Act I - The River Kingdoms

Full list of party members

Spoiler:

After assembling all the gear required for an expedition to the river kingdoms, The Eye to the Sword was founded. Consisting of men and women of many backgrounds from Brevoy, this group set out of Rostland on the morning of the third day since their formation. Their original journey was no small task. To trek across the border of Brevoy, through rural countryside. It would be no less than three and a half weeks before The eye to the sword would reach their goal, of an old Trading Post in southwestern brevoy, which served to travellers who made their way towards Numeria.

At first the going was slow, but after the 8th day they crossed the East Sellen River, and they knew that their journey was at least progressing steadily. This new found strength pushed them to make stronger days, and complete the journey in a total of 22 days.

We will start this, around 1 PM with the spring sun high, when the old trading post looms into sight. It is a modest establishment, with a small palisade around 4 buildings, which appear to be weathered over the years of existence. The post itself is stationed along the South Rostland Road, which from your venture seems somewhat seldom used, so how much good a trading post is, you do not know.

A rather burly man with greying hair is laying a few new shackles onto the roof of the main construction, balanced only by a ladder, which you cannot promise will balance him properly. He does not appear to notice you.

Tell me my fine band of adventurers, what do you do?

Mycroft strides forward, bracing the foot of the ladder with both hands, before calling up.

DC Diplomacy (as Mycroft is trying to endear himself to the man): 18 + 7 = 25

"Good afternoon, sir! You have the look about you of a man who has no one to assist him, nor the need for any help of the sort. You'll forgive me, then, for bracing of your ladder, I was raised to never let man risk health while I am in a position to lend a hand."

OOC: Mycroft with his Diplomacy checks's up with the stars most likely did something good with that one :p

The man did not appear to hear you approaching, his focus solely on the repairs he is making, until he feels the balance to the supporting woodwork. He speaks, with a deep voice weathered with years of smoking."Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there, you didn't take long to arrive, I only sent out the plea but four weeks ago. Svetlana, they're here!" and with this, he begins to climb down the ladder.

Once he is at eye level, he offers a strong hand and says "Th'name's Oleg, this is my trading post. You really did arrive with some haste, I appreciate it. Please, my stable can look after your horses. Bring them through, and have a seat. You must be tired after your journey."

Mycroft shakes his hand firmly, smiling to convey a sense of solidarity and regard.

"A pleasure to be in your presence, Oleg, and this fine trading post that bears your name. I am Mycroft Calfast, of Restov, at your service." He sweeps the ever in-tow Jenna under his arm, and begins to gesture towards his companions.
"This is Jenna, my little princess. The strapping lad in the armour is Guntram, with his manservant Thormar, and these two bright men are Gerald and Fabian. The two striking elven beauties are Aeldeth and Nal'em, and our man among the trees there is Alexander."

Jenna leaves Mycroft's side, taking position by their horse, preparing to lead her where directed. Mycroft continues
"While I can't speak for the more robust members of my travelling party, I can honestly say that at this moment I am as tired as I can ever recall being. I don't suppose there's a fresh water-source here?"

Oleg points towards the east of the South Rostland road"It's a small walk, however there is a pump over by the group of birches. I will arrange for Svetlana to get some fresh water for you all."

By this point, a tall, plain but sweet woman in khaki coloured wash-clothes appears from the main building. Her eyes greet the group, and then turn to Jenna. She approaches and says: "Well hello there little ma'am, how are you doing today? You must be very tired from your walk. Would you like to come inside?"

OOC: DC 12 Sense motive

Spoiler:

Oleg looks at the two women, and then back to you Mycroft, and speaks in a quieter tone: "Now, I'm not sure on the circumstances, but are you sure that she is safe, for a mission such as this? I mean, they have been known to come inside. Goodness knows what they'd do knowing a youngin' was here."

DC Sense Motive (Jenna): 10 + 2 = 12 Haha!

Jenna eyes the kindly older woman suspiciously.
"There's no hurry," she says, "I have to see that my horse is stabled first." Jenna turns back to her horse, trying in vane to straighten her posture and add inches to her meagre height.

Mycroft addresses Oleg with a reassuring tone.
"I can assure you, you needn't worry about the fairer of our number. Nal'em is more proficient with a pair of knives than any man I've had misfortune to cross paths with, and Aeldeth is an accomplished woman of the gods, empowered with divine energies that exceed even her formidable wits."
Mycroft glances over his shoulder towards Jenna, her frame seeming even tinier compared to her horse.

DC Handle Animal (Jenna): 6 + 7 = 13

She doesn't struggle to lead the horse, however, which emboldens Mycroft's next statement.

DC Diplomacy (Mycroft): 5 + 7 = 12

He draws closer to Oleg as he speaks.
"Even little Jenna, though easily the most vulnerable of our assembly, is more than meets the eye. She has potent innate magical powers, and while combat is not her speciality, she can produce protective fields stronger than a suit of mail. Speaking candidly, from experience, I can honestly say I would not be standing here before you were it not for Jenna's arcane talents, so I will ask you to have a little faith in Lord Varthus's selections." Mycroft raises his eyebrow insistently.

Oleg appears to be convinced of your argument: "You're probably right. I've just seen six or seven at a time occasionally, and the men aren't soft of touch. If they want something they'll have it. Bah, I'm sure this has all been detailed to you. It's why you're here, after all. Please, just place your things in the guest house and come inside. We can discuss the job further over some soup."

Meanwhile, Svetlana is somewhat impressed, as she helps Jenna by opening the stable door. "Well aren't you mature for your age, and well acquainted with animals."

As Mycroft continues to probe for the peculiars of the undesirables in the area, Jenna responds bluntly to Svetlana's kind words.
"It's easy to be acquainted with animals," she says, absent-mindedly, "they're accepting. They don't expect anything from you. When you haven't eaten in days, and you face is caked with sweat and filth, it isn't the animals who'll turn you away. It's the people..." Jenna's eyes betray that her thoughts are not in the present, as she struggles to shift the heavy saddlebag off her horse.

Svetlana seems worried with this prospect: "Surely you don't go days without food m'dear. It's not healthy for growing bones!"

Oleg assists the group in bringing all of their horses into the stables, and the majority of their baggage in the guest room. Post-heavy lifting, he says: "Please do come inside, there is a soup that Svetlana has prepared, you may eat as much as you like. Now tell me Mycroft, who is the leader of your group, and how long have you been stationed to guard the post? A while, I hope. I was just finishing repairs to the guest house for you all."

Thormar steps forward, horse safely watered and stabled, and saddlebags with the important items in them slung over his shoulder.

"You said guard. Our charter says explore. Can't explore a land while guarding one splinter-small piece of it. Are there that many bandits in this area that you struggle to holdfast here?"

OOC: Also, how many other horses were in the stable? Thormar would've had a look to gauge how many other travelers are at the trading post at the present time.

@Thormar: There are two well kept, but modest horses in the stable, which would suggest that there are no guests. This is also corroborated by the fact that you cannot see anything in the guest house, which will only barely fit the group of you.

Oleg stops walking and turns to face Thormar when you speak this, and with a curious tone he says: "Say again? What charter? You mean you're not here to help us?"

Oleg throws up his hands in disgust, and lets out a deep breath puffed from his cheeks. "Well Svetlana, I guess we were hopeful at best when we thought that any good would come of our calls for help."

Responding to Svetlana's concern, Jenna makes a gesturing nod towards Mycroft.
"My father keeps me well fed, but I spent much time in my youth among the druids who drift through the outlying northern towns. In the company of healers who are approached only by those turned away by city clerics, you learn much about the double-edged sword of civility..."

DC Diplomacy: 17 + 7 = 24

Hearing Thormar's words, Mycroft rushes to intercept Oleg.
"What dear Thormar means, Oleg, is that it is not our assignment to be posted here as meagre guards. The region is rife with dangers, and merely occupying this trading post in a defensive position puts us on the proverbial back-foot." Mycroft assumes a serious, but bold tone and stance. "No, our duty demands something a tad more challenging, and a tad more permanent, I dare say. Starting here, from your fine trading post, we are tasked with venturing out in arcs ever further south, with a goal nothing short of taming this wild-lands, and weeding out the more sinister elements in the process. Rather than waiting here for trouble to come looking for you at its full strength, dear Oleg, we are here to go on the offensive, chart the unknown paths, and eliminate our enemies at their roots!"

OOC: Diplomacy: 8+9 = 17

"Mycroft speaks a long truth. The letter of our letter is polite war: we come to explore, to map, and to claim. You have bandit troubles: we will have bandit troubles. After blood and fire and bandit-death, neither of us will have bandit troubles."

Thormar strides forward and takes the Oleg confidently by the arm.

"Lead us in. You have no guests and we are road-tired. Hot food and cold drink will take the edge off your coin-thirst and our weariness."

Mycroft follows in step.
"Indeed, indeed, I imagine there is much you can tell us about precisely whose throats we shall have to cut if we are to see our business done in this area. I could also use any pointers you could offer on hazardous terrains nearby, as we plan to leave dangers unattended."

At that, Mycroft removes his only recently christened new ink-pen and first travel journal from his belt pouch, and begins work on a rapid illustration of the trading post's exterior, to accompany the floor-plan he sought to draw next.

DC Craft - Illustration/Visual Art: 15 + 7 = 22

It takes all of Mycroft's restrain to resist correcting the spacing of the letters of the trading post's roadsign as he recreates its likeness on paper before him.

Oleg appears to be calmed by your words, and leads you inside to the main house. The construction is well made, and is kept to a level that only a man with a masonry background could achieve. From just inside, you can see a counter, with a somewhat meager collection of tools, packaged and rationed food, as well a few specialty items such as flasks of undesignated liquid which sit high on the shelf, but well in view of the casual eye.

Once you make your way to the living quarters of the building, Svetlana sits you down, and offers you all glasses of clean water or milk. Oleg, who has taken a hearty glass of milk and swigs it down, leaving a small white line above his top lip, says "So, if you're not here specifically to help us, then what is this charter nonsense?"

When Svetlana hears this, she turns to face Oleg, and pleads "Oleg, they've said they're here to help. Tell them about Happs, he'll be due in the morn'!"

OOC: Diplomacy 10+4 -> 14

Oleg shrugs, and sits forward in his chair, wiping his face as he does so. "Alright, fine. Four weeks ago, I sent a message to Restov, requesting assistance, as we've been having some regular 'visitors'. Man who goes by Happs first showed up at my post here about three months previous. He came with a dozen or so of his ninnies' and threatened to take my dear wife for their own amusement if I didn't hand over all of my furs that I'd just bought from local hunters passing through. Needless to say I gave 'em the goods, cursing them to all hell when they'd left. I thought it was just some bad luck, but since then Happs has shown up on the first day of each month, swearing that I need to pay my 'taxes'. They're quick, and don't tend to ask many questions these days."

He turns to Mycroft, and says, earnestly: "I wish I could tell you more about the countryside, but I haven't ventured south much this year. With the way this group come along early morn', I think they live but 30 miles south. I hate to think what they'd do if they came along when I wasn't here to look after my goods, or if they found me all alone."

---

OOC: NEW QUEST - Heart of Gold

Riding was not one of Gerald's favoured pass times. Much less was it one if his favoured pass times for three and a half weeks! His bottom was sore for the first week, his spine is still recovering--it really wanted a massage right now--and the ultimate, the icing on the cake with the cherry on top? His pince-nez had gotten mud on them. Four times. This wasn't even considering the hygienic worries he had to deal with. Travelling made Gerald cranky and tired and sore and GARR with alot more 'R's in his head.

Gerald had heard the mention and much talk of food, but little of the actual desired object. The phrase which he had read in some awful adventure story, "So hungry I could eat a horse!", had disturbingly sprung to mind many a time in these past days, and Gerald was quite ready to rid himself of it. Summoning all his tact and politeness Gerald entered his voice into the breach:

OOC: Diplomancy 18+1 (Oh snap!)

"A fight with a band of ruffians certainly sounds hair-raising and exciting, but in my current state of what feels like starvation, I would certainly put up a poor fight. How about we discuss business after we have dined? I dare say my thoughts are entirely selfish and unhelpful right now and would certainly be straightened by something... tasty!"

Svetlana quickly turns to Gerald. "Oh, but of course!" she exclaims, somewhat uplifted by the prospect of someone coming to deal with the bandits that have been so oppressive in past months. She gets a bowl and pours some light soup, and bread and returns it to you. "I hope this is your your satisfaction." Her words come across as one inexperienced with impressing anyone but her husband, but they have benevolent means behind them.

Thormar drains his mug of milk. "Not bad. Better fermented with honey" he mutters to himself, before turning attention back to the conversation.

"It seems our course is spirit-smiled: the flames of battle hunger-lick at our toes already." He glances at Aeldeth, to see if his godless words draw any ire - he has been unable to get a rise out of her on their journey to date.

"Tonight let us eat strong feed and sleep like dead-dreamers. Tomorrow, half our band ride the horses out before sunrise: then this place will look weak and friendless. When this battle-coward calls for gold, we will roar our response with cries and arrows. Then our riders strike their tail, crushing them against this house-crag's walls," he crashes a hand against the side of his mug for emphasis, then leans back with a slight groan at his aching muscles. "It is a good day when there is blood spilled before first-meal," he grins. Then, to himself: "It has been a long time since I had a good day."

Realising his station, he turns with a half-bow towards Guntram: "Do you like this plan, sir? I thought it battle-wise to have you on your steed for combat. Perhaps we should also leave one alive to question. He scratches idly at his short white beard. "It would be civilised," he muses.

"Actually," Mycroft interjects on Thormar's petition to Guntram, "the civil course of action would be to meet and negotiate with these bandits prior to engaging them in combat."

He takes a small sip of water, allowing looks of concern or disapproval to creep onto the faces of his companions before he continues.
"But of course, bandits of this sort are the lowest form of human scum, there isn't any chance at all that we and they will not come to speedy and bloody conflict. However, if I may build on your most excellent suggestion, Thormar, we may do well to flank our enemy not merely physically, but intellectually."

Mycroft stands, chopping his hand through the air to emphasise his points.
"Under favourable circumstances, I'm confident that we could collectively make short work of a mere dozen or so mountebanks, but acquiring information from the defeated can be messy and unreliable, and if we prove too great a match for them, acquiring information from the dead is even harder. As a predatory force in this area, they have us at a disadvantage, if not in martial strength, then at least in information. What is the true size of their number? From where are they based? What fear or loyalties do they command in this region, and what resources sustain them at their current strength? We need answers to all of these questions, so much so that I would be reluctant to resort to an all-out assault as our primary approach."

He addresses Oleg and Svetlana specifically.
"Much as I hope to protect you and your home, and despite the greater control we possess here, I fear the collateral damage of engaging a full-scale fight on your doorstep. We must be prepared to do just that, but as a last resort."

Mycroft returns focus to his companions.
"I propose that we prepare to spring a trap just as Thormar suggests, but when this Happs makes his approach, the more deceptive of our number pose as low-life highwaymen, already in the process of threatening and exploiting the proprietors of the trading post. In all likelihood the situation will erupt into conflict, in which case we will be precisely were we would be in a standard ambush, except with their expectations set upon fighting fewer opponents." He leans forward on the table, emphasising the intrigue of his suggestion. "But, if we meet with any degree of success in our subterfuge, our possibilities broaden. Perhaps we would learn some volunteered details before our fight erupts, but perhaps this Happs fellow is precisely the opportunist he appears to be, opening the possibility of an infiltration of their ranks and disclosure of their base of operations..."

He stands again, relinquishing the guile from his tone.
"But I am merely making a suggestion that takes advantage of my own skills, for I would insist on volunteering for this role should you all agree. That is how I believe I may serve our cause best, but I have known each of you for only a few weeks. What suggestions do the rest of you have, that may make use of your own hidden talents?" Mycroft eyes Aeldeth, Gerald and Fabian in particular, suspecting that if anyone has unexpected tricks up their sleeves, it is likely to be the magicians. Jenna is a known quantity, and her uses here are limited.

Sense Movite:
Roll(1d20)+6: 15,+6 Total:21

With her horse taken care of, Nal’em surveys the outside of the home, marking entrances and exits mentally before heading inside. She had been about to ask Aeldeth if she wanted to bet on whether the ladder was going to fall before the man, or the other way around once he noticed the group, but Mycroft had put an end to the words before they were out of her mouth. He had the gift of perfumed prose, that one.

All the talk of bandits and throat slitting made her wonder how they viewed her own choice of profession. The only difference between her and these individuals was that she took out contracts. The all-too-familiar frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Now confronted with the decision of milk or water, she pulled the wine skin from her saddle bag and took a drag. Until she knew more about these people and the surrounding areas, she wasn’t going to take her chances.

Listening with only half attention to the story, Nal’em picked the information she needed from it like nits from a child’s hair. If this man was due in the morning, she may want to perch on the roof tonight to keep watch. She wondered if Alexander was interested in keeping a night’s post with her to ensure their “guests” wouldn’t show up earlier than anticipated.

She turned to Oleg and watched him, contemplating on the good nature of her compatriots.

Sweet intentions don’t keep you fed. If we continue on that path, we’ll be butchering our horses before too long.

She then turned her attention to Mycroft.

And exactly how many throats has he slit that he can speak so freely about it. The taking of a life should never be spoken of so lightly.

Nal’em looked down at her own hands and thought about the lives she had taken, with blade and with raw strength. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts, then took another sip from the wineskin before corking it. The long ride and being awake during daylight hours was already taking its toll on her. One would have thought that 3 weeks would have allowed her to adjust, but the change had come sudden and her body had attempted to fight it. She had tried to get some sleep in the saddle, but it had been too long and the gait of her mount had kept her awake.

The wine had made her hungry, but the soup that the woman had poured for Gerald looked meager at best. Nal’em pulled a strip of salted beef from her pack and nibbled on it thoughtfully while ideas about how to deal with the thugs were tossed about. If these were simple base-born rebels, the best way to handle them would be to grab this Happs character and interrogate him. Cut the head off a snake and the rest will die, but you could still milk it for venom.

“Infiltration would be arduous and painstaking and is usually a job best done alone. Reporting back to a larger group causes suspicion and leaves too many loose ends. Perhaps catching the leader and dispatching the rest of the group so that none may report back would be better. But then you leave people wondering what happened to Happs and his men.” She leaned forward on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her, “It depends how quickly you want to deal with the threat. Take out one band, others will come sniffing after their trail, if there are indeed others behind it. If not, you rid this man of his troubles and we may continue on our way, unimpeded.” Nal’em sent a pointed stare at Svetlana, “Best way to catch him alive is with tempting bait. Coax him into the house, bar the door. Kill the men, capture him, find out what he knows.” She let her gaze shift to the others in the room, her face expressionless.

Mycroft smiles slyly and nods, appreciative of Nal'em's candour and pragmatism.

"Without a doubt, you are right. In planning for the eventuality of a battle here at the trading post, our efforts must focus on 'Happs' himself. He is our priority for capture, and should that fail, our priority for elimination. But I can only agree in part with your assessment of our infiltration prospects." Mycroft walks slowly, circling the table as he speaks.
"I would almost certainly be best if I attempted the infiltration alone. With the right story for pretense, one predatory vagabond would seem least threatening and most fortuitous from the perspective of a band of opportunists. Putting aside the standard concerns for my life and limb, alone against over a dozen armed assailants, the issue becomes one of maintaining sustained contact should I succeed. However, the secret transmission of information, permitting you all to shadow me in a manner undetected by our foes, is a far simpler matter than you may imagine." He steps behind his daughter, placing both hands on her small, round shoulders, causing her to withdraw from the attention of the others, beneath her hooded cap.
"Far from the physical liabilities of leaving trail-signs or sending messenger birds, as I am sure were your concern, Nal'em, my little princess here has, with effort, learned to hone the our family's magical blood into an innate form of 'daddy-divination'." He grins as he ruffles her hair beneath her cap, while withdrawing his hands from her shoulders and leading the attentions of the others away from her once again.

Spoiler - Players who make a Sense Motive: DC 26 Only

Spoiler:

"If necessary, my clever little sorceress can at any point divine a highly educated understanding of where I am, regardless of distance between us. Furthermore, with some effort, she and I may exchange simple empathic impressions. Suffice to say, with our history of leading active lives in a crowded city-centre, this has aided me in my parenting duties immensely." He oscillates his eyebrows with a suggestive smirk, allowing the stock stereotypes of teenage-maidens and their proclivities with young lads to briefly enter the minds of the others. Jenna withdraws deeper still into the folds of her cloak, smouldering with renewed embarrassment.
"That said, this all puts me still in favour of our tiered plan: Step one, attempt an infiltration of their ranks; step two, if that should fail, we attack, springing Thormar's flanking ambush; step three, if it comes to conflict, Happs himself must be taken alive, and subjected to whatever pressures we deem necessary for him to volunteer the information we seek. Rather than his no-doubt easier to capture underlings, the man himself is least likely to resist our interrogations out of fear of some higher-up whose wrath he must answer to for betrayal. And if he is precisely that reticent to talk, that gives us a vital clue about what larger threats await us further south! One way or another, either I return with Happs to their base of operations, or he must not return at all..." Mycroft once again nods appreciatively to Nal'em, and again allows his eyes to pass over the other magicians.

DC Diplomacy: 12 + 7 = 19

With his eyes roaming, to rest specifically on the mysterious Fabian, Mycroft continues.
"But these logistical misunderstandings merely demonstrate my earlier point. Magical influences are unpredictable, even within our own number. It is essential that we know what mystical tricks dwell up your collective sleeves if we are to plan any further."

Thormar stands up, to place himself on an even level with Mycroft - though, even straight-backed, he cannot match the younger man's considerable height - fixing him with a cool smile. He begins amiably: "Mycroft, are you so tired of us after a three-week travel that you wish to join the local bandits instead? I know I sweat-stink something foul, but baths can stave that."

He stretches his arms out beside him, palms up and beseeching: "It is reasonless - except fool-bravery - to try 'infiltrate' this band of battle-scum. I know bandits, and these sound coward and bully to a man. Your speeches may tongue-please empty-gutted and clod-headed Restov nobles, but now you are a stranger, and these bandits will trust you about as far as they can piss on your corpse."

Thormar leans forward on the table, and his voice grows Icerime-cold: "This is a brackish backwater of habit. The bandits see you, and their hackles will danger-rise higher than Skywatch itself. You have yet to battle-prove yourself and earn the right to put us all in danger by slaying that advantage. No, we will make pine trees out of them with our arrows, and question those that survive. It's a safer path, and I'd advise it over yours. Yours leads to turth-lacking tales, early graves, and fatherless daughters." He punctuates the final statement by shifting his gaze to Jenna.

Mycroft smiles down at Thormar. There is an unmistakable air of grandeur to the old man, such that when focussing only on his smouldering eyes, one has the sensation of speaking to a man of immense size and stature. Despite his role as attendant to a wet-behind-the-ears squireling, Thormar's voice commands an uncanny sense of reverence. Mycroft cannot shake the sense that his are likely stories worth hearing.

DC Perform - Oration: 12 + 6 = 18

"When I was working to obtain convictions among the ranks of Restov's organised criminal syndicates, the great Barrister Arvaan Gelad advised me: 'royalty recruit their relatives, nobility recruit their friends, soldiers recruit whoever's at hand, but criminals recruit their rivals'." Mycroft speaks in an aloof, matter-of-fact sense, as if his words were completely tangential to the discussion at hand. "Were I to pose as some roaming mountebank, with scarce-enough scruples to attempt to prey upon the proprietors of this trading post, there are only two ways in which Happs and his men may view me. If their numbers are plenty, they would see only a nuisance preying upon what was rightfully theirs, and they would attack. But if their numbers are wanting, they would see a fellow who is already performing the job they would seek to assign him, and who need only hear their offer before becoming one of them. The former is the more likely, the latter is the more informative, and only hindsight will tell us whether the chance for the improbable warrants risking the probable... Regardless, if they were to attack me, any attacks readied against my person would still leave our foes flanked to our tentative ambush..." The tone of conjecture slips from his voice, as he more directly addresses Thormar's concerns.

"But you must forgive me, Thormar, you are quite right. I spent some time, after I was awarded this charter, plotting the particulars of how I would conquer conflicts such as these all on my own. My mind, therefore, immediately rushes to those solutions where my abilities and my actions must win the day, and I have hence given callously little thought to the concerns and fears of the rest of you." He widens his gaze from Thormar, addressing the others. "I apologise, it is of course not my intention to insist upon any course of action that you feel is beyond your abilities, or that places any of you at too great a risk. I shall not raise the option again unless one of you deems that it has some permutation of merit." Mycroft's voice is light and sincere.

Spoiler - Sense Motive DC 15

Spoiler:

He nods to himself resolutely.
"Acting conservatively then, our best plan seems far more apparent. Let us take no unnecessary chances, and ensure that our enemy are neutralised as quickly and decisively as our collective strength can manage! If we strike them with the full element of surprise, our only complication becomes trying to ensure that Happs himself can be captured. His premature death would leave us blind to a subset of the dangers we may face further south, but this must be tempered against the disastrous possibility of his escape... Again, I must wonder, what means do we, any of us, have that may ensure his successful detainment? Shall we rig an entanglement trap? Throw a large net over him? Has anyone mastered the paralysis enchantments that Jenna is yet to master?" Jenna frowns at Mycroft's mention of her shortcomings, but cannot disguise the diffuse relief she feels, now that her father seems less intent on running off with the bandits.

Nal’em, content to have said her piece, looks down at her travel stained clothes. The mixture of sweat, dust, and the smell of horse had finally gotten to her. Since it appeared that the group would be at least spending the night, she decided a chance to bathe was in order.

“Good sir, sweet lady, is there perhaps a river or lake nearby? I would be grateful for a chance to wash the road away.”

Oleg, intently listening to the resolution to the problem that has plagued his post for the last quarter pipes up and says "Well if some of you are going to sneak into the woods and wait to ambush them, how many will stay with us, and how many will lay wait in the trap?"

@Na'lem: "There is but a modest stream but a few minutes north. It's not very deep but will serve you for washing."