Muli will unstopper the flask near the plant and watch for a reaction. If none is forthcoming he will splash a bit out near the plant.
Muli splashes some of the musky liquid near the plant and immediately its scent changes, to one that is more like a sweet mulled wine.
The Hagol Blóstm visibly droops a little, its fronds more relaxed.
This scent is associated with a passive, almost dormant state... which would explain the plants slumbering appearance...
The hermitage consists of a large living chamber containing a large pile of tatty furs, an old desk, lecturn and stool
A small firepit glows faintly, with scorched (but stout) kettle and assorted wooden bowls, drinking cups and utensils scattered before it. Two large recesses sit at the far end of Quern’s simple abode:
The first is a basic hollow containing a number of large sacks and pegs, from which hang strips of cured meat, herbs and roots.
The second looks almost out of place: Perfectly ordered shelves housing a multitude of books, scrolls and piles of parchment...
Kevkul brings his foot forward, a step at the time, whilst looking at the plant. He peers into the hermit's abode, before gesturing the other to follow.
Ragnar also steps forward into the hermitage proper, though does not relax his grip on skaggig, despite the fact that the plant looks to be more dormant.
Knowledge (Nature):
After a few long seconds vigil over the plant, Ragnar turns to look through the cured meats and herbs... looking to select a tasty few.
Luke briefly walks around the interior before settling down in a spot near the door.
"The plant should be tame enough now. If ya see if acting queer, let Muli know and he'll give it another splash."
Muli moves in a pauses at the sight of the books..and scrolls...and parchments. He quickly gathers his thoughts and solemnly moves to the alcove. All that wasn't lost in Quern's mind when he died, now lives here. "If there are any answers for us here, it will be in these."
Muli looks to see if there might be anything recent, like notes or a journal. Or perhaps looks at what is on top of the piles. In addition to scanning the books titles for any reference to the fey.
With a little stoking the hermit’s fire is resurrected and the coals cast a dull light throughout the small cave. All of you can fit into the cave, but it is a tight squeeze... particularly with Liten Mun, a shivering Petrik and your Hagol Blóstm guardian.
As the heat in the cave rises, the plant subtly moves further from the source, edging closer to the cold doorway, before maintaining its overwatch.
The Hagol Blóstm are arcane in nature, drawing health and vitality from the cold. They share much in common with the dangerous, heat stealing Brún Molde, indeed becoming such a mildew if destroyed...
The lad clearly is in shock, the cold has bitten deep, but the close encounter with Gorruk has bitten deeper. Petrik was a cock-sure youth, but he’s been rattled to the bone...
Ragnar finds some decent chops of mountain goat, strips of snow hare and the odd fillet of Berghof cypera.
The pile of scrolls, notes, scraps and books would be daunting for anyone other than Muli.
After several minutes the alchemist has gathered a pile of books and writings for more detailed study...
Several of the books relate to Quern’s thoughts and treatise regarding cyclopean mutagenic magiks, and may be of particular use once studied in-depth.
Many scraps and writings are valued ramblings or tattered pages of journals long lost. Most languages of the realms and beyond are presented here, and while they may be of use or valuable would need to be effectively deciphered first.
One dusty old blue tome catches an eye and is eloquently entitled “Ánéged & Eallísig: An Ealdwrítere au Berghof”
Luke positions himself near Kevkul.
So, friend, what do you make of our earfoþsíð so far? Unless Muli can make some sense of his papers, it appears as if any árstæf that the old hermit could have provided regarding the town's troubles is losaþ.
Knowledge (Nature): take 10 for 17
Ragnar selects some of the strips of hare and settles his bulk down upon the ground. Liten Mun trots over and shares some of the cured meat with his master.
Muli makes a pile of what looks useful for later, especially the cyclpean books, but with preparations of diner underway he settles down to the side of the fire to read “Ánéged & Eallísig: An Ealdwrítere au Berghof” where is likely not to be in the way. Looking at the book title, He sounds like an equally crotchety hermit. No wonder Quern has this.
As you hunker down for the evening, Quern’s cave hermitage offers warm respite from the bitter winds outside.
As the warmth inside grows, the Hagol Blóstm methodically moves towards the colder recesses near the entrance. There it stands tall and static, exuding a subtle scent akin to neat alchohol...
The scent means the Hagol Blóstm is alert and cautious.
Muli engrosses himself in first sifting through the books, scripts and scrolls. The rest of you prepare food and can examine Quern's belongings, surroundings as you see fit.
Shivering and wide-eyed (despite the relative safety of your company and a warm hearth) Petrik sits, the young man eyeing first Muli and Luke, then their well heeled companions warily.
”Wha...wha...what br-bings unc and the níwfaran here?”
“Ánéged & Eallísig: An Ealdwrítere au Berghof is indeed a tome written by a sage; one Culmanik the Gléawmód. As you devour the pages like a hungry spring bera you glean the following from your vigil:
The bulk of the book concerns a treatise of the region – paying particular attention to the nobility – the Eorls of Berghof and their struggles against the legacy of the Cyclopean Empire and neighbouring Gastalds of Issia.
Particular attention is paid to the key roles of Auldweg Keep, a lofty fortress built to guard their ancient trade pass, and more unlikely, a Taldan mage - Kacper Van Arthog; one of the fabled Arcanamirium Crafters of Absolom.
The tome describes the Crafters as “builders of the arcane world, assembling magic items with facility, skill, and power. They are intimately familiar with the craft and practice of imbuing items with arcane power, and works with precision even early in their career to help create some of the most powerful magic items of Golarion.”
The Van Arthogs served the Eorls of Berghof well throughout history, keeping it free from what is cryptically referred to as the ísern- gefá (Auld Iobarian: iron foe) by counter crafting items of potent magicks.
Van Arthog and his lineage were appointed “Heordreedenn” (Auld Iobarian: Watching as a sentinel on guard). They resided in the Keep along with its garrison, and so fearful was the ísern- gefá of their presence, that Berghof remained unconquered and unbroken.
Many years ago (frustratingly Culmanik omitted actual dates) Karolek Van Arthog was the last mage to hold the title of Heordreedenn. He retired to the family seat; a villa on the shores of the Lake of Mists & Dreams.
The family history ends with Narcyz Van Arthog who squandered the family fortune and took his own life within the walls of the family villa.
Knowledge (nature):
Well friend, Petrik, we seek andcwissa to what befalls Kutsnir. You would not have any idea what brocu the town, would you?
Luke stands and moves towards the front of the cave, near the plant, eyeing it warily.
I will take the first watch with the plant.
Muli looks up from his reading at Petrik's voice, just now realizing he had been handed food and had been eating.
"Ware the Hagol Blóstm. Let it do the guarding. Just keep an eye on it. Just in case..." Muli passes the bottle of Aeu d'Quern to Luke.
Muli takes a few more bites, "This tome speaks of a Sentinel and its descendants, a Heordreedenn that lived on the shores of the Lake of Mists & Dreams. They crafted magiks that were needed fight the ..." Here Muli consults the book again for a moment. "..ísern-gefá. This all speaks to Muli as to who might be writing on the walls. The runes called for a bearer...that Muli still not understand. But the Sentinel to be unleashed, may be what this tome references."
Responding to Petrik, Ragnar states "We came looking for Quern..." hand moving to the massive hook at his side "But another came knocking forne." then listening to Muli's words.
"So are we to blunt the puca first or seek the Sentinel at the brim?" heat within the hermitage setting Liten Mun to drowsy sleep with head upon Ragnar's legs.
Skølrykk Dråthenborn pulls the blue cloak from his pack, looking at it more closely by the light of the fire.
Perception:
Someone said this was magic? Heh, maybe it'll turn me unsewenlic! he says, swinging it over his shoulders. Or make me fliógan! he says, flapping his arms. He is clearly trying to cheer up the lad Petrik.
The dark hooded cloak is decorated with embroidered comets, moons, and stars along its edge. However of its magical nature you are currently unsure.
Regardless Petrik's cold spirits are warmed by Skølrykk's display, his eyes grow wide at the Northman's guesswork to its nature, particularly flying...
At Luke's question the lad looks downcast;
"Nei. The d-dryhtenbealu that blights Kustnir is a hea-hea-heagorún I fear... The puca and their f-fell wlgfrurna perhaps?"
Petrik shuffles closer to the hearth as his teeth chatter with the cold and perhaps fear...
Grunting at Petrik's words, before adding as a statement "Don't worry lad, we go to slay the puca next."
Luke's words seem to have fallen on deaf ears as the dwarf closely examines Petrik.
He speaks quietly to the young man.
Young lad, it is not the cold that is the source of your chills. However, pray hard to the Spedig Wesa and mayhaps he would grant you courage the next time you face such terrors. If you do not know the words I would gladly teach you. Huddle beneath the covers and I would inform the rest that a chill has bitten you.
Done with his examination, Kevkul straightens up his dwarven frame and announces.
Give the young man some rest, for a grave chill has settled upon him. Let him rest, and I would have him pray for his expedient recovery.
Kevkul unpacks his winter blankets and offers his spare dwarven sized winter clothing to Petrik.
The dwarf looks on Skølrykk's antiques before quietly discerning the magic signature of the cave within.
Overwatched by your plant sentry, you all enjoy the bounty and warmth of Quern's hearth and kitchen, while Kevkul tends to the lad, allowing him to slip into a healing slumber.
Before he begins to drift, Kevkul sees the lad nod in response to his offer...
And so the seeds are sown... the wheat and barley that may grow to hops and one day become a fine beer... ;)
The priest then turns his attentions to the room, bequesting the Spedig Wesa to reveal the prizes within the hermitage. After several minutes of concentration and several swigs of some fine snowberry sloe gin that Quern brewed he discerns thus;
You discern that there are several items with magic properties within the cave;
The alfur’s cloak (faint abjuration; CL 5th)
Quern’s bracers (Faint transmutation; CL 5th
And somewhat surprisingly... the old hermit’s kettle (faint transmutation; CL 5th)
Praise that old hermit. A swig of something unique. Kevkul softly murmurs as he takes a short sip of the home brewed gin.
He notes the magical signatures picked up and mentally plans to ask Muli to help identify properties associated, after the alchemist finishes reading.
Seeing the Petrik lad settled, Kevkul moves on to the rest of the group, offering to heal any remaining injuries.
1st CLW:
2nd CLW:
3rd CLW:
"It makes sense to Muli that Quern had a magic kettle. He was a master brewer. The other items, let's see."
"In different light, and maybe once Muli goes through Quern's notes, one can look at these again and have a better idea. For now, the cloak offers a protection, the bracers likely provide some increase in skill or agility, and the kettle, well, as Muli said, likely used to brew. I could put something like that to use, as could our Dwarven Beer Brewer."
Ragnar soon finds himself nodding off with Liten Mun resting across his lap.... though skäggig is not far from his hand.
Sunday 14th Lamashan (Late Autumn)
Dawn at Quern’s Hermitage, near the foot of Little Icerime...
Your night’s sleep has been fruitful, aching limbs rested and cold bones warmed by Quern’s hearth...
Throughout the night the mulled wine aroma of your guardian Hagol Blóstm proffered a deeper slumber than usual.
As a group you slowly begin to stir... until the strong smell of vinegar scythes up your noses, while your ears simultaneously pick up the distant, but familiar “crunch” of feet upon snow...
Then guttural Jotunn rings through the mountain air outside;
“Hoi Gorruk! Remél ön megtakarított némely emberi értem! Átok törpe van ablak betörése böjt. Elhervad - kezelt szarvasmarha akar minket -hoz hentes őket minden!”
“Hoi Gorruk! Remél ön megtakarított némely emberi értem! Átok törpe van ablak betörése böjt. Elhervad - kezelt szarvasmarha akar minket -hoz hentes őket minden!” = “Hoi Gorruk! Hope you saved some human for me! Damn dwarves are breaking fast... Wither-handed runt wants us to butcher them all!”
Ragnar rouses and puts a warning hand on Liten Mun's haunches to quiet him. Speaking evenly he translates "Another of the jötun approaches. He speaks of dwarves and death... though has not kenned the fate of his kinsman yet..."
The burly Ulfen rises from his place of rest, shaking out the aches in his bones before hefting skäggig in one hand, gripping on the shaft of the axe behind the beard. Turning to Petrik, he tells him directly "Keep me hund company lad... this morning's work is not for ye"
Luke would have slept in his armor because of Endurance. He quietly and stealthily draws his Longbow and peers outside from the edge of the cave opening.
Stealth:
Perception:
Ragnar sees Luke move like a shadow, and instead lurks just within the entrance of the hermitage, looking about to try and get a visual sign of the jötun before moving to face it...
Perception:
Perception:
What's going on? Skølrykk asks, slipping into his armor only because the others are doing so, too. He grabs his spear and follows Ragnar cautiously.
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Kevkul brings himself to a stand before taking in the scenario. The loud guttural speech of the giants rings all too familiar to his dwarven ears, although much of its meaning is lost on him.
Sensing the feeling of cornered and with their backs to the wall, Kevkul gently prods Petrik awake and speaks in a low tone.
Morning lad, be ready and alert, above all, display your ellen. Ask from the Spedig Wesa like how I showed you. Another of the troww comes visiting. Help us prepare for battle by assisting me in donning my armour. Mayhaps another of the warriors may require assistance too.
Observing his battle eager comrades, Kevkul observes and quips.
Let our plant heald do what it is supposed to do. Perhaps it too wishes to avenge the death of its deceased master. When the beast is weakened, we shall strike.
ellen=courage
heald=guard
"Muli agree. Perhaps invite the beast in for a bite and have the heald take the first blow."
Nodding at Kevkul's wise counsil, Petrik methodically assists the dweorg in donning his armour, then moves to help any others wishing aid.
Like a will-o-wisp you creep out from the main chamber, past the Hagol Blóstm sentry
Keeping low and to the shadows you crawl to the Hermitage entrance. Icy, snow has laced the clifftop and surrounding valley. Legacy of the cold, hard storm of the previous night.
Some 50 feet from the cliff stands the unmistakeable figure of another iss-trow. Unlike Gorruk who was brutish and blocky, this jotunn is lean and thin. Roped blue muscle cord its long frame and in its hands an ususual weapon - a rough hewn, but massive longbow...
For a second the trow's cruel eyes seem to focus on Luke, then it kicks at the tundra as if awaiting a response...
Systematically fastening the straps and buckles of his breastplate, Kevkul finally winds up his heavy crossbow and loads a bolt in it, and waits for the forward scouts to report in.
Muli sorts though some stuffed animals in his pack. He pulls out a selection that includes a muskrat, a field rat, and a small duck-billed bird. He holds them in his arm watching the cave entrance.
Ragnar holds station just within the entrance to the hermitage, waiting with hope that his companions will be able to join once they are armored - while at the same time keeping a weather eye on the jötun...
Luke patiently holds his position until his friends are armored and the beast comes within 30 feet, at which time he will open fire.
Grasping his loaded crossbow in one hand and fishing out the head of Gorruk from his pack in the other, Kevkul intends to inflame and enrage the troww to close quarters.
What we saw from this brute, the newcomer would have enhanced healing too, I assume.
He hands the head to Petrik, before casually remarking.
Lad, we dweorg like to think that the larger they are, the harder they fall.
Seeing the group at preparedness, Kevkul calls for the Spedig Wesa's blessing, clutching his holy wooden symbol aloft before passing it on to Petrik, wishing him luck.
Feeling ready, Kevkul creeps near the cave mouth but staying out of range from the plant sentry. He looks on to Ragnar, waiting for the barbarian to issue his challenge.
Getting no answer, the trow eyes the surrounding area...
:
It scoops up some snow near where Petrik lay, tasting it with rasping tongue, but does not seem to register as unusual...
Spitting the snow, the lanky trow grows impatient and again shouts upwards in its gutteral tongue;
"Gorruk ön lusta sertés! Legjobb nem volna evett amit remete minden önmaga rövid idő szegény Mukl'uk birtokol szemek rajtuk törpe. vagy mellett Kostchtchie's hideg szív ÉN akarat tölt ön -val az én -m nyersbőr nyíl!!!"
Gorruk ön lusta sertés! Legjobb nem volna evett amit remete minden önmaga rövid idő szegény Mukl'uk birtokol szemek rajtuk törpe. vagy mellett Kostchtchie's hideg szív ÉN akarat tölt ön -val az én -m nyersbőr nyíl!!! = Gorruk you lazy pig! Best not have eaten that hermit all yourself while poor Mukl'uk has eyes on them dwarves... or by Kostchtchie's cold heart I will fill you with my fell arrows!!!
Ragnar hears the trow's words and a plan of sorts forms slowly within his cold and calculating head. Drawing deep breath, Ragnar calls back in Jotunn "A dühös Gorruk magát, mielőtt megölte és megette a szívét. Az emberi és a zamatos kevés maradt ... de hangzik túl sok a gyermek és gyenge. Mi lesz időnk befejezni mind neki, és a barátja, mielőtt az Ön számára." before turning his head to the side to his companions "That should get the gänglig jävlarna's attention. Ready yourselves."
Hearing the taunting words in his own tongue, the spindly trow kicks at the frosty turf and notches an arrow to his fell bow; bent slightly the jotunn edges forward towards the cliff, pausing only to shout back;
” Te szarházi Se Heoruwearg! Elveszett túl távoli most. Vár amíg a szarvasmarha meghall ebből megsért! Mutat ti magatok!! Enged Mukl'uk mutat ön hogyan egy igaz vadász bánik valakivel -val farkasok!”
Te szarházi Se Heoruwearg! Elveszett túl távoli most. Vár amíg a szarvasmarha meghall ebből megsért! Mutat ti magatok!! Enged Mukl'uk mutat ön hogyan egy igaz vadász bánik valakivel -val farkasok! = You bastard Se Heoruwearg! Gone too far this time... Wait until the runt hears of this affront! Show yourselves!! Let Mukl'uk show you how a true hunter deals with wolves!
Food for thought: The Hagol Blóstm damages its prey using cold based attacks, something Iss Trow are immune to... Once the plants die they become mindless patches of Brún Molde = brown mold
Knowledge Nature:
The trow is approaching the foot of the cliff, he's now 20 feet from the base. Placed you behind a boulder to the left of the trow (on the map) - let me know if you'd rather be elsewhere :). Roger that Luke - +2 initiative it is...
We could be in for a long range engagement. Pass me the bottle with the hermit's scent so I may make it past the plant heald.
"Here Kevkul. Use a lot. That Trow, if icy like it's mate, won't be slowed by the likes of that plant. Now we just need it out of our way."