Walthus nods to Lirrathan, graciously accepting his... explanation... before turning to dish up some bowls of the hearty soup. As he does the halfling beams over to Koveluss and Daemon. "Oh yes, that's Bartholomew; a Blue mountain switchback. their indigenous to rivebanks near the foot of the Storval rise. I caught his parents a long time ago but bred Bartholomew myself. he's my favorite."
After setting the offered meal on the table, Walthus thinks on Yosrick's request and turns and heads into his cellar, before returning with two large bottles with cork stoppers, filled with a dark red liquid, "Well it isn't high class, but I've some home made wine that should hit the spot." and as he places the bottles on the table, he also drops down a deck of tattered old playing cards. Walthus grins devilishly at Lirrathan, "Well boyo, care to lose some coin in a game of Three Dragon Ante?"
Yosrick's eyes light up when he sees the bottle of red. "Mr. Proudstump, you are my hero!" After a few gulps of the red, Yosrick seems to deflate, just sort of sinking down where he sits and going quiet.
Lirrathan's spirits rise as the cards are brought out, and is almost giddy with excitement when the offer of a game is added to the conversation. "I'll play you, but I wouldn't want to offend any further by robbing you of any coin you may have here in your hut." he replies jovially. "Hey Yos, you want to slow down long enough to let me fill my flask here, and maybe let the others have at least a sip?" he holds up his ornate flask, festooned with elven scrollwork.
Walthus plants himself in one of the chairs and pours himself a horn of the wine, scooping up the deck and shuffling them deftly between his fingers, "Ha! Should've known an elf would be nothing but talk. Don't want to ruin your manicure I suppose." he grins and looks to the others, "Anyone then?"
When whoever accepts the offer, Walthus deals out the cards, listening to the tales of the goblins "dead men, and the white faced monster"
"The beast is the Soggy River Monster, or I'm a Dwarf. Fishermen have been telling tales of it for months but no one's found where it lairs yet. As for the Bone men... Sounds bad but I've not seen any undead in these parts before. But the swamp's got a way of eating up tracks faster than most can follow."
Lirrathan chuckles "Oh, I'm ready to bet, I just don't want you to go to bed crying when you lose your coin. If someone of your stature can handle it like a big boy, then pony up the coin, and name your game."
Walthus pushes off from the table and toddles off, before coming back with a large bucket and points to a well pump built into his kitchen counter while handing the bucket to Andrin. "It'll be cold, but it'll be clean"
Before sitting himself back at the table and dealing out the cards to whoever wishes to play.
Lirrathan takes up his cards with his usual amount of luck, and plays as best he can with what he's dealt. Over his shoulder he calls, "Andrin, now that you got your water, I will take you up on the laundry offer."
Andrin smiles, "Ah, you have my thanks good sir. No need to dirty your kitchen though - I'll be just outside." He then bows briefly to their host before slipping back outside. A few orisons later, and the bucket is full of clean water, a thick lather of soap crowning the surface. A few minutes into his task his eyes glaze over as his hands fall into rhythm, seemingly caught up in some memory. A wistful smile briefs plays across his face and he remains unaware when a beautiful butterfly alights on his right shoulder.
"I'll take a seat in your game. Cut the deck, Elf. Let's see how slippery you are." Yorick smiles a very unpleasant smile.
Profession: gambler
"I'll join the game as well; I did promised the elf an opportunity to win some of my coin." Koveluss joins the others and motions to Walthus to deal him in.
Daemon will remain near the fire, keeping warm and staring into it's alluring dance. His mind wandering with the events of the day. He turns his head towards the game after a bit of their gambling, "I think it best we head straight for the Town in the morning - we should look further into these Bone Men, ask around, and check on the other group. We need to at least tell them about the pact we've made with the Goblins."
Lirrathan, a little frustrated at his less than ideal hands played thus far, folds once again before snapping a little at Daemon. "You've GOT to kidding me? We were looking at going to the town tonight and doing just that, but we trek back here to the hut, and instead make it our first priority for the morning? Seriously? If that's the case, why did we decide to come here at all?" He huffs, picks up the cards dealt for the new hand and tosses in his ante.
Outside with only the light of a single torch, Andrin works away at the laundry and himself, scrubbing away muck and dirt as the water fades from clear to brown - then clear again thanks to a little magic on Andrin's part!
For the first time, Andrin notices the beauty of the wilderness around him. The way the grass sways like dancers in the wind. The symphony of chirps, hoots and whistles of the animals or the starlight that pierces the canopy above. No wonder Walthus likes this place.
While inside, the halfling smiled as he drew a card to his hand, peering over them conspiratorially. He asks Daemon, "Why go back? none of the fishermen or me have head of these bone men. All you have are the ghost stories of goblins. I say in the morning we investigate this cave and see if we can find out what the monters are."
After calling a number of times Walthus slaps down his cards! And only has a pair of Kobolds. The little halfling loses. "Nuts."
After a time, Andrin will come back inside, not perfectly clean but enough so as to be able to relax. He sits with Daemon for a short time staring into the fire before finally caving to shouts, jeers, and otherwise good natured pressure to join in the card game.
He sits down woodenly at the table, "What's this game again? Three Drunken Ante? I shudder to think how such a game would be played. Well, Master Proudstump, if you would be so kind as to deal me in too, I shall endeavor to learn as I go."
He almost cracks a grin at his own simple game of good natured deception, but manages to maintain an expression of puzzled interest as each of the players explain the rules and the various hands.
"Ah. I think I see now, thank you all. So... I guess this hand would be considered a very good one then? Most excellent! Beginner's luck, I assure you!"
He offers Daemon a knowing wink when no one else is looking after he catches the detective's eye.
"Huh. I'm out. These cards is getting all fuzzy looking..." Yosrick wavers a little bit on his feet as he stretches, then goes looking for more wine.
Lirrathan chuckles at his luck, "You know it's a good thing we are already down to our small clothes, otherwise I'd be worried about losing my shirt." In the meantime, he gathers the cards after the hand, and redeals them. Skipping Yosrick, as the man begins to doze.
Daemon, much like poor Yosrick, will begin to doze off by the fire place. His mind wandering, full of the days events. Digesting the possible adventure to come.
As the evening wears on, Andrin stifles a yawn as he absentmindedly shuffles the card at the front of his hand to the back. He strokes his goatee, pondering his hand. Eyes not leaving his cards, he ventures, "So, Master Vossare, we know that you are just newly arrived to town this very morning but I don't believe I caught what circumstance brought you here."
Yosrick rouses slightly from sipping his wine and nodding off and perks up at the thought of Vossare's story. "Yes, less' hear what brought you 'ere."
Andrin's eyes remain fixed on his cards, a slight, barely perceptible grin playing at the corner of his mouth. At Koveluss' silence, he'll look up after a time, his face a carefully stoic mask.
"As for me, one might wonder, and rightly so, what brings a priveledged son of one of the town's founding families out into this miserable mire. It's a simple tale, really. Last summer, while on a short and unremarkable voyage to Magnimar, I drowned. Something or someone brought me back, and I have been resetless and discontent ever since." He pauses, shuffling a few cards from back to front and front to middle. "I'm not sure how better to explain it then I feel drawn away from the town of my birth. Fortunately, I still feel that draw even now, so I am fairly certain that while Master Proudstump has constructed an oasis here, this sweaty bog is not what my soul is longing for."
"Don't see how that could be," Walthus mutters, drawing a card from the deck and eyeing his hand, "This place is paradise..." He grins devilishly to himself as he goes to play his hand...
... The night goes on for sometime, with the home made wine slung around as hand after hand of Three Dragon Ante, Fool's Hand, and other card games played until one by one - either to exhaution or alcohol - each one of you fades off to sleep.
You awaken to a heady and thick dampness clinging to the air - causing everyone to already be drenched in a this film of moisture. But it isn't all bad; the sun is streaming in through the cabin's windows, and the mouth watering smell of bacon wafts through the cabin. The table has been set with a plate that's been piled high with at least three rashers of the stuff, all still freshly sizzling - alongside some breads and fruits.
Walthus sits at the table, munching contentedly. The Halfling is armored in a sturdy set of leather, an axe hanging at his side and a quiver and bow have been set by the hut's doorway.
Koveluss pauses in silence at the others' question, collecting his thoughts before speaking. "Lady Niska Mvashti was a mentor and friend. The first time I journeyed to Sandpoint she was able to help me when none other could. When news of her passing reached me in Magnimar I set out at once." The man motions to Yosrick to bring him some wine. "I intend to make peace with her memory."
Koveluss stretches sleepily as he rolls out of the armchair he fell asleep in the night before. Stumbling to the table he claims a piece of bread and some fruit before settling himself cross-legged on the floor. As he munches on the food the man takes note of Walthus' equipment and pauses to speak. "Do you have a day of hunting planned, or do you forsee a need to persuade us to take leave of your hospitality? I admit to being somewhat thick-headed this morning, but I doubt it would take an axe to impress upon me anything you might wish to say."
Lirrathan enters the home, sheathing his blades and breathing a little heavy. Sweat from the weather outside and his exertions indicate that he was probably just outside going through his drills. "Ah, a hearty meal after a rousing workout. Great!" Through mouthfuls of food he answers Koveluss' question "I'm gueshing.. that he intendsh... to come with ush?"
Andrin slowly gets up from his bedroll and his little piece of floor with a soft groan. It is obvious he is stiff and sore and he moves haltingly about the room before slumping roughly into a chair. His normally neat and clean hair is a riot of tangles, sticking up ridiculously in the back like a single, giant cowlick. He absentmindedly helps himself to some bacon and a thick hunk of bread, his eyes glazed and unseeing.
After a few mouthfuls, a deep frown creases his face as he pulls his right foot up across his left knee, gingerly touching a rather large blister on the heel of his foot. He blearily looks around the room, huffs a single soft grunt, then returns to his breakfast in silence.
Yosrick doesn't stir as the others get up. He simply snores louder and curls into a ball. When someone finally kicks him, he struggles to sit up, blinking wearily at the others.
"What? Whaddya want?"
Daemon would have been sitting at the table quiet in thought, as Mr. Proudstump prepared the food he'd be serving them in the morning. His armored coat once again adorned upon his broad shoulders. As Walthus sits down, and after Lirrathan's question, he also inquires to his apparel. "Is the elf correct? Are you going back to Sandpoint with us Walthus?"
"Sandpoint?" Andrin fixes his bleary eyes on Daemon. "I thought the whole point of our imposing on Master Proudstump's kindness and hospitality was so that we might strike out for the cave Poog indicated these 'bonemen' seemingly inhabit without losing time backtracking to and from the town."
He smirks slightly, shaking his head towards Andrin, "You certainly do spoil one's fun in the morning, Andrin."
Andrin looks thoroughly confused for a moment, his dark eyebrows arched and his broad forehead wrinkled, before he shakes his head with a sardonic grin. "Ah. Yes. Hmm. Well, at least we can rest easy knowing that my fun-spoiling is limited to the mornings." He quietly coughs, ahem, then lowers his head and returns to his bread and bacon.
"Wait, food? Food is good." Yosrick blearily rises from his coma and stumbles over to the food, acting more like one of the undead than a living half-elf.
Snickering to himself at Yosrick, Walthus kicks his legs out to hop down to the ground, "Yes, of course I'm coming with you. The four of you saved my life, the least I can do is help you. Besides you tell me that there's an undead threat in my lands, seems like something I should care enough to risk my neck about." He moves to gather up the last of his supplies that he thinks he may need.
"Now, you've a map, yes? Where are we heading first?"
The five of you set out from Walthus shack, heading in a vaguely westward direction. Walthus keeps to the front, while he may be small, he knows these woods better than any man or woman and is able to guide the four newcomers through the harsh terrain with ease.
Somehow the day seems a bit brighter, flecks of brilliant blue sky can be seen through holes in the thick leafy canopy, letting in rays of shinning sunlight.
Yosrick slowly awakens as they walk, grumbling to himself at the swamp's swampiness.
After finishing his meal, Andrin rises stiffly from his chair and moves into the kitchen. He plucks a large bowl from a pile of pots, pans, and dishes and proceeds to fill it with water from the hand pump. Once the bowl is half way full, he then plunges his face into the water.
He comes back up a moment later with a gasp, his face slightly red from the chill in the well water, and proceeds to slick his hair back with both hands. "Well, I suppose that will have to do for a morning bath. One moment, good sirs, and I shall be ready to depart."
Andrin maintains a stoic outward expression for the most part, but as the morning wears on his discomfort shows more and more in a large crease in the center of his brow. He also begins to favor his left foot with increasing frequency as they travel.
Despite how ill suited and physically unconditioned he is for a foray into the swamp, Andrin still maintains some semblance of noble bearing in his posture. He also suffers in silence, refusing to complain no matter how hot, sweaty, blistered, and bitten he may get.
Lirrathan moves through the terrain as he has all the times before, keeping low, darting from cover to cover. He dashes in, out, front to back, and around Walthus' lead, stopping once to speak to the warden. "You know Wally, despite being a fetid swamp, with very little redeeming quality, the place isn't all bad when the weather's looking nice." Before he goes back to moving so much in perceived caution that he is the most active thing along the way.
"Andrin, mate. I think you might need better shoes. Those look fine for proper civilization, but you're gonna need some boots if you're gonna be stomping around swamps, man. Also, do what I do: stick close to the elf. Mosquitoes love elf. Must be their sweetness."
The trek through the woods takes a few hours, but with Walthus guiding the group, the going is far less treacherous than their earlier forays through the swamp. But even so, a swamp is a swamp and it isn't long before water has seeped into the soles of boots, mud and grime has started to steadily climb up extremities, clothes are soaked with a filmy layer of sweat, and - as Andrin has noticed - the mosquitoes have taken a liking to the five walking buffets in their midst.
Finally though, the group breaks the south western edge of the thick forest.
A fifty-foot-high cliff rises along the marsh’s southern border, its face a thick tangle of jutting rocks and bright green vines and nettles. A curtain of these thick nettle vines partially conceals a cave opening at the base of the cliff...
"Oh, thank goodness! A cave I can deal with! I thought we'd have to climb those vines for a moment. I was not looking forward to that..." Yosrick walks up to the entrance, draws his chakram and casts light on it. "So, shall we enter?" Without waiting for an answer, he ducks into the cave.
Andrin smiles warmly at Yosrick's enthusiasm. After the half-elf vanishes into the mouth of the cave, "It's good to see the man coming up for air. I daresay I'm looking forward to finally meeting our adventurous friend at last." He claps Koveluss on the shoulder, offering a broad smile after taking a deep breath. "Come on then, gentlemen. Perhaps these biting insects will give us some peace once we're inside." He then strides forward, albeit with a slight limp, and follows Yosrick into the cave.
"A cave will be a welcome change of pace. No offense intended to you, Walthus, but your home simply does not seem to agree with me; I insist these swamps leave my feet at peace, but they continually intrudes on their domain." Koveluss' words are followed with a shrug of mock defeat before he follows Andrin into the opening.
Lirrathan looks mildly irritated at first, draws his swords, takes a deep breath as he shrugs his shoulders, and heads on in to the cave with the others. He hurriedly whispers to the others, "Psst, hey, let me up toward the front. I can see further in the darkness ahead of the light than any of you... oh, Yos can too, but still." Once again, he drops to the crouch of his attempts at hiding.
Hearing Lirrathan's words, Yosrick smiles and whispers back, "Half an elf is better than no elf at all, eh, Elf?"
Throughout the entire trip of the Swamp, the Inquisitive keeps his eyes and ears open. Occasionally smiling, chuckling, or grinning at group comments, jabs, and jokes. He keeps quite and alert the entire trip. His behavior almost seems uneasy, possibly due to his lack of being 'accepted' into any group his whole life.
Once they arrive at the cave, he pulls his sword from his sheath, but leaves his shield upon his back. "I do believe warning of caution would be a bit tedious, however I still find it pertinent to do so. Keep your eyes peeled, and don't do anything stupid" he nods his head as they progress forward.
The curtain of nettles that falls over the cave's entrance bristles with thorns of ruby red,
"Careful now," Walthus mutters, "A scratch can leave you retching for hours."
Everyone takes heed of the Halfling's warning and takes their time to twist around the nettles so as to not get scratched. Even Andrin - already loathing his time out in the wilds - managed to skirt the nasty thorns with nary a prick.
The inside of the cave was dark, its rocky walls illuminated by the magical lights now wielded by some of the adventurers.
Standing in the entrance way, they see that their path branches in two tunnels, one goes to their left, with sounds of faint splashing can be heard. The other goes to their right, where a faint clacking chitter is heard followed by a sound that is best described as squelching.
The party is faced with a decision...
Left or Right?
Lirrathan chuckles and shakes his head. "No halfie, only half as good as the two different parts, but not singly good for anything. But, hey, it's not your fault, I blame your parents." He responds with the general elven appreciation for half-elves.
He looks at the two tunnels, before whispering back his suggestion "I say the right. I expect 'bone-men' to clatter not gurgle." being his usual self, he prepares to head right, regardless of the response from the others.
"I must admit, the passage to the left sounds less ominous. I suppose then, if the past day and half can be any indication, that we will indeed be traveling down the right corridor then?"
Yosrick stops and listens. "I'm partial to chittering. Splashing generally involves water and that gets too close to drowning for my tastes." Hearing Lirrathan's words, he frowns, "'Salright, elf. I blame my bastard of a father, too."
Daemon removes his shield from his back now, nodding his head in agreement to the group. In a soft voice, "It seems for once we're all in agreement... To the right it is." He sheaths his longsword, pulling his Morning Star from it's hanging loop - letting the trap finders lead the way.
"Oh, it would be wise to ready a blunt weapon if you have one."
At Daemon's suggestion, Andrin will follow the detective's lead and ready his own shield and morningstar.
Yosrick nods, moves his chakram to his left hand and draws his whip. Seeing Daemon's raised eyebrow, he mumbles, "What? It's a multi-purpose tool, you know." Smiling at him, he moves off down the corridor, trying to keep silent.
Stealth:
Perception: