Despite Gelur’s helpful directions and the knowledge that adventure awaits at the Falinesti Winter Site, I never quite stick to the road. I’d miss out on so many fascinating things lurking in the foliage nearby. Locked chests half sunk into much, random books laying around (Before the Ages of Man: Merethic Era. Tossed in my pack to read later.), trolls rummaging through merchant carts, a Skyshard perched over an old mine entrance (with more trolls)… It probably isn’t necessary to go into the mine and kill all the trolls, but we do it anyway.
“Does this count as being racist against trolls?” Eran wonders lightly.
“Eh,” I say with a shrug. “They didn’t feel like talking and it looks like the they’ve killed mer here.”
“You’re paying for repairs to my clothes, though,” Merry grumbles at his torn sleeve. “Gelur healed the scratch quickly enough but the tear is beyond the help of our spells.”
Laying on a nearby path and half-covered in dirt, a note from some bandits conveys instructions for assaulting someplace called Barkbite Stronghold. There’s even helpfully a partially-legible map indicating where it is (at least good enough that Gelur can point us in the right direction).
“Wood Orcs?” I ask when we come into sight of the walls built from timber.
“Definitely,” Gelur agrees.
“Now let’s just not get mistaken for bandits,” Merry says. “I don’t fancy picking Orc arrows out of my ribs today.”
Fortunately, the Orcs guarding the gates take our lack of immediately attacking them or being sneaky as us being not-bandits. They inform us that they’ve been having trouble with some sort of curse or disease or something (they’re not quite sure what) and so are left with only defending and being unable to retaliate against the bandits.
“Sounds very convenient,” I say. “I’ll bet it’s the bandits themselves or someone in league with them who is trying to weaken your clan.”
“I’m a healer,” Gelur says. “And Merry is a mage. One of us may be able to help with your curse.”
“And the rest of us may be able to help with hitting bandits,” Eran adds.
“Any help you can offer is welcome,” the guard says. “Speak with the shaman. You can find him in the big building up the hill.” He gestures into the stronghold.
We head inside and locate the man in question. Shaman Bogham is an Orc wearing a tattered robe that’s really more of a skirt with some adornments of animal bits on the top. It’s no wonder how few Orcs were guarding the gates given how many of them are inside this house (is it a longhouse?) laying around groaning miserably. The shaman insists that it’s no curse, and their warriors are just superstitious. He’s convinced that it’s poison, and sends us to take some samples to see exactly where it came from. My party goes and splits up to gather the requested samples from around the vicinity. Food, water, clothes.
After Bogham runs a few tests, he determines that it’s the well that has been poisoned. What’s more, he figures that it’s giant spider venom and now needs someone to collect venom sacs from spiders deep within their mine.
“Oh, spiders,” Merry mumbles as we’re heading out of the longhouse.
“They’re just vermin,” I say.
No one is in the mine at the moment and it’s choked with spiderwebs. This is either quite the serious infestation they’ve got here or just a few overly enthusiastic spiders taking advantage of the Orcs’ momentary infirmity. The ones near the entrance aren’t particularly large, by giant spider standards, only standing knee-high at most, but the broodmother in the deepest part of the mine is another story.
“Hmm,” I muse. “That might be the third or fourth biggest non-Daedric spider I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re keeping a ranked list in your mind of spider size?” Eran wonders. “And meanwhile forgetting half the people we ever encounter and get distracted from what you’re doing constantly?”
“One has to have mental priorities,” I say. “Let’s get these venom sacs back to Buggum.”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you,” Eran says with a smirk.
As we’re leaving the mine, an Orc runs in to tell us that bandits rushed the gate and they need help defending the stronghold. He’s clutching a broken arm, and Gelur goes up and grabs it quickly, holding it in place for only a moment before pushing restoration magic into it.
“Combat healing,” Gelur explains. “It’ll need to be re-broken and set properly later, but for the moment, it’ll get you back into the fight.”
The Orc thanks her, and we head back out into the stronghold. He grabs a weapon along the way, and we locate the incursion. The brigands are a mixed lot. Some of them are Orcs and Bosmer, but there’s also the distinct golden complexion of Altmer and the grayish-blue of Dunmer represented. Funny, what if it had been the bandits who had approached us and convinced us that they were trying to clear out the evil Orcs or something?
Once the bandits have stopped coming for the moment, I leave my friends on guard duty and take the venom sac back to the shaman. (The Orcs are so badly understaffed that we really don’t need to all be running around the stronghold, and I can always come and get them if we need to kill anymore overly large arachnoids.) He starts work on an antidote immediately and sends me to speak with one of the chief’s wives.
The woman, whose name starts with M and I immediately forget, is the chief’s hearth-wife, whatever that is. I clearly wasn’t paying attention when I skimmed that book on Wood Orcs. She informs me that the bandits couldn’t have snuck anyone in to poison the well and that no one who was in the stronghold before the attack is missing, and believes it to be likely that whoever was responsible is among the unafflicted because the symptoms are unpleasant.
“Somebody smart and determined would have poisoned themselves to deflect suspicion,” I say. “That would entirely depend on how smart and determined our poisoner is, though. The ones who are still healthy is probably a good enough place to start. It’s not like the sick are going anywhere just yet.”
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“If they were smart and determined, they could have found a better way to go about whatever it is they’re trying to do here,” the hearth-wife points out.
I go and put on my best ‘serious investigation’ face and question the people in the stronghold if they’ve been anything suspicious, and so forth. I’m not used to dealing with Orcs, so I behave toward them how I would Ashlanders, which seems to work well enough. They’re not nearly as easily offended over stupid things as Altmer, but if they do wind up being offended over something, they’d probably react more violently than Altmer, too. Although perhaps I’m misjudging them. It’s not like entirely too many Altmer didn’t yell “For the Heritance! For the Veiled Queen!” at me while hurling themselves at my axe. Somehow I feel like Orcs cannot possibly be less sensible than that.
After a decent questioning, I learn that most of those who haven’t become sick were people who had regularly tangled with spiders and had built up an immunity to their venom. The only one that doesn’t have any good excuses is a young woman who works as the smith’s apprentice or something, who according to the hearth-wife, was once very friendly with the chief’s brother who challenged him for leadership and failed. Right, that definitely looks like a good excuse to make the clan and the chief look weak so that the brother can take over, doesn’t it?
Of course, I’m not going to confront her about her lies and failed alibis without making sure she’s not going anywhere. Fortunately, I have a mage who is good at making people not run away. A good thing, too, as Rakhaz definitely tries to run away once she realizes we’re onto her.
“Fine, yes, I poisoned the well,” Rakhaz confesses. “I was careful to make sure not to hurt anyone, though.”
“And the bandits?” I ask.
“They haven’t killed anyone, either,” Rakhaz says. “Gargak would have made sure they didn’t. He takes the Code of Mauloch seriously and would never spill the blood of kinsmen.”
“Gargak must be an absolutely amazing leader if he was able to convince a bunch of miscellaneous bandits to hurl themselves at the blades of Orcs while making sure they didn’t hurt anyone,” I say. “That would take either an absurd level of fanatical devotion or an extreme lack of both competence and common sense.”
“He would have been a better leader than his brother,” Rakhaz insists. “If it weren’t for his wives, Dushkul would be nothing.”
“I think I’m going to need to have a talk with Gargak myself,” I say. “Why don’t you show us where he is? Take us to his camp so we can have a little chat.”
“You’re using me as a hostage?” Rakhaz says with a grunt.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I say. “Not unless you do something stupid like turn into a werewolf and attack us or summon several dremora to attack us or just plain grab an axe and attack us if you’re not feeling especially fanciful.”
“I’m not a werewolf and I don’t know any magic,” Rakhaz says.
“We’ve run into several people who weren’t supposed to know any magic who did,” Eran comments.
“It is difficult to tell who is a spellcaster unless they are actively casting a spell,” Merry says.
Rakhaz sighs. “Whatever. I’ll show you the way, although it’s not hard to find. He’s based out of the old Imperial fort to the north. The one overlooking the road to Marbruk.”
I gesture to Merry, who eases up on the confinement spell to allow Rakhaz to move again. She leads us out of the stronghold, and we exit through the break in the walls.
The bandit camp is located around the base of a half-ruined tower, amid some other ruined stone buildings that provide a bit of cover but not enough to be really much of a fort any longer. When the bandits see Rakhaz and recognize her, they hold off and let us pass. Rakhaz is quick to try to get behind probably-Gargak once we reach the tower, but Merry doesn’t let her move that fast.
“Gargak?” I ask. “I’m interested in talking and also not interested in seeing how many more of your fighters I can kill today.”
Gargak is surprised that we even came to talk, and tells us a little story about how he fought his brother for leadership with a faulty sword that had poison on its hilt and broke when he tried to use it.
“I take it women are not allowed to be chiefs?” I ask. “If they could, they wouldn’t have found this whole runaround necessary.”
“Not generally, no,” Gargak says. “It’s usually one of the sons or brothers of the last chief.”
“And no one thought this was suspicious?” I ask. “Seriously?”
“No, they thought it was the will of Mauloch,” Gargak says.
I put my face in my palm. “Okay. Well. That explains your frustration, but not the rest of your scheme. Was there some purpose to convincing people who are either suicidal or incompetent to hurl themselves at the stronghold? Couldn’t you have just started your own clan for all that trouble?”
“I suppose I could,” Gargak says. “But Barkbite’s wealth and strength comes of their tin mine. Without a good mine, we’d be nothing.”
“But… there’s one right over there,” I point.
“What, that old Imperial mine?” Gargak asks. “My scouts told me it was infested with trolls. That would take some doing to clear out.”
“Surely that still would have been more productive than flinging them at the stronghold’s walls,” I say. “They’re just trolls. They’re tough but predictable. And in any case, that’s a moot point seeing as we cleared it out this morning on the way by.”
Gargak stares at me, and glances to my companions. “You did?”
“And here I thought clearing out that mine was a pointless diversion,” Merry mutters, tugging at a sleeve. “And I need to fix my robes now.”
“Release Rakhaz and I’ll tell my warriors to stand down,” Gargak says. “I want an ore sample from that mine. And to make sure the trolls are really gone.”
I nod to Merry, and he dispels his magic, although I stay alert in case I need to deal out some bloodshed if these people decide to be stupid. There seems to be no hard feelings, though, but Gargak insists on us going first into the old mine. I don’t really blame him on that, either. The dead trolls are still exactly where we left them, though, aside from some scavengers having cautiously moved in, attracted by the smell of fresh blood and burnt flesh.
“You were certainly… thorough,” Gargak comments, his eyes scanning out handiwork.
Rakhaz gets an ore sample and determines that they’re going to have the best weapons in Grahtwood. Of course, they need to build a forge first and acquire some competent people to handle it. These people would probably be better at stacking stones than holding blades.
“I’ll have my people claim this mine and we can get started on setting things up immediately,” Gargak says. “We’re in a good position here, with better access to Marbruk and Redfur than from the old stronghold. Once we get things rolling, we’ll be able to open up trade with them.”
“You’re going to turn these bandits into miners and merchants?” I ask.
Gargak shrugs. “I’m sure they’ll be glad for the change.”
“And you want to make them into a clan?” I go on. “I saw a lot of them are Orcs, but there were humans and other mer in there too.”
“I won’t hold it against them,” Gargak says with a grin.
“I’d congratulate you on being less racist than your kin if you hadn’t been primarily throwing the humans and mer at your kin to be slaughtered,” I say.
Gargak doesn’t know what to say to that.
“So,” I continue. “I’ll just wish you luck and drop by in the future to see how you’re doing. It would be unfortunate if you immediately returned to banditry over this lovely open stretch of road.”
Gargak looks at a troll I’d left in five pieces and says, “Noted.”
Now that everyone is good friends, I go back and take a look around the ruins to see if there’s anything interesting. The (hopefully former) bandits are nervous of me and stay out of my way, and make no comments on me taking a book they had laying around titled A Werewolf’s Confession. Sounds lurid.
I climb to the top (or as far as I can, anyway) of the ruined tower just to see if there’s a Skyshard up there. There isn’t. I then hop down to a broken wall and from there to the ground, startling a few bandits and making Eran sigh and put his face in his palm.
“Come on,” Eran says. “Let’s get back to Barkbite Stronghold and let them know they’re hopefully not going to have anymore problems with these people. You kind of didn’t even bother telling the hearth-wife about your suspicions about Rakhaz before we ran off, although I’m sure everyone saw us interrogate her and take her hostage.”
“Right, let’s do that,” I say.