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"Outrageous!" Delzden screams, rising up, taking a menacing stance, "Zure arima triste erauzi egingo dut kanpoan duzu! Suntsitu egingo dizut!
Dropping his longbow on his way, Delzden draws the new, shiny cold iron meteor hammer, flinging it up in the air, threatening. Once close enough, he uses it from away, trying to deal a killing blow. "Orain hil egingo zara!"
"Now you will die!"
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"That... hurt!" admonishes Xûll, more like a mother admonishing a child than someone complaining. His nostrils flare and his eyes burn red. The rage is upon him.
Xûll draws his lucerne hammer and rushes up to cut off Jeb's northern approach while flanking with Arthrax and swings, hard, with his hammer . The Shoanti seems to have cut himself a little, as the foam coming out of his mouth definitely has a bloody hue to it.
Jeb, upon getting a massive hammer head from Shoanti's in the face, drops to the ground.
Zed takes a massive hit from the [ooc[really cool weapon.[/ooc] of the lore warden. He staggers back but stays in the fight.
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Pooka grimaces and Luna yelps as the wave of magical harm feels as though it pierces his soul. Growling, and now in full melee, Pooka drops his lance and pulls his cold iron halberd out from its strap on his back. A gentle nudge is all that is needed to urge Luna a step forward, the dog and rider in perfect sync.
Stepping in close to Zeb, Pooka swings his halberd as hard as his small body can manage.
for
Round 4 Will saves dc 16
Save for 5
Save for 5
Save for 5
Save for 4
With a swing of his Halbred, Pooka connects with Zed,; however, Luna's bite fails to do any damage.
Arthrax connects with his cold iron axe .
Zed, beset upon all sides, begins to extrude himself from this flesh body. The skin on the top of his skull rips open, the sound like the tearing of parchment. As the skin bisects down to his shoulders, the Pathfinders expect to see bright red muscle and tissue. Instead, they see small bits of meat dangling off cracked bone. This process continues the entire length of his body. Once complete, all that is left is a small pile of bones, and some bits of gristle. Where the farmer Zed once stood, is a pallid, five-jawed worm.
The worm turns towards the earth and begins to chomp the dirt up, burrowing below the surface to escape the humans and their weapons that hurt. It is quickly gone from sight.
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Delzden is baffled; and realizes the farmers were beyond help even before; whatever they would have done, it was improbable they could have been saved. Despite feeling defeated, Delzden breaks a smile.
"Boy, tough fight, he!" he says, swiping sweat from his brow, staring at the ground where the worm thing disappeared. What was that? I have to read up on demons and such if I wish to fight them in the future.
"You guys sweep the area, check if we did any good. BUry them, at least, a proper burial protects them from turning into undead. I'll go get Sir Ilivan of Erages."
With that, Delzden dashes away to fetch the crusader to see and assess what happened there. Maybe he knows what those worm things were. He's going to be so sorry for not joining the fight, these were demons alright.
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Once Delzden reacehs Sir Ilivan of Erages, he takes a moment to catch his breath. "Sir, we fought them, and they were demons, and had taken the bodies of the farmers as hosts. There were two other farmers who had either been possessed or forced into servitude, and we were unable to save them from the fate. We wish you to come and see; we don't know what demons they were, and we need your knowledge and experience there right know."
Did the demons target the two poor succumbed farmers with they mass inflict wounds too, thus killing them?
As the Pathfinders start to check the bodies, the see the Farmer formerly know as Jeb, bloated and disgusting, pop like an over ripe fruit. A puddle of flesh and bodily fluids spreads out as his body dissolves, leaving behind another pallid, five-jawed worm. This one is dead.
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Pooka and Luna circle around a few times before Pooka hops off the back of his trusted steed. He shudders at the sight of the body boating and popping in the heat, and pokes at the dead demon worm with his cold iron halberd, just to make sure it won't move again.
"Well at least we got one of them." He laments, looking back at the dead farmers with a hint of sadness in his voice.
The Pathfinders make their way back up the ridge and head towards the trial head. There they see Sir Ilivan, feeding Hannah an apple. Delzden begins to speak to him, but he puts a hand up as if to say, "Stop. I don't want to hear it."
Delzden ignores the gesture and continues to address the knight.
"It is over and done. Matters not what or who they were. Come, time is not our allay. We must ride To Fort Portolmaeus and there you can share your findings to Commander Manaria Wardroxan."
Gone is the moment of lucidity Sir Ilivan experienced shortly before the Pathfinder intervened in the demon attack, replaced once again with the uncaring effrontery of before.
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Pooka snorts in disgust at the knight when they return, to frustrated at his callus attitude to get into the philosophical debate. He restraps his gear, making ready for the trip.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Xûll seems to deflate almost immediately after becoming so enraged. Those watching would swear his arms actually became shorter.
"You are to be fighting well, friends," the Shoanti compliments his comrades, "Demons are not to be fighting fairs, but we are still to be thrashing of them. It is being shame we thought farmers were being demons themselves. But there is not being much use crying over spilled eggs, yes?"
Xûll procures a small bushel of apples and mounts up. He shares one with his horse and munches on the rest on the journey to the tower. "Delzden... *scrmph*... these are not be as good as Sir Ilivan is making outs... *scrmph*... still, is tasting betters than demons blood, yes? ... *scrmph*... "
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Delzden is taken slightly aback by Sir Ilivan's sudden change of heart, but he understands that observations are to be reported to the higher-ranking officer. He merely nods at the crusader's notion. Delzden also takes a look at Pooka, but since he is rather certain the farmers were beyond any help once they got there, he's not angry at him for completely destroying them. Maybe a swift death was a blessing for those ravaged souls.
"Sad fate those farmers met, he. Sure was good we chose to end that operation right away!" Delzden says to his comrades, a joyous smile emerging on his face. "An apple a day keeps the demon away, he!"
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"Aye." Pooka finally speaks, breaking his silence.
"It is a shame we couldn't save them. But at least we tried." Pooka flashes a dirty glare towards Sir Ilivan. "I will sleep well tonight."
And with that, Pooka spurs Luna into movement to begin a wide sweeping scout to ensure that they did not attract any more unwanted attention.
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Arthrax nods gruffly to Delzden. "One less demon-spawn to trouble this area. And another who will think twice. Seemed worth it, to me." Though he is addressing Delzden, his words are certainly meant for another.
He takes up his position beside Sir Ilivan as they continue on their trek, keeping his eyes open for more trouble.
The Pathfinders and Sir Ilivan continue to Fort Portolmaeuscwithout any further incidents, following the River Road that climbs inland into low hills.
As the River Road winds back down through the hills, Fort Portolmaeus comes into view.
Fort Portolmaeus sits on a tall rock outcropping in the West Sellen River, surrounded by rushing waters on three sides. A stout, stone bridge connects the fort to the river’s eastern bank, with a closed wooden drawbridge protecting the final approach. The keep itself is built of dark stone with tall curtain walls surrounding a squat central keep that peeks out above the outer fortifications. Portolmaeus has been the scene of a recent battle. Soldiers dressed in the colors of Mendev move around it making repairs, while others use carts to remove the bodies of humans and demons slain in the recent attack.
As the Pathfinders approach, a patrol of four horsemen from Fort Portolmaeus quickly approaches, arrows knocked in their bows.
They stop 60 feet away and call out,
Sir Ilivan turns to the Pathfinders. "Keep your hands away from your weapons. I'll handle this." He raises both hands and calls out,
Upon hearing this passphrase, the soldiers lower their weapons and grimly beckon the party forward.
"Well met. I am Sir Morgan, the head of this patrol. What is your business here?"
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Delzden peeks from behind Sir Ilivan, curious if he intends to speak up and state the patrol's cause.
Delzden clears his throat before speaking. "Sir Morgan, we've been tasked to scout the surroundings for enemy movements and other signs of demon activity. As of such, we do have something to report right away, he! To whom should we be in contact with?"
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Why does the mission briefing seem like it was so many months ago? It was yesterday, right? That's it, I'm never drinking donkey's milk ever again.
"We are being here due to her grace, Queen Galfrey of Mendev," Xûll bows, deliberately allowing that to sink in before he lessens the statement, "She is to be requiring of Pathfinders in town of Hulrun that they are to be volunteering for defendings of Realm of Mendev. And so it is we are being here, under leadership of Sir-Ilivan-Erages-Veteran-of-War-With-Abyss. He is to have been giving us our mission, and perhaps it is being secret. Me is allowing hims to be telling of mission here in Fort of Portolmaeus.
"For introductings, me is being Xûll, this is being Delzden-of-Quaint-Small-Town-of-Roudenbrash, this is being Pooka-Halfling-Knight-and-Bladespinner, and this is being Arthrax-Not-Disease-Learn-Spelling-Bellringer. It is being pleasure to be making acquaintances and to be here in capacities to be serving of Mendev."
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Xûll's false accent and erratic sentence patterns induce an immediate headache to Delzden, who begins to rub his temples, trying to cope with the long speech by thinking happy thoughts. His scholastic mind seems rather unaccustomed to improper talk.
"Aye, he's right!" Delzden adds, "and we indeed have something to report already."
At the closed drawbridge, Sir Morgan calls up to its defenders, and a moment later a soldier peers over a battlement and quietly stares at the party.
The garrison then lowers the drawbridge and raises a heavy portcullis studded with cold iron spikes, after which a handful of soldiers lead the group through a narrow zigzag tunnel to the central courtyard. The fort’s central building sits squat in its center, an impressive, monolithic edifice with few openings. A number of young stable boys come out from a side building to care for the Panthfinders' mounts, quartering them in the stables until the party returns.
With the mounts taken care of, the Pathfinders are led into the central building to meet Commander Manaria Wardroxan, a charismatic young nobleman with pale skin and black hair who is dressed in a mud-spattered uniform that hasn’t been changed since the last battle.
Standing at the bottom of a tall, amphitheater-like chamber carved into the bedrock the fort is built upon, she worriedly regards the fort’s wardstone, a massive menhir 30 feet high that pulses slowly with dull purple light and emits a low buzzing sound, but her concerns are overshadowed by the last night’s demonic attack.
Commander Wardroxan relates the previous night’s events with obvious regret. “The demons attacked in the dead of night, a mixed group of dretches and schirs led by a terrifying brimorak, a creature of horn, claw, and fire. The wardstone had been buzzing like it is now, and it didn’t seem to stop them. They captured a scout patrol alive and staked them out on the ground in front of the fort. There they tortured them close enough for us to hear. I am ashamed to say that we deliberated on whether we had the strength to retaliate, but as the screaming and begging continued, I sent our cavalry to put at end to the suffering.”
She sighs heavily before continuing, “Of course it was a trap. A group of schirs wielding halberds met our cavalry and wasted no time in dragging them from their horses. The dretches then overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, clubbing them into submission. They slaughtered the horses and dragged off the soldiers while we looked on helplessly from behind the fort’s wall. I sent out another party after that, but most of the demons had already withdrawn with our captured men.”
She wipes her brow in obvious frustration. "What about you men? Can you rescue the captured soldiers from the Worldwound. The majority of my garrison had already been transferred to Nerosyan and other more strategically valuable locations before last night’s attack. I just simply don’t have the reserves to send out on a rescue mission."
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Xûll smiles broadly at this, and pats his cold iron hammer. He looks to Sir Ilivan to see if he will talk here, but the man seems happy to let the Pathfinders do the talking. Instead, Xûll turns to his companions.
I've done enough chatting. Time for them to introduce themselves, he thinks to himself, Besides, this accent is proving tiresome.
The continued smile on the bloodrager's face - seeming almost to be one of glee - should let his friends know exactly how Xûll felt about the prospect of rescuing soldiers and slaying demons.
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"Pooka Bladespinner, at your service, milady." The halfling dips into a low bow.
"This here is Luna, my faithful steed. What we lack in size, we make up for in sheer speed and force of will. Xull speaks true, we are here at the behest of the Queen representing the pathfinder society."
Luna shakes her head and sits down, lifting a back leg to scratch a spot behind her right ear. The chainmail barding that covers her body clinks and rattles from the movement, and settles nicely on her body once again when she stands back up.
"We encountered a pair of demons on our trek out here, as Deldzen has hinted at already. We killed one of the five-jawed worm things, and forced the other to run away. As for whether or not we can rescue your soldiers, I suppose that is still to be decided by the fates. Rest assured, I will not stand idly by while good men are captured and tortured beyond measure by the evil that inhabits this land. I will go," Pooka looks left and right to his companions, "And I know I am not alone."
"What else can you tell us about the men who were captured, and the ambush? This is no doubt an attempt to draw forces out from the stronghold to weaken it for a larger assault. While I am not surprised at the depths the enemy would go to lay the ambush, let us not be surprised that there are still layers to this offensive. If we are able to bring the defenders back without comprimising the current defensive force of this fort, then you stand a much better chance of surviving the next assault."
Pooka pauses to listen to the commander's response to his assessment of the current situation.
"Tell me, what does this purple stone do? The way you speak of it makes me believe it is defensive in nature. Perhaps the reason it did not react the way you expected is because a much larger force is already at your doorstep, waiting for you to send out the rescue force."
"I also realize you may be short on supplies, but if we are to launch a rescue mission, I expect we should need to leave as soon as possible. We could use some healing support, and perhaps a potion or oil or two. What services and supplies are available to us?"
”Ahh. You seem to have encounterd some Vermleks. Nasty creatures. This is how the raid went. At least three score demons attacked last night, and we counted fourteen dead dretches and schirs among their fallen this morning. I initially sent out a dozen men on horseback to rescue the captured scouts. Three of them died in the initial assault, and I think the rest were captured alive. I don’t know how many are still alive, but demons have been known to capture crusaders to be used as food, slaves, and ‘examples.’ Our lookout reported seeing the chained cavalrymen heading westward into the Worldwound a mile north of here, surrounded by a small group of guards—no more than a half dozen strong. If you decide to attempt to rescue the soldiers, I can help somewhat. You can head down to the armory. I will leave you to discuss matters.”
She swiftly exits the room, and before the door is fully closed, Sir Ilivan begins. ”This is clearly a fool’s errand, an ill-conceived endeavor dreamt up by an inexperienced commander wracked with guilt. The cavalrymen are surely already beyond our help, and most likely have already been killed for food or sport.”
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"Me is thinking me is to be well supplied enoughs, Xûll notes, smiling as Delzden cringes yet again, "So, Sir Ilivan, what are you to be suggesting we should be doings here? Rescuing is perhaps being out of questions, but still there are to be demons to be slain. No-one is to be doubting that, yes? Killing of demons is why we are to be here. If we are to be relaxing and doing of nothing, then we are coming to very uncomfortable part of world to be doing so. Me is preferring of Southern Varisia for holidays myselfs."
Is this man a coward, or is he truly trying to conserve resources for their best use? I am starting to believe he might actually be afraid...
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"Regardless, Sir Ilivan, we shall advance. If anything they took and captured them knowing it would affect our morale. These demons here seem a lot more organized than demons tend to be, and that's something, he! So, do we leave right now or rest for a bit? I'm good to go, that magical healing's yummy, he!"
Delzden figures Sir Ilivan is too cynical and morose to be a good sport and give an inspiring speech, so he instead goes to see what the armory has to offer. He's not keen on purchasing the items for it does cost quite a lot.
"None of us are experts on demons, so now that our enemies have been named, we'd like to know all they can do. Vermleks possessed an ability to harness deific energies and direct them as negative energy on multiple individuals, so what can schirs do? I know dretches are sad and weak, he!"
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Pooka scoffs audibly this time when Sir Ilivan speaks.
"Are you daft? First you would willingly sacrifice innocents to the clutches of cultists and demons, and now you balk when your own men and comrades are the ones captured and being tortured? Pooka's face turns bright red as he vents his frustration for all to hear.
"What are you even here for? Have you ever even been in a battle? Or are you all lies and bluster? Men and women unite in battle for a common cause, and in our case, a noble one; to drive out the demon invasion. That is not why good men and women fight though. Men, Women, Halfling, Elf, Half-Orc - We fight for the one standing next to us. We are here because of our ideals, but we fight because of the bonds of brotherhood forged in blood!"
The little halfling stomps back and forth, his frustration not abating.
"You would throw that away, and call it a fool's errand. Well Cur Ilivan, I say you are a disgrace to your banner and your order. Two farmers was not enough to stir you to action, and now a dozen of your brothers and sisters in arms is still not enough. I pity any who would have to count on sir Ilivan the coward to protect their flank."
Pooka spits on the ground in disgust.
"There is nothing in the supply shop that I require, I am already outfitted for what they have to offer. Let us get moving. If the men are still alive, then every second counts. And I would like to be gone before the air of cowardice becomes contagous." Pooka glares at the knight as they leave.
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"Pooka really ate some grumpy berries, he!" Delzden remarks to Xûll, chuckling quietly, "got to say, though, he's the feistiest halfling I've ever seen! Most of them are just slackers and opportunists, but not this one, he!"
"Well, Pooka, commander Wardroxan did give us the directions, so we can get going. Let's get our horses, and wolf, then, it's going to be one abyss of a ride, he!"
Delzden does attempt to try and leave the scene in case Sir Ilivan decides to engage in a verbal dispute with Pooka. Delzden's friendly and joyous demeanor doesn't really fit the atmosphere right now.
”What should we do?” he turns to Pooka. ”We should do what we were sent out to do. The Fort is in shambles, the line has been breached, the Wardstones are failing. We head back to Nerosyan and fulfill our mission, report what is going on. And spare your insults. I have seen enough to make you cry for your mother. I have fought and slain hundreds of demons and you lot know not what you face. Those men; dead. We had this talk at Bedis. Where are the peasants you rescued? Where are the dead demons you slew? Throw your life away if you want on men who are already dead. I will accompany you, even if to make my report complete.”
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Pooka stares hard at sir Ilivan for several long moments.
"You speak as if it was a foregone conclusion. The wardstones may be failing, but they have not failed yet. comrades are captured and dying, but they are not dead yet. We can still do what we were sent to do. As soon as we have done what we can to rescue the men who were captured. It is not your place to decide the fates of those men before the gods have laid it on them. If we would forsake them, as you would suggest, then your claim becomes self-fulfilling."
Pooka takes the reins of Luna, trying to convince himself that he has said his piece, and that he is done.
He said he would go with us, though I do not trust the coward. Fine, let us just be off.
But it seems he cannot let it go, and his anger boils over again.
"The peasants were already dead in your eyes, so why bother, right? And I would assume that the initial men who had been captured and were being tortured, you would have also claimed they were dead and did nothing right? So by your logic, you would have never sent the men out to save them, and therefore they would not be captured right now, right?" Pooka pauses for a moment, to allow the cowardly knight to fall into the logic trap he has just laid for him.
"Well then what of Mendev? What of this place? Why bother to fight at all? Aren't we just wasting lives, throwing them into the abyss? Aren't we all as good as dead then? What is the point of any of this?"
Pooka fumes some more, breathing hard from his nostrils, his face a deep red behind the mask of his helm.
"Because if we don't, no one will! If these crusaders don't draw a line in the sand, evil will overrun all of Golarion. At some point you must decide that enough is enough. If everyone thought like you, then we would forever be moving our line back, until we were overcome, because as soon as something seems even remotely difficult, you balk, and sputter, and run in fear."
"Call me naive, call me idealistic. But to me, just one life is too much. Just one man, one woman, one child, is to high a price. We cannot do anything for those already lost, but I would gladly lay my life down, that one more innocent life might be spared. And if by my death, I can bring hope, and life back to just one of those captured soldiers, then I will have lived, and died well."
There. Now I am finished. For now.
Pooka finally hoists himself to his saddle, and spurs Luna into gear.
"I'll get the supplies from stores. Then at least we can do something useful instead of just yell at each other."
As he rides away, Pooka turns and winks to Xull, Arthrax, and Delzden standing off to the side.
Sir Ilivan looks to the halfling. "You sir, would win the battle to lose the war." He spurs Hannah to follow the Pathfinders.
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"Sir Ilivan, Pooka is being perhaps a little harsh," Xûll casts an admonishing but also understanding glance Pooka's way, "But the way you are suggesting, we are not fighting battle or war! We are reporting, and such things are able to be committed to pen and paper. We are also lacking of a full report. Me is not happy reporting that we are not investigating at all why the Wardstones are failing. We can succeed at mission by writing report and having report sent in cases of our deaths. Yes?" Perhaps it is in deference to Delzden's sensibilities, perhaps it is the gravity of the situation, perhaps it is because he is no longer posing as a quaint trader... but Xûll does seem to be speaking in a manner much more closely matching actual Taldan.
"As for the encounter at Bedin," Xûll tried to resist, but could not help bringing up the past, "We were inexperienced demon fighters and you sent us in alone. If you were with us, perhaps you could have been identifying which were the farmers and which were the demons for us. Perhaps then me would not have been hitting farmers so hard in faces. If deaths were resulting, your inaction was contributing. Do not be making the same mistake twice, or however many times it is you've shied away from battle because you believe the 'chances of saving someone' are low.
"Speaking of, let me talk to you about chances," Xûll begins to feel the fire that Pooka stoked in his heart, "Me is being from a merchant family. We deal much in chance. If you fail to explore an opportunity: one hundred percent chance you will not gain from it. If you only explore opportunities that are high chance, sometimes you still fail - and most times, you are not first to opportunity. If there is only one opportunity to explore, only a fool doesn't explore it. We are being faced with but one opportunity: rescue guards who might be dead. Chance of saving them is low. The reward, however, is the lives of men who would continue to fight in this war. Oh, and also, chances of us killing demons: exceptionally high. Chances of fewer demons in this world being good thing: one hundred percent."
Xûll rides up to Pooka, "Friend, me is needing to be telling you something. Sir Ilivan is not being a coward. He is struggling with somethings, and yelling at him is closing him off. Perhaps trying a different tactic next time he shows what looks like a yellow belly is to be best?"
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Arthrax remains silent through the banter, as he is wont to, slowly weighing each party's words. He keeps his eyes on the floor, thinking things through. He hears Xull's words, then shakes his head. "Regardless of his reasoning, Xull, Sir Ilivan's words ring of cowardice. Perhaps he has seen horrors I could never imagine, I don't know. I do know that anyone who puts off a chance of saving a comrade because they will 'likely' die anyway is just a big pussy, in my book. Good reason or no. Anyone who would let us rush forward and just watch, when his battle blood should have been boiling hot, is not worth the name of warrior." The large man's words are even and calm, said in a matter-of-fact tone. The warrior's dark eyes meet Sir Ilivan's for a moment, then he shrugs and urges his mount forward, ahead of Sir Ilivan, dark eyes on the horizon, trying to look for threats.
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Xûll takes a big bite out of an apple. Yes, I have to agree with my comrades. Sir Ilivan is not behaving very heroically. How can I even broach the topic of underground contacts and start bartering a deal with a man I don't respect? Uncle Guaril may end up being disappointed in me after all is said and done... perhaps if Ilivan tastes battle he will cheer up again and find the meaning of 'heroism'.
The Shoanti bloodrager casts a doubtful glance at their reluctant leader, adjusting his saddle and, for now, still well behind the eager Pathfinders. Perhaps not.
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"Right, Sir Ilivan," Delzden begins, holding a finger on his lips, pondering, "you've heard Pooka rant and Xûll explain statistical mathematics to you, but I believe there's more. Have you lost someone to these demons, someone close and dear? If anything, talking about events like that is the key to recovery. Don't let pride get in the way of asking for help. If you need anything from us, and I mean anything, we're happy to help. And you've seen us risk quite a lot to help others, he!" Delzden tries to sooth Sir Ilivan the best of his abilities, trying to play out the empathic and understanding friend.
Once he gets over to Xûll and Pooka, he looks puzzled. "I'm unsure a broken man can be fixed by rudeness," Delzden comments, "Xûll's right. He has been through a lot, and probably lost too many friends. Pooka, Xûll, have you lost people dear to you? I know I would be devastated if my family would be slaughtered, though I'd be smart enough to retire from work temporarily and seek a therapist."
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"If me was to be finding the rapist, me would be killing the rapist," Xûll informs Delzden, totally deadpan, "But as for family, perhaps one day me will be returning. Perhaps when me has proven worth to my tribe as a great trader for the Pathfinder Society. Perhaps then, me will go back to my tribe and take place as tribal leader. On that glorious day, me will slaughter my father myselfs and be drinking of his heart's blood for the wrongs he has done to me." Everyone gets the odd feeling that Xûll is not speaking in metaphor but being horrifically literal.
"For nows, though," Xûll adds, "Me does best to live up to father's example and practice lessons he taught."
Sir Ilivan once again addresses the Pathfinders. ”Please, one last time. Listen to me. How many nights have you spent in the Worldwound? How many demons have you faced other than the vermleks? We are a patrol, not an army. You are Pathfinders, not crusaders. You said that you’d respect me, that you’d heed my advice. Yet all I have seen from you is stubborn insubordination. From your story that you told Commander Wardroxan, it seems that you fought two vermleks, and did not fare well. Now we could face dretches, schirs and possibly a brimorak. They proved to be deceitful, ambushing those men from the fort. And now we rush headlong into another possible ambush. Is this courage? Am I a coward? Do not mistake foolishness for bravery.”
Ending his speech, he joins the procession out of the Fort. Sir Morgan gives the Pathfinders a small map that marks a shallow ford across the West Sellen River where they can cross with their mounts.
”May Iomedae guide your sword, and guard your back.” he admonishes before they quickly pick up the trail of the soldiers.
The Pathfinders continue on, and suddenly notice a change in the landscape. Whereas the area around the fort was filled with verdant trees, the trees now slump over as if exhausted from carrying the weight of the leaves and fruits. Whereas the trees were filled with ripening fruits and seeds preparing for the overland journey to germinate, the fruits are now misshapen globs of putrid smelling flesh, over-ripened and creating a cloying stench of death. Whereas the fields were filled with chest high grasses topped with bursting seeds, the grass now is a sickly yellow color and is a bloated, rotting mess that explodes every time a horse’s hooves trod over one. Whereas the winds blew cool and crisp, the air is now stale and unmoving. In some areas the heat quickly becomes oppressive; the humidity rising to nearly 100%, but just as quickly the air can feel frigid and biting as the coldest winter day. Whereas the songs of birds could be heard calling out their sharp trills, now screams of torment pierce the silence, followed by peals of laughter and groaning exclamations.
Undeniably, they have entered the Worldwound.
As they enter what could only be called a ‘field’, the air grows thick with a swirling mass of pollen in the air. Despite any precautions the Pathfinder try to make, the small particles find flesh to land on, and some is inhaled deep within their bodies.
Sir Ilivan stops his horse, and slides from his saddle, falling into the muck and mire.
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Xûll is forced to agree with Sir Ilivan's assessment, but he is still unwilling to let good men die when he has strength left in his arms. He keeps his eyes peeled upon the path in front of them.
"It appears as though there are being eight men or normal humanoids captured here," Xûll notes, pointing at some footprints, "And three is being the number of demons with them. Me is hoping they are still to be alive when we are catching of them."
A little further along, Xûll gasps as Ilivan falls off his horse. He jumps off his own horse to help the man up again when he suddenly turns on Delzden, "What in Nethys' name did you just say? Are you to be baiting me? We are having been fought together against demons, but yet you are to be calling authorities? Bring it on! Me is not scared of facing true justice. Me is having nothing to be hiding."
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Pooka shakes his head, his anger button easily pushed.
"What did you just say, fop?" He says to Sir Ilivan, just as the man slides off his horse.
"Sure, insult me, tell me I am no better than a slave, and then pass out? What is...." The halfling's bluster fades a bit as the odd reality strikes him. "Ahh... What is wrong?" He asks, inquisitively, instead of accusatorily as he had originally intended.
"Either Sir Ilivan is every bit the backstabbing coward I accused him of, or something else is going on here. I do not want to believe the first, so steel your hearts, men! Focus on us, our mission, and the lives we intend to save!" Pooka shouts, in an attempt to rally the faltering band of soldiers.
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Xûll's future plans make Delzden look even more puzzled as he gazes up to the sky as if to see the sky explain what the shoanti is rambling about. Maybe his father was a slave merchant and sold Xûll out as a slave, that'd be plausible. Incredibly immoral, but plausible.
Delzden only manages to chuckle nervously. That's all he contributes.
"For the record I personally never intended to be disrespectful. And your words ring truth, painful truth. We did, indeed, face only two demons who managed to deceive us, and wound us direly. In case we would face larger opposition, we might perish."
"So here's what we do: we seek out the place, scout the surroundings and make an assessment on whether or not should we engage. In short, nothing rash."
Further along the journey Delzden takes a curious look at the desolate landscape, humphing, thinking it might actually make for a very good painting. The pollen, however, disgusts him, and he then quickly turns to Arthrax. "He, I think you've got worse smells here than my sweat! Besides, I've never heard a fellow human call another human 'human', what's up with that, my human friend, he!"
Delzden then turns to look at Xûll, and looks even more puzzled, taking quick glances at Sir Ilivan. "I have absolutely no idea what you're rambling about now. And why'd I want you to face a judge? We're a team! Pathfinders, remember? Explore, report, cooperate, and all that, he!" Delzden jumps off his horse and rushes over to Sir Ilivan to make sure he's at least alive. "Let's hope he didn't faint out of fear over here, he! That'd be embarrassing."
Reroll
Again the shimmering miasma of pollen fills the air, intensifying even. THe Pathfinder can feel anger welling up inside of them. Those feelings that have been 'brushed off' now bubbling to the surface as rage takes hold of them.
Sir Ilivan, still prone on the ground, begins to curl up in the fetal position.