Talia nods, gritting her teeth as her wounds staunch. "Deception's Downfall is good. Thank you, Edric." Walking tenderly to her horse, the Viscountess slowly mounts Apple "The act of naming things, it is wise. Our people will remember our deeds, or enemies shall be reminded of them."
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Vosil frowns slightly as he looks at Talia limping to her horse, saying nothing. He is acutely aware of just how much of their endeavours rest on the life of this red-haired wench (young woman, he mentally corrects himself: she is, after all, soon to be married): if Dregan, or Gav, or Edric, or he himself, should fall, they would (he hopes) be mourned, but they can be replaced (he gives a wry smile: in his own case, Jubal would do at least as good a job).
Talia alone is utterly irreplaceable, and part of her charm is that she (mostly) fails to act like it; but the future of their tiny, preposterously improbable realm flutters with the pulse at her throat.
Enough of such thoughts; after all, there's nothing to be done about it (although he makes a mental note to double the watch set on her once they return to Concord). He forces a smile and turns towards Edric: "Deception's Downfall it is. Now, shall we away? Dregan was cooking something rather good, if memory serves."
An army marches on its stomach; and no veteran passes up the chance of food, whatever the circumstances.
Talia fidgets, uncomfortable, atop Apple, her thigh pulsing with short bursts of pain. "Yes, it did smell good. A meal will do us all good. Then, shall we move on? "
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Gavriil looks to Naralesh before looking around him into the growing darkness, "Yes, let's hope there's not a pack of them or I fear we may not have a leg to stand on."
As they move back towards camp, Gavriil nods along with the others about names. "In a lot of feytales and songs names hold power. It's only smart for us to keep a monopoly on 'em." he nods to Edric with a wry smile, [b]"And that's a good a name as I can come up with, General."
That evening Naralesh went to Talia's side to check on her healing leg at a moment the two could have a quiet conversation. "Is your wound alright?" he inquires. "I didn't want to raise a fuss in front of everyone, but I wanted to be sure you were alright. That was a daring strike you made," he said with a smile.
30 Neth 4708
The hills of the Kamelands continue here, south of the Tuskwater. It is bitter cold under the gray skies of the Stolen Lands.
1 Kuthona 4708
More hills. The Kamelands roll along the southern shore of the lake here, an idyllic winter scene. But if you've learned anything about the Stolen Lands, it's that they are always unpredictable...
A strange, 20-foot-wide pool of bubbling mud sits in a narrow defile between several snow-covered hills here. Large mounds of fungus and strange mushrooms thrive on the mud bowl’s banks, and in the noxious air, several of the fungi grow to heights of 10 feet or more.
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After a day or so of trudging through the snow, Vosil stares in bemusement at the hot, bubbling mud and the noxious steam rising from it.
"South of here, there is a bubbling hole of mud. Filled with noxious gas and fungus, the mudhole is home to a certain type of mushroom - the black rattlecap. I will tell you what I know of the surrounding area, if you promise to bring me a bushel or two of those mushrooms."
"This would seem to be the area the Old Beldame spoke of - she said there are black rattlecaps to be found. I wonder what else can be found here..."
Gavriil pulls his horse up next to Vosil's and nods, "It does seem like her kind of place. Do we know anything about these things we're getting her? I'd rather not try picking up a flesh eating fungus for the old woman." While the intellectuals rack their brains and books, Gavriil keeps an eye out around them.
Gavriil pulls his horse up next to Vosil's and nods, "It does seem like her kind of place. Do we know anything about these things we're getting her? I'd rather not try picking up a flesh eating fungus for the old woman." While the intellectuals rack their brains and books, Gavriil keeps an eye out around them.
"True." Vosil nods. The old woman didn't strike him exactly as malicious, but he wouldn't be surprised if her attitude on sending them into danger was a shrug and a philosophical 'If they can't handle it, they've got no business being out there in the first place.'
"Perhaps it would behove us to be cautious." Reaching into his saddlebags, Vosil extracts a somewhat dog-eared Pathfinder Chronicle (titled Natural Selections: Monographs on the Flora & Fauna of Golarion, Edited by Archels Beagle) and leafs carefully through the pages.
Vosil reads, while Gav and Edric watch.
Vosil reacts with complete lack of surprise at Edric's warning. "Well, that figures - apparently these environs attract things that feed on the mushrooms, as well as things that feed on the things that feed on the mushrooms..." He gives a small smile.
"O, the naturalists say
That small things do on mushrooms prey
They in turn have bigger things to bite 'em
And so proceed ad infinitum."
He closes the Chronicle with a snap and returns it to his saddlebag, drawing his bow. "Let us be careful."
Whatever it was, it's no longer moving, and it's near invisible among the massive fungi. Perhaps the pungent odor coming from the mud bowl has caused Edric to see things?
Gavriil slides off his horse and draws his rapier. He doesn't see any movement at all, let alone something large coming for them. Maybe Edric was seeing demons where there aren't any again. He glances to Vosil and says, "The poetry is a nice touch, but the fungi. Is it dangerous? I'd rather we get what we're here for and get going. I'd rather face the cold than stay here much longer..."
Gavriil begins to slowly move closer to the bog, making sure to keep his rapier out and an eye out for anything. Even if Edric's mind was tricking him again, he'd rather be safe than sorry.
"Hold it, Gav. Not so fast." Vosil is thinking. That wandering into danger thing might have been OK a year ago, but they have responsibilities now. Oh, and better magic.
"Nara, can you cast that acceleration spell again? It would be nice to have it active before trouble starts. Also, can you summon something to perform some reconnaissance for us? Or at the very least, act as bait: if there is a predator down there, I'd rather it prey on something that is not us."
Gavriil turns around to throw a witty retort Vosil's way...but he never gets a chance to speak. The mud of the bog explodes outward as two immense tentacles burst from the bog and lash out at him!
Even caught by surprise, Gav manages to duck one of the tentacles, but the second one strikes with terrible force. The vine-like appendage wraps around his torso, and you can hear the sound of his ribcage cracking...
Vosil raises a slightly peeved eyebrow: "Gav, what did I just say about predators? In poetry form, no less? No, don't try to answer, you'll only drive a rib into your lungs."
He draws an arrow back, waiting to see if Naralesh will cast some helpful magic before he opens fire. In the meantime he tries to identify the creature.
Naralesh sees Vosil draw his arrow in anticipation, ready to fire once his magic takes effect. Happy to oblige, he quickly casts his temporal magic, imbuing the Council members with magical haste.
Naralesh also attempts to recall what he may know of this beast.
Gavriil feels the vine whip around him before he can see it coming. The thrashing vine takes his breath away, stifling the remark back to Vosil and giving him a few broken ribs in the process. He fights to wriggle himself free of the creature's grasp, while sending a slew of curses towards Vosil that get broken down into gasps and grunts as the Scoundrel of the Greenbelt fights for air.
The spell is exhilarating, like an ultra-shot of the blackest Osirian coffee, or perhaps even one of the stimulants from the Katapesh markets. Everything is that bit more sharply-defined, crisper, clearer - and slightly slower.
Or maybe he is just faster.
Vosil steps back slightly to put a little more distance between the thing and him; and sights along the arrow, trying to remember his lessons from the last six months. Dregan was his usual taciturn self, confining his teaching to the obvious: 'Fire the pointy end into the enemy.'
He does his best to do just that.
Gav struggles mightily, but as slippery as the Scoundrel has been before, this is not the back door of some minor noble's wife's boudoir. He's going nowhere.
Vosil's training serves him well. Three shots, three solid hits.
The vine like appendages writhe and twist in apparent pain at Vosil's attack. In response, the long viney tentacle that holds Gav yanks him backward and into the great maw that opens up in it's torso. The maw snaps shut, and to add to the horror, some of the damage inflicted on it begins to heal....and the thing lurches forward to bring you all within its reach.
It all happened so quick. One second, they were standing at the edge of a mud pond, the next, Gavriil was being drug into the mud by some large tentacled... plant?
Talia stood stunned as Vosil and Naralesh sprung into action, and Gavrill struggled mightily - and with futility - against the creature.
Cursing, Talia shook herself into action. Removing a pat of butter from her spell pouch, the Viscountess made a gesture and the Scoundrel of the Greenbelt's armor became slick with a coating of grease.
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Gavriil' muffled attempts to tell Vosil off quickly turn into muffled grunt and gasps of horror as the plant draws him toward its maw. He struggles and writhes in the vines, trying to force his way out of the creature's grasp, but it holds true. Gavriil takes one last gasp of air in as the plant's maw closes over him, drenching him in darkness and juices.
There is a brief moment of panick as the digestive juices inside the plant burn away at him. But then he realizes that he still holds his rapier in his hand. No, no, NO! Not like this! he thinks as he frantically moves his wrist, trying to cut his way out of the belly of the beast...
Gav stabs and hacks away at the plant's insides, cutting his way free! The Scoundrel of the Greenbelt is cast face down in the mud, covered in steaming muck and digestive juices.
It all happened so quick. One second, they were standing at the edge of a mud pond, the next, Gavriil was being drug into the mud by some large tentacled... plant?
Talia stood stunned as Vosil and Naralesh sprung into action, and Gavrill struggled mightily - and with futility - against the creature, getting absorbed. Still Talia stood, her mind turning and turning, like a wagon wheel stuck in mud, her body frozen, like that same wheel's wagon.
Seconds stretched into hours, it seemed. Talia's jaw hung slightly open. And then, like a newborn calf being pushed into the world, Gavriil emerged from the plant, landing face down in the mud!
Cursing, Talia shakes herself into action. Pulling a pat of butter from her spell pouch, the Viscountess gestures and the Scoundrel of the Greenbelt's armor slicks with a coating of grease.
Still at the same high speed, Vosil steps back smartly before drawing more arrows and firing at the plant thing.
"It's a tendriculos!" Naralesh cries as he finishes his spellcasting. "Bludgeoning weapons and fire will slow its healing. I'll take care of the latter." His eyes narrow as he concentrates on the forces of elemental flame, and conjures a trio of blazing beings, surrounding the creature. Two flank its sides with one another, and one flanks with the sticky Gavriil.
Vosil's arrows stagger the 'tendriculos', causing it to stumble forward a step. Then the fire elementals set it ablaze, ending its existence.
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Gavriil lays in the mud for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and failing because of the noxious gases mixed with whatever is clinging to him from whatever was inside the plant thing. He slowly picks himself up out of the mud bowl and collapses on the ground near the others. He sucks in as much fresh air as his cracked ribs will allow and says to no one in particular, "I thought they smelled bad," he winces and trails off as he takes in another lung full of air and expells it in a tired sigh, "...on the outside."
He rolls over and looks at Talia, "Thanks for the slippery help, but I think you owe me a new set of clothes. These stains are never going to come out..."
There's an Old Ustalavic word for deriving satisfaction from the misfortune of others. Vosil can't quite recall it right now, but it's on the tip of his tongue.
It tastes sweet, like honey. "Never let it be said that Gav refuses to get his hands dirty. Also, the rest of him."
He looks quizzically at the Scoundrel of the Greenbelt as he pulls himself out of the mud cauldron: "I don't suppose you spotted any black rattlecap mushrooms while you were down there...?"
Talia smiles and with a wiggle of her fingers and short, curt syllable, the muck and grease lift from Gavriil's clothes. "It's a simple glamer, used for cleaning sets and clothes during particularly gory productions. You'll look like a finely pressed dandy in no time. Perhaps I missed my calling."
"Edric, however, should probably see to your wounds."
Looking about, Talia frowns. How would one find fine black mushrooms among all this muck?
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There are indeed Black Rattlecap mushrooms here in this noxious bog, and after an hour of slogging through the nasty pit to gather them, you have two dozen for the Swamp Witch.
Gavriil grunts in pain as Edric touches him before feeling the healing magic course through him, popping his bones back into place. He levels his gaze on Talia and says, "You may be right. And Edric should have been a nurse."