Continuing to follow the trail, you make your way through snow dunes, heading deeper into the frozen woods. The further you go in, you're greeted by markings on the trees around you. Further inspection shows these to be placed on the trees. Feathered bundles and strange fetishes hang from the lowest branches of the trees in this part of the forest, swaying and shifting in the wind. All are stuck through with small pins holding pieces of leather bound around them. These cover most of the trees you can see along the trail, and even some beyond the trail. This appears to be some form of ritualism, but it's not readily clear who may have done this.
Aiden loosens his sword in it's sheath. "I like this not at all. Were we among the lands of my people, I would give such things a very wide berth."
Each step into this part of forest makes Lyda tense and angry. It's hard to tell but she places each step with slightly less care and swivels her head a little faster than necessary while scanning the woods. They were getting closer to whatever was corrupting her home. When Aiden breaks the silence, Lyda's unusually dexterous tail wipes out and smacks one of the fetishes off the tree. She gives him a smoldering look over her shoulder but says nothing.
"Good news. We are not among your people, as you can tell by the horrifically out of place snowstorm, the forest, your companions, the sun, the air, the temperature. So it is likely that we won't give them the wide berth, but that is entirely beside the point. Do you recognize them Aiden?"
Cassandra smiles sharply in his direction, then looks piercingly at the fetishes her features the intent stare of the hunter yet her eyes remain unfocused, even as she walks gracefully through the woods, not a step out of place.
Merge feels uneasy around the odd fetish's, things like this where usually best left alone. Bad use of magic is all they where good for. Still, his hands find there way to the hilt of his hammer. "Let's just get through..."
Unable to help himself, Aiden responds to Lyda's glare by sticking his tongue out at her, before looking over to Cassandra. "No, I do not recognize them. They merely strike me as having an ill aspect."
After knocking one of the fetishes off the tree, you're surrounded by glowing lights. Six lights start buzzing around you, and a small volley of pins flies towards you. Two of the projectiles whiz over your heads, but one lands in Lyda's arm. Though it doesn't quite hurt terribly, it leaves her arm feeling completely numb and cold.
You can vaguely here the flutting of small wings from whatever has started attacking you. They are within move range for melee attacks (30 ft), but you can't identify them as the lights are too bright.
Lyda hisses as something sharp pierces her arm. She looks down at the wound then in the direction it came from. Some strange floating light, hovered not too far away. As the likely source of the projectile, she doesn't hesitate to draw her bow and fire at it. Shadow shoots after the creature at the same moment, arriving right after the arrow.
"You shouldn't have messed with it." admonished Aiden as he attacked one of the lights.
vs. touch AC; fire.
The lights flicker and move out of harms way dodging Lyda's shot, and an attack from Shadow. You can see a couple of the lights loosing more pins at the lot of you. One aimed at Shadow, one at Cassandra, and one at Mikhail.
The small attackers make a noise that you can't quite make out, and they all then make a move action, rotating around the group.
"Hey! She's the one that wrecked your hideous doll," Mikhail protested, touching yanking a barbed pin from the soft flesh under his chin with what sounds like a vile expletive.
"Come now you little whoresons, let Uncle Mishka swat you like good flies," he grumbles before darting toward one of the lights and lashing out with his sword.
"Ow."
Sandy glances down, but doesn't see a wound.
"Fleas. Flying, glowing, fleas. Not amusing."
She sheaths her greatsword.
If it looks like Merge can reach them with his longhammer then he will charge the one the one that's closest to him.
If not the its crossbow time.
Round 2
Shadow continues to harry the flying orb of light while Lyda picks another target, this time taking a moment to watch its movements.
After the initial attack, the creatures dodge nearly the entire assult. Mikhail manages to swing his sword just right, slicing one of the pixies in half. The other lights buzz around the battlefield, and more lights appear in the fight.
The loss of one of the pixies sends the others into an upset frenzy, loosing more arrows on Mikhail.
As the arrow pierces your shoulder, you find it falling numb.
Cassandra pulls her sling, and with an easy flick of the wrist fires a stone into the swarm of lights.
"The worst part about flying pests is they never stay gone for long. I'd have thought the cold would have them hibernating. Strange. Still mosquitos at home might be different than here."
She ponders this thought as she looks at the glowing mass.
Aiden frowned as the ball of light dodged his fire before giving it another shot.
vs touch, damage
Mikhail darts forward again and lashes out with irritation.
Merge attempts to flank the creature Mikhail is fighting, he continues his assault in a more controlled fashion.
As merge swings his hammer at one of the pixies, the lights all break away and scatter in different directions, fleeing. On the body of the one slain pixie you find armor and a bow small enough to be used by the creatures, and a small toothpick sized sword at the creatures waist. No trace of the other pixies are immediately found, but a small blood trail can be found leading into the forest, though it tapers off shortly thereafter.
Giving Lyda a reproachful stare, he asked "Are those normal denizens of the forest, or did they arrive with the giant lizard?" He looks around to see if there are any more surprises, glancing at the fetishes apprehensively.
"They were ice fey, not wood fey. Even I noticed that."
Cassandra looks at Aiden in confusion, then sniffs and swings around to look at the blood trail.
"Blood and pixie dust. That way. We could probably still catch one."
She looks to lyda and then seeing no response shrugs.
"Or not. Onward."
"Feh" is Lyda's response. If they wanted to follow the pixie's she was fine with removing a corrupting element, but they did have a noblewoman to save.
Merge picks up the dead pixies body and tries to get a feel of if its dead or just uncouncious.
The pixie is very much dead, sliced in half at the waist by Mikhails blade. The lights have all scattered, and no sign of other pixies can be found. Continuing on to avoid drawing anymore attention to yourself, you eventually find a path with a new set of hoof prints. A narrow game trail winds its way through the trees and undergrowth here. Hoofprints mark the underlying snow, leading in both directions.
"Any sign of Horseshoes? Horseshoes mean people, and people mean fire. We might find something vaguely resembling a hearth! Sure, it's probably surrounded by murderers who kidnapped our missing lady, but warm toes!"
Cassandra seems honestly refreshed by the prospect, having forgotten that she was the one asking about horseshoes in the first place, and perks up. She's practically bouncing in place as they move up the trail, with bubbly thoughts of an inn or maybe a castle. It's hard to say, as she babbles away cheerfully, exactly what she expects.
"Definitely horses though. Which means smiths."
She winds down, and looks at lyda's amused expression.
"What did I say?"
"Madam, your leaps of logic would make the finest University trained rhetoricians retire to silent monasteries in shame," Mikhail said with what seemed to be honest good humor.
"Do our stoic and stalwart trackers have any further insight to lend? I would prefer not to have to chase dancing lights into untamed wilderness. Those stories never end well."
Lyda smiles. Sometimes she liked hearing Cassandra's thought process as it circled an idea and then shot off on a random tangent. Lyda takes a knee near the trail and looks carefully at the prints trying to gain some revelation from them.
Aiden looked at Mikhail. "Oh? How do they usually go? We do not have stories of such things among my people. I suspect out stories are much shorter. For instance, there was once a highly skilled thief called the Gray Cat for his prowess. In his arrogance, he tried to steal from a great and powerful wizard." Aiden waits a beat before delivering the next line deadpan "He is now the gray cat."
Merge Quivers a bit holding back laughter at the story. He loves jokes and stories but now wasn't the time for a booming laugh.
Merge leans down behind the tiefling woman observing the tracks.
As Merge leans in close to Lyda, Shadow, true to her name, pushes herself between the two. The wolf pants lightly and avoids eye contact. Apparently Shadow thought Merge was too close. Lyda doesn't look up from the tracks but she rolls her eyes at her companions antics. Over protective.
The path indeed splits off in two different directions. One set of tracks are simply horses. The other path contains horseprints and what appears to be elk prints as well. There are fine differences that give away the trails. Cross checking this with the bloody pixie trails, and you can discern that the pixies followed neither of these trails, but you cannot tell if they had many any deviations from their original obvious flight path, as the blood has tapered off after a short distance into the woods.
Lyda analyzes the tracks. The right was just horse shoes. The left, however, had the hoof prints of elk. Hunting party? They must be finally getting close to the camp. Lyda stands points to the right. Hopefully they could get to the camp and rescue their missing noble before these bandits regrouped.
Cassandra pads off after lyda, absently obliterating the elf prints when she notices them with her snowshoes in some sort of made up game.
"Time to be quiet, perhaps."
"Perhaps that would be best." murmured Aiden as he fell into line.
Merge nods his head in the direction Lyda had given. He whispers "Let's go get tha noble woman back lads"
Traveling along the path with the horse prints you come across an unusual sight. With the sustained wintry weather over the past several days, a small stream called Wishbone Creek has frozen over. A human-sized snowman stands in the middle of the trail before the frozen stream. A crude wooden sign leans against it and bears the words "Trespassers Turn Back."
"I don't know guys, "Aiden says to his companions, "he looks pretty serious." Looking at the rest of the party, he asks "Should I?" while gesturing towards their ersatz frozen foe.
Mikhail steps forward instead, before any potential insult can be paid to this unknown party, walking to the edge of the frozen stream.
"Mistress Lyda. You claim these woods, yes? Are there any other occupants who might seek to guard their home against this unseasonable incursion?"
At first Lyda shakes her head, no. There certainly weren't any animals she knew that could make a snowman and write a sign. And that was all she knew of that occupied the forest. The cold weather hadn't been here that long. Who would take the time to make a snowman for a warning sign anyway?
As Mikhail and Lyda approach the stream, getting close to the snowman yields and interesting result. As you get within 10 feet of the sign, a shrill voice bellows forth from the snowy figure. "Can't you read? The sign says turn back! Now get lost!"
"I had assumed it was made of the white stuff around us." said Aiden in surprise. "Uh...is it normal for such things to speak?"
"No I cannot read. A witch cursed me so that written words drain from my mind like sand through an hourglass. I was going to be kind about this but you brought up my infirmity," Mikhail said stalwartly, with the air of a man who had just been dealt an undeserved slap.
"Before you stands Mistress Lyda, the Horned Huntress, the Feral Soul, the dreaded and beauteous guardian of these woods. From the boughs to the brush, this is her domain. Your assertions are an unwise insult as the Mistress is not just fiery of hair. If it were not for our pressing business elsewhere, I would fetch a bramble branch and run you from these woods with cruel lashes. Yet even that would be a kindness compared to what ruin the crimson haired lady of these woods would visit upon you if she had a mind to!" Mikhail's voice had started low but then reached a haughty crescendo before suddenly dropping low again to drive the threat home, sounding like a loyal retainer whose charge had just been gravely insulted.
"You had best come forth and throw yourself upon the lady's mercy and render what paltry aid you can so she might think upon your impertinence with a modicum more compassion."
Lyda shrugs her bow off her back, intending to shoot the snowman. She wasn't going to get close to something so obviously out of place...again. But Mikhail steps forward in front or her before she can notch an arrow and...well, she wasn't sure what he was doing. He was saying a lot of things about her she had never heard before and, for a lot longer than she should have, she wondered how much was truth in his mind. She cocked her head to the side, confused and certainly not looking the part of regal guardian that Mikhail was trying to yarn. But with a large wolf and owl as companions, hopefully it would have some effect.
Cassandra's lantern fall from her pack, and she bends over to pick it up making odd noises at it. After a moment, she dusts herself off, and stands. Her whiskers are twitching though, and she eyes the snowman warily, and the river with distaste.
"Just melt it. Water is for drinking, and occasionally splashing. Not for walking or talking"
Merge gulps audibly when the snowman speaks. Its a talkin snowman... a fros giant baby! Merge draws his hammer. "don get to close lad! It ain no good thing ever come from a talkin snow monster!
The snowman shows no signs of movement or activity from your talking. It remains unmoving.
After the awkward pause, Mikhail's shoulders slump as he sighs and mutters something to himself in what might be Hallit.
"Somebody knock it down," he groused, "I suppose the owner of the voice will either be waiting in ambush or entirely absent. I should not have to tell you all to be on guard."