Ah, I understand. Astre says, signing All clear? as he takes a knee beside the fire. He places the materials he had gathered for the parisol on the ground before him, slowly beginning the process of enchanting them into a suitable shape.
in the end, the leaves and saplings will mesh and connect to form something not unlike this.
Thra'Raxes looms over Astre from behind, immediately commanding Benny's full attention as the man stares openly at him for a moment. This is a reaction that the barbarian is accustomed to.
Ganzorig takes the diversion as an oportunity to slip down from the bench, pulling the slip knots that hold the beast to the cart, and putting the ass between himself and the happy minstrel. If he hears no reaction from the mark, he knocks an arrow and looks for a vantage from which he has more control over his potential target.
He takes it back. He was alone. And he could afford one hell of a nice sword to use as a glorified cooking tool.
Better to overestimate than underestimate. Giving someone too much credit could be disappointing, but giving someone too little tended to kill you. Perhaps he knew all this stuff, and bought these things specifically to give the impression of not being alone? It'd be a smart move if that was the case. Few had the sense to even consider such measures.
Amarant signs back.
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Maude can barely hear the words that are being exchanged, she hadn't seen an open fire since she died. It... fascinated her!
In her head she pictures the flame growing...
...but it is only in her head.
Shaking her head from her reverie she takes stock of what is going on here. She was obviously shaded enough that the man had not seen her nature, but the others... no reaction at all?!
We're going to kill him, we're going to eat him...
It was not a decision, just a realization about what was unavoidable. But if they were going to fight she would need her fire.
Fire ignites in her hands and flows up her arms.
I can understand where you're coming from Ganzorig, but he's aware that you're there and he's looking in your general direction. His full attention is on Thra, but you're in his peripheral sights. If you were to take a Called Shot from your current position (obviously you chose to move, instead), he would have seen you draw your bow back.
As it is, you choose to leave the carriage and stand behind the dire ass, who completely blocks your view of the man and his fire, though not of the tower. I'm not certain what danger you were defying with your roll, but whatever it is that required a roll, you succeeded! Haha.
Meanwhile, the wizard has casually approached the burning fire and begun working their crafting magic. The man gives them a wide berth, eyeing them suspiciously, and looking around at the rest of you. He takes a cautious step backward as Thra and Amarant continue to eye him like a piece of meat.
Then, out of nowhere, the strange woman who had been riding in the back of the carriage bursts into flame along her arms.
"Holy Moses!" exclaims Benny as he jumps back in alarm. Maude forms a weapon in her hands with the flames, and stares him down. Even with the glare of the rising sun in his eyes, he can't mistake her obvious intent.
"WellnicemeetingyouallbutIthinkmyrabbit'scookedandI'llbeonmyway!" he shouts in one rushed breath, lurching to the fire. In a blink, he's grabbed the rapier - cooked rabbit still stabbed on its blade - and his longsword, and is running full-speed into the forest behind the tower. He leaves the mandolin lying on the ground in his haste.
What do you do?
Ganzorig pins his arrow with the crook of his finger and reaches out to pull himself up onto the dire donkey. He knew he couldn't count on such a lumbering beast to run the man down, but at least the height and mobility would give the marksman some edge, and if things wound down to long-term tracking, he could use the beast's nose.
Once astride, he'll dig in his heels, hoping the creature was taught some basic riding commands, and begin firing his bow, hoping to pin the man's legs. Ganzorig knew a guard who was once an adventurer until he took an arrow to the knee.
Amarant looks over at Astre. "Look alive, leaf boy, Ms. Reasonable just lit up like a bonfire and she's looking to kill. Diplomacy's off the table. Let's get this done before the pyro torches the forest."
Amarant takes off after Benny, unfurling Bonebreaker's chain. The light's harsh, but it's not enough to stop him sprinting after the man and his rabbit.
Once he's close enough, Amarant lets loose with his chain.
I'll keep that in mind going forward, Ganzorig. :)
Your aim is true, especially at this range. Pulling back on the bowstring and feeling it respond to you almost makes you feel alive again...almost. With a dull thwup, the arrow pierces Benny's hamstring, causing him to cry out and fall to the ground, dropping the rapier in pain.
You catch up with the fleeing human by forcing your way past underbrush that he was able to slip through. Take 1d4 damage that ignores armor when you tear off a small hunk of your own undead flesh on a tree branch that stabs you in your haste. You feel no pain, only take the damage.
By the time you reach him, he's been shot, and he's out of his mind with fear at this point. Dodging his panicked sword swings in this condition is child's play to you, Amarant, so you're correct in not needing to roll H&S in this instance. Stepping to the side and watching the longsword swing past you seemingly slowly, you bring your chained gauntlet up over your head and smash his chest in. The force of your blow crushes his heart instantly.
The brief moments of tumult are quickly resolved and silence falls in the forest once again.
Amarant, you feel hunger rising in your belly most intensely as you look down at your newest kill, your first in your un-life. However, all of the revenants nearby are affected by the fresh corpse; desire to consume his flesh rises in all of you sooner or later.
Astre looks up as the scuffles begin. the brains smell really, really good... they fill Astre's mind with thoughts that disturb them, visions of carrion and gore covering their hands and face. they are sure that, if their digestive track still worked, they would have retched.
Oh dear. He seemed relatively harmless to me. What's just happened? where are his friends? they ask the group at large, looking over to Maude specifically to see if she is okay. Maude, you've a talent for pyromancy? I though you found magic frivolous. They say, enamored even more with the mysterious girl.
As Ganzorig's arrow drops Benny, Astre speaks.
"Its not real magic elf, fire just seems to be in me now. I guess the fire... all those scrolls... Anyway. maybe not all magic is frivolous, maybe just yours. Perhaps one day you'll impress me with some real magic."
without waiting for a reply to her harsh comments she flicks the fire from her arms at a nearby tree and stomps over to where Benny fell.
The hunger rises in Amarant, and the bandit becomes tempted...
But when he hears Maude and look over to see her chuck fire at a tree, he has a sudden change in priorities.
"THE HELL?!" Amarant rushes over to the tree to make sure it doesn't catch. Dead or alive, forest fires are bad.
One day, ONE DAY that crazy b%!$! will burn us all, and laugh among the ashes. That elf'll be the first to go, I know it.
Ganzorig is the first to reach Benny after his demise. At least, the first who doesn't storm off. Not as though Ganzorig isn't disturbed by the fire, but the peddler's grip on Heptu's mane tightens as his mouth fills with thick saliva. There's no telling what would happen to them if they did not eat brains. Nothing said it was a requirement; however, all Ganzorig can think of is the empty jaunt from death to unlife, and the molasses-thick fog he'd clawed his way out of by sharing in the death of their creator.
Coward.
Ganzorig dismounts and tries to be civil about stripping off the adventurer's cloak and filling it with his valuables. The peddler's hands shake. How long can he resist? How will he get the skull open? Is he just being paranoid. Paranoia kept the old Ganzorig alive. Here, it had only ended this man's life.
If he manages to finish his work on the corpse, Ganzorig sits and looks at the man's vacant eyes, not sure if he can or should resist any longer...
Astre's face sinks as Maude tells them off. they suppose their magic isn't as "all that" as her fire-powers, or Amarant's chains. They click their fingers, and hands their umbrella off to some invisible force, as he walks over to Ganzorig and the Donkey.
good though, moving the cart away from Maude's fire. they sign to the peddler, before kneeling down beside him, and asking What had that man done? why did he need to be shot?
Ganzorig can't keep his eyes off the floating parasol. We don't want rumors started. Man like him? With that instrument? He would tell every adventurer for miles about the twee little elf and his band of flaming monsters. We would have every cleric in the kingdom on us by nightfall. -you should take the rapier. I don't want you out there defenseless. Everyone else has a weapon... or is one. The peddler's eyes flash to Maude, and he sees he's left the cart near enough to the woman's burning tree to override his hunger.
Ganzorig moves to take Heptu back to the cart if he can.
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The hunger inside of Thra overcomes his meloncholy. He moves over to the newly dead body and grabs the man's head with either hand like one would palm a basketball. He then pushes his hands together to generate a loud CRACK!. With a twist, like separating an oreo, he reveals the brain and begins calmly eating the brain like an apple.
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I understand they sign But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. they go with the peddler, patting Heptu on the flank as they do. when they get the dire ass back to the cart, they sit down on the cart, next to Ganzorig's seat, and trade the rapier, and a cloth, to the force, in exchange for the Parisol. as he works, he switches to the more harsh, but one-handed, drow sign language. I think Maude and Amarant have both been acting foolishly. (Literal translation: In-A -Way-Which-Will-Mandate-Disciplinary-Action.) However, I do not know how to behave, let alone address theirs. (Literal translation: My orders were poorly worded, and they do not turn their backs to me.) Do you think my magic is pathetic? (Literal Translation:Is my magic like that of a surface dweller's).
The fire doesn't start anything significant as of now, Amarant.
Maude and Ganzorig approach the fallen man, with Astre joining them soon afterward. The rapier is lying in the dirt, with the cooked rabbit still skewered on it, a few feet from the body.
Proximity to the body fills your nose with the scent of his spilled blood. It has been one night since your last feeding, so your appetite feels...manageable, to all of you. There is no denying that it's there, however. Immediately, it becomes apparent that Thra'raxes has embraced the needs of his new existence, as he effortlessly breaks open the man's skull and takes a few large bites.
Thra, the taste of recently living flesh on your tongue is the first time since you awakened that your mouth doesn't taste like ashes. It's satisfying on a physical level; and when you're undead, there's almost nothing that is satisfying on a physical level.
Benny didn't have much in his pockets. He's just got the longsword on him; close, +1 damage, 2 weight. The rapier is precise, expensive, 1 weight. His valuables must be back at the tower, abandoned in his haste to flee.
Ganzorig repeats the sign like-a-surface-dweller? It takes some thought for the peddler to piece together what Astre was talking about while he restores the donkey's tack. Some folk don't see past the surface. FLOWER thinks acting and looking tough are part of being tough. Truth is, the more he acts tough, the less tough he must be. You have your manner, and I would not have you change it to suit an unfair world. Your talent does not suit murder. I think you would have survived the traveler, were you alone, turns out the most beautiful flowers carry the deadliest poisons. The peddler gives no context for whom the metaphor applies, which takes some effort with the spatially focused hand signs. He does, however, keep his eyes on Maude as he moves the cart to the far side of the tower, off the path.
Finished ensuring the fire is smothered, Amarant approaches Astre, oblivious to his current dialogue.
"So, elf, you care to explain why that little leaf umbrella was more important than paying attention to anything happening nearby? Because I don't appreciate when you ask a question and ignore the answer, let alone everything else altogether. This wasn't some panicked idiot on his own, you could be dead. Or worse. Betting on worse, all things considered. Lucky he didn't attack you when you walked by."
"We're stuck with each other, elf. So I'd appreciate knowing that if you plan to take charge, you take it f*+@ing seriously. I don't expect you to fight. You're not cut out for it. But I expect you to pay attention in future, because if you don't you're gonna f@!! someone else. Got it?"
I'm sorry. he seemed nice, and I had work to do. And I hought maybe just sharing the fire would heml hime ase up a little... But you're right, especially in the wild, someone else should handle first impressions. They finish the piece of the parisol they were working on, leaves unknitting into green lace, and re-knitting intothe shape they wanted it to. then he returns to using both his hands, both to sign, and to cast. But, I'm not useless in a fight. I'm an elf, we all learned the Sword and Bow... though I never excelled at either. but I can also use magic in a fight. They say, uttering sceana na sióga, and unleashing brilliant emerald-green darts from their hand, impacting hard against the tower's wall
Astre uses their now-freed hand to resume proper signing with Ganzorig. That was Drow language... it has some peculiarities. they repeat everything they had said, this time properly. I apologize, it can be hard for native elven speakers to understand.
You're kind to me. Do you mind if I stay in this seat while I work? they sign.
Amarant resists the urge to bury his face in one of his hands. Oh, how hopelessly naive this elf was.
As Amarant continues, his gaze gets just a little less harsh.
"I didn't say you were useless. I said you're not cut out for it. It'd probably tear you up, hurting someone, killing them. Then you'd end up like that." He thumbs toward Thra. "Or worse, THAT." His thumb shifts to point to Maude, before his arm falls to his side. "Both of them are pretty broken. But only one of them decided to get ready to kill a guy when nobody else had plans to. I know what I used to be, elf. But that doesn't mean I went about killing people when it wasn't necessary." He looks over to where Maude is, and after a moment, he sighs.
"You're naive, Astre. But it makes you more personable than anyone else here. Since we've got a lot more people problems than we used to, we need that. So keep talking, elf. Better you than anyone else. But at the very least, pay attention to me and Ganz. We can tell you there's danger without most people knowing what we're saying, but only if you give us the chance." For a moment after he finishes talking, Amarant looks uncomfortable. Like he's remembering something that bothers him. "Ganz, keep an eye on him. Only person here I'd trust to..."
Amarant walks over to the shade again, and double-checks the tree that Maude carelessly threw flame at. Once he's certain it's not going to set alight, he sits against it, trying to organise his thoughts. Why did he...he was forgetting something. Something so very important. But he had no idea what.
Through force of will, he turns his mind elsewhere. Just what was Maude's schtick? Where was that fire coming from?
He thinks harder...just what was the nature of the fire she called upon? Was her questionable nature related to it, or was it just something placed in the hands of an existing madwoman? What was with that fire, and did it have any effect on Maude?
Give him useful and complete information about the questions Amarant has re: backstory behind your power, Maude. You can use information that your character personally may not be aware of yet, but you as the player should be the one that dictates where an immolator's power comes from.
Ganzorig starts, snatching his hat as the bolt bursts against the tower wall. He has a few voiceless laughs before easing into his seat. The elf had hit the tower dead-center, without even looking.
He listens to Amarant and nods, sweeping two fingers pointed forward in a wide circle. I watch always.
To Astre, the peddler scoffs. It's not offered to anyone else. I guess you're making more of those for the rest of us? Just practical to prioritize anything to save us from this sunlight... you think you could make us a cover for the cart? Green is great.
Should I check out the tower? Ganzorig points to the watchtower with a question plain on his face.
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Thank you. They say , laying down the next layer of his parisol, trying to create a serpent motif. Weaving had been another of their talents, though their usual medium was normal thread. this was an expirience. I will try to listen more... I'm not used to being in danger.
That is a very good idea. it will take time, particularly the cover. They sign to Ganzorig Are you sure about the colour... I can do lavender, or sapphire, or blood red They pondered briefly why that last one had popped into their mind Maybe you should check the tower. I would offer to watch your back... but I would take Flower, were I you.
Looking down at the dead man horrifies Maude, but not how she thought it would. She thought she would feel nauseous, afraid. But she felt nothing but hunger. Thra'raxes' blood soaked face did nothing to help. She turned and, trying hard to hide her weekness, slowly approached the tower, keeping her distance from Astre.
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The door at the top of the tower is closed. It swings open when you turn the old wooden handle on it, Ganzorig. There's a simple bed and a desk with a chair, with some simple bibles left behind, presumably, by traveling missionaries. Maybe Benny had a religious bent. His pack is stuffed beneath the bed, which is still tousled from when he slept there last night.
You find, inside Benny's pack, a pouch containing 30 gold pieces as well as another, heavier sack of gold. Opening it reveals a note that reads, in harshly scrawled letters, "DO NOT TOUCH, BENNY, I COUNTED THEM". There's also a duck call and some flint and tinder (2 uses). The only other object in the pack is an orangish cylinder made entirely of wax. It's about a foot long, the size of a large candle.
That's right. So...the fire's just a part of her. It's as volatile as she is, mostly because she's so volatile.
Dammit. That girl needs grounding. Short of finding a way to properly take her down a peg though, I doubt I know how to deal with her. Maybe...gah, gonna have to think hard about this, aren't I?
Amarant looks over, and replies to Astre.
She's what happens when someone like you overcompensates. Rather than be honest with their state and accept it, they make poor attempts to cover it up, and lash out at everyone. So don't take what she says too seriously. Odds are, it's not anything she means so much as it's a way to poorly hide her own problems.
You want to figure out what she's really thinking? Watch what she does when she doesn't think anyone's watching. And keep an eye on that fire of hers. If she's actually angry? Afraid? Sad? Just filled with sheer murderous intent? The fire will respond.
So watch that fire. It's the most honest thing about her. And in the meantime? Watch her. Because this won't be the last time she acts out.
Throughout the exchange, Amarant's cursing is significantly less frequent than it was before. You don't get the impression it's due to an effort to be more polite.
On his way back out, Ganzorig tosses Maude the large sack of gold. "Your probrem ngow." He pockets the duck call, flint, and tinder on his way back to the cart. To Amarant, he hands the 30 gold.
He settles into his seat and passes the wax to Astre.
As the others investigate the tower Thra lifts the head up straight in one hand and with a melancholy tone asks, "Anyone want any? It is surprisingly good."
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Maude spots the bag of coins late as it is tossed toward her
The bag slips through her fingers and falls, scattering gold pieces over the ground. Scowling at Ganzorig she bends and picks them up, returning most of them to the bag but pocketing a dozen or so.
"The problem of too much gold... How ever will I cope?!"
I understand what you mean. Thank you Astre signs to Amarant, not sure what else to say. Then he turns to the wax that Gazorig had handed him.
Regardless, we should push forward. a bit of magic and the relics of the tower will probably help us on the next step of our journey. Astre says and signs.
That was with a duck whistle and flint, if it makes a difference. Might be a deck sealant...
Ganxorig clicks Heptu into motion, heading toward the ruin of WitchHat tower.
Amarant takes the gold and nods to Ganzorig. He looks over to Maude. "Something tells me you'll find a way."
He picks himself up off the ground, and shakes his head clear. He seems his usual self after that. He walks over to Thra, and ends up having some of the head himself. "We're moving. Get going."
Amarant moves toward the tower as well.
Amarant and Thra are the only ones to have sated their hunger on the remains of Benny. As you leave the traveler's rest, the two most physically imposing of you are feeling "normal" - or what passes for it. However, the lingering scent of Benny's blood on the air continues to torment the rest of you as you ride off.
Astre occupies himself with studying the strange wax...thing. You don't recall reading anything about wax in particular in your studies of magic, beyond some passing mentions of attempts to make golems out of them in years past. The project was abandoned due to the finished product lacking in offensive power.
Beyond that, you can tell that the wax was once in two separate pieces that have been fused together somehow. It's difficult to spot, but you can see a very faint trace line along the side of it that indicates where it was once two pieces.
While the wizard sits hunched over the wax thing in the cart, Ganzorig urges Heptu back along the narrow path to the main road through the forest. The roadsign was accurate; before long, you've reached the Thief River.
The river appears to be roughly 40 feet across, flowing south across the road. There's a bridge made of wood and stone built across it. The bridge is in a questionable state; it looks ancient, and doesn't look to have been maintained at all since it was built. It's wide enough for the wagon, but not much wider than that.
Ganzorig gives Heptu's flank a gentle tousle as he dismounts. His bow has been strung all day- a testament to the peddler's paranoia. He pauses to listen and scan the treeline, taking care to check the shore around the bridge for fresh prints. He doesn't like the sound of any bridge on any "Thief River" so he starts to check the timbers of the cart in preparation to ford.
You don't appear to be in imminent danger of an ambush currently, Ganzorig. However, disturbance in the dirt near the lip of the bridge on your shore indicates that someone - more likely 3 or 4 someones - crossed here recently.
Be on the lookout for a weak spot near the far end of the bridge. It looks as if the primary structure would hold, but there's some evidence of rot that your keen eyes can discern even from this distance. It's easy enough to step over if you have knowledge of it being there.
There are tall trees overhead where you are, but don't be fooled by their swaying heights. The center of the bridge is in direct sunlight.
The cart isn't anything special to look at, but its construction appears to be sound. You don't think you'd sink if you forded the river instead of taking the bridge.
As Maude moves off with the rest of the group a freak gust of wind seems to catch the campfire, the flames billow towards the wooden tower threatening to catch it and the whole glade aflame. But just as quickly the flame settles back and all is as it was found. All except the congealing blood slowly draining from the headless corpse and into the earth.
Maude doesn't like the look of the cold and more pressingly wet, river, but isn't going to admit that to the others. She pushes forward and steps onto the structure.
"Not scared surely, I though not crossing flowing water was a witch thing, not a phoney strongman one?!"
She turns and strides across the bridge...
When Maude pipes up, Amarant just looks at Astre and shakes his head before making a few gestures.
Astre spends the time they are travelling slowly and gently prying the two pieces of wax apart. wondering what purpose they served.
then everything stops. it is dreadfully confusing. He looks up to the bridge, it seems dreadfully unstable.. He wishes he could use magic to shore it up. Why hadn't he paid more attention during his apprenticeship well... the dresses Nyx wore probably had something to do with it he though, smiling at the memory, before remembering that he was actually in a potentially time sensitive situation.
Firstly, That's vampires, not witches. and apocryphal besides. Astre says to Maude And perhas we could all stop taking shots at one another, and try to get on? he asks, quietly looking to Amarant for approval.
The wooden bridge groans on its nails, but not enough to make you think you're in danger. This bridge has clearly been here a long time.
Maude, you spot the rotten plank that I mentioned to Ganzorig before, making it easy for you to avoid as you trek across. However, the sudden direct light on the back of your neck makes your voice falter weakly at the end of your sentence, which is slightly embarrassing. Clearing your throat, you press on, stepping over the weak spot and reaching the end of the bridge. On the far side where you're standing, you are back in the deep shadows of the trees where it feels more comfortable. Your hunger is getting slightly distracting.
Heptu snorts and pulls the cart slightly off to the side of the road. If he isn't stopped by anyone, he'll walk to the river's edge and lower his mouth into it.
Astre, you confirm that the seam runs completely around the wax cylinder, but it won't come apart using your fingers. You're jostled somewhat as the wagon goes a few feet off road when the large donkey pulls on it.
The peddler gives Amarant a pat on the back and points out a few stones and embankments to look out for, shaking one of the loose wheels to indicate the cart's weakest point.
When the dire ass moves to take a drink, Ganzorig draws an arrow, but doesn't move to halt the beast. It just needed a drink after all...