Pems stares at the woman tree, then rubs his eyes and looks again. "Um.. Can anyone else see the woman shape in the tree or have I been lonely way too long?"
Hawktir makes a few more passes looking for trouble before joining Quinn in looking curiously at the gutted centaur.
Maybe it was an accident. He was probably horsing around.
Perception - how killed?
Survival - tracks
When he is satisfied with that, he looks into the opening and looks at Tsin. When the party is ready to enter, he transforms back to Hektir.
Hektir, you're pretty sure something gutted it.
There are a number of tracks in the area: Some are almost certainly giants, while the others appear to be hoofprints.
"You're not mad, Pemsworth, I see it too. This place is trouble though. Trouble with a capital TROUB, if you ask me."
Tsin smooths out her robe, glad to be rid of the halfling cargo.
She eyes the plateau, uncomfortable with the thought of prints this high up, and fighting giants up here.
When the focus turns to the entrance of the maidenhead, Tsin grows suspicious of the only thing here that demands scrutiny. She lets her gaze linger over the anthropomorphized tree.
"The bones, boys. Be careful. We are as likely to encounter our end as did the centaur."
As Hektir reverts to human form, Tsin addresses him directly. "Did you miss the wisps, or could you not communicate their presence to us in your bird form?"
Hawktir squawks in response to Tsin's question, coming out of the branches to return to his human form.
"I didn't see them. Did you?" Hektir says with a spit. "Not that it's any surprise. Mal knew they were here. Maybe only some people can see them."
Hektir looks at the Tomb of the Unknown Maiden and makes ready to make his presence known within. When Tsin quits grouching and enters, Hektir will follow.
As further scrutiny is directed at the winsome, willowy tree, Malavarius still feels his skin prickle along the back of his neck. Zeno, hopping across the old man's neck from one of the wizard's shoulders to the other, offers loudly,
"Old walrus?! Well I never- I- I.... -do you know, Zeno, that's not a bad idea." As Malavarius' retort slowly turns to acceptance of Zeno's idea, he strokes his beard and nods his head before calling up a simple cantrip. He turns his focus to the copse of trees and surrounding area.
HP: 40/40
AC: 11 (11 T / 10 FF)
Fort: +2 // Ref: +3 // Will: +7 (+1 vs spells, SLAs, & Su abilities of evil arcane spellcasters)
Resist 5: Cold
Energy Absorption: 0/21 absorbed
Pearl of Power I: 0/1 used
Cantrips Prepared (4): detect magic, open/close, prestidigitation, read magic
Level 1 Prepared (4+2+1): endure elements [X], feather fall [ ], hydraulic push [ ], protection from evil* [ ], mage armor [X], snapdragon fireworks [ ] [ ]
Level 2 Prepared (3+2+1): create pit [ ], glitterdust [ ] [ ], resist energy* [X], scorching ray [ ], spontaneous immolation [ ]
Level 3 Prepared (2+1+1): dispel magic* [ ] [ ], fireball [ ], haste [X]
Level 4 Prepared (1+1+1): stoneskin* [ ] [ ], wall of fire [ ]
Protective Ward used: 0/8
Ongoing Effects:
protect from energy (Quinn): 70 minutes
.
Tsin turns to look at Mal, as Hektir points out the old man's sentience. What the hells are hawk eyes good for, if not for scouting danger at distances? So intent on finding the entrance... a bird with blinders on...
She continues to study the massive tree for signs of movement.
You believe it could be a witch tree, a very dangerous, intelligent plant.
As you carefully enter the clearing, it speaks!
“All who seek to enter Artrosa must first present me with a sacrifice.”
"Of course it speaks..." Tsin turns to witch-one Pems, and what-what Malavarius to suss out the unforeseen problem of sacrifices.
"A sacrifice, you say? Of what sort?" Malavarius' tone turns to a mix of grumpiness and suspicion with his second question.
Hektir steps back, agog at the talking tree.
Know (Nature)
Perception - hiding gremlins in limbs, etc.
"What kind of sacrifice?" Hektir echoes Mal.
I'm sure I could sacrifice of my fire on it.
The witch tree points to the gutted centaur.
"Now of course, that's quite the lovely sacrifice, but I don't demand yours be as extravagant. Of course, I do appreciate the sentiment," the tree repsonds.
Hektir, you're as certain as Tsin that it's a witch tree, a very dangerous, intelligent plant
Tsin turns to Malavarius. "Mal, why don't you summon a horse for this tree here? That should do nicely." She turns to the tree.
"Do you require sacrifice times five, here? Or will one sacrifice satisfy you for us all?"
"Oh, no, only one sacrifice, but a horse won't do at all," it replies. "I mean, you must prove your worth to pass inside. I want something warm, living, and bloody and it must have at least a modicum of brains, or I will take a sacrifice myself—one of my choosing. I have stood here for centuries and claimed many sacrifices. Their bones are a testament to their foolishness in thinking they could win their way past me.”
You think the witch tree is hiding something, that perhaps a sacrifice is not the only way to get past it.
At the mention of brains, Malavarius frowns. "That rules you and Hektir out, Zeno." He strokes his beard, trying to remember things forgotten twice over by this point. "Did those riddlesome ravens give us anything for this? They were the ones going on about the waxing and the waning of the moon and all that nonsense, weren't they?"
Pems stares at the blood thirsty woman-tree. "The hell you say! A sacrifice to enter the place Baba Yaga herself sent us? I don't think so, you glorified table!"
Tsin listens to the loquacious lumber, a light frown dotting her forehead. "Come now, you don't strike me as so base as to give in to a blood lust. You are a more cerebral creature than most of the ones we have encountered until now, and we have traveled many, many miles." Tsin sheathes her blade, and brings her hands together, almost reverentially.
"Surely there is another way we can pass, something that doesn't require sacrifice? We would prefer to avoid bloodshed. Especially our own."
"No, I think not. A sacrifice for me, safe passage for you."
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"Look at us, we've so much more to offer than silly giants and half horse people. We are a dynamic, creative troupe! Certainly there must be something we can provide to sate your appetites more than the mountain of similar bones about your roots? What is your true heartwood desire?"
Diplomacy
"Yeah. What the nag and drunk said. We aren't here on our own...Baby Yucky would want this."
Hektir spits.
"Look, tree, we're here to save THE WITCH, Baba Yaga herself. We have no quarrel with you, but if you stand in our way the fires of hell itself would be preferable to what we will do to you. You've had your centaur, fine. But you'll get no blood for us, unless we give it in trade for your life."
Malavarius huffs and whispers loudly to Zeno, "We are negotiating with a tree, are we not, Zeno? Yes? Good, good. I was afraid I was imagining that part."
"Fine," the tree replies in a voice that sounds almost huffy. "You can also prove your worth by answering a riddle."
The witch tree grins wickedly.
"Very well. If you answer my riddle correctly, I will allow you to
pass. If you fail, however, I will take my sacrifice.
"Midnight, Morning, Bright Sun—
"Spoke thee with but one.
"Accursed now you be,
"For he befell the wrath
"Of two times seven.
"Oh tell me, who is he?"
Malavarius glowers darkly at the witchy tree. He mutters loudly to Zeno, "Dash it all! I should have known there'd be more of these blasted riddles! What's fourteen? Hmm? Zeno?"
Tsin sighs, as yet another of Baba Yaga's henchthings produces a riddle. She looks at her companions, and waits silently. She also starts gripping her blade, and thinks on Winter again...
For all our battles, this is one creature I'm not sure I'd like to fell... Although, there are a lot of bones at her feet... surely she only enjoys meat...
Tsin looks to Pems and Quinn, seeing a blank pool behind Mal's eyes...
"Wasn't the Black Rider known as Bright Sun in the cold lands?"
"Well, I'm waiting, dearies. Have you perhaps thought about your sacrifice instead? It might be easier for you. I shouldn't want you to tax your brains beforehand, it makes them all rubbery."
Tsin starts as the halfling speaks up with a possible answer. "And 'Midnight' was also part of his title. 'Black Midnight', to be exact." She looks at Mal and Hektir, the worst offenders in bastardizing names.
"The other two Riders, Red and White, were 'Sun' and 'Morning'. Well done, Pems. We are talking about the Riders. Go on, then. Give the witch tree what she desires the least. An answer that serves us in place of sacrifice."
Hektir listens, trying to remember as others do.
"His name? Wasn't it like 'Sillyarm Catpeeus'?" Hektir recollects carefully.
Malavarius looks at Hektir, his eyebrows arched in confusion. "Who? Do you mean that Radish-head fellow from before? Surely not that nasal hyena lady or that elfin woman- Vanna or what have you?"
Zeno, having taken more than his tiny self can endure, flaps up to the top of Malavarius' winter hat and pecks him repeatedly.
The spirited thrush then turns to the witch tree and squawks loudly, He shoot Hektir a look and raises his wings with a slight shake of his head as if to ask, 'What's wrong with you?!' before he returns to angrily pecking Malavarius in the head.
"Ouch! Ouch! Stop it, you winged devil! You've made your point! Goodness gracious, let an old man be already!"
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"Hmmph. Very well. I guess it must be as you say, and you may pass," the tree replies disconsolately.
"Sillyarm Catpeeus? I don't remember meeting him?" The need for counting to fourteen passed, Quinn puts his boot back on his left foot and joins the party at the entrance to Artosa. "Hey, maybe the tree left some trinkets among the remains!" Searching among the bones, the cleric looks for lost wealth.
Scattered among the bones among the roots of the trees is a suit of half-plate, a ranseur, a potion bottle, a scroll, two pieces of amber, a deep blue spinel, two jaspers and a number of coins of various mint.
Calling upon Cayden, Quinn searches for signs of magic among the found items.
Tsin looks up at the witch tree, and can't help but inquire a little further, as she walks towards the entrance.
"Thank you for allowing us passage. Do you have a name? A creature as magnificent as you should have it spread far and wide. Are there others looking over the other entrances? Or are you unique? Were you once human? Centuries old, you must have stories of your own..."
The armor, ranseur, potion and scroll radiate magic auras.
"My name is my own, but I was certainly never human. I am bound by ancient pacts to guard Artrosa, and though I am unique, I guard all of this place. Few indeed find entry into this place."
Quinn pulls the items aside and concentrates on them.
"Hey, Mal, look at these items. I think they're magical, but I'm not sure what they are for the most part?"
Hektir struts about, stretching his legs while the others take a looksee at the treasures.
"Say tree, did someone pass this way before us? I mean, who left you that centaur carcass?" Hektir asks, checking out his scimitar and club.
The tree rattles its branches as Quinn reaches for the items.
He can tell from afar, however, that the armor and weapon bear mild enchantments.
"Oh, indeed," it responds to Hektir. "Another horse-man left me this fine prize, a great brown beast with a mighty hammer, and a half-dozen giant followers."
Quinn tests the tree rattling with progressively closer reaches, without actually touching the items. "Are these your things, Mr. Tree? Do you mind if we take a few of them that catch our attention?"
"Giants? A centaur leading giants? That'll be trouble, no doubt. You haven't seen Baba Yaga recently have you?" Malavarius huffs then looks at Quinn, "What's that, Quinn? What what?"
"Of course they're mine. You see them here, don't you?" the tree snaps. "... But I'm happy to trade if you want."
Hektir spits, wanting to leaf the tree alone.
"Let's get going...unless one of youse can explain why a hurl of giants just entered here before us? Why are they here?" Hektir kicks some snow around with his foot.
"Seems awfully coincidental...and did the tree say that a centaur was leading the giants? Or do my ears need to pop from the altitude?" Hektir giggles his pinky finger into his ear.
"Ah...c'mon. Them giants won't kill themselves," Hektir approaches the entrance, pulling out his wand of extend (lesser).
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"Trade, Absolutely! These fine items are certainly difficult to obtain in your current economic desert." Quinn presents an array of goods to trade for the magic items.
Candle
Chalk
Earplugs
Fishhook
Flint and steel
Sewing needle
Signal whistle
Tindertwig
"Always happy to make a deal."
"Of course they're mine. You see them here, don't you? ... But I'm happy to trade if you want."
Tsin looks up at the witch tree, then down on the weapon. "I'll claim the ranseur. Seems fitting, to secure the weapon that allows me to reach, from a creature with substantial reach of her own. I have a choice dagger, I call it 'Eye Gouger'. It's seen many battles, and I would part with it only for something so serendipitous as this ranseur. What say you, Witch Tree?"
After negotiations, Tsin heads to the doorway and enters, expecting the others to follow close behind.
Hektir chuckles as Quinn offers the tree earplugs.
"Hey, Quinn, why would a tree need earplugs?" Hektir jaws, clearly not helping the transaction. "Reminds me of a woodsman's joke..."
"Hey Quinn, if trees could scream would we be so cavalier about cutting them down?" Hektir offers the first part of the joke.
HAW HAW!!" Hektir chuckles and spits.