Get a Boat

SPACE Alasdair turns to Alliandra with a mischievous smirk. "Its not stealing; its just borrowing.
SPACE "I don't know about you folks, but I've had enough of sea travels for a while," he says to the rest of the group. Turning back to the worried cleric, he says, "We won't be keeping the boat and we'd be doing Deepbush a favor, getting rid of the pirates."
SPACE "Stealing is stealing, Al, by any stretch of reality," the cleric sternly replies. Turning towards the others, she goes on. "Do we really need more trouble from the local militia? I mean, we're already going to feel heat from attacking those guards like that. Theft could only serve to compound our troubles."
SPACE "To hell with the guards," Alasdair boldly states. "We could split into two groups and agree to meet somewhere near the village. Cyrdan can lead one group and Meggana the other; they know Deepbush well enough. If the guards find one group, the other is still free to help." He looks for approval from some of the other less moral members of the congregation.
SPACE Cyrdan is skeptical of the plan, and portrays his feelings with a small chuckle. "Just that easy, eh?"

SPACE "Huh?" Tharg gives his typical reaction to all situations. "We no need go back." He points down to the few fallen trees he and Conner have cut down. "Make raft. Me got oar! Kill elfie and pirates."
SPACE Grant quickly squashes the barbarian's enthusiasm. "Let's not be lean too far forward, man. I've seen one too many badly planned assaults that left many dead and nothing gained." He stares hard at the others and then spits a bit of tobacco to the surf. "We could look up and down the coast for a boat until night fall," he suggests. "But, as soon as it's dark, I say we head into town and try to find one there. If we still don't find a boat, we can always come back and help the boys here with their raft."

SPACE "Is there a beach nearby where we can find some fishermen's boats or something?" Alasdair brainstorms. "It would save us that trip to Deepbush."
SPACE "I still don't like the idea of stealing," Alliandra revoices. "The fact of the matter is, we can't afford to buy one and we can't very well go back into Deepbush to rent one when we're most likely to be arrested on sight." She stands quiet, trying to meet the eyes of each of her cohorts. "We should either try that other village to the east or go on whatever crude craft our barbarian comrades can concoct."
SPACE Grant is quick to disagree, citing the unworthiness of a crudely made log-floater as opposed to a finely crafted rower.

SPACE Conner, standing with his back against a tree, scratches his head in an obvious attempt at forming a cognizant thought. As if physically struck by something in the side of the skull, he jerks his enormous head to the side and then smiles broadly. "We trade!" he exclaims. He reaches down to the sand at his feet and raises high one of the pale heads he and Tharg decapitated from the pirates. "Trade heads for boat," he says.
SPACE Meggana makes a face that has 'vomit' scrawled across it. Alliandra also sounds her disapproval with a light gasp. Tharg, however, is amused and claps his hands giddily.
SPACE "Conner have good think!" he yells excitedly.
SPACE "Who the hell would trade us a boat for some bloody gourds?!" Alasdair asks annoyed by the very suggestion.
SPACE "Give heads to man with cut face," Conner answers, falling back into deep thought by wrinkling his forehead and squinting his eyes a bit. Again with the jerking of his head, and he hollers, "Slim!" His thinking face disappears and Conner's eyes light up, excited that he remembered the innkeeper's name. "He get boat," he continues, reaching down and grabbing a thick branch.
SPACE "Heads for boat," Tharg chimes in happily, clapping more excitedly.
SPACE "Then pain for pointed ear," Conner finishes, snapping the branch. He gives Grant a thumbs up and a big, cheesy smile.

SPACE "That blacksmith," Alasdair comes up with another suggestion and brings it to Meggana specifically, "he seemed to be your friend. Won't he help us?"
SPACE "He may, although if word got out about us already, he'd be hard pressed," she reasons. "Deepbush is a small town. People would get suspicious quick if he were to rent a boat all of a sudden." She looks around at the faces watching her. "Osward is afraid of the water," she explains.

SPACE The group gets quiet for the third time since the discussion began. Growing tired of the ramblings, Conner and Tharg move off toward the trees and begin stripping a berry bush clean of its fruits. They stuff their cheeks, looking much like squirrels, as the red juice dribbles down their chins and chests.

SPACE "I'm in aggreement with Alliandra," Cyrdan says at long last. "I don't think it would be wise to steal a boat. That would just add to an already long list of reasons for the militia to come looking for us and sling our asses in jail or maybe even hang us." He stops here to let his words' meaning sink in. "My personal opinion is we should stay out of sight and mind for a couple of days. Afterwards, if the group is still hell bent on scalping Cain and Simon, we should skirt the shoreline. We're bound to find some old guy living near or on the shore with a boat."
SPACE "I like that plan," Grant states, "all the way up to the 'couple of days' part."
SPACE Alasdair is quick to back the dwarven fighter. "In a couple of days, Cain and Simon will both be long gone. Waiting is no option."
SPACE "Oh, we'll wait all right," Grant corrects. "We'll wait until nightfall and then we'll get us a sea-worthy craft. After that, we hit the beach at Baragona. Take no prisoners!" he yells, raising a fist to the air.
SPACE Conner and Tharg cheer from off in the skirting brushline.
SPACE "As long as we don't steal from anyone," Alliandra persists meekly. Alasdair rolls his eyes at the morality.

SPACE Meggana bites her lip and ponders, "There maybe someone who could help…"
SPACE The group looks at her with a Why-didn't-you-mention-this-earlier? expression.
SPACE "I only now thought of it," she tries to explain, "when Cyrdan mentioned 'some old guy' living out here." She pauses to make sure her explanation is sufficient and then continues. "There's an old fisherman who lives about two or three miles down the beach. He has a couple boats I know of. He may help us, though he's…" she hesitates for a moment and bites her lip as if searching for the right words. "Well," she says finally, "he's a bit off in the head."
SPACE "He's nuts," Grant clarifies.
SPACE "He's not 'nuts' like 'total-psycho-nuts'," Meggana defends. "He's just an old man. A hermit, kinda. A bit out of sorts with the rest of the world. Kinda senile. Kinda."

SPACE "Well, if that's the best we've got," Alliandra begins, only to be interrupted by another falling tree. The group looks back to see Tharg and Conner smiling wide-eyed over a sad looking raft made of fallen trees and vines tied in bows. Turning back toward the group, Alliandra continues. "And it is, then I say that's our plan."

SPACE No one disagrees and the group begins making their journey to the west, keeping close to the coastline.

SPACE Tharg and Conner drag their raft behind them, just in case, they say, that the 'old man coo-coo.'

SPACE The group follows Meggana back out to the trail and then along the left fork towards the west.