Jerks!

You know, some people don't like gnomes.

That's the sad truth of gnomish life in Alexandria. Or Alexandros' region. Or, actually, all of Gaea. Some people don't like gnomes. Whether they're scared of short people, scared of their renowned trickeryness, scared of their lack of 'wisdom' in getting into trouble, or...

...okay, that's just the scared ones. There are also people who see them as easy prey for bullying. That's what we're dealing with in this scenario. A gnomish merchant by the name of Ilwa Stayfollow has been dealing with a collection of rather grouchy ogres (no, really) who've invaded a particular site that belongs to her, and she's hiring you to roust the ogres out of the area. Non-violently, if possible.

She'll be accompanying you.

Ilwa is short, even for a gnome, and more than a little aggravated by the way her riding dog is lurching this way and that. It's a Corgi, os naturally, it's distracted by just about anything and everything possible. Like, say, the butts of adventurers or the butts of their mounts or the butts of random animals or... okay, so it's mostly interested in butts. And foods. It's a dog. What do you want?

You are presently travelling through a rather densely packed forest. It's slow going, but Ilwa is sure you're getting close to the destination at hand.

"...and that's when the ogres showed up, claimed the spring as their own. This water is useful for wizards. There's a certain purity and composition to it that is in high demand amongst arcane scholars and I'm pretty I don't want the ogres peeing in it. It'll take me /weeks/ to get the months out. I asked them politely to leave and you know what they did?" They laughed is probably a good guess.

"THEY LAUGHED," confirms Ilwa a beat later. "They laughed and told me 'make us', and then picked me and hurled me into a tree. I was picking pricker leaves out of my bottom for DAYS."

There is one advantage of being saurian in nature. Smells and the like are not terribly bothersome. Izzy is not known for having a particularly gentle temper but she listens to the gnome in silence, moving as little as necessary to walk alongside. Yellow eyes with nictitating lids stay affixed forward as she seemingly ignores any provocation.

Staying this still is a bad sign for those who know the Sith'Makar. She might be close to violence. Or sleep. it's hard to tell. Curse Saurian body language.

Riding on his light horse Sark stays towards the back of the group. His steel mask impassive as he remains encased in his blue robes and armor. "Ogres." He repeats softly, and fingers the odd second belt around his waist. "What have I gotten myself into."

Daechir follows along quietly near the rear of the party, his red eyes scanning for any sign of the oruch in question and often lighting on the woman leading them with something close to sympathy. One doesn't have to wonder far to figure out why. He doesn't offer any commentary of his own however, merely allowing himself to be led toward their destination.

Bringing up the rear of the group is the grey skinned oruch, Ravakko and his small human companion Kaltain. The former on foot, the barbarian full capable of tailing the riding dog and gnome, the latter on a simple riding horse. The pair mostly keep to themselves, chatting occasionally, tossing friendly insults, and otherwise keeping an eye out as the travel with the unfamiliar crew to an unfamiliar location. Ah the life of adventurers.

"...into a tree," riterates Ilwa, again, for the seventh time. She's been talking pretty much the entire way. Sometimes, she retells the story with a slight embellishment. The trees are a little larger, say.

But, really, looking about, the trees here /are/ rather large, actually, and old. You're heading into a very old-growth section of forest and it shows. The sun has long since reached its zenith and you're well into the afternoon, heading to evening at this point so, while you've got some daylight left, it's starting to dwindle.

"We're not far now," says Ilwa, for the eight time. In the last hour.

"There! That set of rocks," she points a finger at it. "That means we're close."

Ga'Elian has left.

GAME: Sark refreshes spells.

"Do we have a plan?" The slim cleric asks. "Other then wander into a group of Ogres and expect them to be civil?" He glances around the group from atop his horse. "I'm afraid my appeals to their decency in the name of Althea will likely reach a similar end as our employer." He nods his head towards the small Gnome.

"We could bite them," suggests the tall, burnished crimson and charcoal Sith'Makar. She bears her sharp incisive teeth as she speaks in what might be a paroxysm of intended violence. Or a smile. Mimicking human body language often goes worst for the Sith than simply letting others attempt to interpret it themselves.

Daechir continues to follow along though after a while he starts to look a bit tired. He's not riding a horse or corgi like well... everyone else. He presses on nonetheless. The conversation finally prompts him to speak up however, albeit somewhat quietly. "Perhaps some of us should lie in wait while the others try to talk sense into them?"

"We do as the requested," Ravakko rumbles from the back of the ranks, "We make them leave." The big oruch wrinkles his nose with a snort as his wide stride carries him along with the pack, "We can suggest to them, and should that not take, we crack some skulls."

"I brought some pretty jewelry in case we need to barter with them to get them to leave," says Ilwa, carefully, patting her satchel. "They should be able to be bribed, but given they threw me in a tree last time, I want protection just in case they throw me in a tree again. Or try to, anyway. You won't let them! Whatever plan you guys want to devise, I'm good for!" She beams. Now you're hearing water running in the distance.

"We're really close, now," she adds, as her Corgi stops to sniff at a tree and then urinate on it.

"Very well, then perhaps we should tie up our mounts and progress the last few meters afoot?" Sark asks, glancing around. "I am not good in combat on a mount and I fear my steed is not hardened against combat." The thin robed cleric murmurs almost to himself. "Neither am I." Then he continues more aloud. "This would free us from having to worry about our transportation, but it would mean likely being unable to outrun the Ogres."

"Speaking as one without a mount, I would prefer if we did our best with the diplomacy." Daechir smiles thinly and without much humor. "Particularly if the mounts are not readied for combat it might be best to leave them behind lest they spook at the wrong moment and become the ideal dinner option."

Ravakko snorts again at the talk of mounts, the barbarian quite devoid of a beast of burden, but he nods an agreement about the appraisal of the situation, "Kalt, tie up your pony. It certainly looks like ogre food in a pinch," the grey skinned oruch grumble and slings his great axe from his back, the leather of his gloves creaking as he tightens his 'diplomacy' grip.

"Proceeding on foot is fine! Let me tie up my dog," says Ilwa. She proceeds to tie up the dog and produces a ham bone to give it to him.

She starts to move away and the dog shparly starts barking and whining.

She stops dead and returns to pet the dog once, informing him that he needs to be quiet.

Moves away. Dog starts yapping again, she quickly returns to it and gives it a SECOND ham bone and looks apologetic at the rest of you. This bribery is, apparently, enough to silence the dog for the time being.

"I look like ogre food in a pinch." The small Dranei woman snaps back, but does move to slip off of her horse, tying it to a nearby tree.

"How far are we?" She asks, notably leaving her great axe on her back rather than taking it in her hands.

Getting off his horse and tying it up near the dog, Sark gets himself ready for whatever may come. Strapping his shield in place and adjusting his armor. Then taking a few moments to adjust his robes into a more combat ready lay. Finally he draws his hood down over his metal mask and shifts to the edge of the group and the trees.

"Mounts do make excellent dinner. But we should eat them last," Izzy replies to talk of mounts calmly She is content to start walking toward where the ogres are located. Slowly. People are free to pass the seven and a half foot mass of metal plates, crimson-charcoal lizard, and claws as they please. Izpapalotl is not a diplomat, after all. She would probably bite them.

As they approach the location all of them on foot now, Daechir continues to stay toward the back, and has fallen silent once again. He's back on the sharp watchout for the ogres, red eyes darting from tree to tree. The sith-makar's statement makes him open his mouth, but he stops himself from whatever comment he was about to make and continues forward gracefully through the trees like a dark shadow.

"Close enough for your little legs to carry you, little one," Ravakko makes a verbal jab at his small partner and gestures in the general direction, "You'll smell them long before we see them unless the wind is against us." The ashen oruch sniff the air and kneels down to pluck some grass from the earth, fanning it out to catch a feeling for the wind's will."

GAME: Sark rolls stealth: (7)+2: 9
GAME: Daechir rolls stealth: (5)+3: 8
GAME: Itzpapalotl rolls stealth: (17)+-1: 16
GAME: Ravakko rolls Stealth: (15)+1: 16
GAME: Kaltain rolls stealth: (7)+1: 8

Who knew the barking dog would be quieter than some of you?

Still, you actually are far enough away that it's not too bad and you can hear the ogres long before they hear you, what, with the boisterous laughter up ahead. Still, if they have anything scouting for you, there's a good chance that they know you're coming. Well, except for Itz and Ravakko. Somehow, /they've/ managed to stay quiet. Before too long, you can see the clear, crystal waters of the large spring burbling up from underground and... yes, Ogres singing.

Loudly.

In Giant.

It's awful.

really, really awful.

They may be drunk.

Oh, wait. No. They're not. That makes it worse.

Taking a moment to untangle his robes from seemingly every bush he could get them snagged on the slim cleric sighs and shakes his head. "I am not cut out for the woods." Sark murmurs to himself, then winces at the singing. Glancing to the others to be sure they're about he touches his holy symbol and murmurs softly as he waits to see what happens next.

Kaltain wasn't much one for sneaking around, and isn't trying particularly hard to be quiet. Normally others heard her coming long before her traveling companion. But this time..

She glances at Ravakko with a questioning and somewhat concerned gaze, raising a brow in a 'Wooowww, really?' expression.

Ravakko offers a tusk filled grin at his small companion, "Just be careful, Korite, if you're not careful in the wild, the wild has the advantage." Carefully stepping over branch and stone that would stumble others the barbarian makes his way towards the tone-deaf singing, he even tries to point out one or two obstacles before giving up with a shake of his head, "This is much different that the Dran Tablelands, try not to tread like wild auroch."

Daechir doesn't fair much better than Sark, in fact he fairs worse. It's the exhaustion of walking all this way wearing at him, or at least that's his opinion. His leather boots are scuffed from knee to heel from all the roots he stumbled into, and his shirt is snagged in a hundred different places. But he's made it all in one piece more or less. He stays in the back and prepares to let others do the talking.

Ilwa stops dead after a moment. She pats her satchel.

"Okay," she asks, "So who wants to do the talking and how do we approach?"

You've gotten as close as you can get with your sneaking. It doesn't leave you able to see them, but any closer and you're all sure they'll hear you at this point, song or no song, and there's no way to get a clear look at their campsite on the edge of the spring from here.

Best you can do for now.

Izpapalotl manages to rattle along /very quietly/. Part of this is that hse allows the group at large to pass her as they travel on their way. She is intent on not being the one who ruins the affair for everyone, it seems. The lizard is much the same as she always is. Careful and imperturbable. Others can deal with the mess.

The small but sturdy woman cracks her knuckles, then clenches her fists, the worn leather of her gloves creaking.

"Diplomacy first, yeah? Who's going in first? Let me know your favored method, and I'll call upon the Kor's might to assist them in victory."

Shifting uncomfortably Sark finally sighs and shakes his head. "If we are attempting diplomacy, perhaps I should try? Althea may choose to guide my words. Or at least the sight of my robes and symbol will offer an understanding of the amicable nature of our intent?" He takes a moment to straighten his robes and look as proper and organized as possible considering he's actually terrified of creatures four times his size.

A hearty guffaw rumbles in Ravakko's chest, "Oh, they gonna love getting the Warmaster's blessing. Don't go wetting yourselves in the face of the enemy boys, Kor doesn't like that sort of thing!" The oruch straighten, then tips his head to crack his neck, jaw set hard as he prepares to do his part if need be.

Daechir gently moves forward, offering a warm smile to Sark. "You will not be alone, I will go with you, and our allies will be there to back us up if anything goes awry." He nods to Kaltain in appreciation and motions that they should move this along before they're noticed.

Constantin has left.

Good news: You are able to approach and see the spring without getting your skulls caved in.

The bad news: You are looking t a camp of a half-dozen ogres who look like they're enjoying being here. There's large barrels of alcohol cracked open and being drunk from liberally. There's also... a half dozen ogres, yes.

They're /all/ staring at you at your approach.

"Oi," begins one, "looksy here! More pipsqueaks to crush."

"Maybe they have more ale?"

"Could have more ale."

"You all got more ale?"

Several sets of ogre eyes are now on Sark and Daechir.

She steps forward towards Sark, calling towards the sky, "Kor, master of the War, almighty Bloodletter! Guide this ally of your chosen warriors, whether with sweetened words or with the fury to invoke terror!"

She smacks her hands against Sark's shoulder blades, passing the blessing onto him. She smirks up at him, a hand on her hip. "I'm sure Kor and Althea will get along."

There's a nod towards Daechir. "There is that, I'm not sure I would have the courage to do this alone." Then the cleric stumbles forward at the slap from Kaltain's hand. Reaching up to make sure his mask is properly in place the steel faced cleric makes his way out into the opening. Spreading his arms, holding his gloved hands open and aloft he calls out. "Um, eh, excuse me?" Then clears his throat and in a more robust voice offers up in an attempt to get over the Ogreish singing. "HEAR ME, FOR I SPEAK WITH THE WORD OF TWO GODS AND DESIRE YOUR ATTENTION!"

Daechir stands tall at the cleric's side, not shirking from his duty as an assistant in this case. He doesn't have anything to add just at the moment though, so he stays silent. Being quiet is rarely a bad thing after all. He does smile however and take on a more friendly mien.

The grey oruch wrinkles his nose, a large hand rising to graze at an itchy nostril as he watches the imbued cleric make his way towards the ogres. Once Sark is occupied with his grandiose display, Ravakko leans over to his smaller companion and mutters, "Five gold says they laugh and crush him with a log."

Izzy tries not to be /too/ obtrusive. She critically fails, being an enormous lizard. She even tries to throw in a smile --- full of big, sharp teeth. Still, at least she stays back rather than causing TOO much trouble. Her tail lashes the ground frantically behind her.

A quick shrug to her companion, "I'll take that bet. As an Inquisitor, it's my duty to gamble on whatever outcome would bring Kor the most satisfaction."

She shrugs nonchalantly, speaking with just enough of a hint of a condescending tone to be annoying. "A quick end rather than a drawn out conflict or feud would disappoint him greatly."

GAME: Sark rolls diplomacy+2: (17)+8+2: 27

".../two/ gods?" says one ogre.

"I don't even have one!"

"This puny one may have ale. I suggest we give him the chance. If he has two gods, he can definitely have ale."

"OH LOOK IT’S THE GNOME."

"HI GNOME!"

"Can we throw you in a tree again?"

"No, no you may not throw me in a tree you colossal ingr-....lovely...giant...people who my friends here just want to talk to."

"Yes, well." Sark seems surprised he's not the greasy underside of a club at this moment. Not having a plan beyond, open your mouth and run, he takes a moment to sus one out. Pressing on with a clearing of his throat the cleric continues. "Brave Ogres, we have come here today to ask a boon of you. This place is a special, er um.. place. We would ask that you depart it post haste, and we would be willing to help you find another, uh, place. Then I suppose there could be a fee for your inconvenience?"

Daechir notices Sark's uncertainly and steps up, coming to the other man's side and nodding low to the orges. "It's as he says, we have a reward for you if you simply go on your way and find another place to enjoy your ale. A reward in fact that could see you well into your cups."

Ravakko plants the butt of his greataxe into the earth and leans heavy on the head of the deadly weapon, his fiery orange eyes watching the pair as they try to play nice with the pack of ogres. They seem a rough and tumble lot, the kind he actually wouldn't mind drinking with, it's the bad singing though . . . . uuuugh.

GAME: NeverSleepsPool rolls 1d20-3: (3)+-3: 0

"..." The lizard wanders closer. Slowly. "No throwing anyone into trees unless we are softening them for lunch. Gnomes make terrible lunch. Throw cows." She offers up her opinion whilst staring from the back of the adventurer's column. "Makesss meat tender."

"Naaaw. We goin' nowhere. WE got good booze, good camp, good songs."

OH no. They think their songs are good.

"And good friends!" They toast their mugs. "You wanna make us leave? You try and make us. We stay."

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

One ogre burps way too loudly. No burp that loud should be possible.

They all seem relatively clean. They've probably been swimming in the spring water hre.

"You .. you can't just take over my spring! I have rights, you know!"

"Rights? You got rights? WE got boots for you into trees. Guess which works better?"

The ogre that's been doing most of the talking gives a big grin. He sees Rav's axe and GRINS at him. "You look like a good 'un," he adds, then to Sark he adds, "So, we goin' nowhere..."

"Unlessssss you got something for us," he adds, casting a BIG grin to his friends, who all start laughing.

Ravakko holds up a hand with one finger extended to Kalt, "There's the laugh. Halfway there."

Turning his head and looking at the others Sark shrugs. "I uh, did not bring anything in particular." He absently touches his chest with a sigh and murmurs a prayer to Althea, a soft glow encasing his form for a short moment before he continues. "Ogres." He starts with. "We may have something for you after all." There's a hardness in his voice, reacting to the laughter and the callus threats towards the Gnome.

GAME: Sark casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 4 DC: 14

Taking her cue from Sark Izzy is busy adjusting the steel that clads her arms. She then produces one of those strange objects artificers carry. ...Is that a claw /sharpener/? It doesn't take long.

Kaltain pulls her great axe from her back, her fingers tightening around it as she easily hefted it over her shoulder. She stomps towards the group, anger darkening her features.

"Are you finished trying to talk these fools from this cursed land *nicely*?" She hissed at the two men who stood before the group of Ogres, before turning her hard gaze to the others. "You should leave NOW." She growled, swinging her axe down to point towards them as easily as one would swing and point a small sword.

"This land is no place for you. If you go, I'm certain my companion," She gestured to Ravakko, "Would be happy to party with you. Otherwise, please, *give* me a reason to spill your blood in celebration of the great Warmaster Kor."

GAME: Kaltain rolls intimidate+2: (19)+14+2: 35
GAME: Itzpapalotl casts Magic Weapon. Caster Level: 3 DC: 13

Daechir moves forward, offering a placating hand toward Kaltain. "You best do as she says. You do not want to face the might of us together." He grins sharply, looking somehow more mul'niessa than he had before. Like something that would kill you if you looked at it the wrong way. "Where I am from we do not look kindly on those that take what does not belong to them."

GAME: Daechir rolls intimidate: (18)+9: 27

As the small woman stomp towards the group, the grey oruch kicks his axe up to the ready and follows after her. "Come my warrior brethren! This place stinks of magic and gnomes! We camp closer to the city, and I can fetch us all the gutrot and skull splitter we can swill!" His brow furrows and his sweeps a hand across the landscape, his tone as serious as the grave, "I'd hate to have to show you what this land did to me when I lingered for too long here."

"...hey!" says Ilwa, turning a LOOK on Oruch.

"...say what? They ddin't say anything about no curse! Or MAGIC!"

The ogres immediately look unsettled, rising up to their feet. "YOU! WHAT CURSE!" He points a thick finger at Kaltain. "TALK!"

A glance towards Sark and Daechir too. They want answers and they want them now. They're good and rattled.

Actually taking a few steps away from Kaltain and making sure his shield is between himself and the angry monster woman. Sark blanks for a moment as the Ogres yell at him then clears his throat and continues. "Ah yes, of course you see these waters are blessed by uh, Illuthialas the unknowable terror and he is unknowable in his terrorizing. It's very bad, makes um things fall off. Important parts that you would miss. Then you can never drink again." Raising his right hand Sark dangles his middle finger. "Very important parts. Just pop off."

She scoffs and glances to those in her group, before looking back to the ogres. "I was certain you'd heard - some sick, sadistic triple dog dare you had agreed to or something as equally ridiculous." She glances down between one of the ogre's legs. "Though you may not even realize it's missing."

Daechir laughs and then laughs again, ending his laugh with a little sinister twinkling of a bell. "You came all this way and did not know anything about the spring you came to? Would you /die/ for this little pond when it might well..." He motions toward their lower halves and arches one dark eyebrow upwards.

"...no!" The ogre looks alarmed. "Tell us what we have to do," he adds. "We don't want a curse!"

Ilwa is trying not to smile. Then she pauses. They did say /someone/ didn't tell them about the curse.

The ogres grumble. "Gonna make that squirt pay for sending us to a CURSED spring."

-TBC