Mogwai rips into the next lizard, sending its blood spattering across the beach. The lizard squeals in pain.
Arven steps up, emboldened by Ehiz' words and ready to help out in any way possible. He thrusts Ehiz' spear at the closest gillman.
Unfortunately, the young man is still clumsy and awkward, and doesn't really know how to wield a weapon. His hand slips on the spear, and his attack comes short.
The halfling yells in triumph as she finds what she was looking for, a wooden symbol of an eye with a crescent moon for a pupil. "A-ha!" she shouts, before running forward towards the battle.
Her throat raw from the scream, her head spinning, Murob almost blacks out for a moment. What seems to be the leader of the gillmen is standing before her, so close she can smell the salt on his skin. She staggers back a step, feeling the reassuring presence of the Ulfen woman behind her. With the last of her strength, she gasps. "The gods shall judge you for this."
Grunting his assent to Mogwai, Karzok steps over to put himself directly in front of the advancing gillmen. He grins as he selects a new target for his wrath, the gillmen whom the halfling attempted to stab with his spear. He raises his sword for a lethal strike, his shadowy companion mimicking his every move.
Yosiah comes barreling off of the rocks, lizard in tow, feet slipping and seeking purchase on the fine sand of the beach. He is shouting as he brandishes his buckler and hatchet at the lizards, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like an insane person.
Ehiz notices how this strange newcomer immediately finds himself in the thick of things and nocks two arrows in rapid succession, firing both at the gillman in front of this hapless apparition.
Head swiveling back and forth, Sorala looks at the newcomer - and the thing chasing him - and decides to deal with the known threat first. Cut the head off the wolf, and the pack will scatter. Hoping that gillmen are like wolfpacks, the Squire makes a gesture and utters an arcane syllable while sliding her hand down the length of her blade, trailing a coat of frost behind her touch.
Stepping forward, Sorala slashes at the one she thinks is the leader.
Yosiah runs into the fray, bumbling and stumbling, as the group engages properly with the gillmen. Karzok takes a step into combat with one, and with a sickening noise disembowels it. Sorala steps up into combat with their leader and Murob casts a spell on him.
The leader grits his teeth against Murob's spell, merely responding in Common, "I know," though any triumph over resisting the spell ends early when Sorala slashes along his front. The unarmored swimmer gasps as his body is covered and restricted by Irrisenian rime.
Ehiz fires twice at the gillmen in melee with Arven, striking the man directly in the chest with his first strike - the pirate staggers and falls to his knees, but doesn't die.
The battle erupts into even more chaos as a massive and dangerous-looking lizard races into the battlefield, diverting from Yosiah to answer several crossbow bolts coming from the gillmen's barge. It barrels headfirst into the gillmen barge, and after a short struggle with the half-dozen gillmen still in the water, leaves the water a frothy red mixture of ripped-up meat and blood.
The gillman leader and one remaining gillman accomplice engage with Sorala and Karzok, though they are now on the defensive with their ship being wrecked. The staggered gillman struggles back to his feet and tries to roll back into the surf.
The gillman leader manages to strike Sorala with his spear, getting the Irrisenian squire in the shoulder, while the other gillman's spear is easily caught by Karzok's greatsword in a nice parry. The third gillman rolls away and makes it to the edge of the surf, but he stops to grasp his own injured chest and gasp with pain.
The two remaining lizards flee, running away along the beachside.
"You know. That is good. Because there is also earthly judgement." Putting a hand on the shoulder of the Ulfen woman, half to keep herself upright and half as encouragement, Murob growls through gritted teeth. "Smite him."
Yosiah mutters a prayer under his breath, furiously beseeching the aide of his God as he rushes towards the leader of the Gillmen. Kofusachi, donne-moi la force dont j'ai besoin pour aider ces personnes. The words are barely whispered as he raises his buckler-arm high and brings it down hard against the Gillman's skull, shouting as he does. "Laissez ces survivants! Fuyez cette plage, monstre!"
Prayer: Kofu, please give me the strength I need to help these people.
Spoken words: Leave these survivors! Flee this beach, monster!
Swift action -> Cast Divine Favor
Full-Round action -> Move 10' to charge the Gillman
Karzok pauses for a moment as he watches the huge lizard lay waste to the ship and it's remaining crew. In the moment of clarity, he sees Sorala at his side, "Come, my friend, let us end these fools here and now!"
With a grunt he brings his massive sword to bear and thrusts forward, attempting to skewer one of the few remaining gillmen. A blade of pure shadow thrusts into the same opening.
He curses loudly as his thrust misses it's mark and steps into the tide, hoping to surround his prey.
Stepping forwards behind Karzok, Sorala utters a quick incantation and flashes her sword at the leader as she does so, drawing her blade across the man's chest. Blood sprays from the leader's wound, while a horrific scar forms on the man's forehead. Spinning, her blade flashing brilliantly in the tropical sun, Sorala thrusts her falcata again at the leader, slicing behind the man's leg.
Yosiah rushes into the fray, shouting threats and brash bravado in the local tongue, smashing his shield down on the head of the gillman leader. Then, Sorala uses the power of her magus training to lash out at him twice with her sword. She strikes twice, and the gillman leader collapses to the sand.
Without the leadership of their leader, the remaining gillmen break ranks and flee into the ocean, diving in deep at first opportunity and swimming away hard.
The lizard in the surf comes to a slow stop, pierced by the spears of many gillmen in the barge, and collapses.
Breathing hard, Murob grins fiercely as the gillmen are slain or scattered. She turns to look at the newcomer, somewhat wary. While his arrival had been fortuitous, who knows how he would react to their continued presence here.
She calls out to him as she slowly makes her way towards the remaining colonists still lying on the beach. The gillmen had interrupted her from vital work and she intended to get back to it as soon as possible.
"You there! Who are you? Our ship was wrecked by the storm, can you help us?"
When it becomes clear that the man does not comprehend a word of what she's saying, she tries all the languages she speaks, hoping to chance upon one that they have in common.
"Y gallwch ei deall i mi?" in Hallit. And "Mənim dediklərimi başa düşürsənmi?" in Sylvan. He probably doesn't speak Orc, but she tries anyway. "Do lat julderukavand?" Draconic, maybe? "Vy ponimayete, shto ya proiznoshu?"
Increasingly dismayed, she resorts to gestures and pantomime to try and explain their situation - their wrecked ship, the dead and dying colonists, her injured companions, their scattered belongings.
Sorala nods to the newcomer and says, simply, "Thanks," before resuming her dragging the bodies on the beach again towards the priest, hoping he can do more for them than she.
Once finished, the White Squire taps herself in the chest, looking to newcomer. "Sorala." Pointing to Karzok, she says, "Karzok," and then "Murob," before looking to the others on the beach. "Who are you all?"
-----------
The dead and living dealt with to the best of her ability, and introductions made, Sorala busies herself with searching the beach. She goes methodically through everything; the bodies of the shipwrecked, the bodies of the gillmen, the scattered debris, flotsam, and jetsam on the beach. Setting aside anything that is a weapon, bit of equipment or supply, or food into separate piles, Sorala especially keeps an eye out for her armor and spellbook, hoping for a little luck this grim day.
Karzok roars at the fleeing gillmen, slashing the water a few times, spraying droplets of salt water into the sky in futility. The diplomacy being handled by the others, he simply stands and observes, nodding when he is named, and addressing any questions with short, curt answers.
He sits in the sand and watches the waves, not quite ready to begin this next chapter of their voyage just yet. His inner turmoil mirrored in the shadowy figure mimicking his every move. As Sorala leaves to begin her search, he motions for her attention, "The book - the Tien book - keep an eye out for me, would you?" He flashes her a half smile then resumes his thousand yard stare into the horizon.
Sorala nods. "Of course. It will be found, even if we have to comb the ocean floor for it."
How one would do that, is beyond Sorala's grasp, but she intends to honor the statement.
Sorala searches for awhile and, with no time constraints this time, is able to find any equipment that she didn't have on her when the shipwreck happened, as well as any equipment that the others on the beach happen to be missing. In addition, the rubble of the ship contains a few other things that might be useful:
An oil lamp and two pints of lantern oil, a fishing rod with a length of fishing line, three daggers, 7 arrows, 12 crossbow bolts, a wet 50ft. silk rope, a frayed 50ft. hemp rope, a few changes of random peoples' clothing, and somebody's travel backpack with what looks like dried food for about 10 days for one person.
The unfortunate corpse of Dareon, the erstwhile ship's lookout, has a couple of things: he wears a suit of leather armor, carries a scimitar, dagger, and a working hand crossbow, though no bolts are in his quiver. He wears a pair of spiked gauntlets which are magical.
The three gillmen you killed carry little. A sling with a carabiner attached a light crossbow to their bodies, they each carried a spear, and each had a quiver. The quivers each contain 5 bolts and 2 sleep bolts, white-feathered crossbow bolts which put people to sleep. The gillmen also each have a little waterproof fanny pack which contains three vials - two light pink, see-through, and the third black and opaque. The gillman leader also carried a scroll case in his fanny pack, and the scroll case contains two scrolls.
Of the six survivors you found, three have run off into the wilderness, towards the forest, two are unconscious, and the sixth is Arven, who sighs heavily and hands Ehiz back his spear. "Man. I don't know if I'm glad to have missed or not..." he says, quietly. It doesn't appear that any more of the people on the beach have survived the wreck.
As there seem to be no more living souls among the wrecked colonists, Murob turns her attention to the survival of those alive, helping the Ulfen woman search through the scattered and broken remains of the ship. The death of the lookout is a difficult thing to bear; although she hadn't known him well, she feels some special connection with the unfortunate sailor, one that she cannot quite explain.
The spoils of battle are carefully examined.
"Hmm. The pink liquid is for healing, I believe. The black stuff, I don't know.
Magic gloves, for climbing on slippery surfaces. I am sure they came in handy on the ship. Not sure what this scroll is, but this other one is for speaking with the dead. Perhaps we should use it on the gillman leader and ask him what he and his kind wanted with us."
She then starts tending to the unconscious survivors and to her injured companions.
Yosiah shakes his head, frustrated as the orcish woman begins speaking in all manner of tongues at him. Laughing God, there are too many languages in these peoples' home!
He lowers his hatchet and buckler, bowing deeply. When he rights himself again, he notices Sorala performing the universal ritual of pointing and naming things. He points his own finger into his chest. "Yosiah," he says, his voice a deep, rumbling bass. He mimics Sorala's pointing at the others, naming them one at a time. "Sorala. Karzok. Murob. Qui sont-ils?" he asks as he gestures at Ehiz and Mogwai.
The young man presses his fingers to his temples, overcome by the inevitable crash after adrenaline was coursing through his veins for what felt like an eternity. "Avez-vous vu un autre homme comme moi?" His eyes widen as he thinks of Baldric, uncertain of the man's fate. "Qu'est-il arrivé à votre navire?" He follows up the first question quickly, his mind racing as he takes in the chaotic scene.
"Who are they?" pointing at Ehiz/Mogwai
"Have you seen another man like me?"
"What happened to your ship?"
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As Murob approaches Mogwai for healing, he starts to shake his head. "Mogwai not deserve feel better. Stop kekar but Mogwai not sure would have attacked men." He adds, bitterly. "Mogwai not help... enough."
Feeling the need to explain himself more, he searches for the right words. "Goblins... thirstbloody. Want eat flesh, play with bones. Mogwai tries not be that way. Not want hurt... Even if Mogwai get hurt." He folds his ears forward. "But Mogwai paused killing even if save others. Is Mogwai coward?"
--
As the others go through the loot, Mogwai goes off on his own for a few minutes, his ears dropped downward as he walks among the dead bodies. Knowing he has neither the time nor the tools to bury or burn the bodies, he instead says prayers over each. "Not am knowing beliefs." He says to each, apologetically. "But Mogwai believe Sarenrae watch over all."
And as he stands before each of the deceased, he does so straight and tall as he can be, and focuses everything he has into his words. "Lady Dawnflower," He begins, "A life has been extinguished, and with it, all the good they could do. Their hopes and dreams and fears and regrets have all gone. When Sun rises tomorrow it will do so without them, for their light has been returned to you. Mogwai knows you will keep it and protect it, as you did when they breathed. Mogwai and others who remain will remember them, will be kind, and will offer redemption and friendship in their name and in yours. Amen."
"You took your responsibility and that's what matters. Be proud of yourself, others would bend and break." Ehiz nods at the man and goes off to check the others. Arven looks rattled, sure, but there might be immediate physical trauma that needs tending to. Oh, and that curiously strange man.
The newcomer - or were they technically the newcomers? - babbles on in a language he couldn't comprehend, but Sorala seems to be doing an admirable job at translating the basics. Still, the man is talking with a sense of urgency and displays the kind of jitteriness Ehiz had often seen in parents who were missing a kid. "Ehiz" says the bearded farmer as he taps himself on the chest. He brings the side of his index finger to his forehead and pretends to gaze over the beach before returning his attention to the newcomer, shrugging his shoulders while raising his hands in an apologetic manner. "No" and he shakes his head from left to right, "see" and he 'looks over the beach' again with hand against his forehead.
How he wishes he could help the man, if only to reciprocate the help he had given them.
Murob pockets the black vials for later study, leaving the others to pick out useful things from the small pile of gathered items. She is relieved to recover her pack from under a piece of hull, the leather stiff with salt but the contents mostly safe.
As Mogwai starts chastising himself, she shakes her head sharply, putting a hand on the goblin's shoulder. "You did good, Mogwai. Believe this. I know all too well what you are saying, the reputation of your people, of my people. How we must be so very careful of how we act, and even when we follow all the rules we can do wrong. I struggle with anger every day. You are not a coward for not wanting to hurt others, not by any measure."
With a final encouraging pat on his shoulders, she leaves him to perform the rites for the dead and she rejoins the newcomer, hoping to aid with the communication attempts. The method of pointing at things seems to work quite well, so she expands on that by indicating various objects, speaking their name in Taldane and gesturing to Yosiah to speak their name in his language.
Karzok sits and stares out at the waves while the others take inventory of their situation and attempt to communicate with the bearded native. So caught up in his thoughts he doesn't see Sorala until she is nearly on top of him. He glances up, then does a double take as he sees his father's book in her hand and a twinkle in her eye.
Karzok's shadow double poofs out of existence as he leaps up from the sand with a cheer. Before he realizes what he is doing he grabs her up in a great bear hug, lifting her a few feet off of the ground. Then he notices the slight look of disapproval in her face and quickly sets her down. He clears a throat, taking a brief moment to compose himself, "Thank you my friend. I don't believe I have the adequate words to express how much this means to me. Thank you." He briefly flips through the worn pages and then stuffs the book into his soggy pack. He puts a hand to her shoulder in a more appropriate gesture of gratitude and then heads off to examine the gear.
He walks over to where Murob is identifying the items and is taken aback momentarily as she focuses her strange energies on his wounds. But he relaxes as her healing energies ease his pain, "Uh, ahem, thank you for that. You say these gauntlets are magical? The ones that came from the man we failed to save?" A dark cloud graces his eyes, and his shadow form threatens to return, but he steels himself against the darkness and accepts that the man's fate had been sealed.
He bends down and gingerly picks them up as if they might burn his fingers. Yet another token of the dead. He turns them over and examines the straps, finding them to be in working order. "I would make use of these, unless someone objects?" He glances around for a moment and when no one does, he begins ceremoniously strapping them onto his forearms. He looks through the rest of the gear and then picks up Dareon's body and begins marching inland. Once he finds a suitable place, he sets the body down gently and begins carving out a pit in the sand with the flat of his sword. It isn't long before sweat is running down his body in rivulets.
Yosiah surveys the scene more closely after a few brief moments to catch his breath and focus. [i]Kofu, Vous avez été bon aujourd'hui. Je vous rembourserai.[i] He slides his hatchet back into his belt and unstraps his buckler, using it to scoop sand out beside Karzok. After beginning the undertaking, Yosiah unclasps the helmet from his head and removes it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He removes his waterskin from his pack and holds it out to Karzok without looking at the man, his other hand still scooping and shift sand, afraid that if he stopped working, he'd never resume. He doesn't need words to find kinship in sweat and salt spilled in honor of the deceased.
Arven looks around at the two unconscious colonists. As he does so, he grabs one of the daggers which Sorala and Murob found in the wreckage. "What are we gonna do about them? And about where we are?"
With a solemn voice Ehiz answers the man's question. "We should gather the wounded so that I might call upon the favor of Erastil once more today and those who do not wake, we must give further care. There are also the dead who at the very least deserve a proper burial and funeral rites. And then there is the matter of our newfound companion who seems to be looking for someone. Come tomorrow, I might be able to communicate with him more properly and hopefully that can shed some light on our current situation."
The rugged farmer exhales deeply, knowing there's still so much left to do. Uncertainty's feral teeth would gnaw at their resolve and given their current circumstances, wasn't it the fool who would deny the hopelessness of it? And deny it he did. He'd rather break than bend.
Sorala hands the remaining scroll back to Murob. "I can study the scroll again tomorrow, with the aid of my spellbook. It will reveal itself. As for the vials..." Sorala shrugs, and passes the vials with the black substance back to Murob.
Nodding along with Ehiz, Sorala adds onto his thoughts once the priest is done speaking.
"And our people, alive but scared, that ran into the jungle. I can track them. Karzok too. We need shelter as well, and food. But, I suggest that once we bury the dead, we move on from this beach." Sorala nods to the corpses of the gillmen. "Their loved ones will come looking for them."
Murob nods at the priest's words, a little shamefaced. How quick she had been to abandon the care of the colonists when danger loomed. But was her duty to those anonymous bodies, or to those whom chance and circumstance had made her companions? So many things demanded her attention...
"Yes, it would be best to leave this place once we have done all we could. We should gather anything we might find useful from among the wreckage before we depart, though."
She leaves the priest to attend to the dead while she cares for the living, attempting to revive the two who had been felled by the gillmen's strange bolts.
Murob can easily waken Elizabeth from sleep. Though the sleep bolts left good solid bruises, she is a tough woman and once the sleep spell is shaken off, she stands groggily. "Ugh." she says, looking around at the chaotic scene, and the new corpses. "What's going on?"
The Mwangi woman, on the other hand, is likely not at all used to injury and will require magical healing or about 5 hours of rest in order to recover from the bloody bruise left by the sleep bolt.
Mogwai returns from speaking over the dead to find Murob trying to awaken the injured woman, and Elizabeth herself sitting up.
"Mogwai sorry." He says, bowing his head before Elizabeth. "Mogwai said not am needing weapon. Mogwai am forgetting humans so... squishy. Will protect better." He smiles toothily at her, pleased that she's survived this far.
Eyes passing around the group, he notices Yosiah Crint with some suspicion. Sniffing briefly, he looks over to Murob. "Not was on boat." He says quietly, as if she hadn't noticed. Realising that she Murob is having some trouble reviving the wounded woman, he forgets about Yosiah and moves closer. "Mogwai help?"
Yosiah wipes the sweat from his brow, staring back at the goblin who seems to be administering aid to the injured. When Mogwai steps away, Yosiah gestures subtly to Karzok, an inquisitive look on his face. "Le petit est-il avec vous? His question is universal, the words not necessary to express his confusion and wonder at the odd addition to the shipwrecked crew.
After the digging is done, Yosiah will help Karzok lower the body into the sand, and say a prayer of last rites over the body. After this is done, some time later, he will approach Ehiz and Mogwai cautiously, lifting his chain shirt over his head and leaving it atop a piece of driftwood, sweat soaked through his tunic underneath. He will help the two men dig graves for the deceased colonists, a grim determination and empathetic sorrow apparent on his young face.
At Yosiah's implied question, Karzok glances at Mogwai and nods, "Yes, he is friendly. A cleric of some sort, like you." He points at Mogwai and then to Yosiah, holding his hand to his chest and looks up to the sky as if in prayer.
As Yosiah does the burial rites, Karzok pulls out his worn Tien book and rips out a page. He bends down and gently lays it onto Dareon's chest. His way of saying goodbye was to leave a little piece of his legacy for the dead to take into the next life. A part of Karzok moves on while another part of him stays behind.
With that done he similarly moves on to help with the burial efforts. Once that is done, he takes a quick inventory of the spare weapons and approaches the well-dressed woman, "Can you fight? Could you make any use of these?" He points to the pile of weapons. "A dagger? Or crossbow perhaps?" His manner is awkward, and it is clear to any observer that is he unaccustomed to lending a helping hand to those in need.
Elizabeth nods. "I can fight. I was trained at court in riding, and in the use of weapons and armor," she says. "I would be more comfortable wearing forged steel and wielding a longsword than without... Where do you all think that we are?"
Arven points towards the wilderness. "What about the ones who got scared and ran away? Are we gonna go after them? Or are we gonna try and find First Landing and the other ships?"
"Sorala and Karzok could track them?" comes out of the Erastilite in such a way that it blurs the line between a question and a request. "Perhaps it is a bad idea though, to split up, but how far could they possibly have gotten by now?" So many questions, so few answers. It is clear however that Ehiz intents to help Yosiah with burying the dead.
Upon hearing Elizabeth's words, Murob selects a scimitar, dagger and leather armor from the pile and offers them to the woman. "We lack in longswords, but this seems to have a somewhat... err... sword-y shape. The armor is only leather, but better than none I would say. As to where we are..." She gazes left and right at the length of the beach, up into the sky, back into the jungle, as if rerunning some calculations. "We are definitely on the coast of Arcadia, although I cannot tell how close or how far from First Landing. If we find a higher point inland we may be able to survey more of this place and hopefully get our bearings."
Murob doesn't tell Elizabeth where the items came from and she hopes the woman won't ask. It's not that she thinks that the lookout would mind someone else using his gear, but some people can be squeamish about these things. For herself, she thinks the scavenged items are a veritable treasure trove. Used to make do with little for many years, she can think of a myriad uses for even the most mundane item and is quite determined to not leave behind one scrap of anything that might be useful. Their situation is dire enough, wrecked in this unknown place with no support and no knowledge of what lies ahead of them - they will need all the help they can get. And, who knows, perhaps anything they didn't need they might be able to trade, provided they found locals who didn't try to shoot them with strange sleepy bolts and make them into lizard food.
"I dunno," says Arven, scratching his head before belting his new dagger onto his waist. "We've been on this beach digging graves for awhile now. They could have run pretty far, or I guess they could be closer. It depends on how long they ran for."
Elizabeth begins equipping herself, spending a few minutes strapping on the leather armor and belting on the scimitar. "Either way, we should get going quickly." she points at Yosiah. "Who is that? I don't recognize him."
Sorala watches the others dig graves, curious. She suspected she'd be no use in this task - the Squire had never dug a thing in her life. The ground was frozen solid in Irrisen. "Burn them. It will be quicker. We can light the pyre as we leave the beach."
Looking on for a few minutes more, Sorala looks to the jungle. "Regardless, I'll look for our lost ones. I'll return by nightfall, empty-handed or not."
Turning, Sorala heads into the jungle, looking for signs of where the scared ones went.
Sorala searches for the trail of the lost colonists in the sand of the beach, but quickly loses it when the beach gives way to harder ground and hard-scrabble undergrowth.
Mogwai sees no further use for the bodies. "Light is with Dawnflower now." Is all he says about them, and seems disinterested in lighting fires or digging graves. When Sorala mentions her going off on her own, his ears perk up. "Mogwai help, good scout."
Yosiah smiles at Mogwai, raising both arms in prayer and looking up to the sky. A short, cathartic laugh escapes his lips as he contemplates the odd sight the other survivors must be seeing right now - a bearded, sweaty foreigner in exaggerated prayer beside a benevolent, devout goblin. As the chuckle escapes, he is brought to louder giggling, relief washing over him as he realizes, finally, that he is not going to die today. "Kofusachi, Merci de me laisser vivre!"
As his laughter dies down, he steps away from the last of the graves he's fit to dig, sweat soaking his shirt and brow. He approaches Murob as she picks through the wreckage for useful tools, crouching down beside her to pick up the liquids buried in the sand - a potion and a pint of oil - and the lamp next to the oil. He holds each one up to Murob before gently sliding them into his pouch. "Nous devons être préparés. Je ne sais pas où nous en sommes."
Prayer: Kofusachi, thank you for letting me live!
Statement to Murob: We must be prepared. I do not know where we are.
You could lead the party to food, water, or to high ground as well.
Mogwai helps Sorala pick out the trail of the missing three colonists, and they range out across the beach towards the nearby jungle, following the tracks. Once the tracks enter the jungle, it takes Sorala a moment to pick them back up again.
When she does, the trail leads a little further into the jungle. After about 5 minutes of searching, the trail seems to come to a stop. The three people who ran from the battle came to a stop in a little clearing, and their tracks pace around in little circles. One set of tracks, the smallest, a halfling's, leave the area towards the south.
In addition, you can see that the space between the halfling's steps indicates that she must have been running.
Sorala smiles, watching Mogwe work. She'd never met a goblin before, and there this one was frankly a better tracker than she, the little one constantly pointing out signs that Sorala had missed.
"Where did you learn to track, Mogwe? Your skills are... impressive!"
Following the tracks in the clearing, around and around, Sorala notes that the halfling left south. She'd lost the tracks of the others, however.
Looking briefly up into the jungle, Sorala wiped the sweat from her brow and cursed under her breath, looking again to the goblin.
"I've lost the tracks again. Other the halfling - he went there, into the jungle. Do you see them? The tracks of the others?"
Murob cannot understand the stranger's words, but she smiles and nods as he takes a few items. If he was, as he seemed, a local, it paid to get into his good graces, if nothing else. She walks away, returning to the side of the Mwangi woman. Who knows when she would awaken on her own, and every moment spent here they were risking the return of the gillmen. Kneeling by her side, she performs a simple healing ritual taught by her mother. Herbs and potions were all well and good, but sometimes a firmer touch was needed. She is loath to reveal these powers to the others, but circumstances are pressing. Rising and brushing sand off her trousers, Murob straightens up and surveys the beach and the forest line once more.
"If we're finished here, we should go find the others. We're in unknown territory, should stick together."
Walking up to the treeline, she tries to pick up the trail of the stranded colonists. She motions Karzok over - after all, two pairs of eyes were better than one. The start of the trail is easy to see, the undergrowth clearly disturbed and sand tracking among the trees, a broken branch here, a footprint clearly embedded in the soft loam... a broken button dropped and half buried in the dirt.
Coming upon the others, Murob joins in their examination. "What's this over here? Looks like something was dragged. Or someone. They end here though. And the halfling was running... that way." Pointing out her discovery to the others, she takes a cue from the Ulfen woman and examines the trees. Did the missing colonists get dragged up?
Elizabeth and Arven follow along, and it doesn't require much effort to follow after your friends. They are found in a clearing in the forest, examining the ground. They are only a few hundred feet into the forest as well.
Somebody will need to carry or heal the Mwangi woman, as she is still unconscious.
Murob's healing hex revives the young Mwangi woman, who gasps and sits up. Rubbing her chest and moaning, she introduces herself as Pharast, but otherwise remains mostly quiet. She grabs a dagger from the pile of things, though, and sticks it into her waistband. If nobody grabs them, she hefts the satchel of dried food over her shoulder as well. She looks inside, and then counts the number of people there are. "This is not enough," is all she says.
The group follows after Sorala and Mogwai, and when Murob looks up into the trees, she sees something creepy but obvious:
Webs, thick and white, cover the distance between each tree, for a radius of dozens of feet. Several web-wrapped packages are up there, a few of them large enough to be a human body. The webs are about 40' up.
There are no spiders to be seen, but:
Mogwai smiles at Sorala. "All goblin learn track. Mogwai's tribe..." He searches for the word in common. "Scavengers. Find already dying to eat. Better than murder."
His grin fades as he helps her look over the tracks. "Half-shanks running." He says, gesturing to the stride of the halfling's footprints. His ears curl down as he looks at Sorala. Pointing to the ground, he adds. "Someone dragged."
As the others arrive he gives a slight wave, still looking concerned.
Murob points up into the trees. "Spiders, probably. Don't know what kind, could be some native species. If those bundles are our missing colonists, we should try to help them."
She doesn't much fancy a climb into the trees, so she unslings her crossbow and loads a bolt, thinking to provide cover for anyone making the attempt to shimmy up the trunks.