Selm
Hours Later, The Southern Route to Groville
"They will live?" Selm asked Melia, the blood on both of their hands quickly turning the bucket of water they washed at to a murky red.
"Yes, thanks to her kindness, their wounds shall mend." Melia had removed her gloves to operate and heal the two injured individuals, revealing rather nasty looking scarring on her hands. Selm did not think of herself as squeamish, but the coloration and tissue formations… was not for the faint of heart. Part of her wished to ask about the origin of the scars, the other half did not wish to know. "It seems wolves had gotten to them. I suspect they managed to fight back, based on how the half-orc was able to make it here."
"It would be so. This one has warrior scars." Savaad, the dragonborn companion of Melia's troup spoke up, inspecting the half-orc. Savaad was the oldest of the three, it seemed, with a scratchy voice that commanded respect, despite how few words Selm had actually heard from him.
The camp had been wary when Selm started shouting for help. It spoke volumes for these three's characters when they were the first to come running. Well… these two. She had noticed their third companion, Anton(who was strangely familiar to her, from somewhere), had slunk behind them begrudgingly. With their assistance, they had managed to drag the two wounded individuals back to the camp. Melia, in her good nature, had immediately begun treating their wounds. Savaad and Anton held the crowd of onlookers at bay. Selm seemed to be the exception as she hesitantly had followed whatever quick orders the cleric came up with.
Selm glanced over the two once more. "Any reason why the human was unharmed?" She asked. Perhaps she was just knocked unconscious? Knocked unconscious by wolves? Could they do that?
Melia shook her head, instead showing something to Selm. Around the half-orc's neck was a wooden token of some sort. A rough circle shape carved out of some sort of wood. She looked questioningly at Melia.
"This one is a follower of the Moony-Eyed One." She then pointed to the human. Both wounded people had been stripped to be treated and cleaned of the blood covering them. The human's armor had been in pieces, but Selm couldn't seem to find any actual wounds on her, just an odd tattoo on the back of her neck. Melia seemed to find more, however. Melia pointed specifically to a few extremely pale marks on the human's tanned skin. Marks Selm had looked over thinking they were just old scars. "And this one has freshly healed wounds. Only just healed over, not fully recovered."
"Ah, of course." Selm nodded, understanding the connection now. So the half-orc had healed the human in order to save her. The narrative fit. It was anyone's guess what these two were doing here on the road so late at night. Especially this far from any village or town.
Selm simply plopped herself down nearby. A small amount of pity followed by relief passed through her. These two had an unfortunate run in with one of the many dangers outside safe city walls. If she had not convinced Jonesy she was an adequate guard then this could have been her, traveling alone to find a job away from the Holy Capital.
"We will press for answers in the morning. Hopefully they are just travelers who managed to earn themselves a story to tell around the fire." Mike said to the group, addressing everyone who had gathered to get a look at what had caused such a commotion. He continued by advertising "An extra four silver for anyone who takes a watch tonight over the strangers."
To say Selm's hand quickly shot into the air was an understatement, pride be damned. That was easy money.
~~~
By the morning light, Selm was four silver coins closer to her goal. The two had not awoken during her shift, giving her plenty of time to inspect who had nearly given her a mild panic attack in the dark. The human was a woman, a rather pretty one by human standards. A young adult, maybe, with a sharp face and heavily tanned skin, from years exposure to the sun to be exact. Parts of her were much paler, of which had been covered for her modesty with her clothes that someone in the camp had thankfully cleaned through magic.
She looked run of the mill to Selm, if not a bit thin. The only oddity Selm had noticed was that strange tattoo, of which Selm had not gotten a good enough look at during the rush and hubbub of their arrival. Her armor was practically unusable now, but she seemed well armed, she had a bunch of knives and daggers and a bow with a dozen arrows. Everything that could pose threat to the camp had been confiscated, for now.
The other survivor was that half-orc. Big and burly, as was standard for those of the orcish descent, as well as covered in scars. Selm had been shocked to the extent of scar tissue on this man. The patchy tissue from burn scars marred his arms, strange crisscrossing long scars dominated his back, and all over his body was evidence of blades of all kinds. What kind of life led to this… this brutality? Selm could not fathom any such existence.
And, apparently, he was a cleric of Hrex. The Moony-Eyed One, the true god of night and rest. Selm was learning quickly not to rely on appearances to judge someone, but even still. This half-orc man looked more fit to be a soldier, not a priest that encouraged rest and recovery. She could easily understand if he worshiped Keldar, Tivgnack, or even Velio. Each would explain much more of this man's past. But Hrex? Selm could not see it.
Nonetheless, with the camp stirring, it was nearly time for the whole caravan to get packed up and to be on their way. The only question was, were the two survivors?
As it turned out, the answer was yes. Yes they were. The girl had awoken first, resulting in a massive commotion. She had woken up, it seemed, under the impression that those very people who had saved her life were the ones who wished to end it. Thankfully, Savaad and a few other of the mercenaries guarding the caravan had been nearby. The woman was, apparently no pushover, the black eye of one of the guards attesting to this fact.
An explanation was given to the confused and now restrained woman. Selm only heard the last bit of it, coming over around this time much like many of the other members of the caravan to see what had happened.
"...and your companion gave you rudimentary healing for you to survive. He had lost a lot of blood by the time you two had appeared. Nearly shocked poor Miss Selm out of her skin when you two stumbled through the bushes." Melia was the one doing the explaining, her calm and reasonable tone visibly soothing the rowdy woman. Melia had also noticed Selm approaching and had beckoned her closer.
Selm hesitantly, due to not wishing to be the next victim of this woman's ungrateful rampage, drew near. The woman sized her up without trying to be subtle about it. The scene reminded her of a cornered cat, looking for a way out. Another pang of pity flowed through her. Time to work on her being nice to common folk skills.
"Everyone, kindly give these people space. You are not helping." Selm announced, letting a bit of her magic seep into her voice. Most of the crowd began to disperse, not caring enough to naturally resist the minor magics. The only ones who did stay were the more experienced individuals, and those Selm was not addressing.
Both Melia and the woman gave her a grateful glance, while Savaad seemed to simply stare at her for a second longer. It seemed she may have surprised and impressed the older dragonborn. It had only been a matter of time, she reasoned with herself.
"So…you people saved us?" The woman said, connecting dots that had already been presented to her. Her voice had a Miyetan accent, the common tongue becoming lilted slightly as she spoke. Her proverbial hackles had lowered. Not all the way, but it was progress.
"Correct. Selm and I were able to save your companion, with no small amount of help from The Frozen Lady."
"Eshah… I- I can't do anything but say thanks? I guess?" She still seemed uncertain about her saviors. The poor thing was probably scared and worried for her companion. It was reasonable after a near death experience, right? Surely this woman was traumatized-"Can I get my stuff back?"
Ah. It was less concern over her companion and more for her own belongings. Selm was not surprised. Common folk were so materialistic. She winced internally, once again reminded she was likely the poorest in the caravan.
"Your belongings are over there," Melia responded, taking the half-thanks in stride. "How about we introduce ourselves and have a nice chat? Mister Leadlock has assured me that the caravan still needs time to prepare itself to travel, so we have an hour or so to clear any confusion up."
The woman had already scrambled to her feet and had snatched what must have been her travel pack, digging around in it and inspecting its contents. "Yeah, sure." She didn't offer anything more.
"My name is Selm. I am sure you deduced as such." Selm said, feeling irritation at his woman… her whole demeanor and lack of any sort of manners grated her nerves. But Selm was a polite lady. She could hold her tongue.
"And I am Melia, cleric of Winet." Melia introduced others around them, although a few spoke for themselves. They all waited a moment, staring expectantly. The moment passed, replaced by a few more awkward ones.
"...Oh! I'm Runner."
Selm did not like her.
~~~
Baz was the name of the other survivor. He woke up not too long after Runner did. Selm immediately liked him more due to him being comparatively polite. Quiet, yes, but polite. He at least had more sense than the human did. They had spent the better part of half an hour discussing who they were and what they were doing here. They had received very little information from either of them, however. Both had been less than willing to part with their own motives for being so far from civilization. Mike had come over to talk to them privately, dismissing all others to return to their duties and finish preparing to leave.
"Is… are they o-okay?" Inathia asked upon her return. The dragonborn girl's voice was deep and scratchy. The former from her massive size, the latter from lack of actual use. Her speech was rare enough that even Mister Velemure and Jonesy had looked over briefly.
Selm ran her hand through her blonde locks, trying to detangle them. "Yes, Miss Inathia. They are fine." She hid her annoyance at Runner, keeping appearances and all that.
"Oh, good." Stated Mister Velemure with all the enthusiasm of someone who did not care.
"With any luck, gods be watching, they will be on their way and we will be on ours." Selm commented, throwing her "blanket" into her pack.
Jonesy sneered, an ugly expression on an uglier man. "Sooner we get on the road, the better. Why do we gotta wait around for two random strangers?"
"No clue, sir." The half-elf replied, followed by a practiced shrug. Selm wanted to comment on the basic value of lives, even of strangers, but did not have the energy to get into a debate this early in the morning. Especially not with a whole day of walking ahead. So she settled for a glare towards the apathetic two and preoccupied herself with her hair once more.
More minutes passed as the caravan was getting its legs underneath itself. Jonesy's cart was practically always ready, the only component that actually ever left it being the horses.
"Mister Bresweat! A word," Mike called out, walking over to the cart. Selm got a sinking feeling in her stomach as she saw Baz and Runner walking behind him. Dear Keldar, she prayed, please do not let what I think is about to happen happen.
Jonesy grumbled, but hopped off the cart to speak with Mike. They discussed amongst themselves, occasionally indicating to Baz and Runner. The conversation seemed to initially irritate the cart owner, but soon he was nodding along. He then stepped up to look at the two, giving them a good once-over. Seemingly liking what he saw, he then turned back to the rest of them.
"Girl, Selm, Velemure, work with these two. They just got the job."
Oh, to the hells with her luck.