Mrachni snickers softly at the gnome's antics, taking the proffered sword before someone gets hurt. "I do not think he had a choice." he says, looking meaningfully at the skeleton.
After examining the sword, hefting it and testing the balance, he adds: "This sword is magical. The Swordmistress has blessed us, indeed."
Quaylon looks at the monk I am sorry about your companion, you are welcome to stay with us as we complete this mission, I do not think anyone here will find that objectionable. Perhaps on completion we may all find more to do together.
"We met on the road. His death was unfortunate, but it did not seem altogether undeserved. I have been looking for work, and am glad to help you with your mission", Oglon responds to the Bard.
"You've met this man before?" the gnome says as he looks at the bones. "It must have been a long time ago."
He means the pompous "noble" man that is no longer around, I think you must have already forgot about him? Quaylon states, emphasizing the word noble to express his doubt.
It was midmorning when you found the Elder Tree.
"Let us go. Perhaps we can find the old woman near here."
yes, let us move on
cast cure light wounds on myself
Makvor looks over to the bushes where the tatzlwyrms dragged Foxheart's body. "Yes, let's be done with this place..."
Making your way along you notice that the forest grows thicker. Dark catches up to the group before making to the old witches hide out. In the morn as you make your way you begin to notice odd carvings on the trees and adornments tied onto various branches. Sticks tied in bundles, animal skins and bleached bones, and dolls made of burlab swing in the wind.
Soon you come to a cottage
The sounds of the forest become suddenly distant as the trees part, opening into a small, almost perfectly circular glade. The nearest stands of pine, eyln, and darkwood—all typically sturdy woods—twist away from the clearing, as if bent by some impossibly strong wind or seemingly in an attempt to flee despite their paralyzed roots. At the glade’s center squats an ugly cottage, little more than
a pile of twigs, shoots, and ivy stacked upon mud walls. From the thatched roof dangle bundles of gnarled roots, old dried beast carcasses, and knucklebone bangles, all clattering together like gruesome wind chimes. A dozen small thatched fetishes—each shaped like a tiny man, imp, or rearing serpent—stand propped in the yard, keeping guard before a rickety plank door.
This is going to be most entertaining Quaylon softly says to the group.
Makvor surveys the scene. I wonder what might have caused this?
He calls out, "Hello in there! We are in need of your help! Is anyone there?"
Quaylon cautiously approaches the door, if and when he reaches it he gently knocks on it.
The gnome walks up to the structure and takes off some of the fetishes and begins playing with them as dolls.
Mrachni hesitates at the edge of the clearing, watching.
Quaylon - Reflex Save DC 12 vs being knocked prone.
As he approaches he notices that the door is in disrepair. He fails to notice that it only hangs on one rusty hinge.
Knocking on the rotten wood yeilds only a slight thumb, thumb sound and causes the weak hinge to break loose.
Makvor, only some type of magic, foul magic, would produce this effect.
Mrachni notices nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the creepy hut, and the gnome putting on something like a puppet show.
Reflex Save:
The door slams into the bard catching him completely by surprise, knocking him flat. No damage.
A bit of daylight pentraits the empty doorway. It is clear no one has been living here for quite some time.
The gnome chuckles and mumbles, "I should remember that prank!"
well that is a serious blow to ones pride Quaylon says as he slithers out from under the door. He stands up, dusts himself off.
Gonna needs some new clothes when this is all done
Mrachni begins examining the ground around the clearing, looking for any tracks that weren't made by this group.
The only sound each of you hears is the wind and each other.
The only tracks are the ones you have left.
Quaylon moves into the now doorless room and looks around.
perception
"Zatqualmie, it may not be wise to fiddle with those. Who knows what they are for..." Oglon then step's up beside Quaylon, helping to move the door off to the side and moving into the hut. Is there enough light to do an effective search?
Makvor goes into the hut, hoping to find some herbs or something left by the prior inhabitant.
Aside from an assortment of dust covered shelves, there stands a table, a broken chair, and a filthy bed. Odds and ends hang from ropes tied to the rafters. Some of the ropes have broken spilling there suspended oddity to the floor.
Some glass jars are filled with strange colored liquids, some have odd creatures in them. A gilded cage, merely a foot tall, lies on the floor smashed from it's fall. A strange oddly humanoid looking skeleton resides inside, twisted tiny bones are broken like the cage.
Dead center of the floor a black caldron dominates the room. It is the only thing that is not covered in dust.
When the three enter it moves, and in a gurgling grinding bass voice it booms
Mistress?
What infernal magic is this?
Makvor calls to those outside, "'Ware the cauldron!" He draws his axe but continues to look around.
The caldron shudders, which clanks its handles.
You are not the Mistress? Have you seen...Ware the caldron!! Oh please don't attack me. It is so very good to hear another voice, one that doesn't squeak horribly. Or drop things on my floor. Clank Clank would you look at that door. Was that what woke me? How on earth am I going to fix that?
Mrachni, hearing Makvor's warning, calls back: "What have you found?"
Makvor, feeling rather silly addressing what should be an inanimate object, replies hesitantly. "...if you would be willing to help us, I will do my best to repair the door. Do you...know where I can find rat's tail?"
Quaylon steps to the cauldron, carefully "We are looking for your mistress, do you know where she went to? And, I am being ridiculous, what is it call you?"
Diplomacy
The gnome responds to Oglon, "What do you mean we don't know what they are for? They are toys for playing with!"
The gnome drifts off as if talking to himself, "It's so fun to be youthful and able to play with toys. I don't look forward to being a grown up."
After hearing Makvor's warning the gnome drops the toys and runs in the hut while yelling "Werecauldron! What type of foul beast be that! It's not even a full moon!"
Rat's Tail? There is plenty of mice around. Though I don't think that is what you have in mind. I have a running inventory of all my ladies wares. Though I will have to think on just where it went. I will be happy to supply all that is here, for the repair of the door. But give me one second. What's that? Oh my yes the Mistress has been gone for what seems like ages. I haven't scene her and the mice she use to keep haven't either. Saddly some years ago I lost track of time when I over slept. You wouldn't happen to know the date would you? No sir I don't think your being rdiculous one bit. She always called me Caldron, though that seems like a rather unoriginal name. More like a title of function than a name. You wouldn't happen to know of any good names would you?
When Zat comes in and shouts the caldron starts, and with its handles raised it stumbles back, out of its fire pit (that hasn't seen a fire in some time) and into a corner as far as it can get from the gnome, screaming.
OH MY OH MY OH MY. No no no please friends, no harm no harm! I am no beast. No foe I. Please be friends, please?
Oglon rests his hand on the gnomes shoulder in a calming way and says, "There is no one here who intends you harm. We will do our best to repair the door. May we call you Taran the Cauldron?" And softly to Zatqulamie, "He seeks only to be friends, it is rude to frighten him so, in his home."
Makvor, true to his word, attempts to fix the door. He goes outside and grabs the door, holding it in place as well as he can. He holds the pieces of hinge together with one hand and waves the other around a bit while muttering an incantation.
The gnome looks up at Oglon and whispers back "I don't see a werecauldron or werewolf or any other werebeast here... In fact, I'm not sure what you are talking about."
After a brief pause he smiles and says, "It has been a long time since I've had a bath!"
The gnome begins taking off pieces of his armor and his spiked gauntlets as he starts walking toward the cauldron.
You can bathe when this is all over good gnome, Taran the Cauldron is not your bathing pot. In fact he is going to be assisting us in finding the ingredients for Laural so we can end this cursed disease and help he town. Quaylon states, moving to try and stop the gnome before too much of his armor is on the floor.
The gnome looks confused. "Oh... I misunderstood. Umm... right, hi Taran the Cauldron S. Not Your Bathing Pot."
The gnome mopes back to his armor and starts re-dressing.
"I like your name, I am Zatqualmie Exataerg Frablufamint TulgraspTinet Fire-Top."
Makvor watches the conversation unfold and shakes his head. Fever must have the gnome....
Assuming that the hinges are repaired, or at least to the point they were when the group arrived (or even if Makvor can set the door in place, for that matter), he will enter the cottage once more. "There...Taran? I've done what I can for the door. You were saying you might know where your mistress might have kept some rat's tail?"
Glad to meet you sire Zatqualmie Exataerg Frablufamint TulgraspTinet Fire-Top. A most righteous sounding name. I must apologize for my fright. That last time I had seen one of your kind. Um well let’s just say that the Mistress wasn't kind to those three. Their shrieks gave me terrible nightmares and it was a good year or two before I could sleep through a week without being disturbed by the horrors she inflicted upon them. Can you imagine having someone boiled alive in you? A dreadful experience I assure you.
Oh my that was rude of me wasn’t it? Here I am trying to make friends with each of you and all I can do it brattle on about the mistress cooking others of Mr. Fire-top’s ilk. Please except my apology sire Zatqualmie Exataerg Frablufamint TulgraspTinet Fire-Top. It does occur to me that I plaid a part in the tortures she inflicted on travelers of the small variety. I do plan to make up for those sins of the past. Yes yes, right now! Mr. Fire-top from this day forward you are my ward. I can give you a list of the duties I can perform but as of this second no harm shall come to you upon my watch.
In a way I am partly glad the Mistress has gone missing, though it has gotten very boring around here without her. But now that you all are here there can be good times and excitement.
I dare say are we going to be friends? I would like to be, but now that you have given me a name I feel dreadfully embarrassed for not knowing yours?
You there good sir fixing the door, what do they call you?
Still thinking it a bid odd, Makvor replies, "I am called Makvor, for as many names as our gnomish friend has, I have found I have only ever needed the one."
It is very good to meet you Mr. Makvor. Oh yes! The Rat's Tail. Last I knew of it, the little squeakers tiped the clay jar that housed her supply off the third shelf to the right of the door. It seemed it rolled down under that table, and then leaves blew in, when the door was opened.
Yes yes right there. Take all that you need
Oglon will whisper to Mrachni/Makvor with his back to Taran, while he is responding to Makvor:
then turning to the cauldron,
"I am called Oglon the Wanderer. Can you make a good stew, Taran?"
Makvor bends down and grabs the jar off the floor, empties the roots into his belt pouch, then places the jar on the third shelf to the right of the door, as indicated by the cauldron.
When that's done, he turns and addresses the cauldron, "Thank you for your help. Is there any way we can return your assistance? Will you stay here and wait for your...mistress?"
Oh no. I plan to follow Mr. Zatqualmie Exataerg Frablufamint TulgraspTinet Fire-Top to the ends of the earth. Sadly I am only as limited when it comes to cooking as to the person putting things in me. Though I do take pride in making sure that every thing is cooked evenly. And I know nearly 50 recipes for stew. 171 for soup. I am tired of waiting for the Mistress, and I have so many questions about the world. Plus one more second alone with these dreaded hateful mice will drive me insane.