Kivan is shocked when the bear turns into a man.
"That is strange to say the least. Can all of you humans do that?"
Kivan examines the waters, and the man as well.
"Do you suppose that this temple is cursed and that he tried to stop the curse, but failed?"
While the group is busy watching the man, Pretty notices the change in the place, as if there was a curse over the whole clearing, including the pool. She takes a few steps West, watching the place for anything out of the ordinary at this moment. "It seems that now the curse is gone. But in what have you failed to become cursed, old man?"
"Oh yes, haven't you noticed when I get all furry and growly at night?" says Idris with a laugh.
More seriously, she says, "Maybe he was like a werewolf but a bear? A... were... bear? Is that a thing?"
Kivan quickly pulls out his journal and begins writing furiously in it.
All Humans have the ability to transform into animals of some shape or form when they wish. Luckily I can count on Pretty to stay the same. I am currently traveling with three creatures but I have no idea what they might be. Except for Sera she most likely corresponds to something from the lizard family. Maybe Maja corresponds to an elk? It would make sense with her deity. Not sure on Idris, loyalty is for sure, and strength. Maybe a bear, or a wolf? Must also attempt to get a look at them when they are in their animal forms.
Note to self: Also don't let on that I know their secret now it would be very bad if they transformed into animals and tried to eat me.
Kivan looks back up.
"Not sure if that is a thing. It might be."
Idris doesn't seem to notice that Kivan took her joke seriously.
Idris cleans off her blade but keeps it out as she explores the temple.
"Indeed a beautiful place. Shall we walk around and see what do we find?"
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From Kivan's knowledge, he knows that the curse of lycanthropy takes many forms, with animal totems ranging from rat to bear. It's plausible that the man was afflicted by lycanthropy, but given his death's transformative effect on the glade it seems more likely that his adopted form was keyed to the location.
The exterior of the temple yields little of interest. At one point, this was a temple to Erastil, the Old Hunter. You find the worn impressions in the flagstones where the faithful once stood to hear their god's Parables. Wagon wheels have worn ruts near the edge of the clearing, and the rust-pitted fragments of gardening tools sit next to age-stained stone where once raised bed gardens must have provided fresh vegetables. The pool of sparkling water is inviting, and a tarnished silver chain remains of a bucket and winch to draw water from the pool.
Picking your way past the rubble on the steps, you ascend into the cave under the watchful eyes of the stag carved on the hill's face. The interior is dark but dry. Copper hinges, encrusted with the patina of age, give evidence to the door that once allowed the cave to be sealed against the weather.
The interior of the cave is a mess. Objects and furnishings have been thrown around as if by a being of great strength and fury. The splintered remains of a bed and dresser rest in one alcove, a collapsed iron pot and kettle atop a firepit in another. At one point, a cleric of Erastil evidently made this cave a home as he preached. In a separate alcove, you find the tools of a stone-carver: Hammers, chisels, and grinding wheel. The alcove has a ruined workbench covered in tiny chips of marble. From under an overturned shelf you recover several bound books, damaged by slashes, moisture, and age. One appears to be an ancient copy of the Parables of Erastil, carefully illuminated and written in a steady hand. Another appears to be a book of names, recording births, marriages, and deaths. The names look Taldan to Kivan. Towards the end of the book, there are rather more deaths than births, and the last few entries don't bother with cause of death and surviving family, merely stating a name and a stark date. The dates are from more than three hundred years ago. You also recover a single, plain-looking arrow from a shattered glass case. It's tipped with a bone arrowhead and fletched in dark green feathers, but appears wholly unremarkable.
As you poke about the cave, your ears are assailed by a tremendous bugling from outside the cave. . Maja's heart leaps into her throat - with every fiber of her being, she knows she's being called.
In the center of the glade stands a creature striding from the pages of legend. An enormous, moon-pale elk, it stands thirty feet high at the shoulder. Its antlers are living saplings, and green vines grow around its legs. Despite its incredible size, it moves with supernatural grace. Its huge eyes gleam with intelligence, and its entire bearing is that of a mighty and noble creature. . It regards your party with hard eyes. Maja's mind races like her heart - this is the Grim White Stag, personal companion and representative of Erastil himself. The Parables teach that before the dawn of mortals, Erastil hunted this spirit through the primordial forests, and was unable to catch the fleet being. When he tired and gave up the hunt, the Stag ventured to Erastil's camp and they shared a meal. Since then, the Grim White Stag has been close to the First Hunter, and is occasionally sent to represent him in matters of great importance and to rally defenders to communities in peril. "Rejoice not at the Stag, for his coming foretells great strife," say the Parables.
"Little Sister," rumbles a voice in your minds. The voice is deep, grounded in the roots of the world-tree, and coated with the moss of ten thousand millenia. It commands utter attention. "You have found your way to what once was, and no more is. Before your grandfather's grandfather was born, this land was settled by a colony of Taldor. They were not strong, and did not flourish. They brought one of your Faithful, and he was at first diligent in his duties. As hearths grew cold and homes lay empty, he despaired. He extended the Parables to the monsters of the land, whom you have already met. Heresy, this was, yet Erastil tolerated him. The kobolds learnt the Parables and prospered by them, as do all who follow the Faith. As the colony faltered, the cleric descended into madness. Forsaking his teachings, the man decided that humanity was weak, and monsters should prosper in your stead. Rending the garments of his station, he embraced Lamashtu, She who Suckles Horror, Mother of Monsters. For his treachery, he was cursed, and the last settlers fled."
The stag stamps a hoof, shaking the earth.
"Little Sister! You too break from the Parables! Man's natural state is head of the Home, and Woman's duty obedience! This is not the idle fancies of philosophers - these are hard lessons born of ages uncounted. Yet, Erastil tolerates you as well, for in your heart he sees goodness and wisdom. It upon your shoulders to prove your claim. Even a god may change his mind, in time. These lands have been ploughed and settled before, yet to no lasting effect. Many are the hands who have put claim upon it, yet none remain. Your desire to settle these Stolen Lands is Erastil's desire. It will be hard. Your burdens will be mighty, and succor nonexistent. As the village braggart is commanded: Prove thyself! Put deeds to words, and nose to grindstone! Your success will be your validation, your failure your rebuke. Fall not into the trap of this fallen cleric - let not grief and loss drive you from the true path. You are being watched, and your burdens may lighten those of countless who follow."
Abruptly, the Grim White Stag is gone.
"Hearth and Home, Little Sister. Hearth and Home."
Pretty just stares, wide-eyed, to the creature that speaks in her mind and all of a sudden is gone. "Holy Gods! I just made contact with a divine being!" She felt the need to defy this being as it said women should be obedient and submissive, but avoided to do so just because it wasn't speaking to her.
She waited until anyone said something, but they were as startled as she was, and thus she tries to lighten the mood. "I'm not sure if I should be glad or angry for being tolerated..."
"I... that was... Gorum's sheath.. Idris's voice trails off weakly.
She walks over and places a hand on Maja's shoulder, who she figures needs the support. What intensity of sensation Idris had felt, the older woman must surely have felt tenfold more.
Pretty watches that in awe as she realizes she also need a level in any martial class to grant her proficiency with the longbow that Maja did not seem to know how to use this bow before. Or maybe she just did not want to...
Seraphina was stunned into silence by the spectacle of all that had passed. She felt awestruck and confused as the crease in between her eyebrows showed. Had they just been admonished or encouraged in their quest? Blessed or cursed? She wasn't sure, and somehow it felt like a bit of both.
She smiled with pride to see her friend bolstered by the strange encounter, if anyone could change Erastil's mind, it would be Maja and her tiny congregation of willful females... and of course, Kivan.
But still she was troubled, and sighed lightly to herself.
'Obediance... even Erastil would see me bound to some man and his arbitrary will. Is it so wrong for a woman to command her own fate? To stand for what she believes in and fight?'
Kivan waves as the stag leaves.
"Bye!"
As soon as the stag leaves Kivan quickly glances at the others.
"Alright what was that, and why did it know how to speak to our thoughts? Also, what have you all been doing to make stags appear near us? Because, I haven't done anything like that."
Early the next morning, Idris rises before the dawn, while everyone else besides the person whose watch it is still sleeps. Finding a secluded place just outside the temple, she places her armor, boots, and sword close at hand, and in just a pair of bloomers and a bandeau, moves through the steps of her remembered lessons. In a moment of inspiration, she takes up the sword and adds it to the smooth motions, seeing how she can combine them. As the sun rises, she moves through the careful exercises, until her skin is flushed and sweating despite the chill of spring. She then dresses and returns to join the others as they start their day.
When talk begins about where to go, she says, "If I'm reading our maps right, we're just west of where we routed the bandits. We should return there, stealthily, and see if they have returned since then."
"Following the river there sounds like a certain way in finding the lake... We still have a lot of provisions, so if you want to clear the near miles we may afford the time."
Kivan picks up the arrow that Maja showed him and tries to examine it for any magic.
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Location: Hex R4 (forest, river, Bandit Camp)
Date: 23 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 51° F
Weather conditions: Clear, Light Wind (10 mph from the west)
Food: 23 days' supply
The arrow is not magical. Besides its primitive construction and advanced age, it seems entirely mundane and unremarkable - which raises the question of why, exactly, was it protected in a glass display case? It seems to have been of great importance to the temple when it was still functional.
You spend a peaceful evening at the Temple of the Elk. The area feels very safe, as if somehow warded against malevolent creatures. The water from the pool is clean, clear, and delicious, and the cave offers ample protection from wind and cold. With a little work, it could be quite the cozy redoubt.
In the morning, you rise refreshed and invigorated. After a breakfast of kippered herring and oatmeal, you steer your horses east, returning to the area around the Thorn River bandit camp. The Thorn River burbles merrily through the area, still flanked on both banks by thickets of thorns. As you fill in the map, you inevitably come back to the ford across the river where the Stag Lord's troops made their advance camp.
The camp is mostly as you left it these several weeks ago. The bodies of those you slew lay ripening on the ground. They appear to have been rolled over and looted after your departure. The general disorder of the camp remains, and no clean-up has been attempted amongst the shambles of the tents and crates. You do find hoofprints around the camp that are more recent than the ones you left during the attack. The rider(s?) approached from the south and returned to the south after making their investigation.
Pretty examines the place and takes quick conclusions. "So, we have two choices. Or we complete the reconnaissance in the surrounding areas or we go after the Stag Lord, following the tracks. What do you want?"
"I would feel more comfortable taking on the Stag Lord if we had the equipment that's on order with Oleg first. A fine steel sword in hand when facing your foe is the way to do it."
"I don't think so, Maja. There's not many places here to blackmail or control, so they wouldn't be making too many camps like this one. But I could be wrong."
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Location: Hex S (forest, river, Bandit Camp)
Date: 24 Gozran, 4710 Absalom Reckoning
Temperature: 40° F
Weather conditions: Overcast, Moderate Wind (20 mph from the west)
Food: 21 days' supply
Not wanting to spend the night so close to the scene of combat, you travel a few miles away and bed down for the evening in an unremarkable strand of trees. The night passes uneventfully.
In the morning, you rise and point your horses to the southeast.
You follow the Thorn river as it burbles gently towards its rendezvous with the Shrike. As you ride out of the treeline back onto the plains, you notice the wind pick up and temperature drop. The sky is cloudy and overcast, tinting the plains slightly dark. The tracks you are following lead you to a crossing of the Thorn.
The Thorn River winds through a 20-foot-deep gulch here between a pair of hills. An old wooden bridge spans the gulch, allowing passage over the river. The bridge has obviously seen better days. While not destroyed like the bridge guarded by the drowned man, the planks are weathered, cracked, and in some places incomplete. The guy ropes are frayed and probably not contributing their share of load bearing. The tracks lead straight to the bridge, so it seems at least somewhat functional. You are able to cross over one at a time, and although the bridge creaks perilously, you make the crossing without mishap.
"Strange, my whetstone has gone missing. I'm sure I had it yesterday. Has anyone seen it, or have a spare?"
"I'm sure I used it yesterday when you lend it to me, but I'm also sure I gave it back." She looks around in her backpack, to see if she finds it.
Idris has a suspicion, and looks around the camp for any signs of someone other than them entering their camp at night.
"By the way, was anyone furiously hungry yesterday? Cause we seem to have less rations than we should..."
"Well I misplaced a spoon somewhere, but it's not that important."
Kivan notices that they are looking for tracks so he does the same.
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The tracks led down the northeast bank of the river, and crossed the bridge east to west. They now turn due south.
You find no tracks or any signs of visitors to their camp, besides the missing objects.
The food has clearly been taken, not eaten by tree rats. Something undid the knot securing a burlap sack of packaged iron rations, and made off with about ten pounds of jerky and pemmican.
"Let's go after whatever that was."
Kivan doesn't seem happy that they have lost food.
"The tracks we've been following, or the thief? We have no trail for the thief, whatever it was."
Pretty looks around and asks the group to form a tighter circle. "Please, let's take a minute to discuss this a little further. That was a sentient being, and I believe it was small or some magical one, which could possibly get invisible. Whether it did to sabotage us or only because it wanted stuff, the damage was minimum. We're missing a pack of rations, a spoon and a whetstone. It might be some prank playing games with us, since no one is hurt. Do you think it will come again?"
Seraphina emerges in the morning, her hair an utter mess with twigs tangled into it. Still groggy and a bit more prickly than usual, it takes the others speaking of missing items and eaten food before her father's stories of strange pranks and tricks in the deep woods came back to her all at once. Growling, she stands and paces.
"I knew it! I told you it would happen and here it has! I said be careful not to anger the nature spirits of this land, but does anyone listen to me? Noooo...." She sighs deeply and then faces out from her group, as if addressing the trees themselves in some strange musical language with bell-like tones and soft whispering finish like the wind through the leaves.
(+5 if not Fey)
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Seraphina's recollections are correct! Fey creatures tend to congregate in the wilds far away from civilization. All fey love to pull pranks and perform trickery upon the unsuspecting, seeing it as good fun. Their pranks are (mostly) harmless, although those who dwell in the First World have no concept of mortality and may wonder why some creatures don't seem to appreciate their tricks when they turn deadly. Fey who dwell on the Material Plane tend to be light-hearted and mischievous. They love flattery and gifts, and the surest way to befriend one is provide it with shiny jewelry, strong alcohols, and sugary foods.
Sera's eyes widened in realization she was forgetting something. They would need more to sweeten the pot, both figuratively as well as literally.
She called to the others, "Make an offering, food goodies, trinkets, some like gold, liquor. Just a little something to show you're friendly. Now where are the last of Svetlana's honey drops... Ah!" She brought out the small wax-paper bundle of sweets she'd been hording, looking a bit sheepish and unfolded it, laying it appealingly on the nearby grass, waving her comrades to follow suit.