The crew are happy to talk to Dez, their mighty arms and chests heaving, and their sturdy horse-bodies adding to their leverage, as they fight against the current. "Aye, Artrosa it's called. Erdija here probably didn't mention that plenty of two-legs try to reach it, usually from the West. Dangerous as all the Hells to go that way--taiga giants don't take kindly to walking through their territory, unless you know them."
Raven-Crest agrees with her crewmate. "And the Tsolnivas, they're something else. Frost giant-loving bunch of hoof-traitors, they are," she says, spitting in to the Myrfrus' glacial blue waters. "Erdija and a few other guides are the only ones who get up to the plateau. This way, its a climb by waterfalls, and watch for any beasties...but when you're on the Plateau of the Three Who Watch..." She mutters under her breath. "Cold fey. Dead bodies. It's not a lovely place."
Erdija nods. "I don't know how I'll get in, Dezső," she says, squinting into the distance. "You have to climb to the top." She looks over at Elbrynn. "Do you have magics to make everyone fly? It's better than falling off the side of the Three Who Watch. They are perhaps...four furlongs high, and steep besides," she says.
Dez listens carefully. "I gather the Three Who Watch are large statues? In what form and built by who? And what manner of cold fey and undead should we expect to meet? I'm grateful for the sharing of your knowledge and wisdom."
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"That I can tell you," says Erdija. She clears her throat theatrically and hums, then sings in a passable alto.
The harvest reaped,
The seeds are sown,
Turn to the Three,
Maiden, Mother and Crone.
They stand their guard,
With strength of stone,
To watch the Slave,
Maiden, Mother and Crone...
She shakes her head and chuckles. "Old song, mainly to give thanks but also to stay the Hells away from Artrosa. Don't ask me for deeper meaning, and none of us know who 'The Slave' is or was, but we're all fairly sure that that Crone is Baba Yaga. Maiden and Mother might be her as well, although it must be many years since she was a mother or a maiden. Legend says certain things stay away from the statues...the taiga giants, they don't come near, and neither does that dragon, the white one we've mentioned.
However, where there is the Grandmother, there are fey. We try to stay away from them...some are powerful, and centaurs don't really like riddles. As for undead, I've seen draugr, and these louts have seen lacedon. Skeletons." She shrugs. "Things get drained of their life energy frequently in Iobaria, as you know, so it's not like undead are uncommon."
You continue upstream, the team of centaurs pushing hard, stopping at evening to camp. "One more day, then you're at the lower falls and we say farewell," says Jikaan, his crew bringing up buckets of fish, mussels, and tule rush tubers to start a delicious stew in a pot that could probably fit Yrja in it comfortably. "Those taiga giants will be happy to see us. Barrels of the best forest honey, turkey fan mushrooms, and pickled salamanders. So many pickled salamanders. Whew! Not to my liking, but they eat them like candy," he says with a booming laugh.
The centaur crew still near the shore hiss excitedly and point at the opposite shore, a hundred gallops across. Three large shaggy beasts have emerged from somewhere in the cliffs, Ulshui knows how or from where, and stand quietly at the bank. One snorts and waggles its ears, then lowers down to drink while the other two watch.
Wooly rhinoceroses! You can see their double horns. A rare animal to see this far South...although you aren't sure how far South you are. There's no way they'd cross the river, and you'd be a fool to try to challenge three of them, although they are rumored to be tasty. Just some local wildlife. There must be a pass through the Crevasse to the plains beyond, as these creatures do not climb at all .
You notice that the crew keep one member on the boat itself, and triple tie the boat to land-anchors, with another member near the ropes, while the rest of you are comfortably near a fire and away from the river's chill. The one on the boat sings a song quietly, bumping a pole on the wide deck to keep a rhythm.
"It's a song about doing something unmentionable to a lacedon's mother," says Erdija. "I'm not sure if it's to drive them away or dare them to come out," she says, smirking, finding a mussel in her stew and sucking the meat out expertly.
Orik doesn't know much about what's going on with the beasts, but likes them nonetheless, as they remind him of Sasha.
He's thoughtful at their song, only saying, "song isn't much use - we gotta go to Artrosa. But good, nonetheless. Fey, undead, yeah... bout as much as one expects." He sniffs, "been fighting both for a few months, now. Don't expect much to change, if I'm honest."
Dez listens carefully to the song and commentary. "Is it known who built these statues and Artrosa itself?"
Later at the camp: "Wooly rhinoceroses! See their double horns? I had hoped we might see some, but it's odd to see them this far South. Ferocious creatures -- it's good they cannot cross the river."
Erdija shrugs. "The Grandmother herself, it is said. About the same time as the Choking Plague. Many centaurs died then. Long, long, long ago, there were necromancers here. Supposedly the plagues they unleashed continued to hide out in corners, fermenting, and then released themselves every...few hundred years or so. Anyhow, no one went to go see when Grandmother raised them up. But it is also said that Artrosa is both the statues, and whatever lies within. A fortress, or a palace, or a series of death traps, or perhaps all three, but you know how two-legs...yes, and many four-legs...can get hungry for baubles and gold, even if there is none. Hence the many failed attempts to scale the Three Who Watch."
The night passes uneventfully. Your crew engages in some morning feats of strength, but also, like many a centaur, they all dutifully and fastidiously check their hooves for cracks or stones, rubbing suet on them. "It's funny to say it, but we centaurs aren't supposed to live here," says Jikaan, rubbing his broad neck and shoulders with a slightly ashamed smile. "Cold we can do, but wet--bad for the hooves, and it's wet in the forest. And especially wet in the river!" he ends with a laugh, his crew joining in. They each wrap their hooves in oiled leather, and Erdija does the same, nodding. "Maybe one day I'll run off to Qadira or Casmaron proper," she says, "Take a few of those little delicate princelings and knock some foals into them," she finishes, and Jikaan practically falls over laughing. You get the feeling that Qadiran centaurs are just a bit smaller than these hulking Iobarian ones.
Dez is feeling very nervous about what lies ahead, but is fascinated by the centaurs' banter and self-care rituals. He tries to stay in the present by drinking in all the details of the journey, as there is nothing to be done about the horrors ahead and the geas pulling him and his companions towards them.
As Jikaan's crew prepares the food, Yrja takes careful notes on the ingredients, amounts and seasonings. If all or most of the ingredients are local, it might be nice to have some warm food once they part with the river centaurs rather than gnaw on the dried meat in their rations.
Like Dez, she recognizes the wooly rhinoceroses when they emerge, although she stays quiet as she watches them in awe.
She frowns as Erdija talks of foals and such. "How... nevermind, I don't think I want to know." This is turning out to be a fascinating journey and she has already learned so many new things from passing through these lands and from being among the centaurs. One upside of this forced journey, the young witch supposes - although she will be glad when it is over and she can return to...
Well, that's a sobering thought now. When Yrja thinks of the small town she left behind, it seems like a lifetime away. She was an entirely different person back then, she supposes. Would she be able to return to that small life, being the village witch? Or will she find it too confining? Perhaps for the first time, Yrja muses about what the future holds for her, once this geas is fulfilled.
Yrja notes a few things good to eat in the Crevasse: plenty of fish in the river itself, and strawberries and tree peas, and even hardy chives along the banks. Mushrooms sprout from under the occasional cottonwood.
Later in the day, the centaur crew grows quiet and points, poling a little more carefully.
Hundreds of feet above you, in the shadow of an iced over cliff that is surrounded by jagged spires of rock, you can just barely see a winged white draconic shape clinging to the ice. Despite not being able to see its eyes from your vantage point, it's clearly watching you.
That thar's a frost drake.
”stay alert, that’s a frost drake watching, and it may not be alone.”
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As the occupants of the trimaran freeze in place, except for the crew struggling to slip past it, the drake scans you, but does not move.
You are soon at a hauling out point marked with many scrapings from other trimarans, and at least one wreck of an abandoned ship with a number of faded flags and withered flowers decorating its main mast. A mile or so away, the first of the waterfalls covers everything with a light mist and a distant roar; you can see a zig-zagging path of switchbacks climbing up the scree on the left hand side. It does not look enjoyable, but you have also seen worse. Jikaan blows a pattern of blasts on a willow whistle while the crew unload their barrels.
After a short while, you can see a number of taiga giants trudging down from a previously hidden camp higher up in the Crevasse, on the Hoofwood side of the river. They are enormous dark skinned giants, muscled and handsome, with protruding lower tusks like a half-orc. Their features and skin, and elaborately braided hair, almost remind you of Mwangi people. Several of their number are women, including their leader, who looks young, with a fey gleam in her eye. They reach you in a matter of minutes from perhaps a half mile away, as they are, once they reach the hauling-out, perhaps twenty feet tall, dwarfing even the centaurs.
Jivaan and the leader exchange a rumbling words in Jotunspeak while her squad crack open a barrel or two to inspect. You note they are quite efficient and refined, despite their penchant for scarification and tattoos. Other, clearly unintentional scars, mar several of them.
The taiga giants mainly ignore you, but the leader speaks with Jivaan and Erdija a bit more and then turns to you. "I am Vazhevga," she says, in rather good Taldane. "These hoofers here tell me you are some of those tough Littles; the kind that hurl magicks and kill colossi". She grins, showing many teeth. "If you are strong enough to survive Artrosa, might we be able to buy you?"
Erdija says something quickly in Jotun.
"Ah," says Vazhvevga. "Might we be able to hire you? We have a dragon to kill."
Dez is astonished by the sight of the descent of the taiga, an emotion that has held him much of the trip. As he soaks in all the details, he is surprised to be addressed by Vazhevga. He takes the suggestion of taking on a dragon in stride, and tries not to betray the nervousness that the idea provokes.
"My name is Dezső, and we are honored to meet you. Can you tell us more about this dragon and the nature of your problem? To be honest, we cannot actually answer your question until after we emerge from Artrosa. It is a magical compulsion that draws us to that place, and we cannot say now how it might compel us after. But, after we finish our business in Artrosa, I believe we are willing to meet with you to discuss the matter."
He looks to his companions to see if they express any disagreement or have anything to add or ask.
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Vazhevga nods, her head practically in the mist above Dez. "Normally, we taiga giants do not stay in one place. We like to roam. However, about five hundred years ago...the White Dragon Sjohvor, he attacked a conclave of elders. Seven of them died, putting an end to many lineages of knowledge only they held." Her dark face darkens further with layers of wrath. "The Wyrmtooth Tribe formed after that attack. We drove him from one lair, then the next, and then he sheltered here. For seventy years, we have tried to drive him from his hiding-hole. My sister Drugezna is our chieftain; she has recently learned that those cowards, the Tsolniva..."
At that word, Jivaan and Erdija scowl.
"...have allied with Sjohvor. So...first we will wipe out the Tsolniva...maybe we'll bring you the colts, Hoofwooders, if you like," she says to the centaurs with a nod, "...and then, yes, Dezső, we would compensate you well if you would like to help us deal with Sjohvor." She squints at you. "Mmm, a geas. Well, let's see how it pulls at you when you emerge from the Three Who Watch."
Erdija looks stern. "The Tsolniva are savages. They bring raids upon the Hoofwood. We won't mourn them. If there are colts, we will take them in and see if their minds are yet unspoiled."
She frowns and looks at the two-legs. "You remember I mentioned--some Tsolniva...worshipping Kos--no, I will not say His name here, not in the Deeprun Crevasse." She spits and makes a warding sign against evil. "It is abomination."
"I do remember," replies Yrja, frowning. "It is as Dez says - we must attend to the geas that binds us first, but if afterwards we are able to help, I would be glad to." She keeps a few dozen paces back from the giants so she can look at their faces without snapping her own neck. "It is a pleasure to meet you and your people, Vazhevga. I am Yrja, witch of the south. And this would not be the first white dragon we have faced." She sighs, looking away for a moment. "Although back then we had another mighty warrior with us, whom I miss still."
Orik shrugs, "yeah, dragons aren't too hard to deal with if you've got the right tools and abilities. In the earlier case, our companion managed to put it into a headlock for some time. Gets harder as they get bigger, but..." He pats his bow, "a bow is good otherwise."
He rubs his temple, "that said, we can't do much to help until we deal with this problem. Believe me, Iobaria is the perfect place to bring Erastil's favor," he says, proudly, seemingly glad that he can talk about his god openly again, "whether you follow him or not - he works his will through me, and I would see both of your peoples - " he gestures to both the giants and the centaurs, "able to live in relative comfort and safety."
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Vazhevga grins, showing her many teeth again. "'Relative' comfort is exactly how we like it, dromaarin. We know of your god. Estrig the Hunter, consort of our Fandarra. We like that much civilization--" she brings together fingers thick as bread-loaves "...as a little treat."
The giant sits down with care, into a cross legged position, and pulls a small (for a giant) chunk of aromatic resin. She peers at it and sets it down. "Ah...I need to cut it smaller." She carefully trims it to regular-humanoid-size, perhaps the size of an apple, from the larger hunk.
"Wrap that in something to mask its smell while you travel. When you emerge from Artrosa--I will not say if--burn this. It will create a very visible and unique scent and smoke. We'll come within a day."
She smiles at Yrja. "Ah, but I can sense that you are] great warriors. We taiga giants sense the ancestors and spirits that everyone leaves in their wake. Yours swirl with it. And do not fret about strength--stubbornness and persistence is the way to victory in many cases. Including in a headlock! Well...ok, also about strength." The other giants laugh and two look like they are actually ready to wrestle until a third one points and mimes that any wrestling done in this area would probably result in smooshed humanoids.
She offers the pale-grey larch resin on a platter sized hand to the tiefling, holding it delicately like a treat for a puppy.
Dez marvels at the confidence shown by his allies. His rigorous analysis of the situation does not offer him the same level of certainty, but he does recognize the utility of even unfounded confidence in achieving the group's goals, so he keeps his thoughts to himself and watches the rest of the interaction with interest.
You leave the hearty centaur crew to float back down on the current and the taiga giants to haul their foodstuffs back up to the ice plains, and make your way up the switchbacks of the first fall, and then another, even taller fall. It's a climb, but nothing like the heights of the Crevasse cliff walls...or, you muse to yourselves, the tops of the Three Who Watch.
At the top of the second fall, the river continues for a longer stretch before the third and highest waterfall. "Artrosa is perhaps a day after that fall," says Erdija. She looks like she's about to say more, and then pauses.
A majestic, horned humanoid clad in jagged icy armor and mounted upon what appears to be a frost-rimed giant elk poises upon a rock before you.
"Good afternoon, mortals. How curious. I sense the mantle of the Black Rider upon you."" The humanoid shifts in its saddle, with a creaking sound like cold dry snow.
Well, it's a fey and it's clearly not your friend...
That is a Cold Rider. Some sort of awful fey made in Irrisen; an artificial corruption of a fey prince.
It's made of ice (partly) and will heal in this cold environment as it draws sustenance from cold itself. It is vulnerable to shattering, though.
Still thinking fondly about the centaurs and the giants, Yrja fails to recall in the moment anything significant about who - or what - this person might be.
Orik stares up at the rider, ”yeah? How does that work?” He’s obviously and immediately skeptical of any random rider in the woods that seems to have any idea of their business.
”If it’s all the same, we’ll be on our way.”
Dez stares blankly at the impressive rider, who apparently didn't make it into any of the books he read back at Lepidstadt University.
He speaks quietly to Erdija, "Do you know what manner of being this is?"
"Mantle or no, I would hope you could also see that we have no quarrel with the Fey, and some us see ourselves as well aligned with the First World. If we've already given offense of some kind, I am sure you know it was not intended."
The creature chuckles at the aiuvarin's diplomacy. "Well spoken, well spoken. Rest assured, I am not offended by your coming here in the slightest. In fact, I am delighted."
It spreads its arms wide in a mockery of a welcome. "As you have been so open with me, I shall do the same. You see, I and my kin have been looking for you, on the behest of Queen Elvanna. She will share my delight when I bring home your frozen heads and skins, to display on the gates of Whitethrone, as a warning to any who should defy her rule. My sincerest thanks for sparing me the trouble of seeking you out."
An aura of severe wrongness radiates from the tall fey, as if it is neither fully alive nor dead.
"Don't bother telling me where the Hut is. We'll find it and burn it at our leisure,"" it continues.
With that, it raises one arm higher, and hailstones rain from the sky!!!
Round 1 - At The Falls
Fey
Erdija
Party
You are pummeled with hailstones, and the ground rapidly becomes treacherous with icy nodules.
The fey gallops towards you, although it's difficult to see through the curtain of magical hail--but you can see it wields a horrid glaive that looks like stone and ice married together.
Erdija doesn't waste time with words, but nocks two arrows and lets them fly. One almost makes the mark; the other is wide. "SCATTER!" she cries, and gallops away from the fey.
Party is up!
Yrja moves away from the danger zone, glad that her unusual heritage blunted some of the impact; trying to maintain her composure, she fixes the fey rider with a determined glare.
"Well, I am sorry you came all this way only to fail. If you turn tail now and run back to your mistress maybe she will be merciful and not hang your skin on the gates of Whitethrone, hm?"
Dez grimaces from the pummeling (18 points damage total after resistance), consumes a long arm extract, and moves out of the affected area and away from his companions, drawing his flaming rapier as he moves and brandishing the flames towards the fey, nodding in agreement at Yrja's comment. His tail pulls out a potion of healing for future easy access.
HP 35/53
current AC 23
-23hp sucks
Is there room for Elbrynn to wild shape into a Roc?
(size is only Huge)