RP Session 10: "Mired in the Mire"

May 25, 2025 3:07 pm

Bendane cocked an eye at the surprisingly didactic turn of phrase from the violet-skinned warrior. He took another swallow of water and stoppered the bottle. "You sound like my old arcana teacher," he said somberly. "A parade drill represents... unity, the power of the regiment acting in concord, a subordination of individual morality to the communal will. Rahkazar, you have a point to make, so please make it. This catachismic style of rhetorical questioning feels like a child being lead down the garden path."

Rahkazar

May 25, 2025 3:09 pm

Grimacing in a pained and embarrassed expression, Rahkazar bows her head. "Forgive me. I am speaking as I remember being spoken to when this was a lesson being taught, and you do not deserve that, you are right. My apologies."

Taking a swig of water as it was passed back to her, Rahkazar refocused. "My point is, rituals help us with two things: marking transitions, and showing honor or respect. As you said, individual to communal, independence to unity, respect of a lord, country or a nation, in this example. But there are a lot of other kinds of rituals; weddings, funerals, coming-of-age, the list goes on."

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself for a moment, she then ventured into uncharted territory. "For orcs, we have two such rituals that are relevant to your question: one focuses on honoring of our fallen enemies, and the other marks our transition from comparative innocence to recognizing our new identities as killers. This can be purifying, if we let it be. Acknowledging and accepting who we are now that our hands run red with blood, and giving thanks, honor and respect to those we kill. I wonder, Bendane Kingsparr, have you undergone anything similar to what I speak? What did you do to honor your first kill? And to accept, or recognize, the blood on your hands?"

Bendane Kingsparr

May 25, 2025 3:12 pm

The past was a haunted place, and Bendane's face was a grey mask as he introspected to face it.

His first kill. Was it the boy in Drannik Camp? The gnoll hillfolk has smeared his wounds with filth before the Confederation scouts found him, tainting what they had not gnawed to the quick, and the putrescence had already spread too far. The boy's blood had been poison, fire in his veins, the flesh silver-green and rotting on his bones. He was beyond the aid of any medicine. The only treatment available had been the mercy of the knife. A clean cut, a chirugeon's cut.

His first kill. Was it the military police officer in Rocraggen? Bendane had been buried in some rank den, deep under the lotus' shadow when he saw the flash of badge. In all likelihood the officer was just on liberty, looking for some recuperation and relaxation in the fleshpots. But addled with paranoia and fear, Bendane had imagined bounty hunters and a deserter's fate. So he had waited until the man was deep in his cups, until he had staggered out to piss in the harbour. He had incanted a spell to twist the man's guts up, make him double over in nausea... then slit his throat. Just another mugging gone wrong in the city-ports. A clean cut, a chirugeon's cut.

His first kill. "The... wrecker's tunnels," he lied hoarsely. "When I blundered ahead, became separated and alerted the three archers. One of them, an elf in a red leather vest... Theren scorched him with a fistful of wildfire, then I reached out and snuffed his guttering vitality out like a candle. Just so." He held his hand up, miming the gesture with thumb and forefinger. In the drowsy marsh, a single firefly's mote of green light went out. A clean kill, a necromancer's kill.

The wizard looked at his hands, picturing them drenched in red, then shook his head. His expression hardened, his voice turning curt. "There is no honour in death. Only waste. Accepting it is accepting the ultimate and only failure." Bendane's hands knotted into fists, and he put them under his arms. "Death is the failure of reason, of courage, of diplomacy, of cunning. We kill because we are not quick or clever enough to find another way. These bargemen died because we were not assiduous enough in spreading word of the facethieves. That is the only lesson death can teach: be better."

"Thank you for your guidance, Rahkazar," he said desolately. "But there is nothing in those ways for me. You should get to your bunk. One of us, at least, deserves a good night's rest."

Rahkazar

May 25, 2025 3:15 pm

As he spoke, Rahkazar listened, truly listened in the way that she had been taught. She had been paying attention throughout their conversation of course, but there was a finality to his words that made her all the more attentive. There was a great deal that Bendane was saying, and not all of it was spoken aloud.

Not all of it was true, either.

For the first time in their conversation, Rahkazar's features darkened. He lies to me? So brazenly?! She breathed in deep, to launch into a tirade...then stopped. Her brow furrowed a little deeper as she studied him. She remembered the elf he spoke of, barely. It was a justifiable kill, fighting for freedom, starved, desperate. No one would argue that to be an unnecessary fight. So if he lied about that being his first kill...then his true first kill must not be so honorable.

A puzzle piece clicked into place. For her as well as for him.

"Such a strange man you are, Bendane Kingsparr," she said quietly, slowly, her voice measured and still. "To claim that the death of the elves this barge belonged to was your doing. As though they were in town to hear of our warnings, as though our warnings could spread through the entire city in a day's time, as though our warning was for some new foe and not one the elves were fully aware of decades before either of us was born. I agree that becoming better is one of death's lessons, but you are too quick to dismiss any other lesson it can teach, too quick to treat that lesson as an albatross about your neck, too quick to accept ownership over deaths you had no way of causing, let alone preventing. I think, however...that I am beginning to understand you."

Rising, she says, "You are not yet ready for any guidance my people can offer you. And they can offer you guidance. More than the ghosts you insist on carrying with you can. Perhaps when you are ready to let go of your shame, your need to save every soldier in a war that was going to happen with or without you, to control the very essence of life and death, then we can speak again on this."

Turning to go, she makes it to the doorway before slowing, stopping. Placing a hand on the frame. "And Bendane?" she nearly hissed over her shoulder. "Lie to yourself if you must. But never lie to me again."

Bendane Kingsparr

May 25, 2025 3:16 pm

Bendane's expression went on a journey every bit as miserable as their trek through the jungles of Valani as Rahkazar read him like a scroll. The shame she accurately diagnosed, yes. The humiliation of having his arrogance so justly skewered. Indignation. Fear. His face was mottled and he squirmed under her verbal blows, seeming to shrink into his grimy clothes. He said nothing, his head slightly bowed as she made to leave, and any response he might have been mustered was stifled by her backwards glare.

He stood in silence on the deck for a while after she was gone, before murmuring, more to himself than anyone else: "If not me, then who?" Bendane raised his hand and pinched the air. Another firefly flared and died and fell into the marsh with nary a ripple.

Another pinch. Another firefly quenched.

Another.

The world was a little bit darker, two hours later, when he woke Rawiya for her watch.

May 25, 2025 3:17 pm

Ej watched the new moon rise with a sense of resignation as the low mumble of Bendane and Rahkazar's conversation fought a losing battle against the song of forearm-sized crickets, the chirping of a rainbow of minute frogs and the tense wingbeats of swarms of mosquitoes and beetles. The jungle was never quiet, never still. A million heartbeats thrummed within a mile radius around them at all times, and all of those heartbeats belonged to creatures shameless in voicing their full throated desire to kill, or eat, or rut through the night. Too find food enough to reproduce before inevitably becoming food for something else.

Tonight another voice - a voice of deceit would be added. The stay that the skin thieves had promised had ended, and while they were unlikely to target Ej or his companions unless crossed (the Master of Wood would not brook their minions warring - if they noticed) they would be seeking to infiltrate themselves amongst the civilised folk of Valani. He could only hope that the settling of the unnatural weather might have quieted their spiteful panic.

Troubled or not, the day had been a gruelling one and Ej was asleep long before Bendane roused Rawiya from her blankets for her watch, and as the Yarin stepped out onto the moonlit deck of the Faint Praise... of the Marsh... had they left that undecided? By the time she stepped out for her watch images of a hand carved plaque announcing the little vessel's name (and perhaps evidencing that it was certainly not the nameless vessel lost in the swamps) were already forming in her head.

Keeping close to the barge so as not to wholly abandon her watch, Rawiya slid past a peppering of dead fireflies that lay on the rails and dropped into the knee-depth water with a splash no more conspicuous than a corpulent toad and began wading about the immediate area looking for a piece of marsh wood large enough to whittle. It seemed fitting that the barge be rechristened in materials from the swamp after all.

So focused on her task was she that Rawiya almost didn't notice the light, but as she rose to examine and then hurriedly reject a length of whitish birch (tossing it the moment a centipede stuck its antennae out of a pulpy mass of rot) she saw it bobbing through the trees. A light, flickering like fire, directional if anything was to be judged by its coming and going. Like the long shaft of light cast by a storm lantern... or from the mouth and eyes of a vengeful cannibalistic ghost.

But then, they knew that there must be other folk out here. Was it just another party of travellers hopelessly lost in the mire? Or was it worth rousing the others - in their beds after a gruelling day of portage and readying for another?

May 25, 2025 3:19 pm

Rawiya glanced back at the tiny bodies of the once-lovely insects, now scrubbed from existence, and worry etched her golden features. Blinkbugs were harmless things, living only briefly and spending that precious time freely injecting a little more vitality into a cold, uncaring world. She considered them sacred almost on the same level as songbirds. When her sharp eyes first spotted the wasted corpses, she thought of weather anomalies and swamp curses. A sudden frost localized near the Faint Praise seemed less likely than some sad, forgotten hag perhaps, feeding itself on idle, thoughtless cruelty. Either demanded an audience.

Now, with a guttering illumination piercing the gloom ahead, her mind went to the helpful cayfolk they'd met so many days back. Surely knowledgeable, frontier-dwelling types could explain the phenomenon.

"Probably not a narahat," Rawiya murmured under her breath. The plucky entertainer had committed no sin worthy of attracting a vengeful, empty apparition. Not intentionally. And each of her companions was even better than she, inside and out.

"But what if nenderthwips light up, too, when the stars come out?"

She grinned wolfishly and hunkered down, creeping forward, abruptly quite keen to acquaint herself with this marshy peculiarity. Belatedly, the young woman fumbled her small and mostly unused crossbow free from beneath her cloak and slotted a quarrel in place. It would be pretty great to have a new story to share with the others over breakfast.

Not like any of the wood out here was volunteering to be art tonight.

May 25, 2025 3:24 pm

Creeping forward through the shallow water, Rawiya found a low bank that allowed her to leave the water and use the spongy soil to mask her careful but eager footsteps. Closing the distance towards the slowly searching shaft of light, she lowered herself to knees and elbows beneath a stretch of huge-leafed, waxy plants. Here she was able to poke her head up beneath a leaf perhaps twenty feet from the source of the light.

Momentarily dazzled as the light swept over her (and quickly ducking beneath her leafy trapdoor to re-emerge when the dark returned) she squinted in to a narrow clearing they'd deemed too dry for their purposes the day before. Here a half dozen figures were clustered around one who held a hooded lantern of the like used to signal ships.

These figures were small, stocky and heavy-limbed. They wore heavy cloaks of netting woven through with scraps of grey and brown fabric, and with clusters of wilting foliage as a formidable camouflage, though beneath these cloaks their muddy garb showed glimpses of garish colour. Each carried a hand crossbow similar to Rawiya's own and most had a cudgel or cutlass hanging on their belts.

The small group had stopped in the clearing and seemed to be in heated debate as the swept the light about, searching for something.

Unable to make out their hushed conversation, Rawiya took advantage of the undergrowth to crawl closer, to within perhaps twenty feet of the small party. Here she was able to cup her hands beneath her chin and take measure of the strangers - five gnomes and a halfling now that they could be seen more clearly.

"We shoulda stayed hard by the river" one of the gnomes, a fellow with a big red nose and a beard and mutton chops separated by a shaven strip of skin, was saying. "If she be gatherin' for the cooks out this way then she'd wanna be near the water."

Another, with a shading of dark stubble and a red scarf tied over one eye, scoffed."Why take to hiding in a damned swamp near the lake where them skin thieves be haunting just to sit right on the water ye damned fool?"

"Skin thieves? You rube! There be no such thing" barked another with a laugh. Her long hair was curled and tucked under at the bottom and seemed to have been kept meticulously from the swamp water, and her full rosy cheeks were marred by a long neat scar.

"Shut up all of shit-eating mongrels!" hissed the halfling with an authority far beyond his small stature. He had curly fair hair, a perfectly cherubic face, and a scowl that could strip varnish "And hood that fucking light else I'll jam it elbow deep up your arse and make a puppet of you. Jarbar knows these lands and she set the traps that did for Maddock's crew. We need surprise. That's why we're pushing through this shit at night. Now shut your cock-sucking mouths and quit your bitching."

Rawiya gasped, stifling the sound at the last moment by slapping a hand across her mouth. Jarbar the Trapmaker was a name she knew well.
Could it be the same? Surely that wasn't a common epithet. Was Tenazza's first mate still alive? And on Valani?

Unfortunately in stifling her mouth, Rawiya had drawn a deep breath through her nose, and with it came a substantial ant that was particularly unhappy about it's nasal imprisonment. Rawiya sneezed hard, and less than a second later she was dazzled by the full beam of the lantern.

"Halloa there, reckon we got us a little spy."

May 26, 2025 5:47 am

"Ditch-digger's grotty dangle-bang!" Rawiya squeaked in vexation, employing the language of halflings seemingly as a reflex, when only the most creative swears will do. And she sat up quick among ferns that trembled in their eagerness to give her away. Even the most innocuous flora wouldn't stand in a Yarin's defense.

She juggled the crossbow briefly, each hand independently hasty to escape blame, before dropping it in her lap. Far more capable without a clear plan, her clever fingers did manage to snag a damp tuft of fleece in the maneuver. Just in case. She raised her palms to show she presented no risk, switching to the common trade tongue.

"No spy here. Just a nature-lover, wandered off the path." Eyebrows arching, keen to set new records in altitude, Rawiya made a play for only-slightly-astounded stoicism as she considered the opposition. And swiftly sneezed thrice more, silvery tresses bouncing with the violent flurry.

"Bloody stars above!"

Snub nose wrinkling, she nibbled her lip and showed them a self-effacing grin.

"Or I try to be, leastwise. No laws against that, is there? Only come out this way searching for exotic wood to carve. And secret herbs and spices. Obviously." The performer wiggled her covetous, muddy fingers at the marshy foliage but didn't lower her hands just yet. "I sure didn't mean to snoop. Only, I'm a real light sleeper. And you lot aren't exactly leaves dancing on wind, yeah?"

She believed she'd contained her giddiness. The Trapmaker wasn't someone Rawiya ever expected to meet, but boy had she heard stories. Pirates were a tricky bunch, with their own sense of fairness and decorum. She'd just have to be sure to put out a warning for the others in the event that this band ran her threw. No way she'd forgive herself if they took the group as they slept.

"Your crew in charge around here? How far are we from the sea?"

Pondering the mention of cooks, Rawiya attempted to calculate the possibility that these were corsairs turned to backwoods cannibalism. That was fairly far down her list of likely untamed frontier island encounters, but it was certainly still on there. She'd always wondered how she tasted, though an active nightlife at college allowed for an educated guess.

May 26, 2025 5:50 am

From the back of the group a gnome pushed forward. She wore a heavily embroidered frock coat in midnight blue and her rich chestnut hair hung in a fat braid over her shoulder. Her boots, though caked with mud, showed clear signs of quality work and her broad, flat nose was screwed up in a snarl.

Grabbing the halfling roughly by the hair she pulled him, protesting, slowly out of the way to get a look at Rawiya. The scrutiny was methodical, and nothing she found seemed to dull her distaste if the expression was anything to go by.

"It's a yarin" she announced to the group. "Gaudy clothes but filthy, so probably with those cooks Christoffel mentioned. They're territorial, so we got to stop her reporting back. What do we reckon? Cut her throat? Truss her up? Or maybe we let Bigwhistle here have his fun with her." The halfling smiled beatifically at that last part. "My Godsdamned name is Gabriel and you fucking know that" he said without taking his eyes off Rawiya.

"Shouldn't we at least question her?" Asked the gnome with the muttonchops quizzically.

"She'll only lie" replied bluecoat dismissively "and keep lying until someone comes to find her. Best to move on if we're keepin' her. Even still if we're to hide the body. Warning the trapmaker'd be suicide."

May 26, 2025 5:54 am

Rawiya slowly lowered her hands and her bright eyes moved from one face to another throughout their exchange, her spirited interest never flagging. Learning new varieties of halfling fun sounded like a real treat to her. She imagined a game of cards with more sleight of hand than anything else, or perhaps a lively night exchanging particularly foulmouthed riddles.

"Agreed," she put in when she found an opening. "No sense alerting the Trapmaker just yet. What say we keep this a surprise for now."

Then she paused a moment, lips parted, as if waiting for them to press her for details of some nature.

"Got to admit, it's kind of a relief to meet folks who aren't asking about the treasure hereabouts." Rawiya furrowed her brow, perplexed. "Guess I'm safe believing that's not why you're all out here then?" She rolled her eyes ruefully, adding, "Which isn't to say I have a precise notion where it is myself. But I do got a lead worth chasing down."

The Yarin smiled, almost giddy.

"Only wish I had the know-how to get it done."

May 26, 2025 5:55 am

Bluecoat looked Rawiya in the face for the first time, reappraising her with a quizzical eye. "What do they call you girl?" she asked, the threat gone from her voice. It hadn't been replaced with sugar exactly, but perhaps not threatening to slit someone's throat was her version of sugar.

May 26, 2025 5:56 am

"Rawiya. Explorer, songstress, chronicler, and woodcarving enthusiast." She peered around at the twisted, vine-veiled trees looming in the dark. "Sometimes my friends, um ... I guess they call me the Nudge?" She'd always wanted an underworld nickname, like a proper thug.

She showed many small, white, and shiny teeth in an eager smile. "Should I maybe know your names too? Unless it's a secret." The entertainer shrugged slim, coy shoulders. "I don't want to get anybody in trouble."

May 26, 2025 5:57 am

Bluecoat smiled sweetly, the emotive equivalent of an oil slick spreading across water. "Well... Nudge, I'm Edwinna and these are my friends Barnas, Ninny, Clorvis, Hendrick, Gerte and-" her smile broadened as she indicated the halfling "-Bigwhistle. Now we were doing some business with a human called Jarbar, and she up and stiffed us, and now we're trying to find where she lives to have a word. Cept we don't know where her cabin's at. I don't spose this treasure of yours'd belong to Jarbar now would it?"

May 26, 2025 6:00 am

Rawiya nodded pleasantly at each member of the party, silently mouthing their names, as if meeting new neighbors at a friendly party in the street.

"Jarbar?" she repeated, eyes wide and faintly perplexed. "No, no... This treasure has to do with a big ship that sailed through this way some years back. It's just like the song says: downwind. It's all happening downwind, Edwinna." Her firebolt-bright smile returns. "Hey, if you're willing to help with that, I'd be pleased to assist your cozy conglomerate in any negotiations with the intractable Jarbar. Or righteous schemes against her. Whichever."

Was she running away with her character again? No. Nudge would keep her safe. And this was merely prevention. And to think, Rahkazar would call Rawiya reckless and impulsive. Now here she was, leading a potentially dangerous band away from camp all by herself.

"There's just one thing we need to do here first, of course. Maybe we could take care of it on the way?"

May 26, 2025 6:02 am

Edwinna considered her bubbly captive like one might upon finding a particularly colourful spider in one's boot. Was it dangerous? Were there more? Or would it scuttle off into the undergrowth the moment you looked away? The urge to bind her hands and feet and let the swamp decide her fate was strong, this one definitely couldn't be trusted, but treasure... that was just plausible enough.

She looked Rawiya over again. The yarin was definitely a spy.

"Bind her hands" she ordered the muttonchopped gnome she's called Barnas "and bring her along." She turned back to Nudge. "Hold out your wrists girl, nice and still. You prove your worth, maybe we let you off the leash."

May 26, 2025 6:04 am

"Yup."

Rawiya presented her hands with a peculiar sort of eagerness, watching Barnas tie his knots with enthusiasm. She almost seemed ready to offer advice, though the gnome knew what he was about.

"This reminds me so much of college!" the Yarin giggled, shifting her hands ever so slightly to get a feel for the work. No telling when she might need to slip these bonds. She favored Barnas with a crooked grin. "Can tell you've done this before. I bet Edwinna only commands the best, yeah?"

Then, a troubling thought occurred.

"Can we please just keep away from the deeper water?" Rawiya sounded embarrassed but no less earnest. "Sorry to say I'm not much of a swimmer. Even if I had six free arms and webbed feet besides." With a crestfallen sigh, she noted, "Which I don't."

Her fear of water remained, it was true, and yet the entertainer was also probing the opposition. Which of this band would be the most susceptible to her wits, wiles, and second-hand whim-whams? Should the need arise to play them off each other, it couldn't hurt to plot a path.

May 26, 2025 6:07 am

It was a trick so old that it was amazing no one seemed to know about it. Rawiya tucked her thumbs into her palm, presenting fists but flexing her wrists. It would only be the work of some wiggling if the time came and she'd be able to shed even Barnas' fairly snug knots.

"Don't you worry none now" Edwinna soothed as the bonds were tightened. "Best not get a treasure map wet after all."

"We'll have a care" Barnas reassured. "These marsh waters all be no much more'n thigh deep anyway." Which, it seemed imprudent to point out, on a gnome was rather shallow indeed. Even if Rawiya did have algae marks around her armpits that proved him wrong.

The group seemed restive as she was properly restrained, which made taking their measure in so short a time challenging but Rawiya figured that the halfling (Gabriel or Bigwhistle or whatever he was called) must be an outsider - perhaps a local guide or some such - while the gnomes seemed completely out of place in the swamp. Of course the halfling was clearly not an ally. The impatient looks he was giving her told Rawiya clearly that she'd already be dead and hidden if he had his way. Why was every halfling on this island some kind of cutthroat? They'd been a generally parochial and pleasant folk in most of her experiences, but it seemed that made their bad eggs all the more rotten.

The rest seemed to be of a mind in terms of whatever their purpose out here might be. The deference they offered Edwinna seemed more akin to a tour group following their guide's directions than a bandit crew who feared their leader. They had an expert who was here to guide them to a shared goal, and that was that. The slack rope Barnas gave her the moment they started moving was enough to tell Rawiya that he had no intention of doing much more than dragging her around like a pet he'd been entrusted with for the weekend.

"Now" continued Edwinna "we're gonna find our way to the trapmaker, and while we do you can tell us all about this treasure of yours. And if what you have to say sounds promising I'm sure we can follow whatever errand you fancy too." With that she waved the group forward.

May 26, 2025 6:10 am