percep
"Someone - or something is coming. Camlo, grab your crossbow and disappear. The rest of you, get ready. With some luck, it is someone we can reason with."
Camlo hears the things just after Alwyn. He nods and moves off, but not too far.
Crossbow ready.
It eases itself between two pine trees as it comes into view, moving remarkably quietly. Below its domed skull small eyes regard the party cautiously. It is covered in long shaggy brown fur, and two enormous yellow tusks curve up from its mouth. Its trunk twitches as it takes in the odd scents. The mammoth then rumbles low call as the sound of breaking branches echoes through the forest and more of the hulking creatures can be made out moving between the trees.
know nature
What the hell is that thing?
Keeping her voice low to as to not excite the animals, Sefayll offers, "Mammoth. They are more common in the northlands. Bulls are generally solitary animals, so these are likely cows and calves. They are typically not aggressive unless they feel their young are threatened."
"Wow. I've seen single mammoths from a distance, but never this many - or this close. Let's get out of the way. Very slowly, obviously."
The adventurers slowly back away. The mammoth watches them without moving, except for the occasional flapping of its ears and twitching of its trunk. Another shoulders its way into view and scrutinises the group, idly ripping off a branch of a nearby pine tree and crunching it in its mouth as it does so. The rumbles and snuffles of the rest of the herd can be heard, and large shapes move in the gloom of the dripping forest.
Suddenly the mammoths watching the party freeze, peering past the retreating humans. They they trumpet and turn, heading back they way they came at speed, crashing through the trees as they go.
"What...?"
"Someone is coming. Again. Same procedure as last time."
perception.....or not......
I'll hunker down I reckon.
Something is coming towards the adventurers and it clearly isn't a mammoth. A voice - dry and raspy - mumbles and gibbers incoherently. There are the thuds of heavy footfalls and the sound of rustling branches. Then, crashing though the trees into the clearing stumbles a strange figure.
It is giant-sized, draped in corroded, rotting chainmail armour and with a rusted open-faced helmet on its head. It idly drags a massive greatsword behind it with one hand, plouging a furrow through the forest floor as it goes. Its body is scrawny to the point of emaciation, with withered brown skin and yellowing bone poking out in places. It chats insanely to itself until it spots the party, falling silent and staring at them intently with eyes that are little more than red glowing pits in a ruined, skull-like face.
"No wonder the mammoths took off - this is an undead grave ysrd guardian. A giant barrow-wight. Its touch drains the life from living things."
"So the question is whether we far enough from the graveyard to avoid offending it."
"Indeed. And, honestly, it sounds like it is a few sheep short of a full flock. Oh well, wish me luck."
Alwyn swallows heavily and takes a step forward. "Greetings, eternal guardian," he calls out in Giant. "Your charges still rest safely beneath the earth, undisturbed by the passage of mortal men such as us. We mean no harm or disrespect; please let us continue our journey."
Whispering to the others, "Bow your heads, show respect for the dead."
The barrow-wight mumbles something almost unintelligible.
"Uh..." Alwyn sends Illes a questioning, almost desperate glance.
Seemingly unable to communicate, the wight growls in frustration and marches towards the group, sword raised.
Illes holds up one hand index finger out, imploring the wight to wait while he rummages in his pack. "I can't speak that language, but I could at least understand what he's trying to say and maybe let him know we are moving on."
The bard pulls a scroll from his bag and holds it up for the giant to see then points to the wight, uses one hand to indicate speaking, then points to the scroll and then his own ear and nods. "I don't know if he's going to be able to get my meaning, but let's give it a shot..."
The bard begins to slowly unfurl the scroll watching for the wight's reaction.
The wight continues its charge, unimpressed by Illes' pantomime.
Thinking she knows what the bard had in mind, the enchantress steps out, hands held high, palms toward the guardian, shouting "Wait!" in several different languages hoping to find one near what the creature recognizes.
init
Hudak gets ready for the only diplomacy he knows...where yapping mouths and under the table deals rarely bare fruit....for it is the diplomacy of the butcher's block.....and the hawk hunting doves.....aye, the politics of the sneaky fox in the chicken coop.
The giant gives no sign of undestanding Sefayll's entreaties.
We'll see then, if it understands that universal language in which all hard folk bandy regardless of native tongue: the language of steel on steel.
right on.
I'll take M 14 if that's okay to interpose my bad self between Mr. "Big ass undead giant dude" and the rest of the guys.
Charge to m6.
power attack two handed;
to hit;
damage
The wight reflexively sweeps its sword at Hudak as the Shoanti warrior collides with it, hacking deep into its thigh with Nualia's Tongue.
"Uh, okay..." Alwyn runs after Hudak while casting a spell.