Trouble in the HIghlands

What has gone before:

Informed that St. Nikolasha's Monastery may be looking for a strong arm to help protect it from the depredations of goblins and such vermin (those becoming far too common in the eastern reaches of the Highlands), Rhiannon set forth after announcing her intent over her vodka at the Golden Cockerel tavern. The odd little halfling asked if she might accompany the fighter for the sake of safety and there seemed no good reason not to allow it, even if "Cora" did wear that strange holy symbol with its half moon and four stars on it.

As the pair set off from the broad wooden gatehouse of Caer Ellemar the next morning, a young man rode up on a sprightly horse and asked if they were headed east to the village near the monastery. He introduced himself as Alkemelych of the yazakh, a tribe of distant steppe on the western end of Ruskyevets. Since he was travelling that way himself, he allowed that they might as well all travel together.

Finally, just as they passed a bend in the dusty road and left the high wooden palisades of Care Ellemar behind, a scruffy figure popped from the underbrush and cockily greeted the travelers. Rhiannon rolled her eyes, for she knew Zavid from town and knew he was trouble waiting to happen, since things which belonged to others had a tendency to find their way into his possession.

Be that as it may, he tagged along, and the party was formed, albeit unwillingly or merely as convenience.

Trouble in the Highlands (And This Surprises You Why?)

Session One - Harvest 1 to Harvest 3

Arriving at the village of St. Nikolasha just before mid-day, the starosta [headman] Andrei Bogdanovich asked the four travelers to check on a wagon which was long overdue. He had already dispatched two young men of the community, but he feared the worst. Thinking the newcomers looked likely enough folk to lend aid he offered free lodging for a time in return for their time and effort.

Though the thought of an inn, a good meal, and vodka warming the belly was tempting, the need to get on the good side of the village leader won out. The party hiked back down the road (except Alkemelych, who rode his mare). Barely two miles out of town the path branched, one leading back to Caer Ellemar, and the other to the River Dniev four days to the south.

Another five miles of rolling hills and muddy path brought a few grumbles, but they were silenced when Zavid raised his hand. "I hear something," he announced and moved quickly and quietly to thetop of the next hill. A cautious raising of his head showed the wagon in the hollow below. Two orcs were watching as a man attempted to lead an uncooperative horse from the scene.

Scattered about the wagon were bodies of men and orcs, and as Alkemelych joined Zavid the rogue pointed out the unmoving forms. The yazakh wizard's sharp eyes detected movement behind the wagon, and Zavid grimaced. "Three orcs and a scum-sucking man," he growled. "And who knows how many more in the woods?"

Rhiannon and Cora had carefully made their way up the hill without making enough noise to alert the marauders below. "Can we take them, do you think?" the polianitsa [female warrior] asked.

"What do we have in the way of bows?" asked the halfing. "The less we have to fight hand to hand the better it will be for us."

Alkemelych cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty fair understanding of fighting," he said wryly, "for a cleric."

"Masal, may He grant favor and wisdom to you, does not forbid His clerics to fight when necessity demands, nor does your own Photios, as far as I know," Cora replied, touching her hand to her heart as she spoke the name of her god.

"While these theological discussions may be fine over a mug of black-bread beer," Zavid whispered, "now is not the time. There is the village's wagon, there lie the village's men, probably dead, so here we must decide what to do."

Alkemelych and Cora both nodded. "I'll handle it," the wizard said.

With a few muttered phrases he was on his feet, and the three others felt the hair on their head stand up for a moment as the yazakh pulled a bit of arcane energy from all around and tossed it toward the figures below.

There was a cry of alarm and the orcs turned to look up the hill at the four figures in the process of starting a fight--then the sleep spell struck.

One orc toppled to the ground, snoring loudly, his partner stood dumbly for a few moments, shaking his head. The third orc, half-hidden behind the wagon roared in rage and began lumbering around. The man leading the horse dropped the halter and fumbled at his sword.

"Well damn," Alkemelych muttered, but began to run down the hill toward the foe. The others followed, both Rhiannon and Zavid loosing bolts from their bows. A well-placed blast of magic missles joined the arrows, and the fight was effectively over, though the first orc continued to slumber peacefully as the four travelers came up to the wagon.

Without warning a long, whistling shaft plunged through the air and skewered the throat of the sleeping orc and the party whirled to see a figure at the top of the hill. It was clad in what appeared to be the black ryasson of a monk, but the hint of features under the hood were all elf. The mysterious stranger nodded to the four and raised his hand in greeting, and then slipped back into the trees.

"Elves, can't abide 'em", Rhiannon grumbled. "Always trying to seduce people, trying to lead them away from the truth."

No one else commented, but Cora took note of the fairly common attitude which she had discovered among the Roskyevoi. Elves were not popular among the humans, though halflings fit in well enough, and dwarves seemed to be able to get along. "I wonder what they think of gnomes," the cleric wondered.

"None of these can be saved," Alkemelych said, leaning over one of the fallen humans. "The orcs were pretty thorough."

"They seem to be pretty well off themselves," countered Zavid, holding up three pouches. "About 60 silver, I would say, not to mention their axes and mail, though I suppose we might as well leave all that since no one is likely to buy it in the village."

"Don't you think that money should go to the families of the fallen men?" Cora asked. The rogue eyed her suspiciously.

"Uh....well....we did have to fight and all," he muttered.

"Big fight," Rhiannon laughed. "Three or four arrows, some weird stuff from Baldy. Shoot, we weren't even in any danger. Give the coins to the families."

Zavid grumbled but handed the pouches to Cora.

"The horse has taken off," Alkemelych observed. "We'll not be able to move the wagon."

"Think it would be safe to leave it, go back to town and send the starosta and his men out for it?" Rhiannon asked.

"What if there are more orcs?" replied Cora.

"Probably are," Zavid said. "Look at this." He was examining the ground just off the road, where a path led between two tall spurs of rock. The ground was well-trampled and clear footprints led off to the southeast.

"Well they will have the same trouble moving the wagon as we would," Alkemelych observed, "and we have the advantage of a road. Let's head back and give what's his name, Andrei, a chance to haul in their goods."

And back to the village of St. Nikolasha they went. Starosta Andrei was saddened by the news of the fallen, but gathered some other men of the community and they set out to bring in the wagon. He directed the party to the inn, run by a gruff old man named Slobodan Bobrov.

Two decent rooms waited for the travelers. The innkeeper was willing enough to share some local information and Alkemelych quickly determined there was an old wise man, a sage, living in town. The yazakh went to visit him.

Cora meanwhile determined to turn over the money from the orcs to the local priest and went to the nearby church which she had noted upon entering the village.

Rhiannon and Zavid remained at the inn, enjoying hearty bowls of borsch and black bread.