"Ken you tell how it was kilt? Sometimes that can give away the killer"?
Untrained Heal
The deer head appears to have been severed inexpertly, with multiple hacks of a fairly blunt, or low quality, blade. Now that Ichabod looks closer, there are several instances of what could well be teeth marks on the stump of the neck.
Scruffles sniffs around the pole briefly, wrinkles his nose in disgust, and looks to the north, where the path winds down into the forest.
"Well lads and ladies, let's be on our guard."
Nogromomed proceeds down the path.
"Looks like the path is it. Good boy!" Finnick replies as he reaches into his pack for some dried meat and hands it to Mr Scruffles who happily gobbles it down. And with a pat on Mr Scruffles head, Finn leaps upon the dogs back and hefts his lance into place. "Let's see what dastardly evil lurks yonder." he says with grin at Ichabod.
The valley walls close in as the group heads north, following the track by the river as it meanders lazily into the woods. The valley seems to be forming into some sort of canyon, the rough granite cliff faces dotted here and there with hardy ferns and stunted saplings that cling tenaciously to the rock.
The narrow cliffs make these woods even more gloomy than before - the trees do not grow quite so densely, moss and fungi cling to their trunks, and the green undergrowth is replaced in many places by thick tangles of thorn bushes and dry, crackling bushes.
There is an eerie quiet, broken only by the chuckling of the water, and then, slowly emerging, a faint tapping or clinking sound. As the group rounds a bend, they come upon a large, obviously dead tree standing on its own in a clearing. Hundreds of skulls of small birds, rodents and other creatures have been strung from the bare branches of this tree by leather thongs. It is these strange totems, clinking against each other in the breeze, that creates this sound.
"Well that's rather morbid. Anyone know what it is or what it means?" Finnick says as he levels his lance and looks around for any sign of movement aside from the clanking small skulls on the tree. Mr Scruffles issues a low growl at the macabre tree.
Ichabod blows out his mustache and observes the tree a bit, seeing if it makes sense in any to him.
Knowledge: Religion
"Perhaps it is a religious motif, but I don't know much about such things. I admire Pharasma, but I'm not sure if she would love this or hate it. Death is the great leveler. In any case, I'm curious how recently it has been visited, and perhaps what manner of tracks have been left. Again, I'm not sure I'd expect goblins to have this much attention to detail."
Nogrogomed feels very conflicted, and confused, by his inability to understand this monument. Death should be respected and embraced, but he's not sure if this is proper respect, or disrespect thereof.
He'll mull over this, but for know he is cautiously looking for traps, remaining wary.
The morbid tree is something so foreign to Dai that he stands and stares at it for some time, trying to divine its nature...is it a shrine, or some form of art...or something else entirely. After a few minutes of ponder, he shakes himself and gets on with the examination of the rest of the clearing.
Perception:
His gaze constantly swings back to the tree, so his help in exploring the ares is minimal at best.
The witch brings up the rear, her bow ready and donkey following obediently for a change.
As a knowledgeable elf, the treant taught Opalia a great deal about the culture and history of the woodland creatures including orcs and their sneaky cousins, the goblins. But its hard to admit a useful thought, when her brother running away keeps intruding again and again.
She stops next to Dai murmurs her thoughts casually. The donkey snorts and that wakes her from the reverie of turbulent thinking.
".....a tree of death ...or life and death.....snort"
"No, that's not creepy in the least." Lucian quips as he slowly walks around searching the area.
It is Ichabod who finds the carving, hacked into the tree at about waist height, on the darkest, north-facing side. A crude, asymmetrical face in a circle.
Religion:
"That...that looks like the symbol for Groetus, the Harbinger of Last Days. This is not a good sign....not good at all!"
"Waitwhatnow?!" Finnick blurts out at hearing Dai's ominous comment.
"At least we have an idea for the mentality of whoever built the shrine, but I put no credence in it. If there is nothing else of interest here, let's move on before it gets too late."
"Groetus? What is Groetus all about, Dai?" asks the witch with a small smile.
She moves over to take a look at the carving and measures it against the height of a goblin. Opalia looks around for footprints and any other equipment left by the little monsters.
"Well what I learned at the monastery is that Groetus is a minion of Pharasma. He is shown as a moonlet that shines down upon Pharasma's Boneyard and waits for the last living soul to die. When Pharasma judges the last soul, Groetus will descend to the Boneyard to do something to it and Pharasma before he moves on to the Material Plane to dissolve this reality. No one really knows what Groetus is going to do once the last soul is judged, but it is generally accepted that it will not be pleasant!"
"Take solace that it will not be unpleasant for us, as we will have already been judged. What matter is the end of the material plane once every living thing has already passed on?
Now, shall we proceed, camp here, or continue on?"
"We think camping by this accursed tree would just invite trouble. If we're gonna camp it should be away from this place." Finnick says as he cautiously scans the area around the trees.
"My vote'so for moving on."
"Aye, I'm with Lucian"
"I concur. This place gives me the Willies".
Dai nods in agreement with Ichabod's assessment of the place.
"Yes...lets move on.."
As the party moves on, Opalia asks the rest, "you speak of religions like Pharasma as if they matter to you? What do I need to know, for instance, if you fall, should I heal you or leave you to your fate? I would not wish to visit sacrilege on anyone's beliefs?"
"Oh, do not get me wrong, I will be happy to meet Our Lady of Souls. But it would be a shame to go when I could be saved to collect more scars. If you can help, please do so, if you cannot, do not worry. We must all accept the fates we are given."
The path descends further into the gorge, alongside the river that is picking up speed now as it foams and pours over large boulders and small cataracts. In the gloom, the stunted and withered trees seem to shift and crawl, their branches reaching out to grasp. A carpet of dead leaves crunches underfoot.
Ichabod, kicking his way through the debris, just happens to look up and catch sight of a figure dart from behind a tree and dash deeper into the woods - the size of a human child, with a large oval head, pointed ears and a mouth of wicked teeth.
"Good Nogrogomed, I'd struggle to watch you die."
"Fear not, no ones going to die. Certainly not on our watch. I mean there are stories to tell. This is the start of a beautiful friendship. I know it." Finnick says with a large smile towards everyone.
A bit more friendly than what I'm used to. Lucian thinks to himself. Then again, that's not entirely unwelcome.
"There! Something was watching us! Something with a big head full of pointy teeth"!
Ichabod starts in that direction.
"Should we track it down"?
Lucian takes off after Ichabod, drawing his blades in the process.
Dai swiftly readies his bow and scans the area that Ichabod saw the creature.
Perception:
Nogrogomed ventures a guess at what may be sneaking around, and states loudly while gripping his falchion,
"Kekhaan Okaan, o dech dhec khruun orec ghaach maagaan. Rhaan huukaan, or takhaan or rhorekaan"
May as well try talking first...
Garrun ponders the grisly tree and it's macabre ornaments with a look of thoughtful consideration, "The end of the world then? Perhaps they mean to offer these souls and bring us a little closer? Fools. If I know anything, we mortals will be busy multiplying and fighting far beyond our own meager lifetimes.", he smirks at Opalia, "Even yours ma'am."
At the warning of goblins around, Garrun raises his shield and hustles to catch up with Ichabod at the front of the group, "Wary now. From what we've seen, these might well be even more fanatical than the average gobs."
Finnick steadies his lance and scans the tree line around them for the small figure. Mr Scruffles lets out a low warning growl.
There is no sign of the fleeing creature, and no obvious other threat. After a few minutes of poking around in thornbushes and looking up into the branches of trees, it becomes clear that the group is alone again. They do discover a small hollow behind a tree where the creature might have been hiding. There are a number of crude carvings, doodles almost, carved into the bark of the tree, and the half-chewed remains of what looks, and smells, like a badly-pickled pig's trotter.
Lucian shrugs. "Okay, this looks a bit more like goblin's doing than the stuff we've seen previously."
Turning back to Ichibod, Lucian asks, "How many did you see?"
The warpriest regards the nest with a sneer, "Typical goblin mess. We should be wary though. No doubt this one is on it's way back to whatever passes for a chieftain around here. I'd imagine there's an ambush in our future. Though if it's fellows are as clumsy as this one, hopefully we'll spot them before it's sprung."
Finding nothing else of interest, the group continues on. The path becomes fainter and then fails entirely, as the ground underneath grows harder, and the soft leaf mould is replaced by a carpet of twisting tree roots and sharp flint boulders that catch at the toes and then turn suddenly, threatening to sprain ankles. Going is slow, and the sun is beginning to near the horizon, casting long shadows through the increasingly sparse trees.
The group continues in what it believes to be a roughtly northerly direction.
Lucian in Ichabod hear it at the same time - a rhythmic creaking noise, like a loose shutter moving in the wind. Off to the lef, something is moving in the trees.
"Ware! I hear something over there". , the cleric points, and anoints himself in holy armor.
"What can you hear? Isn't that the wind?" The witch waits next to Dai and keeps hold onto the donkey.
Opalia looks around to see which brave soul is going to scout ahead.
Dai spins towards the direction Icabod indicated, arrows in hand and one already at the string.
"I hear it too." Lucian says heading off in the direction of the noise with his blades at the ready.
Mr Scruffles lets out a low growl as his muscles tense beneath his fur. Finn goes silent and scans the area for a target.
Garrun plants himself between the main group and the source of Ichabod's alarm, his stance wide and shield raised.
The armoured warrior is tense as he watches Lucian slip into trees, hopefully the man had enough sense to pull any threats back to the group.
Nogrogomed prepares his falchion, not sure what he is looking or listening for
Lucian slinks down the narrow path, the branches tearing at his clothing. The creaking sound continues up ahead.
Turning the corner, he comes upon a small glade. White wisps of gossamer threads are strung between the branches of the trees, and between the trunks. Several large bundles, swaddled in the threads, hang from the trees or are slumped on the bare floor of the glade.
Close to Lucian, the source of the creaking sound becomes apparent. A small reptilian creature, with a long tail and bristles sprouting from its chin, is half-covered in the white threads, and suspended from a tree branch. Its eyes bulge, and it foams at the mouth. Its foot twitches, and it is this motion that has caused it to swing from the creaking branch.
Lucian slinks back to the rest of the group. "Spiders...big friggin' spiders would be my guess based on the lizard that was caught in a web."