An orc in the road

The boys awoke to the sounds of a small farm, and for just a moment, had the feeling they were back home. Then realized they were on the Davies’ farmstead, just east of Marthport.

Lan got to work helping with morning chores, while Vincent and Bar checked on Vaer; His condition was improving, but very slowly.

Once done, they discussed what to do next, and if they could make it to Wavemeet that day.
Lan went to the cottage, to let the Davies’ know that they were leaving.

Considering the distance, they weren’t sure if they should push the horses to try to reach Wavemeet, and weighed it against being stuck out in the wilds overnight.

Lan, trying to improve his riding, attempted to mount his horse quickly, and failed miserably. But then he tried to calm down, and put a hand on Petunia’s neck, put his forehead against her, and told her that he was sorry, and he’d try to get better at it for her sake.

He immediately got a vision of Larkin (the centaur).

Unclear if it was Petunia, and unclear of her body language, Lan spent a little while trying to understand what had happened, although she seemed calmer.

By watching her body language, he figured out that she was paying a lot of attention to Lan, and by calming himself, he was able to put her at ease, and then it was easier to mount up.

Finally, they head out, to the sounds of forest quickly overtaking civilization. They meet few travelers on the road, mostly peasants.

They seemed to be people from Marthport, or from some of the straggler cottages, and not people that had travelled far.

They reach the T intersection, with the smaller road to go south towards Wavemeet. Vincent explained that the main road would continue to Eldridge, and much farther along, the capital itself: Tedralon.

They realized that their journey north had been sped up by someone, either by powerful magics or other means, as it was midday, and they still had a full day’s ride to Wavemeet.

Regardless, they continued on, and presently, on the road, they noticed several figured up ahead.
From that distance, they could only tell that they were humanoid, and weren’t trying to hide.

The boys came closer, and saw two orcs, and what seemed to be a bipedal cat.

One of the orcs looked up, and said: “OI! You look like you could help some hungry travelers.”

Lan offered some berries, and the orc said that would do. Unfortunately, he also said they’d take their armour, weapons, and horses too.

A battle ensues, which was rather chaotic, with the horses panicking. During the chaos, another assailant joined the fray from the woods.

The fight was quick and gory, but they did manage to knock one of the orcs out, rather than kill him. For a moment, the brothers stood there, slightly traumatized at violence with which they dispatched the bandits. It was extremely visceral.

They quickly regained their senses, tied him up, and went after the horses, who had fled in a panic. They were able to track them down after a little while, and coax them back with some berries. Once they got them back, they realized they had left the orc behind, all by himself.

Cursing their scattered brains and bruised bodies, they rushed back. The ropes had been cut, and the catfolk’s axe had been taken. Lan tried to track him, and noticed there were no blood trails. He figured he had healed himself somehow, and it seemed he ran into the forest.

They rummaged through the belongings of the dead bandits, and took anything of value.

Continuing south, they passed the desiccated trees, where they first saw the Wendigo, and eventually came upon what was left of the goblin camp. They decided to build it back up a little, to make it slightly defensible.

After building a small fire, they patched up their wounds as best they could. Vincent warded the area around the fire against intruders; An alarm would ring if anyone other than them entered.

They set up watches anyway, being very concerned of the wilderness around them, and what it might be hiding.

Around the middle of Vincent’s watch, he rather suddenly saw an old man in the dying embers of the firelight. This man was the most stereotypical wizard one could imagine, from old fairy-tale stories. He had on a red, wide-brimmed hat adorned with white symbols, and red robes to match.
He had a long grey-white beard, and held a staff in one hand. The other hand was held out, with a small ball of flickering flame hovering over it.

In a very strange, foreign accent he said:

“Right! Stop right there. I’ve had a dickens of a time trying to find you. Seems you’ve got something of mine, and I’d be right chuffed if you’d give it back, there’s a good fellow.”

To be continued…