for the new and different. There is still much to learn right here," he finishes, tapping his chest.
"Ah, a wise man as well as brave. What more could you want in a hero?" Aldern chuckled, turning in his saddle to see if anyone else would speak.
"Magnimar's a very interesting place, full of new experiences," Nacklewocket said to no-one in particular, save possibly Foxglove. "Places where you can pick up quite a few valuable skills. Learned how to write there, I did. Also, some very colorful language can be found. One day I'd like to return there." He analyzed the bank of the river, hoping to see some sort of wildlife he hadn't previously encountered, as he continued.
"However full of life Magnimar is, though, so much more to find out on the road. Seeking adventure isn't dangerous, as long as you take some precautions - like hanging around with a bunch of tall warriors, for instance. Great people to get stories from, and the dialects can be perfectly fascinating to observe. Language always is. Say, that river is something," Nacklewocket trailed off, staring into the movement of the water, the most interesting thing of the moment distracting him. Absentmindedly, he plucked a hair from the pony's mane and placed it into his mouth much as one would a blade of grass, contemplating all around him and blithely forgetting the conversation at hand.
The halfling bard had been riding the pony to the best of her ability and listening to the others amongst their group with uncharacteristic silence. She hadn't been adventuring yet, and had yet to even see Magnimar, and, if she was to survive with her small stature, she supposed there was much to learn from Nacklewocket.
While Bergi's mother had taken her time to warn her child of the dangers of mingling with a gnome(not the least of which being their flightiness-'They're apt to be gone when you need them, and seldom interested enough to stay'), she maintained a close riding distance, making careful observations.
Her attentions were taken by the dialogues of others from time to time, and her eyes would flit to the appropriate figure, but she still felt a tad out of place. Any great achievements or motivations would be lies, and those were a dangerous territory, and a far cry from Andok's proposal of self-betterment, which somehow struck a chord in her soul that she didn't want to ruin with words just yet.
"Nacklewocket," she eventually asked, veering her pony to the side of that of the aforementioned,"-how does one manage against dangers that even the most prepared have no defense against? Or situations no one can talk their way out of?"
"Hmm?" Nacklewocket initially responded as his reverie was interrupted. He turned his gaze to the performer aside him, studying her face as he pondered her question. "Is this a riddle? My experience has been that if you study languages, most situations can be talked out of. Any sort of failure is merely a lacking of the right words, not a failure in talking itself."
Nacklewocket paused, continuing on in Gnome, "Well, except for those involving the Lonely Ones...or kobolds...or goblins." Switching back to common, he continued, "but assuming talking isn't an option, yes? If there is a danger that you cannot prepare to have a defense against, then there is no reason to worry about it! You will either survive through inventive wit, or by utilizing some inner strength that doesn't always show itself," he flicked his index finger out, and as it turned into a claw he winked at Bergi before returning it to normal.
"Failing either of those, I would assume the most likely result would be a rather spectacular end. But I do imagine such an end would be quite intriguing. Not for long, of course. But intriguing nonetheless." Sizing up his shorter companion once more, Nacklewocket added, "However, since usually discourse can handle most situations, you need not worry. I would encourage learning new languages to bridge any perceived gaps. For example, I myself would love to learn the native tongue of your people. Along with many others, of course." He removed the now soggy piece of pony hair from his mouth and cast it aside before looking back to Bergi to see if she had other appealing questions.
Bergi followed each word of his response with the expected intensity. She'd suspected he'd answer as much, and the optimistic tone her comrade-to-be helped put her more at ease. The understanding didn't diminish wen he lapsed into the gnomish tongue, but a brief cloud passed over her eyes at the mention of 'Lonely Ones'. Even from her own studies of the gnomish language, she had never discerned what they were, but she hesitated before asking the travelers that told such stories (who were gnomes themselves, respectively, and therefore intimidatingly different from the start), thinking it a taboo.
After a moment's reflection, she decided that she should just ask Nacklewocket in good faith. Hopefully, he'd understand her intentions, and, if these 'Lonely Ones' were a forbidden topic, simply brush it off and they could carry their conversation in a different direction.
"Lonely ones?" she pressed, the phrase only somewhat affected by her own accent, causing the ending to slur inquisitively. "You mentioned them with your list of those who can't be negotiated with... You don't have to tell me, if it doesn't please you."
Amismara had been enjoying the exchange between the two. But she noticed the change of tenor on this latest topic, and sat up a little straighter in her saddle, listening.
Nacklewocket cast a curious eye at the halfling, now realizing there was more to this little bard than he had originally believed. That in and of itself was a pleasant surprise, but the subject matter was one that made him shift atop the pony as an unconscious manifestation of his discomfort. Far be it from me to discourage learning, Nacklewocket thought to himself, as he gathered his words more carefully than was his custom.
"When we, the gnomes, first came from The Place of No Consequence, we learned some...harsh...realities about this world. The vast majority of us who survived did so by adopting what you other races would see as our stereotypical mannerisms, for lack of a more detailed explanation. However, there were those survived through rather distasteful means. The consequences of their survival and the changes they took upon themselves made them into not-gnomes. They became," he momentarily switched into Gnome, "the Lonely Ones." He looked away from the party as he paused, before continuing in Common, "I believe the majority of races refer to them as 'spriggans'. Survived, yes, as gnomes, no. They have embraced an abhorrent path to combat some of our...realities, and as a result are forever lost to us."
As Nacklewocket finished his explanation, he fell silent, his natural smile gone from his face. He fiddled with the pony's mane as he stared into the water beside them before looking back over at Bergi with a more melancholy version of his standard grinning facade.
"I do not expect that you should ever have to encounter one such as this, so it too falls under a topic of which there is no need to worry."
He then broke eye contact once more, his eyes darting around rather manically as he sought to observe anything which he had not previously experienced in his lifetime as he quietly chased away his greatest fear.
Upon receiving the explanation she'd sought, Bergi bit her lower lip as she attempted to create bridges to other terms the gnome used which she'd little to no idea as to the meaning of. It was nonsensical to unravel an entire mystery at once, however, and promisingly enough, Nacklewocket contained enough enigma wrapped in an amiable shell to last for some time.
The bard gently stroked the head of her mount as she gauged the consequences of her line of inquiry on her new companion's face. She was vaguely aware of Amismara being nearby and therefore privy to their interaction, and that her head tilting on its side to regard the gnomish sorcerer must appear an exaggerated and strange gesture from the cleric's standpoint.
Watching the verbal and non-verbal exchange between her two companions, Amismara was deeply touched. She lowered her head and recited a simple prayer. Such sharing forges the bonds between souls. Pain or joy or fear or hope, each can connect us to another in love and friendship. Shelyn be praised.
Raising her head again, she looked around the group, closer now in her eyes, and a wan smile played on her lips.
"Fascinating," Aldern said. He seemed truly interested, having stared at Nacklewocket and Bergi the whole time, but perhaps sensing the somber mood, he changed the subject. "Every family has its black sheep. But tell me, how long have you been fighting goblins? Surely you have stories to tell of your harrowing adventures?"
"Oh yes, do turn a copper for a single basket!" Bergi suddenly blabbered, her mood picking up almost manically. Unfortunately, she'd just revealed what was perhaps her most irritating character trait. If she wasn't paying attention, the Magnimarian halfling slang she'd been subjected to in her household from day one. Said verbal tic used to interfere with her performances as well, but for the most part she thought she'd been ridden of it after long hours of clearing her vocabulary of the incomprehensible (to all outside of certain circles, that is) in the Rusty Dragon. Upon noticing what she said, rolled her eyes at her own ineptitude and started over, albeit slowly. "I mean, I'd like to hear about it to. I don't know much about you or Gronk, as far as your adventures thus far."
"You, my dear," Aldern reached over to take Amismara's hand, "what can you tell me of your life? I imagine you've left quite a swath of broken hearts and goblins' heads?"
'That's a pretty disturbing sentence, if you take it literally...,especially if you're referring to Amismara,' Bergi noted inwardly, giggling to herself. It was strange to imagine a homicidal version of the kindly woman, ripping out hearts and frantically slaying goblins with a greatsword that in the bard's mind's eye very easily was two size categories too large for the poor cleric to be wielding.
Amismara gave a short laugh at Bergi's comment. But it soon passed and she took on a more subdued tone. "Lord Fox...sorry...'Aldern'. As for broken heads, goblin or otherwise, I'm afraid that it has mainly been ours in danger. Our 'adventures' have been desperate attempts to stay alive amidst murderous goblins. And, unfortunately for some very dear souls, not very successful attempts." Sighing and brightening up a bit, she continued. "Which brings us to 'broken hearts'. I admit that I had my share of childhood crushes (both given and received), but it all seems so innocent and ridiculous now. I remember being a young girl, not more than 8, and nearly swooning over a Magnimaran boy. He was so worldly and mature (at least 10) and had such lovely, long curly hair. Alas, it was not to be. He gave his affection to another, older woman (9, I think). I was stricken with grief and pledged that I'd never smile or laugh again. And I kept that vow for over 9 hours." She laughed lightly at the memory.
Andok rides along, quietly listening to his companions' chatter as the conversation meanders, from once-gnomes to goblin fighting to romance. He reflects briefly on the incredibly diverse nature of the group - even Gronk and himself, two tribesmen, differing so much. He gives a small chuckle at the humor of Bergi and Amismara.
"A tale that a bard like our newfound friend would be honored to tell - timeless, compelling, universal," the Shoanti says somberly at Amismara's tale, though his eyes twinkle in a manner that belies his tone, trying to keep the conversation from the more morose topics that the adventurers kept stumbling across.
Bergi threw her head backwards and laughed, mirroring her relief that Andok had acknowledged her: he'd been a bit distant the day before. She had deduced, incorrectly, that she'd done something to offend him, but his suggestion that she write a ballad debunked that theory.
"Not to mention its potential for embellishment, or the possibility of marrying it into a grander tale. It's a shame it doesn't have a happy ending, though."
Gronk remained quiet while they rode out to the hunt. He was itchy for the hunt to begin and show his kinsman his worth. He listened to the others and realized Andok had found himself some great companions. They had already experienced so much in so little time, experience that Gronk wanted so badly.
"And what of you, Gronk? You've hardly said a word. We're going to be together for a while, so...," Damn. What should she ask someone with whome she had little to no common ground with (as far as she knew)? Bergi wasn't a diplomat, she was just a halfling that absconded with a bunch of people she's little to no prior history with. "-it's nice to meet you."
"I'm sorry little one, no slight to you or anyone else. I am merely focusing on the hunt before us. In the Storval Plateau the hunt is always very dangerous and you need to stay focused. Between cinder snakes, ember scorpions, and ankhegs, you never know what will come out of nowhere to kill you. Then there are the things that we actually hunt." Gronk smiled as if remember a fond memory.
Bergi's blue eyes were somewhat obscured by the emergence of a smile. "Well, obviously, none of them managed to abscond with your life. From what I can tell, though, a boar should fall into the 'huntable' category."
She rubbed behind her new pony's ears. "What's life like up on that plateau?"
"A sight wilder, as my clansmans tales suggest," the other Shoanti chimes in. "It is a place where strength and size are respected, for they are the time-proven tools of survival. Anything that is not of those two is frequently dismissed." He gives a wry smile. "That's a reason why I traveling, myself - the quiet inward path to self-knowledge is one few Shoanti walk, for it's usefulness is not readily apparent."
"It's admirable to focus on self-betterment, and to follow such a path quietly is beyond my capacity. I'm afraid I lack the discipline, and the toughness of mind. I imagine I'd not last long in your homelands, if what you said is true, even if I obtained your enlightened philosophy."

4

Aldern passed the time it took them to reach their destination chatting with the party, seeming very interested in them as well as willing to share a seemingly endless cache of stories about the high life in Magnimar. He was charming enough, though he had a tendency to direct his questions at Amismara, and he seemed quite knowledgeable on a large range of topics.
After about a half hour of talking and riding at an easy pace, they arrived at a ford in the river with a small path leading into the forest beyond. "The Tickwood!" Aldern proclaimed brightly, leading them across the shallow splashing water. "Lovely place, simply bursting with deer and boar and such. No goblins here, thank the gods for that. The worst we have to worry about is a firepelt. I once brought one down not far from here, showed it what for, eh? It's about the most excitement I usually experience, haha!"
Aldern's manservants dismounted and tied their mules to a tree, then unloaded several long, heavy spears (and two smaller ones) and handed one to each member of the hunting party. Aldern led the party off the path and into the forest at a sedate pace, quickly falling back to ride beside the cleric again. His servants trotted off into the forest with heavy sticks, and before long the party could hear them beating the bushes ahead.
Amismara demurred on the long spear and opted instead to keep her glaive. Andok hefts the spear, looking at it with a bemused look on his face. He listens to the sound of the servants trying to flush out the boar with mild interest, looking about his companions. He gives a laugh at Amismara holding her glaive. "Keeping your favored weapon at hand, hm? I'd do the same, but I can't imagine that a staff would do much to pierce a boar's hide," he says quietly.
Bergi grasped the haft of the spear and nearly toppled over. She wasn't used to such a weapon,to be sure. Among those lines, she'd seldom used weapons at all. She could see the use of a weapon with such a long handle, though. An injured animal would be one that should be kept at a distance.
She held the point out in front of her and waited.
"A beautiful day for a stroll in the forest, eh?" Aldern asked, winking at Amismara. The sunlight dappled them as the horses walked beneath the trees just beginning to turn to their fall splendor, with hints of red and gold here and there. It was slightly chilly, but the air still smelled of summer earth and growing things. Aldern cut quite a dashing figure in his red waistcoat and cloak, hefting his spear like a knight's lance as they passed through beams of sunlight.
The bushes rustled, and a rabbit burst out of it, zigzagging away from the horses. "I do hope we find a boar with some fight in it," Aldern observed as he watched the rabbit bounce off. "A great, fat beast would be a fine thing to bring back to Mistress Kaijitsu. Wonderful cook, that woman. Do you cook, milady?"
"Cooking is too kind a word for my culinary skills, Aldern. My father was the family cook, and he tried to teach me a bit when I was younger, but I didn't have the knack for it. I could ruin boiled water if given the chance."
She gave a self-deprecating smile to the others and trotted on through the early autumn leaves. She took passing note of the noble's growing attention to her, but decided it would be unwise to directly thwart him in front of so many. Nobles could have delicate egos, and it was better to remain noncommittal now and, if necessary, rebuff him in private later.
Aldern laughed brightly at Amismara's claim, then nodded at Andok with a grin. "Right you are - fierce little fellows they can be, not easily put off by a knock on the noggin. Why, once I was out hunting when-"
What happened when he was hunting was to remain a mystery, as right then a ruckus in the bushes ahead caught everyone's attention. Thanks to the beaters, the noise was headed in their direction.
"Tally ho! Let's have a nice pig on the spit tonight!" Aldern cried, spurring his horse toward the sounds. He crashed off into the bushes, leaving the others to follow or not on their own.
Amismara spurred her horse forward to follow the noble, choking up on her glaive. Gronk eagerly followed the man. He gripped his spear tightly as he spurred his horse forward.
Andok slows his horse as the others gallop off, looking to see what his other companions do. He keeps an especial eye on Bergi and Nacklewocket, the smaller, untested party members - the memory of Evan still strong in his mind.
The halfling bard was rather encumbered, even by the small spear, but she kept her grip quite firmly as she urged her gelding forward gently, using an assortment of coos, though perhaps more to calm herself than her steed. She was grateful the humans had preceded her; she knew enough to infer that their large spears would keep the prey at a larger distance. That, and they could probably better handle an attack.

5

Gronk and Amismara were first on the scene as they came to the edge of a drywash. Lord Foxglove had found a way down and was closing on a great fat boar, who had run to the end of the drywash and discovered that it was trapped. It whirled and charged at Aldern, squealing with rage when he clipped it with his spear - but it retaliated by slashing a sharp tusk against Aldern's horse. The gelding reared with a frightened whinny, throwing Aldern to the ground in a heap, and ran off down the open end of the drywash.
Lord Foxglove groaned as he slowly tried to pick himself up, but his spear had been knocked away and the boar was starting toward him, murder in its piggy little eyes.
Amismara sucked air in through her teeth as the noble fell from his horse. "Oh dear", she thought to herself. "Stupid enthusiasm."
Gronk saw the man fall and looked to be in trouble so he spurred his horse toward the boar. Trying to position her horse as best she could, Amismara tried to bring her glaive to bear on the snorting boar.
As soon as the halfling bard became aware of the situation, she let out an alarmed squeak. She wouldn't be much help rushing in with the damned spear, so instead Bergi began to sing something from deep in her bones, pulling from sound's profound and abiding magics to instill a calm an abiding desperation in her allies without using worded lyrics.
Gronk and Amimara's mounts balked at entering the drywash, reluctant to go down the steep incline to the bottom of it, much less with an angry boar awaiting them there. It cost them precious seconds, but Bergi's song rang out from behind them and finally the horses moved. The halfling's song also seemed to alert Aldern to his peril, and he cursed and took off at a run without bothering to grab the spear that lay out of his reach, heading for the blocked end of the drywash with the boar hot on his heels.
Reaching the end of the dry streambed, Aldern made a leap for safety, catching onto the jutting end of a log and dangling above the boar, which trotted about in circles under him, snorting at the loss of its target. It turned to trot away when Gronk and Amismara came pounding toward the scene, making it stop to regard them with suspicious little eyes.
"Kill it!" Aldern shouted from where he hung, sounding out of sorts. "The bloody stupid beast nearly had me! Did anyone see where my horse went?!" The boar grunted, for all the world as though it were laughing.
Andok leapt from his horse and ran towards the streambed, not trusting his horsemanship to keep him mounted anyways. He holds his spear at the ready as he determinedly rushes towards the stranded noble. Instead of descending directly into the drywash, he instead runs along the edge, planning to help the noble out, then leap in to flank and finish the boar.
Nacklewocket watched from his perch upon his own mount, curiously taking in the situation. It rather seemed to him that this wasn't very sporting. Thrusting the spear that wouldn't have done him much good anyway into the ground tip-first, he spurred his mount towards the edge of the drywash. Pulling up as he arrived there, Nacklewocket summoned forth his Gnome heritage and called out to the boar, "My friend, you appear fairly angry at the moment. That saddens me, but if you would like to talk about it rather than lashing out at others, I would be willing to listen."
Amismara, who had been gripping her glaive tightly and imagining the worst, was flooded with hope when she heard Nacklewocket begin his grunts and snuffles. "I'd forgotten gnomes had that magic," she thought. "I wonder what he's saying?"
While Andok ventured over the mass of windfall-wood at the end of the streambed to aid the red-faced Aldern, the boar turned to look at Nacklewocket, while keeping a wary eye on Gronk and Amismara.
*Talk? You want me to talk with hunters everywhere?* it snorted angrily.
Seeing the change in tactics, Bergi switched the tone of her performance, moving in just a little closer as she did.
Nacklewocket raised his hands in what he hoped was a disarming manner, using one in a slow, downward sweeping gesture towards Gronk and Amismara. He hoped it conveyed not only to the boar that he was referencing them, but also to give them pause as he worked to find another solution to this problem.
*These two are not hunters, my friend. They were merely coming to the aid of the one you had taught a lesson. I give you my oath they will not engage you in any manner while you and I talk. And I believe the other one...* Nacklewocket gestured with his head towards Aldern, *has learned the lesson you sought out to teach him. No further violence needs to happen on this day, my friend. With that being said, you can either tell me what angers you so, or you may take your leave from us safe from the threat of violence. I leave the choice to you.*
Andok moves as close to the stranded noble as he can. "Grab on if you can, Lord Foxglove," the Shoanti says, outstretching his spear to the dangling man.
"Ah, you need help felling the beast? Good man, hold it out just a bit farther and I'll be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail," Aldern puffed, trying to catch hold of Andok's spear. He appeared to be just out of reach of the effects of Bergi's competence-inspiring song, however, as he grabbed at it awkwardly and missed.
Andok patiently held the spear out. "Simply getting you out of the range of the boar's tusks, milord," the Shoanti says plainly, concealing his thoughts as to the man's ability to even help with the boar.
While Aldern was distracted, the boar seemed mollified by Nacklewocket's assurances, though it was still wary of the riders. *I'm angry because I was eating the most delicious truffles when I heard the hunters coming - it sounded like a whole pack of them! I had to leave the truffles and run, but that one was in front of me all of a sudden. Yeah, that'll teach him to corner me!* It grunted triumphantly, then cocked an ear in Gronk and Amismara's direction. *The pack is still out there, though. Will you stop them from hunting me, too?* It perked up at this idea, waving its snout in the air. *I'll even let you have some truffles!*
Nacklewocket stared curiously at the boar, then looked in the direction of Gronk and Amismara before looking back to the boar. *Wait, are you saying there is a pack of hunters in this area beyond my two companions? Do you know what kind of hunters they may be, my friend? I will most definitely do my best to protect you from them, and afterwards we may dine on truffles together.* Keeping his eyes on the animal, Nacklewocket called out to the party, "I fear we are not alone here...Amismara, Gronk, something to be wary of may be approaching you from behind."
Nodding in response, Amisamara turned around slowly, trying to keep watch but not wanting spook the boar.
The boar edged closer to Gronk and Amismara carefully, obviously eager to be gone before they changed their minds. In the distance, the yells and crashing of the bush-beaters could be heard over Bergi's singing. Otherwise the forest seemed peaceful enough.
Finally making it to the top of the jumble of wood with Andok's help, Lord Foxglove thanked the monk with a nod, dusted off his fine red coat and turned to survey the scene. "What are you waiting for?" he called down, frowning. "The beast won't spit itself! Well, not without a bit of help, in any case. Look out, it's going to make a run for it!"
Andok leans unconcernedly on his spear, watching his friends seemingly giving up on the quarry. "It does look like it might escape, yes," he observes sedately, not raising a finger to help 'spit' the boar.
Ami shouts back to the beaters coming up behind. "The boars coming through...let it go."
Lord Foxglove frowned at Andok as the boar took off down the drybed, vanishing into the forest. "Look here, it won't be much of a hunt if you refuse to kill the animals we find. You all seemed willing enough to hunt when we started out - what has changed?" His eyes found Nacklewocket, and Aldern gave him a keen look. "Don't tell me the game in the forest are all your friends?"
Nacklewocket tilted his head slightly to the side as he met Aldern's eyes. "I must admit, sir, that the original proposition intrigued me, primarily because of the perceived notion of the sporting nature of such an adventure. However, there did not appear to be anything even slightly resembling sport happening here." Nacklewocket paused to look away at the tracks left in the drybed from the brief scuffle between Foxglove's horse and the escaped boar.
"If anything, I would think that the intervention provided most definitely preserved you from harm, sir. Any creature that willing to vehemently protect itself and yet willing to engage in discourse to disengage without mindlessly fighting to the death should be granted some quarter, should it not? Or is the underlying intent of outings such as these to indiscriminately murder anything we come across? "If so, please pardon me for my lack of understanding. I was under the impression that hunts were designed to either feed oneself when the need had arisen or to remove some danger from the local ecology. I did not believe this situation met either of those criterion."
His piece spoken, Nacklewocket turned his pony and slowly moved it over towards Amismara, Gronk, and Bergi while leaving his previously held spear firmly entrenched in the ground where he had left it.
Meanwhile, the bard had stopped her singing, not entirely convinced that there wasn't another enemy besides the boar nearby. She pricked her ears based on the information given to her by Nacklewocket earlier. She moved in the direction of the beaters.
Aldern blinked a bit at the gnome's unexpected erudition, but began making his way around the windfall, looking for a way back down into the streambed. "It's sport you want, is it? I should think an animal as dangerous as a boar would provide that, but perhaps to an adventurer boars hold no challenge. If it's more danger you crave, we can try and track down a firepelt. If it's merely a challenge of skill you prefer, my men have bows we might shoot for pheasants with." When he realized that Nacklewocket had left his spear behind, his tone became a bit frostier.
"I'll thank you to return that spear to me if you have no use for it. It's the horses I've gifted you to do with as you please, not the spears." Sliding down the sharp incline to the streambed with a good deal more grace than he'd gone up it, he walked over to his own spear and picked it up. His friendliness of earlier had cooled somewhat as he regarded them. "Well? Shall we continue this hunt, or is it too ignoble a pastime for such fine adventurers as yourselves?"
Bergi, who had ridden almost out of sight around the bend in search of the beaters, realized that they were still some distance off, despite the racket they made. Now and then a fleeing rabbit or squirrel would dart past her, making her pony shift and shake its head.
The halfling had a bad feeling, but if there was one thing she trusted, it was her ability to call the alarm. However, the pony she was riding was both precious and frightened(the latter of which being a terrible sign).
Still, she urged the animal forward ever so slightly. She had to make sure that she was wrong. Hopefully, this was all just paranoia and she could go back to the main party unhindered with the beaters and try to console Lord Foxglove, who was probably terribly disappointed.
Despite her misgivings, nothing came leaping out of the forest at her (though the bushes rustled a bit with tiny animals). The beaters continued their noisy progress through the woods, but otherwise things seemed peaceful enough.
Andok follows behind the noble, his tattooed head standing tall over the smaller man. "We apologize if we've upset your hunt, Lord Foxglove," he says humbly. "We're certainly not a conventional group of boar hunters, and we may be lacking in some of the regards this brave pastime requires. I suppose this is a good lesson about adventuring though - with those inclined to be adventurers, you should expect to be surprised."
"Be that as it may," Aldern said, somewhat mollified by Andok's attempt at diplomacy, "the question remains: shall we bring something back to dine on tonight, or would you prefer to return to town? Surely you Shoanti, at least, have hunted before?"
The Shoanti smiles at the disappointed noble's stereotyping. "We can certainly hunt something to bring back for dinner, though I would be loathe to help cook it myself. Maybe we can try not to ask our prey if it wants to be eaten this time," he says, eye twinkling at the gnome.
"I must admit, I prefer the meal to the hunt, though that might make me a bit hypocritical," Amismara added, hoping to aid Andok's progress in calming the noble. "And it is the company of friends that I prefer most of all. Perhaps we can go back to town now and celebrate our somewhat bizarre outing with camaraderie and conversation?"
Though he looked rather disappointed, Aldern smiled at Amismara. "Of course. I did mean the hunt to be a reward for saving me, not a duty. Let me just track down my horse, and we'll be on our way. Perhaps we'll find something to shoot along the way, eh?"
With Hrolfr's help the wayward horse was soon collared, and Aldern blew a hunting horn hanging from his saddle to recall the beaters. Aldern traded his spear for a bow, offering the same to the rest of the party. He actually managed to bring down a brace of pheasants with it on their way back through the Tickwood, which seemed to improve his mood.
He told stories about Magnimar on the way back to Sandpoint, revealing himself to be well-read and quite charming, now that his frenetic energy seemed to have worn off. Once they stabled their horses and reached the Rusty Dragon, he passed off his pheasants to Ameiko to be cooked, joking that it was all they had to show besides escaping with their lives from the dangerous denizens of the Tickwood.

The Second Cycle