"Have you seen or heard from the Groundswallow Traveling Tinkers and Traders recently? No? Okay, well would you like me to mend that tear in your coat sleeve? Oh, no, you don't need to take off your coat! Just let me put my hand over the tear. . ."
The diminutive halfling-woman's braid swings back and forth across her back as she struggles to reach the man's biceps without climbing into his lap. The rest of the patrons of the Lonely Huntsman, who consist mostly of the male farmers who work the land around the wayside inn and tavern, glance at the Amazonian woman with fiery red hair and piercing green eyes sipping a golden liquid at the otherwise unoccupied bar protectively watching her companion before wisely choosing to hide their amusement. In fact the only person in the tavern who has dared to directly address the mail-clad warrior with the great sword still in its scabbard on her back is the barkeep. "Another?"
"Aye." The woman replies and forcefully places the ceramic cup in front of him.
"No, no, no, I can't take any money for such a service. Please just remember that the Temple of Mishakal still needs donations to continue healing Hedrimond. As a more personal favor, if the Groundswallow Traveling Tinkers and Traders do come through town please tell them to send word to the Temple of Mishakal in Mistverge because Thessalie is looking for them. I'm Thessalie, of course. They're my family, and I haven't heard from them since months before the war started, so I'm worried about them. Mishakal bless you with health and long life." The tiny woman in dusty blue robes reaches up to pat the man whose sleeve she mended on the wrist before moving on to ask the men at the next table her questions.
Thessalie didn't pay particular attention when another person entered the inn behind her. Her companion, however, watches the newcomer suspiciously from the moment the travel-stained elven woman steps across the threshold. Icy green eyes met the fierce for a brief moment in confusion before the tired elf glided carefully past the menacing giant of a woman and found the farthest available table from her.
Mere seconds after the waitress left her table, the small figure making her way around the room approaches her. "Hello! Horsing on the road have you? Seen or passed boat Groundswallow Walking Merchants?" Thessalie says in Elvish.
The few seconds during which the elven stranger intensely studies the halfing woman's face before saying, "No, I'm sorry" in Common almost cause the warrior to put down her drink and leave the bar.
"Do you have anything that needs mending or injuries that need tending?" Thessalie asks in Common not having really expected any other answer.
"I. . . Yes, I have worn a small hole in my trousers here at the knee." The elf turns on the bench so that her knee is sticking out into the aisle. The halfling woman lightly places her hand over the hole and closes her eyes so that her nose and brow furrow in the most adorable look of concentration you could find on a full-grown person, even if that person's head is level with the tabletop. There's a faint blue glow about her hand for a minute, then when she removes it the fraying hole and the worn fabric around it look whole and undamaged as if every broken thread in the woven fabric covered by the small hand had repaired itself. Thessalie smiles her warm smile up into the elf's face.
The stranger tucks a silvery lock of hair behind her pointed ear. "Were you. . . Did you participate in the war effort against the orcs?"
The smile falls from Thessalie's lips as if she couldn't hold it against the force of gravity for another second. "Yes, I did." The warrior leans closer to hear the conversation better at the sudden loss of cheerfulness from her friend. "It was. . . awful. So much death."
"I know, but I think you saved
my life. Do you remember? There was this orc that broke through the skirmish lines and my spell blew up in my face. Luckily the orc took the worst of it, but you darted in and healed me before running off again."
Thessalie shakes her head so that her brown braid waves back and forth across her back again. "I don't remember. So many days were such a blur of bandages and healing and carnage and loss. The battles were the worst. There are other halfing clerics besides just me, though not nearly as many as there are of the bigguns, of course." Thessalie smiles again, though sadly this time. "And most bigguns can't really tell halflings apart from one another very well. We all have curly brown hair and brown eyes."
"That's very rude of them. While I only saw you for a few seconds that day, I'm sure it was you." The elf studies her face again. "Your eyes aren't brown."
Before Thessalie has time to form a response, a young boy covered in scratches and torn clothes with a mangled and bloody looking knee stumbles into the common room of the inn. "The thing! The thing! It's gonna get 'im!"
Thessalie turns and dashes over to him so quickly her braid nearly hits the elven woman. "You poor, child!" The top of her head barely reaches his elbow, so she hardly has to bend to look at his injury.
"There's no time for that! It's gonna eat 'im!" He cries out again as Thessalie makes him sit on the nearest bench.
"What? Who?"
"The thing! The thing! It attacked me and he jumped in and pulled it off and it's gonna eat 'im!"
"Robin! Robin!" Thessalie runs for the room they are sharing.
"Wha'?" The warrior woman says as her companion rushes past.
"Someone needs our help!" She cries as she disappears up the stairs. Robin sighs and drains her cup. She then sighs again and stands stretching to her full height, hands nearly reaching the low ceiling as all the joints in her spine crack audibly. Her neck is next as she rolls her head around and raises and lowers her shoulders individually. She's just pulling her sword from the sheath when Thessalie tears back down the stairs as quickly as her short legs will allow.
"Robin! Robin!" Thessalie notches her small crossbow with a bolt in a quick pause at the foot of the steps.
"I'm comin'." The woman reaches the door in two strides and steps into the street with her small compatriot on her heels. Robin rests her sword on her mail-clad shoulder while studying the situation unfolding on the road.
A lithe silhouetted figure is just managing to successfully fend off and keep ahead of a ragged, preternaturally-tall one. An elven man with a quarterstaff in both hands darts towards the two standing in front, but has to turn and defend his back just as he reaches the light spilling out from the open door of the inn. A towering skeletonal creature with a pumpkin for a head swipes at the newcomer with long, thin talons that extend from a faded and moth-eaten sleeve.
Thessalie extends a glowing blue hand in the direction of the nightmarish creature, but the azure ball of energy fades into nothing before it can reach the monster. Robin charges in and slashes the thing across its misshapen chest, slicing through the shirt to reveal a mishmash of what looks like bone, but follows no pattern ever formed by a human body. The elf man dashes behind the creature and thwacks the pumpkin head with his staff.
Its momentary confusion by this onslaught having worn off, the thing raises both of its clawed appendages and slashes one after the other at the warrior woman in front of it. One of the talons manages to catch her clavicle just where it is slightly exposed cutting nearly to the bone. Its other limb scrapes gratingly but harmlessly off of her chain mail. It jerks itself out from between the two combatants and shambles towards the inn.
At this moment the elven woman hurries through the door and without taking the time to aim properly forms a dart of fire in her left hand and throws it toward the creature, but its jerky movements cause the spell to pass harmlessly by the thing and fizzle out in the packed dirt of the road. Thessalie is too busy running up to her traveling companion to notice this display. Once she reaches her she places a small hand on Robin's elbow and a rivulet of blue light dances up her arm to her cut and closes the wound so that it is no longer bleeding profusely. Taking a deep breath of relief, Robin's sword again flashes in the dim light of the moon sinking so deeply into the shoulder of the creature that its right arm seems to hang almost uselessly at its side, halting its progress toward the door of the tavern. The dark clad elf again runs so that he is directly behind it and enlarges the dent his last attack left.
The creature attacks the human blocking its path again, this time hitting her ribs so hard that the air whooshes out of her lungs involuntarily. As Robin buckles forward dragging in a labored breath, the elven woman throws three bright points of light over the warrior's head that hit the pumpkin and scorch it where they hit. Thessalie then runs backwards towards the building while lining up her light crossbow with both hands and pulls the trigger. The bolt thunks deeply into the pumpkin in the middle of the triangle of scorch marks left by the elf's spell.
The creature wobbles in place as a crack forms along the ridge of the animated vegetable-head from the bolt sticking out of the middle of its garish face. Robin's second breath comes more easily than the first, and she is able to straighten with the third. The elven man dances back as he reaches for the longbow at his back, but the pumpkin wobbles again. As the elven woman's hand begins to glow anew, the pumpkin splits into two pieces spilling flat seeds into the dirt and the strange skeletal body crumbles into a pile of straw within a loose pile of torn and tattered clothing.
"What is that thing?" Thessalie says as she lowers her crossbow.
"I think. . . I think it was me scarecrow." Most of the tavern patrons have crowded through the inn's large door into a large knot of humanity to watch the commotion. "You killed it, but why did it need killin'?"
"Ye gert fool. It attacked people!" Robin exclaims as she angrily thrusts the point of her sword into the dirt.
"I think he meant why was it alive and attacking people, not why did you do it."
"And who be ye?"
"Sharai Tunuvian, formerly a wizard for the army." The elven woman nods her head gracefully. "And who might you be?"
"She's Captain Robin Morgan! Robin how are your ribs?"
"They'll be fine. I'll just a have a gert bruise tomorrow. I've had much worse. But who are you?" Robin turns to the elven man as Thessalie begins pushing her way through the crowd at the door to the inn.
"Theren Galanodel. I'm traveling south to the Emberwood."
"Well, you'll all be staying here tonight free of charge! And a round of drinks for our heroes on the house too!"
"That's the spirit!" Robin happily wipes the dirt from her sword on the pile of rags and thrust the sword back into the sheath.
Everyone piles back into the tavern to begin toasting the victorious fighters. Thessalie has the injured boy in a chair by the hearth where she's washing out his scratches. "There, now! That didn't hurt a bit. So now won't you let me clean your knee?"
"Thessalie, get yerself over here and have a drink!"
"You have mine. I'm busy." She calls absentmindedly.
"Ye heard what the lass said, I'm to have her share!" All the men laugh loudly and amicably clap Robin on the back where ten minutes before the farmers had feared the soldier.
An hour later after washing and poulticing and binding the boy's injured knee, Thessalie wanders over to the bar where Robin is laughing with the few men still loitering and drinking. "Then he said" Robin laughs, "Then he said, not I! 'Twas Badger! He dinnae know Badger was caught not ten minutes a'fore with a parsnip!"
"Robin, how much have you had to drink?"
"Not so much we canna make it ta Thomas's place in the mornin'."
"Who's Thomas?"
One of the men at the bar raises his glass and dribbles some foaming liquid on the dusty wooden floor. "Tha feller with the scarecrow. Have not ye been pain' attention? He wants us to check his other scarecrow ta make sure it doesn't start wanderin' around attackin' people. We'll kill it if it does, though, ye and me."
"Where did the elves go?"
"Ta bed, I think. Guess, I lost track of 'em."
"We should go to bed too, Robin."
"I haven't finished my drink."
"I don't think you need it."
"Badger would want me to have it."
Thessalie sighs and climbs onto the stool next to her friend so that she is standing balanced on top of it. She pulls the thick mug from Robin's hand before she can take another pull. "Would he really?"
"Aye!" Then Robin bursts into drunken tears.
"Shhh. I know. Come on. Time to sleep." She prods and pushes and cajoles the much larger woman up the stairs to the room they were assigned much earlier in the evening. Robin hiccups through "Oh, Badger! Where be ye? And where are ye hidin' Russ?" on her way up the stairs.
* * * * *
The next morning dawns a bright and beautiful day, which is as much as anyone could hope for so late in the season of autumn. Anyone, perhaps, except the Captain who creeps down the stairs carefully with a hand shading her eyes, already clad in her mail and wearing her sword.
"Good morning, Captain!" A voice calls from the bar.
The Amazon visibly cringes. "Why ye shoutin'?" She grumbles as she sidles over to the bar where her three allies are breaking their fast.
"That good, huh? Have you any willow bark?" The owner shakes his head and Thessalie hops down and goes outside.
"What ye got there?"
"Tea and porridge. That is the customary morning meal in this part of the world." Sharai says as she puts her mug down and picks up her spoon.
"I know. I live here." Robin gestures to the innkeeper to give her a share as well.
"Then why did you ask?"
The warrior cringes again. "I meant wha' kind of tea and what's in the porridge." She sniffs the mug the man behind the bar poured her from the communal pot while he dishes her a bowl of the thick mash.
"Chamomile and honey, I believe." Sharai looks at the other elf who just smirks to himself and keeps eating.
"Could you stop shoutin' at me?"
"Sorry." Sharai says, then much more quietly after getting a truly wicked glare from the larger woman, "Sorry."
They eat quietly for a few minutes before Thessalie comes back with two small handfuls of herbs. She places the two small, green piles on the bar next to her bowl before climbing back onto her stool. "A cup of hot water, please." Her voice is soft and Robin pats her friend's shoulder awkwardly while still shielding her eyes with her other hand. Thessalie nearly falls off her stool, but manages to grab the bar at the last second. Robin doesn't notice.
"What're those fer?"
"This one is for your head, and the other one is just in case the first one disagrees with your stomach." She drops several of the leaves into the hot water and slides the cup over one place-setting. "Once you're done eating, drink up."
The odd group of four is just finishing eating when the farmer known as Thomas comes stumbling down the stairs also shielding his eyes. He wanders over to the bar and whispers "Just tea" to the bartender.
"Another cup of hot water." Thessalie requests.
As Thessalie is preparing the second cup, Robin lifts the medicinal brew and takes a large gulp. She nearly chokes, but she swallows it down painfully and shudders. "It tastes like the wrong end of a donkey."
"It should help your ribs and your cut shoulder too, so drink it all. After I look at your cut, I'll decide if you need a second cup."
Robin chokes down the rest of the awful stuff as quickly as she can. "I'd rather bleed to death than have a second cup, whatever me shoulder looks like."
"Show me anyway." Robin pulls the collar of her chain mail tunic slightly over to expose yesternight's injury. Thessalie stands on her stool and gently prods the pink line with her small fingers. "That worked very nicely. Another day or two and you can leave off a morning cup."
"I'm not drinkin' that again!" Robin cries and Thomas cringes.
"How's your head?"
Robin stops abruptly from making another outburst. "My eyes don' feel like they're goin' to explode anymore, but its still poundin'."
"Sorry. Best I could do on short notice." She turns on Thomas. "Drink up, and we'll go look at your other scarecrow."
Thomas eyes the mug in front of him dubiously for a moment before Theren finally says "Just do it before she has the Captain hold you down, and she forces it down your throat." The farmer cringes again and picks up the mug gagging after only one sip.
"Try to drink it quickly and then have some more tea to wash away the taste." Sharai suggests.
. . .
They go to Thomas's farm and investigate the scarecrow's former hanging place. Within a radius of a certain number of feet (>5 but <10?) are dead field mice and grasshoppers and such all covered in a magically ice that might suck more than heat from your fingers if you touch it. Sharai disspells the lingering effects and the ranger continues south while the girls all turn north.
