DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Tyravasiel-Llir squints through the gathering gloom, looking for a place where they might shelter from the elements. Mere darkness isn't a challenge for his kind, but the rain that cascades from his hat's brim and plasters his cloak to his body makes it hard to see much of anything out there. Trees and branches and shadows swim together amid the torrent.

There's no thunder or lightning as the weather worsens, but the steady pounding of the rainstorm is frightfully loud in the trees, and despite the pine cover they enjoy, all four travelers are soon enough soaked to the skin. The ground they traverse, looking for proper shelter, is either too boggy and wet, or too rough and uneven to set up a proper camp. There will be no fire tonight, nor the roof of some cave or hastily constructed lean-to over their heads.

Two hours into the downpour the rain begins to relent, but then the temperature turns cold... icing over the trees, the ground, and even the packs and cloaks of the quartet as they huddle together for warmth beneath the biggest tree they can fine. Tree limbs and branches all throughout the wood crack and snap with the weight of it, even as as frosty breaths become visible and as fingers and toes go numb.

It is a long night.

---

THE NEXT MORNING (ALL)

Making their way back out onto the road, Ty, Anora, Aldric and Dufgal are wet and exhausted. The sky is low and gray is every direction, but the precipitation has stopped and the air has warmed to a more reasonable temperature.

The rain and the ice remind Aldric that he is not out of Pelagia's reach even this far from the sea. Was she punishing him? Hardening him? It was the way of the sea to do both at once, he decided, wearily.

As it turned out, he was already such a miserable, half-drowned, frostbitten mess that he hardly noticed the wet and the cold.

Praise Pelagia.

Wondering if the gods truly do exist to test him, Dufgal was feeling physically and mentally anguished. However, he recalled something his father's father said often, there’s grit in the shit. It never made sense when he was young and it seemed like something gongfarmers said to make themselves feel wise, but there is wisdom in it. Life’s, or the gods’, tests are opportunities to grow resilient. Dufgal found warmth and even hope in this remembrance and toughened out the night.

Upon the rising of the sun and the clearing of weather, only the cold remaining felt manageable. Dufgal visually checked on the others, but remained silent. He had yet discovered whether they were chatty in the morning or not. He certainly would not want to be annoying anyone after the night they had.

"Dufgal, the rains haven't dampened your spirits one bit. Good man, truly a follower of Pelagia. Now, on to an important matter regarding our payment. We will have to return to your town to get our promised reward from Relfarious the Shrewd. I imagine this will be more difficult for you, given the disagreement you settled with your knife. Is this correct?"

Dufgal nods as Aldric poses his question.
I’se guess’n so, sir. It might could mean I’se broke my contract. I dunno ‘cause I’se can’t read. Better them think I’se dead, huh? No good tryin’ to collect my share."
Dufgal readies himself for the road.

Shuddering, Ty does what he can to wring the rain water from his cloak. He removes his hat and slaps it few times to break up the ice that cakes the brim. He's too miserable to express sympathy for Dufgal's plight, were he inclined by nature to do so.

Anora keeps her complaints to herself the next morning. In fact, she keeps most everything to herself when they finally stir from camp, as she is in no mood for talking. She expected the feeling was shared by all, and so prepared for a sullen day of trudging through wet muck. Better that they were all on the same page in that regard.

She readies her weapon at its place, and lets loose a sigh to signal she is ready to be on with the day.

The mood is heavier as the foursome takes back to the road, knowing that they will need to travel all day today and at least most of another day beyond that before reaching Hirot. Still, its no longer raining or quite so cold, and movement sends warmth to their extemities.

---

LATER IN THE DAY (ALL)

The day passes uneventfully, with the rustling of the trees, the cawing of distant crows, and their own footsteps and voices the only things that break the lonely silence. Attention turns towards finding a camp as the sun, dim as it is behind the leaden curtains of clouds, goes down. There's rain visible in the southern sky, but the trees make it difficult to tell whether it's coming or going.

Throughout the course of the day, those evergreens have gradually thinned, and after rounding a mild corner and crossing a stream that's eroded its way right through the middle of the road, the party sees it -- high ground to the north that looks dry and under some cover of both trees and large stones. The hill is perhaps two hundred paces off the road, and will be a bit of a climb...

"If nothing else, I think we can consider this an easy bag of coin for you gentlemen." Anora says, finally breaking her silence. "I had expected that we would be beset by all sorts on the way here, given our employers caution."

She allows herself a thin smile; glad that the journey had been easier, at least in terms of bloodshed.

"Will you be able to climb that?" Anora asks the cleric, wondering if the older man has the legs for scaling the hill.

Pushing his hat back on his head, Ty narrows his eyes and peers up at the sheltered area atop the hill. It seems a perfect place to spend the night. Any traveler passing this way would think the same. As would anyone looking to prey upon travelers passing this way. Which is to say...

"Dufgal. Why don't you creep up there in your pad-footed fashion and have a look about. Make sure there aren't any ruffians like yourself already encamped, or lying in wait."

I’se on the task, sir
Dufgal ventures ahead of the crew, carefully laying down his heel first and rolling his foot to the toes on each step. His head swiveling right to left, up and down, looking for anything out of the ordinary or any movement. Once he gets up to the hill, he told Ty that he’d caw three times like a crow if it’s safe or whistle like whippoorwill if it’s not. He used to play this as a game when he was a little boy. Now it’s for real and it doesn’t seem that different to him.

Before leaving camp, Aldric finishes his conversation with Dufgal, seeing as the other two seem less verbally inclined.

"Nonsense, Dufgal! What happened between you and some asshole along the way has not impeded you from executing your duties. Mark my words, you will receive your share!"

---

At the base of the hill, Aldric looks up as if staring at a huge wave about to engulf them all.

Despite the initial look of exasperation, Aldric voices only resolution! "Child's play! Surely no witness of Pelagia has ever been defeated by a hill before, and I won't be the first!"

But he is happy for Dufgal to advance first, giving him time to wheeze his way to catching his breath.

"And what manner of things might have bested the followers of Pelagia in the past?" Anora asks, springing on the man’s utterance while they fill the time awaiting Dufgal’s return.

"Are there cities where she is the primary deity? Are her priests hunted and butchered by the followers of some god of solid-ground?" she goes on and on, prying into this faith she had barely heard of until meeting the man in front of her.

The murderous native of Garion’s Folly climbs, quiet as he can, towards the top of the hill as the others remain behind, engaging in their discourse and debates. The angle of the waning light reveals a trail that the big thug can follow — made by game or men, it seems to lead to the top. So Dufgal follows it, staying wary as he goes, listening, looking, moving as quietly as he can.

He smells it before he sees it.

Rot, and lots of it. Something is dead and decaying, and the wind tells Dufgal that it’s right at its rankest. As he closes in on the hilltop, which seems to be where the smell is coming from, the thief comes across a trio of findings on the path that give him pause — even if only for a moment. There, besides the path, in the low tangle of thorny brambles and the stalks of rushes that have lost their heads, he sees a thick-bladed dagger, a man or woman’s torn-off ear, and what looks like a forearm, complete with a bloody stump where the elbow was, and curled, stiff fingers on the hand…

"Cock rot, I'd wager."
"I'll be honest, Anora, I have no fucking clue about a lot of that shit. Pelagia didn't hand me a book or a wizened old me tor, just this oar. Do you see the poetry in that? Like she's saying 'paddle yourselves up the gosamn river, don't wait for me to do it for you.'

"But I can tell you it's not an earth God that she quarrels with, but rather the moon God, Shuul."

The hefty gongfarmer has a lifetime’s experience with foul smells, but something about this scene turns his stomach. What happened here? Who did this? Why so far away from any town? Why is no one here investigating? Don’t these parts belong to someone whose missing would be noticed? What are we supposed to do with this? Dufgal had never heard so many questions firing in his brain at once. He felt dizzy and took a long, deep breath before turning around to signal the crew. Did he caw or whistle?

He cawed three times and also retraced his steps a bit so he could warn them, especially the lady in blue. She may wish to lift her skirts for this.