The icy armor melts away to show the body of a tall, muscular fey lord with large antlers, which fall off almost immediately--perhaps they were held on by the covering of ice. The lord is pale and withered, despite its (his?) huge, bulky musculature, with skin like pale parchment. A ragged, puckered X of a scar slashes across its chest, stitched together with pale blue ribbon and from the scar issues a truly foul scent. Though the lord seemed like one undead, the all too real blood belies its corpse-like state; it must have been, horrifyingly, alive, although not a life that resembled anything of warmth or kindness.
The glaive also disappears, soaking the ground with so much meltwater.
Two sky blue aquamarine gems and a horn that radiates magic can be found in his riding satchel. Nothing else of worth is found.
Orik approaches the elk nonchalantly and says, ”alright - you’re free of him. Don’t squander this opportunity.” Knowing the elk doesn’t really understand him at all, the priest rummages in his satchel for a sliver of preserved fruit and offers it to the beast.
The elk noses the fruit, eats it, and then whickers a bit, snorts, and runs up the side of the Crevasse as nimbly as a mountain goat.
***
"Well, then," says Erdija, collecting her arrows. "That's that."
For the next day and half, the hike up the Crevasse is uneventful; you mainly see blue skies, feel bracing winds (it must be far worse out of the Crevasse), hear the roar of the river, and follow Erdija's swishing tail and rump past scree, tumbled rocks, and cottonwoods and willows that follow the lines of the wind. The rocks change from granite grey to basalt black.
After a snowy cirque of a rise that threatens to expose you to the icy wind of the plains, you enter another defile, wide and vast, deeper than other parts, with the cliffs towering above you.
Wispy clouds race across the gleaming blue sky overhead, but the floor of the crevasse lies in shadow, the sunlight blotted out by the massive cliffs on either side. Gray grasses and scraggly trees poke through drifts of ice and snow, weaving their way through black boulders that lie at the base of the towering cliffs.
Crudely carved into the face of these cliffs, several miles apart, stand three impossible sculptures that each rise over half a mile in height. Each carving depicts a naked humanoid woman holding forth a warning hand. The first resembles a young maiden with flowing hair, the second depicts a pregnant matron, and the third a stooped and withered crone.
You note that the moon is waxing gibbous, so according to the crow Oracles in the Hut, you should be able to access the Maiden's Door on top of Artrosa. At full moon, in a week, the Mother's Door will open, and then the Crone's Door.
Orik nods at the beast, and the packs up what he has, retrieving his own arrows, and moves along.
When they get to Artrosa, he can’t help but be impressed, ”incredible. Those must be the tallest … anything within a thousand miles. Or more. They must have been made with magic…” He exhales and his breath is prominently visible. ”anyway, the moon is gibbous - so we should go to the maiden door, there.” He points towards the maiden statue.
Yrja looks slack-jawed at the reality-defying statues, her head craned all the way back to take it all in. "This is..." She trails off, the words unable to do justice to the incredible sight before them.
She nods to Orik. "You are right. But didn't the oracle say the door was... on top? How do we get there?"
"I can fly us up, to conserve everyone's magic ... but not all at the same time. I think I would probably need a harness to lift our guide though."
Since Yrja is handling the horn, Dez will try to appraise the gems:
Afterwards, Dez follows the group and has little to add to the general sense of amazement ). "All of your logic seems sound. I guess let's approach and see what we can find by way of an entrance."
Since Yrja is handling the horn, Dez will try to appraise the gems:
[dice=appraise]1d20 + 9
Afterwards, Dez follows the group and has little to add to the general sense of amazement ). "All of your logic seems sound. I guess let's approach and see what we can find by way of an entrance."
Erdija points to her 'gear saddle' ruefully and then flashes a smile at Elbrynn. "Centaurs don't like to be ridden. Ever. However, our gear bags do resemble a...hardness. Excuse me, harness." She shakes her head at the word. "I can reinforce it with some rope. How many can you take in each flight?" She shades her eyes and squints at the distant top. "That's...three or four minutes of trotting, I suppose. I don't know how fast you will fly. So, the party will be split for...ten minutes, maybe. I don't love it; we'll be vulnerable. Elbrynn, I suggest you take as many as you can the first time, and then me and whomever is left."
"I can fly as well, but only by myself," adds Yrja. She follows Erdija's gaze. "I should be able to get to the top before the magic runs out."
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"I believe I too can manage to fly myself to the top. I've been toying with an extract that will allow me to consume a potion and then regurgitate it back into the bottle for future use. Not elegant, but vert resource efficient. I bought a fly potion just for this purpose. I've been waiting for an opportunity to try the extract out."
Erdija swishes her tail with amusement. "Well then, perhaps we can all go together."
You reach the base of the Maiden; the ground is littered with the remains of previous attempts to breach Artrosa. There are Iobarian warriors from ages past, ground almost to dust, their armor falling to bits; there are frost giant bones bleached and scattered, elephantine in size. A catfolk shrine to their dead with a sober warning is preserved with careful neatness off the meandering paths through the rubble, bones, and armor.
Erdija frowns at the ground near the towering base. "Fresh blood here--one, maybe two days. Maybe an offering."
There are plenty of fresh tracks of centaurs, and frost giants, which then stop and disappear in a group as if they ascended through magic.
There are also some that appear out of nowhere, as if they also have descended.
It's sloppy, but the blood appears to make a twisted hammer with a demilune sickle at its base--the rune of Kostchtchie.
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Dez applies his powers of close observation and his depth of studies to the scene before the group.
"First, I notice there are many fresh tracks of centaurs and frost giants, which then stop and disappear -- as if they ascended through magic, as we intend to do. These must be the malicious centaurs we were warned of, and their giant allies. I also see some tracks that appear out of nowhere, so clearly there has been traffic both in and out, but probably none friendly to us."
"Second, although the artist was unskilled, the the blood appears to make a twisted hammer with a demilune sickle at its base--the rune of Kostchtchie, demon lord of giants and the biting cold."
"We have some tough fights before us, I fear."
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Erdija nods. "The Tsolniva. Some of them must be working with frost giants, which is very disturbing. They are usually enemies. But the frost giants, the andrazkus, and these hoof-traitors may well all stem from the same source...that deathless coward of a half-god, whose name I will not mention." She spits at the blood rune and stamps it into so many hoofprints.
She rubs her chin. "Also, I wonder if someone helped them ascend and descend. An artifact...or a magic-caster." She snorts and stamps. "You will excuse me, but I find that unnatural, centaurs flying up and down regularly."
She flaps her arms to demonstrate, shakes her head, and then crosses her clearly inadequate-for-flight arms. "I will make at least five or six exceptions for our flying from ground to Maiden to Mother to Crone and then to ground again. And then I may kiss the ground."
"But flying is wonderful, Erdija! You'll see! But yes, it makes sense they have someone or something with them to help with the transport. I think a someone is more likely, a something that can grant flight to so many creatures would be very, very expensive and difficult to find."
Yrja prepares to cast her flight hex once the others signal they are ready to begin the ascent.
Orik shrugs, "I guess I can fly around on Elbrynn, right? Sounds better than climbing..." He looks at Elbrynn unsteadily, and says to Erdija, "I hate flying as much as you do, so misery loves company - or whatever." He shakes his head and prepares to go up with everyone.
Orik shrugs, "I guess I can fly around on Elbrynn, right? Sounds better than climbing..." He looks at Elbrynn unsteadily, and says to Erdija, "I hate flying as much as you do, so misery loves company - or whatever." He shakes his head and prepares to go up with everyone.
"Would it be better to take a minute? Would you like me to transform first, here on the ground? I think it is more fitting for me to carry you Orik, but I suppose you could mount Erdija, although that seems a little inappropriate."
Elbrynn smiles broadly ...
"That said, I do have to agree with Yrja: flying is wonderful. When the burden of all of this is ended, I hope that we can go back to your village and share the beauty of flying with the children of your tribe. They will love this land like never before."
Dezső listens to all the back-and-forth about flying: "This should be an interesting experience. I look forward to trying it. I'm ready to quaff and regurgitate whenever you all are ready." Dez holds two bottles in his hands -- one a potion bottle holding a misty silvery fluid and an extract bottle containing a sickly green fluid.
"Elbrynn, I'm going to spank you, if we survive this for your terrible phrasing," says Erdija with a grin. "One sentient per set of talons, please."
"Dez, if you need any further regurgitation as we fly up, I'll be able to provide it," she continues.
"Elbrynn, I'm going to spank you, if we survive this for your terrible phrasing," says Erdija with a grin. "One sentient per set of talons, please."
"Dez, if you need any further regurgitation as we fly up, I'll be able to provide it," she continues.
"How do you know about spanking!? Do centaurs say that to scare their children too!? Elves tell kids many stories, about humans who hit their children when they make mistakes; there is also a story about a Pixie who steals the baby teeth of human children. I never had a chance to find out if they were true, although it wouldn't surprise me if it were a pixie in Absolam ..."
The half-elf smiles remembering how horrible it had seemed to be born human
"Let's do this in stages; if you would lay the straps of the harnesses out, I will pick them up as an eagle ... and transform again when I am above you. Be set for a little jolt, trust me, it will hurt me more than it hurts you."
"How do you think we make the centaur in front of us run faster?" says Erdija, laughing. "No, we do not hit our children, not out of anger. That sounds like a good plan, Elbrynn."
She settles down into a sitting position and lays out the straps of her carrying bags in harness-shape.
"I am ready," she says, looking ahead stonily.
Orik looks skeptically at the talons, "between us, we're pretty heavy. It might be best if you just take a few trips."
"I'm fine going up in the first group, which sounds like it will also include Yrja and either Erdja or Orik. We'll know when we get to the top if there are foes waiting for us. If not, we probably have time to wait for Elbrynn to fly down and get his second passenger."
"In that case, I volunteer to be last," says Erdija, looking at the top somewhat nervously, and fiddling with her harness. "How in the Nine Hells did the others get up there..."
After some quaffing of potions and settling in Elbrynn's talons, you are all ready to go. Erdija is soon diminishing pony, then dot, below you, as the druid-roc's massive pinions carry you skyward. The air is bright and cold, and the side of the Maiden is rough-hewn, appearing like a natural cliff face at this relative close view. Its upper regions glisten with snow and wet lichen, and bare black rock. Tiny waterfalls decorate its sides, each tiny plume disappearing into feathery spray.
You are perhaps some five hundred feet from the top--and a dizzying precipitous height from the floor of the Crevasse below--when two spinning, ephemeral glowing lights appear from a cleft in the statue. Dez recognizes them immediately: will-o-wisps. Nasty alien creatures coming from who-knows-where, they haunt desolate places, immune to almost all magic, and deliver a nasty electrical shock to anyone foolhardy enough to follow them into the wilds.
They move silently, bobbing and weaving in the wind, clearly aiming to attack you.
Aerial Combat!
Dez
Yellow Wisp
Elbrynn-Roc
Blue Wisp
Yrja
Orik
"Watch out! Those are will-o-wisps coming to attack! They are immune to almost all magic, and deliver a nasty electrical shock. I'm going to keep going further up -- perhaps we can leave them behind."
Dez takes a move action to fly 60 feet further up, forcing any wisp to come to him. He also studies whichever one seems to be coming in his direction . Finally, he searches his recollection for any vulnerabilities of will-o-wisps or usual bits of info to inform combat with them.
The yellow wisp jets around Elbrynn-as-roc, looking to flank the giant bird. It then fades from view, turning completely invisible!
Elbrynn is up!
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Elbrynn-Bot-3000
Elbrynn the Roc squawks and flees.
The invisible will-o-wisp can be vaguely heard shrieking in anger above the wind of the cliffs; it had not thought to get close enough to tag Elbrynn with a parting attack as the roc flaps ever skyward.
The other blue wisp hurtles fruitlessly at Dez, not getting too close.
Yrja follows Dez, flying higher and trying to outpace the invisible pests.
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The wisps, completely confounded by your rapid ascent, cry out in shrill fury and retreat to their cliffside lair.
You continue up the Maiden's side, and finally land, like a bunch of annoying insects, on the broad mesa of her head. It's hundreds of feet wide, with the slight curving slope of...well, a giant head.
Vertiginous cliffs leading to the near side of the Crevasse surround the mesa top on all sides, with more black slick rock and clinging ice rising another thousand feet above the Three, though a rock wall backing the top of the figure’s head (like a headdress? a halo?) rises above the plateau, creating some cover from the cold winds blowing down the cliff sides and across the mesa. It isn't much. Although the 'edge' of the mesa is far from you, it's hard not to feel like a good strong gust could push you off the side.
From every direction the view is dizzying, offering a clear panorama of miles and miles of Iobarian wilderness. The Crevasse is a grey jagged rip through the northern ice fields, and the Hoofwood a glimmer of green clearly fed by moraines and cirque of snowmelt from the higher ice.
A small copse of bare, weathered trees stands in the shelter of the rock wall, their knotted roots clinging desperately to the cold, hard stone. Stubborn green needles show that these trees yet live. Dozens of bones litter the ground before the grove, some so ancient that the trees’ roots appear to grow right through them. What kind of bones last hundreds of years without succumbing to the elements? You don't really want to know. Behind the trees, a shadowy arched opening in the wall leads deep inside the rock. The lip of the arch gleams faintly, and when you turn to look behind you, you realize it is somehow communing with the pale gibbous moon, just barely visible in the stark afternoon daylight.
Elbrynn nods, and heads down like an elephant-snatching-giant bird to fetch Erdija, who arrives stoically...you notice she had her eyes screwed shut as she was deposited on the mesa.
She clops over to you and states matter-of-factly, "Centaurs....cannot vomit. Otherwise, I would have."
"Well, that was an invigorating ascent. I assume that arched opening is where we're meant to go, and we might want to get a move on before we get blown off this head or other flying creatures show interest."
Rapier in hand, Dez stealths over closer to the arch and looks around for foes or other hazards.
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Dez can see, through the first arch, a strange liminal space that looks like the same mesa, but younger somehow, with less weathering on the second (but same) arch, and a mighty willow tree whose trunk resembles a maiden, but with additional branches that splay out like many arms...or pincers. Impaled on some of the lower branches is a centaur, its blood and hide gone black with decay. The tree looks truly enormous, perhaps thirty feet in height. It is placed in a ring of small spherical stones, and the path to the arch diverges in a circle around it...it's clearly a guardian. It hasn't seen you, as far as you can tell (trees don't usually have eyes)
As Yrja approaches the first arch, something strange happens. She seems to shrink a little, and her features shift to a younger version of herself, face rounded and soft with baby fat. She looks about fifteen or sixteen years old.
As Dez stares at the willow, it rustles its many branches and shouts.
"HEY! Are you seeking to enter Artrosa, pilgrims?"
Dez thinks to himself, "That tree doesn't look good, to say the least. What is it?"
"Uuh, do you all know what that thing is," Dez asks his companions.
"That is obviously a talking tree. And we should answer if we don't want to be rude."
Apparently Young Yrja is a tad sassier, if not outright a smartass.
Quietly to Yrja: "The impaled centaur makes me wonder about its manners, but I suppose you're right."
To the tree, mustering his politeness on Yrja's suggestion: "Yes, hello honored tree, we do seek to enter Artrosa, if you please. Thank you."
Orik clears his throat, "hello, yes. I think so, Lady Tree. We are burdened to visit as pilgrims. Please let us pass." He just adds this as a starting statement, hoping someone else speaks up better than he will.
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You are slightly annoyed to realize that this is a witch tree. No one knows how they were created, but they do somewhat resemble a woman in shape...very vaguely. (you are reminded of sailors thinking sea cows were mermaids.) They like living flesh and have charms at their command to lure people close. And Dez is right--they are not nice at all.
"Hmph. 'Lady Tree.' 'Honored Tree'. Well, aren't you all so incredibly polite. Should you seek to enter Artrosa, though, you'll need to present me with a sacrifice, something warm and bloody. Yes, that's it...or something else."
The tree appears to wink at Dez, but then crosses its 'arms' as if it has said a little too much with the 'something else' bit. Those charming tieflings!
"Pilgrims of what? whom?" The tree looks sharply at Orik, or seems to look sharply. It certainly has sharp bits.
You now notice there are plenty of gleaming things beneath the tree--some with the gleam of metal, and some with the yellowed gleam of bone. The roots of the willow have grown over them with the caress of a loving octopus.
If the willow had feet, it would be tapping them with impatience, although, at the same time, it is a tree, and you'd think it would be blessed with the patience of centuries. Perhaps not. Perhaps it's just always hungry.
Dez turns to the group and shrugs. "It appears to desire a meat sacrifice, and I don't think my dry rations are going to do the trick. Any ideas? I'm fine with whatever, other than sacrificing one of us to the tree, of course..."
"I am happy to go hunting, Rising Star and I have long practice at that. Not entirely sure this "tree" wants a brace of rabbits, but who knows."
"Don't keep a 'Lady' waiting. And just whom are you pilgrims of? Did you not hear me the first time, bloodlings? Speak truthfully; I can sense lies, by my sap," warns the tree.
"On the other hand, we're compelled to do the bidding of Baba Yaga, not to protect abominations which are an affront to nature itself. We treated with it, we heard its terms, we were even polite to it when nothing about it resembles a "lady" in any way ... but I'm not convinced that we need to race off to kill something to feed its depravity."
Elbrynn draws HUNTER while saying a soft prayer to Ketephys as he does so, the elven curve blade gleaming as it's brandished.
"My people have a very long standing enmity with evil trees, and this one is hardly more special than ours. Even Treerazer would scoff at this waste of soil."
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"Yes, you are not a nice lady tree. You lure people with magic and eat them. Or... whatever." Yrja gestures vaguely at the bones. "Erdija, what do you think? Shall we chop down this witch tree?"
To the spiky willow, she says, "We are on a mission from Baba Yaga, if you really must know. So kindly stop wasting our time. Oh, and did others pass this way recently?"
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The willow bristles. "Treerazer is scum. I'd gladly spear him in the toe. And I am not an abomination. If you truly serve Grandmother, then you'll need to answer this:"
Midnight, Morning, Bright Sun—
Spoke thee with but one.
Accursed now you be,
For he befell the wrath
Of two times seven.
Oh tell me, who is he?
"And, I'll have you know, yes, others came this way. A foursome of terrible, smelly centaurs and a retinue of half a dozen frost giants." The willow shakes itself in an eerily satisfied way. "Only three centaurs entered Artrosa. The fourth lies with me and shall slake my thirst."
The tree appears to check its nails, if it had fingers. "Not very loyal to each other, those centaurs. Not like this one. I see you as a wood chopper, yes, but one who loves the woods, not like those disgusting, frost blasted, lice-infested brutes." It 'makes eyes' at Erdija. "You wouldn't take an axe to me, would you, dearie? ...because I'd like for you to try. All of you may try."
The willow seems to grow in size, and it appears as if the sunny day is suddenly darker, as the witch tree sucks the light from the grove. You feel a chill deep in your spines, in the marrow of your bones.
Then it relinquishes, and the day springs back into full sunlight, and you all feel the weight of doom lifted from your joints and vertebrae.
"...or you can answer the riddle, my pets, if you truly work for Mistress Baba Yaga."
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Yrja shudders a she remembers meeting the Black Rider, what seems like an eternity ago - or at least several lifetimes. Her heart is squeezed by sorrow and longing as she remembers the companions they had then - who are now who knows where. She misses Chiquq the most, and hopes that the fierce hunter woman is alive and well.
But she answers with the arrogance of youth. "Oh, that's easy. It was the Black Rider, also called Black Midnight. And I suppose the two times seven is Queen Elvanna." A giggle escapes her. "Oh, she really hates us."
But when she finishes speaking she gives Dez a long, lingering look. He was the only one left from the original cadre who set out to find Baba Yaga. And what a steadfast and loyal companion he was.
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Orik clenches his bow when the tree threatens them, but he doesn't respond. His mouth is a thin line, and he seems ready to strike as soon as the others give the word, if they chose to do so.
When the tree offers them a riddle, and an explanation, he doesn't appear to relax. He mutters a prayer under his breath and keeps his attention focused on the tree, staying a fair distance away.
"Oh, I see you, orc-get, with your little pricker," says the tree.
"Yes, dear one, the Black Rider. Now, tell me his name," continues the tree. She opens her branches wide in a vast, several-fathom mockery of a mother expecting an embrace...or perhaps a spider ready to pounce on her prey.
"Tell me his name, and you shall pass unharmed, upon my word," and you can feel the small tug of the geas that she speaks true.