Just as everyone is starting to wind down, starting small talk and such, Guthruc returns. He carries a full-grown deer over his shoulders as though it weighed no more than a halfling.
"Got extra. Eat if want." With this, he roughly drops the animal the the ground.
Pinning it down with his foot, he grabs the hind leg, and with a crunch and sickening tear, he dislodges and removes it, feasting immediately.
Watching Guthruc's sloppy butchering and eating of the animal, Jen again feels thankful for her Ring of Sustenance.
She nods in acquiescence at Somar's refusal. I'll let it rest... for now...
"Very well, then, keep your secrets. My friends and I would still be interested in meeting your people, though, and I'm sure Awn wants to see his home again."
With that, she moves over to the card game; she's never been much for gambling, but she finds herself curious and this seems a good opportunity to learn as any. "Mind if I join in?" she asks Abaos and Amrymm.
With that, she moves over to the card game; she's never been much for gambling, but she finds herself curious and this seems a good opportunity to learn as any. "Mind if I join in?" she asks Abaos and Amrymm.
"I don't mind," Somar acquiesces.
Elven cities, large and small, look fundamentally different from places populated with more mortal creatures. Every last house, footpath, and every bridge crossing the streams running through the town is a work of art - little home improvements add up over the centuries and make every useful thing ornate as a human chapel. The buildings themselves are made of stone or trees grown patiently in the right places, in the right shapes. When elves build, they build to last, and dead wood rots. But in such nonlethal weather, most of these buildings lie empty; preferring to live without an insulating layer between themselves and the world around them, many elves can be seen sitting crosslegged around cooking fires under the open skies. As the party walks down the mosaic-tile path that runs through the village (the path is walked often that it had to be paved, or else the dirt tramped down without regards to aesthetics), the elves turn to look. Talking quietly at first, they recognize Bright Awn and come down to greet him, calling out greetings and congratulations and jubilations and piling on questions about his adventures, the success of his mission, his human friends, his orcish friends, his fetchling friend, his tiefling friend, his ogreish friend, and is that a dragon?
From the onslaught of questions, those who speak elvish gather that Tuar and Naia aren't immediately present, but that someone's run to fetch them.
Iorskan flew overhead, completely sure of his majesty. Even if this place had more majesty than he had ever seen before, he was certain that he still had more. Completely certain. No doubts. Maybe a few. Regardless, he half-hoped for the elves to attack as he still hadn’t eaten one before. They didn’t look like they would be tasty (all skin and bone) but that just might mean that there was more flavor. Especially the one by the cooking fire that was looking at him. Luckily Iorskan was older and wiser than he used to be, so he knew that the elves would likely take offense if one of them went missing. And he did want to be a good guest, so he wouldn’t make such a social faux pas.
Awn takes the homecoming in his avuncular stride, and takes great pains to introduce all of his new companions to all of his old, sparing none of either side his honest appraisals. Which is time consuming. And exhausting. And somewhat harrowing. For some. Others see the levity in honesty unguarded.
Ozzy follows behind, uncharacteristically timidly. The girl can bend enemies to her will or crush them beneath her heel, but the concept of friendly strangers is one foreign to her, and she finds it a little unnerving.
As they enter the village, she spots a group of children. They actually look a bit older than her, and yet they are so young. So innocent. As they laugh and they kick a ball between them according some unknown set of rules, Ozzy is forced to face the fact that she will never get her childhood back.
Walking through the elven city, so nestled within nature, gives Guthruc flashbacks to his own village, or what little he remembered anyways.
It doesn't take long for him to remember the raids. The worgs came from all directions, and massacred everyone who didnt flee. He remembers what his life was like after, living as a worg's pet, their entertainment, a toy to be thrown away at a moments notice. all the chances he could've taken to run, but didn't for some sick reason. In the span of seconds, he relives every day of that torture.
Guthruc begins to hyperventilate and gets dizzy; he grows paranoid, "seeing" them around every corner.
no, wor— ...orcs are stronger than this. Hold yourself together Guthruc! surrender, and you die. submit, and you die. fear, and you die. feel, and you die. ...
The rapid breathing slows, and turns angry, occasional growls heard beneath his breath. Guthruc keeps moving, holding himself together only through sheer rage and blocking out his surroundings. Unfortunately to his reputation amongst the elves, this causes him to appear even more intimidating and dangerous than he already did.
Seeing Guthruc's distress, Iorskan circled and then landed next to the orc. He did so without fear, for the thought of the orc attacking him hadn't even crossed his mind.
"Don't eat them, they don't even look that tasty." He said in hissing tones. "Besides, look how thin they are. I bet their bones will get stuck in your teeth."
Awn smiles companionably at Guthruc's distress. He points out the elves oft-remarked and mythic fondness for bows.
"Or, if you like, if your teeth get in their bones, you'll be stuck. Full of arrows."
The sudden thud from Iorskans landing causes Guthruc's concentration to falter. His breathing escalates again as he sees the medium-sized quadraped appear in the corner of his vision.
They're here?!
In a fight-or-flight response, guthruc swings his club at the "worg".
Mere moments away from connecting the blow with the creature, Guthruc manages to process that the worgs never spoke draconic... He tries to slow the giant club, but its too little, too late.
Shortly after swinging at Iorskan, Guthruc begins to fade in and out of paranoid delusions, indecicive on whether he ought to run, club swinging; or stay, and make ammends. He starts to slowly step backwards in a confused stupor.
"Stay away from me." He growls.
"F-forgive."
"Guthruc left worg! No go back!"
Guthruc looks prepared for a fight, but at the same time, fearful.
Iorskan barely had time to react as the club came at him. Luckily it glanced off of him, causing no physical harm of note. Which was truly lucky, for he knew what the orc’s club could do.
"Stay away from me." He growls.
draconic"F-forgive."
"Guthruc left worg! No go back!"
A flash of anger shone in his reptilian eyes. Murderous anger.
”These elves are the worgs? I will burn them all.” He said, coldly. His body already heating up for the upcoming slaughter. He didn’t know what these elves had done to his friend, but they would pay with their lives! He looked at Awn. ”Vengeance for blood-friend.” He warned. These were Awn’s friends. But they had apparently hurt Guthruc. It was a complicated matter and he was not a complicated creature. So the best solution was to give advance warning of the upcoming elven buffet. That way everyone would be happy...?
Awn distances himself from the faux-pas blooming before him. Like physically, actively, mentally, socially, spiritually and chronologically. Distances. Himself.
”Meheneth dir vai kell sian var deir?!” he rasps hoarsely in Elvish.
No, no, it was going so well, I CAN'T let this ruin... Her train of thought trails off; Abaos is being uncharacteristically silent, and somebody needs to take action. Jen decides to put her linguistic skills to use.
"Hey," Jen says, cautiously stepping towards Iorskan. "Calm down, see how many of them there are? If they were hostile they'd have been cocky enough to attack us already." She throws in the last bit to soothe the dragon's ego.
Making a few assumptions from Guthruc's delirium and subsequent panic, Jen then takes a gamble and calls out in her most imposing Orcish,
"GUTHRUC SHIC'LA! You dishonor warband with cowardice and weakness, unmanned by past foes! Forget fear and rise above it, drowning our world in tide of worg blood!"
Iorskan froze, completely blindsided. Here was the respect that he craved. But for some reason the words stuck in his mouth. This elf felt old. Old enough to know of the dragons he wanted to be. His own insecurities of still being so small, so young, were there. If a dragon could have blushed then he would have.
With all intention of murder leaving as quickly as it had come, he said happily ”I am Iorskan, lord of the Sootscale Tribe.” It was the only honorific be had actually earned. ”It is a pleasure, Ruith. There was a misunderstanding. I have no desire to eat your people.” He said helpfully.
Jen's words hit Guthruc hard, snapping him out of it. He chants a few lines from earlier to help him focus and his breathing slows to a reasonable level.
The demon woman helped me, but she made it appear as though she is stronger than me. I must both thank her and punish her... complicated.
Guthruc storms over to Jen and grabs her roughly by the arm, dragging her out of earshot.
"You have my thanks. If not for your intervention, many of the elves and I may not have been alive tomorrow. However, your methods have made me seem weak before the warband twice in but a single action; and no doubt they watch us now. So, I apologize for the violent charade that follows."
With this, Guthruc grabs Jen by the collar and slams her against a wall. Shouting, Guthruc lets the warband see how he feels about her actions.
"Never defy Guthruc! Guthruc no fear. Guthruc can show Jekn how fear feels!"
Guthruc slams his fist into the wall by the teifling's head and drops her back to the ground.
He walks back to the party as though nothing had happened.
Ozzy rushes over to Jen, giving Guthruc a sour look as she passes. Are you ok?
Awn blinks good naturedly.
The warband reacts.
“Guthruc,” Dharak reprimands, eyes wild, “dude. Seriously. Chill.” He positions himself where he can grab one of the berserkers arms if he attacks someone else while internally debating whether he should check on Jen; the full-orc will never learn to join society without a friends to show him how it can be done, and Dharak doesn’t want to alienate him by taking someone else’s side in front of him - in Dharak’s view, you support your friends even when they’re in the wrong. But he’d like to be Jen’s friend too. “You can’t just attack people. That’s not strong, it’s insecure.”
Anura turns to a nearby elf to see if he can turn the situation to his benefit. “Am apologize. Am trying to council orc, am making good progress but slow. Am interested in elf magic and metal weapons for fighting demon-worshiper boggard. Am need orc help for fight demon worshiper boggard. Orc am very strong, nice when get to know, please no kill.”
The captive satyr makes a bid for freedom.
“Oh yes,” he’s telling Somar while everyone’s attention is on Guthruc. “He’s quote unstable. Told me if I run away, he’ll track me down and eat me. You’ve got to find a way to stop him.”
While the elves are still overcoming the bystander effect, Auchs comes trundling up to the front of the party. “You can’t attack people smaller than you,” he explains patiently, wrapping Guthruc in a bear hug, “unless you want to break them. Or you might break them accidentally.”
"Guthruc no hurt her. Just show that Guthruc in charge."
"Its not like I've had the best role models. The only leadership I've seen, even going through these lands, have been rule by fear and power. It runs through my blood."
Guthruc looks down, as though he were contemplating telling some deep secret.
"You're my friend Dharak. During the pause, I was thanking her. Thats a sign of weakness from where I was raised."
Before Dharak can really answer, Guthruc is distracted by what he hears Anura telling the elf. Walking over to Anura with a wolfish grin; Guthruc puts a hand on the frog-folk's shoulder .
"Watch your tongue Anura. Your common is not yet good enough to be subtle."
When Mr. Winky hears Somar starting to speak, he interrupts the him by screeching and beating his wings around the satyr's head.
Rubbing at her shoulder, Jen looks at Dharak. She can appreciate his effort towards kindness, uninformed thought it might have been.
"Thank you for standing up for me," she says to him. Then, conspiratorially, as if she and Dharak really were friends rather than just mutually sane members of an insane company, "He won't admit it, but I think he's becoming more... civilized." She would continue speaking with the half-orc, but Mr. Winky's raucous squawking demands her attention. She gives Dharak a look that says This isn't done, then turns towards the satyr.
"Rakgah, you aren't getting... ideas, are you?"
For Somar's benefit, she adds, "That would be quite silly. I'm sure these elves are wise enough to realize that your intentions are by no stretch of the imagination noble, cultist of Nyrissa."
Her voice rises slightly at the end. Surely somebody in the vicinity would be familiar with the goddess of madness and destruction.
It was only now dawning on him on how odd his friends were. He had thought it completely normal to eat-murder everything that you don’t yell at until they became your friend. But these elves seemed to be completely different. Though he had to admit that for all their regalnsss he quite preferred the bombastic nature of his group. Especially as it seemed that he’d finally get to eat the Satyr! He still didn’t know why they insisted on bringing it along, but it seemed to make them happy so he didn’t care. But now? Now he’d get to finally eat it! Maybe. The logic of the two legged races was still foriegn to him.
At Jen's words, a new round of elvish chittering commences. A small contingent of elves who were making a beeline for Bright Awn, hearing Nyrissa's name, turn to look at the satyr.
"Bright Awn," says Tuar, an aging elf wearing simple clothing and a smile that wouldn't look out of place on Bright Awn's own face, "welcome home. A little bird, who is in truth a rather large tree, told me you might be presently paying a visit. And here we are, in the present, with you visiting. And we'll all pay, as we've paid before, but you most of all I fear." There's so much that he wants to say that he stands a moment in silence. "Sadly, there's not time at this moment for long tales, as our honored guests need watching, and restraining? Why does the satyr walk free?"
"I promised not to cause trouble," Rakgah admits, hands raised.
"See that you don't," with a smile in his voice that only Awn recognizes as his 'you done goofed' tone. "As it stands, you're in trouble up to your neck. Trouble is a serpent with a voracious appetite - in trying to squirm free, you might force it to bite off your body. Tell me," and this Tuar addresses to the party at large, "what do you know about the youngest Eldest, Nyrissa?"
this Tuar addresses to the party at large, "what do you know about the youngest Eldest, Nyrissa?"
Guthruc shrugs and looks around at the rest of the party. He only recruited the satyr so his army wasn't so small and inflexible.
Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29
"Not too much," Jen admits. "But I do know her followers, such as this fellow here, pursue the downfall of civilization in her name. We just recently had an... encounter with his companions; it didn't end well for them."
This is their chance, then, to establish themselves as the friendly, sane neighbor who neither wishes for anarchy nor for the extermination of non-humans in the Greenbelt that some Swordlords support. She only needs an opening...
Awn smiles so wide his head almost cracks.
"Tuar! My father! It is so good to see you!!! And mother, is she well?"
To the question posed regarding Nyrissa Awn turns thoughtful.
"We found a creature leading some kobolds that paid homage to such a name, but beyond that I know little. I think some of those personages we met at the Stag Lord's fortress may have known more and relayed their infornation to Abaos here. [here points at Abaos] "Maybe the one called Nugrah or the druid Bokken? I am terrible with details as you may remember father..."
After an exchange of stories and pleasantries the party's command structure (read: the PCs) somewhere more private along with a small contingent of wise old elves, to discuss the future of the Stolen Lands, leaving those with less of a say in the way that things are and will be done to divert themselves in the elvish city under curious and watchful eyes.
And Rakgah is being contained somewhere secret, in case someone in the party is of a mind to help him or set him free. You've all been checked for enchantments, but there's no magical way to discern where loyalties lie and satyrs are known for their rhetoric as much as they are for their magic.
In a grotto lit softly by diffuse sunlight, sitting on the roots of trees wrapped about in climbing ivy, sit the PCs and also Bright Awn's parents - Tuar, who you have met (smiling benignly and radiating peace and surety as he always does - the confidence of an elf who knows themself and the world well enough to have largely outgrown anxiety and fear - eyes unfathomable, his gaze always straying back to Bright Awn), and Naia - a half-human who an elf would describe as wise far beyond her years, and a human would describe as old enough to have seen it all before once or thrice, old enough to know the patterns of nature and human behavior, to guess the answers to questions before they are asked. Her hair is grey and her face lined, and her robes mark her as a druid to those learned in the lore of the Green Faith. Seated crosslegged in midair is Iliwraek, who is a wizard. To those sensitive to such things he glows like a beacon, so many spells he's wrapped around and through himself that those attempting divinations must turn their heads away. Across from him sits Ruith, who is also a wizard, though you wouldn't know it for divining it. She emits no aura, as if she didn't exist at all. Standing is Rolim Ulamaris, in scratched and patinated mithril, who gives the impression of something cast from adamantine - but that's an unfair comparison. Even adamantine can be broken - by the gods, perhaps, or eroded by the passing of an eternity - but a paladin is unmovable.
"Forgive my Taldane," Tuar says in accented common, "It's been some time since I've had need to speak the common tongue. Troubling times are upon us, friends! There is much that must be discussed, and yet the time we have to speak is not proportionate to what must be said. If the movements of the world will not deign to accommodate us, it falls on us to match our pace to it's marching song - we may not have weeks to deliberate. We might not have even days. I propose we say all that must be said this day, and we do not reconvene."
This elicits disapproval from the assembled elves. "Costly mistakes are made in haste," Iliwraek remonstrates. "The slow course oft proves fastest in the end."
"Before we find cause to quarrel," Naia brokers peace, "let us first decide what it is that needs to be said, and then discuss discussions. One thing above others should not be forgotten in our hurry to speak of all that must be spoken of - Bright Awn has brought us envoys from human lands, and despite the current crisis the success of his mission remains important as ever. We need to decide where we draw our borders and write them such that they will be remembered."
"It's best that I list what it is we say we will say," Ruith says, writing "define borders" in letters floating midair. "So we can be sure to say that we have said it."
"The boundary between this world and the First wears thin. Fey beings are vying for power in the wild places of Golarion. Learning what their interest is in the Greenbelt and addressing it is a priority," Rolim states. "This all the more so if we've somehow attracted the Youngest's attention."
Ruith writes "thinning planar boundary" and "Nyrissa".
"The Shadow Plane, inseparable from the First World and our own, is leaking into both." Tuar steeples his fingers. "And when, like the distant ocean tide, the planes again separate it is not a perfect separation - our metaphorical sand becomes mud, the shadow realm's metaphorical water filled with our plants and animals. In my concern, on this and other issues, I woke a certain trusted Seer . . ." he lapses into silence, lost in thought.
"And?"
"And that Seer could not answer my questions. Only once before since Earthfall have the First World, Shadow Plane, and Material, in their intricate dance, bled into each other like they are now doing. The Seer, not quite so ancient as to have lived through such a thing before, could not tell me much of what was or will be - but they did recommend the records of the Nomen centaur as an alternate source of information."
Ruith adds that to the list. "What of you, Bright Awn? Travelers? Is there anything you'd like to discuss discussing?"
"So Guthruc, allies, and elf go war with shadow world and fey world? Should preparation and make first strike. Kill them before can attack."
Guthruc moves to stand up, implying that there is nothing else important enough for discussion.
”Very wise. Eat-burn fey shadows. Make survivors fear us and they will leave.” It seemed like a straight forward problem with a straightforward solution.
Jen wonders if Guthruc is purposefully neglecting to mention their substantial fey allies, or if he simply forgot.
"What's this about the Nomen centaur?" she asks. "I definitely agree with Guthruc in that we have to prepare for whatever our next move will be... Know thy enemy and all that, at the very least.
"So Guthruc, allies, and elf go war with shadow world and fey world? Should preparation and make first strike. Kill them before can attack."
Guthruc moves to stand up, implying that there is nothing else important enough for discussion.
"Were that there were easy ways to traverse the planes! Then we could challenge entire planar realms to honorable combat, and doubtless win. Alas, for now there is little we can do but wait and learn and plan."
"What's this about the Nomen centaur?" she asks. "I definitely agree with Guthruc in that we have to prepare for whatever our next move will be... Know thy enemy and all that, at the very least."
"The Nomen centaur dwell far to the west, beyond the Hooktongue Slough. My dealings with them have been limited, I am afraid, and they are, as a people, suspicious of outsiders - I do not know what they do, in even rough terms. But that is the glory of life, always to be learning - I will speak with the Nomen."
"We've laid out our agenda," quoth Iliwraek. "What is yours?"
"Guthruc and ally go to Hooktongue Slough to kill-recruit boggard army. Like did with stag king, blue fey, dragon men. Guthruc war-king need army be true war-king." Guthruc explains. His accent, putting far too much emphesis on "k" and "g" sounds, causes his common, which must already be a harsh-sounding language to the elves, to sound only more so.
"Yes, the boggards are a threat, and, moreover, we must honor our alliance with our good friend Anura." Jen instinctively turns to look towards the frog-man before remembering he wasn't invited to the meeting. She clears her throat somewhat awkwardly before continuing, "Moreover, they can be reasoned with, unlike much of the fey, and perhaps become worthy allies in these changing times. And allies seem increasingly necessary, for the fey are not the only threat-"
And here she nods to Ruith, as if to indicate that this is certainly agenda-worthy material. "-the human kingdoms are vying to colonize all these lands without much regard for those already living here. And the nature of human lords is well-established: hasty, willful, driven to own all they see... It may seem trivial as the planes blend closer and closer together, but it would be wise to prepare for it nonetheless."
Jen then looks around the room at her companions, saying, "And I believe that's our agenda, unless one of my friends here has something to add...?