"...you dealt with them? The heart eaters?"
Braga looks relieved, then shakes her head.
"I just want to get out. Please, get me out."
Her lip quivers, but she stands firm and regains some self-control. "That's an order."
"Yes, the heart eaters are no longer. But, as this Jadwiga has informed you, we are here on our own mission, but you should find the path clear from where we came to leave this area, or you can wait here until we have finished dealing with the fey in the area. It's up to you."
"No. NO. You have to get me [i]OUT!" Braga screams in fury and shifts into a large white wolf--her true form. She charges straight at
Dezső, swiftly crossing the distance between them on ice-rimed paws.
Round 1 - Cry Wolf!
Dez
Braga
Yrja
Kseniya
Orik
[b]
[b]Dez can act!
Dez is only mildly surprised and he states flatly, "I know you're afraid, but you're making a grave error." As he speaks, he calmly drops his iron rapier, draws his flaming rapier, studies Braga for weaknesses, and takes a 5 foot step back while staying next to Kseniya (he's hopefully to gradually move into a flanking position with Kseniya, and he also expects his big friend will get a chance at grabbing Braga as she charges in).
Braga, true to Dez' guess, does not attack; instead, she increases her speed and takes a flying leap over him, Orik and Yrja. It's a breathtaking sight if it weren't such a dangerous spot for you all...or perhaps, a dangerous spot for Braga.
"Oh, wow," is all that Yrja can say as Braga flies over her and the others. The young with really doesn't want to fight her, especially if she is afraid, as Dez says. Fear can make people do a lot of strange things, she knows this.
Instead, she tries to stop Braga from making things worse for herself. Putting on her best winter witch voice (or what she imagines a winter witch sounds like), Yrja shouts "Stop this behaviour right now!" as she sends skeins of magic at the winter wolf.
Braga looks startled and then drops to the ground, sound asleep.
Orik snorts, "well, maybe knock her about a bit? That hex only lasts a little while. We don't have time to escort her, especially since we already saved her from the Perytons. When she wakes up she'll have a goose egg, but I bet she'll be safe enough."
"What? The sole reason I put her to sleep was so she doesn't get hurt! Really, what a suggestion, Orik!"
Yrja huffs as she absent-mindedly pets the winter wolf's fur.
Orik grunts in response, "no permanent damage, Yrja, but she would have a headache. A fair trade, I think, given she wanted to gobble us up and was bossing us around." He taps the spot where one might have a pocket watch, "she'll wake up soon, so someone decide."
Kseniya picks up the unconscious wolf and carries her back to the little hut and stuffs her inside. She waves for Orik to come over and begins barricading the door. ”Orik, create water around the edges of the door. It will freeze fast and hold it shut until we come back this way.” She uses some of her own rays of frost to speed up the process.
Orik nods, "eh, alright." He shrugs and creates water, which freezes quickly.
While the group discusses what to do, Dez relieves Braga of any valuables and scoots over to the hut to inspect the scene and gather any valuables. The party can use all the help it can get and no sense in leaving valuables in the hands of foes. When Kseniya and Orik bring Braga over to the hut, he nods approvingly at Kseniya's clever solution. "I would have been fine with Orik's plan -- it was more mercy than Braga would have extended to any of us -- but Kseniya's suggestion is a very clever solution that should prevent her from interfering in our plans."
Kseniya, you open the door to the cabin and are hit with the warm stench of decaying bodies. Market Square's vegetation and fey activity have warmed the air, allowing Braga's compatriot Winter Guards to putrefy a bit. Their bodies are swelling, bearing the savage gore and rend marks of the perytons. They lie in a jumble with their armor still upon them and their gear slipping out of their now nerveless gauntlets--rigor mortis has passed.
Dez leaves it to the others to come up with an alternate plan, and he proceeds to quickly search the corpses and hut for anything particularly valuable or of note. He's quite stoic about the stench and condition of the bodies, and, as I noted, he feels no discomfort at relieving the Winter Guards of any particularly valuable or useful items.
Yrja scribbles quick instructions on how to get back to the entrance to the Market Square, reassurances that the way is clear, and an apology for not being able to escort Braga there, which she ties with a piece of string around one of the winter wolf's forepaws.
"Just leave her here, I doubt she'll come after us once she wakes up, not if she was as scared as you say."
Dez finds a well made longbow that radiates magic, 3 clearly magical potions, 30 mundane arrows and 10 arrows that are cold iron and radiate magic.
You leave Braga trussed up and are ready to move on. Whither?
Yrja, you can't tell what the bow is, but it's something neat for sure.
The potions are Lesser Restoration.
The arrows are, somewhat unsurprisingly, Bane arrows against fey.
Dez gathers up his finds and quietly observes Yrja's approach without objection, and he scouts ahead.
You pad up the path past the charnel house. A large campfire burns before another house that squats beneath the eaves of the forest. You can't honestly be sure if the house is of Market Square or of the First World--the creeping changes of the dawn pipers are affecting reality here. Several logs are arrayed around the fire as if to serve as seats. Empty wine bottles and charred, sharpened sticks for roasting food over the fire litter the ground.
Three women with long flowing hair in various reddish shades, and eyes of striking green or blue, sweep in and out of the house bearing more wine jugs, laughing and chatting. Three men are seated at the fire in various stages of relaxed repose, nibbling at breads and meats and chuckling as the women refill their glasses. "Here's to the fall of the Queen," one says in a loosened tongue, and his white-bearded companion nods. "I always imagined the end to be different, Leng or algothul-thul--er, those things what the Dead God peeved. This is downright peaceful," he says in a rusty voice.
Dez will return to his companions and report what he saw.
"Does any of that mean anything to you?"
He will also aid Orik in identifying the bow:
Orik looks at the bow and grunts, "nice." He says as he checks the bow.
Those men are drunk--the women are probably as well, but they seem to be more in control of the situation.
The women sound like baccae--fey who brew their own wine in homage or servitude to some forgotten god. The wine calms humanoids, unnaturally so, and even beasts, but with the baccae, there is a chance they will fly into a bestial rage if they drink too much of their own vintage.
Orik nods and takes the bow, putting Ol' Reliable into his pack. "This is a fair bit nicer. Should help keep those dastardly teleporting enemies from escaping justice." He pats his old bow. "'Sounds like baccae. They like revelry and getting themselves and others drunk. Erm, so we may be able avoid a fight, but we may not have a choice. I'd say even if the fey come after us - just knock em out." He nods, somewhat sure of that last statement.
"I wonder if the men are fey as well. I'm fine trying to avoid a fight, but my rapier only pokes holes so I make no promises of mercy if violence is forced upon us. I'm happy to try to talk our way through, but what should we say?"
"The fey are strange, but the love of drink is something they seem to have in common with mortals," snickers Yrja. "Maybe they'll be more inclined to let us pass without a fight if we offer them something? I think everyone likes gifts."
Kseniya licks her lips at the sound of a feast. She has not had a proper large meal in a while, and her size and muscles are quite demanding. ”Could we perhaps spare a few minutes to partake? I am sure they would be happy to have us. It would just be good manners. Traditionally, once someone has partaken of the host’s offered food and drink, they are considered under the host’s protection. I do not know if fey follow such rules, though. They are a bit inconsistent on the rules they follow.”
"It sounds like they might be happy to provide us their wine for the amusement of intoxicating us. I'm just worried about what might happen if we become intoxicated, especially if they realize we have been interfering with their plans here. But I'm willing to try it if that is what the rest of you want to do."
Orik grumbles, "don't like drinking. Brings out my bad side." He folds his arms reproachfully, "if the men are under her thrall, too, they should be allowed to leave."
"I have no objection to the use of intoxicating substances, which provide amusement and can present very interesting opportunities to observe the effects of various substances on mental functioning. I have read that the use of some substances can even open doors to new ways of seeing things. But, upon reflection, drinking an unknown substance produced by fey is probably unwise given our current circumstances."
"I suspect we are going to be drawn into combat, but I can ask them to allow us to pass unmolested. Do we have any appropriate gifts to offer?"
Various hearth tales say that when you accept the food and drink of the fey, you can be enchanted or under their power. However, you know that isn't true, as in the case of Hatch the domovoi...that being said...fey can be wily, and some may try to enchant you with food, or drink, or song, or fetching looks, and at the end of the day, it's probably not a good idea to drink too much of the baccae's wine.
Dez shares what he recalls. "One never knows how much to trust the tales in books, but all the stories do give reason to pause. If we weren't at such an critical moment I would be tempted to partake of the baccae's wine out of curiosity. But I don't think we can risk it."
Kseniya frowns and shakes her head. ”If we must hold off, we must hold off. But maybe we could ask for some for the road, yes? If they are truly generous, they will not mind. If they want to entrap is, they may show their true colors.”
The laughter from afar rises and you can hear the women singing and the men attempting to join in, faking the words as they do not know Sylvan, nor can hardly find their own tongues in their mouths. At least one woman provides a mocking call and response.
Three bowls do I mix for tem-per-ate (ha!)
One to health which they empty first, (not on the ground!)
the second to love (ooh!),
the third to sleep,(ahh!)
When this bowl is drunk up, wise guests go home. (none here!)
The fourth bowl is ours no longer, but belongs to violence,
the fifth to uproar, (wassail!)
the sixth to drunken revel, (redundant!)
the seventh to black eyes, (so shiny!)
the eighth is the policeman’s, (#@$%#@$% them!)
the ninth belongs to biliousness, (urp!)
and the tenth to madness and hurling the furniture. (Euan euan, oi oi OI!)
The song is rather intoxicating in and of itself, and the scent of wine and grape vines grows a bit stronger, mingling with the smell of fire and strange perfumes.
"Oh, they're singing!" Yrja's gaze unfocuses as she listens to the words. She smiles at first, then her expression grows concerned.
"One bowl to health, second to love, third to sleep... Oh no. Fourth bowl belongs to violence? Fifth to uproar, sixth to drunken revel, seventh to black eyes, whatever that means. Eighth is the policeman's, ninth to bill-bily, I don't know that word. Tenth to madness."
She turns to her companions after finishing her running translation.
"If we do drink with them, we should drink no more than one bowl, I think. Unless, unless..." She blushes violet, trailing off.
She turns her eyes towards the clearing again. "I wonder how many bowls those men have had so far."
Orik's mouth is a thin line, "remember - their presence here is abberant on its own. The fey may not be enemies, but they may have strange motives that are difficult for us to understand."
"I don't want to risk drinking with them. We can try to negotiate with them, but if they do not let us pass then I will not hesitate to run them through with my rapier. They don't belong here and I am sure they intend only mischief. And we are on an important journey."
Dez grasps the silver mirror in his tail under his long coat in case a gift seems appropriate. His cold iron rapier is at easy reach but not drawn. He then leads the group to stride into the clearing, with Yrja by his side to translate into Sylvan -- at least his initial greetings, more may not be necessary given that the fey probably speak common as well (if I can take that liberty).
He will enter a short way into the clearing with his hands raised, clearly empty, and as he speaks he will sweep his hands towards his companions in a broad friendly gesture.
"Greetings, all! I apologize for the intrusion. We did not mean to startle you or to disrupt your festivities. We are travelers who must pass this way, and we will just be on our way..."
One of the women prances, then lurches a bit, up to Dez, smiling libidinously. "But won't you warm yourselves for a bit? We have a lovely fire, and the wine will fortify you." Her eyes sparkle at the tiefling. "I am Synkomidí. Please, just for a while. You should rest while the monsters roam--they will be quieter in the evening." She plucks at Dez' sleeve and gives him a wink from her startling green eyes. She smells like fresh loam, harvest, the stamping of grapes on a hot afternoon. It's rather intoxicating, no pun intended.
One of the men chooses this moment to hitch himself up and find a tree, stumbling about and practically snorting like a horse. "Gods, I am to the brim!" he says to no one in particular.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Synkomidí. It is most tempting to join your festivities, but we really don't have even a moment to spare. My sincerest apologies." He ends his comments with a deep bow.
"Just for a few minutes. Really, it's dangerous out there," says Synkomidí. Her eyes are like limpid pools of green, endless, green...