Seraphina reached out for Maja, fearful of the terrible thing approaching them and anxious to see her friend safe(er) on dry land.
"By all that is good in this world, what unnatural thing is that?!"
She turns to Pretty, "It's walking on water and threatening to drown us, by all means, fire away! I cannot reach it just yet."
She draws her acid flask so she is ready to fire an acid splash when it comes within 60 feet.
"Gorum's balls! No, none from me! Maja, get back to shore!"
Idris readies her longbow and, as soon as she can, fires an arrow at it.
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"Yes mam!"
!
Kivan waits for the creature to approach closer before even trying to do anything.
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Pretty's arrow grazes the creature's arm, leaving a red gash across it. As it advances, the undead thing's wound begins to fuse and close, as if it had never happened. Idris' arrow flies off course and is taken by the river. The drowned thing is now about 60 feet away.
"YOUR ARROWS WILL NOT HURT ME NOW, BANDITS! YOUR ONLY HOPE IS A SACRIFICE! THROW YOUR LEADER TO MY TENDER MERCIES AND YOU SHALL GO FREE! THE STAG LORD MUST DIE FOR WHAT HE HAS DONE!"
Whoa! Pretty finds an opening at his demeanor and so she hammers it!
"WE'RE NOT BANDITS! Nor we follow the so called Stag Lord, but we too want his head! Stop there and we can talk, otherwise you will never catch us. And in that case you can seek your revenge alone."
She motions with her hand for the others to withdraw, and takes some steps backwards. She notches another arrow, but do not shoot yet.
"The Stag Lord is our foe as well!" adds Idris as she switches from her bow to her sword.
Kivan backs up and gets on his horse.
"Not to say anything bad here, but it's not going to listen to us, so we should probably flee, and come back when we can talk to it."
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Location: Hex U5 (plains; river; Ruined Bridge)
Date: 10 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 35° F
Weather conditions: Light rain, Cold Weather (DC 15 fortitude save or take 1d6 nonlethal and be fatigued), Moderate Wind (14 MPH from west, no modifiers)
Food: 13 days supply
The undead creature halts and looks at you blankly, as if it was staring through you.
"NO. YOU ARE WRONG. YOU SMELL WRONG. YOU ARE NOT MY TORMENTERS. INTERLOPERS! FIND THE STAG LORD! THROW HIM INTO THE RIVER ALIVE! ALIVE! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE UPON THAT WRETCHED MAN. FAIL ME NOT - THERE IS NO PLACE I CANNOT REACH!"
With that, the horrid figure collapses into the water. In a moment, it is as if he was never there.
Kivan looks at the others.
"Well that sounds simple enough. Bring the Stag Lord here, and throw him in. So, who votes we should sacrifice him to the angry river man?"
Kivan sits back, and lets the others throw their votes before deciding what way to go.
"Well, first he asked for his head, right? I think I'll prefer that option than to bring him alive here. Besides, that thing cannot reach far, I bet, but we may put it at rest by bringing his head. Later, of course." She starts to remove her chain shirt. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll take a quick look at the other side to evaluate the quality of the structure and what will we need to build a bridge here, in case we want to." She also removes her backpack and other non-combat equipment, making sure the rest is tight and locked before going in.
She tries the rope to see if it's firm, and although she thinks she can walk over it, that would be an unnecessary risk she doesn't want to take, not with these cold waters.
If no one interferes she will get to the rope, crosses her legs over it and attempt to cross the river (like this).
"Nah he first said that he was going to drown us because of his wrath, then he just said to throw our leader in if we wanted to be spared his wrath. Then he expounded upon his wrath by saying that he wants the Stag Lord alive to specifically drown him. This guy really needs some anger management classes, and a nap."
"That was exceeding strange. I suppose if we do manage to capture the Stag Lord without killing him, bringing him here and throwing him in the river would be an acceptable alternative form of execution."
Idris sheathes her sword and feels the temperature of the water, then shivers. "Careful, Pretty!"
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Location: Hex U5 (plains; river; Ruined Bridge)
Date: 10 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 35° F
Weather conditions: Light rain, Cold Weather (DC 15 fortitude save or take 1d6 nonlethal and be fatigued), Moderate Wind (14 MPH from west, no modifiers)
Food: 13 days supply
Pretty's natural agility is more than sufficient to see her safely on the other side. Although the remains of the bridge are old, the rope is thick and sturdy, and the posts solidly secured. Shimmying across in that manner doesn't seem terribly difficult, but the cold, rushing water below holds terrible promise for those who lose their grip and slip.
It occurs to Pretty and Kivan that securing someone to the rope, perhaps with a belt or another rope, would take the danger out of the attempt by guarding against a fall.
The tiefling takes a quick search onto the ruins and nearby territory, for anything different, then examines the structure of the bridge closely, and if nothing is wrong she goes back to the other side.
Seraphina stifles a hysterical giggle at Kivan's dry, witty explanation,
"Poor tormented soul, he also said there was no where he could not reach. Maybe we will be able to toss him into the nearest river, when we find him?"
Sera clings to Maja as they watch Pretty cross the river and search the other side.
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Location: Hex U5 (plains; river; Ruined Bridge)
Date: 10 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 35° F
Weather conditions: Light rain, Cold Weather (DC 15 fortitude save or take 1d6 nonlethal and be fatigued), Moderate Wind (14 MPH from west, no modifiers)
Food: 13 days supply
Pretty's search of the burned house turns up very little. At one time, it was a simple, one-room affair with wooden walls and stone chimney. Fire has ravaged the structure until all that remains is a crumbled pile of stone and pile of charred timbers. The ruins have been thoroughly looted - many booted feet have trampled the area and kicked through the debris. Nothing of value remains.
The party is able to cross the river in the same manner as Pretty did. The remainder of the area is unremarkable and quickly explored. Returning to your horses, you make camp in the evening, grateful for the warmth of a fire and shelter of tents.
The night passes uneventfully.
"Agreed, let's continue. Maybe they'll have a hot fire and warm food when we get there."
Despite the weather, Idris is cheerful, though she grumbles about the unseasonable cold. When Maja mentions the old saying about "Gozran showers brig Desnan flowers," Idris looks over the woods and meadows for a moment, and says with a catch in her voice, "Can you imagine how beautiful this land will be in a month or two? Flowers everywhere, green things growing in the sun? I can't imagine a finer time to campaign and find our way to a glorious battle."
Pretty can't help but to be happy with the comments.
"It will indeed be a sight to remember. We will be around for sure. Then please guide us Maja. We still have enough supplies to last for about two weeks. If they get shorter we will need to hush back, but for now we have plenty of time."
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Location: Hex T4 (plains)
Date: 11 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 40° F
Weather conditions: Light Wind (10 MPH from west, no modifiers)
Food: 12 days supply
Thankfully, both the cold and the rain let up today. It's still rather chilly, but inside your furs and woolen clothes you manage to ward off the cold. The sun is concealed by clouds and is of very little help in your battle.
After a filling breakfast of dried trout strips and waybread, you break camp and move to explore north west. The area continues to be grassy plains. Tall grass and low scrub bushes thickly carpet the ground and attest to the fertility of the soil.
The only interesting landmark you find is an old, lightning-battered oak tree that stands atop a small hill. It's the only tree to be found in this area, in fact. As you approach the hill, the tree looks eerily akin to a claw reaching for the clouds.
Pretty and Seraphina both notice that a patch of dirt among the roots of the tree seems to have been recently disturbed, as if something was buried there. Ten minutes' worth of shovel work later, you pull a bundle of goods from the ground, wrapped in a thick leather cloak. Inside, you find a masterwork dagger, a wand of Burning Hands (CL 2; 10 charges), a silver ring, a spellbook, and 150 gold coins. To Pretty's practiced eye, the ring should be worth 75 gp. Unfortunately, much of the spellbook has been ruined by time and water, but some legible spells remain: identify, mage armor, reduce person, silent image, and unseen servant.
After a long day of combing the area and mapping it, you bed down for the night.
This night, basking in the warm glow of the campfire, Kivan finishes his translation of Tartuk's book.
Written in undercommon, Tartuk's well-worn book turns out to be a personal journal of sorts. Devoid of dates or even chronological organization it's little more than the hate-fueled ramblings of a very angry individual. Each bilious page seems crammed from edge to edge with bitter disgust for seemingly everyone and everything in the world up to and including the author himself. The only lighter moments in the book seems to be in the gleeful descriptions of Tartuk manipulating his kin into self-destructive spirals of fear and violence. Trying to pick out a coherent narrative from this nonsensical mess is a challenge at best. With perseverance however one can eventually piece together a few key facts about the late Tartuk's life… or lives.
If the journal can be believed, it seems that Tartuk was not hatched as a kobold—he was born a purple-haired gnome. He was flattened while trying to surrender to a group of ogres who were pillaging his home village. It seems that his unintentional self-sacrifice somehow provided his kinsmen with the time they needed to mount a defence and chase the ogres away.
Although they'd always hated and mistreated him (according to the author at least) Tartuk's fellow villagers apparently felt sorrow at his death and unanimously voted to restore him to life—via a sacred scroll that had sat in the village treasury for years. In an ironic twist of fate, poor Tartuk was reborn as a kobold. Scandalized, the villagers didn’t know how to react. Tartuk did—as a final act of betrayal, his kinsman had conspired to turn him into one of the most hated of monsters—a kobold!. Enraged, he fled the village, only to nurse a deep grudge. Climbing into the highlands, he found a tribe of white-scaled kobolds; the Hoarfrost tribe. He joined them, used his magic and manipulative lies to rally them, and then led his new army in an attack against his old village. The resulting battle was furious, and only Tartuk survived; due to his picking off any surviving kobolds with scorching fire.
Spurned by this initial success he went on to repeat this strategy and so seek out another kobold tribe; this one a forest dwelling green-scaled tribe known as the Bitterleafs. They met their end through a combination of vicious infighting, rookery sabotage and his betrayal of them to a band of sadistic goblins.
The Sootscales were but Tartuk’s latest project. Posing as a messiah he infiltrated the tribe, undermined chief Sootscales' leadership and led them away from their strange religious beliefs back to a violent cult of 'dragon-like' behavior. Using their brainwashed hatchlings as infantry, Tartuk launched the tribe into a self-destructive crusade against the gremlins of the Old Sycamore.
His maniacal pursuit of destruction wasn't limited to others however; hating what he'd been transformed into, Tartuk had a contingency plan if he somehow continued to survive his schemes. Tucked into the back of the journal is a arcane scroll of Fly; his journal indicates that once he'd grown tired of his second life he intended to use it to fly up as high as he could and then plummet to his death when the spell expired.
The night passes uneventfully.
"Ok, northwest sounds good as anything. It's a really messy story, isn't it? To think it could end up this bad... I actually thought the Stag Poser was involved in this, but I was wrong. Anyway, we found this stuff, but I'm felling bad just by taking it." She takes a moment to organize her thoughts then proceed. "I can think of no reason for someone to have buried these things in the middle of nowhere like this, but there must be one, right? Maybe we should leave it there so whoever left it there will find it when coming back? There doesn't seem to be any kind of identification in the book, does it?"
"Hmm, do you suppose whomever buried these items is still nearby? I don't think we have real need of these items, though the wand could come in handy. Do you think we should return it to the ground?"
Seraphina listens to the story of the purple abomination intently.
"Good gracious, I had thought he meant to usurp the chief's position, not destroy the whole lot of them!" She shakes her head and pulls her fur-lined cloak tighter around her, already dreading the rain Maja has predicted.
"If I buried something this perishable under a tree, I'd plan on coming back soon. This ground was frozen a few months ago, so it could have been as far back as last autumn. I think whoever buried this has forgotten it or gone away in one way or another."
"Well, if it is old it does make sense. I'm adding this dagger to my collection, if you don't mind. Who's taking the rest?"
Something crosses the mind of the tiefling and she looks up. She takes a moment circling around the tree, then checks it's trunk, and if the top has too many leaves to see through, she will climb the tree to see if there's anything hidden, including a hanged body.
"I'll just take my share of the valuables when we divvy up."
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Location: Hex T3 (plains)
Date: 12 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 45° F
Weather conditions: Light Wind (12 MPH from northwest, no modifiers), light rain.
Food: 11 days supply
Oleg's trading post draws ever nearer as you head north west to explore. The process of breaking your fast and breaking your camp is starting to become more routine now. You're starting to get comfortable stowing your gear to be accessible on the trail. The morning is warmer, though still chilly, and the promised rain rolls in just before noon. Draped in cloaks and tucked into hoods, you press on with your duties.
Mapping an area of plains is also starting to become routine, and this hex is no different. About three in the afternoon, however, you stumble across an interesting scene. You crest a small hill to discover a slight depression, about 200 feet across and a few feet deep. This area is littered with many bleached-white bones. You can see the remains of boars, deer, a bear, and chillingly, a few human skeletons. The bones look as though they have been thrown into their current location - none of the creatures look like they perished where their bones now lie. The skeletons are mostly complete.
"This looks like the trash-heap of some beast..."
Idris draws her sword and brings forth her bow in her other hand, peering about for any sign of danger.
Kivan looks at the dead bodies with passing interest, and marks on the map the location of this graveyard.
"Well it might be the abode of a necromancer, or of some monster."
Seraphina looks high as well as low, trying to spot an area where a predator might lie in wait. Her coppery colored locks flaring out from her head as the follicles stand on end in response to the tension in her body. She speaks the incantation and flourishes her hand, casting detect magic and scanning around for any sign of a threat.
"Take care, it might be up above and casts it's leavings down the hill."
"I don't think it collect bones. I think it just spits out whatever it doesn't like. At first I though of a dragon, but then I thought of a spider. I believe some spiders make nests on the ground and get to the prey when they come closer." She draws a dagger and looks around, but sees nothing else. "If it is a beast we need to take it down, right? But can we defeat whatever it is? I would suggest us to circle around, so we have a better view of the depression."
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Idris peers through the rain, trying to make sense of the pattern. After several minutes of examining the scene, she identifies a central spot from which the skeletons appear to radiate. Disguised by a pile of grass and dirt, a "lid" of webbing lies ever so slightly propped up from a hole in the earth. You can't see inside it.
"Told you! A spider then, but can we defeat it? judging from the animal and human's carcasses I would say it's a strong one so we shouldn't try to get rid of it. But if we leave it here it may move from this place once food gets low. So what do we do?"
"Return here with allies or stronger weapons, perhaps, and can we post a warning sign for any travellers?"
Idris doesn't seem enthused about the prospect of fighting a giant spider.
Seraphina looks apprehensively at the spider's feeding grounds and whispers to her companions, fearful of drawing the creature from it's den until they were prepared.
"Perhaps we could hide and toss something near it's hole and cause the creature to come out and we could gauge it's strength that way?
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Such a lair is indicitive of a trapdoor spider. Giant Trapdoor Spiders are the megafauna versions of their tiny cousins, about the size of a pony or small horse. They are carnivorous, and hunt via ambush from camouflaged burrows. They are highly venomous. By the time the prey is aware of the attack, the spider has already grappled them with its forelegs and injected a strength-sapping poison. The hapless victim is swiftly rendered immobile - but conscious - as the venom liquifies its innards for the spider to suck out. They hunt by sight, and as vermin don't have much of a mind to effect.