Birthright 2: Promises to Keep

[ewancummins]

PECHALLIN


The goblins hop about, jabbering in their own language.

(Anyone in the party speak Goblin?)

[Adam]

Cormac slaps the shaft of his arrow against the bow, shouting, "Enough jumpin' around, ya little blighters. Why're ye pitchin' a fit!?"

[Varrus the Ethical]

PENCHALLIN

Cormac slaps the shaft of his arrow against the bow, shouting, "Enough jumpin' around, ya little blighters. Why're ye pitchin' a fit!?"

Roald holds up a blocking hand at Cormac. "Peace, my friend. I imagine they're just excited at the knowledge of what they'll be eating for the next week."

He turns to the Goblins. "Please forgive him, he's just edgy at the prospect of hunting elves."

[Adam]

Under his breath, Cormac mutters, "Elves, yeah..."

[ewancummins]

PECHALLIN


After receiving an ample supply of the promised hardtack, the goblins lead the humans to a gully not far from their camp.

The dead man lies face-up, eyes open, hands spread.
No boots, and his rough woolen hose and tunic show rips and tears.
A couple of busted arrows lie near him on the ground. No arrowheads in sight. The shafts and fletching do not resemble crude goblin-made stuff; these have been decorated with multi-hued varnish and dyes. Quite pretty, if you like that sort of fancy thing.

‘’Elfs shoot him in the back.”
The goblin-spokesman reaches into his hide coat (which looks over-large on him, hanging like a robe) and draws out three arrow-heads of blood-smeared flint.
“See, elfs make these. Wicked elfs. We trade you these? Got coins? Got brew?”

[Adam]

Cormac looks down at the arrowheads briefly before fanning out, scanning the ground for signs of tracks.

[ewancummins]

Cormac looks down at the arrowheads briefly before fanning out, scanning the ground for signs of tracks.

The druid finds nothing much beyond a couple of shallow boot marks in the frozen mud and some drag lines in the gravel. The site is hard to read.

[Varrus the Ethical]

PENCHALLIN

PECHALLIN

‘’Elfs shoot him in the back.”
The goblin-spokesman reaches into his hide coat (which looks over-large on him, hanging like a robe) and draws out three arrow-heads of blood-smeared flint.
“See, elfs make these. Wicked elfs. We trade you these? Got coins? Got brew?”

Roald squints at the arrowheads. Primitive material, but a exquisite construction. Elf-made for sure.

He shakes his head. "Friend, those arrowheads are from Rhuobhe. I wouldn't flash them around for your sake."

Roald straightens himself up. "After the recent troubles in the North, Tuornen has little kindness for goblins, especially those carrying arrowheads made by the Manslayer's kin. My advice? Drop those in the dirt and make your way out of these lands. I mean this as a favor to you. The next humans you encounter will not be as amicable as me."

[ewancummins]

PENCHALLIN

PECHALLIN

‘’Elfs shoot him in the back.”
The goblin-spokesman reaches into his hide coat (which looks over-large on him, hanging like a robe) and draws out three arrow-heads of blood-smeared flint.
“See, elfs make these. Wicked elfs. We trade you these? Got coins? Got brew?”

Roald squints at the arrowheads. Primitive material, but a exquisite construction. Elf-made for sure.

He shakes his head. "Friend, those arrowheads are from Rhuobhe. I wouldn't flash them around for your sake."

Roald straightens himself up. "After the recent troubles in the North, Tuornen has little kindness for goblins, especially those carrying arrowheads made by the Manslayer's kin. My advice? Drop those in the dirt and make your way out of these lands. I mean this as a favor to you. The next humans you encounter will not be as amicable as me."

The goblin looks at the arrowheads a moment, before tossing them into the gully.

''We go home. North."

[Adam]

Cormac allows a small smile at this last.

"Aye," he says, "Ye'd have had a different outcome if it'd been me that found ye."

He gestures to the surroundings. "Didn't expect to find much, anyways, but no signs o' elf tracks. They're too good in the woods to leave sign."

He looks down at the dead man. "Anyone recognize this fella?"

[VAN]

CROAKER NORGE

Filbert follows the others down the Croaker Norge few steps in front of Devlin. The halfling watches his every step and checks constantly the surroundings he is sure that Gunnar and the others that are ahead of them may do the same but he wants to be certain. When the maggot-hands appears the halfling looks at Devlin unsure what to do but when the young Duke says that they should proceed he does that without any further words. When they finally get to Maeve Filbert let Devlin do the talking but his glance keeps darting from maggot-hands to Meave and back again. His hand rests at the hilt of his trusted sword even if he trully hopes that he will not have to use it.

[ewancummins]

CROAKER NORGE

Filbert follows the others down the Croaker Norge few steps in front of Devlin. The halfling watches his every step and checks constantly the surroundings he is sure that Gunnar and the others that are ahead of them may do the same but he wants to be certain. When the maggot-hands appears the halfling looks at Devlin unsure what to do but when the young Duke says that they should proceed he does that without any further words. When they finally get to Maeve Filbert let Devlin do the talking but his glance keeps darting from maggot-hands to Meave and back again. His hand rests at the hilt of his trusted sword even if he trully hopes that he will not have to use it.

Maeve creeps closer, stepping down onto the muddy ground. Her feet don't sink.

She tugs the black veil from her face and stares at Filbert with her crazy, piercing eyes.
Giggling, she spins on her heels and bows to the Duke.

Then she straightens up.

"This--"
She waggles a hand at the tilted, pillared and vaulted structure behind her.
"Was built around the opening to a warm spring. The spring remains, but only my dear little froggies bathe in it now, no lords and ladies for many years.
You must dive in and swim down to the bottom. Oh, don't worry, the water isn't too hot. Swim down to the bottom and retrieve a locked chest. Careless man. I told him to 'ware his step.
Ha, ha! It's quite a pretty little coffer; rosewood, brass inlay, a heart shaped lock."

Maeve smiles.

"Hmm, but of course it's not quite that simple. The chest fell very deep indeed. Through water. Through earth."

Her smile widens into a grimace.

"Into Shadow."

[VAN]

CROAKER NORGE

Filbert's eyes narrow at Maeve's words, he repeats her last words as in a whisper lowering his head at the same time fully understanding what that means.

"Into shadow..."

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

PECHALINN

Renn kneels down to check the body. "If he's from Pechalinn, I may not know him, but perhaps.

To the goblins, he asks, "Do you know which way the elves fled?"

He quirks an eyebrow at Roald's show of, what was it, kindness towards the goblins? But he says nothing of it.

[ewancummins]

PECHALINN

Renn kneels down to check the body. "If he's from Pechalinn, I may not know him, but perhaps.

To the goblins, he asks, "Do you know which way the elves fled?"

He quirks an eyebrow at Roald's show of, what was it, kindness towards the goblins? But he says nothing of it.

The goblins converse amongst themselves for a short while, in their own language.


The spokes-goblin then replies to Captain Renn in the common tongue of Anuire,
"No tracks. Tricky elfs."

He turns and points to the southeast, where the hills rise under a thick coat of piney-woods, the land wrinkling up into low hanging clouds.

"Elfs live there. You go that way...big kill.''