Roga guffaws. "Certainly. You've got nothing I haven't seen before." Despite saying this, he politely turns away from Nareth to afford him some privacy.
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The winds have died down enough to make creating a fire a relatively simple task, taking ten guarantees success. The weeds, willow and brush burn brightly, but do not provide much by way of a coal bed, so the fire needs near constant tending. On the bright side, the willows make an excellent wind break, and you have nearly unlimited cold, fresh water.
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DC 15
(Unfavorable conditions, wet/near naked.)
(Now dry, still no winter clothes for you, they are drying by the fire.
(you now have warm, mostly dry winter clothes)
You have lots of time between checks to heal as needed if it is an issue..
Tradition seems to be:
1) Jutmon and Sergei
2) Nareth and Inuki
3) Roga
So that is the default of the night.
Prone: The character is lying on the ground. A prone attacker has a –4 penalty on melee attack rolls and cannot use a ranged weapon (except for a crossbow) A prone defender gains a +4 bonus to Armor Class against ranged attacks, but takes a –4 penalty to AC against melee attacks.
Standing up is a move-equivalent action that provokes an attack of opportunity.
Sergei curses as he presses one hand to the bloody thigh and aims the pistol right into the face of wolf. "Boom, bastard." He fires the pistol in hopes that it will make the most noise to awaken his companions before the wolf turns him into the chew.
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Sergei's bullet tears a large hole in the side of the warg's head, taking with it most of the warg's left ear, and nearly removing its eye. The beast howls in pain, and redoubles its attempt to ravage its prey.
As the valiant gunslinger goes limp, the worg's attention immediately shifts to the only other fully roused party member, Jutmon.
Sergei's gunshot is loud enough to rouse all party members.
Begin Round 1 for party. Init order is of no consequence since BBEG already had his action this round.
"Potentia vi, inerrabili fulmen percusserit vera." Jutmon yells the words of his spell with desperation, and the silvery bolt finds it's target, as it always does.
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.
.Worg . . . . . . . . . Inuki. . . . . . . . .
. .Sergei . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . Fire. . . .Nareth . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Jutmon
. . . . . . . . . . . . Roga . . . . . . . . . . .
on grid
.W. . . .I. . . .
.S. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . .F. .N. .
. . . . . . . . . .J.
. . . . . .R. . . . .
Roga will stand up, drawing his greataxe. "Midnight, come! Defend us!"
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Roga rises quickly to his feet, axe in hand and bellows mightilly for his trusted steed to assist, the horse comes thundering to the edge of camp, stopping just short of Inuki, breathing heavilly.
A bright silver bolt of pure energy streaks across the encampment, striking the worg, who grows furiously at the mage.
The still half frozen Priest is startled awake by the gunshot, and immediately moves to attempt to threaten the worg.
Healing Nonlethal Damage: You heal nonlethal damage at the rate of 1 hit point per hour per character level. When a spell or ability cures hit point damage, it also removes an equal amount of nonlethal damage.
End Round 1
The wolf, unphased by the priest's attempts to gain its attention, charges the mage. , and trips over the fire, rolling ass over teakettle, and landing (miraculously on its feet) just shy of the wizard. A howl of frustration breaks free as the beast shakes furiously, the stench of burning hair filling your nostrils. .
Roga, trusting Midnight to know how best to attack the lupine monster, will charge it with his greataxe, attempting to cleave its wicked head from stygian shoulders before more harm can befall his friends.
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Seeing the Wolf landing rather unceremoniously nearly at his feet, Roga simply steps foreward five feet, and firmly plants his blade between the ears of the horrid beast, instantly ending it's life. The large beast simply crumples to the ground, the last of its life breath coming in great gasping heaves.
Charging in, the blue tinted freezing priest buries his dagger in the dying beast.
The bleeding from Sergei does not seem to be improving, luckilly the bard takes notice. Inuki rushes to Sergei's side, and places his hands on the unconsious gunslinger, causing his grievous wounds to close and restoring the gunslinger to consciousness.
You had only been asleep for an hour when the worg interrupted your night's sleep.
Jutmon whirls his staff around in a flourish. A show of bravado to mask that he is pale and shaking. Those slavering jaws had been aimed at his throat. And the eyes behind, had held no mercy in them.
"Whew! That was a close call." The wizard walks over to check on Sergei, before he examines the Worg.
"Wonder if it's hide is worth anything. Fur's singed here, though."
Jutmon pokes at the carcase with his stave.
"I will live. Oblivion didn't claim me today. Who do I have to thank for that?"
If close enough to hear what they are saying or, more importantly, detect scents, Hammas will sit still, trying to get a better understanding of them. If too far away, or after a sufficient time, one to three rounds, studying them, she will move over to the horses and investigate them thoroughly, trying very hard to avoid detection.
Hammas forces herself to relax as she studies the party. Mother's teets! The spirits are having fun tonight. Five men and not one local. What's going on?
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Source.
This extraordinary ability lets a creature detect approaching enemies, sniff out hidden foes, and track by sense of smell.
A creature with the scent ability can detect opponents by sense of smell, generally within 30 feet. If the opponent is upwind, the range is 60 feet. If it is downwind, the range is 15 feet. Strong scents, such as smoke or rotting garbage, can be detected at twice the ranges noted above. Overpowering scents, such as skunk musk or troglodyte stench, can be detected at three times these ranges.
The creature detects another creature's presence but not its specific location. Noting the direction of the scent is a move action. If the creature moves within 5 feet (1 square) of the scent's source, the creature can pinpoint the area that the source occupies, even if it cannot be seen.
A creature with the Survival skill and the scent ability can follow tracks by smell, making a Survival check to find or follow a track. A creature with the scent ability can attempt to follow tracks using Survival untrained. The typical DC for a fresh trail is 10. The DC increases or decreases depending on how strong the quarry's odor is, the number of creatures, and the age of the trail. For each hour that the trail is cold, the DC increases by 2. The ability otherwise follows the rules for the Survival skill in regards to tracking. Creatures tracking by scent ignore the effects of surface conditions and poor visibility.
Creatures with the scent ability can identify familiar odors just as humans do familiar sights.
Water, particularly running water, ruins a trail for air-breathing creatures. Water-breathing creatures that have the scent ability, however, can use it in the water easily.
False, powerful odors can easily mask other scents. The presence of such an odor completely spoils the ability to properly detect or identify creatures, and the base Survival DC to track becomes 20 rather than 10.
Roga smells like sweat, leather, oiled steel, and a horse. The same large black warhorse which is standing near him. After killing the wolf, Roga will knock out a canine tooth as a souvenir and then go over to Midnight. With reassuring words and gestures he tells the beast that all is well, and to return to his feeding.
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After looking over Sergei once just to make sure he isn't putting on a brave face, he motions to Inuki "He did a fine job of healing you. I believe I'm going to skin this creature, might get us some money from Oleg" Nareth drags the body close the fire, then pulls out his knife and begins skinning the creature, glad for the warmth of the body on his freezing hands
Preparing to creep away, Hammas hears the pale man mention Oleg. Hmm, probably not bandits then. Well then, let's see how fast I'll need to run.
Standing up to full height, Hammas call out, Hello the fire! Want help with the skinning?
Hammas approaches deliberately, the sort of approach you'd take if trying not to startle a horse, trying to keep an eye on everyone. Hammas. Been tracking him for a while. Beast ate something of mine, hope so anyway. What about you? No offense, but its pretty clear you're not from around here, and folks don't visit the green during winter.
You see the half-orc is well equipped, with a ready bow, spiked chain, and full pack. Heavy winter clothing and leather armor make her look almost squat.
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Inside the beast's gut, you locate a great many odds and ends indicating its acquired taste for human flesh. Not only do you locate the ring, stolen by bandits so many weeks ago but four silver stag necklaces just like the ones you have previously found on the bodies of bandits. It would seem this worg had developed a particular taste. Nothing else of interest, save the luxurious black pelt, is to be had from the wolf like creature.
"We're here at the behest of the Swordlords clearing this land of bandits and other threats. How do we know that you aren't one?" Roga asks the half-orc, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He keeps both hands on his axe, in case the woman does anything threatening.
Bad luck, a greenskin showing up right after the fierce battle with the worg. Jutmon clutches his staff and weighs his options. The best one seems to be: Let Roga take the initiative on this one.
The Wizard holds his tongue and waits for Hammas' reply.
Roga draws close to Nareth, whispering to him. "Maybe that's an acceptable risk for one who worships being in pain, but I prefer to keep hale and whole. Only a fool would attack head on when outnumbered. If she intends us harm better to sneak her way in and slit our throats as we sleep. Or perhaps she's a bandit scout, or any number of other things. Let her prove her good will before you call her friend."
Inuki is wary but figures a lone visitor is not a threat. "Greetings, I am Inuki Talespinner. I hope you find what you are seeking. Do you live around here?"
Hammas faces Roga directly, not threateningly, just very... solidly, though she relaxes at Nareth's comment.For one thing, the gear is wrong. Let me show you. She raises a whistle and blows silently. That'll be my horse and dog coming. Don't shoot 'em. For another,[b] gesturing to Nareth, [b]He said it. I didn't shoot you. Dripping question anyway. You have what you hold.
At Inuki's inquiry. Hammas, means tooth. I do too. Mostly stay over towards Silverstep Gesturing towards the east. Though I'd try wintering over near Tuskwater, but that Stag Lord's been a real bastard. Hope a troll gets 'em. Probably have to try moving down closer to the witch to get some peace. Few months into winter and sight of a girl, even a green one, makes men, especially scum, get all kinds of stupid.
Once the pack horse arrivals, Hammas gestures to all tools as she gets a skinning knife and strips down to skin the beast. Scum don't pack gear like this. Too stupid to get the real wealth. Like this fine pelt. Most freeze to death their first winter. Which is what y'all gonna do without some better gear. As she and Nareth work on the carcass, Thanks. Many ain't fond of us. When we're finished, mind if I share your fire? Once finished, Hamas place the heart in the flames while uttering a quick prayer in Orcish, then take care to bury the remains, including blood soaked bits of ground.
"Well, you don't look like a bandit, that much is true. I suppose you may share our fire." Roga answers the apparent hunter.
Still no guarantee, but she seems to be legitimate.
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The night passes completely without incident. Your make shift shelters managing to keep the majority of the weather off of you for the night. As those not in the tent shake off the morning snow and begin packing up, you can't help but notice how much warmer and refreshed the hunter seems to be. Perhaps more survival gear would make your journey more comfortable.
Reviewing the information gained from the alchemist reveals that you have only a day and a half's journey left on the path to the fang berry field.
Not so much as a stray fox crosses your path on the way to the fang berry bushes. They are easy to recognize, just as the alchemist had promised. Closing in on the glade, you notice some large creatures taking advantage of the still vigorous food source, as well as a large number of predator tracks.
DC = 25 (Hear creatures walking DC 10 + 10 (100 feet away) + 5 Distracted (Carrying elk, and talking)
The Surprise round belongs to all but Inuki.
"That grig is back, and I think she is trying to draw that troll hunting party in our direction with a fire, or trying to protect herself by scaring them off with a fire. I vote we find another place to go before the trolls spot all of us!" He says in a hurried hush...
"Aye, we are no match for one of the brutes, much less two!"
Sergei's hand moves towards the pistol on his hip, because that grig was becoming a big problem for no reason. He wanted to put it out of their misery, but that would require him to lose time escape the trolls.
"Time to leave." He wouldn't waste anymore time to escape. He left as quickly as possible.
Jutmon has misgivings about the half-orc woman. Then he remembers his philosophy: Respect is given, disrespect is earned.
At her comment at not having sufficient gear he mutters:"Gear costs money. So, maybe bandits would have better gear than we, who do not steal."
Later...
Spotting the trolls, Jutmon whispers. Shhhh. More trolls. He begins to back away, as quietly as possible, and take shelter in the thicker trees behind.
Once there, he digs his only flask of alchemist fire, out of his pack. He has no plans of fighting the trolls, but if they are discovered, he wants to be as prepared as possible.
Least you've got some sense, let's not get in their way.
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As Sergei takes his leave . . .
The vegetation under the trolls begins to write and wriggle!
The trees and vines rapidly engulf both trolls up to mid thigh!
More trees and shrubs leap to life, grappling the green skinned giants. From somewhere overhead, you can hear a catchy tune.
One of the trolls drops his elk as he beings to sway too and fro to the music, whilst the other glares around the glade, obviously peeved.
As the elk hits the ground, Sergei notices the grig he was able to spot vanish into the shrub!
You quickly deduce there are at least four grig in this area.
"We can circle back in an hour or two for the berries." he says to the others as he moves.
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As the party begins to move away, Hammas will tosh flasks of oil to everyone. If it comes to a fight, throw the oil. Once it's on, any fire will ignite it. Works best if you have alchemist's fire, 'fraid I'm out though. You know, I've got some bear traps and stakes. We could set them up, challenge the trolls, trap 'em, light 'em, and shoot 'em. Best way to fight a troll, and the grigs are making it mighty tempting.
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Trolls possess incredibly sharp claws and amazing regenerative powers, allowing them to recover from nearly any wound. They are stooped, fantastically ugly, and astonishingly strong—combined with their claws, their strength allows them to literally tear apart flesh to feed their voracious appetites. Trolls stand about 14 feet tall, but their hunched postures often make them appear shorter. An adult troll weighs around 1,000 pounds.
A troll's appetite and its regenerative powers make it a fearless combatant, ever prepared to charge headlong at the nearest living creature and attack with all of its fury. Only fire seems to cause a troll to hesitate, but even this mortal threat is not enough to stop a troll's advance. Those who commonly battle with trolls know to locate and burn any pieces after a fight, for even the smallest scrap of flesh can regrow a full-size troll given enough time. Fortunately, only the largest part of a troll regrows in this way.
Despite their cruelty in combat, trolls are surprisingly tender and kind to their own young. Female trolls work as a group, spending a great deal of time teaching young trolls to hunt and fend for themselves before sending them off to find their own territories. A male troll tends to live a solitary existence, partnering with a female for only a brief time to mate. All trolls spend most of their time hunting for food, as they must consume vast amounts each day or face starvation. Due to this need, most trolls stake out large territories as their own, and fights between rivals are quite common. While these are usually nonlethal, trolls are aware of each others' weaknesses and will use such knowledge to kill their own kind if food is scarce.
Although strong and durable, a troll is weak willed, at least by comparison to its reflexes and fortitude. Both fire and acid will prevent a troll from regenerating.
Grigs are tiny fey with the upper bodies of elf-like sprites and cricket bodies below. Their humanoid features vary wildly in individual appearance, but they usually wear their brown, silver, or green hair long and uncombed. In most cases, grigs' skin bears gold or green stripes or markings, and their legs are brightly colored. They prefer to eschew clothes entirely, wearing clothing only when such apparel has desirable magical effects. Grigs stand 1-1/2 feet tall, and weigh just under 10 pounds.
Grigs make their homes in thick woods alongside rolling hills, often near bodies of water. In every grig community may be found a clearing where the group observes the moon during its many lunar holidays.
Despite their tiny size, grigs are eager to confront evil and vanquish ugliness—as a result, grigs often find themselves in trouble. They rarely attack directly, instead preferring the element of surprise. In combat, grigs maintain their distance and either depend on their spell-like abilities or fire their longbows from afar. Grigs use their movement to their advantage, frequently jumping about their enemies or flying beyond their reach.
Gigs excel at music, and can create lively ditties simply by sawing their legs against their bodies. Grig music often stirs people to dance, even when the grigs don't enhance their music with supernatural compulsions. In addition to loving music, grigs enjoy the visual arts, especially paintings and sketches, and they often decorate their homes with bright colors and delightful images.
Grigs can use spell like abilities thee times a day to entangle, pyrotechnics, disguise self, or invisibility. Grigs can also cast the cantrip Prestidigitation at will.
Like all fey, Cold Iron is their greatest weakness. Grigs are incredibly fragile and weak. One good swat from an Orc will certainly be enough to end their life.