Artagan rushed to Santoval's side. He reached out, placing his hands on the raging barbarian's thigh. He had unwillingly done this once before as he washed his brother's scrapped knees. That moment was clear in his mind, the feeling that overcame him, the warm glow on his hands, the echo of his god's name through his mind, and finaly the closing of his brother's wounds.
His hands started to tingle as they had done before... the warm glow begining to eminate from them as he audibly prayed for Sarenrae's healing hand.
The last wolf ferociously strikes back at Yarroth, tearing the half-elf's throat. He collapses into a heap, his life slipping away. The wolf growls as he stands over the ranger's limp form.
Anton slashes down with both hands on his sword at the remaining wolf.
"You bastards! Come at me then, and see how you fare." he says, taunting the wolf to attack.
The wolf deftly avoids Anton's swing.
The blood that had been pouring from the deep puncture wound in Yarroth's throat, slows to a trickle, then clots. While his breathing is still ragged in his unconscious state, he seems to have stabilized.
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Santoval had not even noticed the pain, or his wounds, before they disappeared in momentary burst of warmth. Without a word of thanks, he moved away from Artagan, the rage narrowing his focus such that the only thing he perceived was the remaining wolf. Not being a threat, Artagan was simply ignored.
As Santoval steps forward, his sword whistling down at the remaining wolf, his foot caught on an unseen root, causing him to lose his balance for a moment and overcorrect his swing. The sword stroke plowed uselessly into the dirt directly in front of the wolf.
"Careful where you are swinging that sword Santoval!" Artagan shouts as he rushes towards Yarroth, hoping to heal his wounds.
After avoiding the blows of all assailants, the wolf ducks low to tear a chunk of flesh from Anton's leg.
"It bit me! Damn it!" Anton attempts another sword slash against the beast, who is now facing two foes, one on each flank.
The wolf falls as the two men cut it down. Three wolf corpses now litter the camp, a testament to the brutality of the wilds.
Surveying the carnage, Anton drops to his knee, and plunges his sword point into the ground.
"My friends, I fear I was not vigilant enough. If I had not fallen asleep, perhaps Yarroth would not be so gravely injured, and Santoval also." A grim look comes over him.
"I will keep watch the remainder of the night, if you wish it. Rest, recover, and with Desna's luck we will be able to press on and complete our task." He stands up, wincing at the pain in his leg, and begins to gather the bloody corpses of the wolves that attacked. "Artagan, I am not as skilled in the healing arts as you are, but if I can be of any assistance, just ask."
"They're... Real... Why would the townsfolk send us out here with rabbid wolves?" He says, still kneeling over Yarroth. "Can you all help me move him to someplace more comfortable? After we move him, I should be able to help him a little more."
As the rest of the group gathers around the fallen ranger, Artagan begins to channel the healing energy of Sarenrae through his body. This time, something different consumes him. The power to heal not only sheds from his hands, but his entire body, washing over everyone around him.
After the healing energy flows from his body, over, and over, he slumps to the ground, next to Yarroth. Still awake, he breathes heavily, exhausted from channeling the powers of his god through his body.
"I've never done 'that' before," he says between each labored breath.
HIs eyes fluttering open, Yarroth suddenly sits up. "The wolves!!! Whats happened? How did I get here?" He slowly gets to his feet and looks at the 3 dead wolves. "Is everyone ok? Last thing I remember is slicing one of the wolves, and it turning on me and..." he feels his neck, the thin raised line of the scar from the wolves' teeth lies white and still tender under his probing fingers.
"Thank you Artagan! I am sorry I let you down. I should have known that these wolves would attack!"
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Santoval falls to his knees, his blade dropping from nerveless fingers and clattering into the dirt before him. "You know...", Santoval begins as he pants from exertion,"that was too close." He looks around for a moment, nodding his acknowledgement and thanks for Artagan's tender ministrations. "If nobody minds, I think that I am going to take a bit of a sleep right now...I don't think that I will be much further use tonight." And with that, Santoval wearily drags himself off to his bedroll.
HIs eyes fluttering open, Yarroth suddenly sits up. "The wolves!!! Whats happened? How did I get here?" He slowly gets to his feet and looks at the 3 dead wolves. "Is everyone ok? Last thing I remember is slicing one of the wolves, and it turning on me and..." he feels his neck, the thin raised line of the scar from the wolves' teeth lies white and still tender under his probing fingers.
"Thank you Artagan! I am sorry I let you down. I should have known that these wolves would attack!"
Artagan smiles to Yarroth from his comfortable spot in the leaves next to him. His exhaustion slowly wearing off. "I think you all did wonderfully," he says as he rubs his hands over his own neck. "Not a scratch on me, and I'd probably be the easiest prey for these wolves. You brave men saved my life tonight. I should be thanking you." His smile grows, consuming half his face. "I really don't do anything at all really. Its just you guys and Sarenrae. I just get to spectate, really." His hands reach behind his head and his fingers interlock, providing a make-shift pillow as he looks towards the stars.
Yarroth smiles down at the halfling and say, "Well thank Sarenrae for me then, but right now I think I will look over those wolf pelts. A trophy of our first real battle!"
Yarroth collects a serviceable set of skins from the wolves. The rest of the night passes uneventfully and you awaken with the mornings light.
"Good morning my fellows. Shall we be off after a quick breaking of our fast? I wish to get to the crypt as early as we can today...and I hope there is not more 'excitement' from phantoms or the local wildlife!!" He chuckles as he stirs up the embers from last nights fire and sets a pot on to boil water.
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"I think that sounds good Yarroth. To be honest, I expected this to be a bit more of a walk in the woods than us having to carve our way to the Crypt. We should probably try to be more alert, form up a safe march...and Yarroth, since you are the best woodsman among us, you should probably lead...I expect that you will see much that I will not."
Santoval finishes repacking his bedroll and pack as he talks. Once complete he squats down next to the fire as Yarroth stirs it back to life and warms his hands.
"What is for breakfast?", he asks, breaking a few sticks down and feeding them to the fire.
Anton looks a bit haggard, having stayed up most of the night, keeping watch.
"What's cooking? Wolf steaks?" he says with a good-natured smile.
He unfolds the trail map, and lays it out on the ground. "Our path lies to the southeast, through the woods, to the shore of the Grey Lake. After that we branch off south to the Serpent Gorge."
"Once you are finished eating, we should make due haste through the woods and onto the gorge while we have good light. I'll stay in front with Yarroth - If something hits us, I've got good armor, and a shield - and a good sword arm when I happen to connect. We should stay close, and if something else attacks us, form up back to back, like this." he scratches out a formation in the dirt."With any luck, we'll be able to avoid being caught unaware this time."
Yarroth looks over to Anton and smiles. "No wolf steaks this morning, but I did skin and stretch the pelts. We might sell them or something. As to breakfast, warm oats with a little sugar and some jerked beef. How does that sound?"
Artagan stretches and yawns, waking to the commotion of everyone breaking camp and eating their meals. He crawls out from his tent, his hair in a messy array and sleep cracked around his eyes.
"Good morning."
Artagan is a bit more sluggish at gathering everything together and eating his breakfast, but he does so happily. He is sluggish, but not unfriendly.
"Sorry, I'm still a little exhausted from last night."
Once breakfast is completed and the supplies re-packed, Yarroth takes a quick look at Anton's map.
"Well it looks like the lake is our next waypoint. I will take the lead and try to keep us on a easy track. All ready? Then lets go!"
You set out through the forest as the morning sun begins to climb into the sky. The forest seems less ominous during the day and you make good progress for the first few hours. The trees begin to thin, revealing a field of short, green grass that leads to the shores of a wide, calm lake reflecting the overcast sky above. A dense fog hangs over the center of the lake, obscuring the far side. Near the shore of the lake, a dark form lies next to the water.
With his bow at the ready, Yarroth moves towards the shape on the shore. He keeps his eyes on the water, making sure nothing disturbes the glass-like surface.
Anton follows Yarroth to investigate the mysterious shape at the lake's shore. "What is it, Yarroth? What can you see?" he says, relying on the ranger's superior senses. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, and he cautiously raises his shield to chest height.
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In Santoval's eyes, the meadow looks calm and the lake placid, almost funeral in character, especially with the fog hanging over the far side of the lake. He can almost feel a shiver go down his spine.
I really do not think that I would like to be on this lake's edge at dusk.
Hanging back from the group about 30 feet or so, Santoval warily scans the area around them.
"I am going to hang back a bit and keep my eye on the surrounding terrain in case of ambush...the wolves have me a bit spooked and I don't relish being surprised again."
As Yarroth gets closer, he sees that it is the body of a man. Large bite marks cover the upper torso of the corpse. It must have been here for some time, as his clothes have degraded around him.
Artagan follows closely behind Anton's heels, almost stepping on them at times. He peers past the fighter, noticing the corpse on the ground. He jumps a little as he notices it.
"Oh dear!"
He gets closer to try and heal the man, but notices it is far too late for that. Taking a closer look he tries to understand just what happened to this man.
Anton gets close enough to inspect the body, and unsheathes his dagger, using it to gently search the decaying cloth.
"Looks like he's been here a while - I wonder if I can find anything on his body that might tell us who he was, or where he came from."
Most of the man's possessions are ruined, but you find a pouch with 87 gold pieces and a well made shortsword.
"Looks as if he died several months ago... and these bites must have been poisoned. I wouldn't want to meet whatever attacked this man."
Artagan gets up from his kneeling position over the man and waits for the rest of the group as he nervously looks around. He clutches his shield closer to his body and his hand hovers over his morningstar.
I... I, don't think we should stay around here for very long..."
Anton picks up the pouch, and puts the short sword in his pack. "Poisoned? By who or what, I wonder. At any rate, we should ask around town when we get back - see if he had any next of kin - and see if they want this sword."
"I'm with Santoval, this place has an eerie feel to it. Let's move on, if there's nothing else here."
"That sounds like a fine idea Anton... A part of me wants to return with his body as soon as possible, but we promised the townsfolk that we would return with the flame. Maybe when we return, we can return with his body."
"This man is probably from Tamran, judging by the coins he carries and the clothes he was wearing. I wonder what he was doing all the way out here...."
He shrugs as he walks off with the rest of the group towards the Crypt of the Everflame.
"I wonder what he was doing out here as well. Kinda a strange place for an outsider to end up. Well lets us continue on our way." Yarroth continues on the trail, and asks Amton if he can look at the short sword he found.
Anton hands the short sword to Yarroth.
"Tamran, isn't that the capital? Quite a ways south of here I've been told."
"Our path to the crypt breaks to the southwest, then due south to the edge of the Serpent Gorge." he says, starting off in that direction.
The trees in this part of the forest are very old and quite gnarled. You travel through the forest for another three hours. The trail leads ever deeper into the Fangwood, through a twisting maze of trees and confusing ravines. As it tops a small rise, a broad valley spreads out before it, the opposite side of which looks like a writhing serpent. Yet between the two lies a steep hill sloping down into the valley. A cold rain starts to fall, making the ground slick and treacherous.
Artagan looks down the steep, slippery slope and then back to the group. "I don't think I want to do this with all this armor on... Oh and I have a rope if we want to use it."
The halfling begins to remove the fastenings on his armor and shimmies it off over his head. Dropping it to the ground, he reaches into his bag pulling out the rope. He re-organizes his backpack so he can attach the armor and shield to it.
Yarroth nods in agreement with Artagan's ideal about the rope and removing armour. "I will tie off the rope up here, and stay last until you are all down, then I will follow. My bow has a great reach, so I should be able to protect you from this distance if anything tries to attack."
Anton unstraps his shield from his arm and secures it to his back.
"That clanking yelling sound you're going to hear in a moment is just going to be me trying to negotiate this slope." Holding onto the rope for balance, he attempts to slowly make his way down into the gorge.
Artagan laughs at Anton's comment so hard that he begins to buckle at his knees and cry. He can barely functiion as he throws his backpack on to his shoulders. He peers over the side, his smile fading quickly as he hears the slipping of Anton.
"I guess I'll go next. I'll take it nice and slow. But please, just please, don't fall on me."
He grabs the rope and begins to make his way down the slope, slowly. Hand over hand he walks his way down the rope.
Sorin watches Artagan shimmy his way down the rope with enviable agility and shakes his head with bemusement. "I only wish I was that nimble." He nods to Yarroth, then grasps the rope and makes his way down the side of the gorge.
Anton slides down a muddy hill and drops twenty feet off a ravine. Luckily, he seems only a bit bruised by the experience.