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It is near to midday, you think, but difficult to tell in all this mist. The sky is completely overcast and the woods that crush in on either side of the dirt roads loom menacingly and cast shadows to dim what little light there is from the hidden sun. The forest is silent, but in the slowly swirling fog there is a certainty of some dread intelligence watching and waiting.
~~Alesea "Vita"~~
You had run through the night in these woods, even as the darkness closed in on you. The series of fresh, horrific events driving you on even as you teetered on the brink of madness. It had all begun with that accident. The earth had seemed to slip out from under you, and you had bumped and slashed and scraped your way down into the the pitch, black as a starless, moonless night. There you had felt that horror surrounding you, seeping into you. You had felt the cold, dissonant whispers of some terrible entity coming from inside your own head. And just when all hope seemed lost, you had felt the warmth radiating from your under your skin. Your eyes filled with light and from there you could feel the banishing of the dark - or at least, the will and majestic might to hold it at bay. Still blinded and dumb with fear and confusion, you clawed your way out of the darkness and back into the world above.
Hope. It would seem. Is the first step on the road to disappointment.
As you clambered back onto solid ground, you discovered that your frightened cries had attracted the attention of several uncouth men. They grinned down at you, their eyes alight with ill intent. You were bound, beaten, and dragged to a small hideout. There, you suffered indignity like you had never imagined, as your body was passed from man to man, to be treated like an object instead of a person. At last, tired of you, the evil men were spent and either slept or went out to take the few horses down the road and into town.
You used that time to slip away from your bonds and run away on foot. You needed to get to town, back to your ma and pa. You needed to fall into their arms and cry and tell them what had happened just so that they could give meaning and comprehension to your suffering.
When you reached the town, it was in ruins. The dead and dying lay strewn across the streets. Everyone you knew, everyone you had grown up with, was dead. Your own father lived, but only long enough to tell you what sort of beasts had attacked the town and taken your still living mother with them. These wolf men. They were responsible for the final and most painful stroke of evil in your life.
In a state of shock, you spent the rest of the night burying your father. It was a shallow grave, and you covered it with stones from the nearby mason's shop, knowing full well the dead mason and his family wouldn't mind the theft. With that done, and a tearful goodbye to the memory of your human father, you gathered your mother's old adventuring equipment and took off on foot into the woods.
You ran at first, then when your legs ached you walked. Your body screamed at you to take a rest, but you couldn't stop. You needed to keep going. The brightness within you drove you on, giving you a hidden reserve of strength that you never thought you had possessed before.
Hours later, the dawn had risen, but little light accompanied it. Only mists. Mists on either side of an unfamiliar wood. You kept going, but then the howls came. Wolf howls. You looked to your left and right where the sounds were coming from, but the fog obscured your sight. Forward, always forward, into the dark land, alone. You heard more low growls, closer this time it seemed, but still you could not see your enemy. You were exhausted. Your head swam with fatigue.
Then, ahead in the distance, you saw that the road came to a fork, and beside it, six colorful wagons were set up in a patch of grass between the two forking paths. A bonfire was lit, giving off a wholesome warmth and light. Over it was a makeshift spit, and hung from the bar over the fire was a hanging pot, like a small cauldron. Around the fire were a small group of colorfully dressed people. The women wore dresses and low cut tops and two of them were dancing near the fire waving tambourines. The men had red and purple and yellow coats and sported various degrees of facial hair, all dark eyed and dark maned. They were laughing, telling jokes to one another. A large man played a lute, and a wiry fellow played a small accordion. A third girl was playing a fiddle. The music they played was jubilant and playful.
Then a younger man spotted you and pointed and suddenly the music and laughter stopped. Their eyes grew hard and you could see that they were each of them armed with short, curved blades and some of them had crossbows. In a language that you did not know, they spoke in hushed, intense voices to each other, perhaps wondering what you were. This would not be the first time your tiefling heritage had worked against you and put fear into the minds of common human folk.
"Hold on." Said a man in his mid to late twenties. It was the first words she understood, as he used the common tongue. "She may have horns, but something about her doesn't tell me she's a danger to us. At least, not if we don't start something. Put down your weapons, brothers and sisters. Can you not see? She is wounded."
The man approached, his sword and dagger sheathed in his bright red sash. He wore a red trimmed coat that seemed too fancy for him and a magenta bandana to cover his wavy, dark hair.
"By my soul, you look as if you've been through hell and back! My name is Ratka. These are my family. Please. Join us. You look as though you could use a rest. Mmm?"
He extended his hand to you and gestured towards the warm fire...
Hope. It would seem. Is the first step on the road to disappointment.
As you clambered back onto solid ground, you discovered that your frightened cries had attracted the attention of several uncouth men. They grinned down at you, their eyes alight with ill intent. You were bound, beaten, and dragged to a small hideout. There, you suffered indignity like you had never imagined, as your body was passed from man to man, to be treated like an object instead of a person. At last, tired of you, the evil men were spent and either slept or went out to take the few horses down the road and into town.
You used that time to slip away from your bonds and run away on foot. You needed to get to town, back to your ma and pa. You needed to fall into their arms and cry and tell them what had happened just so that they could give meaning and comprehension to your suffering.
When you reached the town, it was in ruins. The dead and dying lay strewn across the streets. Everyone you knew, everyone you had grown up with, was dead. Your own father lived, but only long enough to tell you what sort of beasts had attacked the town and taken your still living mother with them. These wolf men. They were responsible for the final and most painful stroke of evil in your life.
In a state of shock, you spent the rest of the night burying your father. It was a shallow grave, and you covered it with stones from the nearby mason's shop, knowing full well the dead mason and his family wouldn't mind the theft. With that done, and a tearful goodbye to the memory of your human father, you gathered your mother's old adventuring equipment and took off on foot into the woods.
You ran at first, then when your legs ached you walked. Your body screamed at you to take a rest, but you couldn't stop. You needed to keep going. The brightness within you drove you on, giving you a hidden reserve of strength that you never thought you had possessed before.
Hours later, the dawn had risen, but little light accompanied it. Only mists. Mists on either side of an unfamiliar wood. You kept going, but then the howls came. Wolf howls. You looked to your left and right where the sounds were coming from, but the fog obscured your sight. Forward, always forward, into the dark land, alone. You heard more low growls, closer this time it seemed, but still you could not see your enemy. You were exhausted. Your head swam with fatigue.
Then, ahead in the distance, you saw that the road came to a fork, and beside it, six colorful wagons were set up in a patch of grass between the two forking paths. A bonfire was lit, giving off a wholesome warmth and light. Over it was a makeshift spit, and hung from the bar over the fire was a hanging pot, like a small cauldron. Around the fire were a small group of colorfully dressed people. The women wore dresses and low cut tops and two of them were dancing near the fire waving tambourines. The men had red and purple and yellow coats and sported various degrees of facial hair, all dark eyed and dark maned. They were laughing, telling jokes to one another. A large man played a lute, and a wiry fellow played a small accordion. A third girl was playing a fiddle. The music they played was jubilant and playful.
Then a younger man spotted you and pointed and suddenly the music and laughter stopped. Their eyes grew hard and you could see that they were each of them armed with short, curved blades and some of them had crossbows. In a language that you did not know, they spoke in hushed, intense voices to each other, perhaps wondering what you were. This would not be the first time your tiefling heritage had worked against you and put fear into the minds of common human folk.
"Hold on." Said a man in his mid to late twenties. It was the first words she understood, as he used the common tongue. "She may have horns, but something about her doesn't tell me she's a danger to us. At least, not if we don't start something. Put down your weapons, brothers and sisters. Can you not see? She is wounded."
The man approached, his sword and dagger sheathed in his bright red sash. He wore a red trimmed coat that seemed too fancy for him and a magenta bandana to cover his wavy, dark hair.
"By my soul, you look as if you've been through hell and back! My name is Ratka. These are my family. Please. Join us. You look as though you could use a rest. Mmm?"
~~Rovana~~
"Rawrrk!"
You moan.
"Raawrrk! Wake up! Rawwwrk!"
You groan.
"Raawrk! Fire! Fire! Raawwrk! Wee Woo!"
Annoyed at your parrot, Joe, you roll over. It is then that you brush your finger up against something warm, something fleshy. Your eyes open a sliver, and in doing so, the pain of a great, swelling hangover catches up with you. Oh Abyss... how much rum did you drink last night?
The warm fleshiness moves. A light, female chuckle sounds next to you, and there is a shifting as whatever you are sleeping on accommodates the change in position of someone else sharing it. You risk blinking and then with one eye you squint in the low lamplight. You appear to be in some kind of extremely colorful, and extremely cluttered wagon. A small tinderbox hanging from the ceiling of the covered wagon allows for the only light. In front of you, having just moved out of the bed you lie on, is a nude woman, olive skinned and raven haired. She wears many multicolored bracelets and charms on either arm, and a silver anklet on her left foot. She is quite attractive from what you can see of her backside. When she turns around and flashes you a smile, you are relieved.
You may have drank too much, but at least you woke up next to a winner this time. Whatever this little tart is, she's a pretty one. She smells nice too, you think as she leans back over to you, her breasts swaying in front of you, and kisses you on the lips.
"You really do know how to have a good time, little miss 'reaver,'" the girl said in a teasing, heavily accented voice. "Do all dread pirates squeal like that? I'm worried my father will have heard. He is old. He wonders why I haven't given him grandchildren with a nice Vistani man yet. No need to let him figure out what I like. He'd go beserk and cast a curse on me and you both."
She grins beautifully, and then moves to the other side of the wagon, putting on a bright dress. It's by this time that you think you can sit up and get a second look at her. You also realize that you are naked save for your boots and hat.
"You have a headache. Yes. I am a great and powerful gypsy, so I know these things. Heehee. Either that or I just drank the same amount as you last night and know what you're up against. Here."
She flings a small glass vial onto the covers next to you. A brown, brackish liquid is inside.
"Don't ask what's in it, just drink it. It works."
As you look at the vial, you do a mental check of just how exactly you arrived here in this wagon, with this strange but pretty gypsy girl. It had been a really awful voyage a you recall. Your crew had pursued what you thought was a fat merchant vessel along the coast, only to discover that they were armed with heavy ballistae and a full compliment of soldiers. You had turned tail to run, but a lucky shot from the enemy had splintered your mast. Quick work with axes and all hands to the oars allowed you to escape down the coast, but your ship was still in massive need of expensive repairs and you didn't have the coin for it.
Pulling into a port, your crew busied themselves with drinking while you plotted a plan for paying for the repairs. As you were hatching an idea for a river raid, the tavern had filled with a band of brightly colored musicians and dancers. One such entertainer had been this fine young woman you had just woken up with. You recall that you had caught each other's eyes and had seen the knowing look. A couple drinks later the two of you were laughing and flirting together.
Her name... her name was.... Damia! Yes. That was it.
Deciding that she would provide a good distraction from your woes, the pair of you were finding a quiet spot in the corner of the inn when a noble patron entered the tavern with the town guard at his back. Thieves, he had shouted, labeling both Damia's players and your crew in equal measure. It appeared that someone had been picking pockets. Rather than take this apparent arrest lying down, your men chose to brawl with the guards. During the scuffle, Damia had dragged you with her towards the bar. Together the pair of you had stolen half a dozen casks of fine rum and then escaped through the back door. You'd never really liked your current crew that much and didn't intend to share a cell with them, so it had seemed like a good idea at the time to follow Damia back to her wagons. Her other entertainer friends had the same idea about running away and together all of you sped in land in the wagons and into the misty woods.
Damia and you had drunk the rum and then made passionate love to one another. You're not certain it was your best performance ever, but it seemed like you both must have had a good time. And now, here you were, waking up with the girl. The wagon was certainly not moving, so the entertainers must have stopped to rest somewhere.
"Your clothes and things are over there," Damia said, pointing to a pile of what appeared to be all your affects. "Now, would you like to come outside with me and have some lunch? Meet the family? I wasn't kidding about my father though. My brother, Ratka, he knows and makes excuses, but really, my father is the head of our family, and he can't know. So you're just a drinking friend I picked up from last night's trouble, okay?"
You moan.
"Raawrrk! Wake up! Rawwwrk!"
You groan.
"Raawrk! Fire! Fire! Raawwrk! Wee Woo!"
Annoyed at your parrot, Joe, you roll over. It is then that you brush your finger up against something warm, something fleshy. Your eyes open a sliver, and in doing so, the pain of a great, swelling hangover catches up with you. Oh Abyss... how much rum did you drink last night?
The warm fleshiness moves. A light, female chuckle sounds next to you, and there is a shifting as whatever you are sleeping on accommodates the change in position of someone else sharing it. You risk blinking and then with one eye you squint in the low lamplight. You appear to be in some kind of extremely colorful, and extremely cluttered wagon. A small tinderbox hanging from the ceiling of the covered wagon allows for the only light. In front of you, having just moved out of the bed you lie on, is a nude woman, olive skinned and raven haired. She wears many multicolored bracelets and charms on either arm, and a silver anklet on her left foot. She is quite attractive from what you can see of her backside. When she turns around and flashes you a smile, you are relieved.
You may have drank too much, but at least you woke up next to a winner this time. Whatever this little tart is, she's a pretty one. She smells nice too, you think as she leans back over to you, her breasts swaying in front of you, and kisses you on the lips.
"You really do know how to have a good time, little miss 'reaver,'" the girl said in a teasing, heavily accented voice. "Do all dread pirates squeal like that? I'm worried my father will have heard. He is old. He wonders why I haven't given him grandchildren with a nice Vistani man yet. No need to let him figure out what I like. He'd go beserk and cast a curse on me and you both."
She grins beautifully, and then moves to the other side of the wagon, putting on a bright dress. It's by this time that you think you can sit up and get a second look at her. You also realize that you are naked save for your boots and hat.
"You have a headache. Yes. I am a great and powerful gypsy, so I know these things. Heehee. Either that or I just drank the same amount as you last night and know what you're up against. Here."
She flings a small glass vial onto the covers next to you. A brown, brackish liquid is inside.
"Don't ask what's in it, just drink it. It works."
As you look at the vial, you do a mental check of just how exactly you arrived here in this wagon, with this strange but pretty gypsy girl. It had been a really awful voyage a you recall. Your crew had pursued what you thought was a fat merchant vessel along the coast, only to discover that they were armed with heavy ballistae and a full compliment of soldiers. You had turned tail to run, but a lucky shot from the enemy had splintered your mast. Quick work with axes and all hands to the oars allowed you to escape down the coast, but your ship was still in massive need of expensive repairs and you didn't have the coin for it.
Pulling into a port, your crew busied themselves with drinking while you plotted a plan for paying for the repairs. As you were hatching an idea for a river raid, the tavern had filled with a band of brightly colored musicians and dancers. One such entertainer had been this fine young woman you had just woken up with. You recall that you had caught each other's eyes and had seen the knowing look. A couple drinks later the two of you were laughing and flirting together.
Her name... her name was.... Damia! Yes. That was it.
Deciding that she would provide a good distraction from your woes, the pair of you were finding a quiet spot in the corner of the inn when a noble patron entered the tavern with the town guard at his back. Thieves, he had shouted, labeling both Damia's players and your crew in equal measure. It appeared that someone had been picking pockets. Rather than take this apparent arrest lying down, your men chose to brawl with the guards. During the scuffle, Damia had dragged you with her towards the bar. Together the pair of you had stolen half a dozen casks of fine rum and then escaped through the back door. You'd never really liked your current crew that much and didn't intend to share a cell with them, so it had seemed like a good idea at the time to follow Damia back to her wagons. Her other entertainer friends had the same idea about running away and together all of you sped in land in the wagons and into the misty woods.
Damia and you had drunk the rum and then made passionate love to one another. You're not certain it was your best performance ever, but it seemed like you both must have had a good time. And now, here you were, waking up with the girl. The wagon was certainly not moving, so the entertainers must have stopped to rest somewhere.
"Your clothes and things are over there," Damia said, pointing to a pile of what appeared to be all your affects. "Now, would you like to come outside with me and have some lunch? Meet the family? I wasn't kidding about my father though. My brother, Ratka, he knows and makes excuses, but really, my father is the head of our family, and he can't know. So you're just a drinking friend I picked up from last night's trouble, okay?"
At the bonfire in the gypsy camp, there would be room for all the gypsies and the guests to sit, as enough stools to account for everyone were set up. Lunch was a steamy, vegetable and venison stew, and the family passed around food to each other and the guests.
Sitting quietly on a tall stool was an older man of sixty years or so, toying with a wooden cane that was leaning across his knees. He was moving his head between the guests, his reumy eyes sizing them up.
"Well now," the old man coughed and then cracked a wide smile. "My name is Stanimir, and I am the ah, leader of this family. I would like to welcome our guests to our fireside. We are Vistani - gypsy travelers, and we are returning to our homeland. You have met my son and my daughter, Ratka and Damia. The others, I will introduce to you now."
Stanimir went around introducing the rest of the Vistani who were mainly his nieces and nephews, and one grand newphew as well as his younger sister, who was a pleasant woman who might well have been a beauty when she was younger.
"And now, who might you be? And what brings you with us all the way out to the Svalich Woods?"