"I wouldn't bother keeping a count." Harshuk laughs, glad to see the guard get out safely.
"Good work everyone." Harshuk isn't sure what to do with the trolls now that they've been captured, definitely not a scenario he expected. Free hugs or high fives though.
Instead he checks for Colborn tracks around the house. The guards are in armor, so hopefully he won't mistake mailed prints for boots. He tries to tell by the stride if anyone ran out of the house, rather than calmly walked.
"Maybe. They are chickens... but... then again." She flashes a fanged, toothy grin towards her stunned capture, before looking at Kenna again. "Maybe that's what would make them quite fun to keep around. Think you could train it?"
Saipres looks around, noticing how quickly the battle was dying down. He had to admit that despite what could be said about the other Skinwalker Tribes, they certainly knew how to fight. Feeling out of breath, he forces himself to relax, and he shifts into his human form. Turning to Kenna with a smile, he remarks between pants, "You're quite impressive. I think we can both be pleased that we didn't fight inside."
Darath, since the situation now appeared to be in full control, was spending the time waiting for the soldiers to arrive crouching next to the deceased troll, using a few knives, vials, and pouches to carefully collect a few samples, as he had planned to. nobody had seemed to have been damaged in a way that needed immediate attention, so he was happy enough to wait for someone to complain.
That didn't mean he wasn't paying attention though. "Yes, let's try to domesticate the creature that figured out a way to control trolls. That won't end horribly." The insanity of his counterparts on the Witchwolf delegation accentuated why he and the Matriarchs were worried about them being a large proponent of combat over diplomacy. They weren't the only group the Bloodmarked were concerned about, but neither were they the least of their worries.
Gruffly, Arren waves at Temmeruk as he and the guards approach, but then moves up beside Lysira and the stunned riekling she has. Looking to her, through big bear-mouth, he asks, "Do you think we could figure out how they found those? Doubtful that such a little, pathetic creature make it himself, right?"
Temmeruk moves out ahead of his retinue as they run up to the burning building, the worst of which has died down and begun to smolder, and at the enormous trolls. "What...has happened here? Leoric, report!"
The white-haired guard stands at attention and salutes his chieftain. "Sir! We had heard reports of a troll-band wandering the eastern border, but all indications pointed to them heading further north rather than west! We came as soon as we could...and...could not save the building." Disappointment in himself shines in Leoric's expression. "These representatives assisted us greatly in dispatching the threat...Murphy and I wouldn'tve stood a chance by ourselves."
The riekling still struggles in Harthresh's grip, and the other ones' eyes are beginning to flutter as it recovers from Lysira's stun.
Harshuk, you do notice bootprints leaving the front door. They leave, turn immediately along the outer wall, and turn to face the outer wall every few feet, before leaving Coldborn borders and heading east.
Darath, make a Craft (Alchemy) check. You gain 1 vial of acid that does 1d4 damage, plus an additional number of vials equal to half your check's result (rounded up).
"Awe, scared of the wittle coward?" Her tone and body language was mocking. Turning as Arren approached and addressed her, "There are always ways to make someone talk. I do wonder how much we can get him to squeal. How much it would take..." Grinning, she looked off briefly before returning to her gaze to the starting to wake riekling as it starts to wake.
You have it completely at your mercy. Roll a grapple check, it's not necessary right now but I'll roll a secret opposed grapple check if the little bugger tries to escape.
Temmeruk glances warily at the trolls as they stand, still staring at the Nightskulk. "Inspector...Moriarti, wasn't it? Why are the trolls all staring at you?"
"I'm fairly certain anything can learn helplessness," Moriarti says in response to the suggestion of taming what is clearly a sentient creature, meanwhile attempting to figure out how to operate this mind control device.
"Ah! Yes, well..." he begins when Temmeruk asks about the entranced trolls. "They seem to be enchanted by this little device; though, I'm still trying to get the hang of it. When I get it right, you'll know because the ugly one will smack itself in the face."
"You're not bad yourself, fanglord, my offer still stands though.", Kenna says to Saipres before turning to Lysira and her captive.
"You really don't have to be scared, just look at the little guy" Kenna's voice falls into a tone as one would talk to a toddler, as she kneels down and pinches the riekling's cheek, pulling her hand back, as the small creature inevitably snaps its teeth at her hand.
"And as for taming him, I'm sure there are ways.", it is difficult to tell wether her grin is suggestive, arrogant, jokingly, simply insane or all of the above.
The troll that Moriarti gestured at when he said "the ugly one" slaps itself hard in the face. The slap is not held back in the slightest, and the loud sound makes Temmeruk and his retinue flinch slightly. "Ugh. You seem to have mastered these trolls, Nightskulk. The device looks easy enough to operate...it must be, for these...rieklings...to use them. It seems my tribe is in your debt once again, Arren, Harshuk." the old chieftain nods at his two clansmen. "And we have the rest of you to thank as well, it seems."
Temmeruk walks over to Lysira and Harshuk as they restrain their prisoners. "I don't believe we've been introduced, but I thank you for restraining those responsible." The man places one enormous fist over his chest and bows respectfully to the two of you. His face is stern and serious, and his expression only hardens further as he looks down at the helpless rieklings.
"I don't believe we'll be taming these. They may not live long enough to be...domesticated." Temmeruk growls out his words. He gestures impatiently at the prisoners, and shouts in a sudden wrath, "WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?" The rieklings only shriek in defiance, but their shrieks turn to whimpers when the skinwalkers tighten their grips.
When no answer is forthcoming, Temmeruk sighs and rubs his brow with his thumb and forefinger. "Inspector, we have a prison pit for dangerous animals that are sometimes fought for sport. It will be suitable to contain these trolls until we learn more of them. Leoric will guide you there." the guard captain stands at attention and salutes.
"All of you should accompany Leoric," Temmeruk says, addressing the rest of you. "There could be further danger to the tribe beyond a few arsonists. I dislike the look of that...device." he says, wrinkling his nose in distrust as he gazes at the tool in Mori's hands. "Report back to me when you know anything further. I have...responsibilities of my own." he gazes over his shoulder at his retinue, who have stayed a healthy distance back away from the trolls. "I'll also have someone find out who this home belonged to. It may have been targeted specifically." The Coldborn Lord looks almost regretful that he can't follow the trolls and leave the feast, but Arren and Harshuk, and also Saipres, know him to be a slave to the responsibilities of leadership.
Saipres gives a slight and solemn bow to Temmeruk. "It will be done. What is taking place here is too important to let a few trolls risk." When he straightens back up, he looks visibly troubled. "I haven't heard of the trolls attacking homes like this before. Is this kind of thing common?"
Arren nods to his chieftain. "Yes, my Lord. It shall be done." On the way to the prison-pit, where the trolls will be caged, Arren ponders the trolls. They were unlike any trolls he'd ever seen before. Why? Where did they come from?
Temmeruk nods seriously at Saipres and turns, his long cloak disturbing the snow and ash on the ground. Behind you, the house has been reduced to a smoldering, blackened ruin. You can see Temmeruk gesturing at certain members of his retinue as he heads back to the longhouse, who nod respectfully and run off to do his bidding.
Arren, you know that there are only three constants to trolls in nature - they're malevolent, they're stupid, and they have infinite variation in their physical traits. It's easy enough to imagine an acid-sweat variant existing, especially in these mountainous regions, but mind control?
Your gaze shifts to Moriarti as you walk. He's being careful to hold the rod firmly and steadily, and the trolls are obediently following behind him. They've even formed an orderly line. The control over them is clearly sophisticated, and utterly complete. Though their eyes give away their violent urges, their muscles don't so much as twitch in defiance of any of the Nightskulk's orders.
Such fine control over such chaotic and willful beasts as these trolls implies advanced magic or technology, or both. You don't like the implications for where the primitive rieklings may have found the rod...or been given it.
As you walk, Leoric and Saipres discuss the realities of troll attacks. "They're not unheard of," the white-haired guard captain remarks. "From time to time we have various giant-kin come down from their homes up in the rocky steppes for raids. They're an occasional problem, but they are rarely equipped with anything more complicated than a log to use as a weapon, much less burning torches. The damn things are weak to fire...why would they be using fire to attack us? It doesn't make sense." he shakes his head as you all walk together.
Moments later, you arrive at a section of town dedicated to sporting. You can see decorations and merchant stalls set up everywhere in preparation for the arrival of the other tribes. The bazaar area that you walk through to reach the fighting pit is divided into 7 sections, each labeled for a particular visiting tribe. Thankfully, the bazaar appears to be deserted right now - everyone seems to be feasting. Good. No need to explain the presence of obedient trolls.
You arrive at the pit - a simple, granite-stone affair with dried blood staining the floor - and Leoric disappears "backstage" to return lugging a large chest, with Saipres' help. The chest contains huge manacles bound to chains that are attached to metal plates spaced around the pit's walls. His work ready, he glances at the Nightskulk. "Do we, uh, order the trolls to put these on themselves? They should hold 'em..."
"As you say, Chief" Harshuk inclines his head to Temmeruk, and follows the group to ensure the trolls are safely locked up.
"I suppose we could do that," Moriarti responds to Temmeruk as he returns to his humanoid form. "I'm sure I could come up with some way to make them useful, but if you insist..." he adds with a hint of regret. "Ah well."
He only half listens as the guard captain tells Saipres about giant raids and attempts to theorize about the behavior of trolls. "Well they are rather stupid," he interjects, "and probably quite confident in their regenerative abilities. No, I'm more concerned about the trolls having been controlled by such a primitive race as the rieklings."
"I mean don't misunderstand. I'm confident there are some rieklings out there smarter than several of you," Mori grins, "but this device would be impressive if one of our kind had made it."
When Leoric asks about binding the trolls, he give him a dismissive wave and has the trolls chain themselves.
Leoric steps hastily aside as the trolls move past him and slip the manacles over their own wrists, before holding their arms out to be bound and locked. The guard captain does so, and stares at them in wonder. "As obedient as my own Karissa, they are. Remarkable." with a nod of respect to Mori, Leoric turns to Arren. "Well, sir. Normally I'd consult one of your treatises on the nature of trolls and what little is known of rieklings, or perhaps talk to Miss Warborn...but since I have you right here, what do you think? You've been rather quiet on the way over. Have you any thoughts as to what steps should be taken next? Whatever you think is the best course of action will have the full support of the Coldborn warrior cadres, of course," he says, finishing with a thoughtful nod.
Arren strokes his bearish chin thoughtfully. He's been given a great responsibility, but it isn't the first one that he's had. "Well." he begins. "These don't appear to be too far away from the troll norm, and I highly doubt that the rieklings are sophisticated enough to have created this, he indicates the rod in Mori's hand, ..item."
"I believe we should locate the tribe that these rieklings are from, capture a few, and...question...them about who gave them such a lordly gift."
He looks inside the cage, to the self-binding trolls, "As for these beasts, we have two options. I believe that a few experiments shold be made, but only one is of critical importance. Determining whether aggression breaks the enchantment should be done in a more prepared environment. If it doesn't, I believe we should kill the beasts. If it does, we ought to use them."
"Look for evidence in their housings as well" Kenna adds from behind Arren. "And try to find out why whoever made these devices would give them to Rieklings of all things. These are all important details. Perhaps someone among your men knows their language, then we might not have to raze their tribe to the ground either.", among her tribe Kenna is known for speaking when not asked -and sometimes not speaking when asked- but she never does so unless it seems nevessary.
"Let's not forget that this might have been an attack of opportunity, as it were. They may have stumbled across the staff in some ruin somewhere and discovered its power by accident. Or there might be a savant in their midst with great powers of enchantment; unlikely, but there have been powerful sorcerers from less likely races before." Darath was studying the trolls - from a safe distance, of course - as he spoke. He was usually more concerned with chemicals and skinwalker physiology than others, so the ability to have a close look at something that bled acid (or something acid-like) was rather novel. He was looking forward to testing the substance once things settled down, perhaps he could find a use for it besides the obvious...
Arren, from your knowledge on rieklings you're aware that they seem to speak their own language understood only by themselves. However, there are stories of rieklings working together with giants, climbing over their stony bodies and picking them clean of pests in much the same way an Oxpecker bird perches on a rhinoceros' back. Perhaps someone who spoke Giant could interrogate them. Orc is also a possibility, but less likely.
Darath, as you collect the vials from the trolls methodically, something unexpected happens. In addition to the 16 vials of acid you're able to collect, you notice the black blood of the trolls - which smells incredibly foul - when mixed with the sweat, forms an incredibly caustic and sticky substance which hardens in seconds. Acting quickly and cursing yourself for lacking all of your lab equipment, you're able to synthesize some on-the-fly alchemical creations.
"Hrm." grumbles Arren, grumpily. "An enchanter amongst the rieklings would only make invading them more interesting. We might find it a bit difficult to talk to 'em, though. Unless we've got powerful divinatory magic or a natural linguist among us, we'll be forced into a third-party language. Anyone speak Giant?"
"Yes, I suppose I could try talking to them."
One of the rieklings, the one being held by Harthresh Cald, screams at you suddenly, "You animal-lovers will never stop the Abrasax!" His companion glares death at him, but the first riekling seems caught up in some sort of religious fervor. His eyes roll back in his head and he shakes both fists at the heavens, babbling. "ITS WILL IS MINE! ITS WILL IS MINE! ITS WILL IS MINE!"
Its shouting is interrupted suddenly - "..erk!" and the riekling slumps limply in Harthresh's arms, its eyes wide open, stone dead.
"That was... odd," Moriarti states with a curious expression, "to say the least." Shrugging, he turns to the other reikling.
"Jæja, held ég að leyfi okkur með þér," he says in fluent Giant. "Val þitt virðist frekar einfalt að mér. Tala við okkur virðist fá þú drapst..." he glances at the dead creature in Harthresh's arms. "Ekki tala við okkur gæti halda þér á lífi lengur, en þú munt biðja fyrir dauða hvern andardrátt. Ég er viss félagi minn hér myndi elska að læra þig," he continues with a slight gesture toward Darath, "og ég efast vivisection er þægilegt."
Love the text (Norwegian?) and what you wrote. Give me an intimidate check and I'll factor on a bonus on my end.
-Posted with Wayfinder
All of you see Moriarti's mouth work to get the brutish Giant syllables properly, but it does nothing to detract from his intimidating presence. The relatively small Nightskulk nonetheless towers over the riekling from force of will, and the smaller creature quails under his shadow and threats. He sings like a bird.
"Ég gefst upp! Ekki vivisect mér ... ég mun segja þér allt sem þú vilt vita! Við vissum bygging yrði óvarðar úr þjórfé! Það var brennt til að ná sönnunargögn! Við vorum á pöntunum frá Abrasax, kristal artifact af miklum krafti sem lofað okkur frekari stjórn á tröllunum!"
While the Nightskulk interrogates the riekling, Harshuk steps next to Arren.
"I noticed boot prints coming out of the burning house, heading east. It all comes down to who lived there...but few would go the opposite direction of the longhouse on this night." Harshuk half-whispers.
"Perhaps we should organize a searching party before fresh snow falls."
Arren doesn't look at Harshuk as the bard murmurs in his ear, and continues to pay half-attention to Moriarti's interrogation of the riekling. As incomprehensible as it all was, it was still very interesting to watch.
He murmurs back to Harshuk, "I agree. This stinks of treachery, a smell I'm not particularly fond of."
"Abrasax,", Kenna turns to the Coldborn, "is that something your people are familiar with?"
Lysira gave the squealing riekling a pat on the head. She may not have understood what they had said, but she could tell when something started squealing. The nightsulk was good at intimidating. She could give him that.
The little coward in her grasp was starting to grow on her. Maybe her and Kenna could find a way to keep the little bugger around. Though first, he would need to be broken of any thoughts of fleeing. And taught obedience.
The riekling snarls and snaps at Lysira's hand when she pats it, but to no avail.
Lysira laughs as it does so. "So you still have some bite in you."
It lapses into a sullen silence, staring at its dead companion. You can see fear in his eyes as he looks at him.
"Hmm..."
"You may be right, son of Verash," Moriarti informs the other skinwalkers when the riekling finishes its confession. "The house was burned to cover evidence, so it may be prudent to return and search the premises as soon as possible."
Though, personally, I'm more concerned about this informant...
Mori turns back to the riekling with a dangerous calm and asks, "Hver sagði þér að húsið yrði óvarðar?"
"Also," he says glancing back at the others as he waits for the riekling to answer his last question, "it seems this 'Abrasax' is a powerful, apparently intelligent, crystal artifact. It's the secret of the reiklings' power over the trolls... This doesn't bode well."
When Moriarti speaks the name "Abrasax," the rod he holds ceases to glow with the green light. Immediately, the trolls LURCH against their restraints, snarling and reaching as far as the chains will let them at Darath. The Bloodmarked is only just able to step back in time. The trolls' spittle goes flying as they roar at Darath's face from a mere foot away. Leoric jumps back with a surprised shout and draws his sword quickly, glancing around at the Nightskulk.
The riekling winces away from Mori, glances at the trolls, then spills his guts to him. "Hann var einhvers konar Måge. Hann birtist í búðir okkar skyndilega, bera kristal og á eftir tröllunum. Hann talaði aldrei, en rödd ...." the riekling swallows hard, fear shining from his eyes clearly now. "röddin kom frá kristal hann fara. Hann gaf okkur vendi, sagði okkur að það væri möguleiki fyrir fallega burny eldi á Bölvaður skinwalkers kvöld, fyrir hönd Abrasax ... þá hvarf. Ég sá aldrei andlit hans."
"Abrasax is unknown to us, witchwolf." replies the coldborn, to Kenna. "Although if it is, as you indicating Mori, claim, perhaps is isn't prudent for you to be carrying an intelligent magical item." he says, gesturing at the crystal rod. When it de-activates and the trolls lurch forward, he merely crosses his arms, nonplussed and unsurprised. "My point exactly. When can we kill these beasts?"
Leoric salutes Arren crisply. "Sir! Lord Temmeruk has made it clear to the Guard Cadre that the Tribal Representatives are to have our cooperation. If you want these trolls slain, it will be done."
"This isn't Abrasax," Moriarti points out indicating the rod in his hand, "though it may be an extention of it. I can't even be certain that this entity is indeed a sentient artifact and not something else communicating through the crystal."
"Either way, this device warrants further study... later. For now it should probably be kept secure, though I wouldn't store it near anything too important."
Luckily for the alchemist, he was looking one of the trolls in the face when the staff was deactivated. He noticed the sudden change of expression immediately, and recognized what it meant just in time to backstep out of range. Even so, he could do little but close his eyes as he splattered with troll spittle - thankfully not near as acidic as their blood, he noted. The smell on the other hand. Wiping spit off himself, he walked over to rejoin the group.
"Surprising absolutely nobody, trolls have poor oral hygiene. Also, could I suggest not deactivating the mind control device while someone is next to the controlled creature? Someone might get hurt." There's just enough snark in his voice that it's clear that Darath knows it likely wasn't intentional... but only just.
Leoric has a wisdom score of 8 when it comes to social situations. "Honored representative," he intones in a serious voice, "I'm sure the Inspector didn't deactivate the rod on purpose. Come now."