3.22 Expedition

At the paladin’s insistence, Bernt and Torvald accompanied the two gnomes back to their house, both to keep Linnie from trying to pursue the ogre and to try to explain things to the locals. Judging by their behavior so far, it seemed likely that they would try to take out their misguided anger on the nearest scapegoat – in this case Nils and Linnie.

The villagers received them with angry glares, and a few harsh words for Nils. Ignoring them, Torvald made straight for the tiny shrine to Ruzinia to offer a prayer. The effect was as immediate as it was dramatic.

Light flared over the town before falling like a shooting star and embedding itself in the lintel over the gnome family’s door. The hostile villagers retreated quickly then, some even mumbling apologies. By the time the door opened and a puzzled-looking gnome woman – presumably Nils’ wife and Linnie’s mother – stuck her head out to see what was going on, the square was nearly deserted. Not looking to get bogged down in introductions, Bernt and Torvald set off, leaving a still-sniffling Linnie holding on to her father’s leg as he attempted to explain to his wife why their door was glowing like a fallen star with the light of an incandescent golden glyph.

Unlike the one Torvald had described hanging over the town, Bernt recognized this one immediately. It was the core value embodied by Ruzinia – shelter. Incidentally, also the core rune of a classical barrier spell.

Bernt doubted very much that anyone in that town would dare to give the little family trouble now. A god’s favor wasn’t a casual thing, especially not when displayed in such a blatant manner. The sorts of people who could elicit such an immediate response from a deity weren’t ones to mess with, either, but that wouldn’t hold much long-term weight, considering that they were already leaving.

By the time Bernt and Torvald caught up to the others, nearly a league deep into the woods, the ogre was gone. Elyn’s flute was back on her belt, and she watched the forest with both hands on her hips, eyes following something Bernt couldn’t see. Nirlig stood to the side with Uriah holding his canteen still for the hydromancer to conjure water into, which he did without complaint. After a moment, the half-elf turned and grinned at the two latecomers.

“Hey, you made it! Do I get some kind of reward for finishing the quest without you?”

“Sorry, not how it works. You already let him go?” Torvald said, sounding disappointed and a little worried. “Don’t you think we should have at least gotten him a bit deeper into the woods? I mean, a starving ogre this close to civilization… we better hope he keeps going.”

“That was the job, right?” Elyn said, shrugging indifferently. “I doubt your goddess would have sent you if he was about to go wipe out a homestead or three. Besides, he’s weak and scared to death of people. We’re done, let’s go back.”

Torvald rubbed at his face, looking uncertain, even conflicted for the first time since Bernt had met him.

“Elyn, I’m glad you got him out of there, and thanks for the initiative. It probably would have turned into a mess without you. Still, in the future, let’s try to make sure we’re not endangering more people, alright? Or the creature we’re trying to save. We should have fed him first, or something. I don’t know. If this was a test, I don’t think I did very well.”

The half-elf shook her head and put a hand on the paladin’s shoulder. “You’re overthinking it, cheer up! We got the ogre out and nobody got hurt. As ogre quests go, it’s the cleanest one I’ve ever even heard of. What more do you want?”

She patted him on the shoulder once, turned, and began making her way back the way they’d come. Clearly, she didn’t much care what happened once the job was done. It was, Bernt supposed, a fairly normal adventurer mentality. Adventurers didn’t get paid to consider problems outside their quest parameters.

Of course, there was another point that was probably escaping the paladin.

“Hey, it went about as well as it could have, all things considered,” Bernt said, clapping Torvald on the shoulder. “And he’s not going to starve, now that he’s out. Ogres can eat almost anything if they have to. He’ll probably gorge on pine needles and bark or something. They only really need meat when they’re in heat, and Runty’s a boy.”

The paladin nodded, somewhat reassured. “That’s… that’s good. How do you know stuff about ogre dietary behavior?”

Bernt shrugged, “I always wanted to be an adventurer growing up. There wasn’t a real forest bestiary at the academy, but they had a book on natural history with a whole chapter on trolls and ogres. They’re distantly related, apparently.

“Riight. Okay.” Torvald shook his head. “Still, I thought we’d get him a bit further away from civilization at least. Is there no way we can track him down?”

The others exchanged a glance.

“Ehm. Wouldn’t Ruzinia show you, if you were supposed to follow?” Nirlig asked. “I thought you’d know when you finished the task.”

“I guess.” Torvald said reluctantly. “Still, it feels like sloppy work.”

***

They found the expedition just inside Fergefield’s gates the next morning, in front of the inn where the other priests had spent the night. Bernt did his best not to glower at the well-rested adventurers as they loaded two horse-drawn wagons and a carriage, which the three high priests had apparently purchased for their shared usage.

Night fell early this time of year, so Bernt and the others had been caught out in the middle of nowhere at dusk. They’d spent the night camping in an open field next to the road. Bernt could have lit the way easily enough, but it was generally considered bad practice to travel with bright lights in the dark. Sure, you didn't have to worry about being spotted by bandits or a gnoll warband this close to a major city, but that didn't mean it was safe. Monsters lived even in the more civilized parts of Besermark. The ones near civilization just tended to be stealthier and active at night.

“There they are!” someone called out. Bernt thought he recognized the voice and looked around, trying to place him. A moment later, Regin, the young nobleman who’d been assigned as Angjou’s legitimator stepped out of the crowd, waving at them. “We were already worried you all would miss the rendezvous. That would’ve been real bad luck, so early on a trip like this. Terrible omen. Glad to see you!”

“Right.” Torvald gave the man a bemused smile. “Well, we’re here, so I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

The baron nodded amiably, patting at his jacket pockets in some kind of nervous gesture. “Right, sure!”

The others didn’t bother them for the most part, beyond making sure everyone was present, then they set off. No one seemed curious why they’d been gone or what exactly Torvald had been doing. High Priestess Surin approached them briefly to offer Torvald a seat in the carriage, but it was clear that she expected him to decline, which he did.

“Why’d you turn her down?” Uriah asked, once the priestess had gone. “I bet it’s a lot more comfortable in there than walking the whole way. Warmer, too.”

“Comfortable is a matter of perspective,” Torvald grimaced. “That carriage-ride is going to be a single, weeks-long debate, testing arguments and ideas against one another before we get to the peaks. I don’t want to get anywhere near all that. They’ll just try to twist my head around with words if I go in there. I don’t need any of that. Ruzinia told me to go, so I’m going. I didn’t sign up to play political games, and I’m not going to do it.”

Uriah grunted. “Well, it didn’t look like she expected you to anyway, I guess.”

“Adherents of Ruzinia don’t usually indulge in the political side of things. She was just being polite,” the paladin explained. “That's why we barely have any proper temples. Most cities just get unstaffed shrines. Everyone who joins up gets put to work in the field – even the priests. It’s good. There’s no bullshit, we just help people who need it.”

The sentiment encapsulated what Bernt liked about them well. After weeks of listening to Iriala’s thoughts on power, politics and history, though, he couldn’t help but look back at the carriage. What could the Temple of Ruzinia get done if they bothered to build up a powerful institution to back them?

They wouldn’t, Bernt knew. The way temples functioned was a direct reflection of their respective gods. If Ruzinia saw the value in large bureaucratic organizations, she would have built one centuries ago.

Bernt was pulled from his thoughts when their small caravan began to move. He looked over the group as he fell in next to Torvald, marching out through the gate and onto the open road to the south. There were twelve adventurers present, in all, which Bernt thought was probably overkill for most kinds of trouble that they might run into on a public road. Still, none of them were very high ranked. Elyn, now rank 3, might have been the most experienced adventurer around, excluding archdruid Lierin, who wasn’t really here in his capacity as an adventurer, but rather as the legitimator to high priestess Surin. Still, he would surely fight if needed.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. The Duergar weren’t supposed to be aware of the conclave or of their expedition. But Bernt knew there were still shades in Halfbridge. Still, it couldn’t be easy to intercept a group like theirs on a major road without being detected first. Besides, he’d told the others about his shade encounter on the boat ride – they’d be vigilant.

Putting his concerns out of his mind, Bernt took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, pulled out a slightly stale cinnamon bun and tried to enjoy the moment. He was on the road, finally, going new places with a bunch of friends and adventurers. Danger was implied, but so was adventure, new sights, new tastes and new magic. Behind him, Elyn and Uriah walked in stoic silence as Nirlig exchanged stories about various omens and superstitions with Baron Regin.

The nobleman kept an unconscious distance from the goblin, walking nearly at the edge of the road as if afraid to get into arm’s reach. Despite that, though, he questioned Nirlig animatedly.

“Wait, you really bite off your own finger if you accidentally kill a tree?”

“I mean, crazy superstitious people do, sure. Not the whole thing, though, just one segment at the knuckle. Gotta show the forest’s spirit that you’re sorry, or it’ll curse you with bad luck!” Nirlig explained, with a theatrical wink. “Honestly, it’s not that easy to kill a tree on accident. We cut them down on purpose sometimes for lumber, but nobody makes a fuss about that. The spirits don’t care as long as we don’t kill the forest.”

“Then what’s the point?” Regin cried, throwing up his hands.

“Well, if it made sense it wouldn’t be a superstition, would it?” Nirlig said with a shrug. “I mean, I saw a human woman spin in place twice before stepping through a door once!"

“I watched an old man turn and run away down the street because an owl flew overhead,” Bernt threw in. “What’s all that about?”

Regin threw a glance back over his shoulder at Bernt and nodded, eyes wide. “Owls, yes. Terrible omens, they are. Someone probably died.”

Nirlig coughed into his hand.