It had been several weeks since the messengers had visited Álainn and Trai’eltharian. Both of our heroes had been visited by animal messengers during their journeys, screech owls who each bore rolled up notes, tied closed with animal sinew. The messages are addressed to Álainn and Trai’eltharian respectively, and read as follows:
The Stolen Lands are in danger. Strange winds are blowing, and the barriers between Golarion and the First World are growing thin and gauzy. I believe that you are somehow connected, though I know not how.
What's more, the humans to the north in Brevoy are planning something in the Stolen Lands. I believe that they will soon make a move. If a new power is to rise in the Stolen Lands, I believe that it would be better if it were led by those who revere nature, rather than plan to exploit it. At the same time, some aspects of nature are crueler than others. A balance must be struck.
I cannot help you more than suggest that you meet at the ruined dwarf fortress where the South Rostland road turns east. There is another like you who will meet you there, and I am gathering the aid of others as well to send to join you.
I understand that you may not trust me, the writer of this message, but I am forbidden to tell you more. Just know that great things are expected from you, and I believe that your destiny begins now.
And so the two traveled, and as fate would have it the two arrived at the ruined fort within minutes of one another.
The place appears to be long-abandoned, but there are foundations in place that form a rectangle 140 feet by 110 feet, with earthworks in place such that it would be perfect for constructing a wooden palisade, which must have once been here. Four watchtowers are still partially standing, and rusty, broken old ballistas sit in each. But for now, tall grass and weeds grow throughout.
Trai’eltharian arrived first, but he didn't have to wait long before he saw another figure coming down the road.
Trai’eltharian stood near one of the watch towers, quietly taking in what remained of the fortification. His wolf sat calmly beside him while his horse grazed in the grasses.
Good riddance. Dwarves have no respect for the land, only what they can dig out of it.
As another approached, he shifted his bow to his left hand, freeing his right to grab an arrow if need be. He gave the wolf a command in Elven to remain at his side, but otherwise kept a keen eye on the approaching figure.
Álainn wanders down the road as the ruined fortress rises from the horizon ahead. The screech owl, a new friend, had departed a few miles back and she was feeling distinctly lonely by the time she arrived. Places like this are always so quiet, living things never like to sit in the same place as the dead...
Entering the ruined walls and catching sight of a familiar face Álainn pauses for a moment, trying to remember the elf in front of her. "Trail-therin? It's been some time." She approaches with her hand outstretched, apparently unphased by the wolf. "And you must be Trail's friend. You are lovely aren't you?"
Seeing Álainn approach, Trai’eltharian relaxes his arm ever so slightly. ”Álainn. Surprised to see you still alive.”
He shakes the man’s hand briefly, but when they step towards the wolf, the canine growls. ”Mind the wolf, it is no pet, nor tame. He is free and as wild as the Narlmarches themselves.”
"Oh don't be like that. You're a good boy aren't you?" Álainn responds, scratching the wolf behind the ears with a wide grin.
The wolf rolls over to be petted like a large puppy. Álainn is delighted to oblige and gives the wolf an enthusiastic belly rub.
"See, lovely! Just like the Narlmarches really."
Trai’eltharian looks at the wolf with a scowl. ”Push over,” he says.
He gives Álainn a moment before asking ”So what brings you here? Certainly not the scenery.”
It is a beautiful summer's day in the Greenbelt. Bullfrogs call from a pond about a quarter mile off, but otherwise songbirds and a few crickets are the only sounds to be heard, other than perhaps the breeze over the tall grass.
"I got a mysterious letter." Álainn replies. "I assume you did too since the sender says there would be someone else there. So what do you think about all this? Humans coming south from Brevoy and the walls to the First World wearing thin - it sounds almost exciting." Her teeth flash white, even and ever so slightly pointed?
"Still that's not an awful lot of help. We're here - so what happens now?"
Trai’eltharian arches an eyebrow at Álainn. ”I think it a tragedy. Humans only want to control their surroundings and bend nature to their will very few respect nature as it deserves. And while First Worlders sometimes have respect for the wilds, not all do so properly.”
He looks towards the direction of the croaking frogs. ”If the Brevish have their way, songs like that will be pushed aside for the revelry of taverns and beer halls...”
As the acquaintances reacquaint, a few hours pass, and evening draws near, though sunset will not come for a few hours more. By and by, you see what appears to be a covered wagon coming down the road from the north. It is still probably half a mile away.
Trai’eltharian nods his head towards the approaching wagon. ”More friends of this mystery messenger, or a first wave of these settlers?”
"Let's go ask them!" Álainn suggests, striding towards the fortress exit and the road. "Fastest way to find out!"
Trai’eltharien puts a hand out and stops Álainn. ”I wager it’s that naive attitude that forced me to save you from those bandits once before. Get down and keep an eye out, and we will learn the nature and intentions of these travelers soon enough.”
He then ducks behind one of the broke down towers and looks through the slats to observe the approaching wagon.
Álainn rolls her eyes at Trail's caution. "I was doing fine with those bandits thank you. It was all under control. But fine." She ceases her movement towards the road, but makes no effort to hide, instead taking up a relaxed posture on the broken wall, taking a moment to loose her bound hair and belt her waist more tightly.
As the cart approaches she calls out cheerfully. "Greetings traveller."
-5 for being distracted; they are talking eagerly as they approach and paying no attention
-2 for the loud wagon
As the wagon approaches, you can see more clearly that it being pulled by two horses and driven by a man, with a woman beside him. They seem completely surprised when Álainn steps out, and he pulls up on the reins, stopping the wagon.
"By the demons of Sarkoris!" cries the man, in the thickly Iobarian-accented Common spoken in Brevoy. "Who the hell are you?"
The woman grabs the man's shoulder to calm him and says to him, "Oleg, please, be courteous." She glances down at Álainn's crossbow warily. "We don't know who we're dealing with here. I've heard there are bandits in these parts." She looks to Álainn quizzically.
The man appears to calm slightly, and even smiles, sideways.
"Who the hell are you, if you please?" he says, and his wife puts her palm to her face.
”ሰፋሪዎች...” Trai’eltharian mutters as he relaxes and steps out from behind the tower, the wolf remaining by his side.
”She is right. There are bandits out here. It would be best if you returned to Brevoy before they find you and take advantage of your lack in defenses,” he says as he steps into view.
Álainn grins widely, seemingly delighted by the man's rudeness - although she promptly speaks right past Oleg and addresses Svetlana.
"My name is Álainn, and this is Trail'therin. We too are travelers in these parts. We mean no harm, and don't mind the wolf - he's not as ferocious as he seems. I am interested in why you are here though - this is an abandoned area for a reason. My friend is right, there are many bandits in this area and you risk a lot, out here alone."
The woman nods, looks at Oleg, and rolls her eyes. "Oleg tires of crowded Brevish frontier. He applies for charter to set up trading post in this place. Hunters and trappers already come here, and work these lands. The government in New Stetven grants us permission to come here and do what we will, so long as we pay taxes."
She hesitates. "Rumor has it that soon they will be opening Stolen Lands to everyone in Brevoy, and we wanted to...how do you say it...'get in on the ground floor.'"
Oleg nods, seemingly glad to let his wife be their spokeswoman.
She continues, "Well met, Álainn and Trail'therin. I suppose we will be neighbors. I hope you enjoy borscht. In fact, we must get a camp going. Will you stay with us tonight for dinner?"
Trai’eltharian scowls first at Álainn, then to the pair of settlers. ”My name is Trai’eltharian. But if you have trouble speaking an Elven dialect, Trai’el will suffice. These lands are wilderness, no one has claim to them, so it is bold of your northern liege to treat them so dismissively.”
Trai’eltharian looks to the skies and position of the sun. ”I suppose camp is soon becoming a necessity, but I strongly suggest you abandon your planned expansion by dawn. These lands are far too perilous for untrained settlers to seek a new start...”
Oleg scoffs. "I'm not going nowhere. I paid good money in bribes to get charter. Lots of people trying to get charter. If it wasn't Oleg, it would be Svan or Vladimar. Oleg is not untrained. I've built homestead twice, and I have plans to make this a strong place indeed."
He looks around at the wilderness for a moment, and takes a deep breath. "Look at these lands. Wilderness, yes, but beautiful. Oleg cannot live in the crowded north any longer. Oleg will live here, and die here if he must."
"Oleg, don't be stupid, you're making the kind elf angry. If you die here, I'll kill you," says Svetlana.
"No need for killing." Álainn offers, shrugging off Trai'els scowl. "We can all camp here tonight and discuss next moves in the morning."
She lights a fire with a flick of her fingers, and moves to help Svetlana with dinner. As she does so, one of the elaborate tattoo's, a tree-like figure that decorates her arm climbs off her skin and trundles off around the ruin, collecting sticks and other firewood - although it avoids going too close to the flame itself. Álainn pets it absentmindedly as she cooks.
Trai’el scoffs at Álainn’s continued naïveté. ”You endanger them, Álainn. Convincing them to return home would be a mercy compared to what the Stag Lord’s men will do to them.”
__________
He moves away from the camp a bit and sits on the ground, legs crossed. He places his hands on the earth and closes his eyes. His wolf moves with him, calmly laying down in the grass.
Trai’el scoffs at Álainn’s continued naïveté. ”You endanger them, Álainn. Convincing them to return home would be a mercy compared to what the Stag Lord’s men will do to them.”
"You think about that man far too much, Trai'el." Álainn responds. "If we offer these fine people a little help starting out then I see no problem." The conversation ends there for the moment, but when Álainn brings Trai'el a bowl of stew and borscht, she continues in a quieter voice. "Besides - if the humans really are coming from Brevoy, better that the ones already here are favourable to us and our cause - rather than hostile.
The following animals can be found in the Stolen Lands: badgers, bats (and dire bats), bears, birds (including eagles, hawks, owls and many others), boars, cats (big or small, I'm imagining probably like a bobcat, and some kind of cougar similar to the Varisian firepelt), crocodiles (blood caimans), dogs, frogs (including giant frogs), horses, hooved mammals (including deer and elk), mastadons, monitor lizards (narlmarch muggers), ponies, rats (and dire rats), snakes (various vipers), thylacines, wolverines, and wolves.
The humans, who you learn are named fully Oleg and Svetlana Leveton, prove to be capable campers. Svetlana gathers kindling and her husband pulls down dead branches and gathers fallen logs for firewood. Together they set up a large tent in the center of the ruins, and build a fire nearby. Oleg sets to work digging a latrine while Svetlana cooks.
The borscht she prepares is delicious. The Levetons are friendly but cautious, and as the evening continues you both catch snippets of hushed conversations between the two, about whether they should stay or go.
”It would be better if they didn’t come at all,” Trai’el mutters under his breath. He stands, deciding not to bother nature’s denizens at this time. ”I’m going to take a watch. Keep an eye out for more...friends...”
Trai’eltharian takes first watch, and eventually Oleg, Svetlana, and even Álainn go to sleep. The night wears on, a crescent moon rising in the clear summer sky.
220 ft.
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Nearing the end of his watch, as the elf was about to go wake Álainn, his wolf's fur bristles, and the beast seems to perceive something approaching from the west. The wolf looks more curious than cautious, as if what he smells is faintly familiar but not attached to a threat.
Álainn sleeps on, peacefully.
Trai’eltharian moves over and nudges Álainn, placing a hand calmly over his mouth and raising a finger to his own lips. He then points towards the potential threat and then moves to get a better look.
100 ft.
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Trai’el and Álainn make their way over to the vantage point where the elf and his wolf had been keeping watch. They look to the high grass to the west, and see a small figure, maybe 3 to 4 feet tall, the size of a human child, or maybe a halfling. The wolf begins to relax somewhat, as it would seem he got an even better look at what it was.
Whatever the creature is, it doesn't seem to have noticed that you've seen it, as it continues to carefully creep across the field at a rate of about 20 feet every six seconds.
Trai’eltharian relaxes a bit and rises up out of the grass. ”Make your presence and purpose known,” he says clalmly but forcefully.
Álainn waits, letting Trai'el lead this particular moment. She gestures towards the creature and takes a cautious step or two, trying to close the distance between them.
The creature stops moving, lying completely flat on the ground for a moment, then slowly lifting it's head. It then stands, and steps out where you can see it clearly about 60 feet away. It is a male gnome, standing about 3'8". He has green hair, and is wearing a strange outfit cobbled together from furs, hides, bones, and feathers of numerous creatures, as well as tough looking leather armor. He is carrying a quarterstaff, and a sling hangs from a rope belt.
He seems to possibly be a shaman of some kind. Both of you have sometimes encountered gnomes in these lands, and there are rumors of entire communities of shamanistic gnomes in several of the woodlands around here. Following him, a small rabbit, or perhaps a hare, hops out of the grass as well.
"Uh, hello there," he calls out, in Common. "My name is Enack Gensid, shaman of the Wumack people of the Embeth Forest. This is my presence, and my purpose is to escape the maws of the two wolves that have been tracking me and Clarna for the last mile. I think they're sick, or old, or both, but either way they'd gobble us both up if they caught us." He says all of this very quickly, barely taking a breath, but then hesistates before he continues, as if considering. "Oh, by the way, are either of you the ri-rion of the Faeries?"
Both of you recognize the strange term ri-rion as some apparently archaic word in Sylvan, but you think it means ruler.
”No,” Trai’eltharian says, ”I am no Ri-rion. But these wolves sound like they need to be tended to. I shall deal with them. How far behind you were they?”
The gnome hurries over to you, and says, "They couldn't be far behind me." And sure enough, you soon (within half a minute) spot them creeping forward. They are about 70 feet away.
220 ft.
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70 ft.
"I used most of my magic trying to get away, but I can help a little," says Enack, raising his arms to the sky as if in prayer "Oh almighty shapers, who made the world before worlds, bless us now and grant us blood."
"Maybe." Álainn responds, rather taken by the idea. Sadly, another more immediate problem presents itself. Murmuring a word Álainn raises her arms and the stars seem to shimmer for a moment, settling around her before vanishing.
”Try not to kill them, they are simply acting according to their nature,” Trai’eltharian says as he works magic of his own. The grass itself begins whipping about the wolves, attempting to bind them and hold them in place.
You can tell that these wolves are both rather old, and seem to be on their last leg. They were probably driven from the pack due to their weakness, and now they are sickly from malnourishment.
The wolves are able to avoid the enchanted plants and are not entangled in the tall grass.
Trai’eltharian studies the wolves closely. But through the whipping grass he doesn’t get a good enough look at them. He knocks an arrow and readies to fire in case they press the attack.
"They're both old." Álainn responds. "Driven from the pack I imagine. Death might be the kindest thing for them.
With Trai'els spell not holding them Álainn tosses a patch of grease between the wolves and the group - hoping that will do a better job.
"Good eye," Trai'eltharian replies to Álainn. "In that case, nature is already taking its course on their end. Let us put them to rest so that they do not need to suffer."
He fires an arrow, but it doesn't fly straight through the wriggling grasses.
The wolves move forward, slowed by the writhing grasses, and get to the edge of Álainn's grease puddle before one of the wolves is finally entangled by the ornery plants. The other remains nimble enough to avoid that fate.
The gnome draws his sling, and loads a bullet in it.
Trai’eltharian tosses his bow behind him, and draws his Elven blade, bracing for an attack should they close in enough. The wolf at his side waits patiently by his side.
Álainn calmly steps back and reloads her crossbow, before aiming and firing at the nearest wolf.
One of the pair of wolves slips and falls in the greasy grass, but the other makes its way up to Trai’el, biting recklessly. The elf was waiting for just this moment.
Enack launches a sling bullet at the wolf that has moved up on Trai'el, missing badly, at almost the same time as the elf swings his curveblade.
Trai’el wrings his hands around the hilt of his blade tightly before slashing out with all his might twice.
__________
The elf's first blow slices into the wild canine, fatally wounding it, and the second blow grants it mercy.
Álainn crouches into a level with the prone wolf. Her face suddenly becomes menacing as her tattoo's seem to shift of their own accord, painting fearsome dark lines across her eyes and cheeks.
"Flee!" She hisses in sylvan.
The wolf doesn't flee, but it does appear to be shaken.
The old wolf attempts to stand, but fails due to the grease. It's second attempt gets it on its feet, but with great effort. But as it does, the grasses finally are able to entangle the creature.
Enack tries another sling bullet, saying "Your time has ended, old dog. Rest now!"
His sling bullet barely grazes the wolf.
12/13 HP
Entangled (half speed, cannot run or charge, –2 attack and –4 Dex)
Shaken (–2 attack, saves, skills, and ability checks)
Sickened (–2 attack, damage, saves, skills, and ability checks)
She aims and does her best to put the wolf out of its misery.