Yosiah waits to see if any of the others will collect the valuables strewn among the debris of the ship's carcass. When they go unclaimed, he stops to collect all of the potions, rope, and fishing rod. The rope fits over one arm, the rod over the same shoulder, and the potions in his satchel. He slings one crossbow over his back, praying he won't need it, and tucks the bolts into a quiver he's salvaged, tied to his hip and thigh. Before departing the beach, he taps Karzok's shoulder, gesturing at the remaining crossbows, spears, and arrows.
---------
As the group of survivors begins their trek inland, Yosiah will head towards the front, accompanying the goblin, who seems, despite all assumptions to the contrary, to be a capable tracker and woodsman.
He points toward a path that will head inland, in the hope of finding a familiar landmark, but stops when he notices the tracks of the runaway colonists, and drops the fishing rod and rope to the ground when his eyes finally catch a glimpse of the thick webs tangled in the trees.
"Prudent!" he lets out a sharp, short whisper, his military training taking over as he draws his hatchet from his belt, twirling it in his right hand and eyeing the trees.
"Vos amis disparus sont probablement des aliments maintenant. Je prie pour que nous trouvions une plus grande fortune, et qu'ils ne sont pas si malheureux que nous ne pouvons pas les sauver." The words come spilling out of the man's mouth, his focus elsewhere, forgetting that his companions do not speak his language.
Your missing friends are probably food now. I pray that we find greater fortune, and that they are not so unlucky that we can't save them.
Karzok nods to the local, gathering up the rest of the weapons before quickly following the rest of his new companions into the trees. He stuffs the arrows into his already bristling quiver, slings the crossbow over his shoulder, and straps the spears to his back. He had become a walking armory.
He quickly notices the drag marks and the halfling's quick step, but follows suit looking up into the trees to see the human sized wads of webbing. "Hold a moment," he says to anyone looking like they're about to attempt the climb. He pulls out his damp silk rope and a grappling arrow and fires into the trees, hoping to catch on one of the thick branches.
Karzok nods as the arrow finds purchase. He tests the rope's hold and then if no one else volunteers, he begins climbing up. He concentrates for a moment, summoning his shadow double into existence to bolster his defenses.
Karzok manages to successfully shoot a grappling arrow at a likely-looking branch thick enough to support him, and then begins climbing up the tree, using the rope as an aid. Dareon's magical gauntlets dig satisfyingly into the bark of the tree, making climbing the tree much easier, and before he knows it Karzok is forty feet up in the air, near enough one of the bundles to grab it or cut it free. He can see it clearly from up here. It's the portly bald nobleman.
The other bundle thought to be a human is about fifteen feet away, requiring careful balance on the branches of the trees to reach.
It doesn't seem that the spiders have returned from wherever they were going, quite yet.
Yosiah watches his newfound companion in awe as he scales the tree. When he sees Karzok find purchase among the limbs, he uncoils the rope from his shoulder, retrieves the similar length of rope from his own pack, and ties the two together . He snaps up at Karzok to get his attention, twirling the end of the rope in preparation to toss it up, if Karzok is ready to catch.
There was, at times, little to do in Irrisen. If a storm blew through town, you'd simply hunker down with a game of conqueror and wait it out. Hours and hours of boredom could stretch out in front of you. But, that was if you were lucky. Peasants, especially, could starve or freeze to death during a particularly long and nasty squall. And even the more fortunate were not immune to roof collapses brought on by feet upon feet of heavy snow and ice. There was a constant state of tension to mix with the tedium during these storms, an odd undercurrent of focus to go with the interminable monotony.
It was similar now. Sorala stood, gripping her sword silent and sweating, staring at once at nothing and everything, waiting for a threat that may never come. The gnats buzzed about her, and the woman's concentration waxed and waned.
Karzok nods to Yosiah signalling that he is ready and then easily catches the end of the extended rope. He holds fast to the trunk with his thighs while tying a suitable load-bearing hitch around the man. He lowers the portly man safely to those on the ground who quickly slice through the webbing and begin diagnosing his condition.
Karzok braves the other branches and makes his way over to the other bundles, keeping his eyes on his surroundings, anticipating the arrival of a horde of disgruntled spiders at any moment.
The tension is almost unbearable as Murob watches the bundle being lowered to the ground; she expects the owner (or owners) of the tangled webs to return any moment, and clenches her hands tightly on the stock of her crossbow. As the man reaches the clearing floor, the half-orc woman puts her weapon down, careful to not trigger it accidentally and skewer someone with a bolt, and rushes to the side of the nobleman to check for signs of life.
Muttering under her breath, she examines him for lacerations, puncture wounds or other signs of mishap. "Oh gods, I hope he hasn't been poisoned, I have nothing for poison and no time to check the local flora for antidotes..."
Karzok and Yosiah use a rope to lower the first man to the ground, where his body unceremoniously thumps.
A healer providing long-term care can halve the amount of time it would take to recover. Alternately, one casting of lesser restoration would see him on his feet, and three would see a complete recovery.
The first man appears to have been stung in the back by a stinger of some kind, and appears to have some bruises on his face and elbows, likely where he fell.
When Karzok reaches the second man, he sees much the same - a fat nobleman completely immobilized by webs, hanging high up in the air. Yosiah and Karzok can lower him with ropes just the same as the first man.
However, once the group gets the webs away from the second man, it is quite easy to tell that he is already dead. He appears to already have been partially eaten, and a disgusting sac lies in his stomach.
Unable to determine if the first man had been poisoned or not, Murob decides to simply apply some good old magical healing. She feel slightly ashamed as she does so, and the image of her mother forms unbidden in her mind, the orc shaman shaking her head in disappointment. Murob didn't know how she had come by her powers, how she was able to sometimes simply will things a certain way, but she was glad to have them when her knowledge of medicine and herbs failed her. Like now.
The second man is a much more gruesome sight and at first she recoils in disgust. Not bearing to touch him with her bare hands, she picks up a fallen branch which she uses to gingerly push away what remains of his clothing and his flesh and investigate the sac more closely.
"Oh, that's gross!" she exclaims as she divines the function of the sac and the future path of its development. "If we leave it, thousands of these creepers will burst out in a few weeks. Poor man, he did not deserve such a fate. Sailing half a cross the world, surviving a most terrible storm and hostile natives... only to be killed by spiders. Spiders!" She shudders in anger and revulsion, her hands balled into fists as she stomps in frustration. "Why did you run away, you stupid man?" It is pointless to turn her anger on the dead man, but she feels quite helpless at the moment. They are lost, with few supplies and in a land that is exceedingly hostile - why, their first hours here have included a giant, monstrous lizard, gillmen bent on capturing them for who knows what nefarious purposes, and gods-damned man-eating spiders.
Elizabeth emerges from the rear of the group with Arven. "Hey, young man - help me." she says. Arven nervously jumps to help her out, and the pair head to the paralyzed spider victim. "Come on," she says. "Before the spiders come back. The half-orc is right, we should get to the top of a hill or something and see if we can see where we are, so we can get to the rest of the colonists. Assuming they're alive."
She and Arven heft the paralyzed man up onto their shoulders, grunting under the weight. Arven looks helplessly at the group - "Do you really think we might be the only ones who lived? I hadn't even thought of that," he asks.
Yosiah recoils in disgust as he sees the second man, stepping away and reaching for his hatchet out of instinct. He sees Arven and Elizabeth hoisting the unconscious nobeleman between them, and mutters a silent prayer to himself before pointing in a direction he thinks will lead to some clear, high ground.
Bugs. Sorala hated bugs. They were some of the most foreign things to her, creatures from temperate climes that did little but annoy and infect, near as the White Squire could tell.
Curling her hand into a fist, and then extending her fingers, Sorala utters a guttural arcane syllable and a beam of frost springs from her fingertip, striking the egg sac. Hand curled to fist, fingers extended, again and again and again, until the sac was frozen and split apart. Then, the White Squire said something she'd already said before, and suspected she'd say many more times in the future.
"We should burn the body. It is the only way to be sure the eggs won't hatch."
Following after Elizabeth and Arven, Sorala shrugs. "Only us?
Can't say for sure, but I hope not. The rest of the boat may have washed up somewhere else, perhaps there are others with it."
Stopping cold, Sorala resists the urge to slap her forehead. Instead, she yells to the newcomer, trying to say his name, with the strange inflection of the man's accent. "Hey! Jos-I-ah!" Pointing to the halfling's tracks, Sorala then holds two fingers pointed at the ground and wiggles them - the universal sign for walking. There was still the halfling, out there in the jungle. Maybe he was even still alive.
Arven stands up a little straighter, a beaming smile crossing his face. "Maybe... maybe we could go looking for them, then? There were four ships, right? There could be a lot of people washed up if they all sank, probably on the shore. I bet you and ... uhhmm," he says, staggering on Mogwai's name, "he could track them, just like you did this time."
Elizabeth sighs. "Let's worry about our own safety first, young man. We need to ensure that we have enough food and water, and directions, to get back to any kind of civilization. And if there's no colonists, maybe this local guy could lead us somewhere. Either way, I want to be behind a sturdy wall, equipping myself with a nice breastplate and longsword before I worry about rushing out to save anyone."
Meanwhile, Pharast quietly picks through the pockets of the dead man, finding a few gold coins in a pouch. She quietly puts them away before getting back up and hefting the food bag over her shoulder. She looks warily around at the rest of the group. "So. What's next?"
Murob watches the Ulfen woman blast the spider sac with ice and frost, her mouth an open "o" of awe and admiration. When the other woman seems to be done, the half-orc jumps to her feet and approaches her, eyes glinting with enthusiasm. "That was amazing! You must show me how you do that! If you want, I can teach you how I put people to sleep?" She grins briefly, then her expression turns sober again as she realizes that their dire situation may not leave them much time or opportunity for knowledge exchanges and magic lessons.
And yes, of course, there was also the matter of the last colonist unaccounted for from their ship - the halfling! They could not leave him behind, to fall prey to monstrous spiders, giant lizards, or.... or worse. Walking up to the newcomer - Yohseeah he said his name was? - Murob touches his sleeve, then points at the direction in which the halfling's tracks lead and clears her throat. "Luh... leh... le petit...?" It sounds like the right thing to say, but just to be on the safe side she holds her palm at the appropriate height from the ground, repeating the walking motions that the Ulfen woman made and pointing again at the tracks.
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Sorala nods in agreement with Elizabeth. "Our own safety first. Which means getting the halfling. He's one of us, after all."
As they walk , Sorala stays near Murob, flexing her hand. "The first trick is the gesture. You need it perfectly aligned, fist, then quickly, extended fingers, at your target. The gesture, in conjunction with the primal syllable, ڀڌ, creates the ice. It is one of the first I learned, back home. How do you make sleep?"
"Ahhhh, I am afraid this will need a lot of practice" Murob laughs as she flips her hand trying to imitate the Ulfen woman, her tongue twisted by the attempted rendition of that "primal syllable" (whatever that was). "Sleep is... sleep is... Hm. First step, you visualize a light. A candle is best, in my experience. Then, you have to connect that light to the mind of the person you are targeting. This is the most difficult part, if the connection fails, or is weak, your magic will also fail. Then, you snuff that light out! Just... just picture your hand reaching out and closing a fist on that candle. Squeeze. Poof!" Murob grins again, caught up in the excitement of sharing her magic with someone who wanted to learn.
Abruptly remembering, she extends her hand. "My name is Murob. I saw you on the ship, before, but I don't think we have ever been properly introduced."
Mogwai looks at Sorala with a sense of pride, happy to have found others who feel the same way that he does. There are ways in which Sorala reminds him of Kejal, but he would have trouble putting them into words. Strong, smart, well-spoken. Respectful of living things. The others might have argued if he brought it up first, but he didn't think anyone would disagree with her. And it struck him that even if they did, she'd do what she wanted anyway. He puffs out his chest, his right ear twitching slightly.
"Mogwai not leave half-shanks behind." He says emphatically, before gesturing to the egg-sac filled body. "Most of all here. Not right way to meet Sarenrae."
Gesturing into the woods, where the tracks go, he continues. "Can find shelter while am following halfshanks? Not being safe on beach, not being safe here, but being safer together."
His work done, Karzok lets his rope fall to the ground as he easily makes his way back down. He removes the clawed gauntlets and stows them away along with the rope in his pack. He overheard a decision is in the process of being made and pipes in abruptly, "If Sorala wishes to locate this halfling, then that is my vote. I've already seen enough death for one day." Unless it was Breddaric and his men. Did they manage to avoid the storm? After we find this runt I've got to figure out how far away they may have landed.
He pulls out his bow and looks ready to depart.
Elizabeth sighs and acquiesces to the group's desires, and everyone takes off down the path that halfling ran down. It's a bit of a hike, and the path heads up the side of a hill. Elizabeth and Arven struggle under the weight of the paralyzed spider victim, and they stop for a bit to make a litter out of his clothes and a couple of large sticks.
The trail wends up and around, and after about 20 minutes of walking you come to a point where it seems the halfling camped for a second, but it seems their footprints run off farther up the mountain at this point after a few circles.
Mogwai studies the tracks for a few moments. "Ogres." He says to the others, holding up two of his three fingers as if in a peace sign. "Goblins fight before. Bigger than you," he says, pointing to Murob and Karzok, who are both considerably larger than he is. "Not being smart." He taps the side of his head. "Halfshanks am living maybe. Find place for hiding. We must being careful."
Yosiah nods his head 'yes' at Murob's gestures, "Ahhh, le petit! Je ne sais pas où il est allé. Pardon."
When Mogwai, Karzok, and Sorala all move to follow the Halfling, he resigns himself to follow suit. "Kofusachi, Sauve le petit et sauve-nous de plus de malchance!" He prays in earnest, pulling his string of coins from around his neck and holding them up to the canopied sky.
After assisting with the construction of Arven/Elizabeth's litter, he takes the lead with Mogwai, staring at the tracks, unable to discern exactly what happened. "Je n'ai aucune idée de ces pistes."
Spoken: The little one! I don't know where he went. Sorry.
Second sentence: Save the little one, and save us from any more bad luck.
Third sentence: I have no idea what these tracks are.
Elizabeth grunts, adjusting her grip on the merchant's litter. "So. We're gonna turn back now, right? Ogres'll eat us. We're not exactly in the best shape, or the best-equipped."
After considering Mogwai's words for a moment, Karzok turns to Elizabeht, "I wouldn't so readily dismiss the search. We seemed like a capable group on the beach, I say we press on." He gives Sorala a side glance for confirmation.
"We have lost many and I'm sure a few of our group are still in shock. But if there is life left to preserve, I am one for seeing it through."
Sorala nods, her face grim. It was the wise thing to do, to leave the halfling. But it wasn't the right thing to do. And both Karzok and herself went on this journey to do the right thing.
"I follow you, friend. Onward then."
Elizabeth sighs and follows after the group, dragging Arven along. The group forges up the mountainside for just another few minutes before they start to her some incriminating noises. Loud voices boom from just a little bit higher up. You can hear the crashing of wood on wood, and loud grumbling.
Just a bit more climbing and you can see what is happening. Crouching in some bushes near the top of the hill gives a pretty good view of two ogres - one attempting to climb a tree while the other attempts to knock it down with its club. The two ogres are grotesque and disgusting, with slobber dribbling down their chins from misshapen faces and warts, boils, and moles festooning their skin. They each wear a simple pair of sack cloth shorts and carry a small sapling. Each looks to be about nine feet tall and is built like a muscular human baby.
They're looking up the tree, and sure enough there is the halfling from the beach up there as well, clutching the holy symbol that he found, crouching on a branch. One ogre cups hands to its mouth and calls up, "Kom hier, kort een!" The other one snickers and yells as well, "We eten alleen je benen, laat de rest van je! Het pijnde maar een beetje."
"We only eat your legs, leave the rest of you! It only hurt a bit!"
When the summit is reached, Elizabeth puts down the litter, tells Arven to watch it, and draws her loaned scimitar. "Ugly bastards," she remarks as she sees the two ogres. Pharast, meanwhile, digets with the scraps of her clothing and looks worried.
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Murob gives Elizabeth a sideways glance at her remark about the ogres. She could not deny that they were, in fact, ugly, but she didn't see what this had anything to do with... well, anything. But in her experience, pretty people tended to have an advantage over those looking like her. Or like Karzok. Or like Mogwai. Reminded, she pats her companions encouragingly on the shoulder, speaking in low tones. "We don't have to kill them, we can just drive them away and give the halfling time to make his escape."
Karzok hears Murob words, but there is clear doubt in his eyes, "They mean to eat the halfling. I'm not quite sure they'll be that easy to scare off. This land seems to be less welcoming than we'd like and I plan on denying these beasts their next meal." Two sets of black eyes stare at Murob as his dark passenger mimics his every move. He slowly slides his greatsword from it's sheath and begins to move into a flanking position.
Karzok begins to maneuver stealthily around to the other side of the two ogres while Murob casts a few spells which grant extremely limited precognition to some of her allies.
Yosiah sighs inwardly. Kofusachi, pourqoi!? he thinks to himself, beckoning his patron deity for assistance as he prepares to do a foolish thing. Without saying a word to the others, he draws his hatchet as he moves toward the nearest ogre, and silently, grimly brings his buckler to bear against the creature's knee, hoping to distract it from Karvok and the others.
Swift: Travel blessing if the ground is difficult terrain, Divine Favor if it isn't.
Charging if it's possible at the nearest ogre, otherwise move and attack.
If not charging, attack is -2, if terrain was difficult, -2 attack and damage
Murob sighs outwardly as her companions draw various murder implements. The stranger runs at one of the ogres with a hatchet. Impulsive fellow, isn't he? The half-orc edges forward, hesitant to leave the relative cover of the trees, but very conscious of the fact that she needed to act fast. Focusing her attention on the farthest ogre, she does precisely what she had explained to Sorala earlier. See the flame. Link the mind. Snuff out the flame. Hope the mind goes with it.
Sorala moves through the treeline, following after Karzok, her blade drawn.
Taken totally by surprise, one of the ogres' eyes roll back in its head in the middle of a tree-smash. It falls to the ground, helplessly asleep.
Meanwhile, Yosiah charges out of the undergrowth at the other ogre. Hatchet and shield at the ready, he sweeps in with a swift blessed blow at the other ogre. Though it is surprised, it swats his buckler aside like a gnat with a feral roar.
Disappointment spreads across Mogwai's face as they all go for their weapons. He blinks, wondering if they'd misunderstood when he said that the Ogres weren't intelligent, and therefore could be easily outsmarted. The longshanks tongue was a complicated one. "Not needing bloodshed." he says quietly, mostly to himself. It crosses Mogwai's mind, not for the first time, how halfshanks and goblins are more alike than either would care to admit. Quick to judge, always thinking themselves superior, and more than willing to hide behind a blade.
As Murob puts one of the ogres to sleep, Mogwai looks at her first with surprise, and then with a wide grin. He should have known she could help find a peaceful solution. Reinvigorated and moving quickly, he follows behind Karzok and Sorala, before veering off from them beneath a tree. While the Ogre may pose a problem, his first concern is for the halfling, and Mogwai makes a beeline towards it, keeping to the brush as much as he can, until he comes close to the sleeping ogre, pausing to assess the situation.
Ehiz doesn't share Mogwai's optimistic outlook on the situation. It seems highly unlikely that these brutes, used to taking whatever they need through force, could be swayed by words. And truth be told, the world would be a better place without their generally foul natured kind. An awful thought, but pragmatism and realism are virtues to those who follow Erastil. "Maybe if you can somehow intimidate them into backing off, Mogwai, bloodshed can be avoided.."
The goblin can, however, see that the farmer readies his bow and nocks an arrow.
As the ogre Karzok was attempting to flank slumps to the ground, Karzok keeps his head low, moving across the camp site in an attempt to flank that ogre with their new brazen friend.
- - - -
The group closes in to the other ogre, which grunts, hefts its club, and says, "Argh, Wat heb je aan mijn broer gedaan? Ik zal je squashen!"
The giant's violent gesture is answered by a hail of arrows.
Murob winces as two arrows whistle towards the second ogre and squeezes her eyes shut to avoid seeing their impact. "Careful you don't hit the halfling!" she exclaims at the priest. "It would be very funny if he got killed by a stray arrow after escaping these ogres!" Well, it wouldn't be funny, at least not for the halfling, but she can't help it. She laughs. What is it with her and laughing at the most inappropriate moments? This is the second time it has happened today. She puts it down to nerves for now, but what must the others think of her?
Sobering up, she concentrates on the matter at hand. Mogwai seems to share her desire for avoiding bloodshed, so she wishes good fortune to the goblin. Perhaps he can find a way to put a swift end to this confrontation.
Sprinting through the treeline, Sorala leaps over the asleep ogre and then, using Karzok as cover, skirts around him and the ogre until she's roughly on the other side of Yosiah, setting them both up to split the ogre's attention as the fight continues.
Ehiz hits the ogre twice with arrows, and it bellows with rage, fear, and pain. However, ogres are tough creatures, and two arrows fired by a country farmer won't just fell one. It swings its club hard at Yosiah, the first one to attack it.
Motivated and pushed forward by panic, the ogre smashes Yosiah directly in the chest, cracking ribs and knocking the wind out of him.
Yosiah bellows in pain as the enormous club crashes into him. Still reeling, he gnashes his teeth and brings his buckler up high, then down hard at the terrible beast's knee again.
After his strike, he backs away a bit, his posture guarded, praying that his luck does not run out, and daring to take his eyes off of the ogre for the briefest of moments to close them in prayer, beseeching divine intervention in the form of restoration.
Swift action: Fervor Cure Light Wounds
Move action: n/a, 5' step back
Standard action: Attacking with Upsetting Shield Style buckler shield-bash
Seeing his opening, Karzok steps around the ogre, trying to draw some of the attention away from Yosiah. He seems to grow a few feet taller as he brandishes his huge finely made sword. With a growl he chops in from the side, hoping to take out the large brutes legs.
Yosiah strikes the creature's knee hard, and he can feel a bone break under his swift and careful assault. The lumbering brute bellows, staggering back and away from Yosiah, and clumsily bumps into Karzok, which throws the man back. Karzok's swing comes up short as a result.
Cursing herself for foolishness, Elizabeth grips her scimitar tightly in both hands and charges into battle, sword raised up above her head and then coming crashing down when she gets within reach of the ogre.
She trips on a log as she charges, and she stumbles. The ogre roars and raises its club up high, bringing it down on her hard as she enters its reach.
Its blow strikes her in the head, driving her into the ground, where she remains, bleeding from a split scalp.
Mogwai calls up to the halfling, "It safe! Mogwai protect you halfshanks, come down now!" He doesn't attack the sleeping ogre, though he does take a step away from the still-live one before pointing at it, casting a spell, and saying, "Leave friends alone."
Unfortunately, the ogre doesn't listen.
Things were decidedly less amusing now. Her companions had managed to hurt the second ogre, yes, but the creature was landing devastating blows in retaliation. Murob gasps as Elizabeth falls and does not rise again. Rushing forward, she kneels by the woman's side and closes her eyes. The process now is quite the reverse of the magic she had used before. Elizabeth's life force is like a flickering, dying ember, and the young witch focuses on infusing it with vitality, forcing the broken flesh to knit and anchoring the woman's spirit to her body. She is so intent on her work that she barely minds the heavy club whistling above her head, although she does spare a thought for the priest's arrows behind her and hopes that his aim is true.
Bloody.. ! Seeing Elizabeth getting smashed to a pulp shook Ehiz to the core, but knowing that now wasn't the time to give up, he nocks another arrow and recites an old Andoran soldier's poem.
"And so the fletching rustles, the bow whispering its solemn promise: death."
Sorala summons the word for branding, "ब्रांड,", and gestures, but the ogre's backing up causes Sorala to shift and lose focus. Cursing she looks down at her hands, taking her eyes off the ogre as repeats the word and forces her fingers into form...