more perception
I reply in Sylvan:
And look around optimistically.
The wind rustles the leaves overhead, and the birdsong trails off into a few sporadic chirps; then silence. The low hum of a tree-bug seems to be the only present sound, occasionally punctuating the silence with short, droning bouts.
Tityanna blushes at Brother Tyddewi's suggestion. "They do like... physical exertion, as well," she says shyly.
I look around for a space in which I might dance.
Harsk's face begins to turn a flushed red color at Tityanna's comment and as he watches the elf cast about a look for a dancing spot the dwarf is struggling to contain himself. Under his breath he mutters a few lines in Dwarven. Torag give me the strength of self to be calm in the face of adversity. Torag bless me with patience...
Malaswyn spots a small clearing that may work for the purposes of his Qadiran dance. It's relatively free of roots and underbrush, aside from a few ferns.
Perception:
Perception:
Perception:
Perception:
Shadow's Perception:
Shadow's Perception:
Shadow's Perception:
Shadow's Perception:
Haldaval reacts to the whispers he can here, while shadow clearly seems troubled by something nearby. When he almost falls, he dismounts, settles Shadow, and prepares his bow, although he does not yet reach for his cold iron arrows.
"Can we be sure these creatures in fact do not mean us harm. They are clearly using magic on us."
He uses his detect evil ability in the general area he and Shadow have noticed things nearby.
"No," Tityanna says firmly when Haldaval touches his bow. "If you become aggressive, they will answer in kind," she continues. "They can be as friends or as enemies. This is their home. We are the intruders here."
"We are not intruders. If anything we go to eliminate the intruders, and they attack us."
I dismount, handing the reigns to Tityanna, and remove my armour.
Then I adjust my robes to display more colour and fit more appropriately for dancing.
dance
Cats and mice indeed.
Harsk scratches his beard furiously and looks about the group. Well I have nothing of value that I can part with save money, or your candy. Would this appease our new... Harsk takes on an almost crimson color as the sound of scraping rocks comes from Harsk's jaw. Gritting his teeth Harsk barely gets out the word, friends?
Tityanna bites her lower lip for a moment, uncertain. "They... appreciate magics?" she suggests to Ray's inquiry. "Take whatever you believe that you need, Master Ironback," she replies to her dwarven companion.
"I... thought I might perform a bit of a show this evening as well, but, if it will assist," she states, then whispers a spell in Sylvan and causes the vine whip to appear in her hand. Tityanna lashes out with it and it catches on meaty oak branch, and she swings upon it and deftly climbs up to the branch, stands and addresses her companions with a great grin on her face. "No ranger of the Medvyed name could match such an impressive dislay."
|
"I'm no magician." Ray says as he dismounts from his horse and heads off the path. "I will be right back. Please don't follow."
He goes several yards away before stepping behind a tree and out of sight.
"Okay, lords and ladies of the forest, I've got nothing you can have except this. Hope it's okay." Having said that, Ray rolls his left sleeve up to reveal the intricate silver birthmark going up his arm. "My mom said the mark is a blessing from Desna."
"I have nothing that they would want, and I'm not sure I like the idea of being coerced into giving gifts with threats."
"I have nothing that they would want, and I'm not sure I like the idea of being coerced into giving gifts with threats."
In Qadira I saw small foodhalls where the owner would refuse payment from his favoured clients, claiming that the food was not good enough for their refined palletes. Then the client would smack his lips and say that he must pay, he would be insulted if he was seen to leave a fine foodhall without paying. The owner would then insist further, and so on... This went on regularly, always taking several minutes and always ending with the client paying his bill.
In Qadira I saw small foodhalls where the owner would refuse payment from his favoured clients, claiming that the food was not good enough for their refined palletes. Then the client would smack his lips and say that he must pay, he would be insulted if he was seen to leave a fine foodhall without paying. The owner would then insist further, and so on... This went on regularly, always taking several minutes and always ending with the client paying his bill.
Aye a ritual of politeness. Harsk stomps over to Tityanna's bag and pulls out some of the candy. I have sweets for ya, you curious little beings. I'm sure I can summon a tale or two of Torag's great forging of the world if ye would be entertained, but lets have with a meeting and talk as friends. The dwarf's face is still flush with frustration but he keeps his voice level and "friendly" (for a dwarf).
With the forest sounds his only response Harsk huffs for a second then shakes his head. Standing up tall Harsk raises his voice and takes on an almost schoolmasteresque tone.
In the time of forging it is said that Torag worked for weeks and months without end at an anvil that never relented, near a fire that never died. As His pace continued the other gods took to worry for as they visited the Great Forger He asked never for rest or reward, only more light, more supplies, more water, and so on.
As He hammered away at the world, great objects were envisioned in Torag's mind but He knew that the joy of the craft, and the discipline of the hammer were important for the mortals that were to inhabit the world. So rather He turned His gifts to the stones and metals of creation and worked upon them with his magic and skill. He envisioned shining suits of metal, weapons that were weighted perfectly and adornments of all sorts that were more than just valuable but good and proper vessels for magic and prayer.
So with these visions in His head He asked the other gods of what their chosen children might find valuable, and what characteristics they might fancy, so that he might place upon his creation inspiration for great makings. Puzzled by His request the gods relented in their doubt and offered all the input they could into what might inspire these new races.
And so He worked. And so He created. There are many precious material upon our world such as gold and silver, ruby and jade but the most special are a gift of Torag to inspire us to create; mithral and adamantine, the black granite of Valungrere and the crystals of the Lost Caverns and much much more. These are His symbol to inspire us to greatness and so it is that our magics and weapons, our tools and our artifacts are made better and more glorious when touched by these gifts...
Harsk's voice fades for a moment and he looks around the forest, his cheeks flushing slightly as he sees his companions standing nearby. Er...so...yah. That's one of them stories I 'spose Harsk sets down the candy and tromps off from the clearing.
After the dwarf recites his tale, the forest is silent for a full minute before the birdsong and insect-hum resumes. Very faintly, above the tree-boughs, a light clapping sound fades in and out, followed by what sounds like a high-pitched sigh.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and branches; the light under the canopy seems a bit brighter.
As the party continues the journey, the rest of the daylight hours pass without incident. Although the forest seems to be just as thick as it's been all day, you find a small clearing that should suffice for a makeshift camp.
Dusk falls quickly as you set up camp.
Tityanna looks up from adjusting her winter kit for the evening at Ray's question, and shrugs.
"We cannot know," Tityanna answers honestly. "In my home, the fey are well known for their... interest in the lives of men and women," she continues and frowns slightly.
"I thought to invite the little lords and ladies to join us tonight, but if Sir Haldaval objects, I will simply offer my slice of Svetlana's pie."
Well whatever is to come to night we best be on our guard. This clearing has the look of covering to it; tracks are missing old leave unnaturally spread. There were travelers here recently I'd wager, and they tried to cover their trail.
"Would that I had the luxury of an alarm spell," Tityanna says and sighs. "Shall we split the watch into pairs, then?" she inquires. "I have used no spells today, and I firmly believe that if defense of our lives came down to my whip, we would be in the poorest state imaginable."
Harsk considers Tityanna's words for a moment then shakes his head. Mhhm. A single watch would be fine I'd guess, I'm easy to rouse and sleep in my armor. You and Ray seem little in the way of preparations were a call to defense sounded. Tis the way of the adventurer's life. I think we need everyone to get the most rest they can. My thoughts at least.
Survival:
"Do what you may to maintain their friendship. I will not object, though I find they have much to apologize for if they wish to be my friend." He sighs as he dismounts and begins to settle Shadow in for the night. "I must admit our first encounter with the fey in these lands has not been what I had envisioned. I was not prepared, and for that I apologize."
ETA: "I think it is evident that there were people camping here recently. Can anyone tell if this was possibly the bandits that attacked us? Or perhaps the ones we pursue?"
As the night draws in, I cast endure elements on myself and allow others more experienced in the wilderness to decide upon a campsite.
"That may well be, or, perhaps the parties split near and the woman and hers seek to cover theirs? In either case, it is a worry, for they may have somehow been informed of our victory," Tityanna frowns and rubs her lips together. "Perhaps there was a scout dispatched to meet them that the party was unaware of?" she shakes her head sadly.
Following dinner, Tityanna retrieves the pie Svetlana offered the party, and cuts it into five large slices, then passes it to her left.
"The Good Wife was gracious enough to offer us three, for a price," she informs them with a soft smile. "I thought, however, considering the season that she and Oleg could celebrate with the berry variety, if they desire."
Tityanna's smile fades and she places her hands in her lap. "In a way, I am glad to be spending the evening away. The... threat must have been a tremendous strain on their marriage, and opening their home to five strangers could have been no less."
"Ah, but we are good company, Tityanna, are we not?" He takes his slice of pie gratefully. "I think Oleg and Svetlana will be fine. I think their marriage will last through anything these lands can throw at it."
"Are we really?" Tityanna ponders, voice soft. "We interrogated and executed five men in their yard. If the bandits coming and demanding taxes was not threatening enough, we have set the precedent that if we do not agree with someone's behavior we are willing and capable of executing them," Tityanna observes. "And having survived that ordeal..."
Tityanna frowns and shakes her head. "I should think that if we survive this encounter, they would have even more cause to fear us."
The fire burns merrily as the group sits around the fire, sharing pie and palaver. The forest's night-sounds are ever-present, accompanied by a constant wind that rustles the canopy above. A few gusts whistle through the leaves and branches, sending a few twigs and leaves down amidst the party. Then, oddly enough, tiny motes begin to drift down, motes that look like . . . flower petals?
Indeed, tiny red and violet wildflower petals are raining down.
Tityanna, who has not touched her slice of pie lays it down on the ground beside her, and begins speaking in the tongue of the wilds.
perception
I reach out my hand and try to let a petal float down onto it.
Perception:
Haldaval stands up, alert and tense. "I grow tired of these games. I do not want to make enemies, but this constant harassment cannot continue."
Harsk scratches his beard,Frontiers are harsh Anna and though they might not be keen on the violence I suspect those two might sleep more soundly tonight than they have in a while. Could they fear us? Yes. But we represent a stability that is lacking and though they left their homes and cities of origin to come to this place we came to their aid.
Using his hands to emphasize, Harsk continues, We judged men and harshly, aye. But we did it with their consultation and without coercion. As long as we include such folk in our plans and ideas we keep ourselves honest to a nobler purpose and we gain their trust as we prove the value of their thoughts and feelings. When we stop caring about how they feel like those bandits seemed not to? That is when they should fear us/
Harks partakes of the pie at first but quickly sets aside his piece with a twisted face. Too much sugar. I'm not a sweets man. Give me a roc pie or a savory truffle cake any day. Aware that his comment might seem rude to the proceedings Harsk backpedals a bit, Not that sweet pie is bad mind you, simply not to my liking. I appreciate the gesture and all Tityanna and I hope our...ehrmm...friends like it too. They can have my piece too if it suits em.
As the flowers fall from the sky Harks involuntarily rolls his eyes before he manages to gain a bit of his composure. In a voice that is wooden Harks grits out a, Well that is very pretty. before he rises from his spot and makes busy work for himself as he tends the plentiful fire and works at cleaining the well cleared area of the camp, casting an eye about the trees and grumbling to himself ever so slightly.
"My Sire claims they induce mortals to perform," Tityanna hazards, voice breaking with the last, her face near beet red at the implication. And that I am naught but a product of a sinful union, Tityanna recalls and frowns. "If one considers the pranks that they might play, this display is quite congenial," she says and forces a smile.
The tiny petals fall for perhaps half-a-minute, and then cease. They cover the area around the camp, like a light dusting of red-and-violet snow, ebbing gently in the occasional breeze.
The remainder of the evening continues without incident; indeed, the night passes with nary a prank or prowler.
3 Gozran, 4711 A.R.
This morning is much like the previous: dawn filters through the canopy in cheery rays, warming the slight chill of the night's passing. This day's wind gusts a bit stronger than yesterday's, but isn't enough to cause any problems with the campfire. The birds are up early with their morning-calls, and a pair of red squirrels chitter and chase each other through leafy branches, leaping tree-to-tree and playing tag up and down trunks.
Tityanna rises early and attends to Puck, brushing his mane til it gleams in the limited light filtering through the trees. For his ability to endure and as an incentive to continue to act pleasantly, she feeds him a candy bar.
"Do not let Ray know that I spoil you."
She will spend breakfast crumbling another to leave to the squirrels so that they might have a treat as well.
"It does not seem to my eyes that we were visited in the night," she says to the group. "How many more days of travel will we have?"
I perform my dawn rituals and observations, giving thanks to Sarenrae.
After a quick breakfast, the party presses on into the Narlmarches. This leg of the journey is largely more of the same, except the leafy underbrush gives way to great swathes of nettle and blackberry after a couple of hours. The day has grown warmer, a welcome change to Gozran the First's frigid morning.
At around lunch-time, the party breaks for a bite and a regroup.
As you eat, a pleasant and lively ditty seems to suddenly begin nearby. It sounds like a tiny fiddle or violin. The jaunty music is so catchy, so contagious, that you feel you must dance to it; your feet begin to itch and twitch, your palms begin to sweat, and a strange euphoria seems to fill your heads and flutter your hearts.