Kingmaker in the Forgotten Realms [IC thread]

[almondsAndRain]

Three listened to what Kuros was saying quietly, but was cursing to herself in her mind. She took a moment after the tracker reported what he saw to put an explanation of what was happening together. It wasn’t difficult: the man was stabbed with silver weapons, he was lying about why, and wolf tracks disappeared in a pool of blood only to be replaced with footprints that led up to him. Three put two and two together only to get lycanthrope, and was not at all happy about it.
The warforged could feel dread begin to rise up, but thanked Kuros for the information anyway. She turned around and stared down at the man, ignoring Dergosh’s look for now. Everything pointed to him being a werewolf, which makes him very dangerous. If he was healthy, he would have a decent chance of killing off the Company if he was inclined, and people like Svetlana and her husband would not be able to harm him at all. But there was some truth to Gakan’s words, even if she didn’t want to believe it. And she knew how it felt to be hated for your appearance.
A twinge of sympathy for the man began to appear, but it was not enough to wash away all of her fears about him. Although it went against her better judgement, Three finally knew what to tell Dergosh. “Please pull out the harpoon. Stabilize him with an orison if he begins to bleed out, but avoid healing him with anything stronger just yet. We need to hear him out before healing him up.”
The warforged crouched down on the ground a couple of feet away from the man, to give Dergosh enough space to work with and to avoid being above the man when she spoke. Gakan was right: being scary here isn’t going to help, and she hoped that by being eye-level with the man she could elicit some sort of subconscious sense of camaraderie in him. Three tried to come off as friendly as she spoke, “We would prefer to heal you and let you live. But until I know that you’re not a threat, I’m not comfortable with that. But like Gakan said, telling us the truth is a good way of making me trust you.”
Three pointed at Kuros. “Now my friend there is the party tracker, and a rather good one at that. And he said that he found something interesting after he followed your trail: a pool of blood, with wolf tracks leading into it and your footprints leading out of it. And you said that someone attacked you for being a werewolf. So, are you a werewolf?
“Now, keep this in mind before answering my question,” Three slowly pointed at each member of the company before putting her hand on her chest, to emphasize her words. They really were a motley lot. “Not one of us here is exactly normal, either.”

[Mercurion 2]

Dergosh nodded to Three, then bent back down to look over the man's wound again. "This probably hurt a lot," he said unapologetically. "Good news: you get to keep your twig and berries."

Working to avoid the barbs causing any further damage, the cleric slid the harpoon out of his hip as smoothly as possible, watching for more bleeding. He stood back up to examine his handiwork. "Ho! You look like goblin dog and goblin snake try to mate in your intestines."

Bedside manner was definitely his thing.

[Saintheart]

Fells, east of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Afternoon, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The man hissed and clenched his teeth as Dergosh pulled the harpoon out. The half-orc cleric only had a second or so to check the wound before the man clapped his hand over it, but it was enough: there'd been a lot of blood loss, but no artery seemed to have been cut, and the major veins weren't impacted either. The man still didn't look too well, of course, but he didn't pass out either; tough little ape, this one.

Then Three was talking to him. And when the warforged asked whether or not he was a werewolf, the reaction was clear: paling of the face, sudden shivering. The man's brows drew together as she spoke...

Spoiler: Three

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Going to need a Diplomacy check from you here, since while Gakan's made him friendly to him, whether that remains the case as it relates to you having made that suggestion is another. Aside from the +1 from your Bandit trait that I'm ruling you can apply here, you can also add a +4 from Gakan's efforts to the roll - along with any other modifiers that apply.

...and, gingerly shifting himself into a slightly better sitting position, stared up at the partymembers around him with an even look. His face wasn't pale anymore, and he was getting his balance back. "Nnnn--thanks for pulling that harpoon out, anyway. Not sure why you think I'm a threat. There's six of you, one of me, you're all armed, and you took my sword off me. You think you've got all these signs that say I'm a werewolf, well, so what if I am? Doesn't make the guy hunting me any less crazy. Never did anything to him, he's just another cornball Chauntea-kissing farmer who thinks anybody strange deserves retribution from nature or something."

Spoiler: Three

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Again, the man was lying. This time about whoever was hunting him.

Spoiler: Korlann

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No. That didn't seem right. It wasn't exactly clear what the man was lying about, but there was a particular sensation that tingled Korlann's spines when someone was trying to put one over him, and his spines were humming.

Spoiler: Kuros

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What? No, there was something wrong with that. Maybe this guy was a werewolf - talk about stories and legends coming to life! - but he wasn't being wholly truthful here.

Spoiler: Ruk

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Ruk doubted very much that the man hunting this fellow was crazy. Or that this man -- werewolf -- was just another cornball farmer. Cornball rubes didn't get silver harpoons made for them, weapons designed primarily to slow an enemy down and keep him from running. This creature was running its mouth a lot harder than the harpoons allowed him to move his legs.

Spoiler: Gakan

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Oh, shut up, shut up, you idiot, the worst thing you can do when trying to lie your way out of a situation is to keep talking. Keep it short, keep it simple, keep a lie sandwiched between truths. Don't get us asking why you're being hunted. Gakan couldn't predict the future, but he suspected this man's one contained a lot of harpoons.

Spoiler: Dergosh

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Dergosh was genuinely impressed. It took a lot of guts to run one's mouth when outnumbered and unarmed. The half-orc cleric idly wondered whether said guts might need a visual inspection to see exactly how much guts the man had.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann raises an eyebrow at the man's comment, before saying, "I see. He certainly must be a very successful farmer, to afford weapons such as these..." He gestures towards the harpoons, before looking back at the man. "The issue with that, however, is that a mere farmer wouldn't spend their hard-earned coin on weapons that they don't know how to use and have no need for - they would invest the funds in tools that will be useful on the farm and in their daily lives. And silvered weapons, in particular, would be a specialty item - your average smith doesn't make them, and your average merchant won't make a point to carry them simply because they won't sell unless there's a specific need for them. It's simple business - if there's no demand for something, then there won't be a supply, simply because making something nobody wants or needs is throwing away good coin." Korlann's gaze locks onto the man's eyes, before he says, "Tell us the truth of who attacked you, and why. Personally, I don't care about the fact that you're a werewolf, but if we're to help you, we need to know what we're really helping you with - you can't expect us to risk innocent lives by bringing your problems to their doorstep, after all."

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Diplomacy from Korlann: (1d20+4)[8] (Not sure if any other mods will apply here aside from his own ranks.)

Also, given his background, I think it makes sense that Korlann would know that silvered weapons aren't particularly common purchases, and that farmers generally wouldn't be purchasing anything remotely like that until it becomes evident it's needed (in which case, someone has likely already been mauled by a werewolf).

[Saintheart]

Fells, east of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Afternoon, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The man gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing at Korlann. "You don't strike me as a group of town guardsmen to be talking about risking innocent lives like that. Like the warforged said, none of you look exactly normal or the kind of people who have any sort of gods-damned authority out this way. Look, you took that harpoon out, so, thanks again. How about you go your way and I'll go mine, deal?"

[kjelfalconer]

Damn it! Why did he always have to be surrounded by complete idiots? No doubt anyone else would have considered the man a lost cause, but he was nothing if not persistent. And very good at what he did.

He moved himself to the man's lap, ignoring the wince of pain from him.
"You're right, we aren't exactly guards. Actually, we're here to found a town," he said, pulling out the charter. "I know, little old me, right? No one here wanted to hurt you, y'know? But it must be hard, having to run all the time. Always looking over your shoulder to see what people know, what they suspect. Always scared that just one little seen through lie," he dropped to a whisper that only the man could here, "which you're really bad at," he added, before switching back to his normal volume, "might ruin everything, and you have to run again. Having no one you can turn to. People hating you just because you exist. But... I don't want it to be like that, y'know? I want this to be a place where it doesn't matter what you are, just who you are. Look around. We've got an orc and a kobold, and a lot of people just assume they're monsters. Korlann's people don't live anywhere near here. And I've still no idea what Three even is. We all understand. And I've felt it too, when you're hurt and scared, and everything in you screams at you to run like an injured animal."

"So wouldn't be amazing to have somewhere where that didn't matter? Where everyone knew exactly what you were, and the worst thing that gets thrown at you is a teasing nickname? Where people know everything, and still stop and ask you how your morning was, just like anyone else? Where people think of you as 'the baker' or 'the innkeeper' and not 'the werewolf'? Somewhere you don't have to be scared to call home? If you don't want to hurt anyone, like I know you don't, I think everyone should be able to have that." He idly brushed back the man's hair with the hand that wasn't still clutching the charter. "It shouldn't matter what they are."

"But I guess none of that matters, does it?" he asked, leaning into him, heedless of the blood that was now seeping into his own shirt. "If you aren't a werewolf like you say, then you must have done something awful to make a farmer do this to you. Something awful enough that we'd have to use the other bit of the charter. The bit that says we'd have to use the sword. I hate that bit," he continued, doing an incredible impression of someone fighting back tears. "I hate it when someone has to die because they're too stubborn, or scared, and push away an open hand. People who got a bad lot in life, and took the only path they thought they had, but don't take the turn off it when it passes." He leaned in even further, his head pressed against the underside of the man's chin. He dropped his voice to the lowest whisper he could, though he didn't drop the false anguish. "Please. I'm the only thing keeping you alive right now, the only chance you have. Just... tell the truth. Or they'll only kill you."

Anyone who'd been listening, utterly focused on him would have heard it. The emphasis was on 'They'.

Spoiler: OOC

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For the love of the gods guys, you're making me work for this. I'm going to recruit this guy if it kills me.

(1d20+8)[18]

[Saintheart]

Fells, east of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Afternoon, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The man's gaze flicked from Gakan to Korlann and back again. For a second he seemed to be judging the distance between himself and the closest harpoons (one in Dergosh's hand, the other in Korlann's.)

Then he snorted. "Fine. The scum who put those two harpoons in me is named Derval M'Honten. As I said. He was a farmer. Years ago. South of the Shaar, there's a valley, runs along the Talar River. He's from there, from a little village called Drellin's Ferry at the west end of the vale. Bastard's been chasing me over half the Border Kingdoms for the better part of ten years."

Spoiler: Wolftooth Company

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Thus far, the story seemed to be true to the man's listeners. The locations, at least, were familiar enough: the Talar River indeed lay many leagues south, across the great plains of the Shaar, though none of them had heard of a place called Drellin's Ferry.

"And why would he do that?" asked Korlann.
"Well. He had a little farmhouse on the far side of the Talar, across the river from Drellin's Ferry. Was a distance away from the village, its guard didn't go out that way regularly. Not that it would've made a difference."
"A difference to what?" said Three.
"I..." The man looked nervously at Gakan for a second, then back at Korlann and the warforged. "They had no silver. They were little men, little women. If they'd come across me they I doubt they could have stopped me."
"Stopped you from killing someone," said Korlann, softly. "What did you do to this man?"
"One night, I ... failed. To restrain myself. I was in the woods, and the moon was ..." The man lowered his eyes for a second. "Well. There was a lot of blood. I didn't have a lot of choice about it all. Afterward, his wife was dead and I thought I'd killed him, and off I went, so to speak."

Spoiler: Three

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Three nodded. So far the story seemed straightforward enough, and the warforged had a fair idea she knew where it was going next.

Spoiler: Korlann

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Again the man was lying. What he was lying about was the question. The man's eyes had flicked too quickly at one point - Korlann was sure of it, some part of this story wasn't right.

Spoiler: Kuros

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Kuros listened with increasing horror to the man's story. It was starting to sound like a dreadful accident all round.

Spoiler: Ruk

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No. Ruk had been around enough of the tall folk to know that humans didn't hold grudges like this just over their dead mates. Something else was driving this Derval M'honten person, an anger and need for retribution much stronger than grief alone. And there was something distinctly off about the man's saying he had failed to restrain himself.

Spoiler: Gakan

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You bloody fool. After everything I've said to you.

Spoiler: Dergosh

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It was distinctly possible this wolf-man's guts were made of pure adamantine.

"Couple of years later, I'm in Shaarmid, halfway across the plains, and someone tries to kill me. Comes at me in an alley, throwing a silver dagger. I got away that time, but everywhere I went, I have silver coming at me. The same man. He'd learned from somewhere, I don't know where, could maybe be the wild elves in the Misty Vale, some people say they still hunt with long spears like those things. And he was following me. Calimshan, Lapaliiya, even a port in gods-damned Halruaa. I managed to scrape enough money together to get a couple of divinations cast, and I find out the bastard's name: Derval M'honten, the farmer from Drellin's Ferry. And he caught up to me there. First time he tried to stick me with one of those harpoons. And a moon ago I get off a boat in stinking Themasulter and come south again, and I know he's still on my trail. So I decide to wait for him. I bring him out here into the great unwashed, set up in a gully north of here. I jumped him, finally stuck him, a good one, the sort of hit that'll kill a strong man. I thought he was down. And he got back up. I was so poleaxed he'd thrown two harpoons in me before I ran. And that's when he fell over for a second. He must've fainted, and I lost him. For a while. He's still coming. I know it. He might only be a couple of hours behind me. I've been running with two harpoons half in me for hours, but I can't tell you how I know: he's back there, somewhere."

Spoiler: Wolftooth Company

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None of this seemed wrong or untrue.

The man sank back, face paling briefly, then looked up at them. "So. That's the story. The truth."

[Mercurion 2]

"You no goblin, I give you that," the cleric said with grudging respect. He scratched at his scarred scalp, wondering...Wolftooth...werewolf. Hmmmm. All this talk was confusing and he looked at Three and the warriors in the group to sort this out. He leaned on the harpoon, testing the edges with his thumb and waiting for this to get resolved.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann frowns as he watches the man during his speech. Something about the tale still didn't sit right with him... not quite sure what, though. "Dergosh," he says, getting the Orc's attention, "keep an eye on him for the moment, make sure he stays here. We need to figure out what to do at this point." Handing him the other silvered harpoon, he then follows with a comment to the werewolf, "I'm sure you won't mind waiting while we figure out how to handle this situation? Your tale is an unfortunate one, but you have commented that you failed to restrain yourself once already, so you can understand our caution." With that, he leads the rest of the group a short distance away, still within sight of Dergosh and the werewolf, but just out of earshot.

"Something's still off about what he's told us," he says to the group. "I can't tell exactly, but his story isn't as cut and dried as he's claiming. Gakan, you seem to have a better read on people, what's your take on it?"

[Saintheart]

Fells, east of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Afternoon, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

In hindsight, the error perhaps had been to pull the entire party bar one guard from keeping an eye on someone who was a werewolf and had admitted to a lack of restraint.

A falling leaf from the enemy tree towering above distracted Dergosh for a moment. It was, indeed, only a moment, and movement from the man caught the half-orc's attention again.

Except it wasn't a man anymore.

Where the man had lay, there was now a silvery-grey, lupine form, yellow eyes gleaming, four feet on the ground, scraping at the rock and moss beneath. The wolf's fur along its side and leg was stained red. It bunched muscles, lips pulling back to reveal yellow, gleaming teeth, the stink of dead meat billowing from its mouth.
"No one makes me their prisoner," it snarled, a guttural, deep version of the man's voice coming from the throat of the werewolf.

Spoiler: OOC

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We're on tactical time now. Consider this a surprise round where nobody but Dergosh and the werewolf have the opportunity to act. I'll post up a map as things get more complicated, but we can consider that Dergosh is five feet from the werewolf (i.e. in the next square) and has the two silver harpoons in his hands. A reminder that these are ranged weapons, not melee, and they're exotic weapons in which nobody has proficiency. As such, if being used as a ranged weapon, Dergosh takes a -4 to his attack roll with them. If they're used in melee as an improvised weapon, they'd also take a -4 to the attack roll. As he has two of them, they can be used for two-weapon fighting in ranged or melee but the penalties are pretty horrendous: for ranged or melee the attacks would be -10 and -14 respectively.

The rest of the party is at least thirty feet from this confrontation.

Initiative Count:
Dergosh: 16
Werewolf: 9

[Mercurion 2]

While the half-orc maintained his “war frown” in front of the man, he grinned inwardly at now having two Gruumsh-spears in his hands. He waved them around experimentally and realized that their balance was very different from what he was used to, but this was enough to distract him from noticing the man at his feet beginning to change into a beast. Well, that and a spinning leaf…

When he did finally notice, he responded in his usual manner: with volume. “Ho!” he shouted. “STOP!” He jabbed the harpoons at the werewolf for emphasis.

Spoiler

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Casting command, DC 14 Will save to resist. There is no somatic component so he should be ok casting it even with weapons in both hands.

[Saintheart]

Fells, east of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Afternoon, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The werewolf snapped its teeth at Dergosh in reply, making the cleric jerk his hand back more out of instinct. Dergosh might not have realised that the bite of a werewolf could inflict the curse of lycanthropy, but either way his hands avoided the audible clack of the beast's jaws locking together. It narrowed its eyes as magical energy flowed over it, but snarled harder, unmoved or unaffected by the spell.

It went for Dergosh. Snapping jaws slashed at Dergosh's leg, but again the half-orc's reflexes were faster, and the beast roared in frustration as the cleric jerked his foot back and away. Then it turned -- to run. And with the speed that wolves were known for, chances were it'd be well out of range before anyone had a chance to react to it.

The half-orc had a sudden moment of clarity. These things didn't happen often to him, but for one, beautiful, shining moment the balance of the harpoon in his striking hand was perfect like Mom's club, even though it wasn't the sort of weapon one used this close up. So it just seemed very natural to thrust, outward, wrist tightened, just so.

The harpoon dived into the werewolf's exposed side, plunging in perhaps four inches right of where it had plunged in hours ago. This time, it struck true. Silver found the creature's heart, and burned there in its flesh.

And the werewolf dropped in its tracks, with nothing more than a final grunt.

Dergosh tore the harpoon free. The werewolf twitched, once, and died.

And, in seconds, before the half-orc's eyes, the creature's form changed, reverting from the wolfen form it had back to the human they'd spoken to moments before, this time sporting a very ugly wound in the centre of his chest, body cold already.

Spoiler: OOC

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The play by play:

- Dergosh casts Command. Werewolf goes for AoO with bite attack ... and rolls a 4, miss.
Command is cast. Werewolf rolls 16, saves against Command.
- Werewolf attacks Dergosh, likely going for a trip attack. Bite attack -- rolls 9, total of 14 ... which is a miss on Dergosh at AC 16. Werewolf then uses its move action to try to run.
- Dergosh goes for AoO ...

... and gets a natural 20.

Critical hit confirmation comes back a roll of 7, which is fail ... but he rolls 4 damage, which is enough to drop it to below 0. Pulling the weapon out does the same damage again, which is enough to kill it. DR doesn't apply since it's a silver weapon.

I cheered. That's two opponents smashed on AoOs!

That's 150 XP each.

In terms of gear, the sword is a rusty ordinary longsword that may not be worth much. Nothing else on the guy but his old peasant clothes. Obviously you keep the two silver harpoons.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann raises an eyebrow as the man growls out his comment, tensing himself to fight - only for a moment, as he watches Dergosh quickly take advantage of the werewolf's attempt to attack him in order to fell the creature. Nodding, he says, "Nicely done, Dergosh. A shame, though... if he had simply cooperated a bit more, this might not have been necessary." He sighs as he heads over to the body, taking a moment to confirm that it is, indeed, dead, before checking to see if the man has anything else on him. Finding nothing else, he stands and says, "What's done is done, I suppose - once we get back to Oleg's, I'll talk to him and see if this Derval person has shown up there at all. Hopefully we'll run into him and can get the full story, as well as letting him know what happened here, at least."

[Mercurion 2]

Dergosh grunted with satisfaction as he ripped the Gruumsh-spear back out and watched the man-wolf collapse to the ground and die. The barbed head was now dripping with a thick coat of lycanthrope blood, oozing down the silver head in a slow wave. This time he wouldn’t clean off the weapon; this time, like his mace, it would remain blood-coated in victory.

He looked up into the branches of the tree, squinting as he appraised it. “Sorry, tree,” he said, moving to pat its trunk where he has previously smashed it with his mace. “You right in first place. Should have let you eat him.”

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

There hadn't been much more to be done once they'd recovered the harpoons and given the rusty old longsword consideration.

They followed the gully down to the dried-out creek bed, and it led them unerringly northeast, abruptly stopping at another slope an hour or two later. Up and over the crest of that hill, and the land sank away into green and golden grasslands, as the hills finally gave up their grip and they came down into waving tallgrasses under a sky going red.

From there the journey was simple. The wind was gentle and blowing from the southeast, white clouds scudding across the sky. Birds dived and whipped across the grasslands, chirping in search of insects. They made good time and on Kuros's judgment they'd be back at Oleg's sometime tomorrow morning. They hadn't had any chance to forage for food, but their rations likely would hold out one more night, and the big six-armed man was pretty sure they were on target for Oleg's.

Dusk crept in. They'd made excellent time and Kuros was thinking it was a pretty good time to set up camp for the night. Where they were would be as good a place as any; the plains rolled out for miles and there wasn't anywhere more sheltered than here, though he didn't think the weather would go bad overnight. It was the failing light and their quick pace that meant they didn't see the figure until he was less than a hundred feet from them.

Fortunately, though, the same figure didn't seem to want trouble. It was a black, human-looking silhouette against the western sun, a figure in cloak and maybe the unshining bulk of leather armour. He had risen from the grass with a long spear raised above his head -- not in a threatening pose, but raised high and parallel with the ground, grasped with its hands set shoulders' width apart.

Kuros knew that pose, that gesture: it was frequently used by hunters in the wilderness who wanted to approach and talk to a stranger and were indicating their intentions were peaceful. From that position it was hard to handle a spear either in attack or defence, and even if he dropped that spear, he'd have to drop his hands to his weapons - well enough time to put an arrow in the man.

The figure waited a moment, the wind gently pushing at the corners and flaps of his cloak. Then he raised his voice, enough for the Company to hear his husky basso: "Was hoping to share a campfire for an hour or two. Got a couple of coneys to pay for the company. We well met?"

[bcool999]

Kuros looks to the others before warily turning back to the man showing the gesture for peace. He calls out to the man, "I won't turn you away if you come in peace. Though the company you will find with us may be a bit stranger than you bargained for."

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The figure was silent for a moment. "I'd guess you could say the same about me," he called, at length. Then lowered his arms and trudged towards them, using the spear as a walking stick.

He seemed to be a man. He had pale eyes like icy chips amid the tangle of a black beard shot through with milky stripe. There was an ugly purple patch, a bruise, across the left side of his face, and he didn't look like he smiled much. He walked a little hunched over; Kuros had seen that sort of gait on men who spent a lot of time with their heads angled at the ground, looking for tracks perhaps. His cloak looked to be the thick kind more for sleeping under than warmth as such. His hands were gloved and two daggers were sheathed at his belt. No bow immediately apparent, which surprised them for a second, though he had some sort of quiver looped over his shoulders. Wore a chain shirt, which seemed a little unusual as well; leather armour or studded leather seemed to be the de rigeur choice amongst wanderers out this way, though the shirt looked rusted in a couple of places and there were two or three patches covered in grime and what looked like dried blood. A ring or two of mail that hadn't succumbed to the elements glinted in the evening sunlight.

As did the head of the spear he was using as a walking stick.

Closer now as the man was, it was obvious the spearhead was cared for with much greater attention than the rest of his clothes and gear. It was also apparent that it wasn't a spear, either. It gleamed silver. And the shape of the head with its barbs behind it matched the shape of the harpoons they'd taken from the werewolf's body hours ago.

At about the same time Kuros and the others recognised the harpoon's shape, when he was still a good twenty feet from them, the man slowed; stopped. Straightened. The ice chips of his eyes flared with recognition, then narrowed. The harpoon changed from walking stick to weapon once more, sliding down into his hand so he grasped its balance point.

And he raised one battered glove -- to point at his harpoon's brothers resting across Dergosh's shoulder.

"Where did you get those?" The husky basso hadn't turned to hostility - yet.

[Mercurion 2]

The half-orc’s eyes lit up as he recognized the make of the weapon the man carried. “Ho! You have Gruumsh-spear too!” He clomped forward, ignoring (or oblivious to) the potential tenseness of the situation. “This good sign from the One-Ear!” He strode forward, holding the harpoon casually, arm loosely at his side and tip at a 45 degree angle, obviously not in an aggressive stance.

“We find wolf-man not long ago. We had to kill him,” he said, pointing to the head of the harpoon, now sticky with partially congealed blood. “Sorry, he your friend? He try to bite me, had to stick new Gruumsh-spear through him like suckling pig,” he said, waving the weapon slightly.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann nods at the man as Dergosh speaks, before continuing, "As he said - we ran into a wounded man with one of these stuck in him. I'll confess that our first response was to try and offer some aid to the man while we figured out what was going on, healing him enough that he wouldn't bleed out right there. We pulled it out of him, found out he was a werewolf, and he spun a tale of losing control of himself in a small village, and being hunted for it ever since... didn't quite seem right, though, what he was telling us. When I gathered my friends here to discuss what to do with him, I had Dergosh stay by the man just in case - he had said he lost control once already, and I even explained to the man that we were just being cautious, but he decided to change and attack. Last mistake he made was underestimating Dergosh, though."

Finishing his tale, Korlann says, "My apologies, as I realize we never introduced ourselves. My name is Korlann Zehk - my companions here are Dergosh, Three of Three, Kuros, Ruk and Gakan." He gestures to each of them in turn as he introduces them.

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The man's eyes had widened when Dergosh spoke. He began to blink rapidly as Korlann told the story, and he raised a fist to his lips as the monk mentioned the small village. And when Korlann finished his story, his mouth worked for a moment--and then closed as his knees buckled and he sat down hard in the middle of the grass, head bowed, dropping the harpoon. His hand went from his lips to his eyes, rubbing furiously.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, the wind sighing over the plains.

The man inhaled deeply, then got to his feet, grasping and leaning on the harpoon. He wiped his nose and looked up at all of them again. "My name's Derval M'honten."

***

The coneys cooked up nicely and were enough to feed everyone in the Company that wanted to eat. Firelight throbbed off the side of the wagon and the tallgrasses ten feet away. The night sky was filled with a thousand stars; Selune wouldn't be rising until much later that evening, leaving the sky burning with white fire; campfires from millions of years ago.

"My father was a whaler," said Derval, suddenly. The man had eaten his share of the dinner in silence, and now sat with his back against a boulder deposited there several million years before, gloves laid on the ground next to him, idly twisting a long blade of grass between his weathered fingers. "Swine of a man. Quick with his fists and the rum. Always had one of these things," he gestured at his harpoon, leaning against the rock, "on the wall of our home, when he was there, when he wasn't on some trawler out on the Shining Sea or off at an inn. I learned a couple of things from him. Then he was killed in a fight in some inn somewhere, and my mother had died a year earlier, so I took what I had left and headed as far away from the sea as I could get. Made my way to Channath Vale, it's a green valley far south of here. Managed to convince the local village Speaker to let me try and build back a farmhouse on the far side of the river. They all said I was mad, that the place had an evil eye on it from the Earthmother, that it was against her customs to have running water between your farm and your village's hall. But I'd seen the soil, beautiful and black and teeming with earthworms. So I went, and I sweated, and things grew there. Convinced my wife to marry me. We had three sons."

He ran a battered finger down one side of the blade of grass. "One night a drifter came calling. He changed shape the moment the door was open, knocked me down. Everything went black. Then I woke up and he had my wife. And my sons. The oldest of them was ten. He taunted me for a while. Then he went to work on them while I was roped to a wall. Made me watch right to the end. My middle son, he--he was the bravest. He lasted--" Derval breathed in, looked away for a second. "Anyway, when he'd done with them, he came over to me. Leaped right at me. I felt something stab into me. Heard my blood raining to the floor. Then black again."

"I don't know how I lived through that. I woke up some time next morning. Found I could still move. I got to our well, somehow, drank water. Ate something. When I could, I buried my wife and my children, and burned my farmhouse down. I picked up my father's harpoon I'd brought with me from the coast, and I went north. I didn't have any plan, I just saw his tracks through my fields going north, so I followed that, far as I could. Almost killed myself, I was still hurt. I got lost in Shaareach Forest. I fell over, dying, in some marsh. A man found me - woodsman, lived out there. Took me to his cabin, brought me back to health."

"Told him what happened. He taught me a few things. Then sent me on, north again, to find some elves in the swamplands north of Shaareach Forest. The Tiri Kitor - wild elves - they took me in, taught me more. And three years later, I left them too. Learned enough to do what I had to. Thought I was ready. Swore an oath on the Earthmother that I'd give retribution."

"His trail had gone cold, long before. Took me months of asking questions before a merchant mentioned a courtesan had been ripped apart over in Shaarmid. I found him there. Almost got myself killed - I only had a silver dagger at the time, I was lucky he was too startled to come at me then. That's when I had these made," he said, nodding at the harpoon leaning against the rock. "After that, it got easier. He started running, and he didn't do much to cover his tracks. I sniffed him out. Followed him for years, he might not have been hard to find, but he was quick."

"Eventually he got smart enough to try and lay a trap for me. That much worked - he was out here, laid a bear trap that got my leg, about a day or so ago. He knocked me a good one," he said, gesturing at the large, purple bruise across his face, "but I tossed two harpoons in him. He wasn't going far after that - but I passed out, and when I woke up, he was gone. So I've been following his trail since this morning. And here you are."

"So," said Derval, wearily, standing up. "I've a place to be. I believe you did in fact kill him, but I'll need to go and see his body for myself. Take it you didn't bury him or give him any sort of rites?"

Korlann, closest to the man and listening to his story, shook his head. Derval nodded. "Well enough. Scavengers don't care much for werewolf carcass as it is, but it's not as though they'll likely have dragged off the body just yet."

"What will you do after that?" asked Korlann.

Derval hesitated. "Expect there'll be nothing else for me to do," he said. Gestured at the harpoon. "These things don't just kill werewolves. Fine edge, as you'd know, saer Dergosh," he said, nodding to the half-orc. "Trust they'll bring you good fortune from the Earthmother. You brought retribution and you killed a werewolf with them."

Derval's hand reached out, on instinct, to the harpoon. He must have forgotten his gloves were off. His bare skin touched the silver head of the harpoon, just above where the wooden shaft met it.

A wisp of smoke eddied up from the contact between the silver and his skin, and he jerked his hand back, clearly burnt. "Damn it!" Then looked around at the Company. His shoulders dropped and arms fell to his sides; there was no look of an attempt to escape, or attack any of them. "Damn it," he said, again.

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann watches as the man's hand begins to smoke lightly from contact with the silver, his mind snapping back to Derval's tale - particularly the part where he remembered something stabbing into him when the drifter attacked him - along with the man's odd comment as he joined them around the fire, and the connection was quickly made. He didn't know everything about werewolves, but he knew that the condition was passed when a werewolf bites someone else. As the man curses quietly, appearing resigned to his fate, Korlann speaks again. "Rest assured, Derval, we won't judge you for factors outside of your control. From what you've told us, and what just happened, I can guess that the man you were following bit you... that you're a werewolf now as a result. However... that isn't of concern to us so long as you mean no harm to anyone here. As Kuros mentioned earlier, we're a bit more unusual a group than many you'd find, but you've been forthcoming with us so far, and as long as that remains the case, we'll have no issues."

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

"If things were a little different, I'd applaud you if you stood there and ran me through with every weapon you have, saer Zehk." Derval M'Honten rubbed at his injured hand, then put on his gloves. "But if you think I'm going to a threat to anyone - to you, or yours, or whatever plans you have out here - I can prove to you I won't be. Tell me where you left his body. Then go back there, two days from now. You'll find my carcass lying next to his, with this," and he touched a hand to the last harpoon resting in the quiver across his back, "through my heart. The Earthmother demands retribution. You gave her the werewolf. I've no family, so what else is there for me to live for?"

[kjelfalconer]

"Why is everyone today so determined to die?" Gakan asked glumly. He supposed one werewolf was much like the other, but still. He'd given him the full works, and the bloody idiot had still gone for it. And he'd ruined a shirt for nothing.

"Look, we have a town, no one'll care you're a werewolf, yada yada yada. I have a big full pitch, but everyone who hears that seems to want to off themself, so someone else do it." And besides, the man gave him nothing to work with. The suicidal rarely had much in the way of levers.

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

"A town?" Derval blinked at Gakan, and looked the others over again with a surprised and then intrigued look. "I'd thought you for a band of adventurers, not would-be lords. What's this town you're speaking of?"

[bcool999]

Kuros tries his best at explaining the company's mission, "It's not really a town... yet. Currently we are working from Oleg's Trading post as we fulfill a charter we have been given by the Lords of Emmerock. We are to explore the area of the charter which is mainly the Greenbelt. Clear the area to the best of our ability from banditry and other hazards. After that is done we can begin with figuring out what we want to do with the land once we have explored it."

Kuros is scratching his head as he talks, right now it sounds like a far-fetched plan with all the dangers the company has encountered. It also is a hard sell to a man who has lost everything he ever cared for. Then again, maybe that is the sort of man the promise of a fresh start would entice. "Derval," Kuros begins speaking again, "So far you have shown yourself to be an honest and upright man to us. I think I speak for most if not all of us when I say we would be willing to aid you with your curse and have your assistance in our endeavor. Your training in woodlore and hunting Werewolves would likely work almost as well on other dangerous beasts of the Greenbelt. If you can't find the strength to start over again from nothing for a third time I would understand, but don't make that choice thinking there is no decent place in this world for you. You can help us make such a place."

[BluesEclipse]

Korlann nods as Kuros explains the situation. "You're correct in that we are adventurers. Truth be told, we know little of things such as working the land, growing crops, raising animals. While our task is first to clear the land so that it can be settled, and then oversee it, we'll need people such as yourself to help this land grow and thrive. None of us are without flaw... even the Mishtai themselves never found the perfection that my people have sought since we were part of that greater whole. But at the same time, none of us care about what you are - only who you are, Derval M'honten. And from all you've told us, you seem to be a good, honest man, the kind who I'd be quite happy to call neighbor and friend."

[Saintheart]

Plains, northeast of the Greenbelt, the Border Kingdoms
Dusk, Fifth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Derval listened to them, at least.
“Oleg’s Trading Post – that the stockade northwest of here, along the Dunbridges Road?”
Kuros nodded.
The werewolf huntsman looked out at the horizon for a long moment, then back at the Company. “I’ll think about it. First, there's somewhere I need to be. After that, we’ll see. I’ll leave word at Oleg’s – if I’m still alive then.”

And without another word, Derval M’Honten slid his harpoon back into its quiver, raised his hood, and walked off into the dusk, leaving the Company to the white campfires of the stars above.



Oleg's Trading Post, Southernmost Emmerock, the Border Kingdoms
Midmorning, Sixth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

The last miles finally rolled by, and, curiously enough, there was a flag at their end.

It was visible first on the horizon as a red, shifting smudge. As they closed on the trading post through waving tallgrasses, they could see it clearly: a large red gonfalon, fluttering on the southeastern tower of the trading post’s stockade. At first they hesitated, wondering if something terrible had happened – but the wind changed, exposing a white blot across the flag’s centre. All of the Company knew that sigil: the white eagle of Emmerock against a red field.

There were two men on the southeast tower, dressed in leather armour by the look of it and plain helmets. Their surcoats were also red, but rather than Emmerock’s eagle, their tabards were blazoned with a yellow shield bisected with blue. That, too, was a familiar sigil: that of House Aldinuth, the family of the Lance Lord that controlled Dunbridges and many of the towns around it. The Company’s charter had been issued under Aldinuth’s seal. Either way, they were likely troops from Dunbridges.

The gate of Oleg’s was wide open. One of the men on the towers raised a horn and blew a bright, tenor note as they approached. At the same time, the Company saw two figures standing outside the front wall of the stockade. One of them was Oleg; the other wore the same uniform the Dunbridges soldiers did. They’d been looking over the front wall of the trading post, Oleg gesturing at some areas and occasionally throwing his hands up as if in exasperation.

When he saw them, Oleg waved, and lumbered towards them. The second man followed in his wake. Dusky skinned – there was a strong look of the Chultan in him -- he wore an Aldinuth patch on his chest as well, but a red cloak had been added to his uniform. He had a broad, grim-looking face, and his eyes widened as he took in the riders ahead of the wagon and the passengers in it.

Leveton had a genuine, wide grin on his face as the Company rolled up. “Well, here’s a welcome sight! Good to see you back in one piece, saers!”
“Hello, Oleg,” said Three, causing the trooper’s eyes to widen even further. “All well here?”
“Aye, that it is. Better than I could have hoped for. Oh – this is Kesten Margan. He’s sergeant and commander to the troops Dunbridges sent to protect the outpost. He got here the same day you left.”

Spoiler: Korlann

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Korlann was able to restrain his surprise. Margan was a name that had been mentioned across Xin Jubei in the past – it was the name of one of Emmerock’s seven principal noble houses. House Margan was something of a trading house, even if it didn’t do a lot of business with the Shou in their enclave; the family’s seat was in Oldstones Hall, right up in the northeastern reaches of Emmerock. The man certainly had the Margan look to his features, but it didn’t make sense for a High Emmeryn lordling to be kicking dirt here in the backblocks of Emmerock. Maybe he was from some lesser branch of the family?

Spoiler: Ruk

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Ruk had heard the Margan name enough making his way here to know its significance. It was the name of one of the great noble houses of Emmerock; perhaps this man was some scion of a lesser branch. He certainly wasn’t in gear befitting a relative to one of the most powerful men in Emmerock.

Spoiler: Gakan

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Ah, so this was Kesten Margan! It was a pleasure to finally put a face to the name responsible for the gossip. Kyran (and a good number of other half-drunk noblewomen at parties Gakan had unobtrusively attended) had told him the story: Kesten Margan might have the Margan name, but that was all he’d ever have that belonged to the great magnate family. Kesten’s father, Evan, was a cousin of the Margan family patriarch. Kesten, however, had decided for whatever reason to secretly marry a girl named Tania … a lowborn weaver’s daughter (“and with freckles, can you believe,” according to one soused and very fat noblewoman). Margan’s father had prevailed upon a disapproving and pliable priest of Helm to annul the marriage and then summarily disowned Kesten.

Kesten had fled High Emmerock and eventually washed up in Dunbridges, taking up as a mercenary. And obviously he’d now been paid to lead the handful of soldiers sent out here to mind the trading post. The cloak and uniforms would give him Emmeryn authority, but he had nothing more than that.

Spoiler: Three, Kuros, Dergosh

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The name Margan didn’t mean anything to the warforged, the Obah-Blessed man, or the half-orc. Dergosh thought he looked a fair bit more tanned than the default non-orc, but given one member of Dergosh’s present clan had wood for skin and another had painted his hide five different colours, the cleric didn’t find that to be anything of significance.

“Good day, saer,” said Three.
“Likewise,” murmured Kesten. The man didn’t smile. “It sounds as though you’ve been doing our job for us.”
“Well, that’s why I paid them when they’d done it,” said Oleg, gruffly. “Anyway – as I said, good to see you all back. Looks like you’ve got a little business to do here?” He was looking at the goods which loomed like a small hill in the back of the Company’s wagon.
“Indeed,” said Korlann. “The bandits you were dealing with proved … shall we say … very generous.”
“Did they now!” Oleg rubbed his hands together as he turned and started striding back to the trading post’s gate. “Well come on then, come on, things are looking better by the minute. You can tell me what you did over lunch, but the trade’s already picking up. Word’s getting around – I’ve had more hunters and traders through here in the past three days than we did the last two months. It’s like those bandits were blockading the place – if things keep up like this we’ll have a very good summer.”

The Company and the wagon rumbled under the trading post’s gate. There were noises of hammering as there was last time, but they could see Kerwin Bottler up on the roof of the stable, working with hammer in hand and nails pinched between his lips. There were four small tents set up in the southwest corner in the shadow of the stables. Sawing noises drifted to them, and the smell of fresh-cut wood: two of Kesten Margan’s men, working barechested in another corner of the yard, cutting a long plank. Two of the catapults on the towers were already absent, and it looked as though the men were busily salvaging lumber from their corpses.

Spoiler: OOC

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Short preface: You didn’t have to burn up any trail rations yesterday thanks to Derval’s rabbits.

Moving on - so, you’re back! As you can see, there’s a few new toys for you to play with here. Thought we might get down to some of the mercantile logistics, which we can do entirely OOC if you want.

• Oleg’s willing to take anything you’ve got for sale, at 75% of book price – this being due to Korlann’s Mercantile Background, and I’m assuming our young Skarn will be doing all the wheeling and dealing on this. Oleg is still pretty cash poor, so his payments will be IOUs for this stuff, but he’s obviously still a grateful man and his credit is good at his place.
  
  
• In terms of what he’s got for sale: while you’ve obviously set off a mini-boom in this trading post having killed Kressle’s bandits outright, it’s still going to take a while for this place to pick up in terms of goods, and frankly given you’re in the backblocks at the moment it’s not like he’s ever going to have 10,000-gp stuff available on the floor. Rather than track his entire inventory, assume he’s got 500 gp worth of stock available this week, comprising all manner of weapons, armor and gear.
  
  
• However, as said his store credit is still good and he can place orders for things in Dunbridges, which is a much bigger trading hub and has a lot more variety. Items made under special order to Dunbridges are available seven days from the day you place the order with Oleg and pay for it, whether with gold or with his IOUs.
  
  
• You’ve completed the bounty on killing six bandits which Oleg was offering. Oleg pays you 400 gp in cash for this work (i.e. 400 gp for the whole Company, not 400 each). And because it’s completion of a sidequest, you get 100 XP each.
  
  
• I’ve been looking at Pathfinder’s rules for Downtime out of Ultimate Campaign, and if you wanted to pursue something in those rules – assuming you’re going to wait around here for any special orders from Dunbridges to come in – then I’m happy to accommodate you.
  

There are a couple of other things coming, but one thing at a time I think. On the other hand if you want to go talk to the NPCs around here or otherwise want me to push on a bit, by all means go right ahead.

[Mercurion 2]

Dergosh beat a quick reply on his shield-drum in response to the horn as they marched the last few hundred yards to Fort Oleg. The half-orc was none too pleased to see a flag flying over the trading post that wasn’t the Wolftooth Clan’s, never mind that technically the Wolftooth flag didn’t exist yet. Charters and other legal niceties meant little to him; as far as he was concerned, the company had done all the hard work and freed the trading post from the bandit incursion and here were these goblins-come-lately trying to lay claim.

If the flag irked him, the disappearance of two catapults set him at a quiet boil. His beautiful catapults, perfect for repelling both bandits and snake-dragons (4 days without an attack!) were being cut up for scrap wood! Dergosh’s face turned a darker shade of green. Surprisingly, he had the wisdom not to explode immediately, but instead sought out Kerwin for a private conference.

Spoiler

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Dergosh asks Kerwin why the catapults are being destroyed and if he is going to build new ones

[Saintheart]

Oleg's Trading Post, Southernmost Emmerock, the Border Kingdoms
Midmorning, Sixth of Kythorn, Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Kerwin Bottler sat up from his crouch atop the stable roof and took a moment to breathe in deeply. A few more nails and this row of shingles would be done, and with that, the stable roof would be proofed against water. Almost on cue, a light breeze eddied up from the plains beyond the trading post, cooling the sweat on his cheeks and bringing the faint, wheaty smell of the tallgrasses to his nose. A puffy white cloud drifted across the sun, shading him for a moment. There had been some pleasant moments back with Kressle's gang, but he was rapidly figuring out he far preferred the view from rooftops and the straw of the stable to bugs crawling up his nether regions in forest bushes.

You have a new start, he said to himself, as he had several times per day since Happs and the rest of the band had been slaughtered. I swore on the Earthmother that I'd stay and work off my debt, but it's Lathander lifting me now. God of sunrise, god of new life, god of children... And he thought of his daughters again, as he had a hundred times since Happs and the rest of the band had been slaughtered. And his mood came off a little. The only thing you earn is what you spend, that was how some of the rowdies had summed up the Earthmother. And it would take him years, spending his body and sweat, to bring his family here. No chance to write them, no chance to hold them and tell them he was their father again...

Another breeze caressed his cheek, and this time the wind had the faint smell of woodchips in it. It took his pain again - at least for now. Bliss.

Someone cleared their throat.

That is, if you classed a shouted "Oi!" and a loud knock on the stockade wall clearing one's throat. Kerwin looked around and down to the ground, and felt dizzy. The half-orc was there. The crazy half-orc who'd cut fingers off Kerwin's fallen comrades - no. Fellow bandits. Not his comrades - and seemed to be determined to commence testing of a catapult by loading passerby into it. The former propper swallowed. The half-orc cupped his hands around his mouth: "You come down here?"
It wasn't really a question.

Kerwin gingerly crept back across the arch of the rooftop, albeit the prospect of slipping and breaking a couple of limbs might have been a bit more attractive than what lay at the end of this journey. His traitor hands did not keep him from falling, though, and so a few moments later he was nervously dusting his hands off, the half-orc gazing steadily at him.

Kerwin offered his dusted hand to shake.
The half-orc didn't take it.
Kerwin coughed, dusting a further and entirely imaginary spot of dirt off the same hand. "Er ... welcome back, s-saer." Saer? Who calls him saer? What was his name? Derwent? Dorkus? Der--oh! I remember!
Dergosh did not reply.
Kerwin swallowed. "Ah -- I take it your journey was, um, er ... successful?"
Dergosh blinked. "Why you think that? You spying on me with Gruumsh's far-seeing eye?"
"Er, well, no, I, that is -- I just thought that, er, since you all came back, that it was ... um ... ah ... a good journey?"
"Hrm." Dergosh rubbed his chin. "Yes. Good. Killed you not-orc friends. Even got girl non-orc. Then killed bunch of big bugs. Good journey." He suddenly remembered why he was there. "What you doing with catapults, Warrior Bottler? Why when I left there were four of them and when I come back there are ... not four!"
"Oh." Now Kerwin did clear his throat, noisily. "Well, um, they had to taken down, saer. They simply couldn't fire. These, ah, these men from Dunbridges are working to--"
"Not good enough. Expect you ordered new materials to fix up the ones there. Defensive capabilities of this fortification are heavily -- heavily -- we can't shoot any boulders!"
"Well, sir, the men from Dunbridges are working on building new ones. Right now. They got here, I told them the problem, and they've been out chopping trees and lashing them into shape. I'm going to get back to overseeing the construction, I just have to finish off the stable roof."
Dergosh blinked. And looked over at the two barechested troopers, sweating away in the morning sun. "New ones?"
"Yes, sir."
"Building them now?"
"Yes, sir."
Dergosh eyed Kerwin suspiciously. "Gonna be four of them when done?"
"...er, yes, sir."
Dergosh grunted. He drew it out so it sounded more like a long growl. Kerwin very proudly did not urinate in his pants.

[Mercurion 2]

The next handful of days was spent moving rocks and loudly accosting all passersby, informing them of the excellent farmland free for the taking, the many nearby animals they could hunt, and that they “could raise many little orcs” under the protection of the new catapults being built at Fort Oleg. When not busy with those tasks, he spent time critiquing the catapult builders and offering helpful suggestions such as adding spikes to the throwing arm “like friend Korlann has” and building each catapult with six arms “like friend Kuros has,” as well as frequently shouting “HURRY! Snake dragon be here soon!”

After it appeared a few settlers were going to heed his wisdom and make a go of it near the fort and the builders completely failed to listen to his catapult construction expertise, he turned to practicing with his werewolf slaying Gruumsh-spear. The balance was all wrong, and the distinct lack of puncture marks on his intended tree targets in the area indicated it would take some time for him to master the weapon, but he stubbornly persisted in throwing the harpoon and dragging it back time and time again.

Towards the end of the week, Dergosh sought out Kerwin, who strangely seemed to be avoiding him. The half-orc was toting a heavy cloth sack with him. “You! Come here now!” he politely screamed at the man. Though he seemed reluctant, Kerwin gingerly walked over, eyes seeming to dart around looking for an escape route. “I talk to Oleg," Dergosh began, getting straight to the subject, "he tell me how much it take to bring your family here. Take this,” he said, briskly shoving the sack of coins into the man’s hands. “Bring them,” he growled, then stomped away.

Spoiler

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Spending five days on building the Laborer unit, then the extra two starting to practice with the harpoon.