Drogan backs away.
"If there's one thing a've learned - it's never get in the way of an inquisitor plyin' 'is trade. Bad fer the the health."
"If you aren't setting something hard under them you'll just succeed in hammering the trinkets into the sod Mr. Beckett, and if you do put something hard under them you are going to make a noise loud enough you'll bring the whole place down on us."
Karl warns.
"Take em along, we can grind em up or burn em. Though I do appreciate the enthusiasm."
"Carver, are you ready to move out?"
"Anyone bring a curing wand?"
Carver leans down, wincing at the pains in his chest, to pick up his longbow. At Karl's query he shrugs, "Right as rain, gov. Stitcher's pint set me propers."
He glances down at the trinkets warranting Beckett's attention. "What's given ya the Willies, Scrapper? They got a smell about 'em? Or is it the bits o' looney gnomes what color 'em awful?"
Linkah is standing quietly next to Agidor, arms crossed in such a way to embrace himself against a cold chill. He glances over to the group briefly but his focus is on the northern edge of the clearing where it opens back up to the game trail leading away.
Drogan takes notice of Linkah's gaze.
"Wha's with ye, Link? A've not known ye te be silent about... well, anythin' really. What's got ye spooked so?"
"I know the risks son. <<<sigh>>> I'm trying to make sure we make it inside to have a chance at doing something about the source of these . . . Things."
Karl's eyes swarm over their "companions" searching for signs of betrayal, bent or intent.
"Fine destroy them if you can, but please do it quietly, sound travels in the night---Eyes north, Link's caught wind of somethin, look sharp."
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Link glances Drogan’s way then nods northwards. ”Ain’t nothin’, Dragon-drum…” His left cheek twitches once and he brushes at his nose. ”...call it a feelin’ what gimme the uncomfortables is all...like the lot o’ us is bein’ watched… Makes me think o’ me time on the ship, when cap’n would be spyin’ us from across decks...makin’ sure what the halfers ‘r up to...”
Longtime friend to the halfling, Karl knows to trust Link’s gut instincts and summons the group to be on their guard. Stitches puts a hand on the haft of his earthbreaker and nudges Carver to knock an arrow. For the trio of nobles, while Gaston and Flavios paw at the short swords at their hips, Reginald draws his rapier with a flourish and places himself within reach of the big half-orc, Stitches.
Agidor rests a hand on Link’s shoulder and limbers his bow while the halfling flexes his wrist to allow a pair of daggers to slip into his hands from up his sleeves.
To the north, the leaves of the undergrowth bushes and brambles rustle, a short statured shadow that hadn’t moved before now shifts and resolves. Stepping into the clearing, a gnome of dark skin and darker hair looks over the gathered group. He has a painted face of odd shapes and symbols, a red swath across his eyes like a drawn mask. Upon his body he wears basic cloth to cover the necessaries with bone and wood armor over it all. At his side is a single, short sword made of hardened wood with razor-sharp spikes along the leading and back edges. About his neck is a single object of wood, carved in similar asymmetrical shape as those gathered beneath Beckett’s hammer. Looking over the group with large, brown eyes and a furrowed brow, he stands confidently.
He takes in a breath and says, ”Cén fáth go bhfuil sé caithfidh tú teacht ar na crainn? A bhfuil sé a lorg agat Go mbeadh tú a riosca an dorchadais?”
As soon as the gnomish words are out of his mouth, the brush and brambles surrounding the forest clearing stir with activity. Into the open spills a dozen gnomes of similar appearance and armament.
- Karl - 21/31 HP
- Drogan - 16/22 HP
- Phedron- 25/25 HP
- Beckett - 19/26 HP
- Lavios - 31/31 HP
- Carver, half-elf Forester - 27/30 HP
- Stitches, half-orc Barbarian
- Allied NPCs - Linkah, Agidor
- Non-Allied NPCs - Reginald, Flavios & Gaston
"Ah f$$! me . . . S~%#. . . . Alrighty then, anyone speak gnomish?"
"And, hold off for a moment Mr. Beckett."
|
Phedron looks about and shakes his head. "No, sorry. I don't speak any. I do know elven and sylvan. Let me try." He says ((but will stop if Drogan speaks up)).
"Vedui'. Ya ier lle?." ((Greetings, who are you?))
He says in Elven. Pausing for a breath, he continues in Sylvan.
"Kveðjur. Hver ert þú?"
While speaking, he is planning his next actions. Undead he can do little about... but breathing bodies he has more options. To him, there can be little doubt that these gnomes are allied with the darkness.
Drogan turns his head and lowers his axe, gesturing everyone to relax and lower their weapons.
"Give us a tick, boys. I don't think this fella's here te cause us any problems."
He points to the fetishes and the remains of the gnomes they found. "Something tells me you might know a bit more about what's happening here then we do. We want to help end what's doing this."
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The leader apparent gives a quick sign, four fingers to his temple and then draws a finger across his eyes. In response, the other gnomes lower their weapons. Half of them maintain their watch of those gathered in the clearing. The other half turn their attentions outward to the forest around them, studying the darkness with quiet intensity.
The leader then cocks his head to the side and darts darts a glance towards the trio of nobles before focusing on Drogan. The two, dwarf and gnome exchange words in the gnomish dialect.
As the two converse, Reginald - the lead noble - rubs at his goatee and sneers derisively. ”What use are these creatures if they cannot assist our efforts? They clearly want nothing to do with us. Why do they we just move on.”
”Dawn will be here soon…” Gaston worries, rubbing at his bald pate. ”...can't be caught out here in the light *ahem* in the light over day, right?”
Reginald glares at the shorter man but in the end nods agreement. ”Carver, get us moving again. Double your the pay for getting us back on schedule.”
”Double he says, Stitches.” Carver responds with a quiet whistle and a nudge to the side of the giant half-orc.
Stitches curls a lip and grunts, enlarged lower canines catches strands of moonlight. ”We go as long as it takes, Carvuh. Forest don't shift aside fuh this lot...double the coin or no.” He looks around at the gnomish tribesmen surrounding them. ”I'm o’ the mind these lil puds got a thing ta say if we up n’ walks. I'll squish ‘em...but I'd rathuh not.”
Gaston is at Reginald’s elbow, wringing his hands. ”But the green, Regi...we'll miss the gree…”
But his words are cut off as Reginald back hands him across the mouth. Stunned, Gaston stumbles over his feet and tumbles to the ground.
”Mind your tongue, lest you lose it!” Reginald hisses.
Karl folds his arms and watches the bard ply his art.
"Stand your ground a minute and let the dwarf do his work. If a bit of chat saves us another fight and near death its well worth it. These blades can come back out as fast as needed, but they can't undead you once your dead."
Karl glares at Reginald to chill his antics.
"Knock that s&+* off! We're in the middle of a negotiation here. Your hired men know what their doing."
Karl turns his outward attention back to the gnomes, but keeps an eye on his temporary companions. He can practically feel their daggers in his back.
"Oh, and we already know about the green so relax yourself. Heh heh heh."
Drogan talks to his companions - but never takes his eyes off the gnome.
"Beckett - ye know a'm usually the first one te let you do yer thing right? Well, seems as these gnomes 'ere use those totems te ward off somethin' darker still in these woods. I recommend ye at least hold off on the smitin' fer a bit. Least as long as it takes me te sort this mess out."
Drogan returns his full attention to the gnome who appears to speak for the rest of them.
Having only ever met civilized gnomes before this moment, He worries that it will be hard to tell whether they speak true or not. However, if they are wearing them themselves...
Drogan goes to the pile of totems, grabbing one of them and lifting it up in a salute to the leader of the gnomes.
He then places it around his neck.
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Drogan slips the totem figurine about his neck and freezes, eyes going distant, right hand gripping the object. After a few short moments, the dwarven storyteller emerges from his reverie to find the leader of the gnomes studying him closely.
”Beidh eagla scriosann tú, más rud é nach bhfuil muid tú a chaitheamh air.” He says grimly in Gnomish and places a hand over his chest and bows. He looks to Marsh and Phedron, then focuses on Marsh and gestures once with his chin. ”Ceann amháin níos mó I measc iad beidh ort ar an brat.” Pausing, a glance to Beckett then to the forest beyond them to the south . ”Ach bere, a thabhairt duit an solas, mar tá sé fungas agus bhraith agus Seilg.”
The gnome tribal leader steps away from Drogan and points to two of his people and then to the ground and then to the north towards the hill and the black stone bulk of the Academy in beyond the trees. The two gnomes put away their bows and step forward, conversing quietly with the leader. After a moment the two crouch down and begin working a drawing into the dirt of the clearing, silvery moonlight bathes what becomes a map of sorts, the line of the drawn path depicted by a circle with wavy lines cutting from top to bottom.
Their work done, the two gnomes step away and resume their watch on the forest outside the clearing. The leader points to Carver and Marsh, ”Follow,” He says in Common, pointing at the drawn map on the ground.
With that, the gnomes turn to go…
---------------------
The gnomes disappear into the forest, leaving the group in the clearing with the destroyed ghouls and the two remaining totems.
”Bloody savages…” Reginald mutters darkly. But it’s hard to tell if he means the gnomes or perhaps Marsh and the others. His eyes narrow and he smirks at Karl. ”You know the green, hmm?” The question bears the notes of rhetoric as Reginald crosses his arms. ”Then you know our timetable is of utmost importance. Forest or tree-dwelling fools aside, we must be about our business. If you and your men are quite finished…” He leans down and gathers up his satchel to put over his shoulder and waves a dismissive hand towards Carver and Stitches to signal them to get moving.
Agidor moves alongside Drogan and places a hand on his shoulder. ”You okay, mate? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
For his part, Linkah seems curious regarding the gnomes as they depart into the forest, but when he gives Marsh and Beckett a tap on their hips, he is still wary. ”Wadn’t the gnomes what gimme the frights…” He nods towards the northwest and the hill. ”Ain’t much what gimme the frights, but somethin’ else is watchin’. Makes me feel like I got one o’ them snowcones we could get back in Cassomir, Marshy.”
--------------------
Eventually the party departs the clearing, plunging into the forest with Carver (and Marsh?) in the lead. Over the course of what seems like a day, but may only be an hour, they arrive at a cliff face and the opening of a cave.
”Thankful for them runters,” Carver says off-handedly, looking at the entrance. The cave mouth would have been all but hidden from their gaze had they not emerged from the treeline at the right angle. Thankfully the gnomes’ map did the job. The forester rests his hands on his longbow, one end in the dirt between his feet. An involuntary shudder stirs his shoulders.
A shudder drifts through all those present. There is naught but darkness ahead, the moonlight above hiding behind the crest of the hill. Those of dwarfish or half blood lines can see relatively well, but those without the benefit of ancestral traits find the location too dark by half.
”Get your torches, gentlemen,” Reginald states flatly, giving Gaston a shove to keep him moving.
Once a torch or two is lit, all concerned can see the just inside the entrance. The passage ahead spans 5 feet in width, 15 feet in height (beyond the threshold) and in only 3 or four paces, a stone staircase descends into darkness.
For those listening, a subtle moan drifts from within the cave, sounding as though it comes from the depths of exhaustion...
- Karl - 21/31 HP
- Drogan - 16/22 HP
- Phedron- 25/25 HP
- Beckett - 19/26 HP
- Lavios - 31/31 HP
- Carver, half-elf Forester - 27/30 HP
- Stitches, half-orc Barbarian
- Allied NPCs - Linkah, Agidor
- Non-Allied NPCs - Reginald, Flavios & Gaston
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In the Clearing
Drogan barely hears his friends' voice beside him - coming to his ears as if fighting through velvet curtains. As the visions cease, he is still for a moment until the voice of his father rings through his head again. At that moment, he releases a guttural scream as his knees hit the soft ground beneath him. As it finishes, he slumps to the ground.
Agidor tries to help him up, and the dwarf leans heavily on him as he rises, saying, "A'll be fine, Agidor. Don't worry. Iss just sometimes a man has te do things he doesn't want to do." he looks down at the totem in his hand, "sometimes the weight of it all juss gets a bit too heavy is all." On his feet now, the dwarf pats his friend's shoulder. "Not te worry. I'm good now. Right as hard forged iron."
He turns to the others, making sure the caravan workers and their guests do not hear him speak. "The gnomes say there's somethin' in the woods. Somethin' dark. My guess - somethin' darker than we've seen yet." He shudders, fighting back the sound of distant whistling, "And we've seen some dark days already." He holds up the totem, "These things - they wear 'em te keep whatever it is at bay. It's a bit a darknes, a lesser darkness, tha' keeps ye safe from what lies past it. I know you'll be none too happy with it, Beckett - but sometimes ye got to take te the shadows te keep the light burnin'. The one in charge says that te be safe, at least one more of us needs te be wearin' one a these." He looks to Beckett, "I wouldn't ask ye te wear it, Inquisitor. If there's one of us te be clean of all this - a'll be damned if iss not you." He looks at Phedron. Drogan snorts. There's been some growth in the fop, but he thinks he is not ready for what these totems open up. He looks at Marsh, his face taking on a somber weight. "I'm slow te give ye this. I ken only imagine what hell it'll make you relive, but a'm also sure you and I are the only ones spent enough time starin' inte the abyss not to fear what we find there." He holds out the totem, "But no one ken make ye take it. It has te be your call."
"Mr Beckett already has demons at his gates and Phedron bears the book. I'll not have Linkah wear one, though he's strong enough. You've earned the right to ask Drogan and your logic in this is infallible."
Karl reaches forward with a hand that trembles against his iron will.
"Desna bless it!"
"Here give me it. Go tell Carver and the others what these do while I take the ride."
Karl places the loop over his neck.
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Karl stands stock still for a few moments, but eventually emerges from his introspections to see that the gnomes have departed.
---------------------
The gnomes disappear into the forest, leaving the group in the clearing with the destroyed ghouls and the two remaining totems.
”Bloody savages…” Reginald mutters darkly. But it’s hard to tell if he means the gnomes or perhaps Marsh and the others. His eyes narrow and he smirks at Karl. ”You know the green, hmm?” The question bears the notes of rhetoric as Reginald crosses his arms. ”Then you know our timetable is of utmost importance. Forest or tree-dwelling fools aside, we must be about our business. If you and your men are quite finished…” He leans down and gathers up his satchel to put over his shoulder and waves a dismissive hand towards Carver and Stitches to signal them to get moving.
Agidor moves alongside Drogan and places a hand on his shoulder. ”You okay, mate? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
For his part, Linkah seems curious regarding the gnomes as they depart into the forest, but when he gives Marsh and Beckett a tap on their hips, he is still wary. ”Wadn’t the gnomes what gimme the frights…” He nods towards the northwest and the hill. ”Ain’t much what gimme the frights, but somethin’ else is watchin’. Makes me feel like I got one o’ them snowcones we could get back in Cassomir, Marshy.”
--------------------
Eventually the party departs the clearing, plunging into the forest with Carver (and Marsh?) in the lead. Over the course of what seems like a day, but may only be an hour, they arrive at a cliff face and the opening of a cave.
”Thankful for them runters,” Carver says off-handedly, looking at the entrance. The cave mouth would have been all but hidden from their gaze had they not emerged from the treeline at the right angle. Thankfully the gnomes’ map did the job. The forester rests his hands on his longbow, one end in the dirt between his feet. An involuntary shudder stirs his shoulders.
A shudder drifts through all those present. There is naught but darkness ahead, the moonlight above hiding behind the crest of the hill. Those of dwarfish or half blood lines can see relatively well, but those without the benefit of ancestral traits find the location too dark by half.
”Get your torches, gentlemen,” Reginald states flatly, giving Gaston a shove to keep him moving.
Once a torch or two is lit, all concerned can see the just inside the entrance. The passage ahead spans 5 feet in width, 15 feet in height (beyond the threshold) and in only 3 or four paces, a stone staircase descends into darkness.
For those listening, a subtle moan drifts from within the cave, sounding as though it comes from the depths of exhaustion...
- Karl - 21/31 HP
- Drogan - 16/22 HP
- Phedron- 25/25 HP
- Beckett - 19/26 HP
- Lavios - 31/31 HP
- Carver, half-elf Forester - 27/30 HP
- Stitches, half-orc Barbarian
- Allied NPCs - Linkah, Agidor
- Non-Allied NPCs - Reginald, Flavios & Gaston
Marsh nods unemotionally towards linkah. When the opportunity presents itself he moves up to Reginald.
"As you can see a few minutes of time has saved us an hour of searching. So, tell me, have you born witness to the green flash?"
|
|
Phderon retrieves his lantern and kindles the wick, but keeps the hood down until light is called for. Holding the lantern in one hand, he draws his sword.
He sends caution and watchfulness along his link to Caster. It is very much like walking into the open maw of a mindless beast that only wishes to devour them.
Walking near to Karl, he whispers"I don't fear the lead position, but I also don't trust these... seekers... or whatever they want to be called. Even without the evil here, their desire brings enough evil of their own."
"I agree and I think the book figures into this somehow. Our party is worse for wear right now. If we get too much more banged up I am worried they will think we are easy prey. I am not sure how much they care for their hired help either, but for the moment they need us and vice versa."
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The group stands at the mouth of the cave, their respective light sources casting their meager offerings of illumination into the waiting stone-maw. Reginald and his two cohorts busy themselves preparing torches, but the snobbish leader smirks at Karl’s question.
”Have I seen the green flash?” A shake of the head as he lights his torch. The orange flame casts shadows across his face, hooding his eyes like a flickering cloak. To Karl (and those paying attention), an odd fanaticism glows in their depths. ”I see it every night in my dreams. And I will finally answer its call…” He looks away from Karl and down into the darkness of the cave entrance. He sighs deeply, a satisfaction only found after reading the final lines of a spectacular epic. ”I am returned unto the place of my forming…” The words flow as though committed to memory.
The other two next to him nod in agreement, going so far as to mutter words of their own. If Reginald doesn’t place a torch in front of them, they are even to the point of taking the lead into the cavern. As it is, he nods to Karl and the others. ”After you, gentlemen. I leave the foraging to those better suited to the task. But take heed, the things you see inside are not meant for plundering.”
Gaston, casting aside his nervousness, is suddenly given to an excited shudder as he looks upon the cave entrance. There is fear, but it is overridden by...anticipation. He hums to himself, a tune familiar to some in the gathering.
The tune gives rise to memories uncomfortable...flames in the night and the scattered shadows of those moving into the darkness on their own mysterious errands...a night only two months in the past when the group was confronted by peasants and a sacrificial chamber...and a dwarven nemesis...
Carver suppresses a shudder and nods to the cave entrance. "Let's get a move on, eh?"
- Karl - 21/31 HP
- Drogan - 16/22 HP
- Phedron- 25/25 HP
- Beckett - 19/26 HP
- Lavios - 31/31 HP
- Carver, half-elf Forester - 27/30 HP
- Stitches, half-orc Barbarian
- Allied NPCs - Linkah, Agidor
- Non-Allied NPCs - Reginald, Flavios & Gaston
|
|
Phedron, cautious of the entry before him, discretely casts Detect magic and then walks into the darkness. Unshuttering his lantern, he gathers his courage and walks into the darkness.
Using body language and careful inflection, Phedron attempts to goad the "seekers" into taking up positions in the front. Let their own folly lead them to destruction he thinks before setting the bait. "Why don't you three stay towards the back." he says, letting the suggestion of laughter dance behind his calm words. He lets his selfish desire to use them as trap finders resonate in his syllables, letting their minds assume the selfishness is regards to their goal.
"You and I on point again Carver?"
I'll be damned if I let those psychopaths lead me into the darkness.
Drogan clutches the totem around his neck, hoping that its promised protection holds true. A quick prayer to the Drunk asking to watch his back, and the dwarf pushes forward to stand next to Marsh.
"Last time a' let you two wander off somewhere, a' suddenly found mahself squeezed by a shredskin. No thanks. If a'm goin' te get mahself inte trouble cuz a you, a'd at least like te SEE wha'ss tryin' te kill me before it makes the effort."
Drogan whispers the old words and the spell causes the totem to glow with a soft light. He smiles and nudges Marsh, delighted by the irony.
"Come on then. Le'see what the darkness hides then."
The stone path leads into the caverns mouth. Once a torch or two is lit, all concerned can see just inside the entrance. The passage ahead spans 5 feet in width, 15 feet in height (beyond the threshold) and in only 3 or four paces, a stone staircase descends into darkness.
For those listening, a subtle moan drifts from within the cave, sounding as though it comes from the depths of exhaustion...
Karl and Drogan take the lead along with Carver the forester. Once across the threshold there's a weight that settles on their shoulders, but they continue to the stairs. The steps descend until they walk outside torchlight and dwarf sight.
Behind them, annoyed by Pbedron's challenge, Reginald holds his we torch aloft and heads inside ahead of the half-elf wizard. "Status here indeed..." He plunges thru the cave entrance, overconfidence oolong from his bearing. "...I shall be the first to claim my due."
But his bluster fades away as the remainder of the party enters they all begin to hear the singing of the children echoing thru the cavern...