The Hunter studies you for a moment, as if assessing the sincerity of your pursuit. You can hear murmurs from the others, who are quite convinced that letting one of these Halfling beasts return to their master would be a horrible idea. The Witch Hunter, however, seems convinced otherwise.
"Pursue if you wish, and take your Slayer in tow. But I am also sending one of my men with you. He will be able to cleanse what you cannot, even if what he needs to remove is you. And we will seal that tunnel behind you and purge this town before I pursue this corruption further. If you are genuine in your intentions, I expect your return within 3 days. Otherwise I will consider it all the proof I need of your own corruption, which would only be remedied should we find your corpses when we cleanse the forest ourselves."
He turns to the torch-bearing soldiers beside the mangled abomination. "Djack, you will go. And you carry with you the authority of the crown to rid the world of these two should they prove false. Be wary of them."
Gil: You follow the tunnel to where it drops, easing yourself down the slope. Twice you slip and slide a few feet further down but nothing is damaged in the process. The ground is cold here and quite damp when the path levels out. Another 20 yards ahead it slopes back upward at a similarly steep incline. You aren't sure if it's a play from your torchlight or not, but it seems to be lit from above... possibly daylight.
Skorabor’s eyes continues to follow the witch hunter until he switches his disapproving gaze to Djack. He looks the man over head to toe then snorts and turns towards the barn. ”If you follow you do so on your own peril. I can’t guarantee your safety” he tells the witch hunter’s auxiliary.
Sensing the new light source up ahead, Gil smothered his torch with dirt, before sheathing his blade. Edging further down the tunnel, he made sure his crawling was as stealthy as he could manage. "Dont want to get killed by some mongrel waiting at the end, not after surviving all this nonsense. Actually not period. Me, killed by one of them?" Despite his attempts at stealth, he couldn't help but snigger at the thought. "preposterous." He whispered to himself, before continuing onwards towards the light.
Gil: The slope is slippery, and there are a couple of times that you're certain your sliding and cursing has alerted whatever might be above of your presence. Luckily, as you finally emerge, there appears to be no such danger.
You are on the far side of the creek, and you can hear it's tumbling waters behind you. Above is a thick canopy of leaves, which filters the sunlight in strands the cause the dust and pollen to shimmer in the air. The grass is well travelled in this area, matted to the ground and revealing a blatant deer trail of sorts that travels further east.
There is also a large stone here, engraved with a mark you don't recognize.
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I think we've just left the most dangerous thing behind us. Look alive, stay alive.... The young man gives an uncertain smile accompanied by a hesitant nod. A little mousy for his size.
You two are an odd couple. I mean, not that you're a couple... Just two people. Couple means two. That's all. Sorry... Thank you.. He seems to blush.
Mandus starts in surprise when he hears the sounds of Horn and Skorabor crawling down the tunnel toward him. Not wanting to have a conversation in the tunnel, Mandus begins creeping further away, toward where Gil went. He attempts to be as sneaky as possible to avoid giving Gil away to anybody he might be sneaking by.
Horn walks toward the barn, relieved to have gotten out of that as easily as he did. Just before entering the barn he turns at Djack's comment and gives him a hard look.
"I'm Horn, druid of the First Forest. Skorabor is my blood brother; a stronger bond in some ways than that of most couples. Your sense is good...as far as that goes.
"Know this though. There's terrible evil afoot. I will die before letting it prevail...and die we might, before this is done. If you are to join us we need to know your commitment as well, beyond just being assigned by a superior."
He pauses, "And it's only fair to let you know as well, we have two more companions up ahead. I can't honestly say their hearts are in the right place...but we have common cause right now, and in times like this I find I have to take what allies I can. Understood?"
Skorabor halts and eyes Djack once more. He had expected a fanatic zealot but this was more like a unfledged recruit in way over his head. He wondered if it was a ruse or real. It didn’t really matter. Either way it spelled trouble. Although the boy’s torches would come in handy in the tunnel. ”Make yourself useful and light one of those torches”, Skorabor grunts and extends his and expecting to receive a lit torch.
Keegan, the other torch bearer, smirks as he lifts his chin slightly in farewell to Djack. Keegan is a young soldier as well, with scruff on his face because he is not yet able to grow a full beard, but a confidence far beyond his skill level. You can read in his eyes a sense of pride. For even though Djack is the one being sent to watch over these travelers, it seems Keegan interprets the job as a sort of babysitting job for the subordinate. He doesn't say it, but you can feel the sentiment... as if he's daring you to die out there and prove him right.
I'm crawling down the tunnel away from the noises that Skorabor and the others are making in the tunnel. I'd rather be able to make a good first impression...outside of sword's reach. Tell me when I've spotted the exit, or Gil, or both.
Mandus: It's a treacherous course without any light, but you assume that you'll come across Gil's corpse or at least a bit of blood before you get in too much trouble, so you plow through. You tumble violently at the drop, muddying yourself but avoiding any injury. At the bottom, you check to insure that nothing was lost in the spill then continue forward and up the steep incline to where Gil is waiting.
Djack, Horn and Skorabor: You enter the tunnels shortly after Mandus has departed. Djack pulls a torch from his supplies and lights the tunnel for the three of you. You follow the fresh boot prints and claw marks of the other members of your group, and note the slide where Mandus tumbled down beneath the creek bed--avoiding the same situation yourselves. Eventually, you all emerge, grateful for fresh air again.
The climbing sun pierces through the foliage overhead in small beams and sparse patterns. You can hear the rumbling of the creek behind you, aware that the tunnel you just traversed must have dipped beneath it. With the sound of the creek as a guide, you could follow it north toward the bridge the innkeeper had spoken of and the tree the townspeople once used to communicate with the forest. Ahead of you, however, the grass and brush has been matted by recent travel... presumably the Wargs and Halfling the night before. The light seems to get darker the further your gaze travels down that path however, the branches leaning in over the pass like skeletal arms.
There is a large stone near the path, with a rune etched into it that you don't recognize. There is no moss yet within it's cracks and crevices, nor has any of the surrounding foliage begun to engulf it.
For just a second you see something flicker down the deer trail to the east (ahead of you), but not long enough for any of you to be certain you saw it. What do you do? Is it worth plowing ahead, or should you pursue the tree first? Perhaps you have another plan?
Holding his blade to Mandus' throat as the lizard exited the tunnel, Gil slowly lowered it again once recognition set in. "Took you long enough." He muttered, before motioning towards the rune stone. "This have any meaning to you?" He asked, that ever present look of certainty that the answer would be no, written on his face.
As the rest of the motley crew came spilling from within the tunnel, he raised his cutlass again, this time aimed at the new man. "What is this then? More trouble I wager?" For a moment, he turned his head quickly towards something moving on the deer trail ahead, but seeing nothing, turned his attention back to the newcomer.
Mandus rubs his chin as he stares at the stone.
Holding the torch aloft, merely acts to reflect the blade pointed at him. Phenomenal... yet another odd couple.
His hauberk bears the insignia of the Witch Hunter, but you look into the eyes of a boy. One who seems to mean business and with the bulk to see it through, but a boy none the less. Even as he speaks his eyes stray to the mysterious symbol.
Lower your blade or I shall lower it for you, with no little force. I am obviously with your... associates, and apparently all three of our own free will.
Will you waste time, or give chase?
"Introductions will come in a moment, my boy," Mandus comments in an affectionate, absent tone, leaning closer to the rune stone and narrowing his eyes in study. The tip of his tail flicks pensively back and forth.
Gil was fuming, his scowl deepening, his eyes flaring with a murderous glint. "You pretentious whelp! Thinking you could best me? And with no weapon drawn. I should skewer you for your insolence!" He took a step closer, his blade connecting with Djacks hauberk with a soft tink.
Standing silent for a few long moments, his eyes finally broke contact with Djacks, instead moving to meet the gaze of Horn and Skorabor, both looking less than thrilled with his behavior. He looked back at Djack, a torn look on his face as he weighed his options.
Finally he put his blade away, turning to look at the stone with Mandus. "But I suppose I can find it in me to be merciful."
The young man stays perfectly still, his eyes refusing to waver. The only motion, that of the flickering torchlight... and the shadows it cast upon the hot elven features and cold steel.
To insult and threaten me is to insult and threaten the huntsman, the brotherhood and above all, the mark. Luckily, I am not so easily insulted. So it went no further.
Thank you. My name is Djack. I am not your enemy... I think.
Skorabor ignores Gil and Djack and heads straight for the stone while the two quibble. His brow furrows in thought as he studies the unknown symbol, tapping it once or twice with the blade of his axe. His (fruitless) study of the rune if cut short by something moving in his peripheral vision. He emits a low displeased growl and takes a few steps down the path with his axe ready. ”Did someone see that?”
Gil scoffed. "I thought I saw something move but there was nothing." He gave the dwarf a haughty look. "And if my sight, the gift of Da'asthyr himself saw nothing, then there was nothing."
Mandus: After a bit of thought, you recognize the rune etched into the stone. It's used to mark death, or more appropriately -- undeath, though not in the traditional manner. It isn't anything sinister, as the spirit it keeps from dying has only extremely limited interaction with this plane through it. Sometimes spirits are bound to this world, and this marks their connection. Without a host to occupy, they are tethered to this plane by such a rune.
Djack: A chill goes down your spine as you too recognize this rune. This is a Ghost Stone. They litter places of defilement. Whenever a corrupted creature perishes close enough to its foul source, a stone emerges from the soil somewhere within a short distance of the place of death. It makes corruption that much harder to root out, as its carriers don't seem to fully die.
Practitioners of the occult use these stones to communicate with the spirits that are tethered there. They claim that not all are malicious.
Skorabor:
Those of you that watch down the trail, where there seemed to be a movement of light, see nothing further. Though gradually you hear the low groans of something in pain. They don't sound shrill or panicked, but like moans and whimpers. They are almost too quiet to perceive over the sounds of the creek behind you. What do you do?
Mandus touches the deeply-etched runes with his fingertips, fascinated. "A rune of undeath...I've read of these in my studies. My mentor travelled the world over and saw many of these stones. Spirits with unfinished business - or service yet to perform - are bound to this plane through these runes, though in a very limited fashion. The spirit would require a host to interact with our plane." the skink rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is a creation of the Oak's..."
Skorabor:
Skorabor takes a few more steps down the path. "What are those moans? More shades or something else?"
Horn's ears twitch, as if he's studying the noise. He was interested in the unnatural stone as well, but the noise has arrested his attention. "It doesn't sound natural." He comments, quietly so that only his blood brother can hear. "It sounds like a deer, or a stag... but something is off. I don't think I trust it."
Ghost Stone.
Evidence of defilement, we're taught. Whenever the corrupt perishes in proximity its foul source, a ghost stone emerges within a short distance of its death-place. The corruption that much more tenacious, 'cause its vessel doesn't fully die.
The lad runs his hand through his mane in solemn consideration. Brows clearly knitted, something afoot he worries about much more than the four of you...
Practioners of the arts use these to commune with spirits that are tethered there.... here. Typically, they claim that not all are malicious. But, from stories and experience, I like the odds. This one is not overly large.
I remember reading ahead in the transcripts, some of it was interesting , but most of it went over my head. I know there is a way to break them or neutralize... I need to remember. It may require powers beyond me. What abilities are at our disposal?!
Desperately, the youth looks around at the too or two odd couples... the four. He was going to have to stop seeing them in that way. His eyes though were sincere... He may remember how, but he did not have the power to do it himself!
Mandus pays little attention to the noises, turning to Djack. "Ah, a novice scholar! I did not take one of your stature to pursue academia. Tell me, have you given any thought to what the reaction might be if such a stone were to be destroyed?" his tone is friendly, interrogative; he might as well be a talk show host interviewing an interesting guest, not a necromancer huddled in the woods.
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Djack approaches the Ghost Stone, bringing his hand so that it was parallel to the stone's vertical surface but not touching. His soul feels a slight but hungry tug.
Absently, he responded to the reptilian. I never had to, it was explained plainly. To merely destroy the stone physically is to trap the dark spirit on this side. Thus trapped, it's power increases since it no longer has one proverbial "foot" over... there.
Exists the Stone to bridge two realms, dark traveler rebuked by Oak and... Elm. The youth tries to remember.
You have not answered me, what abilities at our disposal? Tarry not or we may forfeit our lives, our very souls. I should go and inform the Huntsman, but my immediate duty is to protect you.
The torch bearer draws steel... snnnnnickit. His longblade catches the torchlight.
"No abilities that I would want to use to destroy this Stone, that's for sure," the skink comments drily, eyeing the naked blade with some trepidation. He takes a small step away from Djack and glances at Skorabor and Horn, making sure they are still listening for danger, before he continues. "I...have made a study of the dark arts, that I may be of service to the living world and my tribe. I am here to stop the rogue necromancer afflicting these lands. But destroying this stone should not be our top priority."
"Rather, we should commune with whatever spirit is tethered here. Those that linger after their time are often open to negotiations in exchange for information. Whomever is here may know more about the Oak." The skink frowns. "My knowledge of how to open this line of communication is limited, however. Have you the skill to speak with the dead, my boy?"
As Mandus and Djack debate the sinister or beneficial implications of the Ghost Stone, the rest of you begin to see something. It begins with everything growing slightly darker, as if the sun has passed behind a passing cloud. But then you begin to notice the outline of the large man sitting with his back up against the runic stone. His outline is faint, like the shadows you see out of the corner of your eyes when you're by yourself. But then it begins to take more form.
There's no hard definition, no distinctive features, but enough of an outline that it begins to look familiar--like a man you've met recently. Like an innkeeper who collects tongues.
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Even should they look, Mandus and Djack don't see anything.
Oak and Elm... living wood, like that used to make stakes for vampires. And the calling forth of life energy.
You recall that a wedge can be driven into any crack in the stone's surface, which will destroy the tether keeping the ghost between two worlds. But the wedge must be crafted of still living wood, no more than a few hours after being cut. And one must give of their own blood, their own lifeforce, to complete it.
"Does your lousy vision see what I see?" Gil asked, mouth agape and for once bereft of his usual air of confidence, as he gawked at the specter in front of him. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, ready to be drawn, even as his mind told him it would likely be of no use.
To the reptilian, Does the Elf usually blather on non-sensically? So condescending.
Mandus draws his own knife, inlaid with bone. "Gil has a mouth on him, but usually he uses it for good reason. What do you see, Gil? Nothing seems out of the ordinary here."
"Blather on non-sensically!?" Gil sputtered, his eyes darting from the apparition to Djack and back several times. It was obvious he very dearly wanted to verbally, and likely physically assault the young man, but instead he continued to stare into empty space above the stone. Shaken out of his stunned composure by Mandus' question, he gave him an annoyed and surprised look. "I know for a fact that even the most pathetic vision counted amongst all these other supposed sentients infesting the world, wouldnt be able to miss this!!" He spat at Mandus, specs of spittle flying as he vented the anger Djack had triggered.
He looked at Skorabor and Horn, pointing into the empty space above the stone. "Tell me you atleast see it. Living underground and in the forests should atleast have afforded you THAT much."
Reptilian... have you been foraging or do you have supplies? Have you gathered and eaten any mushrooms or other nightshades? Some have a hallucinatory effect which can mimic madness. His question is quizzical and matter of fact, he does not seem overly alarmed.
"It's the inn keeper", Skorabor says and tightens the grip of his axe. The argument had drawn the dwarf from the path and onto the stone. Now he stands poised looking straight at the eerie specter. "Is he one of those shades, or is he something else?"
Sensing Skorabor's alarm, the figure rises to its feet, feeding off of the emotion and energy. But it doesn't attack. It starts to glide forward toward the slayer, but lurches as if chained to the stone. His shoulders go limp and he leans there as if exhausted. You get the feeling that you have little to fear from him in his current state..
To the east, the whimpering has stopped. Instead you hear a scraping, pushing through the undergrowth.
What do you do?
Mandus holds up a placating hand to Djack as he attends what Skorabor says.
"The spirit is revealing itself to you and not me, for some reason..." he begins, before whirling at the sound of scraping nearby. "What is that?" he demands, brandishing his knife.
Skorabor raises his axe to cleave the approaching shade, a futile gesture no doubt, but lowers it again as the shade is halted. "Keep that thing in check, I'll check the brush."
The slayer moves down the path towards the scraping. "I am Skorabor, slayer and dwarven champion. Reveal yourself!" he bellows.
This scraping is distant, much as the whimpering was, down the shadowy path deeper into the towering brush.
Skorabor leaves the stone and the others to descend deeper and is quickly lost to sight in the shadows and foliage.
Skorabor: The deer path you're following is growing less and less distinct as you plunge deeper. The scraping is getting louder however. A few yards in you can make out the shape of what appears to be a large elk. It's figure is lithe, and forked antlers protrude from its head, which it is using to gouge at the tree branches as it slowly plods your direction. With the light filtering from above and the myriad of shadows and shapes that creates, it's difficult for your eyes to distinguish detail. But something still doesn't feel right. The trees all around you are gouged deep by several scrapes and cuts.
You have not been noticed yet, and the creature is casually approaching from about 40 yards away.
What do you do?
Djack is heated with his charges spitting up. Fool dwarf!
Does he know that ever since the third Slayer, there have always been more dead Slayers than living? He's in over his head... no pun intended!
Skorabor studies the creature while trying to shake the uneasy feeling running down his spine. He moves closer to one of the trees dressed in scrapes and studies the cuts more closely. With his eyes at first, then by smelling them and finally he runs one of his fingers through a cut.
Does he know that ever since the third Slayer, there have always been more dead Slayers than living? He's in over his head... no pun intended![/b]
You still have some time, Skorabor, which is used then to try and study these marks. Ask your question then roll Discern Realities.
Djack identifies living tree limbs and hacks at them with his sword. Help me, surround it! Can you whittle a stake?
He places the branches upon the ground around the Ghost Stone.