Taking Over the Village!
 

No one is comfortable in Old Lady Marl's cellar. Lambent torches fill the dank, crowded room with unreliable light, glinting off the blades of stockpiled weapons as fumes of oily smoke make breathing a burden, mingling unhappily with the must of dried herbs.

Beyond the crackling of the torches, silence fills the space, broken only by the intermittent sobs of the young man in the corner, hunched over on a dusty mattress.

"They're really... going to kill him... I can't believe it..."

Across the room, an old woman spits on the earth below her feet. "Damn kid did it to himself. Always knew he'd get hauled in one of these days. Probably thinks we're gonna stage a rescue, too, poor bastard."

"Are we?" The question comes from the far corner where a massive, heavily-muscled man stands with arms crossed, a curved sword sheathed at his waist.

The old woman scoffs. "One day back in town, and you're itching for another war to fight. Bah. We don't have half the men we'd need, Casper knows Dalton's one of ours. 's a trap, if I've ever smelled one." She hitches up the saber that sways at her belt, adjusts her coat. "Bloody idiot jackdaw like him, I can write off. Not keen to lose a son today, as well, Ulysses."

"So touching that your gnarled heart still beats for me, mother. But we'll have to do something, eventually. Things will only get worse from here."

"Yeah, don't think I don't know it. We'll need every hand we can get. You're fixing for a fight, right, Tans?" She addresses the fourth member of their gathering, a large and broad woman who sits cross-legged atop Marl's desk nearby, disturbing various alchemy recipes with her presence, looking bored.

Before she can respond, however, the young man, Horace, rises from the bed, wiping at tears. "I'm real sorry, Lady M., but I just can't hear this. Not right now. I'll go check on Uncle Isty." With a nod from Marl, he excuses himself up the hatch to the main floor of the house.

Horace's interruption phased Tanya little more than a distasteful curl of her lips. "Say the word," she tells Marl, uncrossing her legs just to cross them the other way around. "My blade's yours. Or would be, if I had one."

Ulysses rolls his shoulders, neck stretching to one side, then the other. He looks his mother in the eye.

"While I respect your desire for caution, I've little patience for hiding in this noxious cellar." He coughs for effect. "I've a mind to ride Sicarius over to the gallows to look Casper in the eye." His gaze turns toward Tanya. "Care to stretch your legs?"



Ulysses: Diplomacy 1d20 +3 = 6

Tanya: Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 = 13



The mere mention of Sicarius made Tanya stiffen and cross her arms. "Ha! Not if you're taking that damn monster of yours along."

Crossing his arms and chewing his beard for a moment, Ulysses nods. "Sic would make a stronger statement, but perhaps too strong now that I think of it. I don't mean to start a bloodbath. You'll come, then, if I leave him trammeled?" He neglects to question her aversion to his warhorse. If anything, she's sane to fear the man-eating beast.

Ulysses: Diplomacy 1d20 +3 = 19

Tanya: Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 = 8



Tanya eyed the man for a moment, her attention lingering longer on his finely toned abdomen than the rest of him. "Alright," she said at length and pushed herself off of the desk, "but if that thing looks me in the eye, all bets are off."

Pulling himself from his work, Felix decides to walk from his house to the town square. He didn't care to spectate, but was curious if their Mayor really cared to execute the town ingrate.

When he arrives, Dalton is no longer swinging under his own power.

Oh. They really did it.

Checking Sicarius' tether before they depart, Ulysses leads Tanya across town, north through the market toward the gallows. Not knowing the woman from his youth before the soldier's life had taken him far from Archon, he makes idle conversation with her as they walk.

"I'm surprised anyone even came to answer my mother's call. The grand resistance we most certainly aren't. What convinced you to throw your lot in with us?"

"Hmmm..." The sound rumbles deep in Ulysses' chest as he ponders. "In the army, we'd string men like him up in trees, and take turns practicing our aim with stones. They'd take a week to die, sometimes." He looks back at Tanya, still impressed to find the woman's eyes nearly level with his own. If it does come to fighting, here's one he'll be glad to have at his side. More so than Horace, at any rate. "I'd say a quick death is too good for his kind, if half of what I've heard since coming back is true."

"Ah, but how fine would that be, to string the two up by their backsides, strip them of the burden of their pitiful excuses for cocks, and bludgeon what remains." The thought of it made Tanya grin. "I wouldn't mind watching the likes of Alanna toy with them afterwards, either."

"I don't think you'll be getting the chance quite yet..." Ulysses' voice falls as they draw near to the execution site, his gaze catching half a dozen guards in full armor flanking the sizable crowd.

Even from their current distance, he can see the body swaying on the noose, his height affording him a clear vantage over the assembled townsfolk. He never met the boy, Dalton, had heard he was trouble -- impulsive and loud-mouthed, and the sight of him dead stirred no great emotion in the soldier's breast.

The words being spoke, however, by the small, domineering man before the gallows who could only be Sheriff Hadrian, are another matter.

"I want to thank you all for coming here, for this is a face you need to see." He gestures a plate-armored hand at Dalton. "That is the face of resistance, of defiance, of refusal. You have such small and frightful lives, surely you'll now realize that it simply isn't worth it to throw them away like this wretched fool. Obey our laws, accede to our demands, and you'll find life in Archon far more comfortable, I assure you."

Ulysses' stare is fixed upon the man. This is their enemy, of that there is no doubt, and delay will only give him the chance to strike them first. Whatever else Dalton was, stoic in the face of torture he most certainly was not. They'll be coming for Mother next.

Just let them try.

Ulysses: Listen 1d20 + 1 = 6 vs. DC 10.

Tanya: Listen 1d20 + 2 = 18 vs. DC 10



As Hadrian spoke words the village had heard many times over, in one form or another — though the addition of a corpse did make quite the impact on the gathered crowd — it was the whispers between the group in front of them that caught Tanya's ear. "— there by sundown, we're going to start with a dance while Jeorgina cooks up a delicious boar. Oh, and bring some of that pepper from Calgea you've been selling, Casper loves it in his stew."

Amia, a deceptively fragile looking girl with what Tanya thought of as a domineering streak all her own, was speaking to her parents. One of her little 'friends' was hovering nearby. Tanya glanced to Ulysses, but it seemed the man had been too intent on Hadrian's tired lines to notice the conversation.

Ulysses: Knowledge (Local) 1d20 + 0 = 5

As the Sheriff's words sink into the crowd, Ulysses scans the various unfamiliar faces to gauge their reactions. The only souls familiar to him are Lord Verigilius and his household.

The family immediately ahead is chattering amongst themselves seemingly indifferent to the spectacles of the dead young man swaying in the wind nearby. They must be sympathizers of Casper and his ilk, at the very least.

Further ahead, there is a dour-looking old woman seemingly thoroughly immiserated by the whole affair, or perhaps merely by association to the young man beside her who he takes for her grandson -- a disgraceful churl of a young man looking to be wearing some fisher's net stolen from the local market. The lad seems torn between idolizes the grisly scene and becoming sickened by it. Ulysses doubts they will find any great ally in the pair.

But off to the left, some distance away from the crowd, is a man he has never seen before, a look of consternation and worry crossing his features. That may be one worth pursuing, if they get the chance, as much as a single man could really make a difference to their cause at this point.

Felix: listen 1d20 +2 = 8

Felix pays little attention to the murmuring around him. His arms crossed, he taps the fingers of one hand on his other elbow, contemplating the corpse. He's only been in the small village for a few years, but he's already accustomed to the curious mix of people.

So, which one of us will be hanging next?

An inkling and a whisper alert Felix to someone watching him. He doesn't think too much of it, in a place with near all the town gathered. Someone is always starting at him.

The crowd clears out, the nobles heading back for the charmed seclusion of their mansion while the townspeople depart to grimy market stalls and horse-pens.

Ulysses: Spot 1d20 + 1 = 8 vs. DC 13

As the gallows square empties out, the soldier becomes suddenly aware that Hadrian is striding straight toward him, the heels of his polished boots kicking up dirt with each step. He comes to a stop within striking distance of Ulysses, looking up the considerable difference in their height with violent, judging eyes.

"I don't recognize you. Foreigner?"

Ulysses meets the man's stare unphased, confident he could snap the miserable creature over his knee if it came to that. After a moment, "No, sir. I was born here many years ago, now. But I forgive your ignorance, I've only just returned yesterday from my service in Calgea's army."

Ulysses: Bluff 1d20 +3 = 23
Hadrian: Sense Motive 1d20 + 8 = 21

Hadrian's eyes flare, the fingers of his right hand twitching to draw his rapier, but he somehow restrains himself. Perhaps his valor is not so stern when faced with men who can fight back in lieu of defenseless maidens. "Well, see that you comport yourself with full military decorum, then. Whoever you are."

He stomps away, the few remaining guards following in his wake.

Ulysses shrugs. "And here I thought that might get interesting."

"'Whoever you are'," Tanya repeated with a huff. "I doubt he knows his own guardsmen."

Having enough with Hadrian's grandstanding, Felix leaves Poor Dalton to the executioner and the breeze, and heads towards his home. He has nothing to pick up in the square today, and the newly deceased was adding an ugly pallor to the marketplace.

He stops walking barely two steps later when he hears Hadrian's latest speech. He takes a look at the newcomer, a massive individual with no shortage of nerve. Or ignorance.

After Hadrian makes his exit, Felix walks over to the estranged native. "You are lucky he doesn't seem up to flaunting his sword today, but you might have gained some undue attention." He doesn't speak loudly, but is close enough that the man should hear. "Hadrian has been around since I've been here, and hasn't gotten any more pleasant. You must have been gone for some time."

"Nigh on ten years," Ulysses tells the man. Up close, there is something off about him, not easy to define, a vacuous cast to his gaze, as though he were actually looking through Ulysses, rather than at him. But the soldier has met strange men before, and he seems peaceable enough.

He extends his hand out in salutation. "Ulysses," he introduces himself gruffly. "Perhaps you know my mother, Marl, the alchemist."

Ulysses eyes Tanya askance. Does the village have a boar problem he wasn't aware of? "I imagine you'd need a potent venom to bring down a beast like that, or perhaps something just to weaken it and then finish it off with spears. Probably best to ask Marl yourself, I know nothing of the witch's arts."

"Felix." He hesitates before taking the offered hand. "And yes, I do know Marl."

"Felix," Tanya said to the man with a nod, then turned her gaze right back to Ulysses. "I heard there's a feast planned for this evening."

Ulysses considers for a moment. If their enemies' attention will be drawn inward tonight, it may be the perfect time to strike. But as for what exactly they should attempt, the soldier simply doesn't know enough about the situation in town yet to formulate a plan.

"We need to speak with my mother. Are you with us, Felix?

"'Follow in a few minutes'," Tanya scoffed, standing with her arms crossed outside of Marl's home some time later. "I don't see what business a man could suddenly have after an execution."

"I only just met the man, I couldn't possibly say." Ulysses is of little mind to speak of trivialities as they reach the house.

As if to answer the sense of urgency that fills him, his mother is stepping out through the front door to meet them. Sicarius lays asleep nearby, sprawled in an undignified heap in the shade of the massive oak that dominate's Marl's yard. The horse bats a single, acknowledging eye at his master's presence, disinterested in aught but a sign of imminent violence.

The old woman meets them on the doorstep, arms crossed.

"That didn't take long."

"We saw what we needed to."

"What, and no valiant rescue? Let me guess, if you had half-a-dozen of those army boys at your back, you'd have stormed the gallows." Her regard flicks to his companion for an instant. "No offense, Tanya."

Ulysses' eyes harden on his mother. He does not remember her being this quarrelsome. "There was nothing to be done. We have some news you'll want to hear, though."

Marl's glare softens. She sighs. "Not a total waste, then. Come in, and let's hear it."

Ulysses seems like a man of action, but just what sort of action, Felix isn't sure. He doesn't much fancy the new turn of things with Casper and his "court," frowning over his thoughts as he enters his home.

Felix tidies up the papers and documents he left only modestly arranged before he went to witness the execution, putting each document in it's proper file, re-stocking his materials, and making sure that certain "other" items are out of immediate discovery should anyone decide knock on his door or glance in his windows. They'd probably just think that I have terrible hand writing and don't know how to draw a fish.

Even so, having to replace any of his books would be a headache.

His work space suitably arranged for the next day, he locks the door and walks to Marl's apothecary.

Just as they are sitting down to discuss their plan, there is a knock at the door. Immediately, hands go to weapons, shoulders tensing, before better sense overcomes Ulysses.

"That will be Felix. He said he would join us.

Marl breaths a long, shuddering sigh. "You could've mentioned. Shock like that ain't good for my heart."

Not deigning to apologize, the soldier goes to get the door. The thought occurs to him that Felix could have sold them out -- that would explain his strange delay, but unless owning a sword has become a crime, there's nothing yet for which the guard can indict them. Not that Hadrian probably cares so much for the letter of the law.

He opens the door to find the odd man alone, and admits him wordlessly, closing the door behind.

"Glad to have you, neighbor," Marl says with a brief glance in his direction. "Now let's hear this news."

Marl quirks a brow at Tanya. "What, you want to attack them while they're drunk and fat?" She's not sure the girl is suited for strategic decision making. Pounding skulls like out-of-line shingles, sure. But she's willing to hear her out, at least.

"I said don't be a bunch of daft toads, woman," Tanya growled. "I think we should poison that beast of theirs before that cook gets her hands on it. See how many of 'em eat themselves to death. You've got something around that'll do the job, don't you?"

She has to admit, she likes the woman's attitude. It helps remind her that, sometimes, the cautious approach isn't always warranted. And judging by the frustration her son has been exhibiting all day, Ulysses probably agrees.

Even still, "That sounds like a tall order, Tans. And the end of us, should it fail." Not to mention, it'd take her more than the couple hours they have to cook up a brew like she's asking for. "I agree we should do something, but that's too much, too soon."

Marl: Diplomacy: 1d20 + 2 = 19

Ulysses' eyes narrow on his mother. "If your witchcraft isn't up to the task, just say so. Regardless, I doubt the guards will be partaking of the feast, and they're the real impediment. What else could we strike?"

Knowledge: Local 1d20+5(+2 circumstance) = 25)

"No," Felix states, agreeing with Ulysses about the guards. "But they will be around the mansion. Laurent will not be present in any respect. He has no patience for Casper's parties."

He consider's the potential for poison. "I'm no chef, but I expect the boar is already on the spit."

Tanya: Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 = 8



The idea of her plan being 'too much' only seemed to validate Tanya's opinion of it. Surely there would be no enjoyment in it if killing the lot of them went too easily. It was too brilliant.

She ignored Felix' addition.

"What, then, should we do? I'll not see a night like this squandered, if I have to take it into my own hands to make sure of it."

"Well, since that plan seems like a bust, I might have an idea." Horace pushes himself off the wall from where he was leaning. He is rather more composed since his earlier breakdown. And after what those bastards did to Dalton, he's as keen as the rest of them to do some damage. He really hadn't been that bad of a guy, Dalton... sure, he was a bit dense, liked to drink more than he probably he should, didn't exactly come up with the best plans, but that didn't mean they'd had to... had to... no! No more crying!

The bard wipes at his nose irritably as he speaks."Now, I don't know much about assassinations or whatever you guys are planning, but wouldn't getting us some weapons be a good step? Maybe some armor, too?"

Horace: Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 7 = 19

"That dork Lanius is sure to be at the party -- he can't shut up at the inn about how inner-circle he is with Casper. So, while he's out, we could just, I don't know, maybe Tanya clocks ol' Harper 'bout the head and we make off with the finest blades in town."

Horace: Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 = 18

Lanius had never liked Dalton. He wonders if the smith's son had anything to do with getting his friend hanged. Best not, for his sake, if Horace ever gets his hands on him.

Tanya: Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 = 20



Tanya took a long moment to look the bard over after his little rant, then shifted her weight, crossed her arms, and scoffed. "Come up with that while you were sobbing, did you?"

Marl: Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 = 10

"Leave the kid be, Tans. He's had a hard day. And that sounds like a damned good plan, to me. This old brand of mine has seen better days." She pats her saber for emphasis. "Harper's a gnarled old bastard, though, tough as iron. He gets wind of what we're up to, he's like as not to come swinging with that hammer of his as run for the guards."

Marl: Diplomacy: 1d20 -1 = 16

Sense motive: 1d20+9 = 18


"Arms are welcome for those who want them, but with half the town at a party, the list of suspects would be rather short once someone finds out what happened to Harper."

Felix thinks for a moment.

"You might have an easier time getting weapons from Harper if you just asked him to loan you some so you could teach Lanius something of swordplay."