Bastagar comes to, seemingly in shock, murmering to himself as his eyes begin to focus. "A death by wood and iron, alone in the cold. No hearth-death, no straw-death, no wither-death for Bastagar. A better fate than madness, yes." he says, almost incoherently, as Olaf sets him on his feet. He sways slightly, falling into Hilde's arms, blinking. "But Bastagar stirs?"
As Hilde scoops him up, he squirms in her arms, leaping free and landing spryly on his feet, puffing himself up like an over-proud bird. He seems to creak as he stands upright, snapping his dislocated fingers into place with a loud crack. "Fit as a fiddle, Bastagar is!" he manages, sounding surprised. "Takes more than that to kill an old gnome. Lady should not worry." he says, fumbling with his already crooked nose and setting it back into place. He stares wide-eyed at Olaf, a curious expression on his face, uncertain what has transpired.
Nodding as Olaf speaks, he begins to hobble down the path, struggling only a little to find his footing. "Give it a whack, he says." he mutters toward Caerb, although without much malice. "See if Bastagar listens to it again." he reaches Kelgar's side and begins to help him search, ignoring the Halfhand's presence. ( ) Noticing Kelgar's cracked rib he fumbles in his pack, revealing a white, twisted branch that Hilde and Caerb would recognise as belonging to a dryad's heart-tree. He closes his eyes, muttering, and the branch sprouts blood-red berries that drop into the palm of his outstretched hand. "For the pain, yes." he says as he offers them to the Dwarf. "Eat, eat."
Cearb laughes, "You should have whacked it harder, got to hit it before it hits you, and when trees come to hit you...duck, or you will see the banshee again, you must have got a lump, because when Princess picks you up, you do not wriggle like a worm in a beak, you should...well ifs I tell you, it would be wasted on ya. "
"She has the air of the old powers about her." he says, gravely. "Clankyboots should speak with more respect, he should." he says, waggling a finger chidingly. "Besides. Already married Bastagar is, yes."
Olaf nods to Halfhand.
"Of course, I would be happy to talk with you further, once we have a chance."
Kelgar smooths his hair back as the Halfhand issues him a relative compliment.
"Tougher than th' wee ones? Ah'm a dwarf, of course ah'm tougher. Ol' Kelgar Frostbeard wasn't just born yesteryear. Ah'll 'ave you know I was practicin' wit me axe the day Queen Elvanna took th' throne in Irrisen, I was!"
The Halfhand seems pleased with the response, giving a single nod in reply. "I had forgotten just how long the lives of dwarves were. I look forward to witnessing the breadth of your experience."
He looks over to the chest, scratching his beard idly. "Has your search revealed anything?"
"And how many winters has it seen?" he asks the dwarf, gravely. "...and any quite like this? Not natural Bastagar says. Not in Southmoor, no."
Bastagar clutches his treasured branch to his chest and casts goodberry once more, shoveling the berries into his mouth, red juice running down his lips and staining his moustache the colour of blood.
Hilde beams knowing that Bastagar is able to continue on his own. She is ready to set off immediately then.
Kelgar clears away some of the snow around the buried baggage and notes that it matches the carriage that was left broken behind you. Noting also that the chest is half-buried in the earth he carefully lifts it... wary of more surprises and finds that the earth beneath it is further churned. Moving the chest to one side reveals a small trove of equipment buried int he earth.
Cearb glances in the chest, "No wonder they leave it, little use to Fey, little use to the guards by the looks of it, doesn't protect against ice death, they keep anything that sparkles..."
"A chill in Bastagar's bones, yes." he says weakly as he works, teeth chattering despite his many layers of filched clothing and a thick, manky pelt about his shoulders. As they uncover the chest Bastagar smiles. "We knew there were more secrets here. Bastagar knew, yes." he says, picking out the dagger and turning it over in his hands, clutching it covetously to his chest.
"Bah, that knife is the size of my boots, good for swinging about, but iff'n you want to be serious about stabbing, well then you can get no better advice, here, this will do ya for when the Lost Ones come a creeping again, not to have worries, I has many more." Cearb pulls a small blade from his boot and offers it to Bastagar.
Cold
Perception
The Halfhand braves the weather unflinchingly, not even sparing a single shiver to the icy wind.
Olaf looks at the cache with an appraising eye.
"I could use that chain armor."
Bastagar accepts the smaller blade gratefully, relinquishing his larger, well polished prize. Tucking it into his belt, Bastagar looks concerned that he has nothing to offer in return. Brightening up, he presses a brass button into Caerb's hands. It seems to have been polished multiple times, but is otherwise unremarkable. "Much obliged this one is. Bastagar has a token for you, too!"
"Living men seldom miss their treasures." he says to Olaf with a sly wink. "And dying men never do. Their spirits are at rest, and warded by forest's edge. Take it, yes."
Kelgar Perception:
As the bitingly cold wind and prevalence of snow begin to take their toll on some of your company you nevertheless continue onwards. The snow becomes increasingly deep in this part of the forest, where a windswept gully carves a path through a tree-covered ridge. A soft cascade of snow falls from an overhead branch, hissing softly as it strikes the ground.
You begin to ford the thigh deep (to humans) or chest deep (to gnomes) snow forcing your way through the gully. When you are halfway across a flash of movement breaks through the snowbank at your left and a white colored serpentine creature with the head of a ferocious dragon and
two relatively small forearms that end in tiny claws. It lunges at Halfhand with it's toothy maw...
Charging Bite:
...though it's charge is ill timed and Halfhand is able to bat it away.
Hilde:
Caerb:
Bastagar:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Olaf:
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Olaf, Kelgar, Bastagar, Caerb, Hilde, Tatzylwyrm
Olaf lets out a loud Ulfen battle cry, moves over, and takes a mighty swing at the 'dragon'...
The Halfhand pushes the creature's snapping jaws back with his hand, letting out a savage roar. "Damnable wretch!"
Holding the creature back with one hand, he bunches his fist, barking the beginnings of a dark chant. Even through the wind and snow, his booming voice echoes in infernal as the dancing shadows begin to swarm and take shape. With a final harsh syllable he swings his hand forward, the sound of buzzing wings filling the air as the shadows roar up towards the creature's face like a swarm of locusts.
Will Save:
The serpentine creature hisses and writhes as the shadows flow over it's form... but it's will is unbowed.
The Halfhand grits his teeth as the spell fails to take hold, but he's not fool enough to let that slow him down. Taking the momentary distraction, he quickly swings his shield around, raising it in front of him. "What are you waiting for?" He yells, eyes darting about to his companions. "Cut the beast down!"
Ormr swings back and forth, barely keeping a grip on the fox pelt as its master jerks about. As he readies his shield, the weasel quickly burrows itself into his coat.
The Halfhand's form flickers as he briefly turns into a flurry of insubstantial shadows, quickly darting away from the creature before reforming in the snow out of the creature's reach. The magic seems to take a toll on him, his breathing becoming ragged and sweat forming on his brow as he recovers.
Uncovering the hidden cache, Kelgar strokes his beard thoughtfully.
"Aha! 'Ere's why th' bastards trapped the glade. Lads, grab anything ye can use. I'm sure th' lady wouldn't mind as it's bein' used fer her savin' n' such."
Anything not grabbed, Kelgar will put into the chest and drag some distance away from this glade, covering the chest again with snow and leaving a marker. He'll then attempt to cover their tracks. He figures it's best if bandits return that they can't find this stash.
He'll grab a spear to use in the snow as a "walking stick" and swing a crossbow and some bolts onto his body (since he's already barely getting into medium encumbrance and is a dwarf) unless both are claimed by others.
**
As his companions continue through the freezing cold, Kelgar continues to mutter to himself, his warm breath clearly visible to those nearby.
Seeing the others sometimes stepping where they should not, he chatters through his teeth what wisdom he can share.
"No, not there! Stay on this side o'th wind ye daft gnome!"
Bastagar gingerly places Caerb's knife between his chattering teeth, shoveling through the snow with both hands toward the creature.
Edit: Thank you, Kelgar!
As the draconic creature bursts from the snow at the Halfhalf, the old dwarf cannot stop himself from cursing their continued ill luck under his breath.
"If it be some sort o' dragon-kind, ah dun recommend standin' too close t' it!"
Muttering to himself something about the cold, the snow, and having stubby legs, Kelgar looks at the spear in his hand and decides his best course of action is to hurl it at the creature while wading through the snow.
for
Kelgar Status:
HP: 6/12
AC: 19 (T11 FF18 CMD13)
Spells:
1) 2/day - Cast 1 CLW
Judgement Left: 1/1
"Hold, Hold!" the gnome cries, shrill and chirpy. "A wise man keeps his head down, lest he get burned!" he says, grinning sinisterly as he lobs a clay jug at the creature.
Hilde will drop her shield and draw her bow. I think this will take a full round as it is not strung. She is specifically watching for more wyrms, thinking that maybe they hunt in groups and will concentrate on this, even if it means she does not get time to draw her bow.
OOC
Cearb had been grateful to be following the larger Hilde through the snow, but it still required big kicks occasionally with his boots to clear the way.
Once the action starts, he hops in place trying to see the beast better. Unable to reach to lobs a knife and jumps closer, pulling his next knife as he does so. Quite reminiscent of a fox in the snow after a buried mouse.
"Bah. Might as well be in a burrow for all I can see."
After loosing the shadow conjuration Halfhand slips away from the beast, leaving it open to Bastagar's ministrations. Olaf and Kelgar stay their arms a moment as the bleached gnome releases a pot of liquid fire unto the beast. The earthen jug breaks across the creature's flank scorching it badly, as the fire continues to burn. The heavy snow begins to melt, but the energy of the fire is spent too quickly to clear sufficient snow to make the ground more easily crossed.
Kelgar then looses his spear at the creature, piercing it low on the body - and Olaf then ploughs wholesale through the deep trough of snow to cleave the burning serpent in twain. It writhes for a few moments, half out of reflex and half as the last of the liquid fire expends upon it's form, but soon enough lies still.
Kelgar trudges through the snow over the the deceased wyrm and tugs the guard's spear free from it's fresh corpse.
"Lady Luck smiles on ye this day, 'twas just a wee runt o' a wyrm."
The old dwarf scans the surrounding area, wondering if the bandits they are pursuing ran into the same, or a similar creature, and if there would be signs of their passing - perhaps breaks in the snowdrift marking their passage.
"Best we don't dally long though, or we'll end up 'cased 'n ice like our Ulfen friend back by th'carriage..."
Olaf nods in satisfaction when the wyrm goes down.
"We work well together. If we keep this up, the Unseelie won't stand a chance against us!"
Bastagar seems perplexed at Olaf's statement. "Together? Yes, powerful allies Bastagar has found." he says, a sinister grin twitching on his face and he chuckles maliciously before starting and covering his mouth eyes darting from face to face with an apologetic look in his eyes. "Even the maimed man has powerful magics. Secrets from the Southlands. Hides it's secrets well, it does." he says, eyeing him appraisingly as he turns back to the trail.
"Grandfather Dwarf speaks much sense." he says, falling in behind him again gratefully as he bears the brunt of the wind and shovels through the snow. "A fire Bastagar wants, to dry his soaking boots, and no fires to be had here." he says, suddenly very aware that he hasn't the faintest idea how to survive a snowdrift. "Does this one know any tales? For the road?"
Hilde looks around one last time before unstringing her bow and retrieving her shield. She double checks her pack, checking the clasps to make certain she can still drop it in a hurry and prepares to set out.
The Halfhand fishes his crossbow out from its resting place atop the snow, brushing the white powder from its surface. Ormr darts down his arm as he does so, hopping across to the fallen creature. The weasel sniffs at the beast, gnawing ineffectually at the edge of its brow.
The wizard slowly follows, pushing over to it before gingerly lifting one of the worm's tiny forelimbs. "Such a pitiful creature." He shakes his head before dropping the limp arm back into the snow. "It is hard to believe the blood of dragons flows through such a thing..."
He swings his shield back behind him, its roughly carved runes leaving a faint trail as they move. "Ormr, come. Don't eat that, you don't know where it's been."
After a rudimentary inspection of the corpse and Kelgar checking for any sign of burrow (which he cannot ken) the group moves onward. Muscling through the deep snow in the ravine you emerge and continue along the path further, among the shadowed snow-laden trees and quiet cold woods. Despite your ears being open to the sound, you can ken no chirping of birds... and you soon discover perhaps a reason why...
Reaching a section of the wood you find feathered bundles and strange fetishes hanging from the lowest branches of the trees in this part of the forest, swaying and shifting in the wind. All are stuck through with small pins holding pieces of leather bound around them. There are several bundles within your near sight and the shadows in the distance through the snow suggest that there might be up to two or three dozen of them hung along the trail you are following...
Bastagar spits at the sight of the crows, but edges slowly toward them once he notices they are dead, eyeing them ponderously, drawing his long knife, he begins to cut them from their perches, reciting a rhyme from memory.
"One bring sorrow,
Two bring joy,
Three a girl
Four a boy
Five bring wanting
Six bring gold
Seven bring secrets never told..."
He stares down at the bundle of rotten birds with some satisfaction, tying them to his belt where they hand stiff and heavy in the cold. He clasps his hands together and looks grimly around at his companions, a sing song note hanging on his voice.
"Some fairie luck to borrow, from our gracious hosts,
either way we're just as like to find arrows in our throats.
In their domain we tread now, amid their trees we walk.
He that keeps his eyes closed will die and join the flock. "
He picks one of the arrows from the crows, peering at it with one eye open. "Pixies? Or worse. Bastagar is not certain." he says, staring ponderously at his find.
The wizard folds his arms, muttering the now-familiar syllables of his detection spell under his breath, scanning the area for any traces of magic as Bastagar busies himself. Even as he finishes his spell he continues his muttering, hollow eyes glancing about nervously.
Ormr sits upright at the smell of death, looking around curiously at the surroundings as it scampers to the top of the Halfhand's head.
Olaf shivers.
"The Unseelie have been busy. To destroy the natural world so, shows just how far they have become estranged from normality."
He glances around, appraisingly.
"We should be careful."
Hilde stops dead in her tracks, her head turned toward a hanging crow but her eyes vacant and staring. She scarcely seems to breathe and the little white puffs coming from her lips slow and seem to stop.
Her dead gaze shifts to Bastagar as he begins cutting down the fetishes and she slowly nods. She also whispers under her breath, though her words are slightly changed,
"One for Pain
and two for Mirth
Three for a Wedding
And four for a Birth
Five for Silver
But six for Gold
Seven for a secret
that's never been told."
Rushing forward, she continues. Yanking down crows and snapping their cords, she shouts,
"Eight for Heaven
And nine for Hell
Ten for the Old Crone,
Her hut dancing in the dell."
Falling to her knees beneath the last tree, she stares at the crow in her hand.
"Brave, I thought, to meet my Doom. My faith in steel to protect this bloom. No sunlight here, my soul to lift, for true night comes too soon, too swift."
Kelgar shuffles along through the snow, giving both Bastagar and Hilde worried glances as they begin to sing and rhyme at the dead ravens.
"It ain't right, what th' fey be doin'."
Kelgar rummages around in his pack for a few moments, and then fiddles around in his coin purse.
With a sidelong glance to the others, he tiptoes near the trees and sets out some jerky and a handful of silvers as an offering to the fey, hoping to quell their vengeful hearts from pursuing the raven-thieves that his companions have suddenly become.
"Best t'keep th' fey-folk appeased..." he mumbles to himself, before returning red-faced to the others.
Clearing his throat, he attempts to compose himself with some air of command.
"Alright, if ye're done with yer crow-cuttin', it'd be best if we don't tarry long here. Th' arrows may be small, but they could still poke out yer eye. What'd ye do if ye only had one good eye, eh?"
Reorienting himself to the trail and tracks, Kelgar begins to trudge ahead again.
After the fight, Cearb had retrieves his thrown knife. 5/6
<pfft><pfft> Cearb spits at the sight of the dangling fetishes. The intake of his breath is audible when Hilde begins cutting them down. "Crows bear Fates on inken wings, beware not to catch their Fate, best to leave them, string up the culprits,...best to leave them...best to leave them..."
He backs away from the scene, muttering, as Hilde continues to cut away at the dangling corpses. Knife in hand, his head whips about this way and that, trying to catch sight of the impending Fate.
Hilde thrashes through the snow to Bastagar's side. Throwing the three additional crows at his feet, her frantic eyes dart about, from tree to tree.
"Eight for Heaven,
And nine for Hell,
Ten for the Old Crone,
Her hut dancing in the dell.
Eleven for the goddess,
On her throne of stone,
Twelve for the Magd,
And her kin that roam.
Two more...we need two more... dear friends, with you, I plead, but two more, for certain, will meet our need!
Grabbing her three dead birds, Hilde lurches to her feet, her eyes scanning the trees around her, hoping in vain for a final two birds.
Ormr however grows skittish. He furtively looks ahead and to either side... the general sense of emotion you feel from him is danger and akin to how your familiar feels when it spies a bird of prey in the sky.
As you walk steadily forward, Hilde and Bastagar seeking to free what crow-totems that can be reached, you move beyond the outside rim of where the corpses can be found and into the midst of the area of the wood that has them hanging like pendulous omens from the tree branches. Despite the chill that permeates the wood, you get a feeling of trepidation and clammy sweat begins to well up at the nape of your neck and upon your hands where they grip weapons or the vines that hung the death omens from the trees.
As Kelgar moves to one side to place his minor offering and Hilde gets to the height of her agitation... you are given tacit realization for your fears.
Streaking from the boughs of the trees above you come three tiny arrows...
Arrow at Hilde: for
Arrow at Caerb: for
Arrow at Bastagar: for
...the one aimed at Hilde bounces harmlessly off her armor with a dull clang and Bastagar finds his size of benefit as the arrow grazes close to his scalp, but does nothing to him but bless his skin with a breath of cold air as it whizzes past.
Caerb is hit in the midriff by the tiny shaft and despite the sharp lancing pain feels the area around the strike instantly chill and freeze... the feeling threatening to rob his limbs of their strength.
Stealths: - carry forward to Round 1 action
Hilde:
Caerb:
Bastagar:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Olaf:
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Birds on Wing, Caerb, Bastagar, Hilde, Olaf, Kelgar
The Halfhand's eyes widen as the arrows sail through the air, clattering around his allies. He spins around, eyes frantically trying to sift through the faces that appear in every shadow.
"Ormr! What do you see?" The weasel stiffens its body, pointing towards the trees with its face. Following its movements, he squints into the forest.
"There!" he calls out, pointing towards the creature. "Amongst the trees, ready your steel!"
The Halfhand hefts his crossbow up and fires a wild shot into the forest, his bolt sailing wide.
Bastagar's eyebrows seem as if they'll leap from his skull as he starts backwards, arrow whizzing past his face. "They are here. Come to dance, they have. Come to dance with Bastagar." he says, loosing his shillelagh from his rucksack with a shake.
He peers into the gloom, casting a sidelong glance to the Halfhand. "Amongst the trees, he says. In the forest, yes. Glad it could narrow it down. Has it half of its wits as well as half of it's fingers?"