Chiquq jerks in startlement as the devil-man gets whomped by a log out of nowhere.
"...ah.... I did not see that," she admits.
Dezső lies groaning on the ground until receiving Braegan's ministrations. He assumes a look of curious wonder as the healing takes place and looks Braegan in the eye, then at his hand, and then back to Braegan's eyes again.
"Oof, that was enormously painful. Professor Crowl warned me to temper my curiosity with discretion. It has never been my strong suit. But, against my natural inclinations, I think I had better hang back for a bit."
Chiquq rubs at her jaw. "We'll have to be more careful. The enemy wished to be followed, if this trap is any indication." After a second or two of silence, she gives a grudging nod to the tiefling. "My apologies for not having noticed that."
Crouching, Chiquq murmurs words under her breath to the great huntress, and she too touches a hand to the devil-man's shoulder. A tiny blue-white spark travels from her hand over-- a very different feel to her prayer than Braegan's fiery one, but with the same end result.
"...well, at least you are not so near to falling over," she grunts. She gives Braegan a little nod as she stands, acknowledge of one faith to another, before looking more carefully around.
Dezső involuntarily flinches in surprise as Chiquq reaches out and touches his shoulder. His eyes widen as he feels the healing energy coursing through his body. Still feeling surprised at receiving the hunter's assistance, he blurts, "Thank you. This is not my natural environment. I will try to be more careful in the future before charging forth."
Braegan watches Chiquq’s healing, and–after a bit–stands back up. He returns her nod uncertainly, ”Glad I could help,” he tells Dezsö haltingly. ”I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I don’t fully understand what it is that I do.” He rushes on, ”but it usually doesn’t get people hurt.”
He shrugs, ”Usually.”
Otherwise, he waits while Chiquq further investigates the chest. ”Do you even think there’s something in it? I mean, if they left it trapped …”
There is nothing in the chest--and no other trap. There appears to be something underneath the chest, buried in the snow.
Dezső cannot resist approaching a little closer while Chiquq scours the chest and the surrounding area. But he still remains 10 feet behind Chiquq. He covers her with his loaded crossbow while also looking about at the surrounding area in case of attack. His eyes also frequently come to rest on the bloody log that nearly pummeled him to death, watching it with a morbid fascination.
Chiquq shrugs away the devil-man's thanks and focuses on the chest. She makes an unsurprised noise when it turns out to be empty, but what's this...? The north-woman uses her spear to push the chest off, and dig a little in the snow to reveal the buried object.
Chiquq's digging reveals more spoils from the carriages and Taldan guard: five sets of leather armor, three sets of studded leather armor, a masterwork chain shirt, two light wooden shields, seven longswords, two spears, a masterwork dagger, and three light crossbows with 25 bolts total.
"Nice find," Braegan says as he draws on his gift again, looking for magical auras.
Braegan detects no magic.
"Weapons," Chiquq grunts in satisfaction. "Probably too bulky for our murderers to travel with. Ila! Here, chk chk!"
She starts loading the things onto Ila's faithful back, at least, that which is not claimed by her traveling companions. The chain shirt she holds up, jingling it and admiring the workmanship. "This is nicely made. We do not get armor like this in the north, much. Imendri, will you wear it?"
When everything has been loaded up, Chiquq resumes taking point with her distant cousin, experimenting with strapping one of the found shields to her arm and using one of the swords they just found as well.
Braegan gladly takes the shield, gingerly strapping it onto his left arm. He wanders over next to Ila as Chiquq loads the new gear onto her.
"Is she friendly?" He says, offering a gloved hand for the creature to sniff, " I mean to most people?"
During their continued walk, he stands near the fascinating creature.
Dezső shakes his armored coat: "Perhaps one day I can be convinced to replace this, but I'm still rather attached to it. I don't think there is anything in that pile I need... I suppose it would be a good idea for me to carry some extra bolts." Dezső leans down and picks up the case of bolts.
Ila snorfles at Braegan's hand without reservations, questing for apples, hay, or other things of interest. Finding nothing, the mammoth whuffs in disappointment and returns to using her trunk to snap little twigs off some of the nearer trees.
"She is maybe too friendly," Chiquq says wryly. "If you have food she wants in your pack, better fasten it well."
Chiquq helps Imendri into the fancy metal shirt, then spends a few minutes adjusting Ila's saddlebags to better balance the cargo the mammoth must carry.
"She is young yet. When she is adult, she will be much bigger."
You follow the path further into the forest. The snow becomes increasingly deep here. A windswept gully carves a path through a tree-covered ridge. A soft cascade of snow falls from an overhead branch, hissing softly as it strikes the ground.
"Chiquq, this looks like a perfect place for an ambush. And we can't move around so well. Do you see any signs of trouble? I don't. In any event, I wonder if it might be safer for us to spread out a little as we move forward."
"It is a good place for an ambush," Chiquq agrees somberly, her eyes scanning the ridge lines and the gully for danger.
Chiquq hesitates a moment, then turns to the nearest tree that looks as though it will bear her weight. "Ila, stay--"
Completely unaware that this spot might be any more or less dangerous than the miles they've already traveled ... Braegan watches mutely—trying futilely to keep his hands and feet warm—as Chiquq climbs a tree.
Imendri notices all of the items and nods. "It's good stuffs, but I haff no love for de metal armors. When I wear it, de voices off de spirits goes away. I feel more lone-ly." He looks at the floor for a second, then at the sky, and then back at the party.
Imendri takes a moment to scan the horizon with the rest of you, taking note of the gully.
Imendri also sees nothing out of the ordinary.
Chiquq shrugs at Imendri's reasons, and decides to don the chain shirt herself as it offers more protection than her leather armor. Cold, though! It takes her a few moments to switch them out; the old leather gets bundled into one of Ila's packs.
***
"Well, I see nothing from up here," Chiquq says, climbing back down from her tree. "Let us try it."
Wriggling her shoulders a little to get used to the feel of the odd metal armor, Chiquq moves forward, Ila following behind. She has her spear out and ready-- she uses it to poke occasionally at the deep snow in front of her.
Braegan gives Chiquq a chance for a head start—about twenty feet—then follows in her footsteps. Literally. He steps where she stepped.
”Follow the guide,” he thinks aloud, ”seems the best way to keep my skin intact, anyway.”
Dezső does the same as Braegan. On the assumption that Imendri is more of a close up fighter and intends to go in front of Braegan, Dezső brings up the rear, walking with crossbow drawn in Braegan's footsteps 10 feet behind.
As Chiquq advances, the snowdrift erupts in a spray of white. A blur of white scales and fur, something serpentine, strikes out at Mahb.
The brutal assault rips flesh from the witch and leaves her senseless and bleeding on the ground, her limbs at an awkward, wrong angle. The serpent then releases Mahb, its eyes glittering with a feral intelligence at the Kellid and tiefling, as if daring them to move closer.
Round 1
Beastie
Chiquq (and Ila)
Imendri
Braegan
Dez
The white scaled beast then strikes at Imendri.
However, it fails to connect with the nimble barbarian. It retreats into the snow, hissing in frustration and lashing a long tail.
Chiquq cries out in startlement as the elder is savagely struck. She stares wide-eyed at the creature, trying to tell what it is...
She drops her spear into the snow and switches to her bow, loosing an arrow at the monstrous snake-like thing.
"ILA! KILL IT!"
Snorting, the mammoth tramples through the snow, tusked head lowering to try and pierce-and-flip the snake as instinct dictates.
Chiquq does not know what the creature is.
Her arrow strikes true, sinking into the serpentine flesh with a smacking sound. Ila also scores a hit with her ivory tusks, drawing strange milky blood from the creature.
Dezső looks with dismay at the crumpled body of the witch, but his thoughts stay focused on doing what he can to prevent the serpentine creature from striking down any of his other comrades.
He fires his crossbow at the thing and then drops his crossbow and draws his sword.
Braegan is staggered for a few seconds, watching the creature tear into his aunt.
"No!"he yells, plowing through the snow—and around the fight— to kneel over her. The sound of crackling embers emanates from the young Ulfen once more, but this time he can't get his gloves off in time. They catch fire and flake from his hands as his fingers alight with ghostly fire, which he touches to his aunt.
Imendri jumps at the sudden attack and rushes the beast, screaming something like heavily accented, misremembered elven words.
Dezső hits the beast squarely in the neck, and then Imendri cuts its head clean off. The neck sprays a horrid pale ichor, the jaws moving on the fallen head as the body whips about like a worm. Almost as quickly as it began, the combat is over.
Mahb brings herself heavily to her feet, one hand on her side.
"Mmph," she grunts, pointing a knobby finger at the fallen serpent. "Tatzlwyrm." She says it with a fine Ulfen accent, dropping any Taldan affectation. "It's a creature of the ice and snow, not native to here. The lowest form of dragon, lower than a drake. I reckon this one is from far away. Mayhap--" She doesn't say further, but her face seizes up in pain and she clutches her side further.
"Boy. Don't look away now." She draws back the wrappings of her jacket painfully, pulling up a dirty shirt to reveal the shard of ice she kept in her pocket from the tavern 'brawl'. It is embedded a good ways in her flesh now, most likely from her fall, with spidery strands of purple frostbite radiating out of it, and a ring of chillblains surrounding that, like some gruesome bullseye. She carefully closes her wrap back up.
"By my chin, I believe 'Dora's prophesying wasn't quite as we thought," she says to herself, then issues that harsh whistle for Pyewacket, who lands on her, strutting and preening in a way that looks far more protective than usual. "This---" she says, pointing to the hidden ice under her jacket, "Was my folly. It will spread and get colder if I stay in the Wood, this close to the source. Only thing for me to do is to limp back to Heldren and deposit myself in the Apothecary." She chuckles and shakes her head, then looks at Braegan again, fixing him with a fearsome, if slightly rheumy eye.
"Give those fey all the Hells, boy." And without a further farewell to the remainder of the group, she turns and begins to stomp slowly back towards the edge of the forest, Pyewacket turning to face the group, giving them a baleful corvine stare that clearly signifies do not follow.
"There will be a spirit that will join you," you hear her say, "Lives back beyond me." You have no idea what she's talking about. Her humped shape begins to blend in with the white landscape as she hobbles off.
Dezső listens carefully to Mahb's explanation of the Tatzlwyrm, and reacts with shock when she exposes her wound. He says, with something resembling recognizable emotion, "Yes, clearly you must return to Heldren. I regret your departure, Mahb. The group, and me personally, had much to gain from your knowledge. Take good care, and you can trust that we will bring justice to those responsible for these events."
He watches her disappear into the woods and then examines the area around where the wyrm emerged.
Chiquq frowns, coming to inspect the wound, but Mahb waves her off. Respecting the elder's wishes, Chiquq pulls back.
"...then I will pray for you, elder," she offers with a little bow. "We will do what we can to stop the cold at its source."
Dezső does not detect a damnable thing--no treasure, no nest, not even tatzlwyrm dung. He does notice, however, that the sun is growing low, even for high summer, and that it's rather cold. He estimates there's another hour and a half of sunlight before camping-time, unless folks want to trek on in the dark.
Thankfully, the path ahead is only a half foot of snow, unlike the tatzywyrm's domain. Chiquq deduces that it stalked the party under the deep snow.
Grey clouds drift in, but it isn't snowing--yet.
Braegan watches solemnly as Mahb gives her abrupt goodbyes and leaves, exchanging a few final, quiet words as she goes. As she’s lost in the icy distance, he becomes acutely aware of just how much confidence he drew from having the old crone at-hand.
”Good luck,” he mutters when he can see her no longer. His face is the very picture of curiosity, though, as he turns back to the group, ”A spirit that joins us, huh? That sounds ominous.” He shrugs when he realizes that the group likely thinks he’ll have some insights. ”Don’t look at me. I don’t have a clue what she meant.”
He looks to Chiquq and Imendri. ”So … what now?” He gives a crooked grin, ”My ass is freezing.”
As he waits for an answer, he draws a spare glove from his coat pocket, replacing the one that burned off his hand only moments before.
As the sun descends to the west, the wind picks up slightly, swirling the fine snow crystals into miniature whirlwinds that glitter in the dying light. Through the lengthening shadows and the icy haze a distant shape can be seen, advancing somewhat hesitantly from the direction in which Mahb left. Closer, the shape resolves into a donkey, picking its way carefully through the snow and snorting disapprovingly at the ground. Someone sits crosslegged on top of the donkey, swaying with its movement; at first glance... a child, perhaps, head drawn down between hunched shoulders. A thick patterned cloak of purples, blues and greens covers the figure entirely, with the fur-lined hood drawn up so low that only the tip of a nose can be seen. A nose that is tinged with purple as well, perhaps from the cold or maybe light playing off the cloak.
At a respectable distance from the group, gloved hands pull gently on the donkey's mane and the animal stops, for the moment seemingly content to not be swimming in snow drifts that reach its belly. The figure on its back doesn't pull their hood down, but keeps it fastened tight with one gloved hand while the other gives a timid wave. After a false start or two and much "umm"-ing and clearing of the throat, the stranger speaks in a clear tenor, using the Common tongue, but without the Taldarian accent of a local.
"Good afternoon, er... good people. Mistress Mahb said I was to help you. First she said I was to stay put, but then I was worried about her, so I followed and then I ran into her just now... she was hurt, but wouldn't let me help." The stranger's tone turns sorrowful at the last part and the hooded head dips even lower. "So... I'm here now. Please don't throw rocks at me."
Dezső, engaged in a close examination of the wyrm corpse and a futile search for its lair, looks up with a start. He picks up his crossbow but does not yet raise it. He peers at the figure emerging from the mist and loudly inquires, "Who are you? You know Mahb?"
It is immediately clear Dezső is a tiefling, young and tall. He has rust-colored skin, black hair, and a jutting crown of ridge-like horns. His head is uncovered despite the cold. He wears a heavy coat and a tail can be seen moving underneath it. His cloven feet are presently buried in the snow.
Imendri screws up his face, squinting to see the figure on the donkey's back.
"Hoy. Dis guy says de same fing I was finking." Imendri juts a thumb toward Desző. His sword is still covered in the Tatzlwyrm's gore, his shield still firmly on his arm.
The half-elf's discerning gaze teases out the newcomer's posture, movements and body language, not fooled by the cloak or the voice. The stranger is not a child or a boy, but a young woman. In the shadowy recesses of her hood he glimpses a pale angular face with a decidedly unnatural purplish hue and dark glittering eyes. The hood sports curious bumps above the girl's forehead, as if she was wearing a bulky headdress.
Trepidation in her deep voice, the stranger answers their questions, stumbling over the words. "Ah, me... Mistress Mahb named me Yrja. I was found... in winter, in the forest. Left to die. But I'm not dead now. Because of M-Mistress Mahb." The figure looks over her shoulder at that, towards where the old woman had disappeared earlier. "So now she tells me to go to you. To be useful. I can be useful." Her voices rises slightly on the last sentence, making it almost a question. Then she rushes ahead, as if she's trying to dispel their doubts before they voice them. "I know herbs and m-mushrooms, I can brew cures, I know spells, I can sew and mend, I'll be good, you'll see!" Please don't throw rocks at me...
"Don't throw rocks at you?" Braegan's face could not carry more confusion and incredulity if he tried. "Why would we?"
He shrugs off the question, "More to the point, you said Mahb sent you?" There is more than a little wariness in his voice, "I know Mahb. I know her well. Come closer. I would meet another pupil of Mahb's. I'm Braegan ... her nephew."
Dezső's curiosity thoroughly piqued, he hangs his crossbow at his side and trudges through the snow towards Yrja, trying to get a better look at her. He passes Braegan and nods in acknowledgment of the nephew's comment, declaring "And I am Dezső. If Mahb truly sent you, and if you have even some portion of her knowledge and wisdom, you are welcome. But I warn you, our path is dangerous." He stops about ten feet away from Yrja and opens his coat to reveal the bruising on his torso remaining from the log trap: "And this is AFTER Braegan and Chiquq healed me." (He also looks significantly less brawny than the armored coat makes him appear when closed.)
"You see, I foolishly walked right up to a chest left behind by our quarry and..." Dezső looks up to gauge Yrja's reaction and for the first time starts to get better sense of her appearance. "And ... uh ... uh ... but ... wait ... what?" Dezső's speech becomes incoherent and his mouth hangs slack. His face is a mixture of confusion and wonderment.
The girl answers Braegan, her voice slightly muffled by the cowl she still keeps wrapped about her face. "Yes, I know you. I have seen you... sometimes. Mistress Mahb told me to hide when you visited. She told me to hide from everyone." With a resigned sigh, she slowly lowers her hood, taking care not to snag its furred edge on the small horns protruding from her forehead. Peeking from under the cloak, the tip of a tail twitches nervously. At first, Yrja hangs her head, eyes lowered, seemingly trying to avoid seeing the others' reaction at her revelation. In a small voice, she continues. "She told me that people would throw rocks at me if they saw me."
As Dezső approaches, her head snaps up and her face mirrors his surprise as she sees him clearly for the first time. Mouth open in shock, she can't seem to find words to speak as she points to his head, then gingerly touches one of her own horns, gasping and giggling and biting her knuckles. Finally, she manages "You! You are like me! And you are with them!" She jumps off the donkey, stumbling in the snow on legs stiff from sitting - legs that terminate in human-looking feet and not hooves or claws - approaching Dezső like you would a skittish animal, her face full of wonder. Seemingly unaware of any awkwardness that her behaviour might cause, she circles him, leaning in closely here and there to examine his horns, his tail, his hooves, his exposed skin... fingers hovering just shy of touching.
After a few moments, satisfied with her examination, she faces him and speaks again. "Mistress Mahb taught me. If she says I help you, then I help you. Danger is danger. Danger is in the village. Danger is in the forest." She shrugs. "You can't hide forever," she mutters philosophically, more to herself than anyone else.
Dezső is surprised but not offended by Yrja's examination. He looks on with amusement as she circles him, and only becomes a little deeper red at all the attention. He even lifts his hooves, lowers his head for her to inspect his horns, and his tail wanders out from under his coat.
Partially regaining his composure, he says, "I am equally surprised to see another of my kind in this place, but you act as if you did not know others like you existed, or assumed places as equals in assemblages such as this one. I grew up knowing no others of my kind, but I knew there were others, and others of honor, from my readings. And I gained the respect of those around me. Although I confess I did feel as a curiosity, and I also confess in my travels I have more than once made a hasty exit from a village with rocks at my back. But there is no accounting for the ignorance of the uneducated..." The words flood out in a torrent, but then eventually slow and Dezső adds, "But, excuse me, as I carry on. I am truly amazed to encounter you in this place. And might I add that your skin is a marvelous shade of purple. I have sometimes regretted being merely a rusty red, rather than a more exotic shade."