Björn tips the corpse over with his boot. With a spit of disgust the giant Northman eyes his companion sceptically;
"Goblins og hálf starved þjófar? Þetta eru engar óvinir þess verðugir us bróður. Norður kallar, við ættum að hlusta ..."
Goblins and half starved thieves? These are no foes worthy of us brother. The North calls, we should listen...
Skäne nods in resignation as he answers in the grumbling Northern tongue:
"Eins og venjulega growls björninn er að gera fyrir gott ráð..."
As usual the bear's growls make for good counsel.
The huge Northman sticks the keen edged longsword into the earth beside the bandit felled by his huge companion. The speaks out, to all and none;
"I leave this blade here. It is a good blade. One that will serve its bearer well... but where we go... the North... it is axe work. Red handed work."
Skäne looks to the sky with a smile;
"The Nordvindd calls us hame... The Cold comes and the Jotunn of our blodd stir from their deep dells... and so we take our leave of you all... new companions and old..."
Wilhelm looks to the Northmen, he chuckles a little before speaking.
"Safe journeys then. I shall miss your strength in battle."
Rayla looks a little surprised and examines the two giant people closely. "I see... I hope you find whatever you're looking for then... good hunting to you."
She lowers the massive, blood stained blade she still holds in her hand and nods her head. Her words seem sincere as can be and yet there is a certain intensity in her strange silver-and-gold eyes with which she looks at them and for a moment she seems more alien than usual in the light falling down between the trees.
Delilah moved up to Skäne and with big puppy-like eyes asked, "How about one kiss, for luck?"
Kylar nods to the two northmen as they depart. "Until our next meeting." He has no doubt they will see each other again.
Skäne politely declines the kiss as he packs his gear.
He nods to one and all, clapping Kylar on the shoulder with a hard smile;
"That you will Kylar Alf-Blodd. Til that day..."
Bjorn hangs a little back as his comrade trudges away.
With a resigned nod the giant druid rumbles something in thickly accented Common!
"Fairwell little ones."
9 Javelins
3 spears
3 mwk chain shirts
3 potions of CLW
As you follow the game trail, snow begins to float down through the branches. Around noon, it's dusting the ground, making the trail treacherous.
The light begins to wan and the shadows grow long when Wilhelm comes to a stop.
"Somethin's not right." he mutters.
The air is still and cold as the group marches on without the two oar-brothers. The only sound is the crunch of dirt and leaves under foot.
A faint whistle is the only warning given as a javelin streaks out from the underbrush and opens a gash in Delilah's dress and her thigh. Anyone looking to where the missile came from sees a hulking shape with white eyes that are too large for its head melt into the shadows once more. By the time anyone reaches the spot, whatever it was is long gone.
Helena gives a surprised yell as the javelin cuts open Delilah's leg, immediately heading over and trying to assess the damage.
"Delilah!"[/b} The yell escapes Rayla's throat before she can and she rushes after the creature as Helena gets to Delilah's help. [b]"How can something so big disappear so quickly!" she wonders a bit more calm but under visible stress. With her blade in her hand she twitches around near the location where she saw, swirling it dangerously through the air.
After she realizes that it is in fact gone - even though it may very well be watching them - she goes into her knees and examines the ground. "Well, maybe it did leave some kind of trace..."
After taking the spear to the leg, Delilah yelled, "چه جهنم گیر کرده! خوب، که در آن که اساسنامه رفتن!"
"I can't understand you when you speak in tongues," Helena sighs, trying to keep her healer's patience. "How badly are you hurt? Rayla, did it leave any kind of trail?"
"One moment, I am still looking..." Rayla seems indeed a bit distracted. Her head pops up and disappears again in between the bushes repeatedly. "There might be... magic involved... but if it were so, why did it attack with a simple spear? Why just one? Does it belong to the enemy or is it a scared creature defending its territory?" she mumbles half loud. It's unclear whether she's talking to herself or to Helena.
"We should find some place more defensible," he says as he looks warily about for any other attackers. At Rayla's mention, Kylar invokes a cantrip to reveal magical auras to his eyes. He studies the surroundings as he crouches, hoping to avoid any of his own close encounters with the wrong end of a javelin.
The large, monstrous footprints, like a goblin's, but much bigger and deeper, lead away from the thing's hiding spot and into a dry, stony creek bed. Tracking along it is almost impossible, and would likely take too long.
As for what it is, Wilhelm is able to answer after looking at the tracks.
"Bugbear, big brutes with a taste for human flesh, and fear. They prefer to strike from the shadows, and they're sneakier than a goblin despite their size."
After tending to Delilah's wounds, Wilhelm leads the way for a couple more hours before finding a defensible spot in a copse of close growing trees. Twilight is swiftly giving to night by this time and the temperature is dropping swiftly.
Rayla takes a moment to look around. Doesn't seem like anything is still out there. "It probably fast than us and knows the terrain better than we do... still, maybe it leads us to the lair of that queen. We might wanna follow it..."
She puts her sword away again and checks whether the tracks lead into the correct average direction.
"It'd be better to stick to the trail, lass. These things are not ones to take lightly." Wilhelm says, but still helps look for tracks.
Even with Wilhelm and Rayla both looking for the prints, between the waning light and the falling snow, the trail soon vanishes.
Nothing happens during the night, until you realize that Helena hasn't come out of her tent.
Helena stirs, trying to stretch as she opens her milky eyes, and sees only blackness. Her hands refuse to move. She tries her legs; no movement there, either. Swallowing hard, she notices she can still breathe, so there's a good start. And - thank the gods for small mercies - she can feel the innermost layers of her robes against her skin.
She tries the limits of her bonds, tries to nudge the blindfold loose with her shoulder. No luck. Memories of blindness flash through her mind, and the panic rises within her. She struggles against the bonds, trying to free herself before whatever brought her - wherever she was - returns, but she's too stiff with fear to make any progress.
"Oh yes, it's always the sweet, caring ones. Their fear is so intoxicating, like a fine wine. And your just at the right age too."
The tip of something sharp traces its way up from her belly, along the bottom her rib cage, and between her breasts. Never once does it break her skin, nor cut the shift she wears, even as it follows the line of her collarbone.
"You know what will happen if I turn you over to those other bandits, don't you?" The voice coos.
"They'd already have stripped you naked, but I? No, I take my time. I savor the moments that your fear rises."
The tip of whatever it was he was holding leaves Helena's skin, and almost immediately, something sharp and metal slips, tenderly and hungrily, into the collar of her shift, tracing a line down her shoulder. The sound of threads giving way echos in the darkness as she feels a sharp tug on what little clothing she has on. The cut leaves one of her shoulders exposed. And a chill breeze wafts over the freshly uncovered skin as the sound of a sharp intake of air, like someone breathing in a heady aroma, comes from right by the ear on that side.
"Oh no, I shall be savoring every moment of this." the voice says as one massive clawed hand gingerly runs across her shoulder.
"Well, that's odd." Rayla looks at the tent and still can't quite believe that the strange, dignified lady has gone missing. She had had her reservation violating Helena's privacy, but now she feels a little guilty for not checking her tent earlier. "I didn't notice anything at all... did anyone else notice anything strange last night... did anyone doze off during their watch?"
There are tracks of all of them all over the place so it's hard to figure who stepped when and where. Rayla checks Helena's tent, see whether there are signs of trouble, checks for Helena's equipment and weapons, to figure out whether she was somehow taken or left for whatever reason.
While it may be unwise she can't hold back anymore. "Helena!" she yells. "Where are you?" It frustrates her. She wouldn't go as far as to call Helena a friend, but she deeply respects her. Wise healers like her should be able to rely on the protection of powerful people like Rayla and yet she failed. Whatever happened, she hopes Helena shows up again, safe and sound.
Kylar frowned, concerned for the white-haired woman. "I did not doze. I woke Helena for her watch and went to my rest."
Examining Helena's tent, Kylar's lips purse tightly. "She did not go willingly. She was taken. We must pursue."
"Curse those broad-shouldered barbarians for leaving at such a time! Their skills would be useful here. We must search for some trace of a trail."
Rayla checks the area behind the tent for tracks, trying to fight down the impulse to run after her and see where she was brought in the first place. "By the drunken god, we will not abandon a comrade. We will find her.", she mumbles staring down into the snow.
From afar Os hears the cries and scowls.
Only the foolish or the desperate shout in these wilds... For too many its a call for food, for sport, for worse...
The weary ranger spits once and notches an arrow afore whispering his intent;
"Feh. Right you lot... best we investigate then eh?"
With that the veteran ranger moves slowly and carefully toward the shouts trying to get as close as he can to discern the situation;
:
:
Helena inhales sharply as the voice appears next to her ear, but doesn't flinch or otherwise make a move. As the speech continues, and the sharp implement bares her shoulder, she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to keep calm. If the creature wanted fear, the worst thing she could do was satisfy it.
"I will not give you the pleasure of my fear," she says boldly, lifting her chin in defiance and keeping a quaver out of her voice.
"Aye, snatched outta her own tent. Snow's coverin' the tracks. Besides, they weren't the only ones that could track ya pointy-eared loon." Wilhelm seems just a bit miffed about Kylar forgetting he was their guide. "Hurry and help me break camp. If it's a bugbear that's got her, we don't have time to waste natterin'!"
With that, Wilhelm begins breaking things down and packing them up, pausing only long enough to devour some of the rations he had.
"Oh really?" the voice whispers, its breath heavy on skin. The hand leaves her shoulder, and the voice appears to be circling her.
"Oh this shall be fun," the voice says with amusement, "I wonder. I wonder. How best to proceed? Hmmm. No, I can't be too quick. It's been to long since the Queen has let me play with any of them. She won't mind if I take my time. No, of course not."
The voice stops in front of her, and all that sounds in the endless darkness is the voice's heavy, ragged breath. Everything else is still, until a clawed hand reaches out and twists in her hair. It lifts her off the ground and tosses her, almost carelessly, to the ground. Leaving her on her back. One clawed hand and two knees pin her to the ground, while the other hand starts at her knees and slowly moves up her leg, taking the skirt of her shift with it. The hand is cold and clammy against the bare skin of her thigh. The voice's breathing is slow and steady, for there is no thrill, no passion for what seems to be coming, just cold, merciless calculation. The hem of the shift rises to her slender waist.
"You may act brave," the voice says at last, "But your friends are not coming, and you cannot escape."
One cold, cruel claw traces the top hem of her panties before rising up to circle her navel.
"You cannot do anything, but scream, my dear," the voice says, just inches from her face. as his free hand caresses her belly and side, then slides up, pulling the shift up with it to her bosom.
"And in due time, you will scream," the voice says sweetly, almost tenderly as the hand moves up under the shift and over her breast.