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Dregan nods looking around "Vekkel Benzen was a fine 'un'er, as many who 'ave gone after tese beast 'ave been, do not fer a momen' fnk dis'll be easy. If ov course dis is Tuskgutter's lair not some uther boar 'ome."
"A boar is most dangerous on tha charge so be ready fer that, but Tuskgutter 'as got tha be'er ov many 'un'ers 'e wouldn't 'ave what if 'e was nice an' predictable. There are generally free way t' 'unt a boar. Traps, but I suspect dis one'll be an' all wise t' be caught what way. Dogs, which we don't 'ave an' even if we did they need t' be specially trained fer boars. Boar spears, which we don't 'ave either but we might be able t' make wiv 'ime. Now I guess those wiv magic probably 'ave spells what could do it 'oo." Dregan pauses to look at Naralesh.
"So I figure we create our own way. First lets get tha 'orses away from 'ere, far an' all much chance ov 'em ge'in' accidentally maimed once tha fight starts. Then those what can cast magic an' tha like climb at least Neves foot up, maybe mawer, in a tree an' tie yourself there so what i' can't knock yew loose an' yew can use your 'ands. Everyone else got t' be super observan' an' ready tha get a tree between yew a chargin' boar, wai' fer i' t' exhaust its speed befawer yew surround it. OK?"
Talia nods, a small smile on her lips. "You know your craft well, Dregan. I think it is a fine plan."
As they wait, Talia makes sure she's positioned behind Gavriil and Magna, her back to the boar's den, a small pat of animal lard within easy reach, her other hand gripping her scorpion whip and buckler. Then Talia settles in for the wait, leaning against a tree and making sure her cloak is wrapped tightly to keep out the cold and the wind. The playwright knew nothing of boars, let alone how long they ranged, how often they hunted, and when they would return to their dens. It could be a long wait.
Late afternoon turns to evening, evening runs on to dusk. The shadows under the trees grow long and soon it gets difficult to see. A light breeze moves through the boughs of the great pines in this area. The soft suruss of the branches and the creak of the great trunks as they sway fills your senses.
Suddenly, a soft grunting can be heard from in front you.
"That's tha boar, an' i' very close, but I can't see it. That would be tha problem wiv tyin' yourself t' a tree I guess."
"Boar?"
Talia grips her scorpion whip tight, and prepares to cast grease on the first thing to come through the underbrush...
Naralesh picks up the sound of the boar, clutching his bow as he crouches, perched on the tree branch. Talking. That's one way to give away our presence, he thinks as he hears his allies' whispers. He rehearses in his head the arcane sigils and words of power corresponding to the celestial wildlife and elemental denizens he could conjure. A pack of lesser beasts could draw its ire, but the raw power of an elemental would be best for bringing the beast down. He waits patiently for the creature to show itself.
Kaalib was getting excited. He loved the taste of boar, and he'd only gotten to eat it once before at the Temple. It was one of the things his tribe hadn't ever been able to take down on their own, and he looked forward to eating his fill of the tasty beast. Smoke began to curl out from between his lips as he looked down for the wary animal, not quite finding it's location yet. It must be close for them to hear it breathing.
Clearly Tuskgutter has earned its reputation as a fearsome beast. A curious feature of the dell causes sound to be echoed from the opposite direction from which it seems. A feature that the boar knows all too well as it crashes from a small tunnel in the back of the den...from behind you!
The huge boar charges straight into Talia, tusks goring a deep gash in her leg. With a flick of its massive head, it throws the bard high into the air to crash into one of the large branches of the downed pine. She falls to the pine-needle covered floor of the den with a thud.
"Oh bugger." Dregan pulls up his bow in a rush but then takes a moment to steady his breathing before releasing two arrows in quick succession.
(Point black, rapid shot and ranger's focus)
(Point black and ranger's focus)
(Point black, rapid shot and ranger's focus)
(Point black and ranger's focus)
After that fearsome display of strength, Kaalib didn't figure many would be terribly disappointed with a little preroasting of the ham. He liked his own meat well done. As he prepared his fire, his scales began to glow with an inner light like coals being blown on in a fire. He breathed carefully in front of him, making sure to not get any of his newfound allies in the path of destruction along with the beast, which was fairly easily done from this angle.
Talia's in the air before she knows what's happening, and then the pain, a ferocious, stabbing pain sets in. Landing in a heap, the playwright struggles to stand up, gritting her teeth as she rises. Stepping back away from the boar, Talia takes her lard and smashes it in her hand, uttering the words to bring forth a slippery coating where Tuskgutter stands.
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Distraction it is, thinks Naralesh as his eyes widen at the assault on Talia. He chants quickly, feeling a surge of power as his spell is answered threefold in the ether. "Inimitas ternaeum existanti! Celestum inimicatum cruseri!" With a celestial whinny, three ponies burst into existence surrounding the boar, a white and orange pair of mares standing protectively between Talia and the boar, and a cream-colored one flanking the massive warthog. All three lashed out with their hooves, pummeling the beast, though most of their blows did little beyond distracting it.
The emergence of so much friendship and harmony on the material plane took its toll on the wizard, leaving him drained.
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Distraction it is, thinks Naralesh as his eyes widen at the assault on Talia. He chants quickly, feeling a surge of power as his spell is answered threefold in the ether. "Inimitas ternaeum existanti! Celestum inimicatum cruseri!" With a celestial whinny, three ponies burst into existence surrounding the boar, a white and orange pair of mares standing protectively between Talia and the boar, and a cream-colored one flanking the massive warthog. All three lashed out with their hooves, pummeling the beast, though most of their blows did little beyond distracting it.
[dice=Summon Monster II (celestial ponies)]1d3
[dice=Applebloom Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3
[dice=Applebloom Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3[dice=Scootaloo Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3
[dice=Scootaloo Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3[dice=Sweetie Belle Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3
[dice=Sweetie Belle Hoof Attack]1d20-1 [dice=Damage]1d3[dice=Fort Save]1d20+3
The emergence of so much friendship and harmony on the material plane took its toll on the wizard, leaving him drained.
Tuskgutter quckly shows why he has earned such a vicious reputation. It ducks under the sheet of flame from Kaalib and leaps sideways to avoid Talia's grease. With an animal cunning, it has placed the grease patch between itself and the ponies.
Partially burned and struck by an arrow, it savages Dregan, gashing his abdomen with foot-long tusks.
Seeing the boar separated from the trio of ponies and the injured duo of Talia and Dregan on the ground, Naralesh grits his teeth against the pain of his last spell as he begins to cast another. "Mirum caelastri ipvik!" he chants, conjuring the crackling, unstable sphere of crystal he had accidentally discovered in his magical experiments. It whirls like a top for a moment, emitting a high-pitched whistle, before exploding in a blinding shower of luminous dust - right in Tuskgutter's eyes, Naralesh hopes fervently.
Unlike before, the group of ponies and allies were definitely in the way. For a moment, a mischievous glint in his eye wanted to roast the ponies along with the boar, as horse meat was nearly as good, but he remembered Orsheval saying that summoned meat didn't work very well, so he put his hands together and conjured a blob of acid instead. It was still crowded, but he managed to find a reasonably open lane in which to cast the spell.
Dregan yells out in pain and surprise "Bugger you, ye bastard!" as the boar jumps up high enough to gash him in the side.
Gritting his teeth he releases two more arrows at the beast. (provoking an aoo if Dregan is threatened, does it get a aoo if its blind?)
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim (I forgot I had this last round) and ranger's focus)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
At least the boar was on the other side of the grease spell, Talia thought, rearing back with her scorpion whip and slashing at the beast with all her strength. She grimaces as the whip bounces off the giant boar's hide. New strategy needed.
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Dregan hits Tuskgutter hard with a shot, but his second arrow is foiled by the creature's thick hide. Pony attacks and whip attacks all bounce off of the tough hide. Nara's spell hits the big boar, and it stops, shaking its head furiously. It drives its head into the dirt, carving deep furrows as it tries to clear its sight.
"It's blind! Press the assault!" Naralesh called out, conjuring a freezing blast of ice which he launches at the hog.
(DC 16 Fort save or be staggered)
"Good work! Hey where did the ponies go?"
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
Kaalib sat back and watched the whole melee there on the ground for a moment. As he surveyed the scene, a tiny bird flew out of his mouth and fluttered around to land on his head. "Burn the whole lot you dunce! Those Ponies won't be around much longer!" The bird pecked at his brow for a moment but didn't notice the kobold's tail whipping from the back. It knocked the little bird so it was seeing stars and the little dragon grabbed him in his hand so he couldn't get away so quickly or be near as annoying.
Looking annoyed, Kaalib figured he knew what he was talking about and prepared another blast of fire from above. He had to admit that it was kind of exciting to see how well all that friendship and harmony took to a fire bath. Horse meat was pretty good as it was, Ponies should be more tender, shouldn't they?
Tuskgutter reels under the attack. Fire and bow, the occasional friendly hoof, all serve to injure the creature severely. But it isn't finished yet. Mad with pain and blind, the huge boar charges straight for the tree containing Naralesh and Kaalib. Whether through sheer luck, or because it knows its lair so well, it slams into the base of the tree with great force. The impact shakes the tree violently, causing branches to sway and a shower of needles to fall to the forest floor. It is all you can do to hang on.
His magic-drained strength nearly failing him, Naralesh clings to the tree for dear life. He slips, falling to the side before a last-ditch effort lets him barely hook an arm over a second, larger branch. Dangling there in the uncomfortable position, he catches his breath as he stares down at the furious animal. "Fall, damnable beast!" he shouts, as he launches his final blast of ice directly into the boar's mouth.
His spell cast, and no longer secure in his treetop perch, he shifted the particles of his body, vanishing from the tree and appearing behind it, only a few feet from the ground. He drops to his feet, mind rushing through his other spells in case the boar still posed a threat.
Kaalib stayed in the tree easily, welling up with another burn. The ponies now completely gone, he powered up his fire and let the big beast have it. It was starting to smell really good, and he couldn't help but drool a little at the end of his fire. It wouldn't be long now until he would have as much as he could eat. He still had quite a few more burns left in him, it was just a matter of waiting it out.
Talia rears back her whip-arm and sends it towards the boar. Tuskgutter was tough, tougher than the playwright had imagined, even taking into account the wanted poster's description. It was best to end this fight quickly, before it did much more damage to anyone.
"Die you bugger"
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, rapid shot, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
(Point black, deadly aim and ranger's focus)
Tuskgutter reels from the assault of ice and fire, leather and steel. Staggering a few paces forward he once again rams his head into the base of the tree. The great boar falls to the ground at the impact, and does not rise again.
Magna gets to her feet from where she fell, both hands holding the gaping wound in her leg. A few words, and the wound begins to close. Silently, she looks over the scene. It is clear she is not happy with her performance in this battle. "Let's go." Is all she says as she stumps off towards Gavriil and the horses.
A quick search of the den does not turn anything of value - other than a great chunk of dead boar.
Looking out at the dead boar, Talia's at a loss as to what to do next. They were only supposed to bring the head back to Oleg's but the playwright would be damned if she was going to butcher the thing.
"Should we, uh, build a sled or something?"
"I'm not sure Kaalib looks like he can wait that long," joked Naralesh, looking at the kobold eyeing the boar hungrily. "Save some for the rest of us, my friend." Tiredly, he went over to help untie Dregan, seeing as his allies did not share his ability to slip between dimensions. He glanced in Magna's direction with a small sigh, wondering what he could say to ease the tension she now carried with her everywhere.
Nora seemingly did not share the wizard's fatigue, bursting forth from his robes at the scent of the cooked boar like a furry white bullet. The little fox landed on the ground and dashed over to the fallen hog. Looking up at the beast hundreds of times her size, her eyes widened as she examined the creature with a hunger that would rival Kaalib's, glancing expectantly at Naralesh to make sure he knew to give her a share of the meat.
It is dirty work, building the sled, but Talia comforts herself with the fact that she's not the one butchering the boar. A few hours later and a few trees cut down, and they've got a passable skid, constructed of logs and the skin of Tuskgutter stretched over the frame, attached with rope. The rest of the boar, gutted and cleaned, as well as the creature's great head, to be given to Vekkel Benzen upon arrival at the trading post.
Talia mounts Apple and sighs. Her clothes are sullied, probably beyond salvation, Magna's still angry, and she's damn tired. Things have to look up soon, right?
Spurring Apple towards home, the playwright looks behind her, at the dead boar that Apple is dragging towards Oleg's. At least there'd be a feast in her future.
18 Gozran 4707
A light rain and a chill wind greets you as you set out west along the South Rostland Road. You're not sure exactly why you are going this way. The innkeeper at Fort Serenko told you "Th' ain't nuthin' out that way but Oleg's. Small tradin' post, not much ta see. A group went away tha' way some months ago ta 'splore. Wavin' some paper about. Heerd they'd run inta some trouble with bandits. Always was tha' way in th' Greenbelt. Still, orders been comin' thru a-late from Oleg. Sumthin's goin' on over there."
You are together only because it seemed wise - no sense in riding the bandit -infested roads of the Green belt alone. But you see nothing, not even a single traveler along the road.
It is late morning when the trading post comes into view. The first thing you see is a tower, built of wood, the top of which rises over the small hillock in front of you. The road climbs the gentle slope, and as you crest, you see the whole of Oleg's trading post. 'Not much ta' see' was right, but not the whole story. A simple stockade with a watchtower, there are clearly signs of activity about. The gates are open and manned by a pair of guards. There are also guards posted in the tower. As you watch, a pair of trappers lead two horses and a mule out of the gate and head west. On the north side of the stockade, a small farm plot - no more than an acre - is being worked by a man in the greens and browns of a farmer. He is the first to see you, and as he does, he lifts a small horn and blows a note. Seconds later, the note is repeated from the tower. Now the guards at the gates and in the tower are attentive, watching your approach.
It's a long and wet trip back to Oleg's. Long, because you can't move very fast with the travois behind Apple, and wet because the rains of Gozran (the month, not the god - maybe both) fall all day long.
Magna is quiet for the trip, and oddly enough, Gavriil is for once as well. No song of ribald tales on this journey. He stays wrapped up in his cloak, head down, trying to stay dry. Magna on the other hand rides without her hood up, rain on her face and running down her clenched jaw.
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To: Pathfinder Savant-Major Dylan Mizzenman,
Lodge #61,
ABSALOM
18 Gozran 4707
Commander,
You will - doubtless - have already heard of my failure, but it is with a heavy heart that I have to confirm the worst of the rumours: Miss Natashya Lodovka is indeed dead, murdered while under my wardship. I offer no excuse, only the supposition (for which I have not the slightest proof) that there are some within the Lodge who might furnish you with the details of how - and why - it was plotted, if they were so minded. (And, Dylan, it is only because of our long acquaintance that I commit this suspicion to writing at all.)
I confess that I am unsure of my next move, but - in the interests of plausible deniability - it may involve matters best not conducted under the auspices of the Society, nor under the badge of Lore Warden. I therefore request an extended leave of absence - in the event that I survive, we can discuss any possible rehabilitation at a later date; if I do not, you have the most recent copy of my Will and I trust you to act on it.
Finally, on a personal note, thank you, Dylan, for being my friend and mentor; thanks especially, all those years ago, for seeing the potential in a belligerent Sczarni brat and pulling me clear of the brawl that I'd started. The 10 years since have been full of incident and wonder, and I wouldn't have missed them for anything. Good-bye, old friend. If I don't see you again in this life, I'll be there to greet you in the next.
Yours aye,
With a sigh, Vosil finishes mentally composing the letter in his head (he was trained to do it that way: compose twice, write once) and pushes his thoughts away.
He runs a finger and thumb thoughtfully along his mustache: a mannerism of his that could mean anything, or nothing. Momentarily lost in thought, he passes the remains of his meal to the Osirian cat who sits shivering beneath Vosil's tattered travel cloak, despising the Brevic cold. He doesn't blame her. Absently scratching behind her ears, he considers his options. The initial plan - if it can be called that, composed as it was in the white heat of rage and grief and shame - of returning to Taldor for revenge and death isn't looking so hot now. It wouldn't bring Tashya back, and she would doubtless be horrified if he committed murder after murder in her name.
He sighs, again. If not revenge, then what?
His thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of his companion travelling alongside him; with a smile, and a slight shrug, Vosil turns to him - "My apologies, I fear I'm poor company today - lost in my own thoughts!" He scrutinises the man carefully: Hmm, Shoanti by the look of him, and armed in the traditional manner, but clearly not a barbarian - that breastplate is civilised, and the holy symbol - ha, I recognise that, pity that She hasn't smiled on me of late! Maybe her champion here is a sign - or not, of course...
Aware that his mind is wandering again, he makes a further effort: "Might I ask what draws a fellow follower of Desna to this wilderness? "
A man of just below average height, with the olive complexion and curled beard typical of most Varisians, together with the colourful - not to say extravagant - clothing (and, yes, a gold hoop earring), worn beneath a sturdy travelling cloak. A more detailed look shows that his hair and beard are tinged with red, and that he is somewhat stockier in build than most Varisians - evidence of some other ancestry (most likely Brevic). Those interested in such things can also see that his clothing, although colourful, is tastefully matched and of good quality; the Taldan tailoring is clearly evident for those with the eye to see it. In contrast to his foppish appearance, the pair of heavy daggers at his belt (which an informed viewer would identify as kukris) are workmanlike, plain, and show signs of wear, as does the coil of leather (a whip) at his side.
An unusual-looking cat with high, pointed ears, very long front legs and almost leopard-like markings is doing its best to stay out of the cold, burrowing into the man's cloak.
Blasted rains, blasted lands. The quietness - even Gavriil was silent, dear gods - is unnerving. Only the sound of rain falling all around, and the travois skidding along saturated muddy ground, accompanies Talia's sniffling nose and Apple's steady, plodding gait through the storm.
"Gavriil, how about a song?" Talia asks, her green eyes peering at the scoundrel from under hood. "Something, anything, to take our minds off this soggy journey?"
-------------
Thoroughly chilled, Talia rides on, her teeth chattering, her clothes completely soaked through. No playwright has adequately captured the pure misery of long hours in the saddle in a soaking rain.
Talia thinks for a bit about how best that would be accomplished and shakes her head. It would be a dreadfully dull play, but that would be the point I guess. Perhaps I should invent some new form of theatre. Dramatis veritae?
Turning her head, she looks to Khaalib, riding with the boar on the travois. "What do your people do for self-expression? Do you have music, or art?"
--------------
Eventually, Magna ends up beside the playwright, and Talia grits her teeth and wills herself to be the bigger woman (which she is - in height at least).
"Magna, let's end this. There will be times when we disagree, but I hope you understand that we want the same thing. It is just that our methods may sometimes differ. I'm... sorry if I hurt you. And know that I value you. Please accept my apologies."
|
"Please, don't let me distract you friend." Edric replies with a smile in his voice. "But it is always a pleasure to meet a brother in faith. I was lead here by Her, actually.
Pausing to look his traveling companion up and down Edric attempts to decipher a little about this man.
This man is clearly well traveled. That makes sense I suppose, not many out here won't be. Something is troubling him though. Can't be the danger... those must be kukris, an interesting choice. He must favor getting in close.
Mentally closing his investigation Edric grins in a friendly manner, seemingly unaffected by the dismal weather around them. "I've been criss-crossing the lands for two weeks now, She kept leading me one way and then the other. I think I was in the right place actually, just not at the right time but now we've met I think Her will has been fulfilled, at least partially.
Edric is momentarily distracted when Vosil's cat makes a brief, disgruntled appearance, questing for more food. His reaction is completely disproportionate, reeling back and nearly falling from his saddle as the cheer vanishes from his face to be replaced by a vicious scowl. Just as quickly the wrath disappears and he doubles over in his saddle clutching at his forehead.
"No damn it Eraxis! I deny you and your power over me! She owns me now - not you! Begone demons I will host you no more! He turns to look at Vosil, green eyes almost completely taken over by swirling black motes...
Edric is shoanti and correspondingly dark skinned, with close cropped hair to match. His midnight blue breastplate is obviously lovingly maintained and he wears his holy symbol of Desna prominently over it. His face bears obvious marks of previous injuries, two or three thin scars lie in different directions. His eyes are green with unnaturally jagged pupils.
He is very well armed, a large earthbreaker hangs from the side of his saddle and a smaller hammer is holstered on his hip opposite a starknife. A large wooden shield covers his back, emblazoned with a butterfly.
After being thoroughly gorged on the entrails of the boar (how could they throw out the best parts?) Kaalib was in an unusually good mood. Best of all it was raining. The dwarf who didn't like him was quiet, Orsheval didn't like coming out in the rain, and his belly was enlarged with sweet and warm organ meats. It seemed kind of strange that everyone else seemed quiet and sullen. Rain was all the excitement of a river with no threat of drowning. He longed to fly through the weather, feel it beating against his eyes, raising up great clouds of steam with his breath.
He was a bit surprised when Talia spoke up. "Art I suppose. Kobolds have nimble claws, and we can build many things with skill. Also, some dance and sing, but not for ourselves, we do it to get what we want from those who care about such things. I personally find it distasteful to live like that. I'd much rather make something of which I can be proud. I do dabble a little in making things, but my workshop at home is likely to have been picked clean since I've been away. Most do not come home from exile. I'll have to see what I can do to reassemble my tools in the future."
Talia raised an eyebrow, surprised to hear of Kaalib's distaste of the arts. He's probably never seen artwork that moved him, the poor creature. Cultures with no art, and no facility for it... well, they're hardly cultures at all.
"What do you make?"
The two travelers are met at the gate by a pair of guards and two others. One is a pretty red-haired woman, a cleric of Erastil by her garb, the other is a grim-faced man wearing green and black. You do notice that all four wear a steel-silver broach on their cloaks: the stylized bow and arrow symbol of Erastil.
"State your names and business."
With a sidelong glance at the man, the woman says: "Welcome to Oleg's trading post. I am Asha Medvyed, cleric of Erastil. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"