Raquel mutters something about cockblocking faeries, but the duo is too cute for her to stay mad at for long. "Sure thing, Tyg. Let's be friends. Perl, come here and I'll show you what a massage is."
She rubs the little dragon on his neck and shoulders.
Blissfully at peace in the hot bath, Nariel demurs only a moment at Racquel's offer before responding "A massage Racquel? Why, that would be..." but before she could finish her sentence, Nariel was cut off by the reappearance of Tyg and Perl, a reunion that instantly drew her full undivided attention.
Sitting up to attention instantly in the water, Nariel smiled broadly and laughed as she responded excitedly "Oh glorious day! Our little friends have returned!" Holding out her hand in the hopes either Tyg or Perl would decide to land there, Nariel quickly responded "Tyg, this place is wonderful. It is very relaxing, though some of us..." pausing to glance over at her others still ashore, Nariel pouts in playful manner "some of us are a little reluctant to get in because of the smell." Whatever it was about these creatures, it was clear to all and sundry that their presence had an uplifting impact on the elf.
Returning her attention to the fey creatures, Nariel continues in the sylvan dialect more seriously "Oh, the both of you have my word... no one will speak of her again."
Tristan had determined he would help keep watch. His affinity for luxuries had been a hindrance. He always yearned to return to the Post and even its meager comforts, to the point that he was often distracted thinking of Svetlana's stewpot over the hearth. He resolved to keep watch with Arianna and take the second turn in the springs. He hated the smell, but the anticipation of a warm 'bath' was enough to make him hold his nose.
And then, the Fey came back. Tristan nodded politely to them, hoping they did not associate the sight of him with fear.
"Hello again, friends," he said simply.
"Oh, the both of you have my word... no one will speak of her again."
Tristan nods. "Indeed." He remembered his vision - the world fracturing, seeing through to something else, something beyond... he had no desire for a return visit any time soon.
The little dragon shivers with delight as Raquel's hand works at the knots in his wing muscles. "Ooh, ooh, this is nice! Tyg, you has to try this!"
"Ok, ok, me next! Me next!" Tyg returns what passes for her attention back to Nariel. "What was we saying? Oh yes, the smell - you dursen't notice it after a while," although she is vague as to what a 'while' is: to fey, the passage of time is literally something that happens to other people.
Raquel finishes massaging Perlivash and gives him a little pat on his rump. "There you go, little one. I think Nariel wants to play with you now." She gestures to the elf's outstretched hand then crooks a finger at Tyg. "Alright, you're up."
Using her fingers, the cleric works the knots in the fey girl's back and shoulders. "So, anything else you can tell us about who lives in these woods?"
The encounter with the fey is something so strange that Aivar can't help but take the role of observer for the first minute or two. The creatures seem to lack any sense of decorum - let alone decency! - and babble on about whatever captivates their hearts at that point in time. It makes him think of someone and, inadvertently, Aivar smiles. While staring at no point in particular, he wonders if perhaps he isn't a little too, eh, stuck-up, at times.
Still, the moment gives him the opportunity to sneak out whilst the attention is focused on others. And so he does, seeing how Tristan is leaning ever closer towards the hot spring. "I'll take over keeping watch, Tristan and Aria. Feel free to dip in. Honestly, the smell of it dissipates within seconds once you're in."
Whilst drying up, Aivar occasionally throws a look at what's going on. He rushes through the process, eager to get to his sketchbook so he can sit down and - with his meager talents - make a lasting impression of this beautiful chance encounter.
Noticing Aivar starting to sketch the scene, Raquel smirks and shifts her position slightly so that her chest rises above the level of the water, giving the paladin a nice view of the girls whenever he looks at Tyg.
Using her fingers, the cleric works the knots in the fey girl's back and shoulders. "So, anything else you can tell us about who lives in these woods?"
Tyg shivers with pleasure at Raquel's adept work. "Mmmmm - we dursen't go much further in the woods - that way." She waves one arm vaguely in the direction of South. "Not many bigginses goes there either - and those that does don't come back, mostly - I can tell you there's a big old meanie of a boar that comes here sometimes to wash himself - you think this place smells now - you dursen't want to be here after he's been around - the stinky lasts for ages!"
Perlivash, from his perch on Nariel's arm, nods vigorously in agreement, and fans one wing in front of his nose. "Pew!"
Tyg frowns, trying to think of more to say. "Oh yeah - there's a coupla dragons - they lives near the river further down, we thinks - but we dursen't get too close to them!"
Perlivash huffs with indignation. "Huh! They're not PROPER dragons, they don't have wings! They're just nasty oversized worms!"
"That's true Perl - they're nothing like you - but they're dangerous worms - we stays away from them. Huh - these woods aren't what they was - never used to get stinky boars and nasty worms - used to be safe for fey like us."
Perlivash nods again. "Oh yes, it's not like what it was when - when Brightmane was alive."
A tear trickles down Tyg's cheek. "Poor Brightmane - his hair was like sunshine - he used to let me run my fingers through it..." She sniffs. "Now I'm feeling sad, Perl - what did you have to go and do that for?!"
Muttering under her breath, she flies away. Perlivash looks forlorn. "I should - I should go after her. Tyg! Wait for me! I'm sorry!"
Tristan trades places with Aivar, hanging his clothing neatly upon a nearby branch. The hot water really does feel heavenly. Winter may have broken, but the air still had a lingering chill to it.
"Ahhhh. Worth the smell after all..." Tristan sighs as he closes his eyes in bliss, listening to the chatter of the fey. The mention of 'dragons' gets his attention, and he is disappointed when Perlivash corrects the notion. Tristan had always wanted to meet a dragon. He didn't really count the tiny one in front of him - though he had no desire to mention that aloud.
When the fey creatures dash off again, Tristan floats and muses aloud. "Brightmane. Hm. So it seems perhaps these lands have lost a protector of sorts, recently? Or not-so-recently, even."
Raquel shrugs when the faeries rush off. Their distraction made her miss Tristan's entrance into the spring. She'd have to scope him out when he got up to leave later.
"Well then, I suppose it's up to us to make these woods safe for forest creatures everywhere! A quest worthy of Cayden's blessing. But first... Ready for your massage, Nariel?" She grins at the elf, hoping for no interruptions this time.
Sasha smiles and nods when Aivar offers to share a ride on Romas. "Thank you, Aivar. I'm sure that Hrive will appreciate the reprieve."
---
When her companions disrobe, Sasha feels blood rush to her cheeks. Her eyes follow Tristan to the pool, but quickly shifts her gaze to Nariel and Raquel. "A bath and a massage?" she jokes, eager to distract from her embarrassment. "This is like one of the chapters from The Lusty Halfling Maid that my brother hid under his bed."
"Ooh, I read that one! I thought the character development was spot on, but the action was a bit lacking at the climax," Raquel says drolly.
"There's plenty of room in the spring, Sasha. Why not join us?"
With Tyg and Perl suddenly, Nariel holds out her arm in their direction "Oh but... so soon little ones?" Letting her arm drop, Nariel sinks back into the water, appearing legitimately disappointed to see the fey creatures go. Glancing over her shoulder, a slightly crestfallen Nariel nods quietly at Racquel's offer.
Listening to Sasha and Raquel banter back and forth, Nariel rolls her eyes slightly and mutters "Humans can be so prudish." Choosing not to engage in humor she deemed somewhat sophomoric, Nariel turns her attention to Tristan's musings, her tone and demeanor more characteristically serious and academic "Fey are eternal Tristan, so it is possible this Brightbane may have existed ages ago. To good willed immortal spirits like Tyg and Perl, the pain of that loss might still feel like it happened only yesterday." Glancing upwards, Nariel appears reflective as she adds "Still, it is worth looking into. There might be old yarns or legends about a protector of this area. Fascinating."
Turning around, Nariel smiles at Racquel with a nod "Thank-you Raquel, I feel much better now." Standing up, Nariel heads back towards the shore to dry-off. After dressing, she climbs back into the saddle "I am ready when everyone else is."
Sasha cracks a smile at Raquel's retort, but manages to blush even more. She wasn't ready to take off all her clothes around her companions, even if a hot bath was the closest thing she could imagine to divinity at this moment, and she definitely wasn't ready to explain herself, so she pursues her favorite strategy when uncomfortable: self-deprecation and misdirection.
"And lose the layer of dust I've worked so hard on out here?" Sasha asks with a wink. "I look a proper adventurer now, and besides, somebody has to keep watch while you deviants carouse."
"Suit yourself, Sash!"
Raquel takes her time kneading the muscles of Nariel's neck and shoulders. She works her way down her back, fingers pressing into the elf's warm skin. If the cleric is breathing a little bit heavier by the time she finishes, well, that's because the fumes from the spring might be finally getting to her, right?
When Nariel thanks her, Raquel murmurs, "My pleasure." With a sigh, she follows the elf's example, drying off and getting dressed. Soon, she is ready to move on as well.
The time given to him wasn't enough to finish what his pencil had started, but Aivar managed to get down the rough lines of today's happenings. Stylized contours of his companions, with harsher lines in and around their faces, frolicking about in the hot spring. He had been torn on whether or not to include the two fey - "surely that didn't happen, young sir Orlovsky!" - but he figures that since he isn't lying, they could be included.
The exclusion of two of their companions, the driven and at times somberly sober Arianna and the enigmatic wonder Sasha, bothers him. Of course, he himself is missing on the canvas, but an artist never has to excuse himself.
Then and there, he swears to himself that he'll capture the two of them - together, or apart - on canvas. It's the least they deserve in return for what they're doing here.
Once the sketchbook has been safely hidden away, Aivar steps up to Sasha and, together, watch how their companions are getting ready to get back in the saddle again. "Back when I was younger, we were all supposed to bath and wash together. We, eh, being those chosen to be trained by the swordmasters of Brevoy. Never though, never, were we allowed to bath with the girls and vice versa. Something about honor and dignity, or as one elderly veteran put it, 'she only gets to see you unsheath your blade when you're about to duel'. In a sense, we're really pushing the frontier here."
He flashes her a wry smile, thinking he has an understanding as to why she and Arianna refused the opportunity to dive in.
While the fey are present, Arianna watches them with some wonder, committing their features to memory for her next letter home. After a little bit she, too, slips into the hot springs for a quick dip to get the topmost layer of dirt off and wash her hair.
She gets in and out as quickly as she can, and tries to avoid looking at anyone else. Much as she might try to hide it, she's exceedingly shy about her body.
"Fey are eternal Tristan..."
By this point Tristan had allowed the unlooked-for comfort of the springs to go to his head, unfocusing his thoughts much as a glass of fortified wine may do. He allows his body to float upon the surface of the spring, drifting idly back and forth wherever the eddies of the bubbling water may push him.
"Eternal," he says dreamily, staring up at the sky. "Eternal is a very big word."
Without consciously meaning to he begins to hum, testing melodies and rhythms for the sound of a forever spent amidst the faerie-world.
Noticing Arianna's shyness, Raquel refrains from flirting with or teasing her like she did the rest of her companions.
She does, however, stare in appreciation as Tristan floats atop the surface of the water.
If only he weren't so dense sometimes...
Sasha smiles faintly at Aivar's double entendre and took it as an apology of a kind. "When I was young, I bathed with my brothers. When I came of age, however, my father thought it inappropriate to continue that practice. It's not something I've done around another person besides a serving girl in seven years."
She frowns, gathering her dark hair into a ponytail, the only acceptable style when it was this dirty. "It feels foolish to say out here, but there it is."
That she is completely unequipped to deal with frank nudity or sexuality, she leaves out. Sasha crosses her arms and pointedly averts her gaze from Tristan's floating form.
"Nobles and vagrants, the lot of us," grins Aivar. "And don't feel like the odd one out. Most of the men I've gotten to know would never ever allow their daughter or sister to, eh, expose themselves like so. Gosh, what I meant to say is, if I had ever gotten close enough to those women to ask such an indecent question, they'd tell me they'd never do such a thing. Alas, I must approach it from the male perspective." He represses the urge to blush as good as he can.
What went unsaid, though, is that most of those men and women were born with a silver spoon. Money and power lead to status and pretense. "Anyways, soon enough we'll be back at Oleg's and if it's up to me, you have dibs on using the tub first."
Perhaps reluctantly (or not in some cases?), you leave the hot springs behind, returning to the saddles you have come to know so well over these past few months.
As you turn South, it becomes clear what Tyg and Perl said: you are heading into the deep woods. Very few people have passed this way, and after several days you see no more sign of any trappers marking their presence. The birds and the squirrels fall silent, but the buzz of midges (wakened from their winter slumbers) forms a persistent ringing sound in your ears. When the wind blows in from the West, you can smell the marsh-scents of the Hooktongue Slough, that great swamp-like, boggy lake through which passes all the river traffic from Pitax up to Brevoy, via the Sellen River. Good luck to whoever the Swordlords sent to tame that sodden morass.
Finally, you turn East - for the first time in a month, you are heading in a direction other than West or South. This involves crossing the Skunk River, which by this point downstream has lost the distinctive smell of its headwaters, and is a slow-moving deep body of water. There is a certain amount of splashing, and a cold night shivering in wet clothes by the fire, but nobody is lost and your possessions make it through intact. The warm Spring air doesn't do any harm either - to have been this wet even a few weeks ago would have opened you to chills, or worse.
The next morning, you are crossing a sun-dappled glade, when you see it: on the far side of the clearing, a circular patch of what looks like - and turns out to be - snow, surrounded by a ring of toadstools. The toadstools look like something out of a children's story (or possibly a nightmare): bright amber stalks with purple caps spotted with yellow. They radiate an unnatural chill which burns anyone foolish enough to touch them.
In the middle of the ring, which is around 10 feet across, lying on the snow, is the body of a unicorn. Its golden mane is rimed with frost, and the cause of death is obvious in the blood that has spilled from its slit throat, staining the snow around it with a bright, bright red.
Within the toadstool circle - and only within the circle - snow falls softly, a continuous sweep of downy flakes...
Tears start to form in the corners of Aivar's eyes when he sees the unicorn. "No, no, no ..." he mutters, but it is to no avail. Life doesn't magically return to the creature nor is it released from its gruesome prison by a benign God. His voice is no more than a constrained whisper, burdened by grief. "Gods Above and Below, curse whoever did this!"
The tall man visibly shrinks as hopelessness sinks in. "Is there anything we can do?" Brute force, his specialty once words fail, seems horribly out of place here.
"By the light of the Starstone," Raquel swears somberly. She too tears up as she rides up alongside Aivar. Without thinking, she reaches over to squeeze the paladin's hand.
"We can bury him. He deserves much better than this. Although, this feels like a trap." She notes the unicorn's golden hair. "Do you think this was Brightmane?"
Sasha slips from the back of Romas, leaving Raquel to comfort Aivar and his grief. She creeps towards the dead unicorn, eyes alert to look for signs of the attacker or any nasty surprises it might have left behind.
She stops at the ring of toadstools. "Arianna," she calls. "Any idea what these are?"
Coming upon the grisly scene, Nariel raises her right hand slowly to cover her mouth, a look of sheer silent horror replacing her normally stoic demeanor. Dismounting from Hrive, she takes a few shaky steps before falling to her knees beside Aivar, tears streaming down her face as she openly wept. Unicorns were rare, even in Kyonin, and the elves of her homeland treated such magical creatures with the utmost reverence. This was a heinous sacrilege to Nariel, unforgivable.
Shaking her head, Nariel struggled to get any words out as she fought to breath clearly between sobs. Finally, Nariel unconsciously began speaking in her native tongue "Uma sina 'ksh-ya?" Realizing that some of her companions of course didn't speak elven, Nariel winced to block out the image and rephrased in common "W-who would do such a horrible thing? Why?"
Listening to the others speak with her gaze cast towards the ground, Nariel takes a moment to collect herself. Forcing herself to look up, she takes in the scene and tries to make sense of it. "Whatever this is... it is unspeakably cruel."
Reluctantly looking again upon the deceased unicorn, Nariel adds quietly "I think you might be right Raquel, this may have been the very same Brightmane that the fey spoke of."
Raquel slips off of Thunder and kneels beside Nariel. She wraps her arms around the elf and holds her while she sobs, then offers her a handkerchief to dry her eyes.
"I'm willing to hazard a guess who's responsible for this travesty," Raquel says. Then she mouths the word, "her".
The circle radiates strong magic of the conjuration school; it would probably take the best library you've ever been in and a good month to work out exactly what it does, but it bears a strong resemblance to the binding circles that they are rumoured to use in Cheliax: a sacrifice allows a connection to be made with another plane, and to draw something through.
You also have the strong impression that walking into the circle would be a really bad idea.
Allowing herself to be comforted, Nariel gradually grows alarmed as she realizes what the horrid scene is. "We cannot help this poor creature, even to give him a proper burial. It is not safe to enter this circle."
Standing up, she approaches but keeps a safe distance from the circle "This is conjuration magic, though much greater than anything I can do at this time." Turning around, Nariel appears wide eyed and even a frightened as she quietly added "A sacrifice this heinous can only have been used to draw something awful to our plane of existence... we need to be alert."
Raquel follows Nariel to the edge of the circle. She frowns with concern at the elf's frightened look. "We'll be careful. Perhaps we can come back later once we find spells potent enough to remove this fell magic."
Arianna is struck dumb by the sight before her. She dismounts and squats near the circle, careful not to cross the border.
"Do you think," she says, "The Stag Lord has command of ice. Maybe he's responsible for this?"
Like almost everyone, you've heard of 'fairy rings' - circles of toadstools which are associated with all sorts of stories. It seems they might not be as mythical as you'd assumed.
Aivar yanks off his gauntlet so that he can wipe clean his cheeks. Where only moments ago sorrow had run rampant, now only a steely resolve can be found. "Possibly, Arianna, but by all accounts he sounds more like a fighter than a mage or priest."
The leather of his gauntlet croaks its disagreement when Aivar slips his hand back into it, flexing his fingers before clenching them into a ball. "Whoever did this will pay for his or her crime. Should ... should we make a sketch of the situation? I am anything but bookwise," and he eyes both Arianna and Narièl before continuing, "but perhaps having a proper visual of the situation will help you with research? It also gives us the option to send out a copy to someone with access to an actual library, what with us being out here in the wilds."
He then walks forward closer to the circle, shaking his head from side to the side as clear contempt washes over his face. "Surely this can't stand and we must do something about it."
Tristan says nothing upon seeing the unicorn. Here, in the midst of spring bursting out in radiance, is a small patch of hopeless, forlorn winter. Death and darkness.
Did something seek to summon the slain body into this world? Why? What is the purpose of it?
The stirrings of a song begin in his mind, but it will take a long time for Tristan to find the proper words for this horrible sight. Instead, he takes his voilin from off his back, stands as if at recital, and begins to play a song older than memory, a tune that was probably as old as any thinking being. Dirge for the Beloved it was called in Rostland, and every musician he'd ever met had known it, or some variation of it. It was all he could think of to play.
When he is finished, he packs up his violin again. "Nariel, do Fey... ah, decompose when they die? If this is Brightmane, did he die recently?"
It felt terrible to leave the creature there, but even without Nariel's cautions Tristan could tell it would not be wise to go near the body.
"Surely this can't stand and we must do something about it."
"We will do something about it, Aivar. And don't call me Shirley," Raquel says, though her heart isn't in the quip. Still, hopefully a little bit of levity will help ease the sorrow of the situation.
Given the obviously magical nature of what is at work here, it is impossible to hazard any guesses as to how long ago it occurred. It could have been 5 minutes ago, 5 days ago, or 5 years ago.
"I don't know what we can do about it," Sasha interjects. "Narièl said it herself, we can't enter the ring." She pauses, frowning.
"She also said it was a sacrifice. But I think it's more than that, otherwise why leave it here? Why keep others from touching it, burying it? It's a message."
Whatever the grisly sight is - portal, grave, or message - there seems to be little you can do, for now.
Putting it behind you (literally, if not metaphorically) you continue moving through this seemingly endless forest. After several days of travel and exploration, the thick tangle of brambles gives way into a large clearing, its border partially defined by ruined stone pillars. The western face of the clearing is dominated by a looming, upthrust ridge of rock, nearly 300 feet across and rising to a moss-topped height of 100 feet at the center.
The side of this towering boulder facing the clearing has been carved in the likeness of an immense elk, its antlers drooping down from its weathered face to frame a 50-foot-wide cave entrance.
A flight of stone steps leads up to this cave entrance from the forest clearing. Both the steps and elk face feel quite old and are thickly encrusted with layers of moss. A 50-foot-long oval pool sits in the middle of the clearing, its waters thick with algae. The water in the pool is foul and stagnant, it reeks of rot and decay.
Like many ancient things, the Temple of the Elk lies forgotten in the forest depths, surrounded by numerous thorny plants. Who knows the last time it had visitors?
Raquel looks at the temple and whistles softly. "Looks like an Erastilian shrine. An ancient one, at that. Might be some squatters lurking about."
She dismounts and scoops up a trio of rocks, chanting over them and causing them to glow faintly. She holds them in her off-hand and draws her rapier, ready for trouble.
Tristan dismounts as well, giving a low whistle at the sheer size of the stone carving. "Impressive work." Noticing Raquel's stance, he shrugs. "Seems your vote is to enter. Suppose we might as well - this is Erastil's sort of place, seems only right to pay our respects. Even if the old boy isn't home right yet."
Raquel's use of divine magic proves to be unfortunate: as she chants, the air between the two nearest pillars shimmers and starts to glow, as an enormous bear steps out of thin air! Its face is contorted with rage and its eyes glow red as it lashes out at Tristan and Aivar. Its claws miss, but its bite catches Tristan in the shoulder, dealing a savage wound...
Reacting quickly, Nariel yells at Arianna "Get down Arianna!" Producing some fine powder from her pouch, Nariel steps forward and flings it at the bear. The dust turns to into a dazzling display of light.
After hitting the bear with the illusion, Nariel suddenly reappears right behind Arianna again.
Aivar adopts an aggressive stance by keeping the blade of his glaive between himself and Erastil's enraged guardian, assaulting the beast with vicious jabs instead of overhead or wide-sweeping strikes. "Encircle it!"
"Ah! Tristan, fall back!" Raquel shouts. She moves behind Aivar, praying and touching his back. A shimmering magical shield surrounds him.
Arianna throws a jab at the bear, pulls back, and adjusts to a defensive posture.
"Wha - aaaaargh!" Tristan manages as the bear sinks its teeth into him. It is the single most excruciating moment of his life thus far, and he takes it as a personal insult that it so robs him of breath - thus not allowing him to grace it with the scream his pain deserves. He is certain his lungs and vocal training would enable him to produce quite the scream if he were only given the leisure.
Tristan stumbles back, drawing his rapier as he does so, thankful the bear had attacked his left shoulder rather than his swordarm.
He speaks a few words, having sharpened his command of magic over the months in the wilderness. His wounds close completely.
Sasha leaps into action with the bear's sudden appearance, drawing her rapier and rolling into a position where she can place the beast between herself and Aivar.
Her rapier flashes towards the bear's vulnerable flank.
Sasha tumbles into space, but the bear swipes at her with its claw, injuring her badly. Her rapier finds its mark, piercing the fur and muscle alike to draw blood. Aivar's glaive also solidly hits; the bear roars in pain - and then stumbles as Nariel's spell hits it.
It shakes its head, confused, momentarily vulnerable...
Sasha 7/18 hit points left
Bear 16 damage
"Quick! Take it down before it recovers!" Raquel rushes up beside Aivar and tries to stabs at the bear with her rapier. Unfortunately, the tip of her blade only scrapes against its thick hide.