Autumn in the Oathlands is a beautiful thing. The trees are alight with changing leaves and the agricultural workers are very, very hard at work waiting for just the right moment before pouncing and harvesting their yearly crops.

But that seems to be the problem. Over this area of the Great Road, farmers are in a general uproar. A lot of farmers.

Enough farmers to mean that word has traveled and spread of the crazy congregation of grackles that are swarming this area. If the grackles continue on like this even for another week the food supply will be demolished and even worse yet it will start to impact the ale production. Hard. This could mean a lot of things. Shortages. The driving up of prices. Fights over beer.

This is serious. No one likes a war over the last case of beer.

All the farmers in the area, lacking a place to gather, have begun to congregate at the Hearth & Road Inn. Right now, no less than 50 farmers are packed in this place like sardines listening to a little man on a literal (empty) soapbox at the head of the room.

"Calm down everyone! I sent word looking for help. Help /will/ arrive soon!"

This many people in the same place must have drawn Eddard there during his autumn wandering to play his lute, sing his songs and generally pretend like he didn't get uplifted. He even insists on riding in turnip carts here or there. As if on cue, Eddard pushes his way into the tavern that looks distinctly unwelcoming to bards and far more likely to want to hire a herd of cats or something. "Oh dear." A soft murmur to himself as he tries to squeeze into some location that might let him get a better view of the announcer of problems.

And help shows up wearing a cloak pin with the Crimson Blades sigil. On an old man. With snow-white hair, long running scar in the middle of his face, and... is that a black and white tail wisping next to his face?! Either way, whatever this old man is up to he prods his way directly to the front of the crowd, waving a carved femur in the air. "The Crimson Blades are here..." He looks at a particular group of farmers that seem to be ready to start laughing, and answers them without a question being asked, again with a gruffer voice, "What's the problem here?"

Raimon hears the tail end of the speech about " . . . sent word looking for help. Help /will/ arrive soon!" as they walk on up to the tavern. So Raimon and Zak -do- arrive soon. Fair enough. Whether or not 'Crimson Blades and Friends' will actually be able to -help- is TBD. Raimon orbits the periphery of the packed sardinary-farmeric smoosh of people, until he's stuck in a corner but the press of the throng. Just as well. Only surrounded on 2 sides there. Best an Introvert can do, in the circumstance. Along the way, Rai mostly just listens. Listens to what the individual farms have encountered, and what the individual farmers have tried (so far). It doesn't seem like an easy problem. It certainly seems like some hard - to - catch birds.

Zakhar draws some attention when he asks about the problem and announces the arrival of the Blades. "Speak of Petrichor! They're here. I TOLD you all help would arrive soon!" Victoriously, the short man on the soapbox gestures to the three that have just arrived. "The grackles are bad this year. It's almost a plague. I think every grackle in the Oathlands has made a temporary home here to go and eat all our crops. After an /amazing/ year for growing. Guess it was an amazing year for them too. We can't kill this many. They number maybe into the hundreds of thousands!"

"Thats..uhh...Quite a lot of grackles." Eddard is not a member of the Blades, but he has a blade so it must all be the same sort of thing to some people? "Scarecrows probably haven't worked. Uh. Drums?" Clearly there isn't an expectation for 3 people to destroy enough birds to save the crop is there? At the very least, Eddard moves through the crowd towards Zakhar, because he has met the man before.

Zakhar has a silly grin plastered upon his lips as the number is revealed. Then shaking his head as if answering his own stupid question and not letting anyone else in on the joke. His smile slips away, "What have ye done to this point to try to drive them away?" Then looking over through the crowd as he hears a voice that sounds familiar. "What that lad said."

Raimon knows what a thousand people looks like. Knows pretty well, in fact, since that's the exact number of the grand total of Thrax's pikeman available for military service. Raimon can -imagine- what two thousand looks like. That's just a vast number. Raimon squints his brain and tries to imagine a -hundred- thousand. Raimon shakes his head, tries again. Raimon removes his helmet. In case that helps with extra thinking. A wisp of steam wafts upward from the top of Rai's head.
(Due to helmets being sweaty and the inside vs. outside temp difference, ofc. But Still.). In the end, Rai shakes his head. Nope. Can't imagine it. Rai puts his helmet back on. Hm. Rai turns to the nearest farmer: "How many you folks -usually- get?" (Yikes. One Hundred Thousand. Egad.)

"Scarecrows. Drums. Having the children chase em. We chase them. We've tried making nets or using as many blankets as we can summon to put over the crops but they make holes in them faster than we can repair them. We got as many cats as we can handle but they ain't even made a dent. They're all fat and lazy now." He looks over to Zakhar's cat amusedly and hops his 4'11" ass off the box and approaches, placing a hand on his chest when he bows. "I'm Ysac. I'm the one to wrote to ask for aid, head of the team we put together to attempt to solve this problem!"

Zakhar absent mindedly strokes at the tail of the cat lazing on his shoulders and tucked mostly into the hood of his clock. He looks in pain for a brief moment as the cat has shifted and taken his hand in her teeth. As he stands there continuing to stare at Ysac, the cat trying to make a meal of his fingers, and that goofy grin back on his face. "No. Kits won't help here. Do you have any bigger birds in the area? We could make some kites and fly them. Or we can try fighting the majority of them off..." He looks to Raimon and Eddard. "Your the nobs here. What do you have to say?"

"Lord Eddard Clement." Eddard introduces himself after YsacMan does so as well. "I'mawot?" A shorter honorific of some sort (or slang insult, either or) finally gets realized and his eyebrows begin to knit together instead. "Oh. A noble. Well. Halfway. I think you're a bit of a Knob yourself though." The man hmms as he looks about towards all of the upset farmers and lets his mind wander. "We could see if birds will prefer easier food and just put out bird feeders to gather them elsewhere?"

Raimon listens to the list of things that have been tried already. Hm. Rai looks down, brow furrowed, thinking. This could take a while.
Raimon is not what you would call 'a quick thinker.' He might get there, in time, of course. He's determined and patient. Quick? Nope. Following Rai's train of thought would reminisce of the lazy, meandering, country-spanning, stops-everywhere sort. Not the 'bullet train express' straight to the solution. Hmmmmmmm. Raimon ponders. Unlike most people, though, when Rai doesn't have anything to say -- Rai says: Nothing.

Ysac looks worriedly to the other farms and begins to usher the three men toward a door in the back, lowering his voice. "You don't understand. Most of these farmers have to start harvesting tomorrow or the whole things gonna spoil. Time sensitive stuff. Can't stay in the ground, you see you have to wait til it's dried out enough, the almanac's callin for rain startin next week. We need somethin' quick and effective and a certainty." He assures them, leading them to the back room that's probably set aside for larger private parties, but is empty now save for tables and chairs.

Having finally wrestled his hand back from shekies, Zakhar looks to Eddard with a small curl of his lip. "Aw. I knew we liked you for a reason." He shrugs a little to Ysac. "Well, we can take to the fields and start slaughtering them. Call up the reserves, will still be outnumbered man to bird, but more weapons the better for just outright diving into bloodshed. A larger kite or mask of a larger animal might work, though will take time to make. How about we escort the farmers out today, they pick we keep the birds away."

Eddard has sword and lute strung across his back in equal proportions so who knows how this adventure will turn out. "I think there will be far too many birds for that. We should find a falconer. Just the presence of a large bird of prey in the area might ward off the evil-doing birds. But if we've only got days we need a fast solution."

Zakhar nods to Eddard. "Do both? go out make some noise, fly a bigger bird, and slaughter a few? Toss the wounded or killed ones to a pile. If the birds are hungry enough they'll flock to the meat of their own."

Raimon keeps thinking. "Whirrrrrrrrrrrr" go the imaginary gears inside of Rai's skull. It's not a high - pitched turbine whine, all reassuringly turbo. More like the noise an old grandfather clock mechanism makes. As far as imaginary noises go. Raimon shrugs. Rai nods to Eddard, once. There -are- a very great many birds, yes. Rai looks to Zak. Rai listens to Zak's idea. Might as well. Can't hurt.

Ysac looks at Eddard for a long time. A LONG TIME. "You know we do have owls in the forest. I think. Unless the greckles spooked them or somethin'?" He jabs a thumb over his shoulder toward the outskirts of the town. "Or if you feelin like dressen a turkey up there's a turkey farm down the road. Think they'll mistake a turkey for a falcon?"

Zakhar looks between the silent prince, Eddard and Ysac. "I'm game to try dressing a turkey."

"This sounds like an awful song that someone plays to children." Eddard's fingers reach to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Lets dress up a turkey. Or several turkeys. They only need a few days to harvest and get things into storage."

Raimon nods to Zak. Turkey -is- delicious game. Turkey with dressing? Even Moar Delicious-er. "Yes. We'll have turkey - with - dressing for our celebratory dinner then. If we win! Your recipe, of course." Raimon has scant hope that a single turkey disguised as a falcon will win the day vs. 100,000 grackles. Raimon turns to Ysac, "Of all that I've heard so far, nets seemed the best idea. A single one can net you ... dozens of birds. Let's sent riders upriver and downstream."

Raimon gets Really Big Fishing Net from ruck.

Raimon drops Really Big Fishing Net.

"See if they can borrow nets, -- fishing nets -- from the river towns. Sturdier, and as large as possible. You'll have to repay them with ale, of course. Also, let's see about getting a large -ish supply of paint, shall we? Some white paint. Some black or brown?"

"Meanwhile, let's get folks out in the fields. If they're shouting and waving their arms at the grackles, well, that means they're not shouting at waving their arms at ... us. Or each other. Activity seems called for."

Ysac suddenly looks worried that sounds like a feasible plan but... Well. Faith. He must have it in the Crimson Blades in order for this to work. What choice did he have really anyway?

It's not terribly long - the better part of an hour - when you arrive at the turkey farm. Well it's a general poultry farm named "Over Easy" and outside is a girl no older than 13 throwing out corn and seeds to the birds that are all pinned up beside the house. "Hello!" She says chipperly.

Zakhar waves to the girl as he shifts his shoulders a little, with a chipper voice, "HALLO! We'd like to see yer turkey flock."

Raimon gets Really Big Fishing Net.

Eddard steps up to be the face of the party, mostly because he knows the Oathlands. Also, Zakhar can be unpredictable. "To borrow." A side-eye towards Zakhar. "We'll put down a deposit and such. Do you have any...agreeable..turkeys? Friendly and easy to handle?"

Raimon certainly allows Eddard to take the lead on this, opting to pivot at the head of the path to look at the actual wheat fields either on this farm or the next farm down. If there's actually grackles there, he'll watch them in action. Nothing like firsthand experience to generate ideas for solving a problem.

Yes, indeed, Raimon is treated to many wheat and barley fields as far as the eye can see, really, crawling with grackles. Little black birds that turn very pretty colors in the light. They could *almost* be mistaken for crows. And boy are they noisy. And boy do they poop a lot. A lot. There's a smell.

"Oh! To borrow? I'm not sure if my father.. borrows out his turkeys." The girl looks very confused. "They aren't really pets. They can be a little... pecky. I usually don't go too near to them. My brother was almost blinded by the big one, we call him Tom."

Zakhar eyes Eddard, then shifts to the girl. He means that we want to buy a couple off of you.

Zakhar eyes Eddard, then shifts to the girl. "He means that we want to buy a couple off of you." He looks to the clothing line then to the fields, "And maybe some of that brown fabric on yer wash."

"Of course. I'm sure we'll know what to do with turkeys." Eddard's hands pat his belt, then pulls his satchel forward to extract his nobly gotten gains in a small coinpouch that rattles promisingly.

She looks over to the wash hanging in the yard, strewn up between two trees and drying in the autumn breeze. "My pants?" Boy, this girl is so confused. "How much will you give me for em?"

Zakhar checks charm and haggling at normal. Zakhar fails.

Raimon looks out over the vasty smear of accumulating grackle-poo at the resplendently variegated avians feasting obnoxiously on what could one day be ale instead. Grrrr. Raimon's eyes narrow. Raimon picks up a stone and chucks it at the lot. Experimentally. But with gusto. Do they all fly off at once? One at a time? None at all?

Eddard checks charm and haggling at normal. Eddard is successful.

Raimon checks perception and investigation at easy. Raimon is successful.

"Your pants and others like it will be rather easy to replace. We both know that, but I'll ensure its replacement is easy enough." Coins in his coinpurse come out with relative ease when pinched between his fingers. "The turkeys are another matter. I'm sure you have a typical price for them. We'll be using them to save this year's harvest though. And /everyone/ will know where these turkeys came from and who they have to thank for it."

Out in the field, the rock flushes out a bunch. Not all, but those in the wake of the stone's fall fly up, head a little ways out and then settle back down. Then.. thunk. His rock has obviously struck something substantial. Not bird nor wheat nor dirt. More like a rock on rock thing.

Raimon head-tilts silently. 'Oh rock of sages, WhyFore Thunkest Thou?' Raimon wonders, to himself, equally silently. Hm. Yeah, that -is- odd. No one plants big rocks in wheat fields. It's ... just not done. Raimon waves to Zak, pointing that he's going off to investigate this, while the others perhaps predicably pursue poultry propositioning perforce.

Zakhar watches Eddard for a moment, a soft nod as the almost noble tries to convince the girl of the sale of pants and turkeys. "We'll even pardon them when we're done. Or I can cook them up fer ya." Raimon's rock throwing catches his attention and he turns to look what the prince is off to do. "Erm... Did the field thunk itself?"

Meanwhile at the farm, turkey girl looks between the two of them and together they decide on the exuberant price of 5 silver for the pants and 2 per turkey they want to take. The condition is they leave the silver on the porch over /there/ and take they turkey and leave /now/ because. Well.

She just doesn't know how to process two full grown men wanting to buy her pants. She's heard about men like you.

Anyway. In the field, Raimon finds and itty bitty teeny weenie little shrine. It looks like a miniature version (like a doll's house) version of the one in Arx for Petrichor complete with a little doll of a shrine attendant. Upon the altar was, he presumes, several tiny shiny offerings that have been scattered by the stone he threw.

Zakhar takes the pants from the washing line and gets to work cutting them up with not a knife... no that would be too easy, just the next sharpest item on him. A spoon. As he's pulling strips of the pants cloth apart, he looks over to Eddard. "Think thirteen should do? Make the birds wings look bigger? Add some ties and light sticks, just need to figure out how to get it upon the fucking stupid thing." He looks over to the turkeys that are cluttered together and eyeing the old man back. He looks around to sort out where Raimon has gone, nods to the girl. "I'll tailorie you something good, much better than these."

"Par-...Pardon? Why would we pardon a turkey?" Eddard ALSO doesn't know why the Zakhar wants to buy her pants. But. They're clean and what not. Oh. Right. Costumes. A knife coming out to start shredding her pants a bit after paying might signal less than nefarious intent. "Thirteen? Thirteen turkeys or thirteen....Hm. Maybe. Lets get more than one turkey."

Raimon blinks. Hm. What's this? A miniature Petrichor Shrine? In a farm field. Well. One supposes, 'If you build it, they will come.' Or at least that sort of ideology leads to crazy farm shenanigans of the semi-mystical sort in other universes, not that he'd know. -Who- will come, though? Raimon examines the tiny shinies. The sort of shiny things blackbirds would like? Blackbirds ... or grackles? What's going on here?

Raimon checks perception and investigation at normal. Raimon is successful.

The girl disappears inside the house with the silver and lets the men do as they wish with the brown pants there. (I guess you could do a craft roll or legerdemain or?)

Raimon, yes, the little shrine is littered with all kinds of bits and bobs. A fishing hook. A bead. A silver button. A bit of bone. A silver earring. A bit of a broken key. Quite a collection but it's unclear whether someone left them or if it were the birds!

Zakhar checks dexterity and sewing at normal. Zakhar is marginally successful.

Zakhar pulls the clavicle needles from where they are tucked into his hair and sets to work in sewing and stitching the strips of pants together to look like big wings, and a small harness to fit upon the turkeys. He looks at the finished piece then the turkeys, then Eddard. "Wanna hold that fat one while I slip this on it?" He looks out to the fields, then shouting. "Where'd ya go Prince Raimon!? I don't need to be explaining to yer highlord why you became a pike puppet."

Eddard was feeling rather unhelpful after purchasing said turkeys and clothes. Then he'll go looking for THAT FAT TURKEY to persuade to follow him and wear a harness. "You..uhh..come here? COME HERE!" Eddard points at the ground.

Eddard checks charm and seduction at hard. Eddard is successful.

Raimon shouts back: "Hey Zak. I'm at the Shrine!" Entirely sensible. One hundred percept plausible. Of -course- Rai would be at the Shrine, as Raimon is -forever- hanging out at some Shrine of other of one of the gods of Arx, somewhere in the cit... wait, wot? In a wHeAt fIeLD? How is that ... ? Raimon looks over the scene laid out before him. Tiny Shrine. No pathway worn to it. Shiny things. Random bits. Things that only a child or ... raven ... or ... blackbird ... would think to collect and keep. Raimon scruffs at the stubble of his chin with the back of the thumb of his gloved right hand, pensively. "Well, that's most peculiar . . . " Raimon muses, softly, to himself. Most extraordinary, indeed.