You and your company of Adventurers have recently dealt with a contingency of Myrenvel renegades. Though victorious, at least 1 scout managed to escape.
You find yourselves in the Ruins of Selinora; what looks to be an older Vel outpost... though unsure of its origin or purpose. Clearly, it has been in disrepair for quite a long time.
You were sent here to investigate the activities of that band of Myrenvel renegades, though you feel there could be more to this location than an encampment for an uppity group of Vel.
The sun is setting behind the westward hills of Gos-Ondun-Fenn... what will you do?
Z rocks back onto her heels, having done what she could with the bandages and crouching comfortably next to Felomar at this point. She rubs a finger across her chin, as if considering the option thoughtfully. "Hmm. While you make a compelling offer, I must say, I have little reassurance that you would follow though on your word, Felomar. What were you and your allies up to anyway? Seems an odd place to settle down with your group." She nods around them to the looming ruins.
Felomar stays quiet as he is bandaged, and for a bit of time after, as the question posed to him looms heavily. “By blade... and by bow... you were lucky... to have won against us... the first time... We underestimated you... we will not repeat... that mistake... though if you... and your allies... leave this place now... we will not seek you... we will not hunt you...” The Vel shifts as he sits, now bound by bandage and missing his punctured torso armor. The rays of sunlight have faded but the sky remains aflame with hues of orange, pink, purple, and blue visible from within the ruin.
"Felomar. A fine name, that is. Not that I'd think you care for my opinion very much. You may call me Lady Z. No more "thol" this, and "thol" that." She stands, closing the gap between herself and the fallen Myrenvel with several strides before sitting next to him. With one hand, she applies pressure atop the wound, unwinding a roll of thick bandage with the other. She fixes him with a wary side-eye, not certain he's capable of sudden movements but cautious all the same. "Now, this horrific end my friends and I am to meet, how will it come about, hm?"
I gurgle of a groan escapes his throat as blood tries to inhibit his frustration.
"Belosh..." he whispers through his gritted teeth. "Very well... You want my name. Felomar... You shan't have... my Bloodline, though... I will tell you... one of my brothers... escaped your wrath... He seeks now... our remaining hunters... to come back... and end this game... Now... bind my wounds, Thol..."
"Mmm, yes, very thoughtful of you, truly," Lady Z rolls her eyes, but pulls several rolls of bandages from her pouch, holding them aloft and clear to see. Not yet approaching him with them. "But I'm afraid you're in no position to negotiate my terms, dear. Talk first, bandage second. And I'd recommend you speak quickly at that." She tuts.
The Vel looks skeptically at the Thol, considering what she has offered... “Bandages... you... you’d see your enemy restored... and risk harm from... retaliation? *cough* how is it we lost... to such... soft furs like you... Mend my wounds... and I will consider... telling you how you will die...” The Myrenvel’s gaze flickers and seems to be fighting to not fade out.
"Pardon me for trying to make what may be your last moments pleasant ones. Just because you're dying doesn't mean you need to be shamefully rude." She reaches into a shallow pouch slung across her hip, sorting through several items. "Now let's see then. I have several bandages. I'm no expert at healing, but they'll do in a pinch. I also have some drink. Not the strongest, but strong enough to make someone with your--" she raises an eyebrow, "questionable constitution fade away with some peace and dignity. I also have a rather sharp sword. Could certainly be used to put you out of your misery a tad faster than mere blood loss." "I could happily give you any of them if you were to tell me where your friend ran off to." She smiles pleasantly.
"You... dare... to ask for... my name... in a situation... like this... You'll get nothing, rock eater... Finish me or leave me... but don't... insult me..."
The Myrenvel winces as he coughs up a little more blood and grabs his side.
Taking a moment, Z carefully stands, and walks the several feet towards the dagger. Picking it up with a small flowery handkerchief, she places it several feet further away before politely returning to a knee, folding the handkerchief back up. "A fate far worse than your own? Seems an odd comparison, especially considering you haven't met your fate yet. No no no, there can still always be more added to one's fate. Things more pleasant, more painful. Etcetera, etcetera. It's all a rather big mystery! *And* it's all really quite up to one's own choosing, don't you think?" She smiles pleasantly, but gives him a sympathetic look. "What is your name, if a filthy Thol like myself may ask?"
The Myrenvel's wound is that of two arrow holes barely missing his heart. Blood lazily flows from the holes in his simple leather armor.
"You... talk big... for someone... too scared to get... any closer... to a dying Vel... It doesn't matter... our runner... will make sure... you and your friends... meet a fate... far worse... than my own..."
The Vel doesnt even try and hide his attempt to reach for a dagger about 4 feet away from him... though only his arm moves as the rest of his body struggles to even keep itself upright slumped against the wall.
Lady Z looks down at him, stopping in her tracks, contemplating the man before her. She crouches down on one knee, hiking up her dress so as to not touch the mud or blood that soaks the ground. "Rudeness is for lesser beings. And for one who clearly thinks himself to be above others, you certainly seem a rather rude fellow." From several feet away, she cocks her head to the side, examining his wound.
*Cough*
One of the Myrenvel archers who fell in the tower, pierced through the chest, coughs up blood as Lady Z walks by.
"Damn... damned nosy... *cough*. All you had to do... was keep going... and leave your noses... out of our business..." He spits blood at Lady Z, but it barely goes two feet. "Filthy... Thol..."
She purses her lips at the bodies, frowning deeply and pushing her tinted spectacles up the bridge of her nose. Not quite a look fully of regret, but one of uncertainty. Beginning to walk amongst the few bodies that lie within the ruins, she steps carefully, looking for any whose armor, weapons, or clothing may denote a leader of some sort. Or at least someone who may be higher-up. "A waste, really."
The ruins are that of a modest stone tower, some side buildings- likely old barracks, kitchen, common area, and armory. The most piecemeal dregs of canvas tent and tarp hang between exposed support pillars and rafter beams. It houses some things the Myrenvel renegades were keeping- sacks of trail food, some water, extra arrows and the like. The bodies of the renegades that fell still linger around the ruins- mostly outside, but some within, serenely lit by the deep golden sunlight peering in through holes of missing stone and age old decay.
"Hm. Well it's certainly a fixer-upper." Lady Z's stride doesn't break as she approaches whatever entrance to this encampment may exist. As she and whoever else accompanies her draw closer, she peers through the dimming light, hand perched upon her forehead. "Perhaps not the most prime real estate. But new roads, a tapestry or two hung about..." she hums to herself, looking for any buildings or structures that would appear to be the core or centre of the outpost. That would probably be the best starting point.