Party 5

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"A lost child is something that a whole community feels, it is understandable they want to find something to blame." Carwyn shakes his head, wondering why no-one had told him or Balion of the lost child with both of them experienced in the woods surrounding the town. He nods, preparations done, and stands whilst shouldering his pack and shield. He glances at Balion but shrugs off the talk, the elf often says things that he doesn't understand and talk of wheels and shadow were not important if there was someone ill to tend to. "Please, is there anyone that can take me to this Raunie? I promise I will do what I can." he says to Ratka, conscious of the fact that Stanimir has said he will take the others to the fire and Damia is talking to Balion and Fauntleroy.

Almost forgetting why there were there for a second Carwyn stops for a second and thinks, weighing up whether easing the suspicions and providing piece of mind for the people of Daggerford would do more good than allowing the gypsies to stay, especially if they had traveled far. His loyalty to the people of Daggerford is warring with his promise to protect travelers on the roads and it is eating him up, leaving him lost in thought. 'Snap out of it Cary, tend to the sick first and worry about everything else after.' He thinks, forcing himself to focus back on the more immediate problem.
 
“Ah, a missing child. No wonder the local populace was looking for a scapegoat then.” Fauntleroy shook her head, seemingly unsurprised by this. It wouldn’t be the first time she witnessed something like that. In fact, she had often proclaimed that she had been fired from her position at the academy for such a reason. “So it is merely foolish superstition at work here! No evidence, no empiricism, whatsoever! Bah.”

If Fauntleroy notices the caution with which Stanimir addresses the topic of magic, she doesn’t mention it. Instead there’s a glint in her eye. In the sleeves of her coat, her fingers twitch. “Most intriguing. What school of magic are we talking about? And do only your women have a proclivity for divination?” She is clearly unaware whether the kind of questioning is appropriate or not.

She glances at Gimble. For a moment she considers warning him off from stealing anything. Deciding it would be more useful to persuade him to donate his corpse to science if his sticky fingers once catch up to him, she turns to Carwyn instead. “Presuming you would help this woman with magic, I would like to observe if that is a possibility at all.”
 
Fauntleroy's question catches Carwyn completely off-guard as he is lost in his own head, thinking about a lot of things, and he stumbles over his words as he tries to answer. "I..ehm..w-well Eldath... Eldath's blessing is not something hidden. Ehm... anyone can observe if they wish. Sorry Fauntleroy, I did not even think you would be interested. I feel this may be more medicine than magic, disease can be very tricky and I am not a peaceman, yet at least. I won't stop you watching but I would ask that you don't interfere."

Thinking for a second Carwyn turns towards Balion and says "If Fauntleroy and I will be otherwise engaged then please make sure everyone else is safe. This talk of wolves and curses has me nervous, even if it is just superstition." He sighs and then adds in Halfling <"Find out about them moving on, but please do not push yet, not until we know how bad this illness is."> Carwyn nods towards Ratka and holds his hand open "Please, head on."
 
I couldn’t steal from a people as this, self sufficient an’ shunned. Gimble shakes his head and picks a new goal to hold onto, softly chucking as he does so. Perhaps I could kill two crickets with one foot here.

Gimble gives a blink and a slight nod as Carwyn and Bryce head towards the ill in need. Turning his head towards the elder he says “Aye I would love to hear tales of your homeland, an’ perhaps after the tale you could elaborate on this werewolve situation your in.”

Gimble gives a wave and a smile to Balion “Care to join us Balion?”
 
“I am interested in both,” Fauntleroy announces without hesitation. Non-plussed by Carwyn’s nervous words, she continues. “And you needn’t worry about interference. Consider me merely a curious observer. In fact, it will be like I am not there at all.”

She looks at Gimble and Balion. “Let’s reconvene after master Carwyn has finished his task.” So far these people had not proved malicious, and Fauntleroy wasn’t so sure whether it was simple prejudice or not that had caused rumors to spread like watercolor stain. Nonetheless, she’d prefer to stick together if they were going to see this through.
 
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Nomad Camp:

Damia raises an eyebrow at Fauntleroy, then shrugs. "We don't really do 'schools', it's more of hand-me-down stuff. And yes, it's primarily women that manifest the Sight -- Astria over there, for one, is in the running to become the next Raunie." She points over to another slightly younger woman sitting by the fire, conversing and laughing with another man. "She can even tell your fortune, if you'd like. Not me though." She starts twirling her dagger again.

Stanimir turns to Carwyn and nods. "I do not believe it is anything that would require a divine hand, but I would not refuse the aid of a holy man. You are free to come if you are still interested, madam scholar." He starts leading whoever follows to one of the wagons, where an elderly woman lies asleep on a cot and blankets. "She is a hardy woman, but the travel has caused her to grow weary as of late."

Once her father is out of earsight Damia leans in to the remaining group for a loud whisper, just barely audible above the clamor near the bonfire. "Don't tell the old man I said this, but honestly I've just got a hunch that a pack is hidin' out in the woods just over yonder. Something in their movements just seems too intelligent, y'know? But the Raunie is basically our navigator, and until she's up and at 'em we're kinda stuck here."
 
Carwyn steps into the wagon and, seeing the woman in the blankets, talks in a clear and calming voice. "Raunie, my name is Cary and I am a freewalker of Eldath. I am going to see if I can work out what is wrong but it will take some time Raunie. Please stay still." He directs Fauntleroy into a corner before sitting down in the centre of the wagon, holding his holy symbol and slowly beginning a chant. As he chants the symbol begins to glow slowly infusing the room with a subtle blue light and the sound of gentle trickling water fills the room. After a few minutes Carwyn reaches his hand forward and water starts dripping from his fingers as the divine magic fills him. The blue light pulses down into his hand before pushing out in a ring spreading throughout the wagon, out into the area beyond.
 
The interest is clear in Fauntleroy’s face. Something outside of a school, passed down from woman to woman— it is so unlike her academic studies. A new lead in her goal, perhaps. But she blanches —as far as that is possible for somebody as pale as her— and shakes her head. “Interesting, but I fear I might have to pass on that.” Instead, she gives a grateful nod to Stanimir.

Fauntleroy follows the two men quietly. She takes up a spot in the corner, away from the proceedings but with a clear view. After a moment she reaches inside her pack to get out some ink and her notes. Her stare is intense as she watches Carwyn’s every single move with a scholarly intensity. The only times she looks away is when she briefly glances at her notes.
 
Balion Watches them leave in silence. After which he turns to Damia with slight concern in his face. "When did they get sick? Did they have a run in with these...intelligent wolves?" 'Best to keep my fears in till I get some form of confirmation. Last thing we need is to insult these people.' He surveys the edge of the firelight and then the edge of his natural vision. "Also, did anyone every get a reliable count on the pack size?"
 
Gimble nods as Dimia points to Astria’s location “A fortune telling from a roaming band of self sufficient people who ‘ave the capacity to curse?” Gimble inhaled sharply “Of bloody course I want in on that action! Sounds exciting.” As Balion speaks trying to get the details on the pack of werewolves Gimble’s mind turns. Perhaps these people would reward some protection if guided the right way...

“Balion those be excellent questions, but a better question, how do you folks see getting past them? Say they are intelligent wouldn’t a band of travelers such as ya self be the first target they come for?” Gimble cocks his head and swipes his nose “We may be able to handle that for ya. And while we are at it, suggest to the good people of Daggerford ye ain’t the misfits they may mistaken you as.” Giving a smile as he finishes.
 
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Nomad Camp:

Damia shakes her head at Balion. "The sickness ain't related to that, I can assure you. They haven't attacked us yet, but you've heard what happened with the townsfolk... I think they're going after easy pickings. From the tracks it seems like just a couple, but even one is a nasty thing to deal with."

Having said that, she looks all the more surprised (and mildly impressed) when Gimble suggests handling the werewolves for them. "My, my -- seems there's more to the little sneak than meets the eye." She smirks, crossing her legs. "So what do you want in exchange? Something more than a pat on the back and a fortune for the road, I reckon."

Raunie's Wagon:

The Raunie wakes up after a few minutes, her eyes gazing over the unfamiliar face of Carwyn. "Oh hello... bright one," she whispers, her eyes glazing over slightly as she manages a tired smile. "Have you come bearing a torch in the darkness?"

Stanimir, who has been standing close to Fauntleroy in order to give the cleric some space, raises an eyebrow at the sight. "Strange, she only gets like that when she 'sees' something..." he mutters. "What is she saying?"

Reaching through the divine magic of his deity, Carwyn intuitively senses that there is nothing afflicting the elder except a mild fever and the symptoms of old age.
 
Gimble beams inwardly at the complement. “You reckon right Damia! However, could I ask our reward be in the form of a favor? So I can call upon it in the future.” Gimble starts stretching his arms as he thinks perhaps the more we learn about these people the more valuable their knowledge could be...

Gimble stops stretching and looks towards Damia, “whaddya say”? Gimble finishes as he extends his hand.
 
Carwyn nods as the spell finishes, turning to Stanimir with a reassuring smile. "She has no disease or serious affliction, it is just a mild fever and age. I would suggest slowing your rate of travel and plenty of water until the fever breaks. If you do not have enough clean water, I can help with that. The Mother of Waters always provides." He slowly stands up, wiping the water off his hand onto his robe absentmindedly and touching the holy symbol to his lips.

He turns to the Raunie and cocks his head at her words. "Eldath's light shines in us all Raunie. She brings calm waters to all who follow her." He looks at Stanimir with some surprise afterwards, hearing the inflection on the word 'see'. "Sees something? She has the gift of augury? That is a great blessing, our peacemen use a similar power." He moves back towards the Raunie, taking her hand and leaning closer, a boyish smile of excitement breaking through the look of concentration. "What do you see?"
 
Diviniation is a school that can provide many useful spells— Fauntleroy knows this. She even uses one herself occasionally, to divine what magic she is dealing with. Yet she is filled with a sense of unease at the current proceedings— at the woman’s words, the aura of subtle knowing, Stanimir’s muttering...

Fauntleroy does not want to know the future— she wants to discover it for herself. At least then, she has a sense of free will. To have somebody tell her whether she’d fail or not would set her fate in stone. And thus, uneasy with the scene, she forces a smile.

“Well, I’ve seen what I intended to see,” she says, perhaps a little hurriedly than strictly necessary. “I’d better go see what the other two are up to.” She starts to stow her supplies again, not taking her usual care to place everything in its proper place.
 
Raunie's Wagon:

The Raunie grasps Carwyn's hand and smiles softly, seeming to look into his eyes but also somewhere far, far beyond. "Blaze bright, you four torchbearers, in the face of the abyss. Only by diving through its murky depths shall you rekindle the flame of day..." With that, she slowly dozes off into a restful sleep.

"Such is tradition for our tribe to choose the Raunie based on who manifests the sight," Stanimir says, approaching after Fauntleroy departs suddenly. "Dorina here has served for several decades now. Though normally, it does not manifest spontaneously like that..." He pauses in thought for a moment, then looks to Carwyn and flashes a smile. "It seems that your group is quite special after all. Shall we reconvene with them?" He signals for Ratka to fetch some water for the elder woman, then gestures for the cleric to follow him back to everyone else.

Nomad Camp:

"A favor, eh?" Damia lets out an amused laugh at Gimble, seeming to let down her guard. "Well I can't guarantee that we'll ever cross paths again, but if a favor's all you want I'm sure we can oblige. At the very least you're more than welcome to stick around for a bit, eat and drink your fill." She gestures to the bonfire, before glancing over at the rest of the arriving group members with a smirk. "That is, if your friends here don't mind that you just signed them up for a spontaneous hunt."
 
Carwyn looks puzzled over the Raunie's words, thinking to himself that blazing light is not something usually associated with Eldath and the groves, but he follows Stanimir to the rest of the group. He completely misses a lot of what the older man says the first time, having to go back and run it through in his mind. 'Special? There is nothing special about me, I wonder if the fever could have affected the divination? I will have to ask Fauntleroy, the Professor is a genius after all.' He thinks to himself as he walks.

He catches the end of the sentence from Damia and starts back, caught completely off guard. "Hunt, wait what? Gimble? Balion? Hunt? Oh god not werewolves, please tell me it's not the werewolves." Carwyn eyes are darting around, verging on panicking at the thought of having to face off against something that had no care for his protection as a freewalker of Eldath. Something bigger and more vicious, he flashed back to being stuck in the ditch watching himself bleed out, and he almost ran there and then. But then he forced himself to go through his training, the calming waters, the still pool. Calming his thoughts Carwyn tried to focus on what mattered, the people without any protection, the people in danger. 'I have to help, I have to be strong. Eldath's peace is with me.' He repeated to himself over and over before forcing a smile onto his face and nodding once. "Okay."
 
Fauntleroy has retreated within her coat, the collar tugged up high and her hands hidden within its pockets. Nonetheless its easy to see her brow has creased into a frown, that only deepens when she approaches the rest of the group and catches the tail end of the conversation. “Hunt?”

She cocks her head at Carwyn’s response, raising a brow. Clearly the man wasn’t comfortable with a werewolf hunt. To be very frank, neither was Fauntleroy, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for knowledge. If she wanted firsthand knowledge of werewolves —and she wanted any and all kinds of knowledge— she would have to hunt some. “My main concern is that I am not sure if we are properly equipped for such a thing.”
 
Gimble is smiling as he usually does after a deal gone well, but on the inside is also fretting how he is going to come through. “Ah Fauntleroy! I’ve got great news! I just made a deal here, that gets us a favor in exchange for driving off these nasty flea bags and upholding these fine peoples reputation! Ya be correct however that we are not prepared at the moment...” Gimble stares off for a moment before looking towards Balion, before grinning. “Ay but Balion here might have some insight for us”! Pating the medium sized humanoid on his upper dorsal thigh.
 
Balion was lost in thought until his companions came back. Replaying the conversation up to that point and then nods. "Yes. We have." He looks to Damia, and stares for a second, almost as if working up to speaking."Do you and yours have any silvered weapons we can use or buy. Otherwise we might be throwing our lives away and you will continue to have this problem."
 
Nomad Camp:

Damia considers it for a moment, then tosses the dagger she's been twirling at Gimble. In the moonlight the realizes that it does have a silver glint to it. While he's busy catching it and admiring it she reaches for her belt and quickly throws down another one, its point sticking into the dirt in front of the party. "They cost a pretty penny, so if you don't come back your favor is forfeit."

Having been watching this exchange, Ratka comes over and pulls off the quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, barely visible from his original stance. He takes out 10 arrows and offers them to Balion. "Can't give everything away. Them finding us is more likely than you finding them."

Stanimir nods at the exchange, having come to understand what had just been bargained. "I do not think you will come to much harm tonight, not with the group you've assembled here. I wish you the best of luck with your endeavor." He bows deeply, then looks to the southern woods. "That was where we last heard what might have been howling. That would be your best bet."
 
Balion takes the arrows and stares at them for a moment. Looking to Ratka he gives a small flourish of a bow and tucks his chin into his chest. "Thank you. You may have just given u our lives. Do you wish us to bring anything of the beasts back for you?" Balion congratulates himself for remember to offer a return gift, albeit gruesome. Turning to his companions he readies the arrows in a separate part of his quiver and looks to each in turn.

"Shall we make the world slightly safer then?" Since they knew him, they would recognize this as indicating he is impatient to begin.
 
Fauntleroy kneels down to pick up the dagger from the earth. She studies it for a moment before she straightens out to her full height, looking at her fellow travelers. “Do any of you need another dagger?” she asks. “Otherwise I would not mind keeping it on me.” She is not suited for the frontlines by any means, but having a dagger on her to drive off any hairy attacker doesn’t hurt. Nonetheless, she knows that perhaps it might benefit somebody else better than her.

She glances at their temporary hosts. “Thank you. It is very...” She takes a moment to consider a proper adjective, something that’s less jarring than strategic choice. “Kind of you. To share what you can so we can defend ourselves from the wolves.” She looks at Balion before nodding. “I suppose there is no use in delaying.”
 
Gimble stares at the dagger longer than usual. It reminded him of the first weapon he had ever held, through the streets of Zhentil Keep, and held a dagger throughout the fall of that keep, the fall of his mother, at the hands of THEM! Gimble's hands start shaking, as he puts his rapier on to the side of his backpack and sheathes this dagger in his belt. looking forlorn for the first time, Gimble takes his shortbow out from behind him and replies

"Right, lets get these fleabags." Gimble starts off to where Stanimir had indicated, crouching down and carefully placing steps in a recognizable manner.
 
Carwyn still looks shaken but determined. He shakes his head at the offer of the weapon, even with these wolves he won't use violence if he doesn't have to. "Balion, this is your area of expertise. Tell me where is best for me to help, and when. I will support you wherever possible."

Seeing that Gimble was acting nervously he reached out and put his hand gently on the gnome's shoulder. "Eldath will watch over you Gimble. Do not worry." Sending a pulse of blue light through his hand and into Gimble. He then settled in behind Balion at the back of the group, waiting for directions.
 
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