First Few Steps

As soon as the south born got up, Lyke snatches up a pebble to throw near him (at him some might say). Her eyes make contact in the dark, reflecting the fire beside the group while she starts gesturing to him, holding up two fingers before thwapping them against her chest. She repeats it several more times for his benefit. Letting him know to wake her for second watch.


Her long cloak is then wrapped around her body, a few more scraps of wood fed into the hungry and quietly she falls over, resting but not sleeping.
 



  • The winds howl and the snow falls, and the night slips away. Watch passes without incident.


    In the morning, supplies are gathered up, contracts are drawn up, signed, and stored, each of you prepares to make the long trip across to the Frontier.


 
Osric Silkhand





"New Hope is a solid bet, to me. No offence to any of you, but the kind of monsters Crowhaven tends to suffer aren't worth the easy trip. Strassenbourg might be worth a look down the road, but for now New Hope... seems auspicious."


"The real challenge will be getting through Gatewood."
 



  • Once the group gets going the first week's travel is easy enough. The snow peters to a stop after the first day or so, leaving the weather relatively clear, though thick clouds do cling to the sky above oppressively.


    The crone travels with you, offering her services as a general hand, sharp eye, and long memory, throwing in her acidic tongue as a "bonus". If anything, she's at least amusing, with a story or a retort on hand at all times, and the caravan does help haul supplies.


    As you approach the Gatewood, you spot an Inquisitorial Wagon some distance away, coming in your direction. Their numbers probably equal yours, and they seem to have two caravans. They're far away enough that you could try and evade them if you wanted for whatever reason, but they've also most likely seen you as well.


 
Lyke


If at all nervous, Lyke doesn't show it. The approaching caravan doesn't seem to speed up or slow down and neither does theirs. The only motion she takes is feigning a shiver and pulling her hood up.


She does give one last hacking spit out along the path, emptying out her mouth for a while. The action also had the added benefit of protraying a type of casualness that while she didn't feel, would look good to any observers.
 
Ealhstan eyed the Inquisitorial group ahead. A part of him was relieved to see the familiar heraldry, while another part was ashamed.


Those are people I understand, whose views I share. He thought. He gave the reins of his horse a gentle tug to slow the beast's pace. His wooden leg fitted uncomfortably into the stirrups. But I'm not much of an Inquisitor anymore, however much I wish that I was. My own arrogance saw to that.





He checked the sword hanging at his hip, and tugged his cloak so as to obscure the Inquisitorial crest that it bore. Ealhstan could produce it if he needed to, but didn't want to attract undue attention. Instead he kept riding, running a whistful look over the Inquisitorial caravan.


I'm still an Inquisitor though, technically. He thought. I suppose I have nothing to be afraid of.
 
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Sam


He had listened intently to the Crone's ramblings, like he did to all the conversations going on during the week that passed, trying to glean and learn as much of the language as he could. Though her tirades still proved incomprehensible to him, her accent too thick for him to unstick the words from one another.


His keen senses had proved slow too, no game to hunt or shiny things to catch his eye. Not even the smell of new surroundings had stirred anything. He was beginning to feel slow and stupid already, sat on horseback too damn long.


Then there was the small matter of the upcoming Inquisition caravan. He could remember those symbols well. It's hard to forget when they're crushing your Masters and Superior's skulls.


His little mare - named Blue - whickered under his knees and if sensing him stiffen. His bow was sheathed but very obvious, and he still had his cowl hood up. Not exactly welcoming. The others could pass with little scrutiny, but him? A Southerner this far out? Maybe they might mistake him for a slave accompanying the party. That's what most did.


So he does what he does best; he stays very quiet and unnoticeable. Waiting to see who would greet who first.
 
Adelaide Auerstedt


Although aware of their good works, that did not mean Adelaide held any personal affection for their philosophies and way they conducted themselves. She pulled her hood up against the cold, but Abacus' pace never faltered, the loyal steed continuing earnestly forwards towards Gatewood. Best leave this to Eahlstan... Though, I am curiously to see if they recognise him. Assuming he didn't steal that sword from a corpse. Depending on things go, I'll have to play along... I've been a whore, a mother and the redeemed, whatever fantasy it takes for their preciously little world not to fall out of kilter, and let us be on their way, to not ask too many questions. I'm not the best liar, never had to be much of one, since I was usually cautious enough to avoid having to tell tales of that sort. At least no one should be out looking for us. She gave a stroke and a pat to her only friend on the cold road, for their stalwart nature.
 
Osric Silkhand


Osric already had his hood up, and was happy for it. His expression grew grimmer with every step closer to the Inquisition, but he forced his face into something appropriate for road-worn weariness once they were close enough to see.


"Leaving the talking to you, Ealhstan," he murmured to the older man. "No reason to hail them if they don't hail us. We keep moving."
 



  • As the retinue gets closer to you, more the it comes into view. The majority of the procession seems to be a pair of caravans, both bearing the Inquisitorial seal. The first is little more than a basic caravan, no doubt hauling provisions and other sundries, while the second is matt black and barred, reinforced against forced entry.


    Half a dozen Fratremaul on horses cloister around the vehicles. Heavily armored, and toting deadly warhammers indicative of their faith and piety, they watch you carefully but say nothing.


    Tension seeps into the air, hard and oppressive. Pairs of roving eyes move over you again and again, searching for any hidden movement or suspicious actions.


    Soon, it is over. They pass without incident, without word, leaving only the lingering sense of pressure.


 
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Lyke


As soon as the horses started acting up, Lyke pulls hard on the reigns. The bit sharply jamming up in her mounts gums. She gives him a stern look, a scowling sort of glance that she carries up towards the gate.


No Ill attitude is carried past the iron spikes however. Normally her head on a swivel, she stares straight ahead and avoids contact with the woods around them.


She does look back at the others once or twice, an uncommonly worried face making sure the group hasn't been spirited away.
 
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Ealhstan eyed the woods with suspicion and grudging respect, but with little fear. He knew about the kinds of beasts and bandits that roamed within. While woodland monsters weren't his specialty, he knew how to handle them in theory. Reaching into his saddlebags, he produced a phial of iron filings and loosed the bung just a little, so that it could be removed quickly if need be. He doubted that they would encounter any fae, but it always paid to be careful. He had learnt that lesson the hard way. He then checked that the rest of his gear was securely fastened to his horse, and that his sword sat loosely in its scabbard. Satisfied, he straightened.


"Ready when the rest of you are."
 
Abram


Athos whickered beneath Abram as their little company approached the Gatewood. Abram had never been this far east before, he had only heard stories about the supposedly haunted woods. But if someone had taken the time to barricade the path against the forest, and whatever lurked within, then Abram was inclined to believe at least some of the tales.


Regardless, their destination lay beyond the dark woods and New Hope wasn't about to come to them. Abram did a quick check of his possessions, ensuring his gear was strapped properly and his necklaces were secure beneath his breastplate. He hiked his poleaxe a bit higher on his shoulder and gripped the staff once tightly, listening to the leather in his gloves creak against the wood. Abram rolled his shoulders once and exhaled before setting his body into a relaxed readiness, a mindset he had learned from his father while learning to spear fish. He thought about his old man briefly, hoping that he was still alive and providing for his dear mother. It had been several months since he'd heard any news from home, but that was to be expected in his line of work. Now with the border of Kelen looming before them he wondered if he'd hear any word at all before the new year.


Abram shook his head lightly to banish those thoughts. Now wasn't the time to worry over such things, now was the time to keep watch and survive. Abram locked eyes with Osric and nodded at him once, signifying he was ready to continue into the woods. His eyes dilated slightly as he tried peering into the dark green veil, hoping to catch a glimpse of any dangers they might face. The forest merely stared back, as silent a prophecy as he could expect.
 
Adelaide Auerstedt


When I see those would, despite knowing better, there is always that little temptation. Come away, hand in hand, come away with me, my stolen child, the world is full of suffering, more full of weeping than you can understand... Adelaide tugged at the edges of her hood, a little gesture to ward off the outside world as she prepared to enter the woods. A reassuring pat on Abacus' flank and a nod towards Osric indicates her readiness to enter Gatewood.
 
Sam


Blue squirms under his knees. He shushes her gently, patting her mane.


He was used to forests. Lived in and out of them for most of his life, but this one felt like a thing alive, even from its borders.


He stands from his saddle, balancing on his stirrups, and lowers his head to the gloom beyond, and murmurs a quiet prayer in, of all tongues, Laman.


Something his Great Grandmother told him for times like this.


He sits again, looking unfazed. Surprisingly calm in comparison to everyone else, and takes the lead of the group alongside Osric and the other scouts.
 
Osric Blackhand





Osric's move improved a while after the Inquisitors passed - it seemed like a good omen. But the more the wood loomed, the darker his mood.


"No leaving the path," he said. "No talking to anything off the path."


He checked his fear one more time, turned his horse's barding inside out to ward off the Hunt, and put a crude, almost blunt iron dagger on his belt. It made him feel better, but he was quite sure it did no more than that.
 



  • Travel is slow. During the day, little light breaches the canopy, leaving the riders in an eerie, perpetual twilight. At night, the darkness saturates everything, swallowing up whatever meager light is thrown up by torches and campfire. Worst of all is the silence, that strange oppressive hush that made any sound above a whisper feel unwelcome.


    The horses are skittish, constantly snappish and irritable. Even the crone is sullen.


    The first night is long, but mercifully without issue.


    It's the second night when you hear it. Crunching and cracking, interspersed with heavy breathing, all coming from the undergrowth outside the path.


 
Lyke





  • The nicest thing about traveling in a group over a longer period of time had to be the establishing of watch periods. Unlike with new people, there was no fighting over watch. Sam usually taking first, then Herself.


    The witching hours, normally her favorite shift. A calm sort of sense in not having to stay awake for so long or rush off to sleep. It was almost pleasant in a way. But not tonight.


    Crouched within their established 'safe' camp site on the path. Lyke kept her eyes peeled at the woods. It had been the usual quiet night of oppressive nothingness. People always liked to make the snide comment about her being the best listener, not having anything to say in return but at least she was putting the skill to use tonight.


    At the first crack, Lyke bolts upright. Her eyes wide, she holds a cheap little wooden flute close to her lips. Kept on a string around her neck, it had helped considerably after her tongue had been torn out. A shrill little whistle in place of the rather frantic unintelligible noises she produce.


    She didn't blow yet, waiting to see what it actually was. It could just simply be a deer or small wolf pack. Nothing to wake everyone up and be mocked for a false call later.


 
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As an Inquisitor, Ealhstan knew better than most not to let down his guard in the Gatewood. Even as he lay there, head resting on his saddlebags, he listened intently. One hand resting on the handle of his crutch, the other on the phial of iron filings he had retrieved from his pack. He had heard stories that the Fay were not to be trifled with lightly. Indeed, he knew of no-one barring one loud-mouthed, fast-talking and especially decietful colleague who had even, supposedly, seen a fairy in the flesh.


At the noise Ealhstan sat bolt-upright, dragging his crutch and levering himself up. He limped a few steps to the edge of the firelight, next to where Lyke held a whistle to her lips. His eyes strained into the darkness.


"I doubt one of the Fay would be so noisy." He mused, mostly to himself. He slipped the phial of filings into a pocket and rested that hand instead on the hilt of his sword, easing the blade loose from its scabbard. "Though I don't know what sort of man would be wandering off the path in the Gatewood, of all places."
 
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Lyke


She gives a shrug, not looking from where she last heard the sounds. The whistle is placed between her lips as she mimics the motions of the ex-inquisitior, sliding the ugly black sword she carried out a bit.


She hated these woods. She hated most deep woods but the threat of some sort of monster had kept her on edge the entire trip. For the longest time she didn't believe in such nonsense, the woods simply a good place to hide. Couple years back she had a run in at the other edge of the wood and hadn't been back since.


Making well sure she was behind the iron markers, Lyke keeps her body tense, matching the feeling in the air.
 
Adelaide Auerstedt





  • Adelaide had been slow to drift to sleep. Having left the House had been a freedom, however when faced with the tales of places like Gatewood, she was at unease, however not for the same reasons as the other members of the caravan. Nevertheless, she was sensible enough to heed the warnings and avoid any temptations of the Fae. At least, that's what Adelaide told herself. Someday, perhaps, a Communer, but I don't want to loose my Soul to infernal machinations... With telling themselves a false hope, a banishment of unrealistic desire, they settled into a troubled, dream filled sleep, until the rustling activity of Ealhstan woke her. Auerstedt lay silently, listening to events. In this dark place, sight wasn't of much use next to the fireplace, however she did open an eye enough to look around, while she waited to hear if anything was trying to sneak into the camp, their body tensing in preparation to respond.


 
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Bavric Ulricsson


The past week had seen Bavric mostly to himself, as much as that was possible. He kept pleasant company around the evening campfires, to be sure, but he was never more sociable than he was required. These woods made him uneasy, he shared the crone's sentiments about these forests, and he had heard enough tales and traveled fairly wide enough to note that it had been eerily silent thus far, surely an ill-omen. This night, Bavric sat gazing into the dancing flames encircled by a ring of stones to keep the fire contained, a large and flat rock acting as a sort of pan to heat and hopefully improve the stale flavor of the dried meat several weeks old. When the sound of movement in the underbrush reached his ears, he laid one hand on his faithful axe at his side, but made no sudden motions, simply honing his subconscious attentions to the darkness in an attempt to locate the sound's source and direction.


Dice Rolls



Intuition 2, Awareness 2, Investigation 1 (Wasn't sure if this would count as being totally aware, so pick whichever you think suits the scenario best it's two dice either way.)


[dice]14788[/dice]


EDIT: +1 Die bonus for Awareness -Environment, under his Freelancer Advantage


[dice]14789[/dice]


 
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Sam


He had been the calmest of all of them during all this. A man of the woods himself afterall. Everyone on edge and skittish, heck he was even having a hard time getting Blue to not bolt on him several times. He knew what could be out there. He may not be an educated man, but he is not stupid.


Roused from his sleep from the others moving around - annoyed he could not sleep in the trees, as they stood beyond the iron stake boundary - he sniffs the air, listening, but staying still and silent, not giving away that he was awake.

Rollan.


Int 3 (+1 for Dognose) / Awareness 3


[dice]15088[/dice]


Edit: AWWW YISSS.
 
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  • The sounds, they grow louder, as if they're approaching.


 
Lyke


Deciding that something was indeed coming from the woods, the echoing throwing her off more than the sounds heard previously, she blows into the whistle three short piercing bursts before dropping it back down to hang from her neck. The rest of the heavy black sword coming out as she unsheathes the thing.


Uncharacteristically, she gives a low grunt and and does her best imitation of speaking to the inquisitor. The throttled sounds nearly a whisper.


"Tay kwose ta meh"


If the tales of these woods held true and they were doomed, they'd be much better off dying in a pair than fleeing solo into the deep woods.
 
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