"At least these 'Shalasti monsters' are willing to fight against the eternal slavery of undeath," Talavuc says as much to herself as to anyone else there after Marcellano knocked the man cold. She looks over the companions assembled around her. I would not have chosen these men, but at least we can agree on our goal. She looks down at the Eldrin. The erutaki are better than this. The voice in her head carried a determination about that statement that was born of a need to be right. However, her experiences had left her with faint doubts that troubled her.
She sighed and looked up to Ordrud. "I'm but one voice here, but I would rather not execute them, if only out of pity's sake. It's little but useless slaughter." The man's words bothered her, but it was only a small piece that float in the back of her mind. Still, it is a life. There is no reason to take it if we don't have to. The desire to remove Eldrin stayed in the back of her mind, unable to be banished from her thoughts completely.
"Is there food from the inn that was gathered? I've not had time on this trek to hunt." She scratches Naasvit on the head and smiles down at the mink. "I'll volunteer for the third watch this night. I don't like to sleep for long periods. Breaking them apart will be more comfortable."
"I could press on if I had ter, but I'm out o' mojo until I get some sleep. That means I can't fight as well, and there'll be no more healing comin' from me. As for these wretches, they are too pitiful ter kill. Lets send 'em back to the boat."
Frowning silently behind his mask, Teladon listened carefully to Fenyx’s words. As much as the elf might despise humans, this one showed practicality, wisdom and foresight. Qualities such as these, in Teladons thankfully limited experience were normally lacking in humans. In a way Teladon could both respect and appreciate the man’s practical view. As an elf however Teladon knew that there were things that were worth fighting to protect even if it meant the loss of one’s life. That he thought Thassilon was the most advance empire in all of history was wrong. Thassilon had been born from Azlant, and his people were the inheritors of that civilization. Reverently touching the blacken scimitar at his side engraved with ancient Azlanti runes Teladon smiled. Thassilon had been destroyed by the sins of its leaders, it was something so… human.
As Teladon meditated on the subject of Thassilon and Azlant, he watched as Marcellano clubbed the man into submission. Statuesquely the reserved elf watched human dominate human. That the man was coward and unwilling to fight for his home and kin was obvious. That the man had turned away from what was meaningful in his life and become this wretched thing didn’t bother Teladon personally, and why would it? Teladon had never met the man before, tragedies like this happened every moment of the day. The humans never lifted a finger to save his people when the sky fell. Why should he do the same for them?. No, emotions unnecessarily complicated the decision making process and served no purpose here. There was a time for emotion, for celebration and joy. Now was not that time. Now was a time to make decisions and to act.
We should let them watch this world freeze if that is what they wish. The elfin magus whispered through the mask, his voice carried on the wind. Strip them down to their small clothes and send them away. Let fate decide their course. If they will not assist us, they are of no use to us. Turning away from the group, Teladon went to gather his things. He would let them decide as they will. He had probably said more then was necessary. Stepping away he passed by the hooded necromancer. As the two were shoulder to shoulder Teladon leaned in, his breath exiting the iron wrought mask in a thin ribbon of steam.
You are practical and show a measure of foresight I normally find lacking in your people. You have a measure of my respect. My name is Teladon. If you wish to speak to me in the future, please do so in private.[/smaller]
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Styv shook his head, the two men were broken, shells of what they once were, what they still might be...it was obvious however that they would be of no more use tonight. He listened as Fenyx took center stage and used the opportunity to open up a bit about his perspective. He could sympathize with the wizard if he tried. Fenyx had proved his worth thus far and Styvanus wasn't anyone to deny anyone else of what they needed to do some good in the world. The two hunters were perfect examples of what many men turned to with Golarion in the clutches of winter. The fact that Fenyx was here doing good in a land that's went to hell was a testament to the man's character.
He was shook from his contemplation when Kain introduced the butt of his musket to Eldrin's face. He exhaled a breath that almost sounded like a sigh of relief. His posture relaxed and he extended his outward facing palm towards the chelish man." That's alright soldier, It needed to be done."
He turned to Kain once more and to the ropes he tethered." Untie em." He stated, turning to Savard. " Make yourself useful and show us on the map. Your friend will sleep through the night, do the same. At first light, make your way back to the town and report to the red sailed ship in the bay. I wouldn't suggest trying anything stupid. Take off your furs, the fire will keep you warm till morning." Once he's made the marks on the map Styvanus goes off and collects a musket from one of the fallen hunters.
We press on. It'll take all night to get to the lodge but if we wait till morning they'll be expecting us. We have to believe we could be facing superior numbers in a defensible position. We know that they have at least one high priority prisoner in Gwynn, they might also have multiple others as prisoners, so we have to be prepared for that. We have to seize this opportunity to catch them with their guard down. Let's get those furs on, they'll probably be looking for the hunters to get back around the time we're arriving so if they spot us prematurely at least then they might think that we're the returning hunting party."
'Weak! Too much risk letting them live. Even the Lastwallers knew that much.' Ordrud concludes to himself trying not to grimace and shake his head. He turns away from the interrogation and starts looking for material to make his replacement sling.
He's ready to go. He already has furs, snowshoes, and skis. Last week, Ordrud ran for several days to shake his hunters. Now, that he finally sated his hunger, he could run for several more days to save Captain Gwynn.
He wonders if only he was at full strength, he could be more lethal, and everyone of this new team probably doesn't trust him enough to heal him. 'Just keep the monster injured to make him easier to put down.'
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None too happy he has to untie them, Marcellano grunts, "Aye Cap'n." Swiftly untying the loop from himself first, he unties Savard first, then goes over and unties the unconcious Eldrin, before almost stowing his rope back into his pack. On second thought.. I have an idea.
Marcellano grabs the unconcious Eldrin and swings him over his shoulder before roughly picking Savard up by his shirt so he may stand. "Do as the Captain says, and you'll get away from this alive. The Captain won't do anything that might cause them to bring harm to your child. They won't know you helped us." Marcellano walks over to the fire and roughly deposits Eldrin on the ground, before taking off the unconcious man's cold weather outfit and snowshoes. He puts these aside for someone else to take, as he already has two sets of cold weather outfits, furs, snowshoes, and cleats.
Untying a sack from his backpack, he pulls out the six wine bottles he took from Falcon's Hollow, before speaking outloud to Savard a few feet away. "I'm leaving these here with you two. I'm unable to carry them further, as I've taken on too much weight already. You two will be able to thaw them and keep warm with them.. don't mind what the Druid'll say about alcohol not keeping you warm. Tell your friend, when he wakes up, that these are a gift from the guy who knocked him out. Save some for the crew back in Falcon's Hollow."
Marcellano then stows the sack he was carrying the wine in, and pulls out the end of his 100 feet of silk rope before pulling out his grappling hook. Just in case.. maybe if I have this ready for use, I can see if I can find a way to use it to our advantage at the lodge. He then ties the rope to the grappling hook and stows it on his belt for easy reach, the other end of it still tied to him.
"Alright, now where were those extra horns of gunpowder?"
Rasso walks over and takes one of the bottles of wine. "Rum won't last forever." he says by way of explanation.
Talavuc hears the orders given by the captain and snaps back to reality for a moment. Of course we should pursue... Focus! She shakes her head as Marcellano brings the captives over to the fire. Walking over to the deposited snowshoes, she picks them up and sits down nearby to affix them.
Listening in on the conversation, she frowns for a moment. "The druid'll say that drinking alcohol in this weather is foolish. You may feel warmer for a bit, but in the end, it'll cost you heat." She snorts as she finishes attaching the snowshoes and looks about for the least damaged outfit she could find to wrap around herself as was suggested. Not a bad idea to hide in their clothing. She smirked to herself as she picked the least bloodied bits of their gear and wrapped them about herself in an attempt to disguise herself. Too bad I'm not that great at looking like some other person. She sighed and hoped that it looked convincing.
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With Eldrin rendered unconscious and Savard pliant towards limited assistance, the expedition force has managed to turn an ambush into a great resource for stabilizing the region by defeating the occupying force that seems to have settled in on Falcon's Hollow. Settled in by the fire, Savard looks over the group's maps and charts, checking the trails that they've drawn on and making his own notations about things he knows are out there. Grateful to be warm and not foolish enough to ask for a comfort like some food, Savard watches Eldrin's hog-tied form with marked curiosity. The bloody head-wound has left him unconscious, likely for hours given how hard the blow was. He was going to be alone here, by a fire, in the dark of night...
FInished with his notations, Savard goes over the deails with Styvanus, showing where he knows traps have been constructed on either side of the frozen river at its safest crossing to protect the quickest means of access to the lodge. From Savard's description they're trip-wire traps that unleash spiked logs hanging up in the trees. From here it's a short distance on the map to where he has marked the lodge, perched atop a ridge in the forest. Savard's map comes with a verbal warning, that the closer anyone gets to the heart of Darkmoon Wood, where the storm spins a twister of ice, the colder it gets. Crossing the river means entering an area of supernatural cold and staying out exposed in it could mean certain death.
As the group prepares to leave, gathering up and dividing the supplies from the fallen warriors, Savard asks a question of them that he seems hesitant to speak. "Are you just going to-- leave them there?" Looking to the bodies of his fallen comrades and former villagers stripped of their gear and left in the snow where Ordrud had dug them. There was no way to bury the dead, not without wasting precious hours and manpower digging through two feet of snow and rock hard soil. Even building a pyre large enough to burn their bodies would take hours.
Savard knew the answer before he asked it, but he asked it out of respect to them. The wine, Savard hopes, will not keep him warm, but take the edge off of his frayed nerves when he is forced to make the trek back to the town he helped empty out.
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While Savard was going over the details with his captain, Marcellano was busy looting the dead. He had gathered a handfull of gold and split it into even amounts before stowing it in small pouches taken from the dead. It was not much, but Marcellano believed that they had earned something for their troubles.
However, what was more important were the two muskets and ammunition he found amongst the dead and looted. Marcellano helped himself to two powder horns, each full to the brim with gunpowder, and filled his ammunition pouch with an additional twenty bullets. This brought him up to thirty-eight shots. He hoped he wouldn't need that many. One musket, two full horns of gunpowder, and a pouch with twenty bullets were given to Styvanus.
At the second musket, Marcellano pondered. There were only two others in the group that had showed any real aptitude with martial weapons - the elf, and Ordrud. The elf seemed to have pride in that bow of his, while Odrud had given his only ranged weapon - a simple sling - to the fish-man. Rasso, was it? Marcellano wasn't the greatest with names.
"Ordrud, come here for a moment. Do you know how to use a musket?"
Ordrud pauses his sling-making when he hears his name called. He stuffs the work-in-progress into his outfit and heads toward the Chelish marine. "No." He finally replies stopping a couple paces from the marine.
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"Hmm. Not too surprising, considering you had a sling to begin with.. not to mention that rage you were in. Firearms, such as this musket, require delicate care and dedicated maintenance. They're worth it, however, with their ability to penetrate even the heaviest of armors and thickest of hides - if you're within a certain distance. While they're busy going over the map, you're going to learn how to use one. The enemy will be using them, and I'll be damned if we're not going to use their weapons against them where we can. You're out of a ranged weapon, too. With our movement so hampered by the snow.. you would be a liability without a reliable ranged weapon."
Marcellano speaks in a rather authoritive voice, as if he plans to pass on his own marine training to Ordrud.
"First, take the musket. Best if you learn hands on - I can demonstrate with my own musket." Marcellano hands the spare musket, along with two horns of gunpowder and a pouch full of bullets to Ordrud, before taking out his own musket. "First, you rotate the cock," he points at a piece just above the trigger, that has a piece of flint in it -, " and rotate it to half-cock. This is a safety measure, so you don't accidently discharge the weapon while loading it. Then, you take your horn of gunpowder and pour just a bit of gunpowder down the barrel - generally, these horns carry enough gunpowder for ten shots, so pour about one tenth of the gunpowder down the barrel. Try not to spill it. Then, you take a piece of cotton, cloth, or paper and put it, followed by a bullet, down the barrel." As he is saying this, he demonstrates with his own musket, slowly, so he can show Ordrud the proper way of doing it. "Once you do that, you pull out the ramrod from inside the musket - it's stored on the underside of the barrel - and gently ram the barrel until it feels like it's packed in tight, before storing the ramrod back into the musket. Then you open up the flashpan - thats the part near the cock that the piece of flint strikes as you fire - and put a small amount of gunpowder in it, before closing it again. Now you're fully primed and loaded. But you cannot simply fire it as is - right before you wish to fire, you need to pull the cock back to full-cock, which releases the safety lock. Now all you have to do is point and fire. When you pull the trigger, the cock releases, and the piece of flint strikes the frizzen, creates a spark, which carries down and ignites the small amount of gunpowder you placed in the flashpan, which goes through a small hole and down to the combustion chamber, where it ignites the main powder charge and fires the bullet. Quite simple, really." He makes a motion of aiming, but does not discharge his firearm.
"Now that you know how to load it, you need to know how to carry it. It should be self-explainatory, but you'd be surprised how many people forget this one simple rule. Always aim your musket up when carrying it. Otherwise, your bullet might fall out of the barrel - even if you've jammed it in there correctly. Never aim it at friendlies, either. Theres always a chance it could go off if something strikes it, and if you're accidently aiming at a friendly.. well, just don't aim it at a friendly. I'll teach you how to clean it later - we don't quite have that sort of time, so just hope your gun does not misfire. If it does, don't try and load and fire it again. It might explode."
"Overall, its a slow weapon until you get the motions down - and it misfires roughly ten percent of the time, unless you're particularly good at loading it properly. Even I'm not quite that good, though. The real strength of firearms is their ability to literally punch through full plate, dragonhide, and magical protection like a hot knife through butter. In order to protect yourself from firearms, you need to simply avoid getting hit in the first place. Cover, mobility, or magical deflection are the best ways. The latter is not easy for us to get.. so when facing firearms, as we probably will be, stay in cover and don't expose yourself."
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Ordrud does not understand why the marine thinks that he won't replace his sling before they arrive at the lodge, but he played along like the dutiful student that Lastwall had trained him to be. He paid close attention to the instruction.
"I think you should load it for awhile until I get practice." Ordrud answers and then asks a question to show he was paying attention. "If you have to carry the musket pointed up, how do you keep the rain and snow from going inside?"
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"Just tie a small piece of thin cloth over it. It won't affect the musket's aim when you fire it, as the bullet'll just rip right through it."
Marcellano takes a piece of the sack he's been ripping off of and ties it around the barrel - much like he did back after they left the inn in Falcon's Hollow.
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Later, when Savard asks about the bodies, Marcellano walks over to them and thinks a moment before speaking. "Hmm.. true.. we shouldn't just leave them here. Hey, Necromancer, are you able to do use these bodies? Reanimate them or something? Its a shame your previous two got blown up.. they ended up being particularly useful - in the fact that they got blown up, not us."
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One pit traps remain armed at the ruins of the lumber camp when Savard and Eldrin are left behind, though they had to collapse their burning barricade into the other one to allow them access to the fire. With the final preparations for their journey into the Darkmoon Wood underway, the joint expedition team leaves the burned remains of the Lumber Consortium camp at their backs. It doesn't take long for the glow of the fire they had used to set an ambush disappears into the haze of wind-driven snow. The night is dark and cold, the wind strong but precipitation has all but ceased, the only snow kicked into the air blown off of the drifts that rise as high as sand dunes in the desert.
Travel through the snow as deep as a man is tall only lasts a few minutes, for soon the group arrives at the edge of the Darkmoon Wood. The tree density is thick, and the Wood is bristling with ancient pines, oaks and birch on its perimeter. The stumps of trees cut down in ages past have been buried beneath the snow, leaving no indication that they ever were.
Cut into the treeline is a twenty foot wide path cleared of all forestation and packed down by recent travel. Dozens of men seem to come and go from this location, likely all hunters in service to the man named "Thuldrin" or the undead that marched on Falcon's Hollow earlier. Partially buried wagons and carts litter the trailside, some stacked with felled trees that never made it to the sawmill for processing. Weather rotten woodcutting axes are frozen to sledges that tried to maneuver the snow when the unseasonable winter must have first begun, before the culling of the Hollow.
Pressing on into the trail the presence of pine trees snapped in half like twigs is a testament to the raw power of winter. Weighed down so by the snow in their needled branches, these mighty pines broke under the strain. Some lay partly across the logging trail, sinking into knee deep snow in places, dusted with half a foot of fresh snow on their uppermost side. The deciduous trees that shed their leaves in the fall have fared better, bristling up between the tired, sagging pines.The sound of the birds has escaped the Wood and has been replaced by a haunting silence and stillness.
Perhaps this is how the world will look eventually.
Silent and still.
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After an hour into the Wood the presence of the lumber workers disappears entirely, no more tools or sledges abandoned to the cold. The snow underfoot is thinner here where the wind has blown it to the sides as it whips through the logging trails, heaping up to huge drifts over six feet high on the sides of the trail. The silence is unsettling in the forest, though the distant crack of branches straining under the weight of snow is hard to differentiate from the sounds of animals or men moving through the trees. Only the crunch of snow underfoot is clearly defined, and even then it reminds the expedition team that they are following on the heels of a large group that has not bothered to conceal its numbers.
For now, though, the trek into the forest seems to be going smoothly.
Rasso trudges determinedly along through the packed snow. Though he would never admit it he's getting a little tired. All this snow is lot different than the swimming he'd gotten used to in his last few years in the navy. He's worked out a sort of motion where his crabby front legs work like the the treads on a snow-mobile, while his tail can be used sort of like a ski. He maintains silence, mostly in reflection of the preternaturally still frozen forest around him.
Talavuc pushes on through the snow, thankful for the familiar feeling of the snowshoes she now wore on her feet. Naasvit stayed a bit further to her right than before, using Ordrud's trail to ease his passage through the snow. She glanced at the mink every once in a while, noting that the trip was beginning to wear on him too. Keep it up, my friend. I know that this is something you're not used to, but I have faith in you. She smiled at the mink and turned her attention again to her surroundings.
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Revenge fuels Ordrud pushing through the snow, so the evening's deaths and drama have long since evaporated. His thoughts generally don't wander during hikes, but today he can't stop focusing on the weight of the musket swaying with each step. He wonders how it feels not being on the muzzle end of it in battle.
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Marcellano trudges on almost mindlessly, as if he's deep in thought to try and keep his mind off of the cold.
Snow. More snow. Snow on the snow, covering that snow with even more snow. I hate snow. I hate this wind, this cold. This constant cold.. mind-numbing cold that only brings death. The fact that I'm bundled up more than a pirate covered in whores at night. I may have been trained to endure hardships... but by Asmodeus, this is something that even I wasn't prepared for. I'd rather be stuck in a sweatbox during a heatwave in the Fevered Sea. I'm used to the heat and the himidity; the constant sun bearing down on you, burning your skin until it's as tough and brown as leather. This cold.. theres nothing to it. Only more cold. Frozen food, frozen alcohol, frozen feet, frozen mustache, frozen nutsack thats stuck to my leg; even my hat is as solid as rock. Once we're done here.. once this eternal winter is dealt with.. I'm going sunbathing in the Shackles; Pirates be damned. I'd rather be fighting them right now than these blasted hunters and frozen undead. Give me a crew of pirates to kill, maybe some sahuagin, or by the Hells, I'd even prefer to go round two wrestling a shark. Barely won that last time.. still got the scars on my leg and chest to prove it. Good times.
Marcellano stops thinking for a moment and steals a glance over at the druid next to him. She.. lived in this type of weather her whole life, right? I can't understand why someone would want to. Theres nothing in this weather but death and ice. I swear, the fact that she had lived in it her entire life.. and seemingly thrived in it, is a testament to how strong she is. She may be overbearing and a bit pompous with that druidic attitude of hers, but she's a strong woman. I'll have to listen to her more on her advice with the cold. Still not going to stop me from drinking alcohol, though. If we can find some thats not frozen.
Through the deep woods, down the broadly cut path of the logging trail the journey is faster going than had been anticipated. In the span of just an hour, the distance cut through the forest is around two miles. Though it would be a faster journey were Rasso capable of benefitting from the snowshoes. His crustacean appendages and fish-like tail are ill-suited to travel in the deep snow. The others, at least, have a much easier time keeping the pace. At Talavuc's heels, Naasvit hops and bounds through the snwo to keep up, springing from one deep region of snow to the next, walking on the snow's delicate crust where it can support his weight.
Dead horses mostly buried by the snow greet the group at the edge of a logged clearing, their frozen carcasses barely visible where the wind has blown the light, powdery snow off of them. Abandoned wagons and carts likewise frozen in place and crusted with a thin layer of ice rest nearby, stacked high with fallen trees once ready to be shipped off to the mills. The handle of a woodsman's axe pokes up at an angle through a snowdrift, tiny icicles hanging from its haft.
The clearing beyond is at least twice as wide as the logging trail, marked by the tops of rocky outcroppings cresting the top of dusty snow drifts. The snow in the clearing is deeper than on the trail and the wind whips and swirls through it due to the lacking tree cover. The tracks of the hunters nearly disappear here, too, concealed by the shifting powdery snow and strong wind. Only the faintest impressions give any indication that they passed, and even those seem to be disturbed by other furroughs in the snow possibly caused by the wind.
As the group moves into the clearing, the group spots tiny bone effigies hanging in the nearby trees dangling with black feathers. They are fashioned of bird bones in the likeness of human silhouettes, with the bird skulls serving as a 'torso' for the figure. When the wind picks up, the dozens -- if not more -- effigies rattle and clatter like macabre wind chimes.
Ordrud remembers coming through here the first time...
The wind whips through the clearing for a moment, the sting of the cold on the half-orc's cheeks bringing him back to the present.
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The weather was wretched, but the goddess had given him the power to dispel such ill effects upon himself if it was needed. For now he saved it, for he had been warned that before the river the cold increased to supernatural levels. He would need all the protection that could be granted, be it by magic or prayer then.
Ignoring the rattling bones. Ar'Zarrcal stopped a moment and combed some snow from his beard. He glanced up to the moon once more, a whisper of a prayer upon his tongue. The march had prevented him from offering forth the proper devotion to Lissala, but it had not prevented him from at least offering worshipful words and pleas for forgiveness between the grunting breaths of the snowy march. The snowshoes definately helped, his squat form no longer having to fight as much with the heavy snow. Ar'Zarrcal knew that the prayers fell short of what the goddess expected and deserved, but it was the best that could be given at this time.
"The trail becomes more difficult to follow. This place is full of shifting snow, because of the lack of trees to shield it from the wind." She looks about the clearing, noticing the effigies as they move into the clearing. "Hmmm... I'm not familiar with these things. Wards or warnings, maybe?" Another glance around the clearing worries her a bit. "Be careful, this place worries me. Something feels off. We're exposed and easy prey." She moves with the group into the clearing, trying her best to keep on the trail of the hunters and keep an eye out for danger.
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Later, when Savard asks about the bodies, Marcellano walks over to them and thinks a moment before speaking. "Hmm.. true.. we shouldn't just leave them here. Hey, Necromancer, are you able to do use these bodies? Reanimate them or something? Its a shame your previous two got blown up.. they ended up being particularly useful - in the fact that they got blown up, not us."
Fenyx shakes his head and raises both hands before him in a nearly-mock defensive gesture. "Though such a prospect is appealing in the immediate, I must decline. I will explain, however; my expertise and pursuits in Xin-Shalast dealt entirely with opposing the Whispering Tyrant's minions. As such, I'm afraid my capacities for creating undead are somewhat lacking. Should we encounter any more of the creatures, however, I will certainly endeavor to sway their service to a more enlightened individual, such as myself."
Though the trip along the logging trail afforded them far easier egress than their trip into the ruins of the Consortium camp, the ache of the day's activities began seeping into Fenyx's gaunt form. No audible objections escape the man's lips, but he begins favoring the haft of his scythe a bit more as the assembly of Andoran's finest continue trudging through the foreboding silence of myriad trees and blusters of icy wind. His eyes flit down to his feet, now firmly secured within the snowshoes he had pried from a dead man a short time earlier. His steps were clumsy and unpracticed, telling plainly the truth that Fenyx has never worn the uncomfortable things before. There could be no arguing with the results, however. The trip further in was far less demanding than the distance between Falcon's Hollow and the camp, and the Shalasti man was grateful for it.
The clearing opens before the group, and Fenyx pauses amid the relative safety of their numbers to study the change in scenery. A frustrated and tired exhale forces its way past his lips, and a brief moment of dejection accompanies the sound. He whispers low enough for those nearby to hear, "It is an unfortunate and ironic thing that piles of snow each harbor a potential threat in a world that is covered in the stuff." The beginnings of a grim smirk creep across the wizard's face, though it is just as quickly interrupted as his eyes come to rest upon the crude bone effigies that hang amid the trees. Fenyx's brow raises as he swivels his head around and upwards to regard the closest of them more fully, the crease in his forehead warping the sihedron tattoo evident there. He extends his scythe, Dirge, and makes to retrieve one of the fetishes for closer examination.
Ordrud snaps out of his reverie and flatly replies to the female, "Captain Gwynn said they were made of ravens to ward off the eyes of Irriseni Witch Queens." Unlike some of his companions, Ordrud is not breathing heavy at all with only small puffs of cold mist escaping his nose and mouth. He continues to survey the forest for movement even while during their pause.
'Superstitions.' Ordrud wonders to himself. 'My mother was an Irriseni Winter Witch, and she was never concerned with silly bone puppets.'
Just Irriseni superstitions, though rooted in some truth. Ravens are often sentries and scouts for the witch queen of Irrisen and her servitors, operating as familiars and awakened animal spies. Tales even tell of awakened ravens that are capable wizards. The effigies, unfortunately, serve little purpose outside of culling the local raven population.
You can pick up the trail of the hunters easy enough. It's strange, though, the wind-blown furrows in the snow are reminiscent of the furrows an arctic tatzlwyrm makes in the snow at the crown of the world.
Andoran is thousands of miles too far south for something like that to dwell here.
(Further knowledge on tatzlwyrms are contained under Knowledge (arcana) as they are the dragon type).
Silently trudging through the snow, Teladon kept pace with the others. As the expedition reached the edge of the logged clearing the elf stopped momentarily to examine the bone effigies. Cocking his head at a forty-five degree angle the elf gazed at the bone charms as they waved in the breeze. From his studies Teladon knew that ravens were held sacred among some faiths. Some cultures believe that ravens could also be harbingers of death and destruction. Likely these crude statues were nothing more than a physical representation of belief. They did raise an interesting question however. Why would an Irriseni ward be found this far south and who put them there?
Pursing his lips at the possibility of witchcraft at play, Teladon gave a single thoughtful nod. The elders had selected Teladon out of all of the Spire Guards to act as an emissary on this mission. He had found it odd that he had been chosen to represent his people rather then one of the more veteran warriors. However he had made it a point to study the occult as part of his training and he was one of the few in the Spire that knew much of hex-craft. Could this be the reason that he had been chosen? The Elder Counsel was ancient and powerful and they did nothing without good reason. Perhaps… perhaps…
At the same moment Talavuc notices the similarities between the furrows in the snow and something from her homeland, Naasvit pops up from the snow on his hind legs, forelegs curled against his chest and nose in the air. The mink's eyes dart left and right, whiskers twitching as it becomes rapidly evident that he's picked up a foreign scent or heard something.
Out of the corner of Ordrud's eyes, the half-orc spots movement -- not from the woods, but from the snow. A split second later he recognizes the shape of a large, slitted eye staring back at him from where something big is coiled in the snowdrift. As his breath catches in the back of his throat and muscles reflexively tense, the snow explodes on the group's left and right flanks as a pair of enormous scaled creatures burst forth.
One of the pair hisses with its gigantic jaws spread, waves of frost and ice exhaled when it does. They're enormous, serpentine and scaly, like legless dragons with small, clawed forelimbs and jaws filled with knife-sized teeth. They both coil up like springs, digging their underbellies into the snow and square their attention on their prospective meals!
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(Naasvit, Ordrud and the Tatzlwyrms may go)
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Heavy Snow: Heavy snow has the same effects as normal snowfall but also restricts visibility as fog does (see Fog). A day of heavy snow leaves 1d4 feet of snow on the ground, and it costs 4 squares of movement (20 feet) to enter a square covered with heavy snow.
Snowshoes reduct this penalty to 2 squares of movement (10 feet) per square.
You may not take a 5-foot step or make a charge attack in this terrain, even with snowshoes.
They're dragons! If dragons could have inbred cousins with the general level of intelligence of a housecat. Tatzlwyrms are nasty, vicious things. They're relentless hunters, and this variety comes from the crown of the world, thousands of miles away. There's no possible way it just migrated south that far, it's from an entirely different habitat.
Tatzlwyrms are awful because not only are they voracious hunters with powerful jaws, they're also poisonous. When they grapple with someone they can belch poison fumes at them that causes their strength to be sapped. It's not particularly strong, but multiple doses can paralyze a victim, which is typically how they like to eat their meals. Once a tatzlwyrm picks a target, it attacks that target solely until it is paralyzed or dead, then drags it off into a tree or other high place to eat.
These creatures can also pounce like a great cat and make a vicious string of attacks. As dragon-kin, they're immune to paralysis and sleep effects and have darkvision out to 60 feet.
Arctic tatzlwyrms move effortlessly through deep snow.
Tatzlwyrms, fantastic. The stunted cousins of true dragons, these things are little more than stomachs with legs. They're slightly sharper than an animal, but their ceaseless nature and relentless desire to eat makes them difficult to train or command. They have a very one-track mine. As dragons they're immune to poison and sleep effects and have darkvision out to sixty feet.
Tatzlwyrms, of which these white ones are arctic cousins, have a poisonous breath that saps a victim of strength. It's not particularly strong, but repeated exposure to the inhaled toxin can be paralytic.
Arctic tatzlwyrms move effortlessly through deep snow.
It's some kind of dragon, but a pathetic inbred excuse for one distantly related to Linnorm. You've never seen or heard of this specific breed, likely because of its wholly insignificant place in the world. But your keen intellect reminds you that as a dragon -- even as degenerate as this -- it is immune to sleep and paralysis effects and has darkvision out to 60 feet.
These ones look to move through the snow easily...
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PLACEMENT
Ar'Zarrcal: P16
Talavuc: P19
Naasvit: Q19
Fenyx: P17
Styvanus: P14
Marcellano: O19
Ordrud: R15
Rasso: N15
Teladon: P15
Tatzlwyrms: J15 and U16
Talavuc noted to strange patterns in the snow. "Surely this can't be what it lo-" she whispers to herself before the tatzlwyrms sudden appearance startles her and cuts her off midsentence.
Naasvit growled low at the tatzlwyrm, dropping his forepaws to the ground and arching his back. It was a defensive display, often used when confronted by something the mink didn't consider prey. His master and friend might not know what to do, but he did. Instinct drove his reactions.
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Rasso's eyes widen in shock This is gonner hurt.
The dwarf had stolen a long look at the moon before chaos erupted in the snowy field. Tatzlwyrms! He hadn't even bothered to look for them. He suspected that the temperate forest variety might have once dwelled in these parts, but assumed they had all died off due to the supernatural cold. Yet these were clearly a breed from the Crown of the World. How the voracious hunters came to be in the Darkmoon Vale was beyond his understanding. This was not good. It delayed them and would likely sap their collective strength.
Ar'Zarrcal was not the quickest of the group, but it only took a few quick seconds to speak. "Tatzlwyrms. Powerful jaws. They have strength sapping poison breath. Once they have chosen a prey, they won't stop. Use lethal force and don't hold back." As he spoke steam billowed from his mouth. There was little indication of worry in his voice as he focused his pale blue eyes on one of the wyrms.
All that coiled might breaks free in an instant and the pair of tatzlwyrms move with stunning speed and ferocity across the snowfield. In the span of time it takes to draw a breath, one has closed in on Rasso, jaws open and clawed forelimbs raking. As the ferocious Tatzlwyrm's jaws snap shut they come just too shy of Rasso to make contact and the merman can feel the force of air rushing out from between those jaws when they snap shut.
Unfortunately for Rasso as the jaws miss the momentum of the springing lunge sends the Tatzlwyrm barreling into the fishman, turning it into a writhing mass of slashing claws. The two short forelimbs rip across Rasso's armored carapace, peeling back translucent chitin and carving into his protective eidolon barrier.
The other Tatzlwyrm likewise lunges itself in a corkscrew dive across the snow at Ordrud, but the powerful orcd-blooded warrior braces himself in the snow for the impact. Jaws scrape with freezing breath across his armor, claws lash out but find no purchase on frozen steel. Ordrud struggles, shifts his footing, pushes back one clawed hand with his own gauntleted one and practically wrestles the beast away.
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No time to think. Instinct takes control. Ordrud roars matching the ferocity of the dragon. Without a weapon in hand, he lunges at its neck with his clawed gauntlets like an animal. So much for the musket.
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Round 1, Initiative 22
"Tatzlwyrms," she mumbled under her breath, "How did they get this far south?" Talavuc points at the tatzlwyrm attacking Ordrud and gives a shrill whistle, ordering him to attack. She lets the sling in her hand fall into the snow and grabs the spear hanging on straps from her back, readying the weapon, smiling a bit to herself as she feels the comforting weight in her hands.
Naasvit bounds through the snow, heading directly for the tatzlwyrm. I've seen and avoided them before, but never fought one. I don't like this. She grimaced and trudged through the deep snow, following her friend.
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Tatzlwyrms? Never heard of them. Finally though, something to kill!
Marcellano yells the obvious, "We're under attack from the flanks!" Seeing Rasso and Ordrud being attacked, Marcellano moves closer to Rasso through the deep snow, trying to get a better angle for his shot. He then hefts his musket, pulls back the cock to firing position, and fires at the wyrm clawing at Rasso.
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Talavuc noted to strange patterns in the snow. "Surely this can't be what it lo-" she whispers to herself before the tatzlwyrms sudden appearance startles her and cuts her off midsentence.
Naasvit growled low at the tatzlwyrm, dropping his forepaws to the ground and arching his back. It was a defensive display, often used when confronted by something the mink didn't consider prey. His master and friend might not know what to do, but he did. Instinct drove his reactions.
The dwarf had stolen a long look at the moon before chaos erupted in the snowy field. Tatzlwyrms! He hadn't even bothered to look for them. He suspected that the temperate forest variety might have once dwelled in these parts, but assumed they had all died off due to the supernatural cold. Yet these were clearly a breed from the Crown of the World. How the voracious hunters came to be in the Darkmoon Vale was beyond his understanding. This was not good. It delayed them and would likely sap their collective strength.
Ar'Zarrcal was not the quickest of the group, but it only took a few quick seconds to speak. "Tatzlwyrms. Powerful jaws. They have strength sapping poison breath. Once they have chosen a prey, they won't stop. Use lethal force and don't hold back." As he spoke steam billowed from his mouth. There was little indication of worry in his voice as he focused his pale blue eyes on one of the wyrms.
All that coiled might breaks free in an instant and the pair of tatzlwyrms move with stunning speed and ferocity across the snowfield. In the span of time it takes to draw a breath, one has closed in on Rasso, jaws open and clawed forelimbs raking. As the ferocious Tatzlwyrm's jaws snap shut they come just too shy of Rasso to make contact and the merman can feel the force of air rushing out from between those jaws when they snap shut. Rasso's eyes widen in shock. This is gonner hurt
Unfortunately for Rasso as the jaws miss the momentum of the springing lunge sends the Tatzlwyrm barreling into the fishman, turning it into a writhing mass of slashing claws. The two short forelimbs rip across Rasso's armored carapace, peeling back translucent chitin and carving into his protective eidolon barrier.
The other Tatzlwyrm likewise lunges itself in a corkscrew dive across the snow at Ordrud, but the powerful orcd-blooded warrior braces himself in the snow for the impact. Jaws scrape with freezing breath across his armor, claws lash out but find no purchase on frozen steel. Ordrud struggles, shifts his footing, pushes back one clawed hand with his own gauntleted one and practically wrestles the beast away.
No time to think. Instinct takes control -- Ordrud roars matching the ferocity of the dragon. Without a weapon in hand, he lunges at its neck with his clawed gauntlets like an animal. The claws of his gauntlets sink into the tatzlwyrm's flesh, peeling back scales, shredding flesh and spilling bright red blood onto the snow. Steam issues forth from the open wound as the cold air hits it, and the pair become wrapped in a ferocious struggle.
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"Tatzlwyrms," she mumbled under her breath, "How did they get this far south?" Talavuc points at the tatzlwyrm attacking Ordrud and gives a shrill whistle, ordering him to attack. She lets the sling in her hand fall into the snow and grabs the spear hanging on straps from her back, readying the weapon, smiling a bit to herself as she feels the comforting weight in her hands.
Naasvit bounds through the snow, heading directly for the tatzlwyrm. I've seen and avoided them before, but never fought one. I don't like this. Talavuc grimaced and trudged through the deep snow, following her friend.
Tatzlwyrms? Never heard of them. Finally though, something to kill! Marcellano yells the obvious, "We're under attack from the flanks!" Seeing Rasso and Ordrud being attacked, Marcellano moves closer to Rasso through the deep snow, trying to get a better angle for his shot.
He then hefts his musket, pulls back the cock to firing position, and fires at the wyrm clawing at Rasso. The musket-shot rings out in the otherwise quiet forest, echoing far. A red explosion of blood on the Tatzlwyrm's flank shows that the Marine hit his target dead on and the beast releases a shrieking roar of pain but seems, horrifyingly, undeterred.
Wounded by a gunshot, the tatzlwyrm engaged with Rasso continues its savage assault. It brings its head back, jaws open, then lunges in and grabs a hold of Rasso by the shoulder, teeth sinking through his translucent carapace, peeling back more of the shell until finally it cracks. A scream of pain erupts from the merman as his eidolon flickers and fractures as if it were made of something far more fragile. With its grip secured, the Tatzlwyrm falls into a tumbling roll, coiling around Rasso and raking at his midsection with its terrible claws.
Across the snowfield, the tatzlwyrm's bonded mate performed a nearly identical maneuver. It pushes its weight forward atop Ordrud, lunges down with snapping jaws and bites down around his shoulder and neck, large teeth punching through armor and ripping through clothing. It then rolls, coiling him up in its length as its clawed forelimbs rip through his cold-weather gear and the armor below, tufts of batting and insulation mixing with blood in the struggle, even as Ordrud's clawed gauntlets continue to dig into the wyrm's flesh.
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(hit)
+ (plus grab)
+ (grappled)
(6 total damage to Rasso; eidolon shell destroyed unless fused-link is used; grappled)
+ (plus grab)
+ (grappled)
(9 total damage to Ordrud; grappled)
A grappled creature is restrained by a creature, trap, or effect. Grappled creatures cannot move and take a –4 penalty to Dexterity. A grappled creature takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls and combat maneuver checks, except those made to grapple or escape a grapple. In addition, grappled creatures can take no action that requires two hands to perform. A grappled character who attempts to cast a spell or use a spell-like ability must make a concentration check (DC 10 + grappler's CMB + spell level), or lose the spell. Grappled creatures cannot make attacks of opportunity.
A grappled creature cannot use Stealth to hide from the creature grappling it, even if a special ability, such as hide in plain sight, would normally allow it to do so. If a grappled creature becomes invisible, through a spell or other ability, it gains a +2 circumstance bonus on its CMD to avoid being grappled, but receives no other benefit.
Casting Spells while Grappled/Grappling: The only spells which can be cast while grappling or pinned are those without somatic components and whose material components (if any) you have in hand. Even so, you must make a concentration check (DC 10 + the grappler's CMB + the level of the spell you're casting) or lose the spell.
Ordrud feels the tatzlwyrm coil around him, but rage consumes him. He fights for his life. He digs his gauntlet claws into the dragon giving as hard as he is receiving.
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The situation had escalated from bad to worse before the eyes of the young captain. Springing across the snow as quickly as he could, he closed in on the beast that had entangled his merman companion. Styvanus gripped the edge of his shield with his off hand and brought the two handed blow down on the nape of the neck of the dragon-like creature with all his might.
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Ye aint the only one with claws and teeth bub! I've been walking all day, and I never had me a taste o' dragon before! Yarrrg!" Rasso says to the wyrm as he struggles with it. He claws and bites it in return. His teeth and left claw find no purchase as they struggle to hold the dragon's razor sharp natural weapons at bay, but his right claw is jammed directly into its belly, cutting up along its underside like a pair of shears.
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