"Well, you seem rather angry," Isandril cannot help but quip, even though he knows the cannibal in front of him probably does not understand him. Before he even finishes his sentence, the elf strikes again with a sword swipe at his foe's abdomen before immediately following with a second one aimed at the man's throat.
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Yuuwa listens and focuses on the cannibal in front of her, worried about her party getting wounded and ending this as soon as possible.
Yuuwa takes a 5' step forward, Sees only the cannibal in front of her threatening Isandril, knowing that the need for stealth has passed, chooses to use an electrical arc as intimidation and light up the darkness briefly as a tracer.
She smiles grimly, muttering "That oughta do it. Now where is my trident?" She locates it and moves toward the next sounds of battle.
Brynmor grunts from the blow, as blood trickles down his right thigh. He parries another frenzied attack from the frothing maniac in front of him and answers with a backhanded sweep aimed at the man's exposed midriff.
Attack C4 w/Greatsword
Dmg
Jonagher's slice takes the cannibal in the jawbone and cheek, causing blood to spray out on the trail. The cannibal howls and turns to face Jonagher, grimacing, and cursing...[He]...brings his blade down in a vicious and crude overhand chop. His timing off, as his muscles bulge. He moves slow enough that Jonagher easily dodges out of the way.
"That's it...overreach, you big lout," Jonagher hisses. Even as he battles his opponent, he looks past the man to note how the rest of the battle is going for his friends. Surprised to see a stranger wielding a greatsword in their midst, he has little time to give it much thought. But at least the newcomer is keeping some of the cannibals occupied.
Yuuwa's flash of electricity then backlights his opponent and Jonagher reacts with a similar lightning fast speed. He flashes the blade in his hand at the cannibal's face to get him to raise his weapon arm to defend against the attack. Then, ducking under the barbarian's heavy arm, he pivots and spins, taking a step around him to whip the blade back and into an arc aimed for his kidney.
Origen moves forward, and fires an acidic ray...but fires wide.
Torden twirls his hammer in a defensive swing, ready to defend his companions against all comers.
Yuuwa's electrical arc pops between her outstretched hands and the cannibal in front of of Isandril. His flesh sizzles where the arc strikes him, and his skin is burnt to a crisp around the wound. The barbarian drops to his knees with a confused look etched onto his dead face.
Jonagher's eyes twitch to his true target a moment too soon, and the cannibal barely counters, reducing the effectiveness of the attack. Rather than skewering the kidney, Jonagher merely scores a deep slash across the barbarian's side.
Brynmor's backhanded sweep misses from the darkness.
Isandril, seeing the scout drop before him, flashes forward and brings his blade forward to slice the cannibal engaged with the new-comer human with a greatsword. His blade scores a hit, as the barbarian grunts and screams in rage.
The cannibal stuck in the initial trap, flexes bulging muscles, and literally rips the trap apart, freeing himself. He slowly gets up, standing and drawing his blade.
The fourth cannibal in line, fighting Brynmor and now Isandril, ducks under Brynmor's swing, and slashes out with his broken blade...and his swing easily goes wide from not being able to clearly see his opponent.
The last cannibal fighting Jonagher slashes out into the darkness, and mangages to score a hit. The cannibal seems surprised as his blade connects with something other than shadows and darkness...
Origen hears the sounds of combat in front of him. A shaft of half-obscured moonlight momentarily illuminates Jonagher as he exchanges blows with another of the savages.
Again Origen moves toward the fight, firing a ray of acid into the darkness.
But the darkness again tricks his eyes, and the ray misses Jonagher's opponent.
Isandril takes a moment to acknowledge the large human with a smile and a quip, before striking at the nearest cannibal, this time his attacks taking the form of quick thrusts. "Well, you seem to lack the distinct craziness of this jungle's more usual denizens."
"I swear, I've had about enough of you," Jonagher snarls as his opponent scores a hit. To take some of the sting out of the blow, the half-elf twists in place, allowing him to barely dodge Origen's incoming ray of acid as it soars between them. "Hey, watch it!" he calls out.
But, in truth, he welcomes the distraction and adds another of his own as he flashes his blade towards the cannibal's face again to keep him off balance. Then, Jonagher lunges fully for the man's heart, his dagger leading the way.
Cursing at his own sloppy swordmanship in the darkness. Brynmor grabs the opportunity to attack his now distracted opponent with another slash, aimed to take his head off, this time
As the barbarian lunatic falls dying to the ground, Brynmor registers Isandril's comment. "Actually, that is the best thing I have heard in a few weeks. Now, let's wrap this up..."
Brynmor starts climbing the slope towards the formerly trapped cannibal to finish him off.
Origen moves and casts again, losing his target in the shadows.
Torden moves forward, trying to place himself logically between the cannibal on the hill, and the cannibal that the others are fighting. He twirls his hammer defensively, ready to strike to protect his companions.
Yuuwa moves forward to stand next to Origen, ready to attack the first cannibal that comes at Origen.
Jonagher successfully feints his opponent, allowing him to bury his dagger deep. The cannibal drops and falls backward off the blade, blood pumping out of a whole in his chest.
Brynmor cleanly cuts the cannibals head from its shoulders, and turns to move up the ridge to the recently freed cannibal.
Isandril ducks under the flying head, and rushes up the hill to the last surviving cannibal. Using his momentum moving up the hill, Isandril transfers it all to a powerful thrust straight at the cannibals heart. The blade is buried up to the hilt, the blade poking out the back. The cannibal drops to the ground, looking into Isandril's eyes in surprise as he drops to the ground. Blood flows out of the wound once Isandril's blade pulls free.
The gully suddenly goes quiet...the sounds of combat cease, and the normal sounds of the night return on this cursed island.
Brynmor observes the elf finishing the last cannibal off with interest. "You 're quick too...", he adds.
Pulling a rag from his belt, he starts cleaning his sword before he puts it back in the scabbard across his back. He picks up his crossbow from where he had dropped it, wincing as he does so. It's not clear whether the wincing came from the wound on his thigh, or the muddy crossbow.
Observing the scene, he turns to the others: "That was pretty efficient, indeed. We might even make it out of this place alive. To be honest I was beginning to get concerned as the days passed one after another in this god-forsaken place. But then you guys appear... Hmm, I might even get religious again."
He seems to be in a good mood. Drawing a broad bladed shortsword he then proceeds to check the fallen one by one, lightly prodding the bodies with sword and boot.
Realizing he gets a couple of stares:
"What? We did go into considerable trouble killing them. No sense in leaving a job half-done, right? Especially in this kind of business..."
Origen stares down at the cannibal's body in front of him.
Observing the scene, he turns to the others: "That was pretty efficient, indeed. We might even make it out of this place alive. To be honest I was beginning to get concerned as the days passed one after another in this god-forsaken place. But then you guys appear... Hmm, I might even get religious again."
Origen looks over at the sword-wielding stranger standing next to the elf. He tenses for a second, then realizes that it couldn't be another cannibal.
"Who's your friend, Isandril?"
Drawing a broad bladed shortsword he then proceeds to check the fallen one by one, lightly prodding the bodies with sword and boot.
"Right. . . check . . . dead."
Origen bends down by one of the slain cannibals. He begins rummaging through the corpse's equipment, taking everything that could be a tool or weapon and dumping them into a pile near the body.
Origen still seems feverish and unsteady. You're not sure what's affecting him, but he seems a bit worse than before.
Origen seems feverish and unsteady.
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Yuuwa takes in the darkened battlescene. There is much blood hidden in shadows. "In better times and location, I'd consign these cannibals to the sea with Gozreh's blessing. Now I think we need to set ourselves to the gruesome task of removing thier bodies from this path while I ask Gozreh watch over them and prevent thier flesh from being animated."
She asks for Origen's help in dragging one of the bodies into the underbrush. Says a prayer to Gozreh, then proceeds to another until she is done. She quietly makes a heal check on the assmbled crew and newcomer, and expends a healing burst if needed/desired.
Yuuwa introduces herself to Brynmor, "Lets chit chat on the way out of here. We've stirred up a hornets nest and we've been hustling since sunrise. You know a safe place close by or perhaps you'd care to follow us to one of ours?"
As an aside to Origen "Gozreh's healing that I've channelled does not appear to have an effect on you. You may have been poisoned or come down with an island sickness. I shall ask for guidance to better manage this ailment of yours. Can you hold up until we are safer waters?" She will pace herself alongside Origen until we stop. Watching him for additional symptoms to identify what ails him.
She asks for Origen's help in dragging one of the bodies into the underbrush.
Origen nods, then silently helps pull the corpse off the trail.
As an aside to Origen ". . . Can you hold up until we are safer waters?"
Origen starts to mumble a protest, but the look in Yuuwa's eye stops him from trying to fool her.
He finally says, "No time now. . . I'll manage."
As Yuuwa begins to roll back Origen’s sleeve, she feels something move underneath the fabric. With an oath, she recoils, but then carefully pulls back the fabric.
Several black worms writhe around Origen’s wrists as they burrow into the swollen flesh of his forearms. Thick as a man’s finger, they are at least a hand’s breadth long. With a wet, tearing sound and a trickle of gray fluid, one of the creatures pulls itself partially out. It pauses for a moment, its energy spent.
But the wounds in Origen’s arms aren’t bleeding. You realize that the black worms aren’t parasites: They’re tentacles. And they seem to be growing longer.
Origen stares down at the cannibal's body in front of him.
Observing the scene, he turns to the others: "That was pretty efficient, indeed. We might even make it out of this place alive. To be honest I was beginning to get concerned as the days passed one after another in this god-forsaken place. But then you guys appear... Hmm, I might even get religious again."Origen looks over at the sword-wielding stranger standing next to the elf. He tenses for a second, then realizes that it couldn't be another cannibal.
"Who's your friend, Isandril?"
"Now, that is a good question," the elf agrees as he busies himself with cleaning his blades on what little clothing the now dead savages seem to be wearing. "So, who might you be... friend?" He asks the question in a friendly enough manner, seeing as the large human, although a stranger, did fight alongside him and the others during the melee.
While introductions are taken care of, Isandril sheathes his swords and proceeds to collect Origen's crossbow from where he dropped it earlier before going to return it to the sorcerer. "You are certainly getting worse. I am no healer, but I am not blind either. We need to rest, gather our strength. And you seem to need it even more than the rest of us, Origen."
The gully suddenly goes quiet...the sounds of combat cease, and the normal sounds of the night return on this cursed island.
"Well, now...wasn't that fun?" Jonagher quips. He wipes his blade on a nearby fern and tucks it back into his boot.
"That was pretty efficient, indeed. We might even make it out of this place alive. To be honest I was beginning to get concerned as the days passed one after another in this god-forsaken place. But then you guys appear...Hmm, I might even get religious again."
Jonagher quirks an eyebrow at the man's pronouncement. "I'd say we are a bit at a loss to explain your appearance here, sir. But, judging by the worn nature of your clothes, I'd say you've been here a bit longer than we have."
"Who's your friend, Isandril?"
"Now, that's a good question," the elf agrees as he busies himself with cleaning his blades on what little clothing the now dead savages seem to be wearing. "So, who might you be...friend?"
"And what ship did you come in on...?" Jonagher adds.
"Lets chit chat on the way out of here. We've stirred up a hornets nest and we've been hustling since sunrise. You know a safe place close by or perhaps you'd care to follow us to one of ours?"
"Yuuwa's right," Jonagher concedes, "There's more of them likely headed this way. Even if they can't see as well in the dark, we left them plenty of fire for taking a few makeshift torches with them. It's better if we get off the trail and hide ourselves before the sun comes up. Origen over there has had it rough, too. Island fever, maybe? You should rest. And while you do, the rest of us can question this fellow on how he got here and how he's survived..."
"So, how about it, friend?" he asks Brynmor, "Where'd you come from? I assume you have a camp nearby? Are there any others with you?" As he talks, the half-elf restrings his shorbow, prepared to lead the group to safety, provided Brynmor shows them the way.
Jonagher quirks an eyebrow at the man's pronouncement. "I'd say we are a bit at a loss to explain your appearance here, sir. But, judging by the worn nature of your clothes, I'd say you've been here a bit longer than we have."
Origen Leanthris wrote:
"Who's your friend, Isandril?"Isandril Velahrn wrote:
"Now, that's a good question," the elf agrees as he busies himself with cleaning his blades on what little clothing the now dead savages seem to be wearing. "So, who might you be...friend?""And what ship did you come in on...?" Jonagher adds.
The big man sheaths his shortsword and takes a couple of moments studying the group before he replies: "The name's Brynmor Drakh; I was aboard Helene en route to Sargava, when we crashed here three weeks ago. Ever since I have been trying to stay low and alive and perhaps find a way out. Let's say my hopes weren't up."
"Yuuwa's right," Jonagher concedes, "There's more of them likely headed this way. Even if they can't see as well in the dark, we left them plenty of fire for taking a few makeshift torches with them. It's better if we get off the trail and hide ourselves before the sun comes up. Origen over there has had it rough, too. Island fever, maybe? You should rest. And while you do, the rest of us can question this fellow on how he got here and how he's survived..."
"So, how about it, friend?" he asks Brynmor, "Where'd you come from? I assume you have a camp nearby? Are there any others with you?" As he talks, the half-elf restrings his shorbow, prepared to lead the group to safety, provided Brynmor shows them the way.
"I am alone... But you are right;" he adds glancing around, "we sure made a racket. We should be moving. I do have a place where we can go; it seems to be relatively safe, although its not much too look at. There's a small clearing next to a stream just over the ridge. Those raving lunatics seem to have a particular aversion to an old hut over there. It has kept me reasonably safe for quite some time. We can talk more there."
He then proceeds to climb the ridge and lead the party to his shelter.
As the others start to follow Brynmor, Jonagher hangs back next to Isandril to speak with him a low tone.
In Elven:
"Follow him closely. And watch for any kind of trick," he whispers, "He's been out here for three weeks. There's no telling how desperate he may have become. In the meantime, I'll watch our rear to make sure we're not followed."
He then takes up the trailing position in their traveling band, making sure to keep an arrow nocked in case he needs to fire on an approaching cannibal or any other danger this stranger might lead them into.
As the others start to follow Brynmor, Jonagher hangs back next to Isandril to speak with him a low tone.
In Elven:
** spoiler omitted **He then takes up the trailing position in their traveling band, making sure to keep an arrow nocked in case he needs to fire on an approaching cannibal or any other danger this stranger might lead them into.
1d20+9
The elven warrior moves in silence, his eyes mostly on their new acquaintance as he keeps close to him during the trek. Still, every now and then he does afford their surroundings a look, both to stay alert in case anything dangerous rears its usually ugly head and so that he commits the path they are taking to memory.
Origen stumbles onwards with occasional assistance from Yuuwa. He begins muttering to himself.
The thrill of the battle--the adrenaline--leave Torden and he takes in the carnage. He finds this fight more unsettling than others given that the dead are humans. The fact that they seem to have resorted to a base (and perhaps evil) form of existence is little comfort.
Finally shaking off the effects, he takes to following the rest. "Well met Mr. Drakh. Your arrival was most fortuitous. Please, please you all, my legs are not as long as yours and this jungle undergrowth hinders me even more."
"You seemed to do well enough fleeing from those cannibals," Jonagher drily comments as he shepherds the slower dwarf along at the rear of the party, "I don't think I've ever seen a dwarf move that fast. Though I suspect the lack of light slowed the others down for you a bit...and your eyes gave you a more sure-footed advantage."
Flummoxed by the comment, or perhaps winded from the previous events and the climb to the shelter, Torden huffs a bit before responding to Jonagher.
"Fleeing? I was not fleeing. The plan was to fall back, no? A tactical maneuver. I simply . . . executed the plan better than you all."
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"Fleeing? I was not fleeing. The plan was to fall back, no? A tactical maneuver. I simply . . . executed the plan better than you all."
Yuuwa chuckles at that. "I've got to remember that line. You speak truth, Master Bard. Were we all that honest, the world would be a wonderful place."
She pauses for a quick perception check for her surroundings and Heal check (watching movement, favoring of limbs, perspiration, pallor etc) for Origen without interrupting his pace.
She says nothing but purses her lips and then moves on once again alongside him.
Origen watches his companions with barely concealed impatience, amazed that they are crashing through the underbrush and conversing as loudly if they were in an academic debate. Even the normally quiet Jonagher is clumsy and loud. We're lucky. If the wind hadn't picked up so much, the cannibals would be on us.
"How much further?"
Funny how much the wind sounds like a voice sometimes . . . if I didn't know better . . . .
Out of the corner of his eye, Origen sees a sudden movement in the jungle underbrush. He turns to face it, ready to cast a spell, but sees nothing.
After the third time that it happens, he tries to stop reacting, aware that Yuuwa is watching him. Just fever and imagination. I have to ignore it . . . and whatever's saying those things . . . .
To avoid listening, Origen tries to narrow his attention to the feet of the person in front of him. One step . . . at a time.
"Well met Mr. Drakh. Your arrival was most fortuitous. Please, please you all, my legs are not as long as yours and this jungle undergrowth hinders me even more."
The big man sighs. The dwarf's pleasant demeanor amid the carnage is surprisingly welcome and reassuring: "I am glad to have found you. As I said earlier my hopes were not exactly up of ever leaving this place. At least leaving it alive and in one piece. Try to stay behind me. We cannot exactly clear a path without leaving a trail even a blind man could follow, but I might be able to make things a bit easier."
"How much further?"
Brynmor stops abruptly and half-turns to take a look at the party following him. Realizing everyone tensing momentarily, he grunts and takes a moment to look at Origen.
"We 're nearly there; a couple hundred yards, no more. You look under the weather magic user. Are you ill or something?"
"We 're nearly there; a couple hundred yards, no more. You look under the weather magic user. Are you ill or something?"
"He's just got a touch of island fever," Jonagher speaks up a bit defensively for the out of breath sorcerer, "But he more than held his own against those cannibals. Lead on. And let's keep the conversation down to a minimum. We can hide our trail all we want, but it'll do no good if they find us by sound alone."
"We 're nearly there; a couple hundred yards, no more. You look under the weather magic user. Are you ill or something?"
Origen blinks a couple of times, then focuses on Brynmor.
The sorceror responds in a loud whisper, "Ill? Or something, yes."
"He's just got a touch of island fever," Jonagher speaks up a bit defensively for the out of breath sorcerer, "But he more than held his own against those cannibals. Lead on. And let's keep the conversation down to a minimum. We can hide our trail all we want, but it'll do no good if they find us by sound alone."
"Thanks, Witt. Try not . . . slow you down."
After a few moments, he speaks again. "Drakh, your ship . . . any other survivors?"
To Origen, it seems to take an hour to reach Brynmor Drakh's shelter. When it suddenly appears out of the jungle darkness, Origen reaches out to Yuuwa's shoulder as if seeking support. He mutters something to her.
"Hearing voices. Couldn't tell . . . not just fever. Maybe curse from last expedition. Careful."
Origen seems to lose his train of thought, and he starts plodding toward the hut again.
"Well, we seem to finally be here," Isandril mutters. Turning to Brynmor, he continues with a smile, "Quite a nice place you have here. A bit out of the way, but I suppose that is the price one pays for peace, quiet and avoiding ending up as the main course for a village full of cannibals."
His keen hearing picking up Origen's words, the elf's hands move almost instinctively to rest on his swords' pommels. However, his stance remains relaxed enough, even though his face betrays a hint of concern, and he makes no attempt to draw his blades.
Jonagher notes not only Origen's fevered whisper to Yuuwa, but his eyes immediately shift to measure if Brynmor or Isandril might have heard it, too. Unlike the newest members of their band, the half-elf knows a bit more about the sorcerer's history than they do, after all. So he tenses just a bit to determine if he might need to defend his friend again.
"Well, we seem to finally be here," Isandril mutters. Turning to Brynmor, he continues with a smile, "Quite a nice place you have here. A bit out of the way, but I suppose that is the price one pays for peace, quiet and avoiding ending up as the main course for a village full of cannibals."
"A fair bargain as far as I'm concerned," Jonagher offers into the conversation as he sets down his pack and looks over Brynmor's campsite and shelter. "This is a bit better made than what we built down by the beach. Defensible, too, I think...you've got an eye for survival," he notes, trying to move the topic of conversation to something other than Origen.
An overgrown jungle path leads to a small clearing where a
partially collapsed hut stands on the banks of a gurgling stream.
The hut itself seems to have been made from a combination
of driftwood and tree trunks, with a roof of wide leaves and
strips of rotten canvas sail. The front door to the hut hangs
partially ajar. Dozens of bones and skulls—quite obviously of
human origin—decorate the hut and the surrounding area,
each bearing numerous nicks and scratches.
"Yep, this is it." Brynmor chuckles at the suggestion that this is a nice place. "You got humor alright. But aye, it is pretty convenient. There's fresh water and those crazed apes don't seem too eager to come over here. I did not make it myself though. It has stood here for quite a while."
Brynmor can't manage to hide a sharp glance towards Origen as the sorcerer whispers feverishly to Yuuwa. He instinctively clutches something fastened on his tattered cloak.
His face seems set in stone as he turns to Jonagher:
"Survival... Yes, I 've had to learn. The hard way. In any case, how did you people end up in this place?"
"Yep, this is it." Brynmor chuckles at the suggestion that this is a nice place. "You got humor alright. But aye, it is pretty convenient. There's fresh water and those crazed apes don't seem too eager to come over here. I did not make it myself though. It has stood here for quite a while."
"I find the humor helps pass the time far better than the depression that set in for our remaining comrades," Jonagher replies with a half-smile on his face, "After all, you can't go through life cursing the gods for every little twist of fate they send your way, now can you? Not if you're ever actually going to do anything about reversing it, that is..."
"Survival...Yes, I 've had to learn. The hard way. In any case, how did you people end up in this place?"
"The same way everyone comes to Smuggler's Shiv, I suppose," Jonagher explains, "Our ship crashed on the rocks. Under some pretty unusual circumstances, as well. Last we can all remember, we were having dinner with the captain...then, we woke up on the beach beside a pile of our things...and the Jenivere smashed on the shoals about a hundred yards offshore."
"We found no sign of the captain, though someone obviously got us off that ship while we were unconscious...or drugged...or something," he continues, "The ship's cook made the most gods-awful meals you can imagine, you see. And there must've been something in that soup. Not that we would have been able to distinguish it from the lousy gruel the night before. We swam back out to the wreck and found everyone else gone or missing. All except one. A gruesome mangled body. I'm not sure if some beast of the sea got him...or if someone from the ship did him in. Looked like he had teeth marks on him, though."
"Since then, we've been organizing the survivors. There's a few more of us back at camp. Those cannibals tried to carry off one of our own when we were exploring the island, but we rescued the lad before they could get too far. They weren't really all that smart, mind you...'cause they tried taking the biggest and heaviest of our band. If they'd taken Torden over here they might've had him in their stewpot before sundown. But Bran was heavy enough he slowed them down so the rest of us could catch up. They probably thought they'd make a bigger meal out of him.
"We've been keeping an eye out for their camp for awhile now," he adds, "Figuring they'll make another go of it. Once we found it, we decided a little pre-emptive strike might be in order. As long as we can whittle their numbers down, we'll make sure they won't have the strength to threaten us again. And we hit them pretty hard, too. Not just the ones on the trail..."
The half-elf looks around at the hut again. "You must have some powerful mojo of your own if you've fended them off this long. You say they're reluctant to come here? I wonder why? Have you looked around much? What am I saying? Of course you have. It's not like there's much else to do when you're stranded on an island, right?"
"So..." Jonagher draws out the word as he winds down, "Now that you know our story, how 'bout you tell us yours, Brynmor? What twist of fate brought you here, as well? I imagine it might have something to do with that clasp on your cloak there, yes?"
"Heh," Isandril chuckles as he listens to the half-elf tell their story. "Torden is a dwarf, Cousin. He is probably as tough as tree bark. Is it really any wonder the cannibals did not bother with him?"
"No offense meant, of course, Master Ironcask," he quickly offers the bard with a friendly and mischievous wink. Still, despite his light-hearted remarks, his hands he still keeps close to his swords, as his eyes dart towards Origen now and then during their conversation with the human warrior. He makes it a point to stay close to the mage, though whose safety he is looking out for is not readily apparent.
"Torden is a dwarf, Cousin. He is probably as tough as tree bark. Is it really any wonder the cannibals did not bother with him?"
"Oh, I doubt they were thinking with anything other than their stomachs, my friend. And their eyes were much bigger than their stewpot, apparently...."
He then pauses for dramatic effect.
"Besides, I simply said they'd have been able to put the dwarf in the stewpot by sundown...not that they'd actually be able to digest him. Hah!"
Brynmor seems to be listening carefuly to Jonagher's story, although anyone paying attention to the scene would notice that he also casts concerned glances to the sorcerer now and then. He chuckles half-heartedly at the well-intended jokes.
He seems deep in thought for a few moments before he answers:
"Those are pretty unusual circumstances for a shipwreck indeed... It almost seems as if you were set up so to speak." Then almost as an afterthought he adds with just a hint of sarcasm: "I bet the rest of survivors have no idea what went on, of course..."
Not really expecting an answer he goes on with a shrug:
"My story is not as mysterious as that. Roughly three weeks ago, I was aboard Helene, a merchant ship bound for Sargava. A couple of days away from here, mind you this is just a guess, we ran into bad weather. That morning the sky took the ugly color of lead and strong winds picked up; even a land-dweller like me could tell that a nasty storm was brewing."
"By afternoon, all hell had broken loose. The ship was being tossed around like a toy for a day and a half, and the crew seemed unable to do anything. On the second night we smashed into rocks. We had no clue that we were close to land, we were completely disoriented for two days, you see. The collision was brutal. Men and supplies smashed into whatever was nearby with jaw-breaking force. I probably blacked out hitting a beam."
"When I woke up, it was morning, although which morning I am not sure. No one else was alive. I managed to gather my things and some supplies and get off the wreck. I initially found a place to hide near the shipwreck and spend the rest of the day and night safe from wild animals. I could also keep an eye on the wreck in case it drew any attention."
"Around the afternoon a group of those crazed savages came. They started looking around and gathering the dead. I was puzzled, but then everything was made clear when some decided they were too hungry to wait until they get to their filthy thorp. You get my meaning. What was even more unsettling was the fact that I could sometimes understand roughly what they were saying."
"I waited for them to leave and then I packed and started some scouting. I practically followed them from afar to their stinking hamlet and kept wathcing them for a few days. I managed to avoid any run-ins; if people don't know you 're alive they won't exactly come looking for you, right? In any case, I eventually found that they seemed quite reluctant, to put it mildly to come over to this part of the woods. This is how I discovered this place. I think I have an idea of why those apes don't like it. But we might have more pressing matters at hand."
He takes a deep breath, seemingly lost in memories for a second:
"Funny you should mention my clasp," he says as he touches it once again. "It is a thing from the past. I served some time as a mercenary not too long ago..."
He seems to shudder momentarily as from a sudden chill as he starts playing nervously with the leather strap securing his shortsword in its scabbard.
"You know," and he looks meaningfully at Origen "last time our witch was ill-or-something, a lot of good men ended up dead. They died quite ugly deaths too. It was sheer luck that kept me and a few others alive to take care of the mess, before more people died horribly."
"You know," and he looks meaningfully at Origen "last time our witch was ill-or-something, a lot of good men ended up dead. They died quite ugly deaths too. It was sheer luck that kept me and a few others alive to take care of the mess, before more people died horribly."
Origen is too ill to notice much around him, but Brynmor's pointed comment penetrates the fog.
"Precaution only . . . ." He looks at his other companions. "But you deserve . . . truth."
"Torden, Jonagher . . . you know that I . . . only known survivor . . . my father's expedition to Sargava. But came back . . .
altered . . . ."
Origen tries to continue, but doubles over and falls to the ground. His arms and body twitch in the grip of some fever-induced seizure.
Jonagher draws his blade in a swift motion at Brynmor's insinuation and steps protectively between him and Origen. Even as the sorcerer tries to speak and doubles-over to the ground behind him, the half-elf doesn't break eye contact with the stranger in their midst.
"He's just...sick..." he asserts, "It's something he's been wrestling with for awhile now. Let him be and he'll recover. We came here partly to learn what happened to his prior expedition...and to him. But the exertions of trying to survive on this island aren't doing him any favors."
"Yuuwa?" he calls over his shoulder, "Anything you can do to ease his pain?"
The human takes a small step back reactively as Jonagher's blade hisses free from its scabbard. He doens't draw a blade yet, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes as he curses in some harsh guttural language filled with hissing consonants.
He seems to struggle to control an almost animalistic rage mixed with some irrational, otherworldly fear as he hisses out again in Common, one heavily stressed word after another:
"I need to know that you friend is not possessed. Have you ever seen a fiend taking men apart limb from limb? Have you? I am not going through that same hell again. Ever."
Isandril sighs audibly. "Seriously? As if the cannibals and oversized crabs and skeletons and plant zombies are not enough, we are going to be turning on each other now?" The usually jovial elf's tone makes his exasperation at the scene unfolding before him clear enough.
"Put that blade away, Jonagher," he addresses the half-elf first. "I hardly think it is needed, since I do not believe the man will be attacking the first civilized folks he has seen in some time. Besides, I should think he is not foolish enough to try his chances against all of us even if he were so inclined." The last words he stresses out, intending them as a warning, before turning to Brynmor.
"And you would do well not to assume the worst after hearing a few words spoken by someone in a half-delirious state such as the one Origen finds himself. You have been in bad situations, fair enough. Still, it would be prudent to give people you have just met and fought beside the benefit of the doubt."
"Just as I am doing," he adds for all to hear, "seeing as how I know some of you only a fraction of time longer than others, considering how long I have lived already."
"Now," he finishes, his tone much calmer, "how about we see to making our friend and companion a little more comfortable until Yuuwa has a chance to figure out what is wrong with him, yes?"
"I need to know that you friend is not possessed. Have you ever seen a fiend taking men apart limb from limb? Have you? I am not going through that same hell again. Ever."
"I'd sooner trust Yuuwa's opinion on that than yours, stranger," Jonagher asserts, "She's proven herself a capable healer and Gozreh hears her prayers. So, a follower of the god of nature ought to be able to sort things out with our friend. Not someone speaking the same language as those cannibals..."
"Seriously? As if the cannibals and oversized crabs and skeletons and plant zombies are not enough, we are going to be turning on each other now?....Put that blade away, Jonagher....I hardly think it is needed, since I do not believe the man will be attacking the first civilized folks he has seen in some time. Besides, I should think he is not foolish enough to try his chances against all of us even if he were so inclined."
Jonagher hesitates at Isandril's admonishment, but continues to stare down Brynmor. After a moment of strained silence, he finally puts the sword away.
"And you would do well not to assume the worst after hearing a few words spoken by someone in a half-delirious state such as the one Origen finds himself. You have been in bad situations, fair enough. Still, it would be prudent to give people you have just met and fought beside the benefit of the doubt....Just as I am doing...seeing as how I know some of you only a fraction of time longer than others, considering how long I have lived already."
"Fair enough. This island and our situation makes it hard to trust anyone. Even moreso when we see demons and devils in the simplest of maladies..."
"...how about we see to making our friend and companion a little more comfortable until Yuuwa has a chance to figure out what is wrong with him, yes?"
Jonagher leaves the care of Origen to Yuuwa, Isandril, and Torden. All the better to keep a watchful eye on Brynmor while they work.
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Yuuwa watches the escalating tension and the expectant slow, albeit paranoid release. "Boys when you are done beating your chests like the island gorillas and established who is the "Alpha", please let me know. [stage whispering to herself] So glad I do not suffer from testeterone poisoning. I'm gonna help Origen over here a bit. Give us a bit of privacy whilst I figure out if I, Gozreh willing, can help him without you Alpha-males interfering."
Yuuwa guides Origen just outside the clearing, where the underbrush is a bit thicker, providing a screen from prying eyes and specifically sidelong paranoid glances. In a calm soft voice,"Origen, I'll do what I can for you. Any initial poisoned wounds/bites would have been healed by now and diseases can sometimes stay dormant for a while. How long have you suffered from this? Can you give me any clue as to what may have led to this? She places one hand upon his forehead, and with the other removes his Hat which may otherwise suppress symptoms he has. Unless he resists, she uses her free hand to continue to quick (without removing just moving aside or through the torn loose clothing) examination of his neck, upper body and arms, observing for pain, blisters, discoloration.
"
Yuuwa guides Origen just outside the clearing, where the underbrush is a bit thicker, providing a screen from prying eyes and specifically sidelong paranoid glances.
At the moment, Origen seems largely insensible to those around him, even Yuuwa's attempts to move him. His mumbling is now disjointed and not in Taldane.
Yuuwa
Whatever's happening, Origen's not faking his illness. You think that a closer examination could tell you much more, but he'll need to be carried if you want to move him out of the clearing first.
Jonagher
You recognize that Origen is mumbling in Aklo, but he's incoherent.
Torden
You recognize that Origen is mumbling in Aklo, though he doesn't look like he's coherent.
"I'd sooner trust Yuuwa's opinion on that than yours, stranger," Jonagher asserts, "She's proven herself a capable healer and Gozreh hears her prayers. So, a follower of the god of nature ought to be able to sort things out with our friend. Not someone speaking the same language as those cannibals..."
Taking the intended insult perhaps even further than meant, the mercenary seems to choke with anger.
"What?!? You dare associate me with those freaks at any level?""Put that blade away, Jonagher," he addresses the half-elf first. "I hardly think it is needed, since I do not believe the man will be attacking the first civilized folks he has seen in some time. Besides, I should think he is not foolish enough to try his chances against all of us even if he were so inclined."
"And you would do well not to assume the worst after hearing a few words spoken by someone in a half-delirious state such as the one Origen finds himself. You have been in bad situations, fair enough. Still, it would be prudent to give people you have just met and fought beside the benefit of the doubt."
Brynmor seems to ponder the elf's words for several moments all the while contuing the staring duel with Jonagher, before he draws a couple of deep breaths, and seems to calm down, almost literally deflating. His left hand returns to playing with the leather strap on the shortsword's scabbard; it seems to be a nervous tick, more than anything else now.
He finally shrugs awkwardly and turns to Isandril, seeing wisdom in the elf's words:
"You might be right. I sometimes worry too much about what-ifs. This is not the first time I 've been called paranoid. I have spent a lot of time here trusting no one but myself. Probably too much time, for my own good."
Yuuwa watches the escalating tension and the expectant slow, albeit paranoid release. "Boys when you are done beating your chests like the island gorillas and established who is the "Alpha", please let me know. [stage whispering to herself] So glad I do not suffer from testeterone poisoning. I'm gonna help Origen over here a bit. Give us a bit of privacy whilst I figure out if I, Gozreh willing, can help him without you Alpha-males interfering."
Brynmor scowls at being chastised.
"Why do women always think that whenever males fight, it is about who gets to play boss? I couldn't give a damn who leads your party. I just want to make it out of here alive. And I am pretty sure your overprotective buddy over there" looking at Jonagher, "wasn't exactly concerned about his throne, when he threatened to slit my throat a couple of moments ago. Contrary to popular belief we are not apes. But you 're right. This confrontation doesn't lead anywhere."
Realizing that Jonagher still watches him carefully, he grunts:
"I don't need a babysitter half-elf. I am not even going near your friend. If you are right, then I don't have to worry about anything, right? If you 're not... Well, it will be late anyway. I sure do hope that you are right. For everyone's sake, your suffering friend included."
With those words he turns and walks slowly towards the stream, scowling all the while. He seems unhappy at the turn of events and genuinely offended at The half-elfs insult. Once he reaches the stream he sits on a rock and starts cleaning his equipment.
"There's fresh water over here. You might need some..."
Jonagher remains coolly silent, even with Yuuwa's misinterpretation of his reasons for acting as he did...and with Brynmor's reaction. In the half-elf's mind, after all, Origen deserved better than the fate he suffered...as well as the distrust and suspicion cast his way. He also wouldn't stand idly by while others considered his friend a threat, especially not while the fever left the sorcerer incapable of defending or speaking for himself. And especially not when that suspicion came from a stranger who could potentially be just as crazed or untrustworthy as the cannibals living on this accursed island.
With Origen's sudden babbling, Jonagher's head finally turns. He seems to recognize some of the man's speech, but doesn't offer an interpretation for anyone. Instead, he shares a worried glance with Torden for the well-being of their friend.
Torden spends much of the discussion staring back into the jungle, looking for anyone or anything that might have followed them.
He only glances back to the group when is name is mentioned, but even then he finds himself quickly distracted by Origin and his condition. Torden shows no concern for the sorcerer and doesn't move to care for him. Rather Torden's brow knits in both curiosity and concern. Only the feel of Jonagher glancing at him, and some non-spoken communication between the two draws his gaze from Origen to the half-elf.
Did he hear what I heard Torden wonders to himself.
Origen convulses for a final moment, then lies still, his arms and legs splayed out. He seems unconscious.
Jonagher or Linguistics (DC 12)
Before Origen stopped babbling, you caught something about "worms"--or maybe "larvae"--and "incomplete."
Yuuwa
Origen is now unconscious. You think that he probably has a jungle fever, but you don't think that this is only from a fever.
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Origen:
Yuuwa assembles her gear beside Origen as she makes him comfortable as possible for a long night. "Gentlemen, Might I suggest that we turn in for the night? One of our first activities for tomorrow morning, making Origen a stretcher of sorts, in case we get company and need to move quickly. I doubt we'll get visitors tonight. I'll take first watch and monitor Origen." Yuuwa refreshes herself from the stream, nods her thanks to Brynmor and steps into the forest's edge where it is darkest, to listen and watch. Movement will only give her away.
Yuuwa assembles her gear beside Origen as she makes him comfortable as possible for a long night. "Gentlemen, Might I suggest that we turn in for the night? One of our first activities for tomorrow morning, making Origen a stretcher of sorts, in case we get company and need to move quickly. I doubt we'll get visitors tonight. I'll take first watch and monitor Origen." Yuuwa refreshes herself from the stream, nods her thanks to Brynmor and steps into the forest's edge where it is darkest, to listen and watch. Movement will only give her away.
Acknowledging Yuuwa's nod Brynmor rises and turns to the others.
"Aye. This is not a bad idea. We might as well get some rest while we can."
He then addresses Jonagher, his expression hard but sincere:
"And I guess we can take the second watch together. Since we do not exactly trust each other implicitly, I guess we would both sleep better if each of us knew what the other was doing. We 're jumpy enough as it is, so we hardly need any more misunderstandings."
"And I guess we can take the second watch together. Since we do not exactly trust each other implicitly, I guess we would both sleep better if each of us knew what the other was doing. We 're jumpy enough as it is, so we hardly need any more misunderstandings."
"That would be the logical course," Jonagher quips, using humor as always to try and defuse a tense situation, "But I'm rarely logical, I'm afraid. I'm far more practical instead."
"Isandril and I usually take the twilight hours when the light is dim," he explains, "We see far better in those conditions. Torden is best for the deepest night with his dwarven eyes. And Yuuwa, Origen, and yourself are usually better suited for when the sun starts to rise or just before it goes down. Since it's already nighttime, it might make more sense for Torden and I to stay up together. But if you prefer to keep an eye on me, you're more than welcome to join us."