Chapter 1: The Beginning

The decapitated head of a bandit thuds into Jorrel’s chest, causing him to take a step back in surprise. It’s just the opening the final bandit needs, and he thrusts his sword deep into Jorrel’s midrif. The pain explodes through him and, just for a moment, he is back in the hospice, his old wounds healing, and the power of a god is just beyond reach.

Edwin steps up, thankful that Jorrel was keeping the bandit's attention, and lashes out with his rapier, hoping to keep the man alive to answer questions.

Stepping up to the living bandit and striking out, intending to incapacitate rather than kill.
10/10 HP | 14 AC

Without hesitation Jorrel sticks his sword into the heart of the fallen man, grimacing from the pain of his injury as he does so. He looks back up at Edwin and shrugs,

"Orders are orders."

Orders may be orders, but now we've lost the chance to determine if there are others waiting for these to return, or where the goods have gone so the King's men can recover them and enrich his coffers. He was going to die, but at least he could have served some useful purpose for ten bleedin' minutes before you did him in. Edwin says levelly.

I swear, the tactical foresight the gods gave a stump in the mud. How this one ever rose to this military position without a working appreciation for information flow will forever be beyond me. he thinks to himself as he stows the rapier and draws a dagger, slicing through the prisoners' bonds.

Jorrel leans back against the cart. Now that the Adrenalin has worn off the pain of his wound is really taking over. But now isn’t the time to enjoy it, he can see his life blood leaking away. He props his sword against the wheel then removes his chain and vest. The wound is deep, and the scar will eventually be at home among its brothers. He sees the family staring at his grotesque body, trying to shield the boy from the sight although he is peeking. Jorrel resists the temptation to roar, to scare them, so instead he just gets on with tending the wound. He covers the cut with both hands and closes his eyes, reaching deep into the pain, deep down to where he can feel his god...

When he takes his hand away the wound is significantly reduced, with just a little bit of blood weeping from the corner.

May puts her hands to her hips and growls"For better or worse, we should clean this scene. This could be routine banditry or maybe this was a set-up.". She chucks her pack to the group's wagon and starts clearing the road. Putting out fires and dragging debris out of the road. She keeps an eye of for anything inconspicuous about the tipped over cart and the bandits. She would also slit the wrist of the bodies that she can get her hand on as she lays them behind some foliage.

I agree with May. We can take the five minutes to clean up here a bit. We'll ride just slightly longer into the night, push the horses slightly harder. Over a few days, we'll easily make the time up. Edwin says, feeling a twinge of spite in his heart as he bends down to help May get things straightened up.

Jorrel watches the General ride off as the others start clearing the scene. He can't shake the feeling that something here is just wrong. First of all the whispering and passing of... something. Of course that was probably totally innocent, most likely words of condolence and a gift to help them get started up in a new life. But. But it just seemed odd. And now the General telling them to "do what you want". A phrase that Jorrel had never in all his years in the army heard any senior officer say to one of their juniors.

He snaps out of his reverie and sets to work helping the others, trying not to make it obvious that he is deliberately bending at his wound to cause the maximum amount of pain. As he works he watches his new companions, wondering if they too are wondering about the General.

Probably not, he supposes, not really military types.

"Odd one that, he says, gesturing after the retreating horse, "I've never met a General so... unconcerned with his subordinates. I suppose being in a special task force has it's benefits.

The girl makes good use of her hindquarters as she drags all these weight around. She lets out an audible sigh "Freedom is both a bane and a boon. I suggest we make the most of it and just do a good job, whatever the job is." She keeps an eye out for the gold plated cavalier, urges the band to go faster, and whispers "We better catch up with our nurse maid lest we see the horseman part with his horse."

Edwin bites his tongue, struggling to keep his words in check.

Who did he sleep with to rise to this position? He's a moron at best, actively working against the good interest of the land at worst. I swear, he'll be the death of me. he thinks to himself as he helps make up their part of the camp.

May crashes to the dust and rolls around, stretching. She lets out loud grunts as a few joints make way before her eyes lock on gold "I'm feelin' fine, just a bit peckish. What's on my mind though is how amazing roads are! You see, they make travel expedient, expeditious, easy -er -ish. Folly though is it's predictability. It makes travel foreseeable and sure."

"Weird. Pray tell, whose time has been wasted and much did we waste? Wait, I guess the better question is, how did you manage to lose your charges and yet feel complete aplomb in this rendezvous?"

Jorrel just grunts in response to Eris as he gets his bedroll ready and then sits with his rations. The stars are bright, so it will be a cold night, but these are the kinds of nights that Jorrel had always loved best. He could stare at the heavens for hours, lost in their depths. He wondered if the gods similarly stared back down in wonder, or if this world was little more than an anthill to them. Lost in his thoughts he doesn't immediately realise that he starts telling the group a story,

"I 'member back in the early days of the Killmane Conquests. The stinkin' dwarfs were still an organised force back then, and they used to make sport of smashin' our patrols in the mountains. The patrol would make camp for the night, in a nice sheltered spot like this'n, and in the mornin' all that'd be left is ashes from their fire. Well ol' Cap'n Hornfast, he got tired of bein' scared of those short-ass basts, an' he decided to do somethin' about it. He sent a patrol out, as usual. Then as night fell, the whole rest o' the detachment, we crept out o' our own camp and surrounded that hollow. We caught the little blighters comin' up from some hidden burrow, lookin' ta sneak in ta camp and slaughter our men. It wasn't humans who were slaughtered that night, ah can tell ya'. We took our torches and cleared out that whole tunnel, we foun' whole families of that filth cowerin' under there and we showed no more mercy than they would us.

"The long an' short o' it is; we saved human lives. Those basts woulda saw every one o' our kind cloven in two, but we got to 'em first. An' I'd gladly go back an' do it all again. But ah take no pleasure in killin' those of me own race, even bandits like those back on the road. An' ah think that any time we can take ta help humans down on their luck, well that's the opposite o' wastin' time."

This entire time he had been staring at the fire, but now he looks the General dead in the eye,

"With respect, sir."