Now that the thing is belly-up,
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
As the turtle rushes forward, Gavriil strikes again!
But he judges the speed of the beast wrong and his rapier bounces harmlessly off its shell.
Angered by his failure, he stabs again while it is confused by attacks from all sides.
But his temper is too much and he makes a mistake. His rapier flies harmlessly over the creature once again.
Attack: 1d20 + 9 +2 ⇒ (9) + 9 + 2 = 20
The stabs, slams, and cuts from the group deal deadly damage to the cantankerous turtle, finishing him in his pool. Only the blood and the mud remain.
Vosil carefully coils his whip, flicking the mud off with an expression of distaste. "There is a Varisian recipe for turtle soup, if anyone is interested. It is considered something of a delicacy. It would be a shame to let all that meat go to waste."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Talia smiles, no one seeming to be too worse for the wear. "I'd love some soup. And we need to take that shell back with us. Magnificent!"
Gavriil wades further into the water to have a look around. Somehow these beasts often had spoils from previous victims.
He smirks at Talia and says, "Maybe we can get you a new buckler made out of it so you can continue carrying your trophies around wherever you go."
|
"Gah!" Edric splutters. His struggle with the turtle had left him drenched, covered in mud and more than a little battered. He misses the conversation about turtle soup while struggling through the lake, trying to track down his hammers.
For the next few days Edric continues to squelch somewhat as they head on.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Your search doesn't turn up anything useful. Edric does find his weapons, but not his pride...
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
29 Pharast 4708
Your explorations take you across the Tuskwater Lake, taking soundings and mapping what aquatic features you can. Far away to your southwest, an island with a lonely tower can be seen near the lake's end.
Exploring the hills on the northern shore of brings you to a smallish swamp. Somewhere in the middle of the swamp you run into what looks like a dwelling! A dilapidated mud-brick hut squats atop a small hummock in the middle of the fetid marsh, a thin tendril of bluish smoke trickling through a gaping hole in it's moss-covered roof. A wooden fence surrounding the the perimeter of the mound is festooned with crude fetishes crafted out of sticks, feathers, and animal bones. A pumpkin-headed scarecrow stares wistfully over at you from its perch, while a lone crow caws noisily from the top of a nearby cypress tree.
Gavriil welcomes the easy travel through the wilderness right up until they reach the swamp. The sucking mud, and odor make the swamp unbearable. He soon found his boots soaked through and his feet unbearably soaking through as they made their way through the swamp. His usually jovial mood is nowhere to been found as his nice traveling clothes quickly become caked in mud.
When they come across the dwelling, Gavriil's worn face lights up. "Oh, thank the gods! It's not the most welcoming looking places, but it's got to be more welcoming than the rest of this forsaken place. Let's see if it's inhabited. Maybe we can use our high-positions to get a warm meal and a place by the fire."
Vosil stares across the marsh, before returning his gaze to the hut.
"Unless I'm much mistaken, this is what the locals refer to as the Old Beldame's hut. Some call her the Swamp Witch and say she is a hag who sold her soul to a demon or devil in exchange for her powers. Any time a child goes missing, the Swamp Witch is blamed, and her legend is used to scare children into behaving well or finishing their supper."
He chuckles. "Whether or not one believes that, it is remarkable that anyone should choose to live here. I suspect, whatever else may be true, that she values her solitude. My counsel would be to proceed politely, with caution, and NOT to outstay our welcome - assuming we receive one."
Talia dismounts Apple, and ties the horse off to a stunted bush rising off the hillock. Vosil had a point, but like Gavriil, the Viscountess tired of trudging through the swampland. "Very well, we'll proceed with caution. And perhaps secure ourselves a warm floor to sleep on this evening - providing we don't overstay our welcome. Though, if she sold her soul to a demon or some such, we'll have a warm hut regardless. A cultist cannot be allowed to operate so closely to our borders."
Leaving her whip at her side - for now - Talia cups her hands around her mouth and yells.
Talia's voice is muffled by the sounds of the swamp. Overhead, the crow caws again, loudly. As you approach the fence, you notice a small gate that leads to the hut. Near the gate, an old rusty bell hangs by a hair rope from a crooked wooden frame.
Dregan gives an obvious shiver at the name of the swamp witch. " I really wish you hadn't called out to her. We don't want to messing with her. She stole Tommy away when he was 8. She's too dangerous to talk to let alone sleep on her floor." Dregan says drawing his bow and saying a quick prayer to the forest father.
Vosil shakes his head at Dregan's words. "It's possible, but in my experience those things that prey on children tend to live closer to them - I don't imagine many children are found all the way out here..."
He eyes the bell. "Shall we announce our presence?" And if by some mischance she does turn out to fit Dregan's preconceptions, then better to end it here and now than let her continue.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Naralesh murmurs his usual protective incantation. "Witchcraft may draw upon mysterious sources but it is no more inherently evil than my own wizardry. I say we proceed with all due respect unless the inhabitant of this house proves to be anything other than an innocent - but do not let down our guard." Naralesh examines the hut from a distance. "And perhaps we should decline any offers of food or drink," he adds offhandedly. "It would be terrible for the ruling council to all be turned into newts." He struggles mightily to conceal a smile.
|
|
Edric follows the back and forth between the rest of the council with a rather puzzled look on his face. "I wouldn't say such things are something to trifled with. Some witches and warlocks have considerable power." Without noticing it he begins rubbing one hand over the other, where a particularly ropey scar stands out. He stays like that for a minute or more, seeming lost to the world...
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"So do we." Vosil makes a face: he's not against interminable debate, but there's a time and a place - and it's NOT when he's knee-deep in swampwater (and sinking).
Reaching out, he grabs the bell-rope and rings the bell.
| 3 people marked this as a favorite. |
Dregan draws an arrow sights along it to the door of the hut. Sometime his companions surprised him with their innocent view of the world but he kind liked that in them. It meant that he was still valuable to them, and he would show his value now.
| 5 people marked this as a favorite. |
Gavriil eyes Dregan skeptically. The aging woodsman always seemed to be the first to advise caution. It was a character trait that Gavriil despised and admired at the same time. On one hand, it felt like Dregan was a poor lone father picking up the pieces his children left behind as he amused them with their game of playing at princes and princesses. On the other hand, it made the man intolerably boring. It made the swashbuckler roll his eyes every time the man asked for them to proceed cautiously.
It may have been that Gavriil was just used to being able to coast through life with a silver tongue and a charming smile, or that the thought of fame and fortune spurred him on to try and actually make something of himself.
Or maybe he was just young and dumb.
Whatever the reason, Gavriil rests his hand on the pommel of his sword as Vosil (the eldest son of their rag-tag family) rings the bell defiantly, not willing to openly heed the woodsman's warning, but just smart enough to allow some of Dregan's wisdom to raise his guard.
He smirks at the others and whispers, "If she is wicked, I say we give her Nora. See if she's clever enough to outsmart that wicked animal."
The dull clank of the rusty bell is lost amid the chilly fog of the early morning. The crow flutters his feathers and hops to and fro, head tilted sideways to watch you carefully.
Just as you are about to ring again, a face appears in the window of the hut.
"Who are you and what do you want?" She cackles with some annoyance.
"Don't let Nora stray too far. That crow eyes us from the cypruss tree."
Clearing her voice, Talia affects her most winning smile.
And so Talia pratters on, genuinely inquisitive and generous with her flattery, in an attempt to gauge the danger from the Belledame, while keeping an eye on the crow, which the Viscountess suspects may be a servitor like Nora...
The Old Beldame's voice drops a level of 'annoyed'. "Oho! You are, are you pretty? A Viscountess no less! Why would a pretty noblewoman be trapsing about the swamp looking for plants with her lackeys?"
"Maybe your huntsman should put his bow down, and you can tell me, dearie?"
Vosil shoots Dregan a meaningful look, while doffing his hat towards the possibly-a-witch-how-did-she-know-Talia-was-the-Viscountess. "A thousand apologies for my friend's discourtesy, Belledame; but it is as the Lady says - we truly are just passing by, exploring the area. We mean no harm."
He glances at Edric, to see if the Paladin can gauge whether the possibly-a-witch means them any harm.
"Do your lackeys always speak for you, Talia of Fairhaven?"
"Do your lackeys always speak for you, Talia of Fairhaven?"
When you grow up as a half-Varisian on the streets of Brevoy, you develop a thick skin from an early age. That goes double when your mother insists to anyone in earshot that your father was a high-ranking noble.
Nevertheless, for a brief moment, Vosil eyes Dregan's bow, wondering whether they could find a way to make it shoot flaming arrows into the hut. He shrugs, morosely. Whole place is probably too wet to burn. Probably why the almost-certainly-a-witch chose it as a den.
|
|
Shaken out of his reverie by the conversations in front of him Edric, completely missing Vosil's enquiring glance, glares at the bird perched in the tree nearby. Only a few moments later does he turn his eyes onto the 'witch', a whispered prayer to Desna sending star motes across his eyes for a moment as he sees...
Dregan aim flicks over to the window as she appears. Ug she is ugly but damn, she's smart too. It would be a difficult shot and I would only get one. She might have even reinforced the window with magic. No I'm not getting her, I needed to get her outside. Slowly he lowers the bow, leaving the arrow notched ready pull back up for a shot if he gets his chance.
Raising her arm towards Dregan, Talia lets it drop as she spies the Marshall already in the process of lowering his weapon. "Lackeys? I'm afraid not. I'm with friends and confidants, and I trust them implicitly to speak for me. You see, some have told me I'm rather unconventional a ruler, and I don't believe that is necessarily a bad thing, despite the council of my Councilor. Never ask another to do for you what you wouldn't do yourself, Belledame. And so here I am in the swamp. Truthfully? Though I enjoy seeing this beautiful land, I've always been happiest at my writing desk."
"Still, as I said, ask not... And so we traipse through the swamp looking not only for plants, but also animals, and weather patterns... but also friends and enemies to Fairhaven. Are we friends, my esteemed Belledame?"
Reaching towards the gate, the Viscountess flips the latch."May I?"
Urgently Dregan whispers through gritted teeth. "Stay back, who know what foul magics she has on her hut and garden. I've never heard of any of the children she take getting away, that for sure."
The Old Beldame's head disappears from the window. From within, she says: "Fine. Come in if you wish. Bring your 'friends' too, pretty."
The rusty hinges of the gate squeal as Talia opens it. The crow lets out a loud caw! and launches itself from the cypress branch and flies in the window the Old Beldame just left. A muddy path to the hut runs just under the wooden perch of the scarecrow. As you pass, the pumpkin head turns towards you and follows you along. It twists completely about to track you all the way to the door.
The hut is a simple, one-roomed affair. It's about 20' in diameter with a dirt floor and a thatched roof. The rafters are hung with dried herbs and swamp-weeds, while a bubbling cauldron hangs over a firepit in the center of the room. The Old Beldame sits on a old wooden stool on the far side of the door, feeding niblets to a large black crow perched on her arm.
"Come in, come in! I do not have furnishings fitting those of such high esteem as the Viscountess and her lack...her 'friends'..." At this the old woman cackles gleefully. "but please make yourselves at home."
Gavriil watches the back and forth with a smirk on his face. Why do we always find the crazy ones? he thinks as he strolls along with the others towards the house. The eerie scarecrow following their every move made his smirk even larger. It was as if they had stepped into a fairy tale from his childhood. Hans and Grettova from the famous Issian fable writers, the Brothers Grimmosky. Luckily, the house didn't look good enough to eat, and they weren't lost little children.
Once inside, Gavriil leaned against the door-frame leading outside and glanced around the entirety of the house, for it was only one room. The filth and hanging herbs, the bubbling cauldron in the middle of the room, even the crone siting before them made Gavriil bite his tongue to stop from laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation. Yup, Nora, were're definitely not in Fairhaven anymore, he thinks.
He eyes the old crone and says with a smile on his face, "You have a lovely home, Belledame, and that trick with the scarecrow is quite a show. But this lackey has a question, if you'll amuse me. Why do you live all the way out here in the swamp? Surely, someone with your herbal knowledge could set herself up pretty well closer to civilization and be pretty well off."
Urgently Dregan whispers through gritted teeth. "Stay back, who know what foul magics she has on her hut and garden. I've never heard of any of the children she take getting away, that for sure."
Vosil rolls his eyes. "I expect you probably think the Sczarni steal children away, too?" He sighs. "I like you Dregan, truly I do: you're an excellent shot, a cool head under fire, and an all-round good-hearted sort of chap - but why not leave the critical thinking to those of us who are trained in it, hmm?"
Even at the best of times, Vosil has limited patience with bucolic simplicity - and, with swamp-water sloshing around on the inside of his boots, these are definitely the best of times.
Talia nods, following Gavriil's line of thinking.
"And you're obviously someone of no small power. The scarecrow outside says as much. One can only assume you'd prefer to be out here." Talia's mind wanders briefly to Oleg and Svetlana's rejection of her offer, a small frown crossing the royal's face.
"It seems a fine place to get lost."
Dregan is obviously hurt by Vosil words his posture goes from alert to slumped and dejected and mumbles "Yeah I know I'm not the smartest, sorry."
However when the scarecrow's pumpkin head spins he jumps back and fires two arrows into it with so much force that they end up poking out the far side. Once he had a moment to see what had moved his normal calm exterior is wiped away and replaced with anger turning on Vosil he shouts "F%#* your critical thinking and f~#+ your training. This woman is a witch, she'll kill us all if she gets the chance and you are going to walk in and let here just cause you are too good to hear what us dumb rural folk know."
Notching another arrow Dregan runs up the remainder of the path.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Gavriil wheels around on his heels after Dregan's blow-up. He shoots a dark look at both Dregan and Vosil for a moment. He snatches Dregan by the collar as the huntsman rushes past him with an arrow notched. He gives a flash of a smile back to Belledame followed by, "If you'll excuse us lackeys for a moment, we need a refresher on manners!"
Turning once again to Dregan and Vosil, the smile is gone. He drags Dregan by the collar to Vosil and then harshly whispers, "I don't know what crawled in either of your boots this morning, but you need to get them out now. This is not the time, nor the place for this. Vosil, as much as I enjoy the humor of your silver tongue, I think it would be best if you bit it just this one time, lest Dregan here cuts it off with the knife I provide him. You should look to you training in thinking and maybe use it before you speak ill towards a fellow council member.
"And you," he turns to Dregan, "need to calm down. I admit caution is probably best right now, but we are not going to burn a woman who has done nothing to us at the stake on the word of children's stories. There have been plenty of monsters we have met in these wilds that turned out to be friends. Need I remind you of Kaalib? Not every shadow hides a monster waiting to snatch you up and eat you."
He lets out a long sigh and rubs at his eyes, "Now, I'm going to level with you both. I'm tired, I'm cold, and I have mud in places that no man should ever have to endure. I don't know about you two, but I want a warm place to sleep tonight. And if either one of you ruins the my chances of that, I swear to the gods that I will play the most gods awful songs and sing off key until your ears bleed and you'll be begging Talia to have you put to death. So, we proceed with caution, for we don't know much but rumors about this woman, but we remain civil. There is no need to strike out unless she gives us cause."
With that he turns to walk the rest of the way to the hut alongside Edric. He leans over to the Paladin and whispers, "I'm leaving you in charge of them. If either one decides to open their mouths at the wrong time or tries to use the woman as a pincushion, you knock them upside the head with your hammer."