Ah, Awn will be alright, that's good... Her train of thought trails off.
She stares at Iorskan for a moment as he rips off chunks of Surpex-meat, blood dripping from his mouth. Surpex's eyes stare sightless out at her, and she slowly turns away from the grisly sight.
This bring the satyrs' tree-home within sight, and she walks towards it. Jen pops her head in and looks around before casting a Detect Magic.
As soon as she's sure her allies are ok, Ozzy sets about re-summoning her eidolons.
Jen's arcane vision detects auras of conjuration and illusion coming from beneath one of the leafy beds. Further investigation reveals:
The mad hermit keeps his few treasures in a chest sitting in a hole under his bed of leaves, which can be discovered with a DC 20 Perception check. The chest contains a potion of cure light wounds, a potion of invisibility, 164 sp, 31 gp, and a tarnished silver locket holding a faded portrait of a young woman (worth 10 gp) wrapped in a piece of cloth.
The cloth itself is a faded map of the Greenbelt that might just point the way toward a great treasure (see the Quest: Tomb Treasure sidebar).
The PCs gain an intriguing treasure map that claims to lead the way to a magic weapon.
Source: Treasure map found in the Mad Hermit’s den. Alternatively, you can begin this quest by having the PCs find the treasure map as part of any treasure stash in this adventure.
Task: A few minutes spent deciphering the scrawls and faded shapes on this map are enough to recognize that the map seems to point the way to a hidden burial cairn somewhere in the Kamelands between the Gudrin and Shrike rivers, due east of the northern shores of the Tuskwater. A potent weapon is said to be hidden within this tomb, although the map vaguely warns of traps and an undead guardian who stole out of the tomb to reclaim the magic weapon once before. Following this map leads the PCs directly to the Lonely Barrow (area F).
Completion: By following the map, the PCs come to the Lonely Barrow (area F), wherein the weapons promised in the map can be found.
Jen uncovers the stash of treasure and pockets the money before piling the rest of the things in her hands and carrying them back out. "I found a map of some kind... it says it leads to a magic weapon!"
Guthruc munches on the leg breifly before coming to the same conclusion as Iorskan: satyr is quite an exotic meat, might as well try it when its fresh.
Taking Suprex's left leg with him, Guthruc walks over to the bloke he recently tied to a tree. "Not awake yet, hmm? Do any of Moloch's blessings wake the restful? The goat-folk's command of the natural order, although weak, could be useful support for the warband. Let us hope that they dont need any further... encouragement." Guthruc grins sadisticly at the last phrase, cracking his knuckles to enhance the point.
Shortly after Guthruc's questions are answered, he turns to Jen.
"Pardon Anura, the weapon may be promissing"
"'Magic Weapon' say. Bond of weapon and fake nature-force. Guthruc conflict feelings."
While Guthruc is talking to Anura, Jen examines the unnamed satyr's magic pipes and gives his body a glance over to see if he has anything else interesting on him.
back to common "'Magic Weapon' say. Bond of weapon and fake nature-force. Guthruc conflict feelings."
Jen considers Guthruc's words. She doubts a magic weapon would really serve anyone else very well... Townsend, perhaps...
"When your enemies use magic against you, it's only fair to even the playing ground. To ensure you win, and not some other bastard son of a balrog."
"Yes, Guthruc know it strong. Guthruc grow with Ozdy magic, slip and fall with blue girl magic.
It... no natural, backward though. like if bird eat Guthruc and tree eat bird, then earth eat tree to burn river. In nature, strong control weak. In divine, god let other borrow god strength, allow weak to be strong enough. Blue girl and Okzzy magic wrong."
Awn thanks Ozzy, then lies back, listening with great humor as Guthruc lays out the rights and wrongs of magic.
When the second charge from the wand has run its course, and Awn is still showing a number of gouges in his bark, Ozzy discharges a third.
Between Bokken and Anura, I imagine enough healing is scraped together to get everyone to high enough health that a good nights sleep will heal the rest.
Akiros, returning contrite from his evening jog, sees that the battle is won and the victors are . . . eating the losers. That's lovely.
"I apologize for deserting you in the midst of combat," he grimaces. "I was bewitched, my reason and valor overcome by a mad terror unlike anything I've felt before. I've run beneath volleyed arrows, I've stood in formation against charging cavalry, I thought myself courageous. But the satyr's spell induced panic beyond thought."
He notices Anura gagging a satyr that he hadn't assumed alive. "What's this? A prisoner? I advocate mercy, if the opinion of a captured thief counts for anything at all."
"Self am mercy and kindness," Anura promises. "Self am make sure goat-man no am making terror beyond comprehension again before self am waking goat-man up." When the satyr is gagged, tied, and disarmed, Anura casts a healing spell on the fey, who comes to with wild eyes and muffled screams.
Now full from the feast, a sleepy Iorskan remarked ”Ah, a good idea. A prisoner! So as we travel we can eat when we get hungry.”
Jen takes the hog-tied satyr's pipes from him and examines them to see what they do and if they can be used.
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18
"Hello," she says, pleasantly, "I mean you no harm... although, I can't speak for my gold or green friend."
She then glances at Guthruc and, so that Mr. Unnamed can't understand her,
"We can undo the gags to speak with him, he needs arm-waving and pipes for spells, and he's vastly outnumbered."
The frog-priest has given her a number of shifty glances throughout their journey, and Jen isn't quite sure she feels comfortable ordering him about.
"Wait, you speak the tongue of the orcs? I did not think someone outside of the orcs abd half-orcs would learn such a 'barbaric' language. This will be very much helpful in our lessons on abyssal. Regardless..."
"The gag may be removed. Be at the ready to inflict some serious pain though, in case they refuse to cooperate. Break their fingers or something."
"Hello goat-man. What is name? I hear you before fall that you want to reconsider Guthruc offer to join warband?"
A satyr can focus and empower his magic by playing haunting melodies on his panpipes. When he plays, all creatures within a 60-foot radius must make a DC 18 Will save or be affected by charm person, fear, sleep, or suggestion, depending on what tune the satyr chooses. A creature that successfully saves against any of the pipes’ effects cannot be affected by the same set of pipes for 24 hours, but can still be affected by the satyr’s other spell-like abilities as normal. The satyr’s use of his pipes does not count toward his uses per day of his spell-like abilities, and if separated from them he may continue to use his standard abilities. The pipes themselves are masterwork, and a satyr can craft a replacement with 1 week of labor. The save DC is Charisma-based.
"My name's Rakgah. He up at the looming party members and attempts a winning smile, as a satyr does, but it comes out more like the grimace of someone who's got far too many of their insides smeared on other people's faces to be entirely comfortable with their situation. "I'd be happy to join your band. I can sing and play the woodwinds. Please don't eat me."
"Rag-klah, huh? So willing to fight and give life for Guthruc army. How can trust Draksgah? How know you no cause ally run away or be close friend? Trick only against enemy."
Guthruc then lifts the leg of Prisioc he was snacking on, and rips a grossly oversized bite from the thigh, never breaking eye contact with the remaining survivor.
”I hope it does. I have it’s scent. If it flees I can fly after it and eat it.” Iorskan said, helpfully. Truth be told his scent wasn’t nearly that good. But it *sounded* impressive. Which meant that it was only right and proper to describe him.
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Awn remembers the first time this pair were a threatening intimidatory experience for a prisoner, back at Oleg's outpost. How things had...stayed the same.
Jen doesn't recall ever agreeing to teach Guthruc Abyssal, but it seems that the orc has reached an accords with himself...
She turns her attention to the satyr and decides to play the other role in the good guard-bad guard routine. "See... we look after our friends, and don't eat them," she says, "But the question is, are you our friend?"
Jen then pulls out the cloth map and shows it to the satyr. "Let's start showing some goodwill, hmm? Do you know anything about this weapon and its guardian?"
”I hope it does. I have it’s scent. If it flees I can fly after it and eat it.” Iorskan said, helpfully. Truth be told his scent wasn’t nearly that good. But it *sounded* impressive. Which meant that it was only right and proper to describe him.
The satyr swallows audibly.
"You can trust me. I'm very trustworthy. There's no chance of me becoming close friends with my allies, no sir Mr. Orc. Or making them run away. If anyone's running away from anyone it'd be me running away from you the very moment that I'm clear of that dragon wait did I say that out loud?"
Unfortunately, Rakgah's never seen the map before in his life.
Awn gathers his wits, which doesn't take very long, and stands up.
"Thanks Ozara! I almost became compost."
The woodborn sheathes T'lass and looks around at all the "food" lying around and the food's weapons and equipment. One of the food seems to not be food.
"Rakgah! I'm Awn. This is Ozara, Jen, Abaos, Akiros, lovely Auchs the Kind and your new best friends Guthruc and Iorskan. Think of them as your...guard..ians. Anura is Guthruc's disciple and somewhere around here is the old druid...Hmm. Nevermind. Welcome!" Awn finishes with his best smile.
"So! Where were we? Oh, and Guthruc, did you by any chance not kill the cat?"
"cat?" Guthruc wracks his rage-blurred memories. "which one? Though Guthruc think kill both."
Guthruc turns his attention back to the satyr.
"Good, If no use nature power on Guthruc and ally, can untie and join warband. You say run away though, so Guthruc warn. Iorksan, Guthruc, and shadow beast faster. And Guthruc no sleep. Tireless hunter that no stop until prey caught."
Guthruc nods to Anura, blindly assuming that he understood enough common to take that as the signal to untie the satyr and not to break his fingers.
"You could always summon us a new... cat," Jen says to the satyr. She gives Rakgah a half-friendly sort of smile and adds, "I believe we would be interested in... diplomacy with your people." She glances around for confirmation. "Do any of your kin live in these parts?"
"You could always summon us a new... cat," Jen says to the satyr. She gives Rakgah a half-friendly sort of smile and adds, "I believe we would be interested in... diplomacy with your people." She glances around for confirmation. "Do any of your kin live in these parts?"
There are other cultists of Nyrissa that Rakgah could locate given time, some of them satyrs. They're a rather decentralized group, though, and live in a setting without cell phones or internet connections; it could take a while to arrange a meeting with others of the faction.
Jen realizes that, with Abaos being uncharacteristically laconic, she's stepped into his boots to some extent. It's not quite a comfortable role for her, but she takes a deep breath and draws upon her experience from her time as an officer.
"Why don't we stay here for the night?" Jen suggests. "It seems fairly safe, there's shelter, and..." Her eyes drift from the collection of corpses lying around the clearing to the group's resident eat-murderers. "...food, for some of us anyways. And we can talk about our plan moving forward."
"Plan? I think the "plan" is to...move forward. To the Slough. For to foment the inciting of boggard rebellions. End tyranny. Bring peace. Murder food."
Awn yawns, stretching his root-sinewy arms. He looks at the trees, the corpses, the blood. And nods.
"Staying here seems nice, and you can go over the "plan" with Guthruc and Iorskan. You may lead Jen, now, but they are the driving force currently." Awn ends with his usual infuriating grin.
Guthruc rumages through the corpses lying about, keeping Rakgah in sight at all times. He takes bites out of the dead now and again.
While shuffling through Prisioc's pockets, Guthruc recalls something about a dangerous froghemoth in the pre-combat conversation. Directing his question primarily at Awn, Bokken, and Rakgah, he asks, "So, um... What is Froghemoth? Sound like frog, but frog weak."
The others wanted to stop. Iorskan was fine with this. They wanted to loot the bodies. He was fine with this too. It was like wearing pants. He didn’t see the point, but it made them happy. Most importantly he was well fed and wasn’t lonely. He could ask for little more.
"Staying here seems nice, and you can go over the "plan" with Guthruc and Iorskan. You may lead Jen, now, but they are the driving force currently." Awn ends with his usual infuriating grin.
Jen lets out a laugh. "Well, I can't dispute that, but still..." She turns and addresses the whole group. "What are we doing about this map, and how exactly do we plan on taking over the boggard nations?"
At a suitable lull in conversation and action, Jen looks towards Rakgah. "Perhaps you might perform for our evening's entertainment. Do you know any songs?"
Rakgah does in fact know songs! He's eager to please and/or ingratiate.
With half an eye out for a good place to cross the Murque River, the party presses forward, exploring and mapping as they do.
In his scouting and roamings far afeild, Mr. Winky finds the most notable location in the hex, a blighted hollow. The sweet stench of decay hangs thick in this woodland clearing. Knotted branches of sickly trees line the perimeter, creating a thick canopy that blocks most of the sunlight and cloaks the hollow in shadow. Withered vegetation struggles to grow in ragged clumps among the multitude of bones strewn across the forest floor.
Blending into the shadows, Mr. Winky explores the area.
”Nothing here worth eating. I should just burn it all.” Iorskan said, unhappily. The Blighted Hollow felt wrong. Unnatural. Nothing good could come of it.
In the shadows lurk . . . shadows. Two vaguely humanoid creatures of concentrated darkness wander the forest clearing. In the middle of the blighted hollow is an unusually limber piece of lumber, a many-branched and twisted tree with few leaves on it with twisted roots blackened as if by fire and a long deep scar down it's trunk that Mr. Winky's 26 perception correctly identifies as a friggin' mouth.
The shadows, living in shadows as they do, are acutely aware of when shadows act in a way atypical of mundane shade. They float over to investigate!
Mr. Winky lands on Ozzy's shoulder and whispers in her ear.
Mr. Winky says there are some shadows up ahead. The kind from the shadow plane. They're not very nice. They can go through stuff, and are really hard to kill...
There's also some kind of tree with a mouth...
Let's go that way. Ozzy points in the other direction.