Pemsworth holds up his hand. "Hold! It may be trapped." He approaches it carefully, checking it over for any sign of traps!
If he sees any,
If the lock needs pickin',
Hektir waits as Pemsworth confidently does his thing.
"I'll keep an eye out, I guess."
Hektir keeps a look out while Pems works.
Perception
Growing tired of willing away the cold, Tsin switches her internal focus to an external one, as she observes Pemsworth's machinations.
"What is it that makes you leery of the chest, master Pemsworth? Have you been bitten before by some steely teeth?" Her teeth chime in with their staccato clicks. She slowly circles the chest, trying to gauge if there is more than one set of tracks leading away from the chest.
"We really should keep moving. This cold is unmerciful, and those who left the chest likely knew enough to leave it behind. We're exposed." She keeps her gaze moving across the clearing.
Pemsworth's attention never leaves his task as he responds to Tsin. "Locks and their assorted traps are my business. I'm a locksmith by training. Somewhat notable in my field, I should say. I see clients from all over who have a lock they cannot open. Traps are simply a natural extension of the field. Of course, when you see a discarded lock, your first question is who discarded it and why? I find that the presence of traps is a very good answer to the why of it all. Plus, I still have all my fingers and I plan to keep them, thus caution is my watchword. I imagine you have the same sort of focus when butchering? I would imagine that a casual swipe of the blade could be very damaging to oneself?"
Unfortunately, Pemsworth's concern proves to be valid but he doesn't notice the trip wire as he approaches. A huge spiked log suddenly comes sweeping through the path, catching the halfling, Quinn and Malavarius. The two men, being taller, take the brunt of the blow -- Pemsworth is dealt only a glancing blow to the top of his head -- and both crumple into unconsciousness on the snowy ground, their blood quickly staining it red.
Hektir:
Malavarius:
Quinn:
Tsin:
Malavarius:
Pemsworth:
Quinn:
Pem finds himself half crumpled in the snow, his forehead sore and bloody. He moans to himself, muttering, "Of course, you daft fool! They wouldn't trap the chest, they'd trap the APPROACH! Damn your eyes, foolish man!" Looking around he sees Malavarius and Quinn have taken worse, and he scrambles toward them, trying to staunch the bleeding!
Once the bleeding is done with and realizing he's not much use in camp set-up, Pemsworth will see to the chest again. Perhaps they discarded something of worth in their trap?
Tsin nods, largely in understanding of Pemsworth's words, partly from cold. Oneself, or others. Perkin will attest to that. Still, he has all of his fingers.
"Yes, you speak truth. There is bone beneath those meats, and a misplaced stroke can turn. There is some false comfort, thinking oneself safe behind the blade. Perkin always cautioned the count. Know where you last laid a blade, and it will never cut you in distraction."
Good to remember that in the future. Shake hands, and count fingers. "What you've found there, master locksmith?"
---
Tsin's voice soars in pitch, as she watches helplessly as the others take the massive blow. "Should have known! Clearings, chests! Here, let me help." She tries to move the unconscious bodies, on direction of the halfling.
She then commences setting up a fire source.
Zeno begins to voice warning but he's too slow and his words are cut off by the sound of wood crushing flesh and bone.
Hektir *facepalms* as the sound of log meeting facing reaches his ears.
Gah! I was looking everywhere but there.
Hektir spins, sighs, and triages.
The old man is old. The bird is fine.
Pems has earned this, but won't die...and...
"Quinn, you laying down again? QUINN!? QUINN!!!! Dagbullette!"
Hektir kneels next to Quinn and whispers in his ear while concentrating.
Cast CLW: healing on Quinn
"Get up, Quinn! We got work to do."
Hektir rises and begins to look for a place for the night.
Pemsworth looks at Hektir as he heals Quinn. His eyes narrow as he realizes how very little he actually knows about his companions and what they're capable of. Still, another healer is no mean thing.
Pem sighs. "I apologize. I was so focused on the chest that I didn't stop to think of anything else. I failed you. I shall try to make certain it doesn't happen again."
The half-buried chest is unlocked, but it's also empty, Pemsworth.
Pemsworth sighs as the chest turns out to be worthless and costly in terms of blood. He stands, slightly faint at the loss of blood and bruising, then begins to gather sticks for the fire.
Hektir helps making a safe camp, breaking out a saw and flint/steel as necessary.
"Let's get warm. Going to be a long night for you city folk."
"Lessons learned through pain are never a failure, Pemsworth. When we fail to recognize it a second time, then apologies all around."
Tsin mimicks the tracker's actions. "Whoever set that tripwire is seeking to discourage us from following. Should we be discouraged, Hektir?"
Hektir gives Tsin a look.
"Why would we be discouraged? *We* didn't get hit," Hektir replies while continuing to gather firewood.
"Nah, we'll find them. We'll find them and we'll talk about what they done to my forest and my weather. This ain't right."
When Malavarius doesn't get up, Zeno's laughter quickly shifts into silence as he hurriedly flys over to the wizard's prostrate side. He hops energetically back and forth as Pemsworth and Tsin try to stop the bleeding.
"Yes, Zeno. Master Pemsworth has put his nimble hands to good work." Tsin leans over to Pemsworth. "Keep pushing here? I think the cloth is staunching the flow." Tsin is visibly relieved as Pemsworth takes over for the finer touches. Quinn should have him right as prime. What is Hektir doing? Well, look at that.
---
"Hektir, how best to cover our fire from the sight of those we're tracking? Maybe a little distance from the clearing? They'll have their rear sights on this location, at least if they're not far gone already."
"Tsin, would you mind kindling that chest for me? Might serve some purpose out here." Hektir asks as he starts a fire. "I try to keep it unseen, but maybe it'd be easier if they came to us and our fire. Of course, that does take some of the joy out of the hunt."
"By your leave, locksmith. If there is nothing more to fear here then..." Tsin starts in again, this time, instead of ice, metal meets wood.
"It's never easy, though, is it?" Tsin sighs as she pulls her blade from the last of the kindling. "Just as likely they have their prize, and now the distance." A tent. Horses. A food wagon. All things that would be welcome at this moment. The smell of garlic, rising from the pot of rabbit meat.
As Tsin collects the shards of the smashed chest, she notices a glint of metal from below.
Fishing the quick excavation, she notices a cache of buried loot -- clearly weapons and armor stripped from Lady Argentea's guard -- below. She finds five sets of leather armor, three sets of studded leather armor, a masterwork chain shirt, two light wooden shields, seven longswords, two spears, a masterwork dagger, and three light crossbows with a total of 25 bolts.
"Ah, gentlemen. We have something here." Tsin rubs her hands together, for show. Her blood is pulsing quite strongly at the sight of new armors and weapons.
"If you don't mind, I'll secure one of these crossbows as my own." She asks only after she's managed to find a place to sling it. She also takes the bolts.
"Well, I say! Fortune smiles on us at last! Good news is always a welcome find!"
Quinn groans as he rolls over in the snow, blinking his eyes at the bright white return to consciousness. Seeing Hektir perched beside him, Quinn offers up a feeble grin and a lastwall fistbump. "Thanks, Pal, much appreciated!"
Quinn sets to healing up Malavarius and Pemsworth, though he includes the whole party in the waves healing energy.
The quietest whisper ever: "Thank you for earlier."
It had been several times now, first with the goblins when Quinn exercised foolish behavior, then with Hektir after the incident with the kobolds. It seemed that fate had intertwined their paths. Again and again it seemed, the men saved one another's life.
But never more than when the Bugbears had left Quinn for dead. Beaten, broken, robbed, death was imminent had Hektir not found him.
It could have been a mirror image to when he rolled over in the snow that very day, his life's blood staining it crimson, but his heart beating strongly. Hektir's healing energy fending off the reaper. That day Quinn had looked at the blue sky, thinking he would have never seen it again had the tracker not arrived to the rescue.
It made it that much more baffling when Hektir stole the cute barmaid that very evening. Crap man, I had been swooning her for weeks, then you come along with your rough, outdoorsy man's-man schtick, and sweep her away? It ain't right!
Like the sun, Quinn radiates. Good to know that Hektir can prevent eclipses then.
Tsin tries as best she can to cover the equipment again. "Let's hope we can return here to retrieve this, once our investigation is complete. Nine sets of armor. Have we accounted for those bodies, or should we assume they've been buried as well?" She readjusts her backpack, as the furs bunch up from the work of burying fine equipment.
"Did any of you want to borrow from these wares before I complete hiding them again? Hektir, can you note this position for our return? If the snows keep up, it would be a shame to lose it."
Hektir nods at Tsin.
"Not sure we can take it with us," Hektir confirms, casting an eye to Pems, the Bird, and Malavarius with doubts to their carrying capacity. "Might as well hide it rather than bury it. Can't imagine the forest creatures will want it and it's too dang cold for City Folk."
Hektir nods at Pems.
"Maybe that one has some skill at hiding stuff. Maybe he'll see a place we didn't think of. Maybe."
* * *
With the campfire going, Hektir looks out to the cold woods.
I don't do this when I'm alone, but these aren't normal times, are they?
Hektir suggests setting up a watch for the group.
8-midnight: Tsin and Pems
Midight-4 am: Hektir and the Bird
4-8am: Quinn and Malavarius
Hektir's able to set up a camp with Tsin's help and despite the heavy, wet snow covering and soaking everything, the abundance of fuel in the forest makes for a merry campfire that helps keep the chill away.
Huddling around the heat source, you're able to pass the night without too much discomfort, though it's certainly not a pleasant experience for those of you without winter gear or magic to protect you.
In the morning, you wake to more falling snow, though the trail remains clear leading deeper into the woods.
Hektir rises and stokes the fire, eager for breakfast. Pulling out some bacon to cook, Hektir places a few pieces on a hot rock to cook while he takes a moment to compose himself.
Kneeling at the edge of the circle, Hektir faces outward, head bowed. He sits silently for several moments.
Hektir rises from his communion and seems refreshed and less cold.
Usually, I save this for winter. But, then again, this is winter weather.
Hektir will help break camp, taking the time to restore the forest to pristine condition and hide as much traces of camp as he can.
"Let's move along. We have much work to do."
To bring the lining of her winter wear more warmth, Tsin stretches out, draws her blade, and moves through a pattern that includes lunges, slow spins, and arm extensions. She winds down with wrist rolls, and knuckle cracks.
Tsin douses the fire once the rest of the boys are up and moving. She observes Hektir's ministrations to the surrounds, and respects him a little more.
"Malavarius, Pemsworth? Are you well this morning? Did you get enough rest to prepare for the day, Quinn?" Tsin cleans the crossbow, making sure its burial has affected none of its moving parts.
"I'm ready to depart."
Tsin spends most of her time on the trek listening to the conversation of the others.
Quinn spends the first hours of morning in silent contemplation, preparing his spells for the day.
"I'm ready as well. Hektir, has the falling snow obliterated the trail, or is there any chance you can still follow it?"
"I'm ready as well. Hektir, has the falling snow obliterated the trail, or is there any chance you can still follow it?"
Hektir replies to Quinn with a wry smile. "You gone blind agin'..." ...you old bat?...the question triggering a memory.
When Quinn over-drinks (whether in worship or in a random binge), the first thing that goes is his sight, followed by his judgement. Such was the occasion a while back and a certain barmaid...Susan "Sooo-eeey" Porkins, a woman:
- of such porcine 'beauty' that it was rumored that her father was a wereboar who partially turned during the mating process;
- when Tsin was near her, men favored Tsin favorably;
- who's overbite had an overbite;
- who was referred to by dwarves as a "3 kegs and 2 beards", signifying what it might take to approach her.
Susie was plenty nice though.
Hektir remembers coming to the bar and seeing Quinn making such grandiose overtures of undying love and affection to Ms. Porkins, that even Hektir felt some duty to intervene...for which Hektir was sure Quinn still carried some anger.
He had, in fact, interrupted the eighth drunken sonnet to Susie's enduring beauty and begged her back to his room...not for the reason Quinn felt hurt, of course. Hektir's back had been thrown out carrying back the meat from a particularly large buck Hektir had nabbed.
Susie's near-cloven hooves/feet and ample weight were a perfect application for a sound back cracking. While Hektir certainly benefitted from her attentions, Hektir was never sure that Quinn knew, understood, or remembered the fate or embarrassment (and subsequent small town gossip) that had been spared the priest.
"Yeah, I can follow it. Let's find it together."
When everyone is ready, Hektir follows the trail.
Quinn does his best to assist Hektir follow the obscured trail.
Tsin lets Quinn and Hektir take the lead, and tsks when she disagrees with their direction. Remembering the tripwire, Tsin's nerves tighten.
Damn my eyes. We only have ourselves to blame if we stumble upon another 'gift' laid at our feet.
Walking next to the old wizard, Pemsworth is silent for a time. "Listen, Mr King, I'm sorry about the tripwire business. I didn't mean for you, at your venerable age, to be put in such a position. I'm very sorry and I'll do my best to ensure that you're safe, sir."
After a couple hours 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.
Suddenly, a white-scaled serpentine creature has the head of a ferocious dragon and two relatively small forearms that end in tiny claws leaps from under one of the piles of snow and sinks its jaws into Malavarius. Before anyone can react it wraps itself around him, clawing at his flesh, the wounds driving the old man unconscious.
It looks around and hisses at you as it curls protectively around its prey.
It looks like a type of primeval dragon known as a tatzylwyrm, though they're typically shades of green, brown and gray.
Hektir:
Malavarius:
Pemsworth:
Quinn:
Tsin:
Hektir:
Malavarius:
Pemsworth:
Quinn:
Tsin:
Antagonist:
Bite:
Grab:
Rake 1:
Rake 2:
"Great goblets! Where the devil did that thing come from?!?" Seeing Malavarius, who he had been speaking with only a moment before, torn and bloodied drove him into action, and he unleashed a sling bullet before drawing his short sword and readying for action.
Round 1, Init 6
"Gah! What is that?! That ain't normal!"
Hektir draws his scimitar (move action) and circles the beast to give Tsin a flank.
Ah...the Old Man...ah...well, the Bird may live.
I believe the raking and screaming will begin next round, not this one:
Rake (Ex)
A creature with this special attack gains extra natural attacks under certain conditions, typically when it grapples its foe. In addition to the options available to all grapplers, a monster with the rake ability gains two free claw attacks that it can use only against a grappled foe. The bonus and damage caused by these attacks is included in the creature’s description. A monster with the rake ability must begin its turn already grappling to use its rake—it can’t begin a grapple and rake in the same turn.
Round 1, Delay to Init 5
Tsin has little time to study the creature, as her eyes move to Hektir circling, and Malavarius' center of mass. Let's see if we can cut the gristle from the bone. Tsin reserves her strength for the precision necessary to keep the old man upright.
"Well positioned, Hektir. Let's keep circling it. The threat might make it think twice. That is, if it can think at all."
Except it's also got pounce, which allows it to use rake.
Apologies, I missed the charge action in the surprise round.
Quinn expels a pulse of healing energy, catching everyone including the serpentine beast.
"Hang in there, Mal, we'll get you free in a flash!"
Malavarius: 21
Pemsworth: 19
Quinn: 18
Antagonist: 12
Hektir: 6
Tsin: 5
Pemsworth's shot misses the creature, as Quinn's healing energies wash over Malavarius, closing the old man's wounds.
The creature begins dragging Malavarius away from the group, 15 feet into the deeper snow.
Despite that, Hektir and Tsin are just able to keep up with it, Hektir moving in front and Tsin behind, where she levels a mighty chops that draws a cry of pain and outrage from the creature.
Foe CMB/drag:
Foe: 12 hp
Quinn rushes after the tangling group, completely abandoning all discretion and safety, and leaps into the fray, slapping the serpentine creature as hard as he can.
target takes the lower of 2d20 for each d20 roll for 1 round.
Smack!
"Take that, foul wurm!"