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Nestaron

He nodded and smiled to Seyja.

"Heilbutt would have felt privileged indeed, Seyja, thank you."

Nodding his gratitude to Weston, he looked along the forest's edge.

"At least there is plentiful wood hereabouts." He said, lowering his gaze to the dead goblins and orcs.

"These were no pixie-poaching tribal goblins, they were armed with forged steel and fought like - like orcs." Nestaron noted aloud.

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Sergeant Almador

He gaped and collapsed onto his haunches. He had no breath to reply to Weston. He put his head in his hands and took a moment for himself.

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Zoltan

He looks around to double-check no more enemies might appear, then cleans and sheathes his sword. Grunting softly, he turns and notes Heilbutt's death.

He moves over to the group and looks sadly on the body. "Do the Wake Islanders place the bodies of the hero's enemies at his feet in the barge?" He'd heard of that practice.

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Jex

The bard was happy just to survive the battle. He was battered and bruised and breathed a sigh of relief when the last of the goblinoids was dispatched. But once he realized that there was a casualty his heart sank. He liked the half-orc. He was brave and strong but he was also proud of who he was and was honorable. It did him no justice to just belt out a new tune now. Heilbutt would have a proper song written to honor him but it would take some time.

"We must search the bodies carefully. Perhaps there is a clue in a pocket," he called out. Jex moved towards the body of the orc chieftain and started to search him first.

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<Weston>

He wanted to 'do right' by Heilbutt, he had been a good member of their team. But Jex made a good point too. They had lost quite a bit of time already.

"We should divide and conquer", he said. "We need some to help take care of Heilbutt. But we also need to see what we can learn from our foes." Looking at the dead, though, he had to wonder if they could yield any useful information.



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Seyja


"He grew far beyond his heritage," she said soberly.

"I did not know him long but my respect grew the longer I did."

Seyja picked up Heilbutt's severed head, used her fingers to brush his hair back from his face and then placed the head carefully close to where it had sat in life.

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Nestaron

The half-elf pondered over Zoltan's question. He'd also heard of some tribes doing that, but Wake Island was a ruinous place. The people weren't much for embellishments.

"In honesty, Zoltan, they usually just weight the body with stones and sink it out by the reef after a short ceremony.

"They do value spear-fighting above all else though, so perhaps we can send that orc chieftain's boar spear with Heilbutt downriver."

He worked reverently with the barbarian, Seyja, wrapping Heilbutt in his sheets and blankets, so binding his head and limbs in place. He used the half-orc's own spear as one splint and Lermoriach's boar spear as another, so they could move the body easily.

Heilbutt's death nagged at Nestaron. Fuldroik had placed the Heilbutt in the cleric's care. Nestaron hadn't asked or wanted that responsibility, but at the time he'd told himself that it was their misjudgement, their folly; he wasn't some holy man to have disciples following him around.

Watching Seyja stroke Heilbutt's hair, and remembering Heilbutt's awkward fondness for her, he realised that it didn't matter if it was Fuldroik's mistake. Nestaron was still responsible.

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D

He nodded agreeing with the sentiment being expressed. For his part though he moves to do a search of those foes that weren't already being examined.

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Tindarien

Having finished his song, the last note hanging in the air, Tindarien sets to work on the raft. He sorely regrets the loss of their companion, maybe more than some of the others as he had travelled with him for longer.

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Sergeant Almador

Wiping his eyes, the Sergeant blew out a breath and stood up with a grunt and one hand on the small of his back.

He was still awstruck by his first taste of savage bloodletting, and by the death of the half-orc.

Sergeant Almador hadn't really consider Heilbutt to be more than a two-legged mule. But indisputably, Heilbutt had given his life while on the quest to break Almador's family curse and save their home town.

Like the rest of the adventurers, Heilbutt had fought on the behalf of strangers. Sergeant Almador was still trying to understand their motives.

"I'm sorry." He said, apologising to the party. He picked up his partisan.

"I will stand watch on the surround. That at least, I know how to do."

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Nestaron

He patted Tindarien on the shoulder, after the high elf had finished his elegy. The two of them had known Heilbutt longest.

"That was well done." Nestaron said quietly.

Once Heilbutt's remains were arranged, he would help his companions with the raft if possible. (The half-elf had considerable carpentry and cooping skills but that didn't mean he knew how to build a raft.) Finally, he would carry out what funeral rites were needed.

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<Weston>

He was about to say something encouraging to Almador, but decided to leave the man to his thoughts. He continued to search the fallen foes for anything that might be helpful.


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GM

It was a beautiful late-afternoon in summer by the river.

Aptly named it was, the Scintilla. The reclining sun glinted and flashed off of the water, casting rainbows in the mist above the cascades. It seemed as though the surface gleamed and flecks of gold danced around its edges.

The sky was flushed, but the warmth of the day was soaked into the very rocks.

Sergeant Almador stood on the same promontory where Jex had wrestled with the goblin. He stood at attention, practised as you'd expect from a town guard. His gaudy, yellow and blue liviery was in sharp contrast to the natural tones around him, and those worn by his companions. But standing there in the wilderness, he looked like a small piece of officialdom, a representation of the town of Rosencliff.

Although Heilbutt considered himself no more than a peon, his companions, it seemed, were of a different mind, and none quibbled over the time taken to send him off properly.

It wasn't wasted time. A small, one-man raft was built with timber and some of the empty waterskins. What you learned from that enterprise would be useful later, if a raft was needed to carry you back downriver. Working together, Nestaron and Tindarien proved quite capable at it, with Seyja and Zoltan supplying the timber. There was no shortage of axes.

This was noted by those searching the bodies of their vanquished foes. Some of the goblins had the paddle-like wooden clubs favoured by the tribes, but several had bearded axes, with heads made from quality forged steel.

The orcs had broadswords, blades jagged and notched from misuse but of the same quality, and likewise with their mail and helmets

Now there was a perception amongst citizens of the Seven Cities that orcs smithed cheap, crude weapons by the bucketload. Unfortunately, the Orc Lord disagreed with them. He had raided and plundered elves and dwarves for decades, stealing their knowledge of arms and armour. He had taken elvish craftsmanship and dwarven ingenuity, and turned it into industry.

Whereas the backbone of the Crusader's army was its monied knights and nobles, the Orc Lord did not truck with civilisation. He didn't hesitate to share his spoils amongst his hordes, to equip and resource them. The Orc Lord was a general, not a king.

The Orc Lord's was said to be coralled in the north, beyond the Northern Colossus, but these were undoubtedly his goblins and orcs, south of Axis itself.

The goblins would have been pressed from local tribes, through sheer intimidation, to be used as scouts. The orc chieftain's corpse smoked, having been roasted from the inside out by high elf sorcery. The Axes of Impurity were scarred into his face. They marked him a champion, leader of his own band, and from his boar spear it seemed his forte was hunting.

Seyja recognised Lermoriach immediately, and she recognised the ornate glass bottle that Jex found in his belt. It was one of Lalleh's healing potions*. The old gypsy woman brewed and bottled them herself, and frightfully potent they were said to be. Lermoriach must have looted Lallah's caravan after the raid and stolen the potion. The chieftain probably assumed it was valuable but didn't know its contents, otherwise he might've used it after Zoltan whaled him.

Searching the rest, D and Weston gathered about 60 gp of mostly Dwarven or Imperial coins, and a plethora of foul trophies and fetishes, shrunken heads, wreaths of dried, severed ears, and such like.

D and Weston also find the goblins that had scrambled up the rocks from below had been carrying nets and lassos.... Now that it occurred to them, the goblin shamans had targeted Seyja with their curses, and then the orc berserkers had attempted to subdue her with mauls.

The impression was that these creatures were travelling fast and light, scouting, hunting, and none of you had any doubt who they served. The Orc Lord.

The question was, were there more of them? Where were they? And could they really have come this far south for one human woman?

[*Lalleh's Enlivening Elixir. Champion-tier healing potion. Grants spontaneous heal by using recovery, but at +2d8 hp!!]

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Seyja


Seyja stood there and scowled down at Lermoriach's corpse, then spat upon it. She lifted her greataxe but, before she could sever the chieftain's head, she spotted the cut glass bottle Jex was taking from the orc's belt.

"Could I hold that for a moment, please?"

Her voice was unnaturally hesitant, nearly pleading in tone. When Jex allowed her to take the bottle (hopefully), she walked over to a nearby tree and sat in its shade, leaning back against the trunk and holding the bottle with both hands pressed against her chest.

Tears filled her eyes and then began to soundlessly roll down her cheeks.

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<Weston>

"It is worrisome that so much of the coin is dwarven ... they do not easily part with their wealth. Then there is the fact that the leader didn't know what he had in the way of the potion. It all suggests that they may be working for someone else."



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Zoltan

He examines the items found and nods at Weston's comment. As Seyja takes the bottle, seemingly with some unknown amount of recognition and moves off to a nearby tree, he waits a respectful amount of time and then softly asks her leadingly, "It seems you know what that is?"

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Tindarien

He glances across at Nestaron as they work on the raft.

"The least I could do. I will miss him. And I owe him my life and also you my friend. I felt your healing touch when I most needed it."

He smiles softly.

"This seems to be a good group that we are part of. Everyone worked for the greater good, rather than self interest it seemed. We did well here."

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Nestaron

He sat back on his haunches and wiped his brow.

"Think nothing of it, Tindarien." He agreed, "You gave as good as you got."

Nestaron looked around at the party and nodded.

"Zoltan and Weston are an intriguing pair. Sent by the Order of Averness, I understand. Sir Edward the Red was one of theirs. But why send them two in particular? I wonder if one isn't meant to keep an eye on the other? Together, they are like earth and fire.

"But the Order are gallant, and I think we can count on Zoltan and Weston to help us with the river problem, even if they find Red Ed first."

The half-elf's eyes glanced over D and Jex.

"And those two, are as bound to the quest as Sergeant Almador is. Jex is obligated to the Baronessa and doubtlessly, to ending the story of Gorulon Gorehound.

"The dark elf? Well, he is not what he seems or perhaps, even what he thinks he is. But there is something between him and the Baronessa."

That left the barbarian. How dependable was she? Nestaron didn't look her way.

"It's obvious now that Seyja was not exaggerating; the Orc Lord wants her badly.

"They say the Orc Lord has no weaknesses, Tindarien. We may have just found one. If that is so, you know that the High Druid will want to meet her personally.

"For now, I hope she stays with us. Heilbutt would have wanted us to look out for her, I think. He died protecting her. That is a sentiment I can honour."

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Jex
"Yes my dear," he said to Seyja and he hands it to her.

When he sees her clutch it and start to cry, he moves over to her and crouches down by her side. "Do you know what this is? I suspect that it's something rather special. It obviously means something to you."

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D

Having finished his search the dark elf sits down to rest for a minute. He had barely escaped death because of the half orc's actions. He shared the thoughts and words though silently.

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Seyja


The tears continue to slide down her cheeks, but she did not cry aloud except for an occasional sharp intake of breath. After a few moments, she lifted the bottle in front of her face and carefully wiped the dust and smudges from it.

"She was like a mother... or mayhap a grandmother to me, the gypsy elder woman who crafted this potion of healing." She held it up where Jex and Zoltan could see it and pointed to a small, illegible carved inscription.

"See... that is her mark."

Seyja held the bottle to her cheek for a moment and then handed it back to Jex. With a grunt and an obvious attempt to clear the concern from her face, she got to her feet.

"I would appreciate it more than you would know, Jex, if you would give me the bottle after the potion has been used."

Seyja smiled sadly and looked off into the distance.

"The Orc Lord's foul minions killed her and, for all I know, all of her small band."

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GM

For all the beauty of that summer's afternoon, there was a sombre tone amongst the victors.

Using the two spears, you easily lifted Heilbutt onto the raft. After he was securely lashed to it, you lowered the whole thing down to the river's edge. The cleric had whispered his funeral rites, but did anyone have anything else to say?

Seyja had told you about the northern gypsies she travelled with, and Lalleh, the old wise woman, both soothsayer and healer. Perhaps the Orc Lord's minions would find more than they bargained for, next time they caught up with the barbarian woman? But if Seyja, if the party, were to defeat a foe like the Iron Skull, they would need to train, to re-equip, possibly even minions of their own.

For now, another life had been lost in the defence of Seyja's. Heilbutt the Half-Orc had fallen in battle, but you had slain nearly a score of the enemy in return and left none alive.

The dead goblins and orcs could stay where they were and bake in the sun. Orc flesh was poisonous to all but orcs, but the valley's scavengers were scarce anyway, if the lions you'd found were anything to go by.

Heilbutt looked stern, almost as if he were eager to be away. So you let slip the raft and it drifted into the main channel, gathering speed in the riffling waters. He disappeared around the bend of the river, carried northwards, down towards the sea. With him went his jagged spear, the orc chieftain's spear, and battle won.

The party stood on the pale rocks above. Behind them was pine forest, climbing steeply uphill, and behind that was the water-bored peak, the Titan's Elbow.

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Nestaron

He sighed and said a silent fairwell to the half-orc. He'd already spoken the funeral rites, such as they were.

Nestaron took a swig from his waterskin and repacked it. He was carrying all of his own gear now and certainly wouldn't complain.

Looking around at the distinctive labyrinth of rock that formed the cascades, he settled on a name for them.

"Heilbutt's Hallow, that's what we'll call you." He said softly.

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Sergeant Almador

Having stood watch, the fire in his back had dampened down and some strength had returned to his arms. The Sergeant felt somewhat better. Very hungry! Starving!

He ate the rations that his wife had prepared, probably two day's worth though she'd prepared double that. It amazed him that he could look at the slain goblins and orcs, feel reviled in the back of his mind, while at the forefront, his appetite happily had him stuff his face.

However, having done so, he felt a lot better.

Heilbutt's Hallow. "We'll mark it on the maps, sir." He assured Nestaron.

"Looks like you were right then," he said, turning to Weston, "They were serving the Orc Lord."

Sergeant Almador shook his head sadly. "Bodes ill for the Empire, if his hordes can roam across its lands unmolested. And I thought demons would be the end of it, not orcs!"

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<Weston>

He pulled his now clean sword from his scabbard and lifted it in salute as Heilbutt began his final journey. "A worthy fighter, a worthy friend. He will be missed", he said as he lowered his sword. "May the Great Gold Wyrm guide you to what is next."

He re-sheathed his sword and turned to Almador as he talked. "Wasn't me as made the call, but yes, it seems so. But I doubt the will be much danger for the town, especially in the short term. They seem quite fixated on us, on Seyja, at the moment."



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