"Yerstyl lives across from the mill in his own house. His father built the mill way back when, but Kreed controls it now. Their family is known as being a little strange..."
Othoe looks at his companions and takes a critical look at himself.
"...but who knows what that means. Overall I say we should tread lightly and see what the fellow knows."
"Poor boy. I could only imagine what it would mean to have both their parents taken from them by the same plague. Perhaps we should take what he has with a grain of salt as there's no telling what state his mind is in."
Thinking back to the previous night, "I think I discovered some precautions that should be taken when handling old darkwood so that you don't ingest the fungus. Perhaps we could pass that along to the mill workers, if they didn't already know."
"Well, it's a start"
Bright and breezy despite his excesses of the night before, Chrystosm is all set to go whenever the others are ready.
The walk to Yerstyl's home proves uneventful, though upon reaching where it should be, the group is told that the crazy young man has taken to staying in a shed across the way(3a).
"something about the evil that men do? Beautiful boy, but crazy as a loon, he is." The tanner, who lives next door, explains with a cough.
Yesteryl's new home looks on the verge of collapse. Grape vines twine and trail over it, as if aching to pull the whole thing down. The door creaks and squeaks at the first knock, but it takes three before the young man comes to the door.
Cloaked like a bandit, with a wrap over his nose, he peeks from behind the door.
"No, I'm not leaving. No, you can't have my folks place because I'm not using it. And yes, that probably is too personal a question, so stop thinking it!" He says with a huff, though no real fire behind it. More than anything, he seems tired.
"Now, if there's not anything else I can do for you, I'll be going back to my work." and if not stopped, closes the door in the party's face.
"Yerstyl, wait, it's me, Simon, and some of my friends. We wanted to speak with you, perhaps in private, we could get a small cask of ale and bring it back if you're thirsty? A few mugs always makes the conversation easier."
Dorial sticks her foot out to stop the door from closing, "Actually, we heard that you may have some ideas about what caused this plague." She pauses for a moment to give him time to recognize the statement, "We're wanting to stop whoever caused it for good."
Surely this man must know something.
"We're not on a witch hunt Yerstyl, we just want to fix it."
Kast stands back from the shed and is practicing with his new weapon, taking a few mock swings against a tree while the others talk.
I must be perfect.
Simon smiles crazily, standing next to a halfling in a wild wig, as Dorial jams her foot into the shed door, and Nimeon confirms that the party isn't witch hunting Yerstyl, while in the background Kast slashes at a tree with a polearm.
Yep, no loony people here, just us regular folks
At the sound of Kast's first *Thwak*, Yerstyl tries to push passed Dorial and the others, "Stop that! You'll hurt h...just stop it, ok? Just stop!
Yerstyrl's awkward cloak falls back as he tries to get by, and if the party let's him through, he awkwardly rushes to the tree, his blond hair nearly glowing in the morning sun. Bright blue eyes flash as he reaches out, trying to stop Kast's bardiche from chopping into the tree.
Kast looks up from his mock axing.
"Oh no, I wasn't hitting it with the blade...just the shaft!" Kast nearly drops the weapon in his haste to apologize. "There is no damage!! I didn't hurt anything..."
...yet.
"Sorry about Kast - you know what it's like when you get your first bardiche. No harm done, eh?"
What in Erastil's name?
Seems a rather twitchy fellow. I wonder who he murdered?
Hrm. He's a hard man to read.
Othoe gets a little closer to Yerstyrl, but maintains a respectful distance so as not to further frighten the boy. He speaks in a calm even voice, trying to relax him into speech.
"We're just after information regarding the plague in the village. Someone suggested you might know who... or what, caused it. We mean you no harm."
Chrystosm and Othoe quiet the boy, and Dorial's explanation grabs his attention. The plague? Yes, the plague, I could tell you, but you wouldn't believe me. No one ever believes me, but it worked for my dad and my dad's dad, and my dad's dad's dad... " catching himself in the loop, he forces himself quiet and asks suddenly,
"Won't you come in? We'll have tea. just... leave *that thing* outside" pointing at Kast's new Bardiche.
Kast looks shocked, but quickly recovers.
He hates my new bardiche? I *barely* even hurt the tree!
Kast leaves his bardiche outside with a *sigh* and only after looking over his shoulder for sneakburglars and guisarmeers just waiting for a chance to burgle his weapon.
Kast follows the group in, anxious to hear what the story is.
My pretty bardiche never hurt nobody...yet...and I aim to change that.
"Yerstyrl, I think the six of us have seen plenty in the past few days to believe what ever you have to say. Please, enlighten us." She accepts the invitation and heads inside.
He seems.. rather skiddish..
"Thank you, Yerstyrl, some tea would be wonderful." Simon heads into the shed with the rest of the party, pulling Kast in at the last as the man peers about for sneakyburglars.
"M'mm!"
Chrystosm slips inside the shed, deciding (after all) not to put himself forward for a spot of bardiche-sitting.
Othoe lingers at the door and, as he usually does, he enters last.
Othoe smiles to himself and ducks into the hut.
Inside, the space is small, but not nearly as tiny as one would think. Yerstyrl takes off the hood as he makes tea, though he keeps his cloak and scarf.
After serving the tea, he stares into his own for several long moments.
"It's the mill. They've lost their respect for the wood, and the wood fights back. Dad tried to tell them, but they wouldn't listen."
Kast doesn't accept the tea, choosing instead to relax against the wall, waiting.
"The forest is fighting back? That isn't good. How can we help achieve a balance? And who did your Dad talk to?"
"yes, no. I mean...." He shakes his head, frustrated again in his dealings with people. "Look, when my grandad built the mill, they were careful when they stripped the bark. He had it all worked out, see? Then he'd take the bark back out to the woods so it could decay at it's own pace. Right? That's what.. well, nevermind who told him that, but that's how he did it. But it's slow, taking all that time, forcing the log underwater while you strip it so it doesn't blow tiny bits in your face.
I guess it's too slow for the new people to do it that way. Now they're all about efficiency, and they've got this new stripper machine, rips the bark off without a bye your leave or thank you ma'am. Then all the bark is fed into this big machine that burns stuff." with no room to pace, his leg twitches as he talks, the discussion clearly upsetting his delicate sensibilities.
"I see. The mold is in the bark, and the burning is coating the town. But who was the deal made with, and how do we stop it? The burning or the deal. Why are all of the trees infected? Is that just a property of darkwood?"
Kast nods and listens to answers to Nimeon's questions.
Yerstyrl looks at Nimeon as if the half elf is a little slow, " You stop the burning, of course! The foreman, I guess."
He nods,"Most darkwood has some blackscour fungus in the bark. How much in any given year is sort of up to the weather and stuff, I don't understand all of that. " he says wistfully.
"my dad did, but he's... he's..." at that point, he stops, waiting for the emotion to pass, or at least become bearable again. Without another word, he stands, jostles and hobbles his way through the small space, and opens the door.
Kast watches Yersturl open the door. Kast is unsure what that means.
Sense Motive:
I think he just farted. How polite of him to air it out.
Chrystosm frowns uncertainly, then decides to get up and follow Yerstryl to the door, putting his hand on his shoulder
"Sorry"
"So we have to convince the loggers to log in a more inefficient and costly manner. Otherwise the plague will return again and again. Got it."
We're going to need more evidence than the claims of this kid. He may be our kind of crazy or not. Certainly what he says makes some sense, but who knows the truth?
Othoe takes the open door to be a not too subtle way of saying get out. He makes his way out to the street quickly.
"Thank you, Yerstryl, for the information and the tea. We'll see what we can do about the stripping machine and the burning machine. One last question for you, why are you in this shed instead of your home?"
Dorial stands as well, heading towards the door. "I think the method I read about last night would suffice for stripping the bark off the trees properly."
"Are we leaving now?" Kast asks, wondering what is up.
As the last of the Hollow's Heroes heads out, Yerstyrl whispers after them, "Good luck".
Outside, as Kast goes for his Bardiche, his hand finds empty air and grape vines instead of cold iron and solid wood.
"Kast you should really keep better care of this, it's not a guisarme you know."
Nimeon hands Kast his bardiche.
"You realize nothing we've learned tells us who kidnapped Eli..."
Perception
"What the futter!? Where's my bardiche?!" Kast enrages and turns to go back inside to get his weapon from Yerstyrl.
Kast prepares to kick down the shed...but pulls himself short as Nimeon speaks up.
"Oh...there it is. That's odd."
Othoe smiles broadly at Kasts misfortune..
This must be why Gnomes play so many tricks all the time. That was funny.
When we're out of earshot of poor Yerstyrl, "We're going to need more evidence than the claims of this kid. He may be our kind of crazy, but he might not too. Certainly what he says makes some sense, but who knows the truth? How can we confirm it?"
He looks to Dorial and Simon for answers.
"Eli doesn't remember who took him. He had bruises covering his body, as well as many small punctures, now what would do something like that to a boy? Was he tortured do you think, but why? And then to wrap him up in linens and hang him from a tree?" Simon looks disturbed. "I've heard rumors of people being hauled off during the night to the lumber camps, but that didn't happen to Eli, he was just left for dead. Could this be work of the fey? Has the pact been broken that Twisty-twig told us about?"
"We're going to need more evidence than the claims of this kid. He may be our kind of crazy, but he might not too. Certainly what he says makes some sense, but who knows the truth? How can we confirm it?"
"I don't know that anyone in this town can confirm or deny what Yerstyrl said, who has enough knowledge of Darkwood to know what threat it can pose? Maybe we should find someone that does know, but who would that be?"
"We never found out what happened to Yestryl's dad", points out Chrystosm.
"He didn't say right out whether he was dead or not, but something's happened to him, and Yerstryl said that he'd know"
He ponders for a moment, then addresses Nimeon and Dorial.
"Are there any other rangers or druids around here?"
Nimeon grimaces.
"Aye, there are one or two. They care little for this town but they may be able to assist us."
Perhaps it's something in the conversation, Simon's mention of a "pact", or the way the grapevines seem to suck Kast's bardiche in with tangling vines, much like the overgrowth that surrounds the cemetery, but more and more it seems like "Twisty Twig" might be the creature to talk to, at least to start.
Kast thinks about it while checking to make sure no harm became of his new weapon while he was inside.
This is my weapon. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My weapon is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my weapon is useless. Without my weapon, I am useless. I must swing my weapon true. I must swing straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must smite him before he strikes me. I will. Before Irori I swear this creed: my weapon and myself are defenders of the weak and innocent, we are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. By Irori's will.
"We met Twig in the cemetery right? Back when we were getting to know each other? Maybe we go there and dance? That'll probably bring Twig out. Does anyone here play music? That might help as well."
Kast leads the group to the cemetery where they met Twig before.
Does anyone here play music?
"I can sing!", pipes up Chrystosm. "I know lots of songs!"
He takes a deep breath and starts.
" Oh. OK. Not that one"
Face bright red, he shuts his mouth with a snap and stays silent for the rest of the journey.
"That's a good plan."
Othoe joins the others and heads down to the cemetery.
I don't know who's going to trust Twig either. What we need is a city leader to support our cause.
Othoe looks at Simon and wonders.
"Well remembered, let us go see this Twig."
Kast will enter the cemetery and look around hoping to see Twig.
Perception
"Twig!? TWIG!? You around?! It's us again!"
* * *
Assuming that fails, to draw out the fey creature, Kast will sit on the log and begin tapping out a cadence with his bardiche (haft, not blade).
"I think we need music and dance to draw Twig out. Come now, let's all do our part in this," Kast encourages.
*tappity tappa tappity tap-tap*
*tappity tappa tappity tap-tap*
*tappity tappa tappity tap-tap*
*tappity tappa tappity tap-tap*
Othoe claps along and does a little jig of his own in the open space of the graveyard.
*shuffle shuffle STOMP shuffle*
*shuffle shuffle STOMP shuffle*
*shuffle shuffle STOMP shuffle*
*shuffle shuffle STOMP shuffle*
Chrystosm siezes Dorial in an iron grip and waltzes her around the cemetery.
SLOW quick quick, SLOW quick quick, SLOW quick quick and TURN quick quick and...
"Sorree! Didn't mean to tread on your foot!"
SLOW quick quick, SLOW quick quick..
Nimeon sighs before accepting that certain bargains kept to entertain fools and fey. Carefully stepping around the stones he begins a highly ritualized dance.
Moving faster then slower around the scene it becomes apparent to those who have hunted that he is reenacting the moves of a stag as seen through trees.