Gunther eyes the goatling warily, but his eyes follow the bound creature's line of sight. He runs a hand through the white hair of his beard, before giving it a soft tug to show it's attached to his face. "Ain't never seen a proper beard before?" he chuckles, clearly not intending for the goatling to understand him. "Yer missin' out."
"I think our captives should be given over to the group who are staying and establishing a base. They may or may not wish to have diplomatic relations with the goatmen, and it would be right to let them have the say in determining their fate. Who would object to giving them?" Qahnaarin looks around at his assembled brothers.
Gunther shrugs, not particularly fussed. "We can't understand th' buggers, so there ain't much purpose in keepin' 'em around. If they don't intend t' kill us, then I say it's fine t' leave 'em with the others."
Day 2 - Early morning and into mid day
The goatling seems to ponder Gunther's reply and action, obviously not understanding, it then looks at Qahnaarin and back to Gunther. "Baatha, te naaamaas?" He makes a symbol sort of sliding his finger across his cheek at Qahnaarin and then points back and forth between Gunther and Qahnaarin in an inquisitive manner.
Most of the other goatlings who were left behind by the other group and are also reasonably healed stand somewhat confused in the center of the group under the watchful eyes of all of you. They examine their remaining wounds and try to remove the crusted, caked blood from their fur. The battlefield looks like a slaughterhouse floor.
The group finishes their rest from the night, nerves still on edge and watching the goatlings closely. After some more rest they reflection and ponder the battle and the situation and discuss what to do with the captives. The group seems to be somewhat hungry at this point although it has been focused on the battle and its meaning, you feel like you may wish to start foraging and or hunting.
"I agree Qahnaarin, we have no use of them and it sounds like the other group could. Let us leave them. And I am starving, let's find some food."
Gunther gives the goatling a strange look at it makes the odd gesture with its hand. Shrugging, he turns to Goivan at the gargoyle's suggestion of finding food. "Couldn't agree more," he replies as his stomach takes the chance to grumble its discontent.
"So be it." Qahnaarin approaches the goatlings with his spear in a guard stance. He clicks his tongue to get their attention, makes an up! up! motion with his spear, and flicks it toward the direction of the other camp. He is ready to attack as he escorts them to the party choosing to stay.
The group gets the goatlings up and together they make their way to the goatling base camp which you know to be somewhere west. You hunt and gather along the way which slows the group even more than the foliage.
Within a short while Gunther is able to find quite a bit of edible plants, Amaranth, clovers, burdock, chickweed. He also collects pine needles for making a revitalizing tea, and is able to bring down several birds with his bow. (all over the course of the day mind you, but there will be some small snacks available fairly quick).
Champawat, the goatling is still hanging on. You don't think he is going to die, but he has decided to stay where he is for now. He does bring his hand to his mouth signaling food or water. You know you can hunt and forage, but it would require leaving him to do so.
Prar scrounges in the dirt a few times and comes up with quite a few edible insects, grubs and worms to eat.
Champawat, the goatling is still hanging on. You don't think he is going to die, but he has decided to stay where he is for now. He does bring his hand to his mouth signaling food or water. You know you can hunt and forage, but it would require leaving him to do so.
Champawat spirals out away from the goatman looking for food and water, finding just enough to feed herself and the goatman. Once she give it to him, she will try to get him on his feet and headed in the direction that he was moving before.
Champawat you start to head west very slowly the goatling seems greatful but also confused why a former combatant is now aiding him. He doesn't talk though, seeming to conserve his strength. With the difficult terrian, foraging and wounded goatling you move very slowly.
Qahnaarin is aware of his limitations, and tries to the best of his abilities.
Survival
As the group travels, Qahnaarin is successfully finding a lot of food as well. At one point he finds a large patch of chickweed and then some purselane and lambs quarters. It is slow going to pick that much plant matter, but the edible plants provide valuable nutrition and there is a lot of it.
The goatlings also take time to graze much of it, happy with the find.
Champawat and the goatman continue to head in whatever direction the goatman indicates, only really slowing to scavenge for food.
Day 2 - Afternoon
The goatling bleats quietly to Champawat as the two of them travel together. "Howraa" He points to himself, indicating you suspect his name.
As you make your way to the camp, you begin to hear the remainder of your group approaching behind you with some of the other goatlings. Howraa is able to hear as they approach and seems surprised and somewhat expectant as well. He turns to gauge your reaction Champawat. As that happens you notice over his shoulder through a gap in the trees, large rainbow colored letters in the sky that spell out, in the Common tongue, 'goatlings misunderstood'. Howraa is facing you so he does not see them.
Behind you, somewhere the rest of the group, Qahnaarin, Goivan, Gunther and Prar fight their way through the woods, with four other goatlings, proceeding slowly but not as slow as Champawat and her charge.
The group too sees the giant rainbow letters in the sky past the treetops spelling out a message. The message appears quite the distance away yet, but clearly it must be near the goatling camp, as the goatlings are quite excited and puzzled at the same time by it. Clearly they believe it to be another sign of the sky spirits, and the small amount of their language you are learning indicate this. "Powerful magic of ancestors" They nod amongst each other, and look to the group for reactions.
"Well, at least that means they ain't likely t' try and murder us again," Gunther deadpans. He looks to the goatlings and their expectant gazes, shruging noncommittally.
Champawat points to herself while looking at the goatling and says "Champ". She clasps him on his shoulder, gives him a squeeze, and nods onward to his camp.
She then finds a high tree to climb up to distance herself from the others to meditate more. Having accomplished what she believes master would have wanted her do to, she looks within herself to decide upon her next course of action. She also quietly prays for guidance.
Qahnaarin remains skeptical, poking one of the goatlings with his spear and motioning forward with his chin. "The sooner we reach the others, the sooner we can divest ourselves of this unwanted responsibility."
As the group proceeds the come across a wounded goatling limping slowly towards the same direction. This would seem to be the one that fled the battle direly wounded. As the group overtakes it, it seems to have mixed reactions, as clearly the other goatlings are prisoners of sorts, but happy to see its kin.
As the group passes under Champawat, she stays hidden in the trees.
A while later, in increments of about 5 minutes, the messages in the sky change from the first one to 'we have translator', 'these are sacred lands', 'humans to the south'.
As you approach even closer, you get the sense that the forest is filled with other goatlings and other groups as you hear them in the distance moving. In fact before long a goatling signals from somewhere in the brush. One of the goatlings in your group signals back, and then stops looking at the group fearful that he shouldn't have. In seconds the first goatling comes from the brush into view with the group and is hesitant. He says something in goatling "(something) ..camp, move (something) lake."
He points to the east back to where you came from.
Goivan steps forward to converse with the translator, both because he's a good face as well as because it will be good to be in front if things go wrong. He kneels and draws two pictures, maps of the area. One has a camp next to the lake. The other had a camp far away from the lake. He points at the pictures individually and says "Good, bad?" with an inquisitive tone.
Goivan steps forward to converse with the translator, both because he's a good face as well as because it will be good to be in front if things go wrong. He kneels and draws two pictures, maps of the area. One has a camp next to the lake. The other had a camp far away from the lake. He points at the pictures individually and says "Good, bad?" with an inquisitive tone.
[dice=Sense Motive]1d20+4
The goatling kneels with Goivan and points to the goatling camp to the west of the lake that you were going to, and shakes its head. Goivan you haven't learned as much Goatling as your companions but you unnderstand at least 'no' when he points to the camp there, and makes a motion with his hands that it is gone now. He points to the lake and nods yes, in goatling he says something that must be 'go' as he makes a sign to move or walk with his fingers. He also speaks to the other goatlings for a bit, the gist of which no one really understands as no one has learned much of goatling other than some very very simple basics. The other goatlings seemed cheered by it though. The new goatling waves his hand after him motioning the group to follow him.
Speaking in customary gurgling whisper which forces him to stand very close to whomever he is speaking too, Prar says, "Humans to the south. Finally, perhaps we can get out of this cursed forest." He looks dishleveled at the forest around him, hugging the shadows from the fauna to stay out of direct sunlight.
Usually composed, Prar looks out of sorts about the whole ordeal.
Day 2 - Later Afternoon into Evening
As the various groups of Goodwin's disciples return the the lakeside, they see the Goatling camp in full swing. At least a hundred or more goatlings are moving about efficiently building large bonfires, collecting dead wood and driftwood also for funeral pyres. Quite a few more are involved in food preparation, as large bags of grain are opened and used to make food. It appears everyone knows of the outsiders now, and there appear to be no ill feelings for the deaths of their brethren. In fact they seem to take it quite in stride, and place a great deal of honor on the fallen, almost as if those who fell in battle were somehow blessed or lucky to do so.
You are able to mix freely with the goatlings, although in their hustle and bustle they move about with purpose and at times you feel as if you are getting in the way. They welcome you in the camp but it seems clear that you may wish to build your own shelters. The goatlings have set up some tents made of wild animal skins, but it isn't clear if you are invited to shelter in them. You see Bowki, Bavari and Rahaan at times as they move about, and many goatlings seem to be asking them questions about the newcomers.
In time more goatlings arrive, this time they bring with them large satchels, carried between two goatlings, which when unwrapped reveal many large kettle base drums. These appear to be very well crafted, each carved with fine detail, a masterpiece of art and craftmanship unto itself. These are set up along the shore in a special place on some large rocks that are moved in place.
The camp is a whirlwind of noises, smells, warmth from the fires, and cool breeze from the lake. There is a palpable aura of excitement in the air. Despite only having vague ideas regarding the Ceremony of the Lake, you feel it is a big deal for these people.
Not long after the camp is flowing smoothly. You hear the trumpeting of horns to the south, a mix of high clear bright noises accompanied by long deep, powerful blasts that shake the air and almost make you jump from your skin. The entire camp of goatlings stands at once, stopping what they are doing and look to each other in a state of surprise. Within seconds they all cheer at once and scramble to reverently assemble. Those of you with the ability to understand some goatling, it is clear that Golden Ram has arrived. This apparently unexpected event causes the camp to quickly fly into an even greater frenzy of activity, cleaning, adjusting, moving and clearing a space of honor for their leader's tent.
Shortly the leader appears. Golden Ram is tall for a goatling, you estimate nearly eight feet tall, not as tall as the minotaurs or ogres among you, but certainly majestic. His horns are long, thick and curved back, sweeping curking back into spirals behind his broad head. His pelt is thick and luxurious looking, and indeed quite golden in color. A thick beard adorns his chin and he wears a set of silvery armbands matched by a large silvery chestpiece.
Surrounding him are at least a dozen warriors, also large for goatlings, and they look grizzled and battle hardened. Some of them are missing horns or tufts of fur. They scan everything remaining vigilant and when they see the outsiders you they seem to be watching you in particular.
You see a few revered elders accompanying Golden Ram in the entourage, each with their own mini entourage of attendants and warriors. The horns you heard earlier are carried by several large goatlings, each with several smaller horns but also each carrying two very large horns from perhaps a dragon, elaborately carved. The entire procession settles in and they begin moving about efficiently. The Golden Ram confers with his elders and after a huge tent is erected, their leader disappears into the tent with some of the elders and the warriors fan out and create a guard around the structure.
The excitement of the arrival of their leader, has the goatlings scurrying about to make the campsite ready for the grand ceremony which probably takes place after darkness falls. Bowki or Bavari check in from time to time and see if the groups are doing ok.
Gunther whistles, impressed by the goatling procession. "Quite th' party they're throwin' here." Turning to his companions, he crosses his arms and looks pensive. "What d' ya think we should get up t' while they're gettin' this ready?"
From her perch high above, Champawat misses almost everything that is said, but it makes little difference. The goatmen are preparing for some big ceremony. She spots numerous members of her family down mingling with the goatmen, probably trying to find some way to learn to communicate with their attackers. Figures, they come to slaughter us in the night, and we offer to break bread with them...it's probably what master would have wanted though. So what do I do now master? Forgive and forget? Watch and learn?
She decides to remain on her perch. Too many faces she'd rather not see or deal with. Plus in her mood, she's likely to start trouble.
Champawat you remain hidden in the forest, having followed the group all day as they made their way to the lake. You keep your distance to aid in your stealth, using the forest to mask your moves. It is quite simple to follow the large groups moving to the lake, and you know where it is any event. You collect a lot food as you move through the forest slowly. Quite a large portion of edible plants, two squirrels and some mushrooms are gathered. At one point you break through the trees a bit and in a tiny patch of a clearing opened by a fallen tree you catch the smell of something. Despite the sunny opening your eyes dilate wide and your nostrils flare. You start to shake slightly and your tail swishes side to side. You look at what is growing in the clearing...
The aroma wafts past you.....the desire to roll in it, eat it, bite it, and lay in it are overwhelming.
Champawat doesn't waste much time going for the catmint. After spending a few minutes playing in it, she takes some time to gather as much as she can carry, ripping off a piece of cloth off of her clothing to stuff as much in as she can. She climbs back up into the trees to find a place to hide her treat for later before climbing back down and going to look for Gunther. Her lack of clothing and packs and pouches and strips is enough to drive her crazy and she'd rather just go catch a deer and skin it to make what she needs, but the best way to do that would be with Gunther's help, or more specifically, with his bow's help.
@Champawat:
Senses abuzz, and purring contentedly, a sense of euphoria swept over you, you catch up to the group as they reach the lake. You note the massive goatling camp, and recognize several other groups of goatlings and your 'siblings' arrive. You easily pick out the rest of your group, Goivan, Qahnaarin, Gunther and Prar stand out as they enter the camp, perhaps somewhat awkwardly...
@Others: You were leading the goatlings at spearpoint more or less, do you change that method as you approach the large goatling camp? You suspect it make not be the best tactic to walk into the main camp in such a manner.
Day 2 - Evening/Night
As the groups mingle amongst the goatlings, darkness rolls in. The large bonfires illuminate and warm the camp. Torches on stakes form a perimeter about the campsite. Lined at the shore are the funeral pyres for the nineteen goatlings and battle goats slain. While great honor is afforded those who fell in battle, there is some awkwardness as many of the killers are here in the camp, and despite their feelings about battle prowess and bravery you sense some remorse from the other goatlings, perhaps even some uncomfortable looks. As the last ray of sunlight passed beneath the tip of the western mountains, a small brazier was lit, when that brazier burned out a short time later, the funeral pyres were lit by shamans who sang a quick prayer in goatling. Those who have been studying the language make out little, but the basics involve the spirits of the ancestors guiding the fallen on a serene journey to the afterlife so that they may watch over the living and guide them in the future, in life and in battle. They speak of those who had just fallen as well as those who fell in battle or to other reasons in the past year. Music is played but the great horns and mighty drums are silent. Instead smaller drums, and lighter instruments are played, pipes and flutes and maracas made from gourds. The music is very fast and there is a lot of quick stamping designed to shake the ground. The sound of over a hundred pairs of goatling hooves on the rocky shore creates quite the noise. The wind blows the smoke, heat and luckily the smell of the pyres out over the lake to the east. The initial ceremony takes some time, and is followed by feasting with oat and seed cakes, dried fruit and some sort of fermented mash. For those who try the mash, it is quite sour, but packs a solid kick. Smaller dance circles break out and random music is played before the next ceremony.
Golden Ram is seated on a large chair overlooking the ceremonies, on a raised platform of wood and stone. He is surrounded by the Elder Council and his circle of grizzled warriors. Next begins a ceremony of the elements. It is explained that this will call spirits of nature and give thanks to the wind and rain, to fire and to the earth. It asks that those spirits continue to provide for the goatlings in the new year. All of the young goatling warriors form circles for this dance, and they begin to move in and out opening and closing the circles. The dance is not as quick as the funeral dance, less structured and more rhythmic. The music and singing is more sing-songy and they use a variety of instruments, some emulate vuvuzelas and others are like didgery-doos. The overall noise is like an ebb and flow of angry bees buzzing in and out. Golden Ram actually rises for this one and moves slowly in place, waving about a large sceptre in ritualized movements, with a little imagination you can see where the movements are designed to symbolize the elements as he moves through the motions. It appears to be largely ceremonial as those versed in spellcraft don't see anything arcane or divine actually happening. For all the singing, dancing and instruments you don't notice any spirits or anything very spiritual really, although perhaps more fermented oat mash might help.
Finally there seems to be preparation underway for the final Ceremony of the Lake. The great drums are brought forward and the giant horns are placed in position.
Champawat walks up to Gunther and says "Gunther, let's get out of here, go hunting or something. I don't trust these goatmen and I'd prefer to go nab a deer or bear or something. Something that we can skin and make leather with. I feel like not having pouches and satchels and even just tools is enough to drive me out of my mind. I'd go by myself, but I'd appreciate your bow coming along, it would make things a lot easier. What do you say? You up for it?"
Goivan spends time with all of the goatlings, trying to find somebody who speaks common. Regardless if he can or not, he tries to strengthen diplomatic ties to them through careful pantomiming. He checks up on all his allies, in his party or not, and makes sure that nobody is getting into trouble. He's basically trying to keep the peace.
Cunning Pantomime (Ex): As a standard action, the Ranger can communicate with a single creature as if using the tongues spell for 10 minutes. Because the communication is slow and lacks subtlety, the Ranger suffers a –4 penalty on all Bluff and Diplomacy checks relating to the creature he is communicating with when using this trick.
Gunther nods, thoroughly uniterested in anything but the food being served. "This place it too loud for me tastes, at any rate. Lead th' way, lass."
Champawat walks away from the celebration for while and begins looking for tracks.
Gunther and Champawat slip away from the party into the darkness. Gunther grumbling from lack of shoes, stepping along in his half tanned bunny slippers. As the move through the darkness, the forest comes a live. Owls hoot and you see eyes disappear into the foliage as you move through. The group moves away from the noise of the goatling ceremony and they spend some time exploring the forest. Eventually Champawat spots a good sized turkey roosting in a tree. Gunther draws an arrow and shoots it from the tree without even waking it. The turkey will feed a half dozen people or more once defeathered and gutted. As the night wears on the pair get tired and think about returning to the camp. In the far distance you had been able to hear the noise, drums, horns and music, but it has stopped. It may be well after the party has ended.
"Nice shot. I wonder what we can make from it besides dinner...I suppose the feathers could be used in making arrows, might be enough skin on it to make a belt pouch or two. Probably sharpen some of the bones up into arrow heads or maybe even a bone knife...gotta start someplace I guess."
"I'm going to find a nice high tree when we get back to spend the night in. What are you going to do, sleeping wise?"
Gunther grimaces, not entirely pleased with any of the options available. "Guess I'll just sleep against a tree. Ain't th' best bed, but I s'pose it'll do."
Goivan spends time with all of the goatlings, trying to find somebody who speaks common. Regardless if he can or not, he tries to strengthen diplomatic ties to them through careful pantomiming. He checks up on all his allies, in his party or not, and makes sure that nobody is getting into trouble. He's basically trying to keep the peace.
Goivan you move among the goatlings and attempt to speak with the, unfortunately none of them speak what would be the modern variant of Common much less an extremely ancient version. You do manage to make friends, as nearly all the goatlings are curious about your various races, many of which they have never seen. Goivan because you have horns they also seem to bestow some sort of extra nicety to you. You do manage to break some ground, and fall in with a group of goatlings who offer you some of the fermented oat mash.
Gunther grimaces, not entirely pleased with any of the options available. "Guess I'll just sleep against a tree. Ain't th' best bed, but I s'pose it'll do."
As you slow down from hunting, you are reminded by how chilly it is out, shivering slightly. While not as cold as the night before, near the lake, sleeping against a tree in the frigid alpine air is not entirely advisable. There may be a few hours where it might dip into dangerous levels.
Qahnaarin finds the cacophony of the camp to be disquieting. "They attack us without provocation, nearly murdering us. We kill their raiding party. Now we are welcomed to their squalid camp for a cacophony of squalid, riotous living." His face is pensive. "I believe we should avail ourselves of supplies, whatever crude map they can provide, and depart as quickly as possible."
As the goatling party rages on Qahnaarin moves about gathering supplies. You find from some of the other groups that the goatlings were willing to loan you some tents for the evening, but probably didn't imply you could keep them. There seems to be quite a bit of supplies, food and equipment laying around. There are guards stationed and patrolling here and there, but it seems somewhat of a token effort, since everyone here is a warrior and they don't expect any attack to occur here. In general there are goatlings everywhere, but it would not seem out of place to perhaps grab some essential equipment with some sort of purpose in mind. Not that your character would necessarily steal things. While you ponder, you basically just decide to ask if you can have various items. With your vague command of the language, its impossible to hear anyhow, and you end up basically miming to the goats if you can take an item. With the mirth and cheer most of them nod, wave, or don't give it a second thought unless it seems to be something of value, but you are able to get some ropes, bags, waterskins, a hatchet, a knife, a fire making kit, and a tent.
"We should probably return to the goatman's land, score what food we can, what supplies we'll need. Check on the others. I don't know about you but the sooner we're out of this place, the better I'll feel. Though, I admit I have no idea what direction to head.
Gunther sighs. "Yeah, that goes for me as well, lass. We can try an' ask th' other groups what they're plannin', or maybe just wait until they wander off and pick a diff'rent direction," he offers.
Day 2 - Night
After the Circle Dance of the Elements, things seem to quiet down as people prepare for the final Battle Dance. As it is set up some of the shamans and elders tell stories about ancient goatling heroes, and regale those who would listen with mythological tales.
The giant horns and massive kettle drums are manned by their musicians. Golden Ram stands on his platform and waves his sceptre. Everyone seems to quiet down. He addresses the assembled group, speaking, strangely enough in both Goatling and your ancient Common tongue, speaking twice in both languages. You suspect he may be aided by magic.
"Normally it is not the place of the Chief to attend the Ceremony of the Lake, this is for the warriors to demonstrate their battle skills, to come here and with the shamans, find their spirit with nature, and in battle. This year is special. Fate has sent us visitors from lands far beyond our world. These visitors have tested our warriors in battle, and our warriors fought bravely. Those who fell in battle today will be remembered, and those who lived through the battles will teach others. It is important that we learn from these visitors, because beyond our lands there are others who would see us gone. The dwarves and their allies take from our forests and dig in the earth for its wealth. Our lands shrink slowly over time, because we cannot match their magic and powerful metal despite our battle skills. These visitors have shown us that we are behind the times. I will speak with the visitors in the morning and see if they are willing to help us in exchange for our aid to them. Before we look to the future we must celebrate our past, and honor our warrior spirit. The Ceremony of the Lake is many things, but the Battle Dance is the culmination of the event. Our ancestors look on and the spirits of the world will judge us poorly if we do not show bravery in battle, cunning and stealth, resilience, wisdom and fortitude. Let the world know that our ferocity is strong and that our enemies will tremble before our battle drums!"
With his final words, the drummers all at once begin a thunderous attack on their instruments. The ground shakes louder than ever before, and the mighty battle horns are sounded, in what is a near deafening blast. None of you can imagine a time or noise short of something magic, or that of a lot of exploding black powder, that something was so loud. The goatlings assemble and begin dancing their Battle Dance. Their is a manic, fierce frenzy to it. Their eyes seem to glaze over a bit, and their movements and footwork are sure and quick. The drums hammer out different beats, and the horns, both the huge ones and the smaller ones, accompany them. The power of the noise shakes the lake, and you can see the water at the edge of the shore vibrating as tiny droplets spring up on the surface and plink back down with each blast of the horn.
As the dance and noise reaches a crescendo, a patch of fog rolls in from the lake, heavier and denser than the mist that formed on the lake as the evening came and temperatures dropped. There is a sudden surge as the waves slap the shore higher and higher, and you hear a mighty roar come from the water. Something big in the water is coming ashore....
Gunther considers the Chief's words well, realizing he may not have been entirely fair in his assumptions of the goatlings. When the cacophony starts again, however, he covers his ears and grimaces heavily, the terrible racket beginning to give him a headache. Glancing towards the lake, he notices the fog and the odd way the water is acting, and he grips his bow protectively. 'The hells is goin' on here?' he ponders, trying to block out the noise and concentrate.