The tip of the dagger was placed expertly just beneath the shoddy, but well burnished, bronze breastplate worn by the "Bold". She could feel it if he tensed and he knew it, so Urlor tried not to move too quickly lest he spook the curvy filly. His eyes held hers for a long while as if gauging her resolve before they flickered around to the gathering crowd.


Urlor began to chuckle deep in his belly. Lya felt the dagger pulse with his laughter as it grew.

"That's just it my lovely, Baltor ain't here! Neither are my other brothers. Fig, why don't you go back to bangin' on that door. You see, you arrived just on the day that I'm in charge of the camp... which means I won't need to ask anyone's permission or even think about sharing..."

"Miss Lya..." Fig started to say when Urlor made his play.

~~~~

OOC: Oh it's on! Since you had the dagger at the ready, Lya, roll damage if you decide to go through with your threat, if not please make a Dex check with an additional +2 for Fig pulling you out of the way, TN 9. [Urlor the Bold, rolled 9 using 1d20+1 ((8)).] Or if you decide to take some other action let me know...

"Share is it!" snarled Lya in as loud a voice as possible. Shouting she continued, "Rape you mean! The only thing I'll share with you is this blade!" So saying Lya thrusts her dagger into the bowels of the camp bully, twisting it as she plunges it into him. Not waiting for a response she grabs at his face with her hand, attempting to push him backward onto the ground and straddle him when he is down, her dagger at his throat.

Lya dagger damage: 3 using 1d4.

~~~~

OOC: Lya is hoping to sway the men looking on to her cause by stating as loudly as possible exactly why she is stabbing the camp bully. Hopefully bringing them to her side because, historically, the man is a bully, because some suspect him of backstabbing others, and now, as a catalyst, he is trying to rape a woman.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:53, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

It had been a long while since anyone had stood up to Urlor the "Bold", especially among those who worked or passed through Baltor's Halfway Camp. Now it was a beautiful woman who arrived with a farmer in a potato cart that would be the one to do so. There was a cry of shock among those looking on as Urlor twisted his torso and tried to disarm the woman. She had not flinched, and she had not been bluffing. Her blade came away red.

Not wasting any time she surged forward, raking at Urlor's face. He staggered backwards in shock, pain and then anger. When they went to the ground he roared defiantly. Lya tried to get her blade to his throat, but he caught her hand just in time. As she pushed her weight into it, he tried to push it aside. The sharp, but small, weapon scraped across his cheek and in doing so sliced off a large portion of his mustache. This seemed to only anger him more.

The "Bold" was a lot of show and attitude, but he had been in his share of scuffles. He was also much stronger than Lya, and bigger. Hands locked together on the blade, Urlor arched his back and rolled them both off the porch. He landed on top of her and with his greater weight, pressed her dagger back toward her. They struggled a bit, frightening the old horse which then shied backwards against the potato cart.

[STR check, grapple Lya - Urlor the Bold, rolled 16 using 1d20+2 ((14)).]

Suddenly, Urlor experienced the sensation for himself of being struck from behind by a powerful blow. He crumpled to the side, but still had the sense to roll up to his feet. Like any bully when confronted with opposition, he had two choices: back down and get away, or raise the level of threat. His pride chose the latter. He pulled the sword from its scabbard and brandished it before him, one-handed, to keep Lya at bay. His other hand clutched at his bleeding stomach. He now noticed the source of his blind attack, for the middle-aged farmer, Bill Figgins was standing slightly in front of the pretty woman.

Fig had no weapon, but brandished his fists which were the size of small boulders and just as hard. Years of hard farm labor had caused his shoulders, arms and hands to grow powerful from constant use and tough work. He normally wore an expression just slightly more alert than that of his old horse, but now his eyes were wide and his face was flushed with red.

"Bad idea Fig! You shoulda let me have her!" Urlor spat.

OOC: Let's roll initiative now. Go ahead and post your next round as well please.
[Urlor the Bold, rolled 3 using 1d6+1 ((2)).]
[Bill Figgins, rolled 1 using 1d6-1 ((2)).]

Lya glanced around as she dropped her dagger where Fig might reach it, whipped her short sword from it's sheath at her back, then sighed to herself at the lack of response from the cowards who called themselves men, all except for Fig who'd attacked the overgrown piece of cow turd with only his fists for her sake. Leaping forward Lya, with no real hope of landing a significant blow except that the bully should be a bit slowed and doubled over by the searing pain in his guts and trying to hold said tripes inside himself, shot past the unarmed Fig and swung for all she was worth.

Lya Initiative: 3 using 1d6+1.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:39, Tue 22 July 2014.

At nearly the same time Lya rushed forward with her sword, Urlor attempted to lunge toward Fig with the tip of his own weapon. He still had underestimated the beautiful rogue.

[Attack roll: Urlor the Bold, rolled 12 using 1d20+3 ((9)).]
[Damage roll: Urlor the Bold, rolled 4 using 1d6+3 ((1)).]

Urlor's blade plunged into Fig's shoulder as the not-so-nimble farmer tried to dodge. There was no armor to stand in the way of the "Bold's" gaudy, but effective blade. Fig was not trained in combat. He had never really been in anything more than a rambunctious scramble as a youth, and now he'd just been stabbed! His reaction was one which the more experienced man would have never guessed. Fig clutched at Urlor's sword with his big, meaty paw... and held onto it! This gave Lya the opening she needed.

Go ahead and make your attack roll please, and take a +4 to hit for Fig's actions as a bonus... Urlor's AC is 15.

Lya connects with her short sword, hitting her opponent.

Lya Attack Roll: 17 using 1d20+6.
Lya Damage Roll: 4 using 1d6.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:57, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Lya's slice was swift and sure, taking the advantage offered her by the kind-hearted and very brave farmer, Bill Figgins. The tip of her shortsword sliced just upward of Urlor's polished gauntlet and beneath his pauldron. The remainder of the stroke sliced across his cheekbone and nose, laying them both open. Urlor screamed in pain and fell backwards with his hands clutching at his bleeding face.

"Yield! YIELD!" he shrieked, trying to push himself back into the dusty street and away from the rogue. The camp bully had met his match and was now falling back to his first option, hoping it still remained. In his eyes was the look all bullies get when they are bested: Fear and Panic.

Fig dropped the fancy sword to the ground and clutched his deeply cut hand to his chest. His other hand clutched at the penetration in the shoulder on the same side as his damaged hand. All around the action were hardened men standing and gaping at what had just happened. Some had crossed arms, others wore slack jaws, others glanced around to see what their cohorts might be thinking. No one said a word, but within a few heartbeats, they were all looking at Lya, waiting to see what might unfold next in a day that had started out mundane and ordinary.

Lya, knowing full well that a bully's fear soon turned to hatred and thoughts of revenge when the threat of death was gone, wasted no time but quickly straddled the prone man, sitting on his chest and holding the edge of her short sword across his neck.

"Yield is it?" she hissed venomously. "The way you'd have me yield to you perhaps?". Looking up she took in the gaze of all those around and demanded, "Can any of you give me good reason why I shouldn't take this scum's head as my due?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:59, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Fear and panic turned to true terror in Urlor's eyes as Lya mounted his chest and bladed his throat. He held his hands to the side, pleading her not to kill him. When she queried on behalf of the man's life, all was silent. The circle of men standing around did not move, they did not say anything, only watched.

"Please," Urlor begged, and then looked frantically around at the men, searching for one who would speak on his behalf. "Jasper? Benz? ... Duggan? ... Don't let her kill me!"

It seemed as if the days of the camp bully had come to an end, for those gathered around now, perhaps just shy of two score in total, were tight-lipped either due to their own hatred of Urlor, nervousness of how his brothers would react, or still in shock at what they were seeing. There were still many glances between them as if silently taking stock, or even a vote, as to who was going to be on who's side and what kind of story they were going to tell...

Finally, a voice spoke up. It was a voice just behind her. It was the voice of Poor Bill Figgins...

"Miss Lya," he said quietly, "don't. Please don't kill him. You've taught him a lesson. He won't bother ya again. Let Baltor handle'im..."

The wounded bully's eyes widened a bit as Fig began to speak. Mercy? At the last comment, Urlor's level of anxiety raised to a whole new level.

"Gah! I can't believe I'm going to do this." Lya swore. Keeping the blade at the terrified pool of dung's throat she turned and looked at Fig. "You sure Fig? Baltor won't just let him go? I'm not seeing a lot of honor around here." she asked the farmer in a low voice.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:06, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Fig clutched his wounds as he considered Lya's question. The man's long years of hard work seemed to have all accumulated in accentuating the wrinkles and worry lines on his wide leathery face. His eyebrows, like his thinning hair were touched with gray and suddenly poor Bill Figgins looked much older than he had during their travels on the potato cart. He finally nodded his head.

"Yes Miss Lya, Baltor will handle him. Especially if he left Urlor in charge. There's a bit of good in every man, even that one. I say let mercy root it out... Come Miss Lya, let'im be..."

The bleeding Urlor glanced over at his unlikely savior and then back to Lya, he gulped at the blade pressed against his throat, but said nothing. The other men were all quiet as well, in fact the entire Halfway Camp seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see if Lya would rid the world of a vermin, or show mercy on the behest of a kind-hearted farmer.

Lya sighed. This mercy of Fig's was going to get her killed but...she owed him. Blissful thoughts of beheading the pig turd beneath her ran around with thoughts of taking an eye or perhaps demanding a purse full of gold every time she saw him from now and forever into the future. Lya sighed again and regretfully pulled her sword slowly away from the throat of the garbage it had rested against. Wiping it off on his clothes til it was nice and shiny she sheathed it and got up. Backing up she moved to where her dagger was and, keeping her eyes on the filth in the dirt, picked it up, flicked the blood off it and, keeping it in her hand, looked around at the men gawking at her. "Well? Who's going to help Fig here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:06, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

The men stood in a large circle, nearly surrounding Lya and Fig. They did not move at her question, they just continued to stare and gape. Finally the spell of the situation was dissipated when it was replaced by a new spell, cast by a beautiful rogue bearing a dagger.

Instantly they all moved at once! They each jetted off in different directions eager to be the first to assist Lya. Jasper and Benz even smacked into each other so hard they both fell backwards on the ground unconscious. The Halfway Camp which had grown eerily silent during the skirmish was now abuzz with activity.

There was only one man, skinny with dark eyes, who dared to kneel down beside the wounded Urlor and help him. Lya assumed it was Duggan, one of the men Urlor had implored for aid. He helped the fighting-man to his feet and they made their way down the street to a tent. Duggan shot Lya a dark look just before disappearing beneath the canvas flap.

A few moments later, Lya heard singing. It was terrible singing, and the words made little sense. Around a nearby tent a round-bellied man drunkenly sauntered in her direction with another miner which had been among the crowd and had raced off to find help.

"... turned the hopsh'n'barley into gold ...
... shuch a *hic* lovely crop da-na-na ..."

The bleary eyed man was brought to Lya. "Well, well! Jush the pershun I'sh lookin' for... C-come to be my a-shish... ash-ish, *hic* ashishtant!" He nodded his head stupidly at Lya.

"M-miss, this is Hecl the Healer. H-he can h-help Fig." the man stammered.

Hecl's puffy face screwed-up and he shook his bobble-y head. "Fix'im? Nah... We'll jusht *hic* put'im down... Hahaha!" His veined and bulbous nose twitched, totally giving away the joke...

"Hecl you look like you could use some sobering up first." Lya frowned, crossing her arms.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:12, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Hecl raised his hands as if trying to wipe the thought from Lya's mind. "Don't worry Mishy, I'm fiiiine. Now letsh have a look. Na-da-da-da-dooo..." The rotund and very drunk old cleric staggered over to stand before the potato cart. He rubbed his stubbly chin as he considered Fig's tired old horse. "Hmmm... Maybe we should put'im down..."


OOC: A successful IQ check (TN 12) could garner you a bit more insight into Hecl...
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Sat 26 July 2014.

Lya looked over at Fig and said, "It's up to you since you're the one he's healing. For my part I wouldn't but..."

Lya INT check: 3 using 1d20+1.

Fig grimaced a bit and began to look very, very pale. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and it looked as if he might faint. He wasn't bleeding terribly, but for someone not used to fighting and confrontations, poor Bill Figgins was doing his best to stay tough. Hecl turned to ask some question about the old horse he assumed was the patient, and noticed right away, even through the fog of drink that Fig was about to collapse. He pointed a finger and tried to get his rounded body moving in the farmer's direction. "Da-da-na-ooo-oooo! Not *hic* so goooood..."

The miner who had gone to fetch Hecl the Healer grabbed ahold of Fig and just as Hecl got there, they all collapsed together on the steps of the porch. Hecl grinned stupidly as if it were all planned and graceful. The he cocked his eye and asked Fig, right up in his face, "What'sh hapned, hap-neded, happen-ed to you anywaysh? You're leakin'! Hahahaha!"

Hecl held up his hands to Lya, "Don't fret, Nooo-da-na-hopsh'n'barley... I'm a cleric!" He whispered the last as he nodded, then began a serious attempt to wink, but could not really coordinate both eyes to make it very convincing.

Fig gave Lya a helpless look as his grip on consciousness was requiring every bit of effort he could muster.

Hecl put one hand over Fig's wound and then wrapped his fat arm around the farmer's broad shoulders and pulled him in close. "Thish ish gonna shting *hic* jusht a little... Do-dooo-naaa-da-da! But you'll be good ash new... ash new! Ya know why? 'Caushe I'm a cleric and I looove you..." Hecl the Healer patted the wound a little, evoking a grunt of pain from the farmer and then two large tears rolled down his cheeks as he began to chant. "Doo-na barly'n'hopsh *hic* golden treasure brought to we... Kollian pleashe blesh thish Da-naaa-nooo, got holesh in'im don'tcha know! Ha-hahaha! *hic*"

Then the drunken singing stopped momentarily and a look of serenity came over Hecl. There were no lights nor thunderclaps nor astral choir music, but the pain instantly faded from Fig's face. Hecl's moment of sobriety ended and he pulled his hand away with that silly grin still splitting his face. Fig's wound was gone!

The heavy-set farmer opened his massive paw-like hand to reveal the deep gashes which had surely been all the way to the bone, were now perfectly healed as well. Fig was wide eyed and patted the drunken cleric on the knee. Hecl still had his arm around Fig and squeezed him tightly.

"Yesh, yesh, miracle *hic* Nooo-da-naaa! I picked me a goodly God who makesh hopsh'n'barley grow!" Hecl heaved himself up to his feet, wobbled dangerously, but was somehow able to defy gravity and remain standing. "Now if you'll excuuuushe me, I shall go back to my clerical *hic* shtudiesh..." He attempted one more round of winks in Lya's direction before attempting a bear hug on her and then saunter-ggering back the direction he'd come. He did mention over his shoulder however, "Shtill have an ash-shishtishant poshition if ya deshide healin'sh fer you Mishy... Naaa-no-daa-dooo!"

Several of the other miners and camp personnel had now returned with all sorts of kindly offers for Lya and Fig. Places to stay, food to eat, and entertainment. They were all bending over backwards to please and impress the lovely rogue.

Bill Figgins moved his arm and flexed his hand, bewilderment plastered all over his face. He stood up and walked around a bit as if trying to convince himself he was not dreaming all of this. Finally, the decades of practicality returned to the surface as he surveyed the heavens. The sun was getting very low in the sky now.

"Miss Lya, thank you fer that. I'm so sorry I brung ya here. We shoulda just kept on goin' and not stopped. I just figured that Baltor ought to know..." Fig paused a little, uncertain. "Anyway, you're welcome to come along with me, home's not far off now and I've got chores awaitin' and me family to see. Yer welcome to stay the night. The road goes on to Hogship by my place, maybe you can get another ride in the mornin' if ya plan to head that way...?"

Lya beamed at Fig, "That would be wonderful Fig! I can't imagine being stuck in this place. I'm sure I could make my way to Hogship from your place. Someone here can let Baltor know what's happening." Getting up from where she had been sitting next to Fig on the steps she stretched languorously before turning her gaze to the men standing close by.
Stepping slowly down the stairs she said, "I would take it kindly, should you really want to help me that is, if you would do something about that oaf that wanted to rape me. Him and his lackeys." As she spoke she moved among them, weaving through the bystanders and around each man, seeming somehow to touch or brush by each one briefly all the while holding their gaze with her own, a smile playing around the corners of her lips.
"Nothing permanent of course. Just teach them some manners. I suspect I'll be through here again sometime and I'd rather spend the time happily with all of you rather than them."
Going back to Fig she smiled up at him and asked in a husky voice, "Are you done with your business here? I'm ready to leave if you are."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:30, Sun 27 July 2014.

Like a snake weaving its way among dozens of potential prey, Lya again worked her magic. The work in the Halfway-camp may have ground to a halt before, but this most recent application of enchantment nearly crippled it.

Fig continued to marvel at his healed wounds as he made the cart ready and got the horse pointed down the road. Just before climbing aboard, he pulled one of the men aside, a quiet-looking man with deep set eyes. They talked quietly for a moment and then Fig hoisted himself into his seat next to his lovely traveling companion. With a click of his tongue and a light rap of the reins, the cart lurched forward as the tired old horse realized his break was over.

"It's not far Miss Lya, we'll be at me place by dusk." Fig said.

They crossed a low, but very sturdy bridge and entered an area of vast agriculture. The fields were well tended and flood irrigated with many interconnected ditches. The hedgerows and stonewalls were beautiful this time of year, covered with a dark leafy plant with bright purple flowers in cascades like thousands of fragrant waterfalls.  The delicious smells of growing things was often interrupted by the smell of pig wallows, and every once in a while a stray sow and piglets would be rousted from a mud hole by Fig and his cart.

There were many farmers and their hands working the fields, and many of them stopped as the enchanting woman passed by in poor old Bill Figgin's potato cart. There were scandalous glares, smirks, double-takes and several hearty guffaws. Everyone waved, even those who immediately assumed the worst. Somehow news traveled ahead and not much later, there were young men along the way who just happened to find themselves close to the road to take a gander at Fig's pretty passenger.

Finally the sun dipped below the forest canopy to the west as the cart descended a gentle hill and Lya saw a quaint cottage ahead. There was a stone fence and a few outbuildings. The tell-tale smell of pigs let her know they must be getting close. Suddenly countless children began to materialize and run along side the cart, chattering excitedly and all proclaiming, "Father's home!"

Could they possibly all be Fig's? There were nearly a dozen! Surely not...

The door of the cottage opened and a woman walked out to stand beneath the arched stone gateway. She placed her hands on her hips as she surveyed the approaching cart, its driver, and especially the enchantress sitting beside. As they neared, Lya could see that she was a handsome woman, and might at one time have been very pretty. Half a score of children and hard farm work had taken a toll on the woman, but she was still healthy-looking and attractive. Her scowl was not very inviting however...

"Hullo Daph! I'm home..." the farmer tried awkwardly. Poor Bill Figgins.

Lya steps down from the cart and looks about her with a bit of trepidation. This is a situation she is unfamiliar with and she is uncertain how to proceed. Despite Fig's offer of a night's rest at his home the welcome seems a bit dubious to her as she takes in the farm wife's scowl.
It was to be expected she thought. Taking courage in hand she walked up to the scowling woman and introduced herself trying to project an air of forthrightness, "Hello! My name is Lya. Keeping a bright and cheerful demeanor about her she continued, "Your husband kindly allowed me to ride with him for a ways. I just wanted to introduce myself before setting off again."
Nodding, she backed up a pace, turned, and hefting her pack set off down the road towards Hogship.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:18, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

The woman's scowl softened a bit as she looked Lya over as if examining for the tell-tale fingerprints of her husband's large hands.

"Yes, my husband is very generous," she managed to say.

Poor Bill Figgins shifted in his cart seat. The children seemed to sense something amiss and fell quiet, looking at one another while trying to figure it out. Fig stepped down, and approached his wife. As he drew near she noticed the blood on his clothes and the hole in his shirt. Instantly her scowl fled entirely as concern replaced it on her face.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" She rushed forward clutching her apron.

"I'm fine, Daph. Miss Lya fought off one of the men up at the Halfway Camp when we stopped. I at least owe her a meal and a night's rest..."

The farm wife searched her husband's face for signs of betrayal, and finding none in the good and honest man, she let her shoulders slump.

"Yes, very well, where are my manners?"

"M-miss Lya?" the wife called after. "Wait! Please, come back." Holding her husband's rough hand in her own she walked toward Lya.

"I'm sorry, I was just so worried, and the neighbors were saying things... please stay for supper and leave in the morning?"

"Aye, even here in this peaceful place the roads are best avoided by night..." Fig seemed to be holding something back in his warning, though it said more than he'd intended. His wife shot him a glance, but he shrugged it away.

Even Lya who is, perhaps, not the most perceptive of people starts to add things up about the surrounding countryside but realizes that it might not be best to ask about it in front of children. Looking at Fig's wife she says, "Well, I could use a bite to eat and a night's rest. I can't say I'm much use in the kitchen but I'd be glad to help in any way I can."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:20, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Several of the younger children cheered at the news that Lya would be staying for supper and the night. There was still much work to be done before the meal and before nightfall settled upon the farm, so brief introductions were made and chores divided. One of the children had asked Lya to help her feed the hogs. It was a smelly job. Another child asked Lya to help with bringing a few armfuls of wood for the cooking fire. Yet another asked her to help set the sturdy table. One very cute little girl simply asked Lya for a hug.

Fig had taken the cart off toward a thatch-roofed barn and had begun to unload the potatoes with a many-tined fork. He seemed to be suffering nothing from his wounds taken earlier in the afternoon.

The farmer's wife had concocted a delicious smelling stew and there were large loaves to go with it. Fresh butter was placed on the table and each person was armed with a hand-carved wooden spoon and bowl.

Finally, one of the youngsters went to fetch Fig and they all sat down around the table in the tiny cottage. It was cozy for sure. Lya, in order to have a spot on one of the sturdy benches, was obliged to have one of the smaller children sit on her lap. Fig and Daph both had children on their laps as well. Prayers were offered by Fig who made a special request to protect them from all evil this night and to keep Miss Lya safe during her travels on the morn.

The oldest of the siblings arrived late from the fields and was surprised to find they had company. He was a stocky lad of about 17 summers with bleached hair and a toothy smile. He stammered and bumbled, much to the amusement of his brothers and sisters who did not understand that he'd fallen under Lya's enchantment like so many others had that day. His name was Will, and the younger children called him Wilfie. That suddenly seemed to bother him and his face flushed with embarrassment each time he looked at Lya... which was fairly often.

When the meal was finished and the table cleared, the family prepared for bed. Sunrise came early and they would all be up and working before it happened. Lya was offered a pile of straw in the barn and a worn blanket. Several of the children offered to keep her safe and after much cajoling, their request was granted. A couple of Fig's lanky hog dogs joined in the menagerie after the thick candle was blown out.

The night was warm. The company was wiggly.

Lya woke in the dark and, using all her thieving skill, crept as quietly as she could from the barn after gathering up her equipment and donning her deeply hooded cloak. Looking about her she made her way down the farmstead road to the highway and started on her way.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:44, Mon 29 Sept 2014.

Quiet as the dark summer night, Lya made her escape from the hospitable and kind family Figgins. She nearly got away unseen, but one small voice stirred the stillness of the hayloft. A whimper from a nightmare perhaps. The sibling sleeping next to the weepy one opened her eyes and met those of Lya. She smiled sleepily and put a finger to her lips, patting the crier back to sleep and then drifting off herself, but giving a tiny wave just before.

The night air was cool. It was perfect for traveling. Lya headed south from the farmstead toward Hogship. Still a few hours before dawn she came to a split in the road. There was a carved wooden sign leaning precariously. It read "Hogship", pointing downward to the west and "Gilgamar", pointing eastwards and upwards to the stars. She righted the sign a bit and it made much more sense.

She then heard a voice off down the eastern way. It seemed to be cursing quietly in frustration. The still night air carried sounds very well. The cursing was followed by a woman's admonition against such foul speaking...