Unease sets upon the newly muck encrusted halfling as he narrows eyes towards the bonfire, mental cogs silently whir as he puts voice to thought "Yonder fire was only stoked after we descended... word of our coming. If you've means of preparing that last beyond a hand of minutes... see them done." physically drawing a blade and holding it hilt down tucked against his forearm "And blades ready..."
His unease holds as he racks his brain for any skerrick of thought that might portend the reason for azure or crimson...
Knowledge Local:
Braddon nods and draws his bastard sword in his other hand. He goes to transfer it to his first hand and stops, looking at the short sword there. There is an awkward pause.
Eventually, Braddon's face loses its look of perplexity and he sheathes the short sword, transfers the bastard sword, and draws the short sword in his off hand.
He nods again to the others and takes a few careful steps down the blue path.
Braddon leads the group in the direction the blue chalk marks lead, toward the ridge and the shore. The farther from the road they go, the thicker and deeper the mud, but sticking close to the blue blazes, the men find that the way remains passable, though Phillip in particular has a difficult slog, sinking almost to his knees at each step. As they travel among the ruined hulks, they find that some smaller boats have collapsed entirely, their overgrown remains transformed by nature and time into miniature islands thick with vine and marsh grasses; they offer a higher vantage, though it isn't clear how firm the footing beneath the greenery may be. Ahead, above the masts, the gleaming top of the Cyphergate is just visible beyond the rocky ridge that encircles Riddleport Harbor; past that is the black smudge of not-cloud high in the sky that has been visible in the skies for two weeks.
The nearer they approach the coast, the louder the murmur of the waves. There are also a pair of new sounds intermittently, a rustle and a chitter. Closer investigation of the derelicts and the rotting islands reveals rats by the dozen. From the darkness inside the abandoned boats their eyes glitter, and more than once, a hairless tail disappears between the vines and grasses on the islands; each one must be riddled with nests between the rotting planks beneath the vegetation.
"Remember the hound- hove, heeled, and hid? And the why- this while, unknown? What flees a faithful four-leg friend, in company of as many men, yet leaves vermin's vast volume, unvexed?"
Gris spun his staff one-handed, a hurtling hiss to a heavy hum that somehow lingered, even as the motion ended.
"I expect we are like to learn."
Perhaps a hundred feet ahead as the crow flies, across an intervening clump of vegetation-engulfed vessel, Braddon spies something that seems out of place: a neat, trim little rowboat, floating in working order against another islet, its wood not silver with age or dank with rot but fresh and clean with oars in oarlocks. This boat is not an abandoned wreck but a working craft, which implies a pilot somewhere in the area.
Phillip's grimace deepens with each step, but continue to step he does. Eyes roving and squinted into the distance. He shapes to keep to Magnimar's shadow and regards the rowboat, suggesting sotto voce "Draw t'wards the hulk for cover before closing on the row?"
"Draw t'wards the hulk for cover before closing on the row?"
"Snake, come here for a moment, if you will. I have something new that I wish to attempt."
A few quick passes with his hand and cane and a bit of mist blows out of nowhere
for the barest of seconds obscuring Tendal and Snake. When it passes, Snakes stand in the swamp. "Good enough. Now you look significantly more imposing." he said with some satisfaction.
"There's not that many paths to follow unless you like quicksand," Braddon mutters. He peers suspiciously at the scrub in front of him, before advancing cautiously towards it and looking about for further trouble.
Looking upon the snake images, "I like it," he states stoically.
"And Raccoon has the right idea. Let's move towards the belly of that ship. Better to work towards some form of cover than to be out in the open like sitting ducks."
A great black scaled serpent emerges from the muck and water, bits of weed and mud dripping from its scales as it slithers forth, its scales rasping against branch and grass as it moves. Its forked tongue flickers from a fang filled maw and yellow eyes glare with cold serpentine malice as it slithers beside the warlock, blades of grass moving aside as it glides forward.
Braddon steps onto the islet with trepidation but finds it firm enough beneath his still-new-but-now-wet-and-muddy soles. Silt and mud, cycling in and out with the tide, have filtered into the collapsed hull of this dead ship and packed it full of earth, rendering it more solid than some. The marsh grasses are abuzz with gnats on this hot summer day, and a cloud of tiny flying insects scatters with every step, only to settle back down into the greenery and muck when the interloping boot has moved on.
Braddon gently taps the hilts of his swords together, and gestures towards his right with his head. The point of his short sword is aimed, not at the rowboat they spied, but slightly rightwards, towards the small islet between them.
Snake looks toward the islet through narrowed eyes, curious as to what the ranger is referring to.
You don't see anything in particular: just more grass and scrub like the terrain you're tramping over now.
Snake looks back over to Braddon and shakes his head, shrugging.
Phillip stays behind and wary, putting blade to sheath and seeing his crossbow unlimbered, free and loaded.
Tendal stood warily, cane under his arm, eyebrow quirked at Braddon.
The great black serpent slid forward through undergrowth toward the direction that Braddon had indicated, occasionally pausing to lift its head from the ground and look around, its red tongue flickering in and out, tasting the air.
The illusionary snake slithers ahead of the party, over the island, through the silty water, and up onto the islet Braddon indicated.
As its serpentine head appears to part the grasses on the upslope, a terrified shriek rings out from behind a stand of tall grass and scrub; a moment later, the head and shoulders of a man appear, shooting an arrow at the approaching illusion. "Snake! Snake! Help me!" he shouts in evident panic.
Braddon moves quickly towards the panicked man and stops just behind the snake.
"Drop the bow and we'll call the snake off. What's going on?"
Snake uses a bit of his magic upon himself and follows the ranger.
Braddon finds his feet sinking into deep silt at the edge of the island and ignores the unpleasant feeling of water spilling into the tops of his new boots.
Snake casts a protective spell and follows Braddon, staying on the firmer footing of the islet.
The man drops the bow like it's on fire, his hands trembling as he raises them to show they are empty. "C-call it off," he begs.
Tendal raps his cane against his boot, and the serpent raises its head and looks back. "nobHa'" he says, the guttural syllables rolling off his tongue. The serpent turned back toward the man for a moment, as if gaguing the distance to the man. It hissed, mouth open wide and flecks of venomous spittle flicking from long fangs, then turned and slid back through the undergrowth back towards the party.
"Apparently Tiny doesn't approve of you. It would be wise, if you wish to retain your ability to breathe, for you to cooperate with the questioning of these fine gentlemen." Tendal said drolly.
Braddon takes a step backwards on to firmer ground and shakes a boot to remove the mud, with dubious effect.
"Looks like an ambush to me," he glowers at the trembling man. "We're looking for a dwarf. Give him back."
Phillip remains silent and watching...
"We're looking for a dwarf. Give him back."
"D-dwarf?" the man looks startled. "No dwarves in the Boneyard. Not that I know of. I swear," he adds emphatically over Braddon's shoulder to Tendal as snake-wrangler.
"I thought you guys knew everything about the Boneyard. If you didn't take our dwarf, who did? They even left a note."
Braddon wiggles his bastard sword above the waters but doesn't take a step forward.
The man seizes eagerly on the detail. "Ah, now, see? I don't even write. Couldn't have been me." He gives the oversized sword a nervous glance. "I don't know much at all really. I just do as I'm told. If your dwarf friend were here, no one would tell me about it."
Braddon nods once, then narrows his eyes.
"So what have you been told?"
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again and shuffles his feet nervously. "There was trespassers heading into the Boneyard and to make them wish they hadn't," he admits, ducking his head.
Braddon rolls his eyes. "I wished I hadn't been here as soon as I arrived. Didn't need you."
He sighs. "But this is an important Dwarf. Who else is down here?"
At that comment, Tendal arched an eyebrow and with his cane tucked carefully under his arm removed the wand from his sleeve and with a flick and an oddly cheerful sounding word, sent a single mote skittering across the distance to strike the man in the chest.
As Tendal activates his wand, a couple of other men pop up from behind the rotting hulk the group had originally considered heading toward.
"Shut it, Nigel!" one shouts at the ratcatcher while loosing an arrow which lodges painfully in Tendal's calf. "You know what Ziphras does to traitors!"
"Yeah, and shut it yourself, fancypants!" the other man shouts at Tendal, accompanying his insult with an arrow more poorly aimed than his fellow's. "You come into the Boneyard in your dandy clothes, all lah-di-dah, thinking you're better than us!"
Stirred to action, Phil sets mind to task with grim efficiency. Striding forward he seeks better vantage to put crossbow bolt to flight... and flesh...
As Tendal activates his wand, a couple of other men pop up from behind the rotting hulk the group had originally considered heading toward.
"Shut it, Nigel!" one shouts at the ratcatcher while loosing an arrow which lodges painfully in Tendal's calf. "You know what Ziphras does to traitors!"
"Yeah, and shut it yourself, fancypants!" the other man shouts at Tendal, accompanying his insult with an arrow more poorly aimed than his fellow's. "You come into the Boneyard in your dandy clothes, all lah-di-dah, thinking you're better than us!"
"Shelter, and spell", Gristav breathes to Tendal, "Constrictor best restricts, in float to the small boat?", he suggests, before stepping forward.
"He IS better than you! It's the thinking, that does it.", Gristav calls back, moving forward, drawing fire (it was hoped), and his longbow (it was certain).
"Not too late to change sides... Nigel.", the bearded elf-get reasoned calmly, over a folded thumb, in arrow's pinch. A demi-pointed ear heard the hum of the wood's spirit, played upon the string, as it settled beside- then snapped foeward.
Gristav moves forward over the island, carefully stepping around the snake that isn't really there, and shoots at the archer who shot Tendal; the arrow, however, lodges in the rotten hull of the boat behind which they pair have taken cover.
Phillip advances to the edge of the island.
Braddon raises his swords high and barrels over the muddy terrain towards the revealed foes.
"About time, losers! I've been looking for snake food."
Braddon strides across the islet toward the broken ship the two archers are taking cover behind. As he steps onto the fungus-covered isthmus between the two islands, he immediately notices that the footing is much softer and soggier here. With his second step, the rotting wood under the greenery breaks under his feet, and he can keep moving only with difficulty. As he struggles toward his quarry, he hears a dry pattering from down near his feet and sees the movement of countless shiny carapaces around his ankles. It seems his boots have broken into a teeming nest of cockroaches....
Snake decides to head out into the water, positioning himself between the trio of enemies.
Snake wades out into the swamp and finds the water about knee-high.
"Not too late to change sides... Nigel.", the bearded elf-get reasoned calmly, over a folded thumb, in arrow's pinch.
"Oh, it is. It is too late," Nigel replies with a touch of sadness. "You don't know." For the moment at least, however, he makes no move and draws no weapon.
"Mup!" Tendal commands, raising his cane in his off hand towards the two assailants in the distance. As if some vile energy propelled the snake, it lowered its head and thrashed forward across the intervening mud and grasses, sending up a spray of muddy water from its coils as it charged forward and lept towards one of the men, venomous mouth open and snapping viciously.
"Nigel? Good man, wise decision." Tendal said dryly, as he replaced the wand in his sleeve. "I think my comrade over there made an excellent suggestion a moment ago. What do you say to you and I taking shelter in whatever we can find?"
With unnatural speed, the illusory snake seems to dart across the intervening terrain to strike at the nearest of the two men, while Tendal moves to take cover behind some dead brush and debris that the tide has washed up on the tip of the islet.
Nigel shrugs and ducks back down into his original hiding place behind the scrub.
The man attacked by the "snake" cries out in fear, dropping his bow and drawing a short sword which he slashes wildly at the image while clambering backward up the island.
Reacting to Braddon's intrustion into their nest, the cockroaches climb his legs, some spilling down into his boots whie others continue to scale his torso, their eager mandibles seeking out any exposed flesh.
The other man behind the rotting ship backs quickly away from the encounter between the snake and his companion, setting an arrow to string and loosing it at the illusion. Though the shot is well-aimed, the arrow goes straight through the apparent reptile and into the water. "What the-?" the man asks. "How did I miss?"
Flesh eaters... we aren't prepared- or are we? Gristav seemed to follow Snake's path, though his eyes were more on Braddon and the carpet of cockroaches, his mind twisting and tensing threads of thought...
Bearing witness to Braddon's present difficulties puts Phil out of mind of following... though it does give him a thought "To water if you've need Braddon - the crawlers aren't likely to follow." hoping that his first thought is fair.
To other end he sizes up a crossbow shot at one of the antagonists...
To other end he sizes up a crossbow shot at one of the antagonists...
To other end he sizes up a crossbow shot at one of the antagonists...
The butterfly flutters over the swamp to hover over Braddon's head.
Gristav joins Snake in wading into the knee-deep water.
Braddon jumps into the water with the snake then splashes ashore beside the sword weilding ratcatcher. He drives his bastard sword before him at the ratcatcher, as if clearing the way.
...settling his breath Phil lines up on the more visible of the ratcatchers and releases a quarrel...
Crossbow:
...tutting as his shot hits naught but wood, and reloading.
Phil's quarrel raises a burst of rotting wood.
Ignoring the slippery crunches of roaches being crushed between his feet and the soles of his boots, Braddon wades around the intervening boat and drives his sword deeply into the retreating ratcatcher's thigh.
The tall man moves closer toward the melee and then concentrates a moment upon the thug that is currently engaged in battle with the ranger, his eyes glowing a deep red.