Enraged by his bloodied waistcoat, Rhodes thrusts his rapier at the dryad, impaling her. She seems genuinely surprised at this development as she gasps her final breath and collapses to the forest floor.
Trina finally rouses Jerry from his magical slumber.
The other dryad, appears alarmed. "Perhaps you have chosen the wrong side, swordsman," she says to Rhodes. She gazes at him intently and attempts an enchantment.
Sylvia
Luce
Smitty
Caladrel
Rhodes
Jerry
Trina
Dryad
Rhodes pinches himself, hoping that will help focus his mind. He's always had trouble with peer pressure.
"Freakin' militant alfalfa!" Sylvia wades through the entangling greenery with some difficulty, trying to avoid Jerry's enraged feline companion. "Stupid overgrown housecats!" she grumbles under her breath.
She pulls a capped tube from her bandolier and swigs the contents.
"Excuse me... mustn't sleep on the job." Jerry says groggilly looking through heavy lidded eyes at the scene. Sylvia's words pass straight over his head.
Picking himself up from the floor he looks to the dryad; "Now that was a touch rude. Perhaps you might want to consider leaving? Lest...."
Luce starts to lick her whiskers, trying to get the taste of sap out of her mouth - unhappy at this turn of events.
Satisfied the warrior was back on his feet... metaphorically speaking, anyway... Trina pulls herself free at last of the gripping vines and weeds as she moves out of their reach, closing the gap between herself and the remaining opponent and taking a broad swing with her glaive.
To Rhodes, the dryad says, "You must choose your companions better. They bring such destruction with them." Her feigned distress is enough to elicit an eyeroll from most of you, but in Rhodes' state he is inclined toward some sympathy.
"Ach! I must not be hitting the center of the damned tree!"
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"Wrong damn tree, Bessie!"
Luce flinches back from the explosive cracks of the Smitty's weaponry. Looking on as the bark from the nearby tree explodes, splinters flying and pale rotten wood showing underneath.
"Destruction is a problem? Er, yeah... you know that's really... um, yeah... I hate destruction!" Rhodes says, not sure why he really cares what this dryad thinks.
"Agreed, creation is more difficult and rewarding than destruction." Jeremiah says haughtily before turning to the dryad. "Surrender Madam. It's you forest that's been perverted not you."
Sylvia's eyebrows come together in annoyance and confusion. "Why are we talking to killer trees?" she wonders aloud, flames dripping from between her lips.
"Because they like the Smythes have been corrupted by the Darkness of the forest." Jerry says with some concern; "If we can save them too?!"
"But Nature is killer by... er... nature. I was feeding this pigeon in the park once? And a falcon swooped by and boop! No more pigeon." Sylvia kicks at the entangling grass. "Trees just see us as fertilizer. Some more than others, perhaps."
Caladrel stops his chant. A small, augmented fire elemental appears behind the remaining Dryad . The elemental tries to slam the dryad.
,
Then Caladrel moves his flaming sphere over the dryad to further fan the flames. , DC 16 Reflex Save.
Now out of the trance of his conjuration, Caladrel listens with horror to Sylvia and Jerry's conversation. "Treated with care and respect, Trees see us as much more than fertilizer. We are revered as stewards of the natural world. It is when we turn away toward artificial devices that we lose our way and become a threat. All living creatures have the right to fight for survival."
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"I'd peel her birch," Rhodes says, then scratches his head wondering why he said that outloud.
Luce growls softly, as if emphasizing that nature is in fact deadly and uncaring of the niceties of etiquette. The gummy sap in her mouth, she's unsure if she wants to take another bite.
The remaining dryad smartly dodges both the flaming sphere and the elemental's attack.
Trina's glaive strikes its mark and wounds the dryad. The twisted creature shrieks and lashes out at her assailant.
The wounds sting greatly.
Defiling Touch (Su)
The damage dealt by a debased fey’s natural attacks resists all magical healing (though it can be healed normally through rest). A creature attempting to cast a cure spell or a heal spell on a creature damaged by a debased fey’s natural attacks must make a successful caster level check, or the spell has no effect on the injured creature.
Sylvia
Luce
Smitty
Caladrel
Rhodes (charmed)
Jerry
Trina
Dryad
Sylvia winces as the tree-woman unleashes her fury on Trina, then inches past the beleaguered inquisitor. Remaining out of reach of the dryad, she takes a deep breath and spews a gout of fire in its direction.
The dryad's reflexes are quick, avoiding much of the fiery blast, but she is still badly burned.
"Miss, please sit down...." Jerry says charging towards the dryad an slapping her in the thorax with the flat of the great-swords' blade. The strain of the swing relieves the last remnants of his sleep-infested eyes.
She winces at the gashes, but mid-combat is not the best time to be looking into medical expertise; she'll have to examine the wounds later, under better circumstances, like not being slashed at.
In the meantime, she takes a step back and takes another swing at the fey, putting a bit more force into it.
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With a thud, Jerry strikes the dryad and she collapses, unconscious from the blow.
Jerry stands gasping over his downed foe; "Shall we tie her to a tree? Or suspend her above the ground?" he asks not wanting to end the life of the corrupted forest dweller. "For if we put to sleep this awakening being, the forest will need more guardians."
Trina leaves Jeremiah and Caladrel to deal with the living dryad, and makes her way over to the one she presumes is dead. She kneels by the body and gives it a cursory examination, attempting to assure whether or not it's still alive; if her examination confirms it's dead, she begins her ritual yet again. If it's alive, she'll attempt to stabilize it then bind it, then see what the gentlemen have decided to do with them.
Trina kneels by the slain dryad, curling her tail around her body and removing her gloves, then lays her hands over the slain fey's corpse, a few inches away. Much like the encounter with the ranger the day before, the gnawing mouths that dot her palms and fingers begin chewing away and gaping hungrily at something invisible in the air. Trina's expression contorts in a grimace of pain momentarily, then settles into a calm, almost meditative state as she begins quietly chanting.
"Mi petas faciligi kaj ripozon nun al vi, rompitaj filino de arbaro.
Venu ne malsupren la reloj aŭ en nia herbejoj, malaperos tiu ligno en paco al sferojn trans.
Estu vi liberigita el la teno de teruro kaj malico, kiu tenas vin, la taint kiu ligas vin, la malbeno, kiu tordas vin.
Kaj por via paco mi empeñar mia propra animo. Amen."
Decide as you will, of course.
Firstly, placing his weapon back in the shoulder sheathe, he looks to the others.
Stopping his stomach heaving at Trina's ritual, he'd seen some strange rituals in the desert but they always brushed against his delicate educated sensibilities. Instead he concentrates upon the lady in front of him, getting out some rope from his backpack. Then he pauses unsure how to put his hands upon the lady.
"Urg. This is worse than that hot pepper stew in the city," Sylvia belches, flame dripping from her mouth. She purses her lips and blows fire into the nearby entangling vegetation until the fiery brew is exhausted.
'I've felt like that after curried goat before...' Jerry thinks reminiscing about his University days, he looks to the bound and unconscious dryad and the others.
"Shall we be off? Dryads are usually guardians of the woodland, maybe they were perverted to be guardians of the Devils' Hole." Jerry moves over to Luce and mounts up, preparing to move forward to follow the river.
'Must be a sink hole, that drains part of the river and thus creates an underground cave network. It might even connect into an existing network.' he wonders.
Trina rises from her prayer with a wince, and quickly tugs her gloves back on before picking up her glaive and hobbling back toward the rest of the group, leaning slightly on the weapon like an oversized cane. She always feels a little drained after performing that ritual; for many the last line may be simple formality of the act, of metaphorically taking the sins of the slain upon one's self to assure peaceful passage into whatever afterlife awaits for the deceased, but for Trina it always felt real. Specifically, like something that the aberrant part of her fed on, which while it mended her wounds and strengthened her also left her feeling disoriented and twisted up inside.
"The other is dead, I'm afraid," she announces to no one in particular. "I've done all I can for her; whatever afterlife awaits the fey I hope it's a peaceful one, as I doubt they obtained whatever instigated this corruption willingly." She winces again as a spasm rocks through her back, causing the half-formed wings underneath her cloak to twitch and shudder, then does her best to shake it off. "At least it seems we're heading in the right direction." She forces herself to stand upright then looks around at the group. "Did they manage to injure anyone else? Their claws have some sort of venom or toxin in them that inhibits magical healing. I may have difficulty tending to anyone's wounds they caused, until we're safely out of this wood and back where I can use more mundane medicine and attend to long-term care."
"I'm fine. I didn't get anywhere near those things," Sylvia announces, as if that settles the matter of injuries for the entire group. She hawks and spits the last of the flaming potion in a most unladylike manner.
"So those things are guardians of the forest? I guess it doesn't like us here," she muses speculatively, peering with interest at the fallen forms before she hastens to retrieve the mule, which is pawing through the layer of leaves in search of food.
Patting the flank of his feline companion; "Luce and I are fine. I was just a bit sleepy that's all." Jerry adds with a hint of self-rebuke at his performance. Then looks around the group to see how everyone else is, glad that the fire-breathing academic is fine.
"I think it's just that which lies beneath that doesn't wish us to continue..." he adds cautiously.
"Hmph." Sylvia leads Chanticleer back by his reins, the mule dancing sideways in response to her tugging. "And you, Mister Rhomaino. When did you become such a nature lover?" She squints curiously at the rake.
The blackened stream runs past. It almost seems to devour what little ambient light reaches its surface, but then this is a miserably lightless place to begin with. You are able to follow its route downstream, winding among stones and fallen trees, their trunks blackened by the forest blight. After a lengthy trek, you can hear ahead the sound of falling water.
'Looks to me that Mr. Rhodes is a natural lover.' Jerry thinks wryly, remembering his own university days.
He whispers to the others; "Shall we sneak up towards the waterfall and the sink hole? There maybe more guardians. It might be more fortuitous than stumbling upon the scene like some vaudeville buffoon."
Jerry keeps low upon Luces' flank, looking around the area before the watery sound.
"Waterfall?" Sylvia peers ahead, stopping at Jerry's whisper.
"Well where the water ends in the sink-hole maybe, I'm not a geologist or naturist." Jerry says quietly asking; "Is that your speciality?"
Sylvia snorts. "I mix things and make them go boom."
As you continue, your eyes confirm what your ears suspected: the stream tumbles over a small, but rather tall, waterfall. Exactly as Gindel said, there is a game trail that diverges from the path of the stream near the top of the waterfall to wind its way down. The trail is heavily shaded by close branches and dense undergrowth. Puddles and rivulets make for a muddy mess beneath your feet.
Luce pads softly through the thick underrgrowth, whilst Jerry keeps low upon her back as the branches flick at his face. 'Move quietly, a silent approach may befuddle the other guardians.' he thinks, not daring to speak.
Cautiously he moves further towards the water source, hoping not to lose the cover.
Caladrel shakes his head, "So sad that such a rare guardian of the forest can be corrupted like this. I agree we must take care less we are surprised by more such tainted creatures."
On the path in front of you, Trina notices a puddle that is unlike the others. It is exceptionally murky, and as you near it, the surface itself rises into a terrible, gelatinous pseudopod. It will be difficult to circumvent this obstacle.
From atop his mounts back Jerry looks on, altering his weight upon her saddle to edge her forward. Thus his reactions are a touch slow as they crest the rough cover of the shrubbery.