Atticus and Arathor
"Oh, do you smell that? Actual meat!"Atticus took a deep breath as they emerged from the Mist and smelled exactly what his sister was talking about. The farming life was wonderful and peaceful, and all they had ever known, but the smell of wild animal flesh being cooked was a rare delicacy and one they hadn't savoured in a long time.
Ever the pragmatist, however, he had to caution Arathor, "We can smell for free, but we have no coin to pay for anything to eat." Their winter crops had not fetched as much money as they hoped, and most of the coppers they had would need to go to the Souest tax collector for the spring.
Arathor was, by contrast, an optimist. "The worst thing they can do is say no. And maybe we can promise them future crops as payment." By now the sizzle of breakfast sausage and other delicacies had weakened Atticus' resolve, not that he'd really wanted to turn away in the first place. Nodding heartily in agreement at Arathor, the siblings made their way into the tavern building of whatever town the Mists had deposited them in.
Once they entered the main dining room however, Atticus was taken aback. There were so many people here of so many races, and most of them carried impressive weaponry of some kind. "These are the adventurers!" he whispered in awe to his younger sister, but while she acknowledged the comment, she was more concerned about the scents wafting from the kitchen. She was already walking into its open doorway, showering the sylvanborn cook with praise. The growl of his stomach made him more than happy to follow her and echo her sentiments, but when the green-clad cook so freely offered them to grab a plate, even Arathor looked guilty and disheartened. Atticus sadly said, "We really couldn't, we really don't have any money," but the sylvanborn just smirked and answered, "I couldn't turn away hungry travellers. This one's on me."
They gratefully followed his directions and began loading up plates with a much-appreciated meal after yesterday's long journey. Both Arathor and Atticus saw one particular dish at the same time -- "POTATOES!" they cried in unison, and then laughed. "It's the one crop we can never grow," Arathor went on to explain to the somewhat surprised cook, who took it all in stride and handed them eating utensils. Then Atticus and his sister exited the kitchen, uncertain where to sit at first, but settled on a nearby mostly-empty table only occupied by a woman with a remarkably fancy hat. She was also passing through and was a haberdasher, and introduced herself as Penelope.
The three of them chatted in between scarfing down food, and were shortly joined by the cook (recently relieved by another culinary adventurer) and another of his companions, an elf. They asked about what brought the three travellers there, and Arathor and Atticus were happy to share about their late mother's small farm that they successfully tended, growing bountiful crops of all kinds (except potatoes). The game-changer came when the two adventurers glanced at each other and then made the farmer siblings an offer they honestly couldn't refuse.
"I've recently acquired some land up in New Eloria, by Lord Sunseeker's lands," the sylvanborn said slowly. "I'm trying to get it settled and fortified, and we'd obviously need to establish a food supply and some infrastructure. Would you two be interested in farming a larger tract of land, growing bigger crops? You'd be compensated, of course." Atticus' eyes went wide. Their farm was bountiful but the size of their acreage was limited. The other adventurer offered some of his own farm in the same area as well, and both of them added that additional farm workers could be brought on to assist if needed, with the adventurers paying the cost of their salary.
Fortune had smiled on them in bringing them to the adventurer's town! This was their chance to finally have some steady income for the first time since their mother passed. Exchanging a quick but informative glance with Arathor, Atticus replied, "If we could transport some of the soil from our own farm up there, I think that would be a wonderful idea. We'd be honoured to accept." Satisfied, the sylvanborn and the elf thanked them and said they'd be in touch, and left the visitors to finish their meals.
Yet even then fortune had more to give to the children of Shreya. Before they left, a duchess from Roefield who was also one of the adventurers pulled them aside, having heard part of their conversation earlier. "I recently converted some ratkin in my land to farming and they are trying to grow onions, but they're having a difficult time making them grow. I understand you are talented farmers; could I impose on you to help them get their crops going? You'd be paid of course."
"Of course!" Atticus replied, after checking with Arathor. "We'd be more than happy to give them some tips."
"Great," the Duchess said, reaching into her purse. "A gold in advance, and another if you come back next month and tell me they're making progress." She held out a beautiful gold coin - neither Atticus nor Arathor had ever actually seen one; the most they or their mother held at one time was a few silver.
"Arathor, you'd better take it," Atticus suggested. "She's better at keeping track of our money than me," he sheepishly added to the Duchess, who chuckled and handed the coin to his younger sister before bidding them farewell and going back to a group of the other adventurers in the dining hall.
"This is it, brother," Arathor half-whispered as they headed back to the Mist line, "our fortunes are finally changing!"
The Wylderkin Bandits
The roadside robberies had been going well and they had amassed some bit of wealth plus some random trinkets and combat items. The Monkey King would be pleased with their progress. But the real profit lay in the tributes people gave them to not get robbed. And one of them was late.Crevan was hidden in a shack with one of his foxkin brethren and a badgerkin, in case the people came back with fighters or tried any other tricks. He didn't really know or care who the people were; one tribute payer was much like any other. The gifts and the wealth made their lives more comfortable and easier, when he had been used to the natural hardship of living in the Kardashi Jungle.
Their warrior-leader's plan to hide the three of them away had been a good one. The tributary brought fighters with them, or at least people with weapons. They didn't have them out right now though, and they actually brought some cookies! Crevan wanted to either have one, or sneak up and rob them of all their shinies and their expensive weapons. "Not yet," Sinopa whispered though, and Crevan backed up out of the doorframe before anyone saw him.
They kept listening to see what would happen, and it was a lot of talking and Crevan was getting bored and was just about to sit down on an old crate when the first metallic ting went off. Crevan's eyes met Ylva's and Sinopa's, and they drew their weapons and ran as quietly but quickly as they could to the backs of the fighters. Their sneak ploy was successful and only one of the fighters saw them, too late to warn the rest.
The fight wasn't easy, but they had the advantage of all the loot they had already gotten from other roadside travellers and tributaries. Crevan grabbed one of the gas globes that Goryoun had shoved into his hands before he sent them to hide in the shack, and threw it at the back of a woman with a sword and shield in her hands. She turned around, and he noticed the black tattoos around her eyes before he noticed her eyes turn red and she rushed at him screaming. Oh, that was a berserking gas. They hadn't been labelled.
He dodged, barely, from her angry primal attack, and then got himself out of sight behind a tree and one of her companions, and her attention turned to him. In fact while Crevan hacked the knees of one who tried to run away, the berserk lady ended up slaying two of the other warriors before Ylva shot her in the back and finally brought her down, and that was the last of the warriors. The pod of wylderkin fighters cheered and then they started looting the dead. Ylva had first dibs on the berserk lady but she didn't want anything so she let Crevan have his pick, and he took the fur capelet the lady had been wearing. It seemed like justice since it obviously came from an animal, their less-evolved cousins. He also looted a bow from the runner and practised a few times with it.
If they'd been smart they would have returned to the Monkey King right away with their haul, but Goryoun wanted to stick around and try to rob some more people to make it even better. For an hour or so everything was fine - no travellers, but the weather was warming up and it was nice out to relax while they kept a lookout. It was a little bit later when a very large force showed up even though half of them weren't armed at all. On closer inspection... it was the group of fighters from before! They must have had strong spirits and resurrected. So now they were coming back for their things? Crevan gave the formerly-berserk lady a cheeky grin as he hefted his new bow against his fur capelet and got some arrows nocked.
He wondered if Goryoun would tell them to kill the unarmed returners first to get them out of the way, or ignore them because they weren't a threat and take care of the new armed warriors. But the entire group charged the wylderkin before Goryoun could give them direction, so Crevan just started shooting. Some of his arrows hit and some didn't, but he had only looted about ten of them so he had to throw the bow away and grab his war axe again. Someone shot him with an arrow and he dodged with natural foxlike nimbleness around a few attackers to try and hack the archer's knees (it was his favourite thing to target), but just before he got there a big werebear stepped in front of him and raised a massive warhammer up to strike.
Thwunk.
Master Jorkahaath
Sitting on a bench outside of the Bru na Boinne, the scorpionkin's eyes lit up at the sight of four young men who were obviously adventurers. "So, so glad you could make it!" he spoke in his percussive, genial hiss. "My name is Master Jorkahaath, purveyor of fine poisons, and I'm delighted you took up my call for an escort.""I'm not sure that we are prepared enough--" a selunari started to tell him.
"No, no, I am absolutely certain that the four of you are more than enough to get me safely to Eloria City," he waved off what he assumed was an objection, even as he noted that the selunari was smart enough to realise there was a good reason he had needed to even hire an escort in the first place. "There are definitely things you need to be made aware of," he admitted, "but let's leave this place and start our trek before it gets even darker, and I'll explain as we go, shall we?"
He didn't really give them much time to object, picking up his hefty satchel and hoisting it over his shoulder plates, but as they hurried out to follow him the selunari did insist, "At least stay in the middle of us, sir. Aragon, Ekii, you two in the front, Kunzio and I in the back."
Nodding approval, off they went down the road, and it was only a few seconds before Jorkahaath began, "So you obviously are aware that I am expecting trouble. Let me give you a little background." His companions either nodded acceptance or kept silently walking, so he launched into his tale. "I have been selling my poisons around the world and I'd enjoyed a healthy trading relationship with the Quub'rakaal -- you know the Quub'rakaal?" Seeing looks of either total confusion or only partial recollection on their faces, he added, "The lizard folk in the desert through the Mist? No matter, the important part here is that there is a feral group of the lizard folk, the Visarjinci. It's a Quub'rakaali word that means 'forsaken' or 'cursed' because they lived outside of the old king's magic and took the desert curse into themselves."
"What desert curse is that?" one of the adventurers asked, but before Jorkahaath could answer, the elf Aragon said, "Something ahead of us!"
"Yep, that would be them." Jorkahaath casually slid his hand into a pocket of his satchel and pulled out a number of gas globes just in case, but the adventurers seemed to have things well in hand as the Visarjinci came close enough to get a good look at them -- lizardfolk like the rest of the Quub'rakaal, but with a sickly, sandy texture to their scales and skin, wielding wicked, sharp, unkept claws on both their hands. The quartet dispatched this first group of three Visarjinci with ease and Jorkahaath relaxed, returning his own "weaponry" to his bag.
He attempted to resume his story as they continued walking toward the Eloria City Mist barrier, but had hardly gotten four more words out when another group of Visarjinci assassins tried to pinch them from either side. In the process one of the young men suffered a small wound when a claw swipe or two got through his armour.
"So what is this curse?" the tigerkin asked anxiously after the assassins were killed, obviously feeling some throbbing pain around the wound that Jorkahaath recognised as the first stage of the curse.
"Well it's the same thing that the desert winds itself does -- slowly puts you in more and more pain, slows you down and weakens your muscles, and eventually petrifies you. All the other Quub'rakaal are vulnerable to it, but the Visarjinci evolved in it and---- oh," he trailed off as he realised the tigerkin was getting more and more wide-eyed. Hastily he added, "Nothing that can't be purified out of your body at this point, young man," and was about to search another pocket for a Purify elixir when one of his companions channeled a magical purification aura through his weapon. "Handy, that," Jorkahaath said admiringly. "Shall we continue?" The adventurers returned to their protective positions in front of and behind the alchemist, and Jorkahaath went on with his story.
"These Visarjinci wanted to acquire poisons and elixirs from me, same as every other client I have, but they wanted exclusive access. Under threat of forcefulness, no less," he added meaningfully, looking around to see if his audience understood, but it was quite dark by this point and they had no lights among them. Oh well. "Anyway, I declined graciously, and had to make a somewhat unprofessional escape. Shortly after that I learned of the Mist granting access to these lands here, and thought to make some new business connexions, but the Visarjinci found out as well and sent some of their assassins to follow me and bring me back, or kill me I suppose." Glancing ahead and seeing a few odd-shaped trees, he added, "Like these fine gentlemen right here."
The last, largest group of Visarjinci leapt out in an attempt at surprise, but his sufficiently-warned adventurer guards were already set and met the assassins with the ferocity that came with being better informed. Nevertheless Jorkahaath assisted with a few well-placed Paralysis globes, and although two more of his companions were marred by curse-carrying claw cuts, another channeled purify and one of his elixirs fixed his guardians right up after the last of the foul lizardmen had been eliminated.
A cautious quiet punctuated by occasional random conversation filled the short remainder of the trip to the Mist line and through it, where the adventurers led Master Jorkahaath right to the city gates. "I cannot thank you enough, young men," he hissed happily. He drew some gold out of a hidden pocket under another of his plates and dispersed it among them, adding, "I'm sure you'll see me around in the weeks to come, and I promise you if ever you need any poisons or elixirs, you will have a discount from me!" Then he turned to the nearest guard and said, "Point me in the direction of the nearest inn, my fine friend, I am in need of some refreshment and some sleep!"
