Warren perches Tuney on his shoulder and goes looking for the bubbleers. He tells Tams to watch Vrag.
Imon's arrow flies straight and true toward the bubble. Upon impact the bubble bounces wildly away from the arrows tip and straight into Anwel's outstretched hand. As it comes into contact with Anwel, the bubble suddenly bursts releasing a sickly pink and green swirling mist that coats the elf's hand and all along his arm. The mist doesn't appear to cause any physical harm beyond turning his black robes into a sickly street entertainers costume. However, the stuff is also accompanied by a horrid, sickly smell of death and burning bodies. In fact, the smell seems to be the purest, distilled, essence of the stench caused by Gorax's slow burning pyre from the previous day.
It takes a few heartbeats, but Anwel's body starts to react violently to the powerful and overwhelming smell. Fortunately, he is able to calm his churning stomach just enough to keep from seeing his morning meal a second time.
Just steps behind Anwel, Gorax slashes his longsword at another bubble. The soapy orb slides down the Gorax's blade and doesn't burst until it touches his hand. Again the bubble bursts and this time it is Gorax whose hand and arm is coated in the stench filled mist.
Tuney flies another fifty paces up the trail before he lands with a couple of quick chirps on a branch near where Vrag said the intersection with the other trail should be. Although surrounded by several of the bubbles, they do not seem to bother the bird or burst when one happens to brush against his feathers.
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Gorax takes a lungful of the foul smelling gas, as his stomach reacts, he feels his throat constrict, stopping the bile from rising up to his mouth. He expels the air with a loud sound and a shake of his head. "Jeez, don't burst anymore of these, they are revolting. Get outta the way of these bubbles, arrgghhh!"
"I-I think I see," says Anwel, coughing from deep in his chest and turning back to the group. He stays where he is, however, not wanting to subject them to the smell any more than they have been. He might be able to eradicate the odor and put his robes right, but he will wait til they have cleared the field to try. "The bubbles will not burst unless they touch bare flesh," he says tentatively, trying not to trigger another coughing fit. He withdraws his arms deep within his sleeves and puts up his hood as far in front of his face as it will go. He then shakes his head so that his hair falls in front of his face as well, just thickly enough to begin to obscure his vision. "I will attempt to cross," he says, taking a big gulp of air through his mouth and stepping into the bubble field.
Imon sighed, "As much as I would enjoy the sight of Anwel vomitting his flighty elven guts out after crossing those bubbles, should we not look for a way around before we all commit to barrelling through?"
Stellan looks alarmed at the boldness of Anwel and Gorax, "What are you doing? Please back away. We'll find some other way to do this." Stellan considers what he sees, "Yes it harms no one but people but seems awfully mean for good.... Hmm, maybe this is retribution for giving offense?" Stellan goes off on another of his wierdly focused reveries.
Warren quickly heads through the woods, passing easily through the brush looking for the bubbleers.
He tries sylvan,
He whistles for Tuney to look for creatures.
Anwel steps further into bubble filled area, after about ten paces it is nearly impossible to see the elf's dark robes as several of the orbs seem to swirl and dance around his moving form.
Seconds later Warren strides into the forest looking for the source of the annoying orbs.
Anwel tries to draw the edges of his hood together as a bubble darts in front of him, but he cannot stop it worming its way through the fabric. He gags as it bursts in his face, filling his mouth and nose with the acrid odor of burning flesh and stinging his eyes mightily. He goes to wipe his face, but another bubble takes advantage of the opportunity to burst on his now-exposed hand. He withdraws it again, and staggers forward, managing to twist out of the way of one bubble as he falls but hitting another. He feels the gorge rise in his throat and this time lets it pass his lips. Foul-smelling bits of soggy hardtack and water fall from his mouth and onto the ground.
he reports, hoping the others can hear him. For a moment the image of a screen or veil to hang in front of his hood swims into Anwel's mind, but he cannot grasp at it to create it. He will have to simply move on as best he can. So he does.
...I suppose that calls for three Fort saves.
My lucky day. Oh well, I can still move, that's all that matters. Thirty feet deeper into the field I go.
Stelllan comes out of his daze, seeing an even more worring situation and is uncharacteristically at a loss as to what to do.
Anwel's determined to torment himself, Gorax is bold and Warren is flanking, this is very risky.
Stellan looks around wondering if an ambush is about to be launched upon them but will retreat if the bubbles start to come near him.
Perception
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Once more Gorax is mumbling under his breath at the antics of the grey and shadowy Anwel, "He's mad, bloody bonkers, it must be the magic that does that to him!" He shakes his head, spitting to the ground the foul taste of the bubble. His strong bronzed forearm wipes across his ruddy face, removing the spittle from his lips, before depositing the excess on his dirty brown breeches. He looks around at the rest of the group, only to see Warren running off into the woods.
"OK, now where's he off to?" Gorax asks looking perplexed. "Damn well unruly bunch this, never cut it in the city guard that's for sure" he thinks as he lowers he eyes to the ground, wondering if this really is the right company for him "Right, anyone got an idea what we're gonna do now and what is creating them bubbles?"
Andrei calls out loudly "Are you alright in there? It you should get out as soon as possible before they cover your mouth and nose." then talking more quietly to those around him. "It seems like they won't burst on an arrow or a blade. Fire might do it but it is probably dangerous to try. Lets head around."
The party hears the sounds of Anwel's violent retching reaction to the bubbles followed by his shouted warning. After watching Anwel and Gorax it becomes clear that anyone approaching within ten feet of the bubbles begins to 'attract' them. Those standing within five feet of Gorax quickly smell the lasting effects of the bubble as the harsh odor of burning flesh mixed with rotting leather, soiled clothing, and smoke forces you to step away from the big barbarian or deal with a quickly rebelling stomach.
"Clever," mutters Anwel, massaging his stomach as he crawls slowly up to the skull. The bone is charred black and flaky, though it does not appear to be brittle. Anwel darts behind the skull as its jaw opens and it releases another stream of small bubbles into the air, then forces himself to hold still as they float away. He tries to concentrate on his magic, but to no avail. Even if he had been able to reach it, he had not prepared for anything like this.
Instead, he slowly unhooks his rolled-up bedroll from the top of his pack and unfurls it, tucking the sextant he had kept there into his sash. Maybe if this plan works he will be able to take a sighting to learn where they are. He waits for the skull to emit another stream of bubbles, then pounces with the bedroll. He wraps it around the skull and ties it off at the top, clamping the jaw shut. He then wraps the excess cloth around the skull, sealing it away from the air. The bedroll will reek if the skull manages to exude any more bubbles despite its jaw being shut, but they should burst against the cloth and not escape.
he shouts, ducking back inside his layers and holding himself still again. Anwel wonders for a moment whether they can use this to undermine Tartuk's leadership, assuming the skull was placed here on his orders, but decides to really ponder that later.
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"Give me a cloak so I may get to that skull, then let it feel the force of Gorax's arm, as I smash it to bits." says Gorax nodding to himself, his face stern with focus and determination to stop this magic. "If anys have a hammer I could use, then I'll smash it to nothingness" he offers to his companions to further help in the destruction of the thing.
Warren returns. "There is an intersecting east-west trail, but I could find no creatures. I think we stay on schedule."
Being focused on dodging the remaining bubbles, it takes a bit of time before you feel the weight of the bedroll sift slightly. Taking a closer look you see the folds of the cloth slowly start to expand as if the knotted blanket was slowly filling with air.
"Stay here Gorax, Anwel will bring it out if he can't deal with it and the last thing we need is more of that stuff on people." Andrei says calmly to Gorax.
Turning to Warren he asks "Can we get the horses and sled through the bushes? I don't want to wait for this stuff to disperse unless we have to, if needs be we can abandon the sled."
Then turning the bubbles
Vinur shares Stellan's distress at his friends' suffering, then wrinkels his sensitive nose and starts backing off. Stellan absently follows along as Vinur leads him away from the bubbles.
Stellan calls out, "Don't let down your guard, keep alert, this would be a good time to rush us if they are so inclined. Though I suspect harressment is the current plan."
Stellan looks at Warren, "Huh? UH, Do you mean after these bubbles are gone or are we to try to move these large horses through the undergrowth of the deep forest to get to that trail? Anwel thinks he's stopped more bubbles forming but I think it'll be a while before we can move safely."
Perception
Survival +1 if in hills or mountains.
Can we trail-blaze around the bubble area? How long we it take if we can?
"Numb this thing a hundred ways," fumes Anwel, knowing that the oath makes no sense, and not particularly caring. He is that frustrated. The skull seems almost resourceful. He hugs the makeshift bindle to himself, ducking around a bubble that insinuates itself into his path, and heading back down the trail from whence he came. he says insistently, needing to impart a lot of information very quickly.
Once he can barely see the edge of the field , Anwel crushes a vial of fine red and blue sand that he would normally use to power a spell against the slowly-expanding bindle, then heaves it towards the others.
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Surprised by Anwel's call, Gorax rubs his eyes and gets up moving towards the sound of Anwel's voice. Mumbling to himself, "I hope this isn't some strange trick of that magic man!" He waits for a bundle to come out of the bubbles, which it does. He catches it and runs away from the bubbles as far as he can, before placing the bundle on the floor, picking out his longsword and with two hands starts to smash it apart. He holds his breath for as long as possible as he repeatedly tries to break the horrible thing.
Gorax pummels Anwel's puffed up bedroll with his sword. The first couple of swings bounce oddly as the captured bubbles repel or turn the steel. However, the fabric is easily cut and several gashes release the trapped orbs and allow the barbarian a clean strike at the skull as it begins opening to release another set of the obnoxious globes. Despite a couple of the released bubbles bursting against his skin, Gorax brings his blade down across the blackened bone causing it to shatter into numerous pieces.
Upon the skulls destruction, the magic of the bubbles is released in one fell swoop that causes the entire field to rupture in one great conflagration of grotesque, stinking, rancid smoke and goo.
Gorax looks down to find both his chest and arms coated with the stinking, pinkish-green stains as the smell again assaults his nose.
As for Anwel...as the magic clears the rest of the party can see the elf standing a few dozen paces down the path. There is not a spot of black visible on his robes or other outer clothing as his entire person is completely covered with the same ugly, stinking stuff coating Gorax. A few wisps of greenish smoke slowly drift across the dazed, blinking expression plastered on his face.
Warren nods after the rest are recovered.
"I was going to lead everyone around it, but the threat seems over. Let us keep going."
He speaks to Vrag when they resume the trek: "Seen anything like those bubbles in your time in these woods?"
Andrei coughs a bit bit but recovers quickly "Anwel, Gorax are you ok? Stellan can you help them? Everyone else keep your eyes out I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the thing's creator."
Anwel sways back and forth on his feet, not quite able to find his balance but not quite destabilized enough to fall over. His hood, weighed down with stinking, viscous gunk, flops down around his shoulders. His white hair is largely untouched by the stuff. His mouth hangs slightly open so he can breathe without having to smell the hellish stench that's worming its way into the ground and plant life all around him. The fumes sting his eyes and set them blinking furiously, but not furiously enough to stop them leaking tears onto his face. He tries to raise his hand to wipe them away, but even through the tears he can see his sleeve and fingertips are covered in gunk.
Still, Anwel smiles, a spluttering, ironic laugh passing his lips. Without words, it tells of Anwel's mixed emotions: his pride at having triumphed over the thing, his bitter prediction that he can expect no praise or comfort from the others, his regret at having had to help destroy something he could not understand, and his appreciation for the penance exacted by the skull. In the shell shocked aftermath of the explosion, Anwel finds himself unable to do anything else but stand, sway, cry, and laugh in one place for what must be a creepily long time. He hears, and is grateful for, Andrei's words, especially after his prediction, but his lungs, tongue, and jaw won't work to respond to them. He just laughs a little louder, sniffles back some discharge, and gags as he gets a noseful of the fumes.
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Gorax, coughs and splutters, as the noxious explosion from the destruction of the skull leaves him with a heaving stomach. Like the paladins in tales told when he was a boy, he plants the tip of his sword in the ground, collapsing to kneel on one knee, hands clasped the hilt. Head bowed, he spits out the foul taste in his mouth and throat, only just stopping from depositing his breakfast on the green grass in front of him. "I hate feeling like this!" escapes is mouth, between the rasping retching sounds. "I need a clean up!" he says, surprising all of his companions, as he is not known for his regular washing!!!!
With people needing his aid, Stellan breaks out of his lethargy. He tells Vinur, "Thanks for guiding me away, Vinur, but stay here now others need me." Stellan calls out, "We'll need water, to wash and clean cloths, if possible, should only take a few and may prevent worse delays." Stellan waves to the afficted and says, "That was brave of both of you, I applaud the sacifice, if not the aftermath. Still I have much to do, Anwel are you able to breath?"
Stellan'll will reach Gorax first and check to see how bad off he is, If it looks that Gorax can function on his own, then Stellan will move on to Anwel, and check his health. Stellan will take actions as he can given his limited equipment.
Heal Gorax
Heal Anwel
Assume this is needed:
Fort:
Fort:
Anwel nods at Stellan's question, opening his mouth wide and noisily inhaling, then exhaling, a huge gulp of air. It rasps in the back of his throat. The effort, however, seems to be rather too much for him, and his knees finally buckle. He throws his arm out to catch Stellan's shoulder, but misses and lands heavily on his rear. The ground squelches moistly under his weight. Anwel looks plaintively up at Stellan, clearly wanting to just be led somewhere, anywhere else.
Vrag shakes his head at Warren question. "Never seen anything like that before." He offers a bit of a smile to the druid, "But it seems to me that you've managed to get on someone's bad side."
The blindfolded goblins in the cart twist their heads about in alarm with the bursting of the magic. Jink mutters frightened mumbles through his gag, but is silenced by a tap on the shoulder and a stern 'Quiet you' from Tams.
When Stellan approaches Gorax the smell of burning bodies and rotten mouldering clothing is strong enough to cause the healers eyes to water. Although the barbarian is much more 'ripe' than usual, it does appear he will be okay after a few moments.
Yet, the smell coming off of Gorax is nothing compared to Anwel. It's as though the poor elf has been dipped in a pool filled with the essence of smoke, rot, death, and sewage. As he gets closer, Stellan is forced to hold back his own system's reaction to the smell. Unfortunately, even his experience as a healer, sometimes in gruesome battlefield circumstances, can't hold back his natural instincts.
Needing a minute or two to recover from his own sickness, Stellan finally manages to get enough control over himself to check Anwel. Fortunately it appears the elf hasn't suffered any physical damage, but he does appear to be in a mild state of shock.
"I hope the smell doesn't linger" Imon said, approaching Anwel and holding a hand out. His other hand was covering his face in a futile attempt to block out the stench. "Good job finding the source of the bubbles, even though it was dumb to march into the middle of them like that."
With trepidation Stellan approaches the brave and foolish adventurers, trying to control his gagging, while hanging on for a moment as he checks Gorax, as soon as he reaches Anwel his stomach rebels. After a quick check to be sure that death is only desired not imminate, Stellan looks around for some supply of a significate amount of water.
Perception useful water or anything else that can serve.
Survival +1 if in hills or mountains. Water! or anything else that can serve.
Stellan strips off the Anwel's outer clothes, and take his own jacket off, and wrap Anwel in it to ease the trouble as best he can, then leads the pair of them to whatever succor he can find.
"Warren, we'll need a few moments at least to clean them, Anwel's in shock and Gorax only somewhat better, and I sure their horses would flee, if they tried to approach." Sotto voce, "I certainly want to."
Stellan does what he can, as quickly as he can.
Anwel reaches up to grab Imon's proffered hand and lets the lawman pull him to his feet. He braces his free hand on the Imon's shoulder and, hearing and appreciating his words, gives him a smile. He had offered praise, and Stellan concern, two things Anwel had not expected. He wants them to know how much he appreciates that. Anwel's eyes, however, do not manage to find Imon's. They stare past him, past the group, into the trees. Swimming in the back of Anwel's mind is the notion that if he looks hard enough he will be able to see the mouth of the Sellen River spilling into the Inner Sea. He imagines it must look quite disconcerting.
Fortunately, Imon does not have to bear Anwel's thousand-yard stare for long. Before Anwel realizes what he is about to do, Stellan has crouched down behind him, grabbed the hems of his robes and the edges of his tabards all in a big bunch, and pulled them over his head. Suddenly, almost all of Anwel's clothes are mushed together in front of his shoulders. He lets his arms fall, and his robes fall to the ground. His body, protected by a black leotard and a kind of loose skirt () is deathly pale, though from what you can tell his scars seem to stop at his shoulders. It looks like he is about to lose his balance again, but Stellan wraps his coat around him and he and Imon each take an arm, wrap them around their shoulders, and begin leading Anwel out of the area.
Anwel hopes someone remembers to take his robes. He will, he believes, be able to clean them - and himself, and Gorax - with magic once he can concentrate again.
You also notice as you step away from Anwel, that the smell and any remaining magical goo has dissipated. Unfortunately the same is not true for the stuff that covers both Gorax and Anwel.
...Nuts.
"I'm not going to have to carry you, am I? Because if so, you're going to have to put those robes back on." Imon said gruffly as Anwel leaned on him. He smiled as he added, "Also, I can't promise I won't chuck you into the first body of water we come to."
With a look of distaste uncommon on Stellan's face, he uses one hand to put Anwel's robes on his cheap backpack and picks it up while continuing to hold up Anwel on the other side. Vinur runs around to the various trails, sniffing the air, coming to the third trail, the one wandering south, he starts to whine.
"Not, (gag) as bad as Anwel, but I doubt your horse will care; he'll still run away, so come along please, Gorax." Stellan walks with one arm supporting Anwel, as Imon does supports his other side. "I hope my jacket isn't so bad, Imon, I guess I'll need to jump in as well - What is it Vinur? Oh, I think Vinur has found water that way. Let's do this quick and get out of here. Thanks, Vinur." Stellan calls out to Warren. "Warren would you be so kind as to check that trail for ambushes? We need that water."
If he reaches the water unimpeded he'll wade in without a concern and start washing Anwel, and the clothing, then aids Gorax, if he lets.
Stellan, seems to have everyting in control so Andrei will lead riderless horses and keep his eye out for more trouble.
Stellan and Imon, carrying Anwel, follow Vinur about a hundred feet down the narrow trail where they find a good sized pool in a spring feed stream. The water is clear, cold and several feet deep just a step or two from the edge. As Stellan begins washing the elf, it quickly becomes clear that there may be a lingering effect to the fae magic. While the gooey residue simply rinses away and disappears as it touches the water, Anwel's exposed skin and clothes retain the ugly greenish-pink coloring as if deeply stained. As for the smell, it is greatly reduced, but it does not go away entirely. No matter how much you soap and wash, that feint aroma of sickening, smokey death still lingers around Anwel, and to a lessor extent Gorax. Although the barbarian barely seems to notice given his normal lack of concern over such matters.
In the meantime, Andrei, Warren and Urdo bring the spider cart, horses and prisoners up to the intersection. The effects of the magic have completely dissipated and once again the smell of fir, cedar, damp earth, and mouldering leaves fills the air.
As you come into the intersection, Vrag points to the partially overgrown trail leading to the southwest. "That's where we go if you wish to avoid more of Tartuk's bands."
The trail is little more than a deer path through the dense forest and brambles continue to snag your clothing or scratch at your skin forcing you to move a little slower and more cautiously than normal. You are just about to give up on finding anything when you hear the sound of at least one, maybe two or more people, splashing about in a pool of water just a few paces further up the trail. The undergrowth of the forest prevents you from seeing who it might be. It also prevents them from seeing you at this point.
Grateful as he is to see the goop slide off his clothes and body, Anwel's thin frame does not take the cold well. Uncovered, immersed in water, at the end of a northern winter, he begins to shiver violently. The shock of the cold had knocked Anwel out of his daze, but he still finds it difficult to speak through his chattering teeth. "Thank...you..." he manages to say, his normal loquaciousness reduced to the barest bones of the Taldane language. "And...you're...welcome..." he adds, though both Imon and Stellan had stopped just short of thanking him or Gorax.
Tentatively, his fingertips shaking, Anwel reaches for his robes - likewise soaking in the pool - and pulls them close. He looks at them critically. The musk, and the sickly colors, have soaked into them it seems. Anwel turns the hem of one of the sleeves inside out, to see if the inside is as thoroughly stained as the outside, then attempts to draw on his magic to clean them. If that fails, he will attempt to dye them black again with the same spell, though even if that succeeds he will have to renew it every so often.
Stellan busies himself with the necessary clean up of everyone, and their clothes and his backpack and anything else needed. After at time he notices that the wash up is not working as well as he hoped and he suspects magic is still involved.
At Anwel's comment, Stellan replies absently, "Your welcome, of course Anwel."
Sense motive Does Stellan pick up on Anwel's pique?
Stellan remarks, "It seems that this magic is very stubborn, I cannot get all the smell out. Perhaps someone with mystic sight prepared can tell what was done and how to deal with it?
K, Arcane, What spell is this? What is the duration of the effect, other properties, etc. How can it be dealt with?
K, Nature, Is his a fey magic? Is there a natural way to deal with this? Did we give offense to a fey? How can we make amends, if so?
Stellan is way too busy to do scouting.
Vinur trots behind Stellan, staying enough behind to keep his nose clear of the worst of it, but checking out anything that might harm them.
Perception: Is anything about that could hurt him or Stellan, or is just interesting to a wolf cub?
When back on the trail, Warren stays up front with their guide. He decides to test him on some philosophy.
"What is your opinion on plants, trees, and the natural world in general. Do you try to dominate it, survive in it, or cooperate with it?"
He says this as he is constantly ferrying an eagle from his shoulder to scout from above and look for others on the game trail.
Examining his robes, Anwel quickly discovers that the fabric is stained through to the inside. Frowning in concentration, he manages to magically die the robes black for a limited time, but the change of color does little for the still lingering odor. While not nearly as strong as before, the smell still is strong enough to cause others to take notice although they aren't likely to have the violent physical reactions suffered by some in the party earlier.
Vinur, seeking to keep clear of both the bathing and the smell, begins exploring the area near the spring. Suddenly, the wolf pup raised his nose into the air, the tip working back and forth feverishly, as he watches the trail to the south.
Vrag turns to Warren as the druid steps up. Looking around at the tall trees, the bugbear actually looks thoughtful at the druids question. Finally he responds in a somber voice. "Dominating the forest is a fools errand. It is a futile grasp at control over that which cannot be controlled. How does one dominate a river, trees, the wind." He shakes his head, "No. There are plenty of creatures that can be dominated or controlled for a purpose. Goblins, kobolds....humans. But nature is something you survive or live in balance with. That is how the Bone Ravens see things."