skirts through the library

The smell inside the library stirs up old memories inside Dorge but he can't seem to place them. It also stirs up a bit of a smile but it's gone just as quickly. There's a member of the staff arguing with a centaur in the main entrance taking up a lot of room, making avoiding the whole situation near impossible.
"Sir. Sir," the librarian says.
"Listen," the centaur replies, "I'm only half horse, lady. I'm not going to shit all over your floor. You're not even the librarian!"
So, scratch that.
"You're too big for the aisles! If you would just wait here I will get whatever you need. We also have a correspondence program you can sign up for," not-the-librarian says.
Dorge grips the hilt of his dagger and holds his breath, an old habit he relies on when he passes by anyone too closely, and prepares to slide past whatever is going on here.
Irritably he thinks centaurs are dumb, but immediately feels bad about it and and amends his thought to this centaur is dumb. Which leads him to think, as soon as he's successfully made it past the two verbal combatants why is that centaur in the library? But he shrugs and shakes the question off, taking in a deep breath, free of whatever musk the heated debate between those two was generating.
He was here to see a Gainslee about the undead job. Please, please, don't let not-the-librarian be Gainslee. If that were the case Dorge would just do the Charm the Wailing Spirit post he had tucked into his belt.
Dorge didn't exactly know where to go but feels strange just meandering about, so he heads into a random aisle and starts running his finger down the spines of books like he's looking for something. Maybe he can check his wisdom stat after this and see if it went up a notch, maybe there's more to this warrior after all...mayb-wait, is that hot elf girl checking him out? Don't look, don't look. He reaches up to adjust his glasses in an effort to look more studious, then remembers he doesn't wear glasses here. So he smooths the move over by reaching for a book and pulling it down from the shelf instead. Flipping through it back and forth until he "finds" what he's looking for, but he's concentrating more on making the proper Ah! Of Course! face than actually reading.
That's when the hot elf girl falls right into his trap.
"Excuse me?" she says, approaching him tentatively.
Ignore, ignore, ignore, "Hm? Oh, yes?"Dorge says.
"You can read Abyssal?"
Fuck. Motherfuck.
Dorge sighs and snaps the book shut, "Well, that makes a little more sense," he chuckles and slides the book back into place. Why the hell would the Abyssal section be on the first floor. He probably would have gone mad if he'd actually tried to read it.
"I'm sorry to bother you, please don't be embarrassed. I was only hoping, er...wondering if you could because of the job I'm on. Understanding that writing would have been helpful," she says.
"Well, I'm just a little turned around in here, sorry," Dorge says.
"Oh, maybe I can help. I come here all the time! My name's Pynah. What are you looking for? Are you on a quest?"
Dorge takes a step back, "Uh, no, not yet, anyways. I think I'm ok, thanks, I'll find him."
Deflated, Pynah says, "I see, well it was nice to meet you?"
"Dorge," Dorge says, "with a 'D'."
"'Dorge Wethahdee', is that southern?"
"What? No, no-"
Pynah snickers, "I'm just fucking with you, Dorge, see ya around."
What the hell.
"Hey, Pynah...do you know Gainslee?" Dorge asks, his palms up.
"Thought you'd never ask, Dorge Wethahdee," she says and gestures for him to follow.

***

Pynah skirts through the library, deftly maneuvering through the stacks and the creatures, nearly losing Dorge twice, but smiling when she has to turn and look for him. He took her for a cleric but he was just being racist. Clerics don't move like that. Or was he now just being class-ist? In any case he figures she knew damn good and well he was lost in this place, and clocked him for a warrior straight away. She could be leading him to a trap, in fact the whole thing could be a setup starting with the job posting. Goddamnit, Dorge, you're going to have to put a few more points in the Intelligence column.
Eventually Dorge catches up enough to walk more or less beside her as she leads him into a huge, sunlit chamber. Sunlit on a sunny day, that is. Today was mostly gray and the shadows in the room smoothed into each other and cast doubt. In the center of the room were several tables all parallel to one another with a surprising cast of races and classes assorted at each. Was the Gap shooting a commercial here? Then Dorge caught on: these were all different adventuring parties. Of course there would be a bunch of groups here, the taverns in a town like this would be too dangerous for a bunch of noobs to start out in.
Pynah leads Dorge to a table stacked with tomes and littered with maps, an older human man hunched over scribbling notes onto some yellowed parchment, muttering to himself.
"Ah," Dorge beings, "you must be-"
"Vess, have you seen Gainslee?" Pynah interjects.
Vess grumbles and straightens, his back audibly popping, and scatters some sand over the notes he'd just taken, licking the ink off the end of his quill, "Not today, Py."
"This is Dorge," Pynah gestures.
"Warrior, after the undead quest, got it," Vess flicks his hand, dismissively.
Dorge squints, "Anything else, pops?"
The man leans back over his notes, dipping the quill into the ink pot, "Level thirty-four or so, by the look of you. Oh, and completely broke." Vess's eyes flick to Pynah, "Or will be."

Standing outside the library in the misty rain, Dorge turns back to Pynah, "So that's it? What was that about?"
Pynah shrugs and pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear, "Gainslee's not always in there, just usually is. I wouldn't worry. You'll probably have better luck tomorrow. Well, depending on how many points you've stacked into your Luck attribute," she snickers. "For all I know you'll slip on some stairs tonight and break your neck. Seen it happen before."
Dorge sighs and pinches the rain from the corner of his eyes. This wasn't a story quest anyways, just a job to get some gold and experience. But he still felt like he was missing something. There'd be no real point on doing a Sense Motive on Pynah, she'd be able to see what he was doing and shift. This is what it's like to travel without a party. Fighting Paladins alone and being duped by elves.
Pynah smiles like she had just read the above as plainly as it was written and softens up a notch, "Hey, listen. How about if  I hear anything sooner than tomorrow about Gainslee, I look you up? Where are you staying tonight?"
Dorge shrugs and points, "Probably that stable," he says and flicks water from his hair.
This was not going to be Dorge's day.
"Oh, don't look glum. You've had worse days than this," Pynah winks and turns back into the library.

Local Debauchery

Dorge scans the post board outside the Rusty Rooster and sighs. Nothing about Adver. He didn't know if he'd find him in Largo Largo or not but he didn't have much else to go on. But this town was as shady and elusive as bitcoin, so someone here knew something, of that much Dorge was sure.

He had been planning on sleeping in a bed when he got here, but without the relics to finish the job he hardly had enough coin for that. What he had would be better spent buying drinks and plying whispers. Besides, he had slept well enough in the orc village, and given some food, but that was two days ago now. What he needed to do now was level up and stick a point in his charisma before he started Asking Around. His skills got him by in Banda Cate but this town would be a different story.

Largo Largo was where people went when they didn't want to be found, and where dark deeds were bought and paid for with old money. He would need more than a grin and a wink, for sure. If he had any money he'd hire a bard to sing a song about Adver being an asshole in every tavern and inn here, that might flush him out. But at the moment he'd have a hard time teaching a drunk a limerick about Adver's mother.

Thankfully there didn't seem to be a time constraint on the relic mission but he couldn't guarantee they'd be in prime condition after the orcs handed them back over. Cross that bridge when he gets to it. There would be nothing for it but to take a side quest and hope it would be enough to get him paid and maybe find out some more about the city and perhaps cozy up to the right people. Or, get him killed, as these things sometimes went. He squinted and looked at the posts written in Common first, trying to find something that would need the talents of a warrior.

Quest to Forbidden Mountain? Translation: stabbed to death while listening to old goat herder tell you why the mountain was forbidden. Charm the Wailing Spirit? More like murder this dude's wife in her sleep so that he can wake up and "discover" the horrible  horrible mistake he'd made. But, still, 50 gold? Not bad. Dorge plucks the bill and folds it into his belt, when another post catches his eye, Clear Undead From Graveyard. This could certainly use a warrior class. It was probably some bandits haunting the nearest roadway, not actual undead, which was fine by Dorge. Only 20 gold...probably a community job. Maybe they'd give him the Key to the City or something. But if it is bandits there would be some money hidden somewhere. They will have spent most of it on whores and whatever local debauchery was available, but there was always one keen bandit who liked all that glittered more than much else. Dorge taps the post board with his finger but leaves the billing up. This might not be a solo job, so he would go to the, reading aloud, "...library..." to meet "...Gainslee." for more information.

The library in Largo Largo was dark and brooding and unmovable, as much as those adjectives could be employed to describe a permanent structure smack in the middle of a city. Easily found, and easily avoided, too. Some even crossed themselves before going in, or a simulacrum thereof. The tenants of the tomes preferred it that way, as the notion of the building being haunted did keep the weaker minded riff-raff from coming in from the cold and also the staff did notice a tendency not to steal the books that were lent.

Dorge traipsed up the leaning steps of the ancient building and ducked inside. Now to find this Gainslee.

This New Game

So Adver and this tribe of orcs are besties? And Hunter already knew Dorge's name. Well, that's great.
Dorge squeezes his wounded hand into a fist and focuses on the pain, becomes grounded in it. When he opens his eyes again he takes the box from his lap and sets it on the ground beside him, along with the mead. What is this new game Adver is playing?
Hunter sets his mug down, too, and appraises Dorge, "That let's us know you," nodding to the box. "What is that?"
Dorge shakes his head, "Where is Adver?"
Hunter grunts a half laugh, "Not here. We were looking for him. We find you. You tell us where Adver is."
Dorge leans forward, "What do you mean you were looking for him? Why?"
Hunter shrugs, "He took something from us."
Dorge sighs, "Yeah. Me, too. But you know his name. You exchanged names?  So aren't you friends?"
Hunter frowns, "'Exchanged'? Oh the Naming, you mean. Adver takes something from all friends?"
"Only if he really, really likes you," Dorge mutters.
The circle of orcs surrounding them begins to slowly disband, the stranger having exhausted their interest. They may have been looking for a stronger reaction from the box, and it might come, but now here. So, did Hunter think they now had something Adver might want in exchange for whatever he took from them? That's probably the case but Dorge wasn't going to test that theory out yet. It was probably their super special bowl or favorite stick from the looks of the place, but that was unkind. Dorge was letting the mead do his thinking for him. It was clear he was going to be spending the night here, which was better than another night in the forest, so there's that. He didn't think that lone Paladin would come anywhere near this place, nor any guards from Banda Cate, but stranger things have happened. Then again, if Rolan D'so did show up it'd add a little weight to his story and show he wasn't in cahoots with Adver to rob this village blind of their...whatever.
Dorge tries to stand but can't manage it yet and lands squarely with a thud. Hunter grins and stands himself, reaching a hand down to Dorge, deftly helping him up, "You should walk."
Dorge nods and rolls his neck back and forth, "That's not a bad idea."
Some of the younger orcs try to follow them as they set out but Hunter shoos them off, as they walk among the huts and bigger structures.
"Did you find Adver like you found me, or did he come here?"
"Adver came here. He called in Orcish, very good. He traditions very good."
"'Traditions'?"
Hunter nods and draws a circle in the air, "He knew our ways."
"Your customs."
"Our customs!"
"Is that odd? Strange he knew?"
Hunter smiles wryly, his eyes partly hidden in his tangle of black hair, "Very strange."
Dorge tightens the bandage on his hand absentmindedly and continues to walk. Here was a woman carrying a basket of eggs, there was a group of men playing a game of tiles on a tree stump. All pretty ordinary except the pale plum hue to their skin. "How did Adver know I would come here?"
Hunter shrugs, "He is other. Shaman didn't like him, didn't want him. But chief gave shelter, thought he was," struggles, twirls his fingers in his eyes, "could see?"
Dorge nods, "Yeah. There's a lot of people that think that." Including me, from time to time, Dorge thinks.
They continue to walk, Dorge's head clearing slowly. The orcs that have not yet seen him taking a long, curious look. One woman makes a gesture and spits on the ground and Dorge wonders is she tradition-ed Adver the same way. Finally he stops and turns to Hunter.
"Can I leave?" he asks, plainly.
Hunter's smile becomes a grim line but he nods, "Yes."
Dorge blinks, "Just like that? Now?"
"Yes, but you should sleep soon. You should sleep here. You're in drink."
Dorge nods, "I will. Thank you. I'm sorry, I-"
Hunter stops him, "Right to ask. We have not Named." and begins to turn back, presumably toward where Dorge will sleep tonight. Then stops again and hesitates, but then, "You can leave. But we must keep the relics. We found them, too. Under the white mushroom, like you said."
"But why-"
Hunter shakes his head, "You can have them after you bring Adver. Or what he took. We don't want them here. Dangerous."
Dorge shakes his head to clear it, the relics had been here this whole time. And now he has another side quest to get them back. This is terrific. His breath whistles out between his lips, "Fine. What did Adver take, anyways."
"The chief's stabber, big," Hunter says, expanding his arms to demonstrate the length of the sword, presumably, "had words in Common on the blade."
"Why would an Orcish 'stabber' have Common written on it?"
Hunter furrows his brow, "Not Orcish. Adver gave it to us, as traditions. As customs. He had that and your box. Said you would be here soon. Then," Hunter spreads his palms wide, "he just gone. With the stabber."
Dorge's next words come out measured and thick, "What were the words on the blade?"
Hunter shrugs, quizzical, "Day Ruiner."
Goddamn you, Adver.

Grit and Dirt

Dorge watches the steam ribbon up from his mug and sighs. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when the orcs told him they'd show him the way. Not that he was complaining, the hot mead was going a long way toward working the stiffness out of his arms and legs, doing wonders for his mood, too.
He is sitting on the ground in front of a fire, pretty well dead center of an orc village. He didn't remember seeing it on any maps but some maps were better than others. The best maps weren't strung up behind the bars of taverns. The maps that have any real information on them can usually only be read by candlelight or sword tip.
The orcs sitting around him are making fun of him again, but it feels pretty good-natured. The one that had ran up on him in the forest, Dorge thinks of him as Hunter, keeps making a goofy shocked face that Dorge can only assume is him retelling, over and over, the look on his face when the other three orcs joined the party.
There had been times when if felt like Dorge should tell them his name, and get their's too, but anytime he tried he was waved off. This felt like a we-don't-want-to-know-our-food's-name kind of scenario, but Hunter told him later that names are gifts, and you only give gifts to friends. Well, Dorge thinks that was the gist of it, but he had nodded and shut up.
Now one of the lower-case hunters is putting a blanket around Dorge and clapping his shoulders. He doesn't know if this is a show of hospitality or a reminder of just how fucked he is if things go south, solid chance it's both. His mug is taken and the cooled mead at the bottom is thrown out, the mug refilled. There seems to be some test among them of who can drink it the hottest, but Dorge doesn't want his tongue to be as scorched as his senses.
His companions become quiet and Hunter asks him a question, wanting him to retell how it was he was in that part of the forest, anyways. This might be the third time Dorge has told the story about the Paladin but the circle around the fire keeps getting bigger. They'll probably go dig the elders out of the crypt next to make sure they hear it, too. The thought of this makes Dorge bark out a laugh that he covers with a cough; that damn mead, it's probably the strongest he's ever had. Except maybe that one time with Hadel ren Mayver. That guy probably deserves a footnote somewhere.
Eventually he gets to the part in the story when he unwraps his bandage and shows the wound on his hand, which always gets a few appreciative grunts, but this time one of the women breaks the circle and takes his hand. He can't very well resist, as she thrusts her thumb into his wrist, forcing him to open his palm wide. She strips the dirty wrap from his hand and spits some poultice onto his wound, he might meta-throw-up in his mouth but Dorge the Warrior firms up and takes it. A second woman takes his hand now and wraps a clean white bandage around it expertly then grins and slaps his face. When they move away Dorge sees that the rest of the circle are watching him intently, and seeing the blush of red on his cheek from the slap the surrounding mugs are lifted and an orc "hurrah" ripples through. Dorge isn't so lacking in his Diplomacy skill that he doesn't lift his mug and take a deep drink, too.
Hunter gives everyone a look, smiling, Dorge thinks he says something along the lines of, "See? I told'ja so." in Orcish but can't be sure.
Then Hunter levels his gaze to Dorge and says, "We like your story. We don't believe your story."
To which Dorge opens his mouth to protest, but Hunter waves his hand, "We listen to many stories. Big stories, some. Elders...ver't canlode?"
Dorge squints into the fire, "The elders 'smell my flesh'?" then looks back to Hunter, "The elders think I'm telling the truth?"
Hunter nods but frowns, "Yes. So, we sent boys to find your relics."
At this Hunter tilts his chin and two younger orcs step forward, the shorter of the two carrying a package. He holds the flimsy box out to Dorge and lets it drop into his hands before he can quite get a grip on it. The boys don't like him, or at least the feel the need to show their asses. Some things are true among all races.
In his lap is not the sack full of relics Dorge buried off the Hurry. It's some old rectangular box, warped and faded white. He doesn't know what it is. He sets the mug down and lets his fingers trace down the corners, looking up at Hunter and then the rest. He doesn't know if he's participating in some ritual or being otherwise tested, but he doesn't think so.
Dorge gently pulls the lid from the box, grit and dirt falling away, revealing soft tissue paper, white and red. He bites his lip, forcing the mead fog from his brain. He pulls the tissue paper back and underneath is a tiny shirt and pair of leggings, each sporting a patch of a winking white cat with the words HELLO KITTY underneath. His fingers go numb and his mouth is open, trying to make sense of what he's holding.
He had seen these things before. Only once before, a long time ago. His shoulders ache as the full weight of the darkest part of the Venn diagram bears down on him. "Wh-," he starts, and stops.
She had bought this outfit for his oldest daughter one Christmas. He had been proud of her because it was just a simple gift. It wasn't practical, really, it was just something for the fun of it. And he had thrown it away. He had thrown it out with the rest of the recycling because he'd been too lazy to look in all the boxes to see if there were anything left in them when they were cleaning up. They both had looked for that cute, fun little outfit for a long time before he'd realized what he'd done. She had probably known what he had done long before but kept quiet as a kindness.
And now here it was on his lap, never worn, brand new, still. He looks up, the fire blurred, "This isn't what I buried. This isn't the relics."
Hunter shakes his head, "I know. But still yours? Still important for you?"
Dorge nods, running a finger down the soft material, "Yes."
Hunter nods and drinks from his mug, "Adver said it would be."

Blood Tree

Dorge blinks into the hazy white sky, it's going to rain, he thinks. Scratch that, it is raining, that's what woke him up. He's still in the forest and he's trying to remember why. How long has he been out? His hand begins to throb and he looks down a the makeshift bandage.
"Hrh," he says and starts to stand, cradling his hand. There's a chance this might become infected but he's not worried about that yet. He's worried that his blood-soaked garments might have attracted the more keen predatory creatures of the wood. But if that were the case he's pretty sure it wouldn't have been the rain that gently caressed him to wakefulness.
"Blood-soaked" might be a little strong, he thinks, and changes his profile back to "Wounded". At the very least, the Paladin didn't come crashing through in hot pursuit. Likely he's gone back to Banda Cate with his tail between his legs. Actually, Dorge thinks, maybe I"ll go to Largo Largo with my tail between my legs and leave the relics be for now. Except if it rains any harder it may wash away his markings as to where he left them and then the job would definitely go unfinished.
But he needed to get where he was going fast. As it was he really didn't want to run into a Random Encounter, either. A pack of wolves would really be pushing it just now, hell, a pack of sprites for that matter. Dorge winces, he always hated killing sprites, even if they were lvl 40 magic users, it was like killing little birds. He shakes himself to clear the images from his head and starts pushing through the forest toward, hopefully, the Hurry.
This part of the world was old but not as old as the priests in Banda Cate would want you to believe. That would go against their notion of some ancient authority bestowed upon them. Truth was, Largo Largo was older, but just barely. It was established early on because the dirt around here was very rich and lent itself to the production of wine, renown the world over. This was made easy with the relative proximity of Devils' Bay, last stop south. The river was an option too, but it snaked away from any natural harbors and so it was quicker to use the road. Naturally, the road was where a few bandits would make a name for themselves, too.
Another factor that lead to the relatively quick establishment of Largo Largo were dod berries, an additive used in the wine that gave it a little something different than what you'd find in other selections at the tavern. The two sister cities would use dod berries for their own purposes in their way. That's how the expression "All's at dods" sprung up when the locals would refer to the differences between themselves, separated by not much more than a day or so's ride through a forest.
Dorge spies some now, growing wildly in a thicket. He leans down and pulls a bunch off, squishing a few between his thumb and pointer and smelling them, lastly putting his thumb into his mouth, before sighing and spitting a red black glob onto some dead leaves. He smiles, it would be nice to just lie down for a little while longer, there's no timer on anything, "Ranger. Euclid. Cleve-," there are eyes on him.
He catches his breath before it runs off on him and turns a bit, there hidden, but not hiding, an orc? "G'thash," he tries, and the orc steps closer, holding a crossbow, but not pointing it at him. But not not pointing it at him, either.
"G'thash back at you, but we can Common," the orc says, adjusting the pack he has slung over his back. "You know what those berries?" the orc nods at the thicket.
Dorge nods and smiles, "I know enough to know better."
"Stabber?" the orc asks.
Dorge points at the dagger sheathed in his belt, then holds his wounded hand up and shrugs.
The orc lets his crossbow dip a few degrees more and snorts, "Many?"
Dorge shakes his head, "Just me."
There's a pause and it feels like the orc is satisfied with what he probably already knew, then he swings the crossbow back behind his other shoulder with the leather strap, and in doing so reveals the pack he is carrying is a trussed animal, freshly killed.
Dorge, finally taking more in than just the crossbow, now notices how the orc is dressed. His oily black hair would hang down well below his chin if it wasn't tied up tight against his scalp, twigs and leaves threaded throughout. Some sort of black and green paste smeared over his cheeks and shoulders, hiding the red purple blush of his skin, and two water skins hanging freely from his belt. He was a hunting.
"Why are you away?" the orc asks.
"I'm trying to get to Largo Largo," Dorge sighs, "but a Paladin forced me off the road."
The orc's eyes brightened and Dorge worries he may have said too much. Paladins and orcs certainly don't chitchat in the woods.
"He's gone, I lost him," Dorge assures him. "Can you tell me...am I even going the right direction?"
The orc barks a laugh that surprises them both, and then shows his lower incisors, embarrassed, "No. You say 'Ranger' but not?"
Dorge shakes his head, "No, Ranger was my dog. It helps me remember."
The orc tilts his head, "The dog?"
"No...," Dorge tries to translate, "Helps me remember my Blood Tree."
The orc nods and breaks into a smile, "I thought you looked like a Warrior."
Dorge didn't think he could muster anything more than Scout just now, and looks perplexed, nodding when the orc adds, "Truth?"
"Your arms. And when others come out here...big stabbers. Afraid. Away. You? Just away."
Dorge nods and wishes he only felt "away" but he could stand to do a bit more bluffing. "Can you point me in the direction of Largo Largo?"
The orc nods and smiles, "Yes, we will take you."
Dorge represses the urge to correct his Common when three other orcs slide into view, all holding 'stabbers' and looking what? Hungry? Hopefully that's just how hunting parties look, Dorge thinks, before muttering, "g'thas" under his breath.

Blur in the Dim

Well, that seemed to work ok, Dorge thinks, his heart beating wildly as he squats under a massive tree. Followed by: Good lord, don't let that guy follow me in here.
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, he was barely quieter than the horse, ripping through the forest, and leaving a trail of blood at that. If the Paladin wanted to track him down that would be some bad news. Hopefully his Blood Mage ruse would buy him time enough to douse his tracks in a stream, and get his hand cleaned up. The blood was still pouring pretty freely, but he had known he'd have to cut deep if it were going to work. Right now he just needed to calm down and catch his breath, get rid of the gnats-dizzy.
It had been stupid traveling on the road like that. It had been stupid not to open the bag and look to see what the hell he was sneaking out of Banda Cate. He was getting immersed again, forgetting that there had to be a certain amount of meta-gaming involved. What the hell are you hiding from out there, Dorge?
He pulls a scarf from his sleeve and starts to wrap it around his injured hand. He'll have to clean it better later and try to find some clover to bind it with. Finding clover wouldn't be a problem, he thinks. Finding the damn bag of holy relics he just buried was going to be a different animal. Did he even want to find it at this point? What kind of penalty would there be for just leaving it where it was? Dorge winces and ties the makeshift bandage, pulling the end taut with his teeth. There is the option of returning them. But he took a job, and a job's a job. And laying low in Largo Largo for a spell sounded better than hanging high in Banda Cate.
Dorge sighs and takes a sitting position, "Calm down. Ranger. Euclid. Cleveland. Ok, ok." He waits to hear the birds, when they start chipping again he'll know things are settled down. That Paladin would have to strip off all his armor to do any sneaking around here and that's unlikely. Thinking, he checks his status. Still "Under Contract", which meant his sack hadn't been found and dug up. Well, he hopes that's what it means.
He stands and squares himself. Now he needs to find that stream, if there even is one, just to be safe. He'll go back to find the relics tonight if he can make his way in the dark: again, not a Ranger. Watching his footing, be begins to stalk through the forest, stopping to listen ever so often.
Why would the Paladin be adventuring by himself so far from the city. Dorge thought he was pretty close to the answer earlier: that his party didn't know yet that he wasn't very experienced. But that was only a guess based on how the horse was reacting to its rider, and how easily Dorge had duped him. That only brings about the question as to why Dorge was out here by himself. He was trying to find Adver, but weren't there more in his party? There had to be three at the very least, but this was an elusive thought. The sun was going down making the details of his surroundings blur in the dim. This may have been a boon in a different situation, but the Paladin was a half-elf and had night vision, a definite plus in tracking quarry in the dark. Dorge didn't think he was so good at misdirection that he'd convince anyone he was anything other than human, and humans can't see for shit. Which made him stop and bite his lip, how had he known Rolan D'so was a half-elf? Was he able to spot the telltale signs from that far way? Maybe he was wrong? But he knew he wasn't. There is something itching at the back of his mind but he presses deeper into the forest and wonders how cold it's going to get tonight.

Encroaching Traveler

The muscles in Dorge's legs tense and he grinds his desire to run against any backbone he thinks he has. The Paladin hasn't even unsheathed a weapon, which isn't a good sign. It's a sign he's not going to have to roll a D20 to attack, he can probably snap Dorge's neck as a free-action.
"Do not attempt to flee, cur," Rolan says, his hand arresting.
If Dorge were a Rogue he might be able to lie his way out of this, but that's just not the case. Go for his sword against a mounted, armored combatant? Spells? Cast broke, no spells. This is going to get hairy.
"Who's running?" Dorge bluffs, forcing his shoulders to relax, "I'm just on a quest, you can see my status page."
Rolan smiles, "I'm aware you're on a 'quest', sir. Would you like to see my status page to see what sort of quest I'm on?" Rolan strokes the horse's neck gently.
"None, I'm guessing. Looks to me like you're just veldting."
"'Veldting'?" Rolan asks.
Dorge twirls his fingers, "You know, gaining XP, just leveling up before the Big One, right? Maybe pilfering a few healing potions and dirks along the way?"
Rolan's chin tilts up sharply, "A Paladin does not pilfer."
Dorge would like to see his status page so he could put together what lvl he is. His armor had some dings and scuffs for sure, but it was hard to tell. A noob certainly didn't have a warhorse like that monstrosity snorting hellfire and tromping the ground to mush, but.
Dorge's fingers curl into fists, squaring his shoulders. He wasn't going to be able to lie or run, but he could bluff a few levels. "So what is the big one? There a dragon harassing the countryside? Probably not that big, but I'm close. You're the tank for your team. But where's your team? You're out veldting without them because...," a smile spreads across Dorge's face, "Because they don't know how really weak you are, do they?"
It's hard to read someone's expression from that distance but the Paladin's body language suggested he just took a swallow of something bitter, "I do not need my stalwart companions to handle the likes of you, thief." Now Rolan is reaching for his weapon, a formidable war hammer by the looks of it.
"I take it that means the two other riders weren't really with you, then? NPC's or...? 'Never Split the Party' is like the first thing they teach you and you're out here alone? A tank on the road without even a Cleric? Fine, you know some healing, but you don't have anyone with you that can make a ranged attack?"
The Paladin seems to relax a bit, slowly pulling the hammer free from its harness, "I believe you may be overestimating your abilities." The horse makes a low rolling sound, and shifts its weight. Rolan adjusts his hold on the hammer and takes a fistful of the horses's mane.
Dorge pulls a small knife from his belt and starts to pull the other glove off with his teeth, letting it fall to the ground, "And I believe you may be underestimating them," he says, drawing the knife blade swiftly across his palm. The blood immediately spills down his wrist until he clenches his fist and squeezes out a crimson half-circle in front of him.
"Serpent! What are you playing at?" Rolan yells, his back arching, hammer raising. Before him may be some manner of evil he had sworn to defeat, sworn to protect the realm from. Now is his chance to gain favor with the Holy Order he has dedicated his life to!
Dorge holds his bloody palm outward, the wound pulsing fresh and horrid, "Stay back, Light-Walker! You have scant idea the evil I have wrought! The pact I have made!" All the while inching closer and closer to the horse and its rider, "That's right, I have paid dearly for this blood magic!" Then Dorge begins to chant in some arcane, dark language, indecipherable utterances, guttural and pitched.
Rolan was having a hard time keeping calm, and only slightly aware that his horse was becoming more and more agitated with the encroaching traveler, the rust-smell of blood blossoming in its flared nostrils, "Stay back, Devil! Surrender now and I will smite you in one blow!" the horse nickers, its feet dancing in the mud.
With that Dorge rushes the horse, windmilling one arm while reaching up and grabbing the horses's nose with his blood-soaked hand. The horse's eyes roll white as it neighs violently and rears onto its hind legs, Dorge goes sprawling as a hoof glances his shoulder. The weight of the Paladin pulls the horse back farther than it intended and both go crashing into the dirt until the horse can kick and buck itself upright again, trotting back and forth on the road, flashing its mane from side to side. Rolan wheezes and coughs, the wind knocked out of him, he had thankfully been loosed from the stirrups before the horse could drag him through creation. Dizzy and addled he gropes blindly for his warhammer, knowing the Warrior would be upon him soon, no, the Blood Mage! Give me strength! Rolan implored, getting himself to his knees, his hair drowning his face, his helm having been scattered a few feet away.
Finally his hands seize his weapon and he rights himself onto his feet, spinning into a fighting stance to combat the agent of evil before him!
But Dorge is no where to be found.