Author's Note: Rough and somewhat morally dubious stuff ahead. What can I say, bandit camp isn't summer camp. I also feel obligated to note that a lot of the gory stuff here actually comes straight from the game.
20 - Initiation
"Murder by any other name still feeds our lord." –Amelyssan the Blackhearted, Bhaalite Sermons
The smell of the bandit camp struck the prisoners well before they were led through low-hanging branches and caught sight of the huts. There was the familiar smell of latrine ditches of course, but even stronger was the sharp scent of tannin. Leatherworking seemed to be a primary occupation here, and much of the space between the huts was filled by row upon row of stretched animal hide.
There was another scent as well, pungent and familiar. It was the smell of blood, death and rot. The instant they entered the great clearing the prisoners spied the source of it, above the rows of hide. Splayed and hung between two tall posts was the body of a naked man, his hands and feet nailed to the wood. His skin was red and ragged, stripped away from his flesh either by torture, scavengers or some combination of the two. Four crows perched upon the corpse, pecking away at strips of black-red meat.
Beneath the displayed body sat something just as gruesome: a crude wooden wheelbarrow stained with blood and piled high with raw-red bones and skulls. Ashura guessed that these were the remains of people who had been nailed up until their bodies fell apart between the posts.
"That's what we do with those that try and run," Knott hissed, standing close by the prisoners and pointing. "Flogged with bullwhips till your skin's hanging off like rags, then nailed up there while you're still alive. As a warning. This fellow was still moaning when we left, and by then he'd been up for a good four days."
Garrick was looking very pale, his eyes shifting to anywhere but the display in front of him. Ashura's throat was bone-dry, lips set in a tight line, but she didn't want to give Knott the satisfaction of seeing her flinch or look away. "Doesn't seem very sanitary," she said, as even as she could manage. "Leaving rotting corpses just lying around."
Knott frowned. "Maybe we'll send you around to clean them up," he retorted.
"Fine by me," Ashura replied, turning to meet his gaze. "Somebody has to do the dirty work."
The frown on Knott's face deepened into a scowl and some of his companions chuckled. Safana sighed audibly and gestured for her men and their prisoners to follow, guiding them further into the clearing.
Based on Tranzig's description of how the bandits were always on the move Ashura had expected lots of tents; maybe something resembling a sprawling warcamp. Instead most of the structures seemed like broad-domed huts made of hide stretched over solid wooden flooring. A glance at the foundation of one of these huts gave her the impression that it was made from cannibalized wood from caravan wagons. It seemed like pulling up stakes and moving the camp would be a pain, though there was certainly enough labor available.
The camp bustled with morning activity as humans and hobgoblins pushed crude carts or carried stacks of wood, gear or loot between the buildings. A few gnolls stood tall above the rest of the crowd, fingering weapons and milling about. As the prisoners were marched through there was more and more activity, the bandits giving them lingering looks and murmuring to each other.
At the center of the camp stood a structure that dwarfed the rest: a massive dome of wood and hide six or seven times broader than the other huts and sitting high upon a raised wooden platform. The roughhewn foundation was much wider than the great hut, forming a sort of porch all around where barrels, boxes, chests and other assorted goods were stacked. Above that humanoid skeletons hung, crucified to the upper portion of the dome. Some were sun-bleached, others raw and bloody.
Doubtless that great dome with the gruesome decorations was the home of the Bandit King they had heard so much about; the palace where the ogre held court. For a moment Ashura thought they were being led to its steps, but instead they turned and passed through the flaps of a smaller building nearby. Only Safana followed her prisoners through, gesturing for her men to wait outside.
The ambient light that peeked through cracks in the walls was enough to see by, but Safan lit a glass lantern and hung it up just to make sure. The interior was a haphazard mix of living and storage space, with fur beddings laid out in various clumps between piles of boxes, kegs and unsorted piles of goods that probably came from caravan raids. Clumps of herbs, vegetables and fruits hung in nets from the support poles.
Once the room was well lit Safana turned to her prisoners and asked: "So, will you two behave? Knott can be a bit of an ass but what he said about the punishment for those who flee is true enough."
Ashura shrugged. "We're in the middle of the camp. Doesn't seem like we're going anywhere." Funny. Hadn't this been their destination all along? To find the bandit camp and the next clues about the iron crisis, for the Harpers and the Greycloak. Maybe if he was still alive Xan would find a way to help. And if he was dead she hoped he was watching from whatever outer plane stodgy elves go to when they die, and that he appreciated the effort. Maybe he'd even smile for once, looking down, if Ashura got a chance to get close to Tazok and plunge a blade into his heart.
"Glad you understand," the bandit woman said, brandishing a long dagger and deftly twirling it in her hand. She made a show of letting Ashura know that she was armed and ready before circling around her prisoner and slicing through the bindings; wrists, then ankles. While Ashura rubbed her sore arms free of pins and needles Safana slipped behind Garrick and freed him the same way, stepping back and watching her charges closely for a moment.
Next Safana walked over to a nearby wooden box and pushed the lid off. "Alright," she commanded, a sly grin creeping across her face, "now strip."
Garrick blanched and Ashura scowled and looked down at her boots. "Everything?" she asked.
A knowing chuckle sprung from the Safana's lips. "Everything. Those are magic boots aren't they?"
Ashura's nostrils flared and she glared daggers at the other woman. Alright. Once I've plunged a blade into Tazok's heart I'm burning this entire camp to the ground and TAKING my boots back, she thought as she reluctantly bent down and pulled them off her feet. She shrugged out the rest of her clothing without much thought, eyes fixed on the little pile before her and determined to note where the boots went when Safana put them away.
Garick dithered a bit, especially when he got down to his smallclothes. "I said everything," Safana repeated with a hurry-it-up gesture. "I need to make sure you haven't slipped anything valuable or dangerous past us, and you need to change into the first piece of your new uniform. It's all part of the initiation. Just be glad we're doing this in private."
"I'm sure you say that to all the guys," Garrick quipped, relaxing a bit and peeling away his smallclothes. He wasn't nearly as thin and gangly as Ashura would have thought; lithe and wiry really, if a little slight of build. Silke had always called him 'little Garrick,' and Ashura found herself wondering if it was his build, his attitude or another part of him that was now in clear view which had earned him the nickname. Seems a bit little at least.
Next Safana inspected them, first searching Ashura briefly and then giving Garrick what seemed like a much more thorough examination. By the time she was finished his face was beet-red and he'd grown a bit less worthy of Silke's nickname. Hm. Maybe not that little after all.
When Safana finally turned away and pulled some bundles of cloth out of a nearby basket Garrick looked extremely relieved. They were both given several strips of linen, and when one piece was belted around the waist and the others were tied to it they created an adequate loincloth. They were also handed a pair of woven bark sandals each and Ashura was given an extra cloth to tie across her chest.
"If you go to the mines those sandals and loincloths are the only possessions you'll be permitted," Safana explained. "But if you earn your place with us you'll be given clothes, armor and a cloak to go on top of these smallclothes. Earn our trust and you'll be given a sword and bow as well. Finally comes the best part: a little gold from the spoils, once you've truly proven yourself."
Once again Safana stepped close to Garrick, placing a gentle hand against his chest. "You still look like you're trying to wriggle out of your skin dear," she purred. "I sympathize, but you need to stick your chin up and be ready for anything if you're going to pass this test. And I want you to pass; I think you'll make excellent company."
For his part Garrick maintained his composure and nodded at her slightly, though both women smirked when his loincloth seemed to move a bit on its own. "Thanks, I guess."
"And remember," Ashura put in, "all these guys we've met passed the test. How hard can it be?" She refrained from saying what she really wanted to tell him. 'We've probably killed a dozen of these guys who passed the initiation. How hard can it be?' Best not to bring that up in front of Safana. For some reason the woman had been acting as their advocate so far.
Garrick shot Ashura a look. "How can you be so calm about this?" he asked.
Her response was a shrug.
"What if this test is for us to fight each other to see who's the toughest?" he added, fear and frustration in his voice. "Did you think of that?"
She hadn't, and she was taken aback for a moment, eyes growing wide. Her gaze shifted to Safana, who had walked to the flaps of the hut, her face cool and impassive. "Is he right?" Ashura asked. "Is that what this is leading up to?"
"Not for me to say," Safana replied with a sweet smile. She glanced outside briefly, not giving her prisoners time to grab anything before her attention returned to them.
Turning to Garrick, Ashura gave him a steady look. "Well, we'll deal with whatever comes. Worrying and speculating won't do any good."
Garrick was unconvinced.
"Maybe they'll just spank us with some paddles and make us stand on one leg for hours covered in honey," Ashura offered. In Candlekeep the gossip had always been that the Readers were initiated that way. The joke didn't mollify Garrick any. Ashura's face softened slightly and she added: "Look, if they really do force you to kill me I promise not to come back and haunt you. No hard feelings."
Garrick just shook his head. "I still don't see how you can be so calm."
Once again Ashura simply shrugged. Calm wasn't really the word. Truthfully she was seething with rage, and very eager to let loose. Every hint from the bandits suggested that this test involved some sort of combat, and she really wanted to just get to it and hit something. And if that something was Garrick? Well, it would be sad, but better him than her.
When Safana glanced outside again she announced that it was probably time to 'Put on our little show.' They were led out of the hut and over dewy grass towards a cleared out portion of the camp. A crowd had gathered, mostly humans in familiar, uniform leathers, along with clumps of hobs here and there. They formed a loose ring around a circle of well-stomped dirt that was surrounded by crude log barriers.
A training yard , Ashura recognized instantly. Little different from the one outside the barracks at Candlekeep. There were some whistles, claps and catcalls above the general murmurs as she and Garrick were marched through the crowd and past the barriers, then instructed to stand there on the worn dirt. The ground was soft and slightly squishy beneath their feet, moist from the recent rains and morning dew.
On the other side of the circle three miserable and familiar looking men stood apart from the bandits. They were lined up between armed and wary men and dressed in the same sorts of loincloths that Ashura and Garrick wore, hands still tied behind their backs. Two of them were drovers Ashura recognized from the caravan, and the third –a much older man- was Lord Silvershield's manservant. The two sets of prisoners shared a few brief, sullen looks.
Past the drovers stood a slightly raised platform where the apparent leaders among the bandits stood. After all the talk of 'the ogre' Ashura had expected to finally see the Bandit King, but the apparent master of this little ceremony was a human. The man was tall and broad enough to nearly be considered an ogre, standing well over seven feet tall and towering far above everyone else on the platform. His shoulders were even broader than Minsc's, his hair sandy grey, and his wide wrinkled face seemed to hold a constant, jolly smirk. Though the man wore no armor a massive two-handed warhammer was strapped to his back, and his sturdy coat was marked prominently with the grasping claw of the Blacktalon mercenary company.
The tall man gave Garrick and Ashura a brief, appraising look before letting out a mirthful chuckle. "An unpromising catch you brought us today, Safana," he boomed in a thick accent that Ashura couldn't quite place. "The boy's a string bean. The girl…" he shrugged. "A bit more promising I suppose." There was laughter from the audience until the big man gestured for them to be silent. Next he looked directly at Garrick and Ashura and gestured towards the other set of prisoners. "I'm sure your captors have explained it to you already, but you are still welcome to join the slaves and avoid this little test of ours. Not an easy life, but it's a guarantee that you won't die this day, or be forced to risk your life in battle for us. Just walk over to the slaves if you wish."
They stood in silence for a moment. "This is your last chance," the big man added. Once it was clear that Ashura and Garrick would remain silent he went on. "Very well then." He made a downward gesture with both hands. "On your knees," he commanded.
Garrick nodded and sank to the dirt. He was followed a breath later by Ashura, reluctant and glowering. The big bandit seemed pleased enough. "Good. Now bow your heads to your new lord: Taurgosz Khousann. You will obey my every word without thought or question. Understand?"
With their heads bowed they both nodded.
"Do you understand?" Taurgosz repeated, bellowing.
"Yes!" they shouted in unison.
"Yes what?"
Garrick caught on first, and Ashura repeated after him. "Yes my lord!"
Taurgosz beamed. "Good, good. Now rise. You've stated your loyalty, but that can only be tested with time. For now we test your skill at arms." He glanced to his side, towards men and women close by who wore the mark of the Black Talon on their coats. "Raemon will do the honors this morning."
A blonde man in scaled armor beneath his Black Talon tabard nodded and walked towards the ring, gathering two longswords from a nearby weapon-rack as he went. Once he reached the dirt he tossed the weapons at the feet of each prisoner.
When she bent down and lifted her sword Ashura was relieved to find that it was dull and weighted. A practice sword, much like the ones she had trained with alongside the Watchers. If Garrick's theory was true perhaps they would at least not be fighting to the death. She gave the new blade a few testing swings.
"The girl goes first," Taurgosz stated, and the blonde man nodded and drew the sword that hung at his hip. It gleamed in the morning light, razor-sharp. "Raemon here will put you through the paces," the bandit commander added. "Treat this like a true duel rather than a practice bout. If he can hit you with his sword it will open real wounds. If he decides that you're worthless he'll open your guts right here on the dirt."
Ashura nodded and shifted into a dueling stance, knees bent and muscles straining a bit with the unfamiliar weight of the longsword. So that's how it is huh? A round in the training ring with real stakes. She dared to smile a bit, and knots in her stomach that she hadn't noticed before seemed to loosen. This was familiar ground; practice matches and death-duels alike.
She could do this.
Raemon sensed her arrogance and gave a derisive little snort before launching his body and sword at her in a blur. She had expected a few probing strikes first, the way it usually went in the sparring ring, and the furious attacks had her momentarily flustered.
Three awkward little hops backwards, skidding in the dirt, then she managed to arrest his momentum with a few heavy slashes of her own. Bits of moist earth flew as the combatants circled, trading blows.
Ashura's swings felt frustratingly slow and clumsy. Two months of constant fighting with featherweight swords seemed to have honed her reflexes for those weapons alone. Still, she had trained with this sort of sword before. She just had to adjust and remember how to hammer instead of flicking the weapon.
Her heart lurched as she dodged a stab that came close to skewering her. Steel scraped and screamed as a second stab from Raemon was pushed aside by a parry and she managed to lean in, sliding her sword along his till the edge caught her opponent's hilt. In the brief moment that their blades locked Ashura twisted just a bit and brought her left fist across for a lightning-quick jab at Raemon's face.
The punch did little damage but seemed to jar the man enough for Ashura to knock her opponent's sword aside with the next slash and get under his guard, hammering in with a blow that caught Raemon on the chest and bent some his armored scales. Had her blade been sharpened she would have sliced into flesh.
Leaping back a few steps, Raemon crouched and held his sword up in a middle guard, a trickle of blood flowing from his bottom lip and down his chin. Ashura expected a furious curse and a flurry of slashes to follow, but the man's split lip turned up into a wide smile. "Yeah," the blonde man finally spoke up in a thick Iraeboran accent, "looks like she can fight."
Taurgosz gave an approving nod and a casual wave of his hand to Ashura. "Alright. Step back and let's see what this lad can do."
Backing away from the center of the little arena, Ashura gave Garrick a tight smile and a brief clasp on the shoulder. "You can do this," she whispered as they passed. "He's not any worse than those hobgoblins we fought." As she stepped out of the way she wondered if she was officially a bandit now. Surely it can't be that simple.
Returning Ashura's grim smile, Garrick stepped forward. Ashura cringed when she saw how clumsily the young man handled his longsword. He was obviously strong enough to lift and wield it, but he was holding it all wrong: fully extended the way he always held his rapier. The tip of the blade kept drooping and wobbling.
There were some guffaws and jeers from the spectators, and even a couple of suggestions on how to hold the sword. Garrick gave them all a grin and a snort, humming something to himself and dancing from foot to foot. The low hum seemed to come to an understated crescendo, and Ashura thought she saw an almost imperceivable shimmer run across Garrick's body.
"Doesn't look like you can handle that steel bar lad," Raemon noted. "Not a promising start!" With that last word he lunged and swung his sword wide and quick in Garrick's direction. Effortlessly the bard hopped and twisted away from the slashing steel. More blows followed, but Garrick managed to bob and dance away from each, not even trying to parry.
Good . Ashura allowed herself a tense smile. She had seen this trick of Garrick's before on the battlefield: a little bit of magic that temporarily gave him the grace and agility of a hunting cat. Unencumbered by even his usual light leathers and clothing he moved even quicker than usual. Maybe he should fight naked more often.
Still, he wasn't really fighting yet. "Dance all you like," the blonde mercenary taunted. "I'll outlast you and cut you to ribbons if this is all you can do."
"I'll outlast you," Garrick repeated, a bit out of breath already. "Funny. That's exactly what your mum said last night."
There were groans from the audience. "And I'm sure she succeeded, skilled whore that she is," Raemon replied as he lunged, his sword jabbing at empty space while Garrick circled him. "You could use some lessons in taunting."
Garrick grinned and ducked as the mercenary swirled, sword flying over the bard's head. "Alright, how about this one instead?" Garrick shouted, hopping up and backwards. "A bandit, a mercenary and an adventurer walk into a tavern. What does the barkeep say?" After a pause and another dip backwards to avoid a slash he finished, an unnatural gleam in his eyes. "'Hello Stedd. Should I fix you your usual?'"
There were a few more groans from the audience along with lots of blank looks from people who didn't get the joke. Except for Raemon that is, who suddenly stopped swinging his sword and snorted. The snort became a chuckle, which turned into a steady peel of laughter. Soon the bandit was bent over, laughing uncontrollably and near hysterical.
And there's Garrick's other major trick. The laughing spell.
With a quick swipe of his practice sword Garrick managed to knock Raemon's legs out from under him, following through with a stab that ended with the tip of the blade at his opponent's throat. It took some time for the laughter to die away, and a bit more for Raemon to wipe aside the tears and get back to his feet, glaring at Garrick all the while.
"That was a damn dirty trick," the bandit breathlessly muttered.
A hearty laugh boomed from Taurgosz up on the stand. "The best kind of trick," the big man shouted. "I think this lad may fit in yet. Can always use another spellweaver."
With a reluctant nod Raemon brushed himself off and walked from the ring. In a moment the dull practice swords were taken from the two recruits and replaced with sharpened blades. Ashura and Garrick shared an uneasy look as they tested their new swords, lighter and deadlier. Is the next test really what Garrick guessed?
A few men in Black Talon uniforms were making their way towards the training yard, the crowd parting and giving them a great deal of space. They seemed to be hefting some sort of broad wooden object between them, and as more of the crowd stepped aside it became clear that they carried a sturdy wooden cage. The cage shifted and tilted constantly as it was jostled from inside by several furry creatures, the beasts a blur of constant motion as they clawed at the bars, shaking and snarling. It took a moment, but after seeing a pointed ear here, a pink belly there and one of the creature's faces, Ashura was certain she knew what they were.
Gibberlings. So that's how it is. It was hard to tell with all the motion, but Ashura thought she counted five of the halfling-sized creatures as the cage was set down with a thump. The old bestiaries claimed that the strange furry animals are weakened by daylight and only fight effectively in large groups. Five of them wasn't exactly a horde, and though the day was cloudy and grey the cave-dwelling beasts would still be half-blind. Ashura gripped her sword tightly and got ready.
"You've proven you can play-fight," Taurgosz began, "but now you must prove that you can kill something real and deadly. Time to put some blood on the dirt; your own or the beasts." He paused a few moments, giving the crowd a little time to chatter and place bets. It was hard to tell with all the voices but Ashura was pretty sure they were being given good odds. There was also some disappointment that the show today would be gibberlings instead of xvarts or feral goblins.
Finally the bandit commander gave one of the men by the cage a nod and the wooden bars were lifted, the guards quickly backing away and jumping over the barriers. They were ignored by the writhing creatures anyway, and Ashura felt their beady little eyes fixed on her as they rushed out of the cage on forepaws and legs.
Instead of the bestial growls one would expect from the creatures' dog-like faces their voices were almost human, shouting out a string of nonsense words. "Kib jababa fek jab!" one of the gibberlings shrieked as it charged. The other four were fast on its heels, every eye and claw and tooth aimed at Ashura as they closed the distance with blinding speed.
Bloody hells! She twisted sideways and managed to skewer the first creature on her sword before the other four bodies collided with her, clawed fingers wrapping around her arms and legs as their jaws snapped and splattered her with slather. It was all she could do to twist away from the gnashing teeth as they tumbled to the earth in a pile.
Arms and legs flailing and pushing at the weight of the pressing creatures, Ashura felt claws rake against her. She managed to wrap her fingers around one of the beast's neck as they rolled in the dirt, pushing it back and squeezing as hard as she could.
A heartbeat later one of the creatures let out a pained shriek, shuddered and became dead weight against her sword arm. Throwing the furry body aside Ashura managed to ram her sword through the mouth of a gibberling that was wrapped around her leg. She pushed herself up from there, her world a flurry of fur and blood and steel. Moments later she was standing up straight, panting hard and dripping from a dozen gashes across her limbs. Nothing vital seemed to be leaking out at least. Garrick was prying his sword from a furry body, and none of the creatures seemed to be moving.
Killed by gibberlings. That would have been embarrassing. As Ashura adjusted and retied her torn loincloth she recalled something else the bestiaries had mentioned: that the creatures invariably pick a single target to swarm and kill. If there had been more of them and Garrick hadn't been there…
Wiping her brow, Ashura looked up at Taurgosz and wondered if the test was finally over. He seemed to be smiling approvingly, at least. The bandit commander was about to speak when a loud, derisive "Ha!" boomed across the camp.
A chill seemed to run through the crowd and every human and hobgoblin in sight shifted nervously. A figure even taller and broader than Taurgosz stepped forward, the bandits parting and almost falling over each other to get out of his way. The newcomer was an ogre, well over nine feet tall and thick with rippling muscles that his leather armor and steel plates barely covered. There was something stiff and off about the way he carried himself, one shoulder a bit higher than the other, and there seemed to be a permanent, pained wince on his round face.
This has to be Tazok. The Bandit King .
Two gnolls followed the towering figure as he walked towards the training ring, and one of the dog-men pushed a battered looking prisoner ahead with the butt of his halberd. The prisoner seemed to be an elf-blooded human, judging by a single pointed ear that peaked out from beneath his matted hair. His other ear was gone, and the rest of his unclad body was a mess of raw red flesh. He seemed barely capable of walking, each step an agonized stumble forward.
"Gibberlings huh?" Tazok growled as he surveyed the dead creatures splayed out on the dirt. "Hardly what I'd call a test, Tenhammer. The forest goblins made better sport. A shame we've run out of them. And even then the new blood you bring grows thinner and thinner."
Ashura took a step forward and hefted her longsword. "You want to test my fighting skill huh?" she asked, locking eyes with the ogre. There were gasps from the crowd.
Tazok let out another deep laugh. "The bitch has a little backbone. Refreshing." He gestured and one of the gnolls grabbed the injured prisoner by the shoulders and lifted him fully to his feet. "I had another test in mind. Fighting is one thing…" With another gesture and a nod from the gnoll the half-elf was flung into the ring where he fell to his hands and knees and let out a howl of pain. "…killing is another. Can't truly trust another man until he's killed for you, and I don't mean stabbing at nipping little beasts."
Pointing at the half-elf Tazok continued. "Meet Ender Sai. This wretch claimed to be a runaway thief from Baldur's Gate, but I know a Harper spy when I see one. A few days in my tent had him spilling all he knew, along with a great deal of blood. I've run out of uses for him and was going to have him flayed, but I figured you recruits might make better use of him. A little test to see if you have the balls for the kind of work we get up to."
Beyond the tense, pained breathing of the prisoner on the ground there was absolute silence for a moment. Garrick backed away, shuddering and looking at anything but the ragged man. "No balls huh?" Tazok asked with a scowl, stepping into the training ring himself and reaching for the greatsword at his back. "Well there's plenty of use for geldings in the…"
The ogre's voice trailed off when Ashura stomped forward, sword in the air. As she walked up to the wounded captive he looked at her through bleary eyes. "Is it time?" he asked in a raspy voice.
As she raised her sword and glancing at the prisoner, then at the ogre, a wild notion came over Ashura. Tazok the Bandit King was standing right there, within striking distance, and she had a sword in her hand. Branwen or Minsc would have charged him without hesitation, seizing the chance to end the iron crisis here and now and die a hero.
The eyes of the prisoner cleared a bit as he stared up at her. "Wa…wait." There was recognition there, though he looked a stranger to Ashura. "I know of you. You're Ash-"
His voice was cut off by her falling sword. It bit into the back of his neck with an eruption of blood, and she took some grim pride in the fact that he shuddered and went still almost instantly. A clean kill, at least. Still, she couldn't kid herself. No matter what Tazok had said about balls it seemed that she had just taken the coward's path.
Tazok stepped forward, looming close. "Ash huh?" He asked, a menacing scowl on his face.
Ashura shrugged. "That's my name."
"A name known to Harpers? Funny that."
She shrugged again. "Dunno why. Maybe they want to kill me? Lots of people do."
Tazok snorted. "Expect me to believe you're some sort of criminal worthy of the Harper's attention? Don't make me laugh, little girl."
She looked straight up into the ice chips the ogre had for eyes, gripping her sword tight. "You said you know Harper spies when you see them. What do you see?"
The punch arrived with dazzling speed and made bright spots burst before Ashura's eyes as she spun and fell face-first to the dirt. "I see a little girl who doesn't yet know her place," Tazok growled. His attention turned to Garrick briefly. "Shame we don't have a prisoner to test you with, boy." He looked over towards the line of slaves. "Maybe that old man? I doubt we'll get much work out of him before he collapses."
"Absolutely not," Taurgosz spoke up. "This was a poor haul as is. We can't afford to make it any poorer."
Tazok shrugged. "Have it your way." As Ashura tried to push up onto her hands and knees a swift kick from the ogre knocked her to the ground again, sprawled out. "As for you girl: be glad you've earned a little of my respect. Just a little." With that the Bandit King turned and marched out of the arena, flanked by his gnolls. A collective sigh of relief from the crowd seemed to follow.
And just like that Ashura and Garrick were bandits. Taurgosz gave an abbreviated speech of congratulations, the slaves were marched away and the two fresh recruits were led to a nearby hut. Inside a surprisingly friendly hobgoblin who seemed to serve as quartermaster gave them trousers and leathers to put on over the loincloths, along with green cloaks and comfortable moccasins.
As they bandaged Ashura's wounds and dressed, Safana leaned against the hut's central pole. "I seem to be saying this a lot," she addressed Ashura, "but you're very lucky. Not many survive an encounter like that with Tazok. You may want to rein in the attitude next time you see him, and do like the rest of us. Try to scuttle around like a mouse and hopefully go unseen."
Ashura gave the older woman a brief nod.
"Don't get me wrong," Safana purred, "that attitude of yours will help you with Tenhammer. He's a reasonable man, and likes a little fire from his underlings. Tazok is another matter though. A nasty piece of work. Best avoided."
"Tenhammer?" Ashura asked.
"That's Taurgosz's little nickname. They say it's because he once killed ten men with a single blow of his hammer. Complete bullshit of course."
Ashura just nodded numbly and looked into a nearby mirror, adjusting her cloak. A bandit and a killer. She wondered if her scalp would fetch a bounty from the Flaming Fist now.
"You need a magic hamster," Imoen noted.
Glancing up from the dirt, Kivan scowled. "I need a what?"
"A magic hamster. Our last ranger had one, and it helped him track some gnolls for like...four days."
The elf shook his head and stood. Torrential rains had turned many of the forest paths into wet-weather creeks and washed all traces of the bandits away. For the past day they had wandered through the woods without seeing a trace of human activity beyond ancient, empty ruins, and the trail had long gone cold. Ignoring Imoen's comments the ranger led them down the game trail they had been following, silently dodging branches that managed to smack the rest of the party in their faces as they passed.
Moments later Kivan came to an abrupt stop, a hand raised and calling for quiet. Once he was sure the rest would be silent he pointed ahead to the space between two pines. There on the bed of needles stood several strange statues: one of a roaring bear, others of human figures locked in poses of absolute terror. Ragged bits of clothing hung from the stone forms.
Without a word Kivan turned on his heels and beckoned for his companions to follow, retracing their steps back to the west. They had traveled for about a half hour before the ranger finally spoke. "That was a basilisk nest. I'm sure of it. We'd best avoid that part of the forest. I'm certain the bandits know to as well."
"I hope so," Imoen said. She hadn't recognized any of the statues, at least.
"You're holding onto a vain hope," Xan muttered, "if you think they're still alive."
"Well, it's mine to hold," Imoen barked back in a grumpy voice. She was about to add something when Kivan silenced them all once again. Grr. What now?
Kivan pointed to one of his ears but to Imoen the forest seemed silent. Sometimes I forget that those big pointy ears aren't just for show. Cautiously the elf led them forward, his bow out with an arrow knocked. Imoen followed his example and Kagain and Xan drew their weapons as well.
Eventually she began to hear the noise that had the ranger spooked: a steady, rhythmic scraping sound. As they drew upon a small forest clearing the source of the noise became clear as well. At the foot of a thick oak tree sat a woman, dressed in filthy, motley armor that seemed to be a mix of leathers and protective plates. On her head she wore a horned helmet, sandy blonde hair spilling out around her scarred, sweat-soaked face. In one hand she held a wooden stake, and in the other a knife that she was using to whittle away at the wood.
The woman seemed to notice that she was being watched almost instantly, and with swift, practiced grace she launched to her feet, dropping the stake and drawing a longsword instead. "Come to rob me?" she growled at the intruders, a scowl on her face. "Sorry to disappoint but I have no gold, and nothing to feed you but steel!"
Imoen stepped forward and waved a placating hand. "We're not bandits," she said. "Just travelers passing through."
The woman gave Imoen and the men behind her an appraising look, sword and dagger still pointed out. "Good," she finally said. "Then I challenge your best warrior to a duel."
"You uh…Wait. What?" Imoen stammered.
Author's Note: 'Your actions have moved your alignment 10 point(s) towards evil.'
In the game joining the bandits usually involves sparring with Tazok himself, but I figured if every recruit had to go through that there wouldn't be many bandits. Thus Raemon and the gibberlings instead.