Machaera tries to catch her breath while the scouts check the game trail. She's quiet, but her cheeks are pale and her lips ever so slightly bluish as she pulls the edge of her cloak's hood closer around the lower part of her face. Putting a brave face on it, she asks, giving the tracks a second glance herself ( ), "Look like anything dangerous has gone this way recently? If not, setting up camp alongside to warm up for a bit might be a good idea, and if a rabbit or two decides to hop our way, that wouldn't be unwelcome either."
Mervyn catches a flash of something small and furry, a rabbit or a squirrel perhaps but otherwise all he sees is snow, trees, and tracks.
"A st-stag went by here... m-many t-times. Like it circled its t-territory..." Fizzlewhisk sneezes and wraps himself up tighter.
Mervyn looks at Fizzlewhisk and then the tracks and then up at a tree and says "Some bloke climb up a tree and spot if yer spot the beast. If so lets make camp and eat the fink. Could be a good dinner."
"Bossy lil' halfling, aren't ya? You want someone in that tree so bad, c'mere I'll put you up there."
Aðvinr chuckles at Annalísa's response. "Well you heard the lady. It was your suggestion, and the smaller branges at the top are best suited to a......smaller frame." the shaman chimes in.
Mervyn looks at the tree and then back at Annalisa "Not built for climbin', I'm built for tumblin' and acrobatics and the bloomin' like. But oi I will give it a shot. Give us a boost."
Reaching the top of the tree Mervyn looks around.
Annalísa lifts the halfling up into the tree where he is easily able to find a foothold and pull himself up further. Looking around, Mervyn sees much of the same as he did from the ground. He isn't able to see much further in distance than he was on the ground because trees block much from sight, but he is able to tell that the trail ahead is clear for at least a hundred yards. He does not see any further sign of any deer.
Machaera grins despite the cold, and suggests, "If we settle down a few yards into the trees, we should be able to hear anything coming, and in the meantime we can see about warming up and maybe doing something about moving through this snow."
She lifts her head to make sure she's got the direction of the breeze right.
"Hey, look - there is a very well camouflaged stag over there! Anyone interested in venison, or should we continue on our way?"
As Snjórinn points the stag out it begins to walk directly towards the group, anyone who has even heard of deer knows that this is strange behavior indeed. When it gets close enough, things get stranger still as the stag speaks "Who are you to come into my territory?"
"Just passing through!", Snjorrin says breezily. "Names hold power (even pseudonyms), so you will understand if we are reluctant to be specific when approached by a 'talking stag' in the middle of an unnatural winter..."
Fizzlewhisk stares dumbly for a moment, "I c-can usually s-speak wif animals erryday b-but th-they d-don't talk first..." The young gnome shakes his head, worried that the cold has frazzled his wits, and by instinct the hunter levels his crossbow at the game. "We are t-trying to f-find a lady th-that was taken."
Mervyn sits quietly in the tree, hopefully out of sight and unnoticed by the stag. Waiting.
He then quietly draws both his shortswords and waits for the stag to get under the tree he is in. Motioning to Annalisa to help guide it into position and motioning that he will jump down on it when the position is right.
If I have Surprise.
"This region is not known for it's winters. How did this become your territory to lay claim to?" Aðvinr responds, holding his spear in a relaxed grip.
Machaera stifles a twitch that threatens to escape the corner of her mouth at Snjórinn’s aplomb, but a prickle of wonder crawls down her spine, warning her to tread carefully here.
Wondering if the stag may be fey, and acknowledging that it has not been overtly hostile (yet), Machaera tries to mitigate the directness of the others’ speech. Trying to head off a confrontation that might not be necessary, she hold up a hand somewhere between greeting and discreetly signalling the others to back off.
Taking a chance, Machaera asks, “Would you prefer the speech of the woods?” “I’m sorry – we’ve been attacked already in these woods today, and our nerves are still shaken. We mean no harm to the forest. Most of us are travellers, but we know that others have been stolen from the road and that this is no natural weather. We could not pass by without trying to find them, and how we might try to restore the seasons.”
The stag watches the group, moving his head slightly to take in each new speaker. He shifts around a little before continuing in Common, "It matters not which language you choose to speak. I know nothing of stolen people, only those that traipse through my land paying no mind to the destruction they leave in their wake."
He turns his head and sniffs in Aðvinr and Ratatoskr's direction, "I am here. I have claimed this land. I defend this land. It is my territory. It has been marked with my scent, it's trees scored with my antlers. What more do you need?"
"What others have come through here recently, they may be those we're after. Do you know where they are now?"
Mervyn remains completely still in the tree as he does not think he has been spotted but Machaera had motioned for him to hold.
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"I do not know where they have gone. What will you do with them if you find them and your stolen people?"
“We will rescue the people who have been taken against their will, and see them safely on their way. Those responsible, and those doing damage to the forest, if we find them and they are not the same people, will be removed – one way or another – to answer for what they have done,” Machaera says. “The wild must not suffer abuse. Can you describe the people you saw and what they have done? We might be able to confirm if we seek the same group, then. The abductors we seek are skilled in cold magic, have misled at least some sprites into following them, and have no qualms about using corrupt necromancy to reanimate the dead. I can well imagine that those so callous to nature would not care for sparing the wood in their passage.”
"I recall only the humans, loud and without sense. They do not know how to move through the forest without letting every predator know of their presence, they cause all that might have been prey to flee. They do not avoid trampling the fox's den, or the rabbit's burrow. They build fires and leave it to the snow to put them out. They do not belong in the forest."
Whether through the numbing cold or agreement, Fizzlewhisk just quietly nods along to the talking stag's assessment.
Snjorrin remains impassive, although he does consider a talking stag at least moderately unusual.
Aðvinr listens to the stag's story, forced to agree with the transgressions of his kind in the wilds.
Annalísa scratches her head, more than a little perplexed by the whole situation, "Uh, well, we'll look out for fox dens and make sure we put out any fires we start... and when we find the people we're looking for, they won't be a problem for you any longer."
The stag nods its head once and turns to walk away, back into the forest.
It doesn't take long before the creatures white fur has him lost to your eyes. You are again alone on the path.
"A strange creature..."
Snjorrin continues stoically plodding along the path.
Patting Hundur on the side Annalísa starts forward, too. "What do you make of that?" She asks the group.
Mervun climbs down from the tree and rejoins the others. "Well that's a mighty bad way ter let a good meal go ter waste." he says eyeing his companions.
He joins Fizzlewhisk once again and readies to scout ahead as soon as the gnome is ready.
Machaera shakes her head. "I'm not sure, to be honest. It sounded reasonable enough, and I didn't get the feeling that it was some sort of trick. I know there are spells to send messages through animals, but I don't know that there are any to change one's form to that of an animal while retaining the ability of speech. In any case, it hasn't tried to lead us anywhere or obviously awry. It's just - well, the forest knows we're here, one way or another."
To Mervyn, "We've got meat from the big lizard and there's more to be caught in the forest if we need it."
To Machaera, "Aye, I suppose it does. I suppose it does."
+1 more if a trap.
(Looking for hidden caves or overlooks that might be used to provide shelter if needed.
Aðvinr nods at Machaera's assessment. "There are far stranger things in the natural world, especially when winter fey are involved"
Mervyn keeps his eyes open, hoping to find some natural site where the group might seek shelter for a night but does not have any luck just yet. After awhile of scouting ahead, Fizzlewhisk begins to realize that he should be hearing the sounds of Wishbone Creek by now but he doesn't. Going a little further, Mervyn and Fizzlewhisk are able to make out the creek through the patches of trees and realize that it is frozen over. Continuing further still, the duo stop as the spot something rather unusual sitting just in front of the creek, right smack dab in the middle of the path. It appears to be... a snowman?
Mervyn unslings his shortbow and notches an arrow. "Wossat doin' out 'ere?" Mervyn then motions for Fizzlewhisk to wait as he checks out the snowman.
As Mervyn moves closer, he sees a wooden sign propped up against the snowman that reads "Trespassers Turn Back." He things he sees something else, something carved in the snow and just as he moves a little closer to try to get a better look at the symbol the snowman seems to animate and speaks to him, "Can't you read? The sign says turn back! Now get lost!"
Mervyn isn't scared away so easily though, he knows that was just the warning. Probably triggered by his proximity to the snowman. Now that he can see that symbol properly though, he knows it is indeed a magical trap. What's more, Mervyn can tell that if he gets much closer to the thing it's going to go off.