Redemption: The Preludes (IC post)

[Harding]

Roland Weisley

---

When Rillik asked him or Wyck to dress the gazelle, Roland was about to respond, but Aly volunteered instead. The animal was small anyway, and Aly had shown many times that she was more efficient than him at such tasks—his muscles weren't needed for this job today. Instead, he set to work making temporary shelters out of branches, something his companion had taught him during their first month of travel together. He realized how much Aly had taught him about self-sufficiency and outdoor skills, things he had completely lacked (and had no talent for) since he was on the run from the authorities of Waterdeep. Before, he had hated the outdoors and cursed their situation every day. Now, he had grown accustomed to sleeping and eating outside, setting up camps, and making temporary structures—he had even come to enjoy the adventuring life despite the dire circumstances and the dragon threat.

Later, he constructed a makeshift training post to practice his swordplay, axe throwing, and general physical exercises, performing slow repetitions to work as many muscles as possible. Only when he felt too hungry and tired did he rejoin the group.

"This smells good," he commented as he sat down beside Wyck, letting his weight fall onto a log he had fashioned earlier, sweaty and slightly out of breath. He nudged Wyck to get his attention.

"Hey Wyckmere. I wanted to have a chat with you alone since we departed from the village. The new situation has totally distracted me, so here we are," Roland began, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He passed his hand through his thick but short brown hair to wipe away the moisture before continuing.

"At the tavern, you didn't seem to be enjoying yourself much—quite out of it, I would say. I'm curious, if not a little concerned about it. Is it because of me? You seemed pretty upset when I told everyone about my real identity, which is totally understandable."

He look at the young man the head nodding down, clearly a hint of shame was on his face. He await to see what his companion have to say about it.

 

[PixCO]

Yopine (Svirfette) Quietclock

---

Meanwhile, deep within the waiting shadows of a pair of large rocks, a figure lurked silently. Her eyes moved from one figure to another in careful study. She was watching for something, even though she had no idea what. Nerves stretched tight to the point of snapping, she seemed to pause longest whenever her scans passed over the stray black dog. It knew something was there. Just like it knew how to find them despite D'Artegenon's secrecy, and just like the Harpers themselves knew to guard it heavily.

Something was up with the dog, and Yopine wasn't the type to ignore such ominous behavior.

She'd hardly had the chance to settle and really start to pay attention when she could sense a figure seeming to appear out of nowhere directly behind her. Whatever it was, it had the drop on her entirely.

"Well... Svirf." She muttered to the attacker.

[Varen Tai]

The half-orc suddenly loomed up behind Yopine. She hadn't heard him coming. Looking down at her mildly for a moment, he rumbled quietly, "No need to be hiding out here. If there's anything to be concerned about, I'd let you know." He motioned his head towards the camp. "Why don't you go make yourself useful instead of lurking on the edges?"

He stood quietly, taller than most humans, but much taller than the deep gnome, somehow looking solid without feeling threatening.

The murmur of talking amongst the others reached them, though it was hard to make out specific words. The scent of the cooking, despite being faint, smelled wonderful, and the chill of the night made the fire suddenly seem more attractive.

[PixCO]

Yopine (Svirfette) Quietclock

---

The voice was first a comfort to the girl, but quickly stirred itself to embarrassment. Not only had she panicked, but also that had been some of the finest stealth-work in her life. Dillworthy himself would have had trouble tracking her movements, yet the half-orc had picked her out of the shadows as if she glowed in the dark.

How does he do that!?

Svirfette stood as told and moved towards camp. One eye was still trained closely on a stray black dog at all times, though.

"I'm not lurking." She protested. "Still looking for that hairy herb, is all. Never did find it, remember?"

 

 

Edited April 22 by Varen Tai (see edit history)

[Varen Tai]

The rare smile cracked D'Ategenon's lips as she brought up the hairy herb again. They walked together into the camp as he answered. "I am still surprised Basil told you about that. Many years ago, a few of us, including Major Ferranti and Basil, were sitting discussing important items, when one of our younger members burst out saying something like, 'I can't hold this in anymore. No disrespect, Basil, but I'm going to start calling you the hairy herb. Basil Dillworthy, and you're a harengon. Hare-y herb.'" The smile widened as he relayed the story. "You know how proper Basil is, and he was quite horrified, but the name stuck between us, though since we really did respect him, we never told anyone else. As embarrassed as Basil was at the time, and despite him making us all swear that we would never tell another soul, it looks like he's never forgotten and ended up using it as the best possible code phrase to help you identify me from any other half-orc named D'Artegenon."

He stood for a moment in the warmth of the fire. "Don't forget to extinguish this before it gets too dark," he said to no one in particular.

Edited April 22 by Varen Tai (see edit history)

[Zelphas]

Torben

---

Torben blinked, looking at the gnome woman as she took apart the meat. "Resent?" He asked, confused. "I mean, it's definitely uncomfortable--I'm already too warm most of the time, and all the cloaks and scarves and gloves just make it worse. And the gloves make it harder to grab things, which is annoying. And I don't like being yelled at, or having some farmer try and poke me with a pitchfork, or being screamed at and run away from--none of that's fun. But do I resent it?"

The concept of resentment towards his current situation hadn't quite reached Torben's conscious awareness yet, and he shifted slightly from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the idea that he might be harboring such a negative emotion within himself somewhere. It was all too new, and he didn't even have another bugbear around for comparison at this point. "I... I don't know. I haven't thought about it before. Who would I resent?"

[Basil_Bottletop]

Wyckmere Mirth

---

 

A call for camp was a welcomed relief. Wyck's neck ached from the constant glances skyward that accompanied every new bend in their path. He knew the appearance of a dragon again would not come without some warning, but subconsciously he couldn't help it. Height was a funny thing and he wasn't entire sure how high a dragon could keep their flight while keeping a watchful eye on the ground. He tried to create scenarios where-in the dragon flew to the other side of the world, dove deep into the ocean, or other outlandish reasons why it might have gone completely off path in search of what it sought, but they felt like platitudes one might hear when trying to get a child to sleep when they feared monsters biting at their toes.

There had been a few minutes when he completely forgot about watching the skies. It had come after they passed a patch of honey-dip flowers peaking out from behind the bramble bush plant that typically covered the plant's feet. A wild flash of oranges and yellows mixed into an insect-attracting mirage and Wyck had plucked half a dozen of them before jogging back up with his place in the march. For the rest of the hour, he spent each passing step pulling the petals from the flower and chewing on their sickly sweet flesh. The flower carried very little in the way of weight, but the after-effects created a buzz in his ears that flowed down to his feet and helped keep his pep. He pressed one into D'Artegenon's hands too before tucking the remainder of them into a breast pocket. The half-orc tried to ignore the gesture, but Wyck was silently persistent and clearly wouldn't take the man's refusal seriously.

~*~*~

Camp offered a new set of activities and Wyck's priorities seemed to be in personal comforts. As D'Artegenon disappeared into the woods, Wyck was already in his routine. He tossed his own sack to the side and got to unpacking the essentials. Two thin wool blankets marked the bedding for both men a few feet apart. A pair of metal cups were tossed at the foot of the rustic beds, as were a few other amenities of the road that made such trips just a bit more bearable. They'd lay there until they were needed.

The campsite was a collection of clustered activities and when Wyck looked up from his finished tasks he saw that some of the others had broken off into a variety of tasks. Since his demotion as camp cook, he'd found the freedom to be a tad annoying. Now he was expected to invent tasks so as to be busy while the others worked on the essential things. The burden came with some minor perks, but so far Wyck had been hard pressed to revel in them.

~*~*~

The smell of dinner hit his nostrils like a smith's hammer finds the anvil. He was well trained to ignore the hunger pangs of travel, but to be faced with such novelties as a cooked meal washed away those veils. He was starving. He made sure not to be the first to the fire with a bowl, but he wasn't more than a few steps behind them with his own. He politely accepted whatever was offered with a wide-eyed thankfulness and briskly got out of the way of the next person. He found a place a few yards away from his own bedding where the ground looked soft enough and he wasn't in the pathway of the campfire's smoke. He embraced his bowl with both hands and inhaled deeply while he tried to guess what might be hidden just beneath the surface. It was true, a meal made by another always held with it a certain level of excitement because you'd not been hovering over the cooking fire staring at it the whole time.

He was two spoons in before he looked up and truly took stock of the bustling campfire. Allegiances had set in -it seemed- and there was comfort in that, even for an outsider. The rote bickering of strangers meeting strangers was dreadful and there had been more of it here than any of his last few stops. But this had also been the strangest of cases of the last half dozen as well.

Roland approached, but Wyck thought he meant to sit behind him somewhere, out of the way or at least behind the social wall of Wyck and what would eventually be D'Artegenon when he returned. When the soldier sat down beside him, Wyck foolishly quickened his latest spoonful and it made a wild slurping sound before his mouth was singed from the heat of it. It took him a full moment to recover. The physical reaction helps hide the mental one, as he tries to recall the inn, Roland's revelations, and anything else pre-dragon appearance.

His brain tried desperately to link the two, but only fragments emerged. Instead, he offered tokens of a different color. "Your name is your name, your story is your story, but it was your loyalty to it that was strange. We were there because we were meant to be there, proven to you by our gestures, and yet you kept your secret. What was it? Three days, four? But then to drop it so suddenly, so easily, was downright dangerous." His words and his tone conflict. He's chastising Roland like he's a child, but his tone is soft and understanding as if he knows it's a lesson he'll have to repeat again for a youthful ear. The words came, but so too did his hunger. He chanced another spoon of the broth before continuing.

"But my mood is not because of you. It is because of something else," Wyck nods toward the camp, "I don't know what to make of it yet. It usually doesn't take this long." He stops hard, looks down at his spoon in regret and then laughs, "Maybe it is the dog."

He shifted in his seat so that he could finally look at the man directly, politely. "So you're some kind of reformed criminal, then?" A return to the blunt repoire from Wyck is accompanied by a wry smile.

Edited April 23 by Basil_Bottletop (see edit history)

[Rumrunner]

Rillik d'Sivis

---

Rillik gave herself a self admonishing shake of her head with the obligatory smirk and eyeroll. She had been purposefully vague about her question, to see what insight it would gleen from a Bugbear. It had clearly been a mistake, this one so large and slow, needed specificity and simplicity. She would have to be careful not to lead him, or it would be difficult to tell if he simply lacked self awareness or even an internal monologue. There were brilliant gnomes who she had heard lacked such internal linguistics, instead thinging in images and associations, they were wonderous engineers, but their instruction was attrocious. It would take a team to reverse the design of their creations before they could figure out what they had done. So this bugbear, how did they think?

The gnome tore back the last of this side of the gazelle, and motioned for Torben to flip it over. Her large silver eyes narrowed upon him appraisingly "I can't answer who, if I do I could fix your mind and for all I know it may not even be a who, but I am sure that all but a few would agree with you: being screamed at, proded and run from, does not qualify as fun.

So what do you do then, Bugbear Torben, in these unfun scenarios you mention?"

[Harding]

Roland Weisley

---

Roland listened intently as Wyck spoke, noting the conflict and concern in his tone. He could sense the weight of unspoken emotions lingering beneath their recent conversations.

When the topic shifted to Roland's past and his former life in Waterdeep, he met Wyck's gaze with a faint grin, acknowledging the truth in Wyck's observation. "That's one way to put it," Roland replied thoughtfully. "I was ensnared by someone charismatic and manipulative, drawn into a darker world where his goals seemed righteous. He molded me into his perfect pawn as I was very young and vulnerable when he picked off the street..."

Rubbing his chin as he reflected, Roland continued, his voice tinged with regret. "Impersonating guards, deceiving those I respected and loved during that grand scheme... they're the reasons I woke up and re-evaluated myself. Without them, Waterdeep might be in great peril today. But I do regret the harm I caused before that awakening. I truly seek atonement."

Pausing briefly, Roland's tone turned earnest. "Revealing my past to the group was a way to shed that burden, to show trust and seek redemption, but I understand it was stupidly dangerous," he added, acknowledging the gravity of the deception. "I'm terribly sorry for lying to you both. It was unfair and a product of my paranoia with new people. This was being ungrateful... I'll work on that."

Roland's gaze shifted back to Wyck, curiosity sparking in his expression. "So, what's troubling you?" he asked gently. "Maybe I can offer some insight?" He offered a reassuring smile, hoping to foster unity amidst their shared trials.

 

[PixCO]

Yopine (Svirfette) Quietclock

---

Svirfette was still laughing gently to herself as D'artegenon moved away once more after nudging her towards the food. She wasn't sure that even he understood what had been done to Basil with that joke.

Dillworthy wasn't his patronym. Staghorne was. Dillworthy was an honorific inherited from some heroic great-great-great-grandfather of his or something. Almost more a title than part of a name, great things were expected of Harengon Dillworthies. Hers was no exception, and she was surprised the old rabbit was even still talking to the maker of that joke.

The deep gnome girl listened to Roland while she gathered her own food. Very little thought was put towards what might be in it as far more pressing concerns were, very literally, in the air. At least her story wasn't as unique as she'd feared. Though Roland had managed to stop shy of actual murder, she recalled. He was still the better person in her eyes.

She wanted to confess that much to him immediately. That would have stepped on Wyck's reply, though, and it seemed like the boy spoke so rarely it would be crime to stop him from doing so. Fearful that it might interrupt the social progress Roland had already made, she carefully took a seat alongside the two and began cooling her bowl in relative silence.

Always, though, there was the stray black dog tugging at her attention. Any time the conversation lagged, or even if it didn't, her eyes would wander to the animal.

 

 

Edited April 23 by PixCO (see edit history)

[Zelphas]

Torben

---

School time had never been Torben's favorite growing up. Not only were a lot of the questions boring and seemingly unrelated to the world of the monastery (which was the world he cared about then), but even when he tried to answer questions he seemed to get them wrong. Torben felt an echo of his teachers' disapproving stares in Rillik's narrowed eyes--perhaps he imagined it there, but he felt it nonetheless. He hadn't answered her question right, so she was asking it a different way. Flipping over the deer without any effort (but slowly enough so as not to send anything flying anywhere by the motion), Torben considered her question carefully, trying to figure out what she wanted.

In the end, he gave up, and answered with simple honesty. "I run away, mostly. It seems--well, people keep telling me--that... bugbears, are thought of as terrible monsters to many people in the world. If I saw a monster walking down the street, I would--well, I'd probably try to distract it, or make sure it wasn't going after someone else, or--I'm getting off track. The thing is, it doesn't make sense to me, but that doesn't mean I can't understand it--wait, no, that doesn't make sense either..."

Shaking his head, Torben blew out a frustrated breath and tried to start again. "Ilmater says that undergoing suffering can be a blessing, but causing suffering is wrong. I--well, I don't think that being yelled at or attacked by a few slow, scared farmers counts as suffering, really, but--here's what I mean. There's no reason to spread the, um, 'unfun scenario'. If I leave, things usually quiet down--at least, I think so. I haven't really been able to go back and check--wouldn't that defeat the whole purpose? Hm." As he had felt many times during his school years, Torben was more confused than when he started trying to answer the question, somehow.

[Rumrunner]

Rillik d'Sivis

---

It was hard to listen to the bugbear speak, his thoughts came at such a slow plodding pace, yet still seemed to drift about haphazardly and incoherantly. Trying to track them was like gathering feathers dropped from a height that she could see coming but slowwwly fell, testing her patience until she had to run about snatching them as they all dipped simultaneously. She was glad for the deer carcass that she could hack at for focus and rid herself of pent up frustration.

"So let me see if I got this... You're a devotee to Illmater, who believes suffering can be a blessing, but when people get upset think you are a dangerous monster, you run away and hide... and you believe that helps." She sighed, it was hard to tell if he was a coward or naive, but decided on the latter. Laying down her knife, she stood and fixed her gaze upon the giant and unleashed a torrent. "Do you think that perhaps having what people might believe is a monster disappear or lurk about, be causing people to be more worried and afraid instead of less? How would you feel if a monster came into your town then mysteriously disappeared?

I'm not a follower of Illmater, but I do know of him, and based on those teachings, would it not be better to endure this fear and present your holy symbol of Ilmater and ask if there's anyone who you can help? Then if they turn you away you can do so calmly instead of hiding. Then maybe people will hear of "that strange bugbear who follows Ilmater" and "That bugbear who offered to help", "That bugbear who didn't even raise a hand despite us wielding pitchforks and throwing rocks" rather than that "monstrous bugbear who we had to drive off with pitchforks and rocks" or "that bugbear who's hiding somewhere outside of town."? If you don't want to be treated like a monster, maybe stop acting like one." She took a breath, to calm herself. "Look, I'm sorry you're meeting prejudice, it's not fair. Little in life is, but if you don't deal with it, you'll forever be running from it... heck you might even get a good reputation for yourself, more will talk about a bugbear follow or the broken god than any old human one. Maybe that kind of suffering can be a blessing for you, and your order."

[Basil_Bottletop]

Wyckmere Mirth

---

 

With his jest landing, Wyck allowed another smile. It helped that the broth soothed his throat and filled his stomach, and Roland's talking gave him the freedom to dive back into his food full force. The man's further explanation and self-realization seem both unneeded and perhaps exactly what Wyck had intended. He balanced a chunk of meat on the end of his spoon and studied it all the way to his mouth. Once caged behind closed lips, Wyck showed his enjoyment of the bite through a dramatically heavy sigh.

Once swallowed, he repositioned his seat so as to invite Yopine to the conversation through his body language. His chest now facing a neutrally split invisible line between them both in the small social triangle.

The repeated accusation bounces off him this time though, like a dull arrow on a steel shield. "I'm just being impatient." He admits quickly before waving all of the negative auras away with his spoon. "It's no one's fault."

"This is good, right?" He asks the group while pointing at his almost empty bowl before glancing at the campfire as if needing reminded where it came from. It's a rhetorical question at best and he doesn't really wait for an answer before bringing the conversation to the feet of Yopine. "So you two were sent out to that crossroad by someone that knew D'Artegenon, yeah?" His question feels as much for himself as it is for Yopine. "What were you meant to do after that?"

 

 

 

[PixCO]

Yopine (Svirfette) Quietclock

---

Svirfette had opened her mouth before even knowing what she could possibly say. The girl sat with her mouth open, silently for a change, and her own spoon drying as it was held in mid-air.

Why am I here? She asked herself, yet again. She'd had theories... so many theories. She was here to be this, she was here to do that. None of her deductions or predictions had paid off. At every turn, when she thought there was a glimmer of a clue as to what they were actually doing, the wind suddenly shifted and she was left with cold stew for brains.

"I don't know..." She finally had to admit defeat. "I thought I knew. Based on my skills, my training. But apparently not. So far there's been no need for me in this group. Which is really weird because I was invited to join explicitly."

She scraped her spoon clean of dried food and dug around the bowl for more.

"Not by name, mind you. But by description. Close enough that I'm the only one in the entire city who could have qualified. So as far as I can tell? I'm just here to be here, and not much more. Maybe eat some stew..."

Yopine truly did seem lost. Especially after being brought back by D'Ategenon. He'd denied her the comfort of the Underworld, but she still had real shadows to hide within. Being taken from them was another hard loss to her nerves, and to her pride. The half-orc had found her so easily, and she'd been so certain that something big was about to hit. The girl had wanted to watch whatever she thought was coming from a safer distance. That'd been denied her as well.

So she sat, and she ate, and she wondered at other things. But there were too many to voice, and so many ways in which she'd been wrong already.

 

 

[Harding]

Roland Weisley

---

He understood Wyck's cue and decided not to push further. He was tired of the uncertainty that seemed to shroud everyone around him. D'Artagenon had admitted the other day that he knew more than he was allowed to say, exhibiting a marked avoidance of any discussion on the matter, even distancing himself from his longtime companion more than ever. Yopine, too, had been candid in admitting her lack of understanding regarding her place in this peculiar assemblage of fugitives, reformed individuals, and who-knows-what-else that made up their motley group of "adventurers." The word "adventurer" itself resonated oddly with Roland, causing him to almost chuckle at its absurdity.

"When I confessed my false identity, as you mentioned, Wyckmere, it was downright dangerous. So I can only imagine the gravity of what D'Artagenon is keeping from us, withholding even from his longtime protégée and close friend. The secret is that dangerous it seems..." Roland mused, his expression pensive. "It must be something far more perilous, dire, and unfathomable than anything we can conceive. I now have a glimpse of what you must be feeling, Wyck: loneliness."

Roland scratched his chin thoughtfully, then ladled himself a bowl of stew. As it cooled down, he continued, "I think everyone, despite being caught in the same mess, feels alone here. We all carry our own burdens, and strangely enough, those burdens might be what's bringing us together. It's like our fates have converged, each of us a piece of a larger canvas coming together to form a bigger picture. Am I sounding crazy? We're all in the same stew, and we have to make the best of it."

He took a bite of stew, allowing the others to digest his words and share their thoughts on what he had said.