The serpent no more gains power from her sycophants than she does from the sun, or the tones or the air. She is ancient and twisted by antediluvian madness. Immortal, in a way, but no closer to divinity that you or I.
As the dryad speaks, Kierdan and Alistair share a look. "Lord of Secrets" is a title sometimes given to the arch-lich Vecna, after his ascension to godhood. When he walked the Oerth as a man -- or some undead semblance of one -- Vecna's Occluded Empire covered much of the Sheldomar Valley, including the Rushmoors, where the ruins of the lich's Rotted Tower are said to remain.
The dryad's comment implies that the naga was set as a guardian, possibly by Vecna or during his reign, over a ruin dating to that period.
As the pair confer, the dryad turns her attention to Koralyn, gesturing dispassionately toward the axe.
The lands beyond this grove are full of brutes and murderers. Take the blade back to them, it matters not. Our sister's bark will continue to rot, and some other brute will come along when the crossroads are aligned, and we will join her. Such is the way of things, as the bright is cut down and trampled by your mortal kin.
Koralyn does not like the axe but does not like the idea of leaving it where it sits for some reason either. Turning to the others in her group she asks Take it or leave it where it sits?
"Take it. Perhaps if someone wanders by, they won't have their own axe, and with that axe gone they will have no way to cut the sisters down."
Dragomir continues to watch bemused, then reaches out, attempting to stroke the Dyrads shoulders.
Koralyn's eyes grow wide at Dragonir's arguabley foolish act. She holds her breath waiting for a response. If nothing happens she will attempt to retrieve the axe. Since she does not plan to use it she will try to devise a sling for it across her back.
Rolen simply smiles at Drogomir.
Ok, are we ready to move on, then?
Seemingly in a daze, Dragomir reaches out a hand to the nearest dryad. Thorns seem to spring from her skin as he makes contact, piercing his hand in a dozen places. Bemused, the big fighter withdraws his hand, blood blooming from the holes in the skin.
Regarding the warrior with an unreadable gaze, the dryad grasps Dragomir's wounded hand in her own, then brings it to her lips. There is a flash of heat as the wounds closed, leaving behind small flowers, like cherry blossoms, where the blood had been. Flexing the hand, Dragomir finds no evidence of the crippling wounds that were there a moment before, although the hand itches a bit, as if the skin had grown over a splinter ...
Perhaps you will find success in your quest, and the naga's time haunting these lands will come to an end, the other dryad says. Seeming to reach into a shadowed crack in the willow next to her, the dryad emerges with a small ceramic pot, its top sealed with beeswax. Without another word, she hands the salve to Alistair. Perhaps this will help, or at least ease the pain before your short lives come to an end.
As the dryad's seem to have concluded the conversation, Koralyn steps forward, laying both hands on the cold haft of the axe. Her arms flex momentarily as the blade remains stubbornly wedged in the rotting stump, then it pulls free. Securing it to several loops of her backpack, she nods to the others, ready to leave.
Leave through there, between the oaks dappled by sunlight,The dryad nearest Dragomir says. It wouldn't do for you to step out of this grove into a time other than your own.
Following her guidance, the party steps carefully through the trees lining the perimeter of the grove. After a few steps, the mild, breezy air of the dryad's sanctuary is replaced with the muggy, buzzing oppression of the swamp. It is late afternoon, and the map Ramne drew indicates the "tower" pointing the way to Dalvan Meir's tomb is still 20 miles away.
What do you do next?
"Well...that was interesting. I wonder what is in this pot?"
Alistair will carefully examine the pot, including casting detect magic on it.
Interesting indeed. Koralyn says as she re-casts her disguise. I do wonder about this axe. Is it truly possessed with hate? It might be a useful item. Dryads have been known to deceive.
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Ok, so for the potion the Dryads gave Alistair he will roll Arcana .
Can Alistair assist Koralyn in her attempt to uncover the information about the ax?
Lets rest for the night... marching at night makes us likely to sprain ankles and be fare for night time predators
"I concur. I like to be well rested, and I like to see where I am stepping."
Agree. And as strange as it sounds I think we are safer here near the dryads. I am going to try and figure out this axe tonight. Perhaps you want to lend a hand Alistair.
Rolen begins to search the area for an appropriate campground. He looks for a defensible position with as much natural shelter as they can muster.
I will gladly take the middle watch this evening. Please wake me when the first watch ends.
" I can also take a watch, whichever is left."
Dragomir signs himself up for a watch, used to such a system from his mercenary days.
Kierdan speaks up, If it is all the same to everyone else, I would prefer the last guard shift. I will be up early, in any case, to greet the Sun Father when he rises.
So I shall take the first.
Rolen selects a likely looking hill about an hour's walk from the dryad's grove. The ground rises a good 10 or 12 feet above the marsh, providing a dry place to sleep and a limited view of the immediate area.
Settling under a low-hanging cottonwood, Alistair and Koralyn examine the pot of salve and the black axe, comparing notes and subjecting the items to various minor cantrips and spell components.
Quickly enough, Alistair determines that the pot of unguent is a powerful cure-all, often referred to as Keoghtom's ointment after the famous hero-god of the Sheldomar. The pot contains a full five doses of the ointment, which can be rubbed on the skin or swallowed, healing wounds as well as neutralizing poison and curing any disease.
The axe is more mysterious, although not as sinister as the dryads made it out to be. It appears to have been forged by human hands, although it incorporates distinctly dwarven techniques in the alloying and some of the carving. Properly attuned to a wielder, it will strike fast and true . It's black iron blade is anchored to Oerth with powerful runes, making the blade particularly dangerous to beings from other planes .
Whether the axe poses a danger to its user is almost impossible to know, as such curses typically are detectable only by the most powerful incantations.
The party lays a cold camp, taking shifts staring into the darkness surrounding the hill. Moonlight reflects off patches of swamp water, lending an eerie quality to the night, already full of unfamiliar sounds.
At several points during the night, the sound of something -- or several somethings -- moving through the shallow water near the hill can be discerned among the buzzing and splashing of the swamp. Whatever it is never comes very close, and appears to be probing for a reaction.
The dawn brings with it a fog that cloaks the low places of the swamp in gloom and appears unlikely to burn off soon.
Walking the perimeter of the camp after the sun rises, you find sign left by whatever visited the camp. Scratches on a stump rising from the swamp, a few scales brushed off on a rough stone ... and half a dozen clawed tracks, not unlike those of the troglodytes you encountered beneath Merrika's temple. Whatever left these tracks was heavier, and left nothing like the stench you'd encountered with the trogs.
Dragomir stands ready to wake the group, eyes keen for any surging from beyond the waters.
"We've had visitors."
Show me, El.
After assessing the axe she offers it to Dragomir. I am pretty sure I understand the magical properties of this weapon and would recommend you use it. If you do not want to keep it we can later see if we can trade it for some other item of similar power but it seems a boon for our use, at least for now. It strikes more true than most weapons and bites deeper and is bane against creatures not native to our plane of existence.
Somewhat out of element Loralyn does not notice the sounds or the tracks.
"It would seem that the dryads have favoured us with a powerful healing ungent. Not only will it cure physical wounds, but it will also defeat poisons and diseases equally. Looks like 5 does of the ointment are here, so we will need to be very careful using it."
Perception:
Survival:
Alistair is also out of his normal element and does not notice the sounds either.
Dragomir takes the axe reluctantly.
Yeah I can use this and we may need its magic but bugger me if it isnt an ill omened piece of smithing.
I understand your reluctance. If it makes you feel any better I can tell you that I believe those dryads exaggerated or even fabricated the story of hate being contained in the weapon.
Look over here, Kierdan says after walking around the camp, There some scales on the ground by this rock, and some tracks left by something with clawed feet, not unlike those creatures we fought beneath the temple.
Eldramin aids in pointing out the tracks too. "I heard sounds in the distance, I nearly decided to wake everyone, but the enemy halted their approach. It is safe to assume we are expected."
The sky lightens to a stormy gray as the sun rises behind the clouds to the east. The mist refuses to budge, however, and you find yourselves with no option but to venture into the soupy haze as you continue in your search for the spire on your map.
The fog slows your progress, causing you to stumble into low marshes that and muddy pools you might have avoided if you could see more clearly. As the morning drags on, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched, and followed. You hear distant splashes and the occasional snapping of undergrowth, but the sounds are faint and invariably stop whenever you pause to listen.
Whoever or whatever is shadowing you makes no move to get closer, however, and you trudge on through the swamp for the better part of the day.
Ramne's map, although crude, is surprisingly accurate. You are able to find several landmarks that keep you on course. The late afternoon sun is at your backs as you spot a finger of rock rising from the swamp.
As you draw closer, you see that the stone obelisk rises from the middle of a pool of clear, shallow water a few hundred feet in diameter. A small rocky ledge, about 15 feet square, rises from the middle of the pond, forming a base for the monolith, which rises 50 feet into the air, tapering from about 5 feet on each side at its base to about 2 feet at the top. Even at a distance you can see that the surface of the stone spire has been entirely carved with strange symbols and letters.
Ramne's map provides little help as you blunder through the swamp, searching in vain for a stone tower. The sun has dipped below the willows to the west when the clouds part briefly and flash of the dying light illuminates a finger of rock rising from the swamp half a mile away.
As you draw closer, you see that the stone obelisk rises from the middle of a pool of dark water a few hundred feet in diameter. You can barely make out a small rocky ledge, about 15 feet square, in the middle of the pond, from which the monolith rises. It's hard to tell in the twilight, but you guess the stone plinth is about 50 feet tall, tapering from about 5 feet on each side at its base to about 2 feet at the top. At this distance it's difficult to see more, but the surface of the spire appears to have been extensively chipped or carve, giving it a rough texture.
Before you have a chance to plot your next move, you realize with a start that although you've stopped, the faint sounds of pursuit have not, and if anything are growing louder. To the southwest and northwest you hear the sounds of crashing branches and splashing water. In the fading light, you catch glimpses of heavily-muscled, scaly shoulders and flint-tipped spears -- lizardmen, at least a dozen of them, about 50 yards away but closing fast.
Survival:
Perception:
No luck...sorry!
Rolen points quickly.
Lizardmen approaching there, at about 50 yards. Prepare yourself.
Rolen crouches down in an attempt to hide from the approaching enemy as he places an arrow to his Longbow.
Katelyn gives warming. Our pursuers are upon us!
"If Dragomir is not interested in the axe, I am capable of using it. Having it is of only marginal benefit to me, so we can still sell it at a later time."
[dice=Wisdom(Survival)]1d20+4
[dice=Wisdom(Perception)]1d20+4
Thanks to Kierdan's navigation, you reached the spire marked on Ramne's map while the late afternoon sun still illuminates the area.
Close up, you see that the stone obelisk rises from the middle of a pool of clear, shallow water a few hundred feet in diameter. A small rocky ledge, about 15 feet square, rises from the middle of the pond, forming a base for the monolith, which rises 50 feet into the air, tapering from about 5 feet on each side at its base to about 2 feet at the top. Even at a distance you can see that the surface of the stone spire has been entirely carved with strange symbols and letters.
You are on the shore of the shallow pool when you spot the swiftly approaching lizardmen. Caught between the pool and the surrounding swamp, the terrain favors your attackers, who will benefit from the cover of the surrounding scrub as they advance but won't be hindered by the water at your backs, if they are able to surround you. You have a few moments as they advance, if you wish to reposition, either by wading to the ledge at the base of the spire or taking cover among the stunted trees and undergrowth in the nearby marsh.
Alistair begins to chant the word of a spell while pulling what looks and smells like sulphur from his spell component pouch. Once the creatures are about 40-45 yards from the group, a bright streak flashes from his pointing finger to the centre of the group of lizardmen (will try to get as many in a 20'radius as possible)
Fireball:
DC-15 DEX save for 1/2 damage
Eldramin simply readies himself for battle, drawing and donning his shield.
When the lizardfolk are within 60ft, he will summon a Spiritual Weapon to harry them in their approach.
We need to move back to the spire Koralyn decides, casting a spell and taking a step into the water.
Eldramin will use his move actions in each of the preparatory rounds to move with the bulk of the party towards the general location of the spire. I won't rush so far that I am the first one there or anything, but i'd be slightly closer to the tower than our dedicated front-liners.