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Saves:
Acrobatics rolls for jumps: None
"FOR THE GOOD VENTURE-CAPTAIN! FOR VALSIN!"
Chaine's attacks and confirmations: Chaine AC 32 vs. Blue
[swift action- For The King!!! ]
[full attack action]
for piercing damage.
for piercing damage.
Silvermane's attacks and confirmations:
[full attack action]
for bludgeoning damage.
for bludgeoning damage.
for b/p/s damage.
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Shaking off the dreadful glare of his foe, Grim calmly speeds up his swings and his second quick strike fells the bodak, mixing its dust with that of scorched landscape. Torrag slips his spell under the remaining creature and it topples gracelessly. Chaine upon Silvemane finish it off with no quarter, pounding it into the ground with hoof and lance.
Everyone soon raises their heads and opens their eyes as the menace dissolves, only to see Twinhorn tribesfolk slowly pour from the cave opening.
"Thank the gods you arrived! All of our blessings to you. But time is tight, you must head to the camp to meet with the Spiritbreaker. The convoy got pretty bloodied as we moved north, and some of the leaders of the Following are even questioning whether we all should keep following Ivvora’s path, and hold on to these ancestral lands, or move on to gentler and maybe safer places.”
She gives the party a canny look. ”But maybe you lot could talk some sense in ‘em, and give them the courage to stay and continue. I figure if'n you can stare down a death-eyes like that, you likely can influence the leaders better than a nobody like me.”
"Come we will take you there, saviors of Absalom!"
Hugh
Laara (barkskin, eyes shut)
Grim (bull's strength, ironskin, shield of faith)
Torrag (mage armor)
Chaine (barkskin)
Silvermane
Iskar
Zaas (mage armor, bull's strength, 3 neg levels)
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When you arrive to the camp, you can see the silhouettes of other pathfinders milling about with the Twinhorn clan. They eye you as you enter, as if to discern your true nature.
A paladin of Iomedae relaxes as he recognizes you. "Well met. I'm sorry for the extra attention, it's just that the camp has been under assault by foul creatures since we arrived. We can't be too careful, the undead can indeed be frightening foes. We could use your help guarding the perimeter, stretched thin as we are."
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"Paladin, you'll do fine around the perimeter. However the elders need heroes to cheer them up, and THAT, is where we come in! We'll join you as soon as we're done though. There, catch!" says Chaine, tossing a full wineskin at the paladin, "some liquid courage against the nasties, and if they don't show up, you can use it to get the party started early! May Cayden bless you all!"
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"No kidding." snaps the giant half-orc. "We could have teleported and bypassed all of this. Heck, look at poor Zaas there! He's a shadow of his former self. Where are the pansies hiding?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Sliding back to his companion's side, the beast pants heavily. Obviously not in top shap, it lays down silently.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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The thick hide walls of the large tent muffle the sounds from outside. Iron spikes pin down an enormous map in the center of the tent. Wooden carvings of warriors and monsters lie strewn about the map, marking the location of fighting warriors and the encroaching undead.
As you enter, you hear Medda’s voice. “You’re asking us to leave behind everything we know and care about!”
“Indeed,” rumbles Anok the phantom’s deep and booming voice, “You would have us abandon our sacred pledge to Ivvora.”
“Aye, I’d have us abandon this lunacy!” Another man proclaims as you enter. He is a towering man, broad-shouldered and sturdily built, wearing the cloak of dire polar bear. Covered in scars and with a proud bearing, his presence fills this tent as he paces back and forth. “Surely we can find better winter hunting grounds, where we don’t have to compete for game with bloodthirsty orcs and cursed undead! As for leaving behind what we care about... What I care about is my warriors, many of whom we’ve left behind on this battlefield!”
“Who are we as a people if we abandon our oaths? I demand,” declares Medda, “that we stay and fight for our homes and our traditions!”
In addition to Medda, Anok the phantom, and the towering man, there is a fourth person in this room. An old woman with plenty of scars of her own, is calmly listening to the arguments while she fletches arrows. She has to bring the arrows close to her face as she fletches, but her ears are turned towards the conversation. With tanned and wrinkled skin, white hair cut short, and a weathered longbow by her side, there is an intense focus about the old woman, and the other three leaders keep darting glances her way, as if waiting for her to weigh in.
Then the old woman looks up with clouded eyes at the tent flap opening where you are gathered. Squinting at the morning sun in her face, she asks with a quavering voice, “Are you the warriors that Medda told us about? If so, I am pleased to meet you, and hear your wisdom. I am Jala the Patient. This bear in human form is Kragr Bloodhand. You already know Medda and Anok.” She pauses, grabbing a drink from a leather water skin and licking her lips. “Speak. We are at a decision point.”
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“Are you the warriors that Medda told us about? If so, I am pleased to meet...
"Warriors?" Laara replies to the old woman, trying to get the lay of the land. "Of a sort I suppose. I'm Laara Delchain, captain fo the Fearsome Tide."
She turns towards the towering man. "And while I at least may not dedicate my life to fighting or hunting like you lot I'm good enough in a scrap. Medda can vouch for that: when needed I'll take a skewering from a devil itself. Now Medda convinced us to come here and help and I'm willing to do so even if I've never seen a land like this before. Your warriors have to be ready to do the same, don't they?
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Grim looks to Kragr..
"You obviously know your way around a weapon, as do I, and as do all of the Pathfinders that have made this journey to fight. We will stand with you! Do not turn your back on your ancestral grounds for you will regret it till the end of your days.. Some things are worth dying for!"
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Chaine approaches the gathering, "Jala the Patient: yes, we are they. We are the warriors that fierce Medda told you about. Your words honor us." Chaine bows his head to Jala. Turning his eyes on Kragr, he adds, "WE call ourselves warriors, because we fight. We do not run. When the enemy is strong, we yell at their face, and embrace their challenge, and we PREVAIL. Are YOU with US? Are YOU warriors as well? If so, you will fight. You will fight with US! YOUR fight, is OUR fight now!"
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Sliding back to his companion's side, the beast pants heavily. Obviously not in top shape, it lays down silently.
Outside...
As Zaas lays down silently, Silvermane paws his shoulder carefully with his right hoof... once... twice... then snorts and whinnies, and nudges the eidolon with his nose, as if trying to get him up...
With an odd smile, showing rows of jagged teeth, the extra planar creature stands. "Worry not friend. I'll be fine. Even if I 'die' here, I simply return to my home plane. As long as Iskar lives, I can never truly die."
"Speaking of, I should probably help him here."
Stepping inside, the quadruped listens to the Half-Orc, attempting to evaluate how his words are received.
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Standing next to the dwarf, Iskar looks to Medda. "Yes, dear. Such things are quite intriguing. You've heard about our skills in battle. Let us show you there is more to us, shall we?"
"For no warrior simply fights for the right. We fight for honor, tradition, or the occasional coin. We fight, but we do so with purpose. Your ancestors were chosen for the ancient pact, and yet some fear it's no longer worthy of their time? I understand your distaste in the matter. Please indulge my companions and I with the story, so we may better understand the sanctity of your rightful ties to this place."
"If you'll grant me the honor of introductions, I'm called Iskar. This four-legged creature is Zaas and the bearded one is Torrag."
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"We have fought together, they saved us from an ice devil, and killed the orc leaders that hastened our victory at the flood road. I've rarely seen such prowess." Medda speaks after Laara's introduction and Chaine's rousement, her voice quavering slightly from overuse. The two others shake their heads.
"Great warriors we have seen," the scarred Kragr begins gruffly, "great warriors we already have. Does it not show weakness to bring in foreign mercenaries to this place just to uphold the old traditions... traditions that no longer feed our families?" He tightens the clasp around his neck on his polar white fur cloak as if preparing to depart.
"No, refusing to fight the good fight because it is hard is what shows weakness, my friend." Medda responds, her eyes trailing away. Kragr bristles.
Grim interjects and Medda nods in unison. There is silence.
Jala casts a side glance at Hugh when he mentions plants, purses her lips, still wet from the water skin, but does not speak. She simply shifts uncomfortably and re-positions her longbow.
Medda smiles at Torag as he steers the conversation to the task at hand and touches the symbolic bandage she wears, then turns to the other elders.
"You remember when I was young. Before you knew I was a girl, when I hid under the cloaks and heavy furs and learned the ways of healing from the shamans and priests. You called me an "evening's daughter" because it took so long for me to reveal my true nature. And you knew then "evening daughters" were special: resilient and tenacious. Even then, I knew I was special. Long before I took the charge of protecting Anok. Long before I helped to lead this tribe, I knew I had this destiny. Ivvora's hilt was always tied to me, and always will be, the gods have willed it so." As she speaks and moves, her bandages shift and the magical runes underneath glow a dim blue.
After Iskar's monologue, Medda's brow tightens. "I would hope it is not for occasional coin that you stand beside me today..."
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"Kragr Bloodhand, yes: I am not of your blood. But call me a mercenary one more time, and you will discover how some call me The Butcher down south. I fight for what I believe! not for gold! we came here to help, and I could not wait to meet Medda's kin, for I had hopes to see a great tribe that made us look weak. After we defeat the enemy and return south, what will I say when I speak of Kragr Bloodhand? will I speak of boldness and courage, or will I speak of fear and doubt?"
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Kragr's face tightens as Chaine skirts the edge of insult to his honor. In the end he just grunts audibly, staring the cavalier up and down.
Jala's eyes widen as Hugh continues, but she continues to gaze straight ahead. Once Torag has clarified the matter, she speaks. To everyone's surprise.
"As it would be for most of our clan, of course I would rather be outside, on the hunt, providing for it. That is why Kragr and I had decided to leave. We have tribal needs to attend to. Simple really. If we all die here, pacifying the gods for this annual ritual, no matter its import, who will feed our tribe...let alone lead it? But we are still in this tent for a reason. I am a reasonable woman, spare me your rallying cries, why should we stay?"
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Looking to Jala.
"I understand you are needed else where, I'm sure we are as well. You and I both know a divided front will get you flanked every time in battle. We must stand together or there might not be a tribe left that needs feeding. I implore you to join arms when us! I know we can win if we stand together!"
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"I am here for the cause. The Society has done well for me and my companion. They requested our assistance and we came." he replies matter-of-fact.
Turning to Kragr, he continues. "Sir Kragr, I understand your frustration. But you and I both know without your strength and that of your warriors, this would be lost. This sacred vow taken by your ancestors has not failed you yet. Can you really turn your back on it now? When things take more work to accomplish, they always pay off in kind. This is but a trial. You and your tribes will prevail!"
Stepping closer to Iskar, Zaas speaks to Kragr. "What my friend is trying to say is we understand. You want what's for you tribe, and currently this situation doesn't seem to helping you and yours. But we understand honor and the bonds of battle. I left my home when he was young to care for him. I taught him to care for himself."
Sharing a knowing look with the half-orc, the beast continues. "Our time together hasn't always been good. A few times he nearly died to protect me. It's our way. Believe me, things are always darkest before the dawn. Without darkness, could we appreciate the light?"
Thinking a moment, he concludes "Whatever your feelings are, this is not something to walk away from. We must stay and finish this. You must stay and finish this!"
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"Great warriors we have seen," the scarred Kragr begins gruffly, "great warriors we already have. Does it not show weakness to bring in foreign mercenaries to this place just to uphold the old traditions... traditions that no longer feed our families?" He tightens the clasp around his neck on his polar white fur cloak as if preparing to depart.
More weakness in turning away aid than standing with them to defend your ways." Laara says, getting into it. Real tired of people underestimating what we can do...
You don't want to send good men after bad? Makes sense. But even if its time to get some new 'ways', do it for your own reasons at the time of your choice. Abandon this land and your duty now, when you have forces supporting you and a just cause? Then you'll always be wondering if that choice was made 'cause its best of 'cause it was convenient then. Instead, rise up, strike out, and be the great warriors you are! After that you want to leave? Fine. But make the Twinhorn's next saga start proud instead of with a whimper.
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The battle heats up outside the tent, warriors howl and mysterious creatures screech, leading you to believe the time for convincing the leaders is quickly running out. If they don't make a decision soon, you will be forced to rejoin the fight outside, if nothing but to save your own lives.
Jala nods along as Grim tries to reason with her.
Medda, sensing the time is nigh, steps to center of the tent. She closes her eyes and begins what seems to be a practiced telling. Although they have likely heard the tale countless times. Jala and Kragr stand in rapt attention.
"Ivvora, disciple of the martyr Vildeis, tracked the evil into the Tusk Mountains. She found the Twinhorn there as well, and together, we formed a plan to destroy the nightwalker. On the winter solstice, we lured the vile Eshimka to the stone circle where our druids used their powerful magic to bind the nightwalker. Ivvora leapt from the shadows and attacked, burying her sacred dagger deep into Eshimka’s flesh before the blade snapped off near the hilt. Try as it might, the nightwalker could not pry the blade loose. As the ritual concluded at the darkest hour of the solstice, Eshimka sensed its imminent demise and used magic to escape back to the darkness from whence he came."
"After the escape of the nightwalker, Ivvora left the ruined hilt of her blade with the Twinhorn, commanded us to place it on the center stone each year when the world grew darkest. She then traveled north, pursuing new threats in her never-ending quest to eradicate evil from the world. Twinhorns have kept their promise to Ivvora over countless generations, ensuring that our hunts always bring us back to these standing stones each winter."
"Eshimka is patient and waits for the day it can gain its revenge on the mortals that defeated it. Each year it prepares itself to travel back, but thinks better after sensing Ivvora—" she pulls out the hilt of the dagger "—waiting to finish it off."
As her eyes reopen, the grim determination as she spoke quickly vanishes. It is replaced with a sense of doubt about her own resolve.
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Laara’s ears perk at the sound of fighting and screaming from outside. The half-elf begins to step towards the doorway. ”Medda’s the expert on this tradition of yours. I don’t have anything to speak to that except that from the sound of things outside I’d say it’s pretty clear there’s some truth to it. But tradition or not, promise or not, your past or your future: ther’es people out there fighting and bleeding right now.
She turns to stare at Kragr as she reaches the door. ”So I’m going out now. Me and the rest of us and anyone who’ll join. And when this dark breaks and dawn’s out again, all those left’ll remember which’ve us did.”
Stepping forward, Zaas clears his throat.
"Seems you'd be one to like a good poem. I'll give it a whirl for you."
Pausing a moment to collect his thoughts, the creature begins.
"Though the night looks bleak
the screams of battle ring as we speak.
We hold this place most dear
against those monsters of fear.
A time long past
a pact here was cast.
For this our night
each year we fight."
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Quickly shoving his companion aside, Iskar says aloud "Uh, forgive him. He's not from these parts. Though my story is no where near as valiant as yours, perhaps knowing what has brought us to this place would easy your concerns."
Closing his eyes a moment, the half-breed takes a deep breath before he begins. "Iskar of no blood right was sent to the Twilight Academy. Alone...hated...I became the target of my peers random 'magical tests'. Multiple times, these pranks of fancy nearly killed me."
"One day, an upper classmen sent me to a dark abyss of a land where I met Zaas here. He may lack my social graces, but he certainly makes up for it with his determination. He came back from that hellish region and saved me from the academy."
"From there we drifted, protecting the weak where we could until the Decemvirate called upon us. Met many a wonderful people under the banner of the Pathfinder Society and ventured out to continue our works. Sure, there are the occasional missions to recover this artifact, or that one. But as for my friend and I, we revel on helping those in need."
"This is why we are here. I would die for him and he for me. It's a pact forged in the soul. You're pact is much older than ours, but we are honored to have the chance to help you maintain your sacred place here."
With a bow, Iskar steps back to the edge of the tent.
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With the severity of the situation every increasing, Hugh finally musters his words into something productive.
"Jala, surely you must see the folly of uprooting the entire tribe. Even at the best of times hunting grounds are scarce, and the competition is fierce. Where would you roam to if you were to leave these lands? South, where orcs and vicious beasts prowl the parched hills? Or east, where demonic horrors would hunt you like you hunt your game? Or how about west, where you'd be enslaved to the White Witches whims? Staying here, in your ancestral lands, is your best bet."
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"I shall not forsake my solemn vows, Torrag. I shall ride forth to the stones. Guard the flanks and protect this camp, Pathfinders, I will send back word when the path is clear." Medda and Anok begin gathering her gear.
Jala remains in place, certainly moved by the other leaders show of faith. She turns to Grim. "You have the bearing of a soldier, and the blood of an orc. Tell me again why we fight today, why I should tell my archers to take positions against such odds?"
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Grim looks to Jala again..
"Look I'm no grand talker or advisor. I am a soldier born and raised in the fight againt evil! Trained at the mighty Molthuni Arsenal! And given the power to vanquish such evil by the mighty Empyreal Lord Ragathiel! I know prowess when I see it, so stand with us and let's go take the fight to the enemy!"