2019.02.28 Judoc's Plan

Judoc's Plan
The pack questing to learn of the history of the Fianna meet the Hounds of the Antlered One and learn of their plight. Continued from 2019.02.20: Surviving the Fimbulwinter
IC Date	IC time by this point is very fuzzy and ... nobody really knows what the IC date might be in the Umbra, exactly.
Players	Lleutrim, Aleksandr, Frost, Dragomir, Ryla, and Waziyata (ST)
Location	The Legendary Realm
Spheres	Gaian Garou

Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous

In the wake of the skirmish with the Ganbataari horse archers, the Hounds encampment is a chaos of shouting, wails, and people rushing to resume their earlier work of packing up camp. Many of the warriors remain on the outskirts of the group, watching the snowy plains, hands lifted to squint after the retreating horsemen. A few work hurriedly to tend their wounded.

A few hale, healthy men and women are amongst the greater mass of refugees, trying and failing to establish order - one of them is Judoc, his spear lost or abandoned somewhere, arguing with an older, graying man with a sword at his hip.

Twilight's Glimmer has been checking out the place and when the others come back she goes around to their group and reports to Battle Singer. >> Things strange here. Too many injured, older, frail, young. Less warriors capable of fighting. << She adds >> They were very scared. Reacted like bigger threat than it was. Something is not right here. <<

The bloodied Fianna shifts from the Hispo dire wolf form up to Glabro. Lleutrim has spotted the Righ and heads for him, "Judoc!" The gash in his face and mouth made by the axe is closing and healing though still livid and will soon fade. As he strides up the older grey haired man is studied. Lleutrim then stops to wait to be acknowledged rather than interrupt what he presumes is likely an elder.

Twilight's Glimmer got a nod from Lleu, "Understood. Give me a moment and I will try to find out more about what has been happening."

Frost steps out from where she was with the rest of the kin, her gun-turned-crossbow in one hand. She puts it down when she nears one of the injured, stopping to help with tending wounds.

Eye of the Storm transforms into a horrifying silvery white wolf.

This is not where Eye of the Storm shines. He is a Warrior - a destroyer. This is new moon work, and he knows that - that his rage alone will only further cause problems here. The Silvery White Dire Wolf makes his way up to the highest vantage point he can to remain as look out and settles back onto his haunches and waits and watches - for what he expects will be a larger force next time.

Twilight's Glimmer follows up next to Lleutrim, shifting to homid herself. Far less threatening and easier to fit in as her clothes have transformed as well to the time period. Ryla has questions. Lots of them. First, time to find out more information and watch and listen as Lleutrim speaks first.

Waziyata drops back down to her breed form, initially, following after the others as they move back to the camp. As they near and the others move into homid form, she instead adopts the guise of a large, strong wolfhound, slinking along after the others. Eye of the Storm gets a curious look as the other wolf moves off to resume his vantage point, but the Ahroun doesn't question it. She even chuffs softly as if in agreement to his actions. But she moves with the remainder of the group towards Judoc and the older man.

Judoc, for his part, is in the middle of growling at the older man: "-let me go back and kill that bastard, we wouldn't have this problem!"

The older man is merely frowning back at Judoc, as the chaos of the camp swirls about the two and the approaching Garou. Now that they are closer, the subtle signs in his stance of high rank are present; the man bears scars visible just under the edges of his hide vest and trousers, a bearing of command, a hard expression for the young man growling at him.

"This is not the time, Judoc." The words are firm, the old man frowning as he stares intently back at the younger, expectant.

After a few tense moments, the stare down ends with Judoc snarling and dropping his gaze to one side, fists clenched. Judoc turns away then, starting into the crowd, Lleutrim and Ryla given a simple nod as the older looks to them.

"You're the pack who howled a warning," the older man greets the two homids and the 'dog', his gaze focusing expectantly on them. You've earned my thanks. I'm Righ Cunobelinus."

When Frost approaches the wounded, she sees several victims of the recent archery attack - a strong man with an arrow in his arm, a feeble woman, laying in a wagon with a bleeding head wound, and a young boy clutching a badly broken arm. Others are being led to the same general location, while a group stands nearby, watching or waiting to assist a middle-aged woman as she clucks over the strong man's arm, "We'll need to push the shaft through, Morcant."

She glances to Frost as the woman nears, "What is it, lass?"

This IS where Aleksandr shines. Switching back to his homid form like the others, off tending to all the wounded in a mundane way. He takes off his pack and digs for the medicines he makes himself, judging the worst wounded and tending to them first. He’s rather adept at such things. He’s nearby, maybe listening, maybe not depending on who needs to most care, but it seems more important to him than the current conversation, even if this is the Legendary Realm.

He’s more concerned with the wounded than the conversation anyway. To these people, his medicine might even seem somewhat advanced, ironically. If stopped, or otherwise intruding he bows his head to the women, like Frost, and asks permission to help.

Frost motions to Alek as he asks if he can help, then points at herself and nods. It's unlikely the woman knows ASL, given where they are, so she doesn't even try it.

Lleutrim inclines his head with respect to the suspected elder, "Righ Cunobelinus, I'm glad we could assist. I am Lleutrim Donnachaidh, Rite named Battle Singer. Foster, Galliard, of the Fianna." A glance after the departing man, "Righ Judoc desires to go after someone who is behind this?" Lleu looks back to the older man, "Will you tell me ... us, what has befallen your people? Who are these riders? Are you refugees pushed from your territory after a great battle to be in such disarray?"

Aleksandr gives a small smile, barely there, perfectly understanding Frost's motions and translates for her.

Ryla bows her head with respect, "I am Ryla Irina Penfield, known as Twilight's Glimmer, born on two legs at the time of the new moon, Cliath of the Silver Fangs." She hesitates at first as there are already so many questions, but one just pops out. "Righ Cunobelinus, why are you so few of warriors? There are so many to be healed and protected here, what has happened?" She means absolutely no disrespect, she is concerned for the frail and injured especially with how scared they were during the fight.

Eye of the Storm remains high on the perch, watching over the camp protectively and quietly. Silvery white ears perked and eyes attentive and alert for threats. Now he must trust in the pack.

Another, younger herb woman quizzed Aleksandr on a few basic items. Although his knowledge may be superior, she dismissed some of his ideas as obviously false and then put him to work under loose supervision, helping to tend more immediate wounds in need of bandaging or bones in need of setting.

Aleksandr has just been set to tend the boy with the broken arm when Frost begins miming her question. The middle-aged woman frowns at the younger and asks bluntly, "What are you, dumb? I can't help that now, girl, ask-" It's then that Aleksandr's translation is offered and she glances between the two, bemused. Then she's nodding to a nearby wagon, "Run and fetch a strip from Drustan's wagon." Then she's turning back to Morcant, who sits with grit teeth, face pale and scrunched into a grimace of pain.

Waziyata chuffs softly, offering a simple introduction of her own after the two homids. It is even briefer than normal: <<Puddle Jumper. Ahroun. Twister.>> She doesn't bother voicing a long list of questions of her own, instead shifting her weight and circling the other two, attention moving partly away from the conversation to look over the nearby activity of people hurrying to load carts and sleds and packs, hitching oxen, or otherwise continuing their preparations to leave.

Cunobelinus's expression hardens to a scowl at Lleutrim's first question, his reply swift and tone sharp, "My son will not be Righ before his time, whatever he might think."

The old man shifts his weight slightly, scowl shifting past Lleutrim to the direction the younger man disappeared. Then, his attention refocuses at the questions, scowl lingering, "You'll forgive me, but this isn't the time to answer a great lot of questions. I've got a great many folk to move before sundown and further raids to prepare for. If you're offering, I've got work I can put strong hands to. If it's my hospitality you're after, I will grant three days', what little we've got to spare."

"Thank you. Your hospitality is welcome and we shall accept - if we linger with you that long, Righ Cunobelinus. I shall not detain you further then." Lleutrim glances at Ryla and subtly motions her to come with him. Battle Singer moves off into the crowd in the general direction Judoc went and says to her, "Let us fine Judoc if we can. Perhaps he'll answer our questions and if not, we'll find another. Even if I have to corner them so they can't escape until they /do/."

Even as Eye of the Storm begins to think that all is well, the warriors of the camp remaining on high alert for the return of their foes, he'll catch sight of a pair of younger lads having a vehement argument on the edge of the camp. Rather than facing out toward the snowy fields, they have their shoulders turned to it, glares focused on one another, voices distant through the noise and chaos of the late morning rush to pack and move the camp.

One of the youths even has his spear laying in the snow at his feet, forgotten to the side as he shakes a fist at the other.

Eye of the Storm continues to watch, not only the area around - but also those that are sworn to duty to guard the sick and wounded survivors. When his gaze catches sight of something that annoys him, he shifts back up to two-legged stance and reaches into the air. Crystalline Javelin summoned, and goes soaring right over everyone's head about 100' away to smack right between the younger lads with a loud thud and a flash of light. It's one of those really vivid non-verbal warnings - like next time you die, argument over. It seems no one on guard duty is getting to relax while Eye of the Storm watches over them.

Silvery White Wolf transforms into a normal looking human man.

Frost gives the woman a funny look, very briefly, as she's put on gopher duty, but there's very little hesitation before she moves off to start getting the things the woman requested.

Aleksandr doesn’t seem to mind the derision to his techniques, he still employs them, and his medicines if allowed, otherwise he sticks to the basics. He seems content to simply help the sick and the wounded. Though his gaze flickers back to the old woman. “She is mute. She was injured in an attack when she was young. I translate for her. She is not dumb. Far from it, in fact. She is quite wise and talented.” Then he turns back to help the next wounded after one is patched, eyes flickering here and there as actions or words present themselves. Including watching Frost in case she wants something else translated. He does so, in that case.

Ryla hmmms, listening and watching for facial cues from Cunobelinus. She does not know who he is but he seems to be in charge. She just bows her head and give her thanks for the hospitality, and when Lleutrim then gestures for them to move, she follows with him to find Judoc. "That hit a nerve with him. He is very stressed, I feel they all are. They need help here. Whatever is behind these attacks needs to stop. Perhaps if we did find Judoc we could get a better picture, as you suggest."

The crystalline spear slams into the ground with that flash of silver light and the two young men jump back, the one with the raised fist tripping and falling on his ass with a wordless scream heard by much of the camp. It gets the attention of quite a few, a moment's hush sweeping over the camp as many heads turn to see what has happened.

Then, Dragomir is spotted and there are a few laughs - some more nervous than others, and an elderly man limps toward the two with the help of a walking staff. From the change in their demeanor, the old man is someone respected enough to have them looking shamefaced and grabbing their spears back up.

"Aye," the healer woman answers Aleksandr blandly, in the tone one might use with a child or a simpleton, "Dumb, mute, s'all the same. She your sister or wife?"

Morcant gives a low groan and she hushes him sternly, "None'a that, now, boy. We'll have you right as rain soon enough, and back out to shake a spear at them Ganbataari." He's only a few years younger than her, if they aren't the same age, but he quiets with a sullen, pained grimace.

Waziyata follows after the two at Lleutrim's signal, giving a brief wag of her tail and padding along easily. Her ears perk up at the conversation between them. Without waiting for the request, she dips her nose lower to the ground and turns, angling through the crowd with a chuffed: <<He is this way. I do not like this place. Stinks. Death and fear and sad.>>

Assuming the two follow their 'dog', Waziyata leads them past an overloaded sled being dragged by a team of oxen and a gaggle of children being herded by three old women, to find Judoc, spear in hand.

He stands near the edge of the camp, another, taller young man beside him with a bow in hand and an iron axe on his hip. At the sound of their approach, the two men glance at the visitors, both frowning before Judoc offers a fierce grin, "Ah, the Fianna. I see you're a real man after all!"

Ryla will remain next to Lleutrim, following WaziDog, as they meet up with Judoc. Lleutrim knows what she would ask of them now, as she will study their body language and facial movements this time.

A nod to what Ryla says, "I agree. We should not press him at once but I /definitely/ wish to speak with him further. His name tickles my mind as someone I've heard of before - someone of note to us, even from so very long ago." Lleu quiets and follows Wazi, faintly smiling at her 'dog' antics among so many Garou. Amusement is in his grey eyes and then they come up to he whom Lleutrim wished to speak.

"Thank you, Wazi." His face is probably healed by now, the beard covering even any scar that might linger. "Judoc. Tell us why there are so few able bodied warriors among you. You are refugees fleeing a great battle? Who are these riders and who leads them?" Direct and right to the point.

Frost brings the healer woman the items she asked for, just in time for the question to go to Aleksandr. Frost's expression grows amused, and she stands there waiting to pass the things over as they're needed.

Judoc's frown returns at Lleutrim's questions before he spits to the side, "Ganbataari," he answers in a growl, "Eastmen who came and burned our homes, killed our warriors, and took our women for their Wyrm Gods when the Fimbulwinter came. They'll be coming for your lands soon, if we don't put an end to it here. But my father's too afraid to stand and fight."

Beside him, the other young man shifts his weight, shying back a bit from Judoc with a furtive glance to the camp at the words. But he remains at the man's side.

Aleksandr’s English sometimes fails him, or perhaps his human language, but he nods at what the old woman says about Frost. Dumb, clearly, means something different to him, and he’s not aware of the double meaning. He accepts it though, even if he doesn’t prefer the tone, raising a brow at the woman. A glance at Frost at the question, another small smile and then back. “She is neither, by your standards, I think. The wolf does not recognize the last term. Though she is closer to it.” Somewhat coy about the answer, for some reason. Then he is back to tending the injured.

Still in his towering Glabro form rather than homid, Battle Singer scowls as he listens. "How was it that these riders defeated your warriors when they were first at their full strength? The few who came against you just now didn't seem nearly strong enough to decimate your numbers and force you from your homes." Lleu takes a moment to look over the camp, "How many were there? If you could not defeat them then, now when you are weaker and in disarray, it will be even more difficult. Do you go to allies?"

A hand he raises to rub at the last itchiness of healing flesh along his jaw and mouth, "What is it your father has in mind to do, and what would you do if you were able? You mentioned going to confront someone particular?"

The healing woman nods as Frost returns with the supplies, taking slipping a strip of leather out to hold up to the big man. He bites down with another grimace, before she is all business with a glance to Aleksandr and a nod at his coyness, "Your woman, then. Well, come and help to hold Morcant still. I'll have to push the arrow through before it can be removed."

Judoc scowls at the litany of questions from Lleutrim, now turning his gaze away from the man to glance over the snowy plains, then looking back with a growl, "You've got a damn lot of questions, Battle Singer. It's the Nergüi that we need to kill to end this. One of the Eastern riders we captured swears he used some dark rite to hide his own name from the spirits and steal their power in the heart of the Midnight Lands. Now he's lead the Ganbataari horde up to kill us."

Frost makes a sound, it's a little one, but it's there; a snort. It appears that she's laughing, her shoulders moving as she does, ducking her head a little as she hands over the strap. She stifles it quickly, given the scene, but she smiles and shakes her head a little at Aleksandr the look in her eyes affectionate.

Lleutrim twists his mouth and glances at Ryla and Wazi, then back to Judoc and his associate, "I have a lot of questions because if you want our help, we need information. What else can you tell us about this Nergüi? What sort of powers does he control? Is that his name or his title?"

The man shakes his head to Lleutrim's questions, still scowling as he answers, "It's the only name we have for him, but the Druids can't put it to any use, and if I knew his powers I'd have slain him already. None of the packs we sent to end the threat returned alive, and the coward only faces us in battle with his horde of ten thousand horsemen. If you want to help me, you can help convince my Father that we don't know enough to run like cowards in the night. Not without at least knowing who the bastard is."

Aleksandr shrugs slightly at the woman, glances at Frost and then nods, as if finding this definition good enough, if he’s still not satisfied with it. He will take it. He moves from the man he is working on, finishing bandaging and rises to help her hold him. “I have something that will dull the pain once you are done, if you would like, and something to clean and sterilize the wound, as well help it heal faster.” Yes, maybe she thinks it’s sorcery, but well, that works too.

The Galliard eyes Judoc, "What exactly do you have in mind? Convince /me/ you have a viable plan before I go to speak with your father." Lleutrim challenges the son. "If I think your plan has merit, then perhaps I will convince him."

Judoc snorts derisively to the Galliard, shaking his head and turning away from the man to look over the plain again, "You make too many demands, stranger. Why don't you convince -me- it's worth my time to tell you my troubles? None of this is any problem of yours, and the pains of the Hounds aren't for your amusement. Speak to my father or not, it won't matter. He'll hear me before the end."

Back in the camp, the healer woman smirks a little as Frost goes into her silent giggling fit, glancing between her and Aleksandr before moving to Morcant's side. Her stern, no-nonsense demeanor returns and she only nods briskly to Aleksandr's offer, "Yes, we'll discuss in a moment. Now, on three hold him still. Bite down, Morcant, and try not to thrash about too much. These Ganbataari arrows are nasty work."

That said, she takes hold of the shaft in both hands, leaning her hip against the man's arm to brace him or herself, and mutters, "One... Two... Three!"

She shoves with her weight and forces the arrow through the meat of the large man's arm. Morcant, for his part, bellows through the strip of leather, straining against the pain, instinctively moving to twist away before remembering to steel himself. Hopefully Aleksandr and Frost have a good hold on him.

Waziyata stands silently, watching the exchange between the two men seriously, with a slowly drooping tail and ears. After a time, she chuffs at Lleu: <<Can we show help, to make friends?>>

Frost hangs on, and since she's not going to beat the guy in a strength contest, she simply uses her weight to help herself out. She digs her heels in and sits, doing her best to keep the guy still while the healer does her work.

Lleutrim smirks in turn at Judoc, "Are you so young and full of pride that you do not want our help? You have no idea what we may bring to the table yet you would cast it away without even bothering to tell me what you plan? How can I possibly argue on your behalf to your father if I have no idea what you have in mind to try? I would think you'd be eager to win allies to your side if you think to challenge your father, Judoc." Lleutrim says, trying to persuade the other. He looks to Wazi, then back, "What would you have us do to convince you -and perhaps your father also, to take our offer of help seriously?"

One side each doesn’t seem to hard, and Aleksandr is rather used to this, he did a lot of it with kinfolk back home when his father did the healing. Taught him to heal. He has a pretty good grip on the man and he knows just how to hold him still. He doesn’t mention anything, or object, even if cutting the arrow out a little more nicely might be better. He’s performed pseudo surgery before, too. He mostly studies the man’s wound once the arrow is out, with interest. Perhaps, deciding on stitches and the like.

Morcant is strong, burly, heavy, and groaning loudly through the strip of leather. But between the three of them and his own desire to be a good patient, it isn't too great a task to keep him still long enough to push the arrow through. Afterward, he sags, panting, trembling, sweating in the cold with the experience. Fresh blood trickles down his wounded arm as the arrow's head is revealed, a cruel, wickedly triple-barbed device designed to catch and hold and rip as much flesh as possible.

Once the arrow's head is free, the healer woman draws a knife from her belt and says, "Right, then. Not much more to go, lad. You're almost through the worst of it."

She holds to the arrow shaft with one hand, beginning to carefully saw at the base of the head with the other.

Ryla has been quietly watch, learning, paying attention to the two men. She can feel the tension growing here. "With all due respect, Judoc, and Battle Singer, can I say something?" She can see how this talk so far is not going the way that either of them planned. Time for a New Moon perhaps? "Judoc, we have come a long way with a group of different Moons with different talents. We would like to honor you and your father and the whole camp here by offering our assistance. We are fresh bodies, with a lot of knowledge and experience. What I believe Battle Singer'rhya is trying to get across here is not that we wish to take over, but be a bridge to help you and your father come to an agreement and help you all to protect your wounded and kin, and end this threat to you all. We just need more information to be able to offer alternatives and suggestions from our new perspective, if you all allow. I can see you are all tired and stressed, and your people are scared. Please consider our offer."

Waziyata wags her tail as both Lleu and Ryla turn on the charm and switch tactics from the blunt interrogation. She doesn't bark and complete the lassie moment, but she does move forward a half step, letting her fur brush against both of their legs.

The man beside Judoc glances over to him with a grimace, before raising his brow meaningfully. Judoc scowls at him in return, before shaking his head and turning to look at the strangers once more. He eyes them a long moment, before sighing and nodding once, "Fine," he agrees, tone a bit more resigned, "But let me start at the beginning this time, instead of choking me with a great bunch of questions all at once." His tone firms a little at that. Then he licks his lips, glances to the snowy plain again, and continues, "Nergüi is probably a title. Like I said, the bastard threw his name away or hid it somehow, so the Spirits lost their power over him. None of our Gifts can touch him. Fetishes don't work right, or break when wielded against him, the poor things. And for every one of us, he's got a dozen Ganbataari killers. My father thinks if we go far enough into the west, they'll be done with us and settle peaceably in our old lands. Or if they don't, we'll be able to gather the heroes of other lands to stand against him with us. I think we'll be run down like dogs before much longer. I'm going to find the bastard and learn what gives him his power, destroy it or him if I can, send word back if I can't, and stall him if naught else."

His companion speaks up then, adding reservedly, "He'd love a better plan, Judoc would, if any of us had one."

Aleksandr is preoccupied with the healing and such, and too far away to keep up with the conversation going on about Nergüi and the rest. He’d probably be interested, but someone can catch him up, and it is Lleutrim’s quest, so he does not seem worried. Instead, he waits until the woman cuts the arrow head off and takes the arrow out. Then he pulls out some cloth from his bag, and looks at the man, setting the cloth aside for a moment. He lifts something out in leather skin, and then a few more things, that might be small clay jars. Including thread of some form and a needle. He looks to the woman. “May I?” He is being polite, rather than demanding as he thread the thread through the needle.

Judoc gets a nod from the Galliard. Lleu /would/ like to hear the story and has been trying to get it so he's happy to be patient and listen from the beginning. No interruptions. He does share a glance with Ryla ere he looks back to Judoc. "I see. I dare say I don't think they care about your lands. If they are driven by the Wyrm's backing, they'll be out to destroy your people utterly. How would you find him without first running into his many riders?" Battle Singer thins his mouth as he thinks upon the problem. "I can't say that I have a better plan myself, right off. I will confer with my companions for ideas they may have, then I shall go and speak with your father, Judoc. Perhaps together we can come up with something before you leave - if you can give us at least until the morning for we'll need a little time to discuss."

Aye, Dragomir and Aleks both must be consulted. Yet Lleu looks to Ryla and Wazi to see if either of them have any further input ere they regroup.

Ryla nods. "I believe you are right Judoc. It sounds like they are sending wave after wave to wear your people down, and breed fear and worry. The more you all move, the more danger you are in as your supplies deplete and your people tire further. Moving the wounded extends their time to heal. We have healers with us that can help. Above all, I think we need go in and get information. Preferably with you with us. If not you, then someone else you trust. Your father and those here can help fortify the camp and protect them. If you move, the same thing will happen. They want to destroy you, and will not stop."

"Until the morning," Judoc agrees with a nod in response to Lleutrim. His gaze moves back to the snowy plains then, though he pauses and glances to Ryla when she speaks, giving a single nod to her as well, "Aye."

His companion frowns, glancing between the three, but he doesn't speak up. Instead, he moves his bow from one hand to the other and breathes a quiet sigh, nodding to the strangers and looking back toward the plain, too.

The medicine woman finishes her work on the arrow efficiently, before holding a stained cloth against Morcant's arm. She glances to Aleksandr at his offer, eyeing his medicinal kit and tools a moment before pursing her lips. She glances past him to the boy with the set and treated arm, then to the wounded woman and several others being tended nearby. Then she gives a single nod, "Aye, I'll leave you to finish this one. Seems like you know a thing or two, and there's plenty more for me to see done."

"Thank you, Judoc. We will do all that we may to help you and your people. I give you my word upon it." Lleutrim gives Judoc and his associate a nod and turns to Ryla. He offers her a hint of a smile for her support and questions. A light, brief touch to her arm with his silent gratitude ere Lleu turns to walk back and find where Aleksandr and Frost got off to.

Ryla touches Wazi's shoulder after Lleutrim turns to leave and she follows him. They need to regroup and talk over all that they learned here. She has a slight upturn of one side of her mouth, proud that she could assist a bit in something this important. She has more ideas for their plans, and does hope that they can share and come up with a smart plan together for this problem.

Waziyata wags her tail again at the touch from Ryla, sniffing briefly at the woman's hand before turning and following after the two homids.

It isn't long after the conversation wraps that the camp is finally on the move. Aleksandr gets to do his work of healing in the back of a slowly trundling cart. The Hounds travel several hours, stopping shortly before nightfall to set up once again for the night, simple tents and lean-tos reassembled, bedding laid down in carts and wagons or upon the ground, and dozens of cook fires built up with wood from the nearby forest.