DM Berwick:
Yuuwa keeps a poker face, obstinately maintaining a lookout with Jonagher.
"Hah! Would you look at that..." Jonagher calls Yuuwa's attention to the vines trailing from the blind and down the hillside to the trail below. "Crafty little buggers, these natives! You see that? The vines down there aren't just a trip wire. They're meant to entangle. We could have set it off down there by walking into it. Or, this guy up here could have triggered it himself to catch us. But it wouldn't just have impeded someone. See those counterweights over there with the stones? They're meant to roll downhill on the other side. With their momentum, anyone caught in the vines would've been hauled straight up here into his hidey-hole. Probably so he could quickly murder us. And the rest would get all freaked out by the screams."
"Pretty ingenius, if you ask me," he adds, "I might have to take a few of these vines with us and see if I can't replicate it...either as a surprise for our enemies to run into if they chase us back to the beach. Or, maybe I can set it up around camp and add to our own defenses. There may be consummate trapmakers on this island, but I'll show'em what a real professional can do. Something that'll make their heads spin and let'em know who they're dealing with..." He gives the sailor a confident wink.
The half-elf then sets about disabling the current setup of the vines, drawing them up the hillside to coil into more portable ropes. He knots them together and then slings them across his chest like a half-camouflage bandolier.
"I feel like I've gone native already," he announces when he re-emerges from the blind to check on the others. "So, have we learned anything yet from our conniving little friend?"
Yuuwa keeps a poker face, obstinately maintaining a lookout with Jonagher.
Origen waits for Yuuwa to respond, then frowns and turns to Torden, who has just reached the top.
"If we want to talk to him, we need him conscious. And for that, we need magic. Torden, would you mind?"
Torden huffs and puffs as he struggles with the last few steps of the climb and then surveys all that the others have taken in.
"Sorry for the delay," he pants. "There are so many interesting plants on this island, growing in the most unusual patterns."
He glances at Jonager as he describes the trap and then down the slope up which he just ascended. "Oh. Oh? Oh! They were placed that way by men. Yes, of course they were."
Then he turns to Origen. "Heal him? But," Torden looks at the sharpened teeth of the man and his strange tattoos. "MMMM, well, yes, I suppose he might provide useful information. Though I do wonder what we will do with him then." Torden worriedly looks at his companions, uncertain as to their motives.
"Just one moment. Let me check his bonds one last time." Origen will check the ropes one last time before Torden heals him.
"You know," Isandril remarks off-handedly, "I believe I could use some healing as well. My injury is not what you would call life-threatening, but I would prefer to be in a somewhat better shape should there be more of him coming our way."
"Not to mention," he adds with a smile, "an open wound in a jungle like this is probably an infection waiting to happen."
"You know," Isandril remarks off-handedly, "I believe I could use some healing as well. . . ."
"Sorry, Isandril. Of course you take precedence over an enemy. I'll finish checking these ropes while you're getting whatever help that you need."
Torden sings a healing song over the captive, who wakes as his wounds visibly close before you.
Yuuwa tends Isandril's wounds, checking for infection first, then praying over his wounds. A light wind blows through the camp as Isandril's wounds close.
Torden starts speaking with the cannibal. Asking him if he is comfortable. Does he need water? He seems to be establishing a report with the prisoner. At first, the cannibal seems like a frightenend animal, his eyes wild. Then he starts yammering in a language that doesn't seem like a human mouth could produce. He gets louder and louder, working himself up into a fit.
He strains against his bindings, his skin flushing with blood, and his eyes going bloodshot almost immediately. He shouts, and gnashes his teeth as he struggles against the creaking rope bindings. For the moment, his bindings hold, but he continues to squirm about.
As his skin flushes, his ritual tattoos grow a darker red, painting him in five pointed stars and swirling patters all over him.
Origen attempts to assist Torden in calming the native down, bringing a waterskin at the dwarf's request.
As the cannibal begins to yammer, Origen steps forward. Can't let him snap those ropes. But he freezes for a second at the native's sudden frenzy.
Origen points at the native's tattooed skin, "Those stars . . . they're symbols of Asmodeus, the patron god of Cheliax."
Origen points at the native's tattooed skin, "Those stars...they're symbols of Asmodeus, the patron god of Cheliax."
"I recognize them, too..." Jonagher adds, "Looks like we're dealing with a bunch of devil worshippers. That can't be good..."
To quiet down the native, Jonagher draws a dagger from his boot and leans in close, pressing the blade against the man's neck to quiet him down. "No more of that," he harshly commands, shaking his head so the man knows he's in danger of forcing them to kill him.
"Isandril?" the half-elf suggests, "Why don't you go make sure there's no more of his friends coming? The way he's carrying on, someone nearby might hear him. And we still don't know how many of these people are living here."
"Easy now, fella. Easy. We've no intent to harm ya." Torden continues to try and calm the man.
"Don't know if he understands me or not. I certainly don't know what he's sayin' or even what language he's about. Still, yer all correct, those are the symbols of Asmodeus. And as memory serves, when the Chelaxians first came down to Sargava, to claim it as their own, they lost a ship called Thrune's Fang . Could be this boy here is a decedent of that expedition.
And I don't think they're too happy to see us."
"Thank you, Yuuwa," the elf says with a smile of appreciation. He affords the hole in his trousers one last look and, with a sigh of resignation, moves a little closer to the rest of the group. Noting their captive's behavior, he remarks, "He certainly does not seem all that pleased, does he? He seems ready to burst really."
"I recognize them, too..." Jonagher adds, "Looks like we're dealing with a bunch of devil worshippers. That can't be good..."
"Don't know if he understands me or not. I certainly don't know what he's sayin' or even what language he's about. Still, yer all correct, those are the symbols of Asmodeus. And as memory serves, when the Chelaxians first came down to Sargava, to claim it as their own, they lost a ship called Thrune's Fang. Could be this boy here is a decedent of that expedition.
And I don't think they're too happy to see us."
"Oh, so they are not just cannibals and kidnappers, but fiend worshippers as well? I have to say, this place seems to have attracted all the wrong people, present company excluded of course. And not only that, but another shipwreck, one from long ago if what you say is true, Torden? We will certainly have our hands full then."
"Isandril?" the half-elf suggests, "Why don't you go make sure there's no more of his friends coming? The way he's carrying on, someone nearby might hear him. And we still don't know how many of these people are living here."
"Yes, I think I will be doing just that," Isandril agrees as he draws his swords and moves to look around for any others coming their way, preferably while hidden.
"Don't know if he understands me or not. I certainly don't know what he's sayin' or even what language he's about. Still, yer all correct, those are the symbols of Asmodeus. And as memory serves, when the Chelaxians first came down to Sargava, to claim it as their own, they lost a ship called Thrune's Fang. Could be this boy here is a descendant of that expedition. And I don't think they're too happy to see us."
"Oh, so they are not just cannibals and kidnappers, but fiend worshippers as well? I have to say, this place seems to have attracted all the wrong people, present company excluded of course. And not only that, but another shipwreck, one from long ago if what you say is true, Torden? We will certainly have our hands full then."
After Isandril departs, Jonagher looks around at the others.
"If Torden's suspicions are true, and these are shipwrecked souls from a Cheliax colony ship, I wonder how many of them could be left?" He examines the native's clothing and general appearance, trying to get a sense of how worn or recent they are.
"About how long ago do you recall this Thrune's Fang going missing?" he asks the dwarf, "Because, if they had a large number of people...and, like us, only a few supplies they could salvage from their ship...I suspect they'd find it difficult to feed very many survivors."
Jonagher grabs the man's chin and squeezes until he can get a good look at his teeth. "All of them sharpened. Just like Origen said," he sighs, "It could be they've gone cannibal. And that might explain their eagerness to take off with Bran the other day. Otherwise, why would someone do this to all their teeth? I suspect it's so can bite someone and tear off a chunk of flesh."
With that, he stands up and sheathes his dagger. "It may be we don't mean them any harm," he tells Torden, "But they sure as well seem to mean us some. I'd suggest we scout their camp or village or wherever they live as thoroughly and as safely as we can. We need to find out just how much of a threat they pose. Because, if they've been here this long and never managed to get rescued, we may be neighbors for a lot longer than any of us would wish..."
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DM Berwick
Linguistic
Religion
If successful History?
Yuuwa as she finishes tending to Isandril and tries to keep out of the way of the grappling, in a spare moment casts "Mending" on Isandrils trousers. Then as she is departing the ambush blind, Yuuwa states, "He is speaking a crude form of Infernal, I don't understand it, sorry. And I believe Origen has the best guess over his descendants..." She shrugs and follows Isandril out once she is assured she is not obligated to be in attendance.
"And as memory serves, when the Chelaxians first came down to Sargava, to claim it as their own, they lost a ship called Thrune's Fang . Could be this boy here is a descendant of that expedition."
Origen shakes his head. "So these natives were originally colonists? They can't even speak Taldan anymore." That's not going to be us.
. . ."It could be they've gone cannibal. And that might explain their eagerness to take off with Bran the other day. Otherwise, why would someone do this to all their teeth? I suspect it's so can bite someone and tear off a chunk of flesh."
Origen grimaces. "That's disturbingly plausible. Thanks for the preview of tonight's bad dreams, Jonagher."
. . . "I'd suggest we scout their camp or village or wherever they live as thoroughly and as safely as we can. We need to find out just how much of a threat they pose. Because, if they've been here this long and never managed to get rescued, we may be neighbors for a lot longer than any of us would wish..."
"We've just met them, and we're already been neighbors for a lot longer than I wish. So we might as well find out how big of a threat that they'll be."
Then as she is departing the ambush blind, Yuuwa states, "He is speaking a crude form of Infernal, I don't understand it, sorry. And I believe Origen has the best guess over his descendants..." She shrugs and follows Isandril out once she is assured she is not obligated to be in attendance.
Origen raises an eyebrow at Yuuwa's off-handed erudition. "I wish that I could claim the credit, but it was all Torden."
"Does this native look Chelaxian to you, Yuuwa? You've travelled around these waters more than any of us. Except maybe Isandril."
When Jonagher presses his dagger against the cannibal's neck, there is no response. You see that his eyes are glassed over, and he is just a ball of rage incarnate.
Isandril disappears into the foliage again, ghosting away without a whisper.
The cannibal flexes again, straining the rope, but not making any more progress. He is still held tightly by the ropes. He starts moaning, and frothing at the mouth.
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Yuuwa pauses outside quickly realizing that she could not keep up with the self-appointed scouts nor should she. She contemplates for a good long moment as the pieces of information, conjecture and logical assumptions start to fall into place. She turns to face the ambush blind but stays out. "Gentlemen, I believe this island is part of a lost colony of Chelix, happened way back in the Age of Lost Omens, during the Chelexian Civil War. After the war, and a certain amount of stability, apprix 30years, the rulers tried to bring this colony back under their domination. The ThriceDamned house of Thrune [spits on the ground] sent a navy headed by Chelexian Flagship Thrunes Fang. But those of this colony/island nation called Sargava entered into a pact with the Free Captains of the Shackles, and with their aid was able to defeat the Chelish navy. This was perhaps over 60 years ago. Likely with thier own devils augmenting the Massive Squall engulfing the whole invading chelixian fleet. Quite the coincidence eh? I remember hearing and have told these sea stories myself whenever we are fighting the sea for control of the ship. Some facts always remain the same during re-iterations of sea legend: Thrune's Fang was captained by Leven Beliker, and assumed to have fed the fishes long long ago." She stops speaking. Shakes herself out of contemplation and scans the vicinity.
Perception
"Origen, I really don't know if he was part of the original colony or not, but look at his physical makeup. Something aint right with him, normal defects are exagerated and amplified. Instead of using shipwrecked sailors as potential colonists or slaves, they've been very, um, exclusive with who they mate with. Couple more generations and this will be a deserted isle once again."
"Origen, I really don't know if he was part of the original colony or not, but look at his physical makeup. Something aint right with him, normal defects are exagerated and amplified. Instead of using shipwrecked sailors as potential colonists or slaves, they've been very, um, exclusive with who they mate with. Couple more generations and this will be a deserted isle once again."
Origen looks closely at the raving savage.
"Maybe you're right. And something certainly isn't mentally right with him."
Origen steps back to give Torden a final chance to calm the man down.
Origen steps next to the native, his voice suddenly harsh. "Listen . . . you need to be quiet now." He puts his hand over his mouth to show his meaning. "Quiet. Now."
Origen gags the native, muffling the screaming.
"Sorry, but this is necessary."
Origen looks closely at the raving savage. "Maybe you're right. And something certainly isn't mentally right with him."
"It's not just that," Jonagher notes, gesturing toward the man's clothing. "That's not homespun wool he's wearing. And it's not a leather loincloth from any animal we've seen on this island. That's made from skin. Maybe even human skin. More evidence that these natives aren't likely to be the reasonable sort. And if they all act as crazed as this one, we'll have to defend ourselves for as long as we're both on this island."
"It's not just that," Jonagher notes, gesturing toward the man's clothing. "That's not homespun wool he's wearing. And it's not a leather loincloth from any animal we've seen on this island. That's made from skin. Maybe even human skin. More evidence that these natives aren't likely to be the reasonable sort. And if they all act as crazed as this one, we'll have to defend ourselves for as long as we're both on this island."
"Well, at least we tried." As he gags their captive, Origen jerks his hand back to avoid a sudden snap of the native's jaws.
At the native's sudden motion, something serpentlike twitches within Origen's sleeve for a moment.
"Now you've exhausted my patience." Origen pulls out his dagger. Reversing the blade, he hits the native with the pommel to knock him out.
Origen lays the native down inside the camoflaged blind. "He should be awake in a few hours, but we'll be long gone."
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"Now you've exhausted my patience." Origen pulls out his dagger. Reversing the blade, he hits the native with the pommel to knock him out.
At the audible sound of metal striking a skull, Yuuwa visibly jerks and hangs her head.
Origen lays the native down inside the camoflaged blind. "He should be awake in a few hours, but we'll be long gone."
Yuuwa turns and looks once again into the blind, first observing the cannibal for a few seconds confirming breathing patterns, than to Origen. Her face is a confused mix relief, regret and guilt "Thank you for not killing him, despite however much he may have deserved it. I cannot condone abusing Gozreh's Healing when death is such an easy and likely end result. Heal and torture, repeat ad infinitum is not a natural cycle. If this will be a common practice you'll need a Chelixian cleric. I would question my faith if put in this position again."
She sighs heavily. "Yes, lets scout." She steps away from the entrance.
"Thank you for not killing him, despite however much he may have deserved it. I cannot condone abusing Gozreh's Healing when death is such an easy and likely end result. Heal and torture, repeat ad infinitum is not a natural cycle. If this will be a common practice you'll need a Chelixian cleric. I would question my faith if put in this position again."
Origen sputters, "Torture!? We didn't even use harsh language with him!"
He takes a deep breath and calms himself. "Yuuwa, we didn't beat him up, and he's not bleeding to death now. I think that he's better off than if we hadn't tried to question him.
"I was hoping that if Torden could talk him around, we could avoid further bloodshed. Little chance of that, given what these natives are. But now we know what we're dealing with."
She sighs heavily. "Yes, let's scout." She steps away from the entrance.
Origen pulls his hat down to shade his eyes. He waits a moment, then follows her. "Come on, Torden. We've done all that we can here."
"Thank you for not killing him, despite however much he may have deserved it. I cannot condone abusing Gozreh's Healing when death is such an easy and likely end result. Heal and torture, repeat ad infinitum is not a natural cycle. If this will be a common practice you'll need a Chelaxian cleric. I would question my faith if put in this position again."
Jonagher observes the exchange between Origen and Yuuwa, mentally assessing each of them and their words to one another. After a moment of silence...and before setting off to scout...he offers up a non-judgmental observation.
"You know, it strikes me that this island...and our predicament in being stranded here...could cause us to undergo some significant changes. I mean, after all, look what happened to these former Chelaxians. If I'm right and they have turned to cannibalism, we can only assume they did so for survival. And if we, in turn, find ourselves assaulted by them and having to defend ourselves, we may find these people beyond redemption. In terms of survival, it may be between us...and them. We might want to consider that as we go further in our days here."
Torden sits on a rock and puts his head in his hands. The heat, the hunger, and now thoughts of despair creep into his mind. He wanted to come along on the voyage in the search of knowledge and adventure--he had no plans on being shipwrecked with cannibals.
Jonagher was right. They would more than likely have to fight and kill some of these poor sods. Misfortune had placed these cannibals here every bit as much as it had those from the Jenivere
Even if they did fend off the nasty locals, the same fate might still befall Torden and his mates.
He looks again at the unconscious man. Is possible that he could revert to some base state much as this poor fellow had?
Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he gets back to his feet.
"No sense crying over spilled ale," he says. "Let's get moving."
The cliche is sadly weak for the heavy moment, but Torden is happy just to get some light words out of his mouth and into the air. In an attempt to not let the others see his creased brow, the bard presses ahead of them into the jungle.
Once the rest of them are ready to move along, Isandril returns, materializing next to Torden. "Cheer up, Master Ironcask," the elf says lightheartedly as he places his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "If for no other reason, think of the adventure that still awaits us and of all the grand stories you will be able to tell once we return to more civilized lands."
The warrior once again takes his place among his comrades, leading the way along with Jonagher. Staying close to the half-elf, he asks, "So, did our 'guest' have anything to share with us, his gracious hosts?"
The warrior once again takes his place among his comrades, leading the way along with Jonagher. Staying close to the half-elf, he asks, "So, did our 'guest' have anything to share with us, his gracious hosts?"
"There was much gnashing of teeth, straining at his ropes, and general rage in his outward demeanor," Jonagher offers, "Yuuwa believes he was speaking a crude form of some devil's tongue. She also mentioned a legend about a bunch of Chelaxian colonists lost at sea on their way to Sargava. That was 30 or more years ago, but this savage might be indicative of what happened to them. I'm afraid Origen had to knock him out before he called attention to us. They left him tied up behind the blind he was using for his ambush. I don't suspect he'll stay there long after he wakes up. A crafty trapmaker like him may well escape and come back to threaten us. So, let's keep a quick pace today. In and out. We need to know just how large a group this guy belongs to...and then we need to hightail it out of here so we can prepare the others."
". . .We might want to consider that as we go further in our days here."
Origen nods. "We've tried to talk with them. Unless we have some sign of another, saner tribe, I don't think that it will help."
"But I still wonder about the others from the Jenivere. They must be here somewhere." Unless they've already been eaten.
Origen walks along silently, occasionally rubbing at his arms. Something feels wrong. I hope it's not a new sickness.
He looks a bit flushed, as if he's slightly feverish, and he periodically winces.
After nearly a mile of silence, he walks nearer to Yuuwa.
"Look, I'm sorry that I lost my temper back there. If it'll help, you should know that I don't want to torture anybody."
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"Some Captains believe thier authority is absolute. Marry that with responsibility and expectations from the crew after a pirate attack; well, civilized behavior and wants are deep six'd for a permanment solution." Yuuwa walks in silence, lost in the past. "I'd rather let the man die of his wounds of interrogation than be party to torture or perhaps in preparation for a more public death. Some ship's have those types of healers, but I'll bet they worship a less discerning diety."
dice roll
Shaking herself out of her reverie, "As for the crew of the Jenivere, it was about time we parted ways no love lost there and we've yet to explore the "Haunted" lighthouse much less the rest of the island. Still I'd rather they encountered the cannibals vice the yellow zombie flowers all things considered. More merciful I think."
Origen strikes the captive twice with the pommel of his dagger, knocking him unconscious. As the captive slumps over, his face calms again, and the rage leaves him. His entire body seems to shrink as his muscle structure suddenly goes limp.
As Yuuwa speaks, a slight breeze rises seemingly from nowhere, with the light scent of the sea on it.
The group prepares for a stealth mission, further into the cannibal territory.
The trail continues on to the south.
You can also see a river winding southward behind your position to the west, approximately a half-mile. It curves in front of a slight hill and disappears into the jungle to the south.
Across the ravine, through the jungle, you can barely make out what looks to be a structure of some type. It is perhaps a mile away.
Origen listlessly agrees with whatever route the scouts want to take.
He looks a bit flushed, as if he's slightly feverish, and he periodically winces. But it seems as if he can keep up the pace for now.
He mutters to Torden, "We have a lot of ground to cover before that native back there wakes up. We'll have trackers after us soon."
"Well, it seems this island is ever full of surprises," Jonagher notes, "That looks like a structure off in the distance there. It takes people to build something permanent like that. But it might be older than our stranded cannibal friends if it's made of stone. I say we mark it on Yuuwa's map and check it out some other time."
The half-elf then casts about to get his bearings and make sure they're following the most-used trail. "I think we stick to this track and continue south. The natives probably use the trail to get around from the island interior to the coast. We might as well follow it to where it ends. If we get in over our heads and have to run for it, maybe we make a beeline to that structure over there. It might be more defensible than anything else we'd find available."
With that, he looks back over the group, gauging their readiness to push on. His gaze finally settles on Origen, who seems belabored more than the others.
"You're looking a bit green there, Origen," he calls attention to the man's pallor, "You coming down with something? How're you holding up?"
Torden takes Isandril's words to heart. He breaths in deeply and the grins.
"Indeed, tales to report.
"Let us continue south. I will stay near the rear and keep my eyes and ears peeled for anyone who dares track this group through the jungle. And I'll try to be as quiet as I can."
"These plants continues to fascinate me, I will have to study it more closely and write about it some."
"Hey did you see that bird in yonder tree . . . magnificent plumage, mayhaps I could sketch it."
"Look here at this lizard . . ." Torden watches the small reptile scurry into the undergrowth and suddenly remembers his dreams of vipers and moves as close to the center of the path as possible, eyes flitting back and forth to the foliage and what it may hide.
"You're looking a bit green there, Origen," he calls attention to the man's pallor, "You coming down with something? How're you holding up?"
Origen responds, "Witt, I'd feel better if we were on a ship's deck, watching this island vanish into the distance. But in the meantime, we have some cannibals to avoid. I'll get sick later."
Despite Origen's pretended nonchalance, you're sure that he's much more worried than he admits.
"These plants continues to fascinate me, I will have to study it more closely and write about it some."
Isandril stays focused on the task at hand, his eyes moving from the ground to the surrounding vegetation for signs of others passing by recently. However, as the half-elf looks back, the tracker turns for a moment as well.
"Is everyone alright?" He asks just as a soft chuckle escapes his lips noticing Torden's preoccupation with his surroundings. "Ah, I see you are once again in a pleasant mood, Master Ironcask. Good, good."
"Witt, I'd feel better if we were on a ship's deck, watching this island vanish into the distance. But in the meantime, we have some cannibals to avoid. I'll get sick later."
Jonagher has a good enough eye at reading people so as to not be fooled by Origen's nonchalance or self-imposed bravery. He meets the sorcerer's eyes in a way that lets him know he can perceive the truth of the matter, but without giving it away to the others.
"I'd gladly join you on that ship." He cinches one of his belts a little tighter to hold his quiver of arrows in place, then adds, "If we have to run, and you should happen to fall behind, you make sure you call out and let us know."
The grim reality to the half-elf's mind is that regardless of what kind of sickness might be slowing Origen down, it seems unlikely that running will be much of an option for them. More likely, they'd have to stop and make a stand if they wanted to ensure their friend made it back to camp.
With those thoughts weighing heavily on him, Jonagher readies his bow again and nocks an arrow in case they run across a cannibal sentry or hunting party along the way.
"Let's move on," he encourages everyone. As he moves up front with Isandril, he whispers for the elf to set a slow pace, hinting he'll need to take his time while checking for traps, but he secretly does so to conserve Origen's strength instead.
He meets the sorcerer's eyes in a way that lets him know he can perceive the truth of the matter, but without giving it away to the others.
Origen smiles a little stiffly and looks away. So much for deflecting his concern with bravado. I just hope that it's a jungle sickness and not something worse. He winces as his arms cramp again.
. . . "If we have to run, and you should happen to fall behind, you make sure you call out and let us know."
Origen responds, a bit softly, "If it comes to a chase, we'll likely have to stand and fight so that we don't get split up." He glances at Torden.
Origen follows behind Torden and the scouts. As he walks, he looks around, wary for more native blinds.
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Yuuwa looks askew at Origen and Jonagher but otherwise maintains her nonchalance, apparently focusing instead on how much noise she makes while tripping over roots, banging her shield against trees before regaining balance.
Dice roll[spoiler]Sense Motive
None too quietly, "Give me a sea-slicked deck, awashed with flotsam during a midnight squall, I can walk with ease. A simple tromp through a island paradise in during the day ought be as simple. Aye, putting this island in our stern wake would gladden my heart too"
She is keeping pace, obstinately in the middle of the group. Hopefully not so close to the scouts as to give away their position, yet ahead of Origen and Torden who aren't as well armored. Her trident gets caught up in another overhanging vine, frustrated she yanks it out, ripping the vine and leaving clear evidence of passage. Speaking to no one in particular, "Note to self, next time I get stranded on an island, pack a suitable weapon."
As the group gathers back on the road, the decision is made to continue following it to the south. The road has a slight decline, towards the south, with the path slightly curving to left, south by southeast.
The jungle is not far from the road here, and to the west (right side of the path) you see that there is obviously a hill or so such under that massive canopy.
There is a break in the canopy to the east, and you can see another ridge, opening up over a small sound, or bay.
Origen pays more attention to his own discomfort than the jungle around.
"Hold up here," Jonagher asserts, finally feeling a bit more alert and responsible for the party's safety in this part of the jungle, "There's another snare line. There. See?"
"What is that you say Jonagher? Snakes? Are there snakes about?"
Torden again looks to the underbrush for any movement.
"Hold up here," Jonagher asserts, finally feeling a bit more alert and responsible for the party's safety in this part of the jungle, "There's another snare line. There. See?"
Isandril stops at the half-elf's warning and looks towards the part of the road his companion is pointing. "Quite a few of the nasty things, are there not?" His comment is rather off-handed and accompanied by a soft sigh before he continues. "So, will you be doing the honors Jonagher?"
"Snakes? Snares?" She pokes the underbrush with her trident. "Oh. I see the snare line. Thats good. Didn't see that. Hmm. You gonna spring it?"
"Springing it may call undue attention to our presence here. We've got to be close to their camp by now. I've got a different idea in mind. I'm gonna see if we can't release the tension in that trip wire a bit more slowly so it doesn't violently snap back. Or, failing that, maybe I can just tie it off instead of leaving it ready to spring."
Origen, and Jonagher notice the trap as they come around the corner.
Jonagher steps forward, and begins to study the trap. Mere moments pass, before he is able to discern how this trap works.
As the group creeps forward, being mindful of the path, they come to the crest of a small hill, and see an active cannibal camp.
Nestled at the base of a lighthouse, there are perhaps 2 free standing huts that you can see. There is also another medium sized structure connected to the lighthouse. The Lighthouse looms over the camp.
Dusk is falling, and the only light to speak of is from a large bonfire in the middle of a large open area. There are perhaps 4 or 5 figures sitting around the fire. They are eating, and seem to be gnawing large bones with meat on them, like a turkey leg but slightly bigger.
You can hear a shuffling noise, indicating an animal nearby, but it certainly sounds bigger than your average house cat or dog.
You take all this in silently, looking about for guards. You suddenly spot two, sitting on a guard platform, 10 feet above the jungle floor on stilts. They haven't spotted you yet, but they seem vigilant.
Origen tries to stay quiet, and he looks at Jonagher and Isandril for any signals.