The Coast Way

Something about the deer is just comforting to Rift. He wants to sit by it and tell it stories from his life, maybe feed it some leaves or berries. Definitely not ride it though. That would be rude. Right?

Following it seems right, even though he has no idea where they are going. When they finally stop, the voices make Rift nervous again. He tries to peek through the trees, but doesn't want to get too far from his group. If the stag brought them here, it must be for a good reason.

The wizard in green robes startles at Sheemish's entrance. "Mommy, no! I-" He cuts off the falsetto plea and clears his throat. "Help? Erm, yes. I have been known to help, on occasion."

"Bah, but ye wouldn't help a fly, Xzar." The shorter one, a scarred halfling, turns to Sheemish. "Normally I'd shirk any goody-goody work. But see here, we're a bit lost ourselves. So if ye can point us in the direction of Nashkell, mayhaps ol' Montaron can help ye."

"Ah, but his voice is ambrosia, Montaron! Listen to its nectar!" Xzar begins dancing a solo pavan, apparently ignorant of the fact there is no music to be heard, let alone danced to.

Montaron sighs. "That mad wizard is off on one of his spells again. And I don't mean one with wiggling fingers or funny words."

The gruff halfling turns to Sheemish once more. "Well? What do ye need? Spit it out!"

"We're headed for the Friendly Arm Inn," Stella speaks up, lifting her tome with the map sketch in it. "I'm pretty sure I know how to get us there from here. You'll probably have better luck making it to Nashkell from there than from here. You seem pretty knowledgeable, and I'm an aspiring wizard myself, so how about a trade of information?"

Mad perhaps...but a wizard doesn't become one without study, she reasoned. They were a fascinating pair.

"What do you know about this?"

Stella taps the air, leaving stars hanging in the air connected by thin, glowing lines. In moments, the humanoid constellation shimmers and melts into a small-scale illusion of Kregguk's armored killer. (Stella casts Minor Illusion)

"It attacked us, along with er...ogres, archers, aaaand a caster of some kind."

Xzar pauses in his dance and examines the illusion. "Ah, you must be a storyteller." His voice is low and menacing, then immediately changes to slurred and boisterous. "Duh, tell me 'bout the raaabBITS!"

He waits expectantly and wide-eyed.

"A pox on ye, Xzar!" Montaron roughly elbows the wizard out of the way. "Bah! Looks to me like a sure killer. But we've nay seen any like him."

The halfling gestures up toward Dieter's corpse laid across Tulco's back. "Ye've come to an awful odd place to drop a body." He ponders that for a long moment, then nods appreciatively. "For sure, we can help each other out. We been to the Friendly Arm Inn. Good rooms. Better drink! Take us back there, and if we get along, we'll let ye in on the Nashkell job."

Xzar bows deeply to Runeson. "Well, you see, my friend Monty and I decided to look into this iron crisis problem." His cheerful voice drops to dismal by the end, and then he stage whispers, "Terribly bad for business, you know. Swords breaking, armor rusting, merchants squealing..." His hands come up to massage his temples. "Such incessant noise?! 'Tis such a pain behind the eyes!"

He flinches at his own voice, then looks at his hands in confusion. And then he points at Montaron and speaks in monotone: "It was his fault."

Montaron grumbles at Xzar's antics and excuses himself to go and sit by himself on a log. As the halfling turns his back, Sheemish notices several stitched areas on the back of his leather armor. The artificer is sure they were once slender holes that have since been sewn shut. Holes from a stabbing? Surely the wearer at the time wouldn't have survived such wounds.

Rift is unsure what to make of these two strange men, but the crazy one makes him laugh. They would be good company along the road. Or at least good entertainment. Especially if they started fighting.

And they were looking into the iron crisis, like Little One had talked about at that tavern. Rift wishes that he'd looked more closely at that hat that made Little One so smart. If he had a hat like that, he'd be unstoppable!

He looks at the two strange men, wondering what their story is and if they have anything like the magic hat. But looking at them, it's pretty obvious that if they had anything cool, it would be front and center. And they are definitely exactly what they seem: helpful, but somewhat absurd friends who are lost on their way to an important job.

He smiles at them.

Montaron catches sight of Rift's inquisitive stare. The halfling pointedly pulls out his short sword and begins sharpening it. Apparently he doesn't like being gawked at.

Dieter eyes stare up at the sky as if locked in a staring contest with some unseen being. He lays unmoving and unflinching literally dead to the world

.........

With the party settling in for the evening, Ossein takes some time to say goodbye and send thanks towards wherever Bert may be.

With that done, Ossein's focus now turns toward his new bearer trying to make a connection, get a feeling for their memories, name, unfinished business, weapon preference, favorite activities, or anything really.

Ossein also takes time to change his form to match that if his bearer's weapon of choice. His form melts down from a small mace, elongating and briefly turning into a javelin before curving back and settling on a shortbow. The shortbow seems oddly worn. A large crack nearly splits the bow like the next pull will certainly snap it. The wood looks sun bleached and splintered. Remnants of blue paint flecks sporadically still cling to parts of the bow, mostly towards the tips. It's hard to imagine this bow is a magical sentient weapon.