Tsin nods as Zeno elaborates. "The crows' bodies were untouched. They weren't hunting them for food. They were displaying their dark spirit." Tsin shudders, both from the cruelty, and from the cold.
Tsin keeps the crossbow raised as they continue, but grows tired of holding it up. She unloads it, and puts it away. She almost reaches out to rest her arm on Malavarius, but remembers herself. She has just enough energy to assist Hektir find a welcome place to rest. "Thank you, Hektir. If we keep going like this, I'm likely to wear out."
Quinn keeps his crossbow ready as they walk through the snowy woods, looking for both shelter and the sprites.
The night again passes uneventfully, though even huddled close to the fire, it's a cold, miserable experience. Still, the blaze proves warm enough to let those feeling the effects of hypothermia recover.
In the morning, you continue along the snowy trail, which is crossed after an hour by a narrow game trail winding its way through the trees and undergrowth. Hoofprints mark the underlying snow, leading in both directions.
Hektir again rises early and spends time, alone, looking to the forest.
"C'mere Tsin, you don't mind if I touch you, do you?"
I wonder if any man *ever* touches her. Face like a...
"This won't hurt a bit and might even warm you up."
Quinn completes his morning routines, finishing with a casting of endure elements for both Pemsworth and himself. "I do say that we'll be more prepared today. No sense in freezing, or getting skewered, if we can help it."
With crossbow loaded and ready, Quinn attempts to assist Hektir in finding the snowy trail.
Cantrips (3): light, prestidigitation, read magic
Level 1 (5+1): endure elements, snapdragon fireworks x3, protection from evil, shield*
Pemsworth feels the warmth settle over him as Quinn casts his spell. "That is truly amazing, Quinn! What a useful sort of spell! So, tell me, you simply pray to Cayden and each day he grants you these wonderful magics? Is there a price?" Pemsworth, raised by an arcanist, has never been close to a divine caster before. He'll ask dozens of questions regarding the life of a cleric and faith itself.
"Of course not, Hektir, but it was very polite of you to ask." Tsin understands the touch to be like a purebred horse receiving the groomer's brush, and is not offended.
As the spell settles in, Tsin flexes her hands, and enjoys the pain as it dissipates. "Magic is wonderful, is it not? But it has its limits, right? I am glad for the relief."
Tsin listens intently as Pem converses with Quinn.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Well, I suppose that I pray, it's really more like an internal conversation. I never went looking for Him, it was simply that our paths crossed. I had been drinking heavy with some low brow individuals, and I was the last man standing, or sitting as it was, around the table, when His voice first entered my mind. Felt just like family, instantly familiar, not threatening at all. He told me to steal the keys from the unconscious low brow louts, turned out those boys were slavers, and with a little direction from Him I fled the town in a sea of liberated halflings. Felt like a king, I did, standing tall among all those happy beaming faces reaching their little hands up to pat me on the back, I didn't even mind that their sneaky fingers took all my gold as well." Quinn beams a smile himself, still content at the success of freeing slaves that day. "Been a follower ever since, it's easy to follow Cayden, if you love Freedom, Adventure, and fine Drink, and, really now, what else is there? Perhaps Love, Family, National Pride? But all those things can take Freedom from you, not that they aren't wonderful things for the right person, but they carry the potential to harm a principle that I hold most dear!"
"Ain't nothing, Tsin. Me and nature have an agreement," Hektir replies as if that explains everything.
Hektir follows the trail further, his sling loaded with a cold iron bullet, still hoping to see the icy fey archers.
* * *
Hektir listens Quinn's story of finding Him.
"Wasn't it Him who told you to find the that ridiculous Golden Truffle, too? We spent weeks hunting that," Hektir asks with a measure of hard feelings.
About a minute after you pass the game trail, you hear a voice from behind you.
"Hello. Who is that you are?"
Behind you, you see a white stag coming out of the woods.
"Wasn't it Him who told you to find that ridiculous Golden Truffle, too? We spent weeks hunting that," Hektir asks with a measure of hard feelings.
The Golden Truffle! Quinn still hoped that one day they would find the fabled fungus, the secret ingredient for an ambrosia befitting Cayden. Quinn had dreamed of a narrow gully filled with the golden caps, with a floating mug dancing across the tops. Surely it was a sign from his god! He dreamed of it every night for a week and the urgency grew heavy on Quinn. He badgered, coaxed, bullied, flattered, and, at times, literally dragged Hektir to help in the search. After weeks of walking every little creek and stream near Heldren, they had nothing to show for their efforts, and returned empty handed. That evening Hektir found Quinn sprawled outside the pub, his fumbled mug before him and Quinn rubbing a hand across the cobblestones, mumbling "the golden caps, the golden caps". Quinn swore the dreams were real and not the half memories of green beer mixed with grain alcohol and a close up view of cobblestones, but Hektir never really believed him.
"Why, hello there, Lord of the Forest, it's a pleasure to meet you! I'm Quinn Kestrel, follower of Cayden Cailean. My friends and I were following the trail of several kidnapped folks that passed through this unnatural winter. Have you perhaps seen the captives, or do you know what is causing this winter during summer?" Quinn exudes a friendly demeanor, masking his trepidation at yet another unnatural event in the appearance of the talking stag.
Pemsworth's mouth opens at the sight of a large talking deer, but he attempts to recover to aid Quinn.
"Aye, as my friend here says, we're on a mission most noble and would gratefully accept any help you might give, my Lord."
Tsin's hand loosens on her hilt as the Quinn and Pemsworth engage this new creature in conversation. Not three days ago, I'm cracking a stag's ribcage with Perkin. Now, I'm talking with one. What is this new madness? I wonder what he'd fetch on the market. Certainly not in Heldren. He'd make a grand centerpiece.
Hektir spins to shoot the icy fey...only to quickly drop this weapon as the stag's form is revealed.
Know (Nature)
"Ooops! Sorry. Thought you were one of them icy sprites. Dang little buggers killing crows and now trying to kill us. I'm Hektir...sorry, didn't mean to disturb your forest."
Diplomacy to Aid
"I say, what's this now? A talking stag by chance? Zeno! Do you see this? Do you think he'd be interested in your job? He seems much friendlier than you."
"Oh, be quiet, you! Who asked you anyway, you- you- you miserable mallard. Ha!"
Malavarius then turns to the stag, smiling brightly.
"Hello to you too! Magnificent to find civility out in the Wild, where one might traditionally least think to find it. Good morning, yes good morning indeed. Forgive me, but do I know you?"
"I am not thinking you am knowing me," the stag responds. "I am being called Fawfein. Excuse me, but what are you being called?"
"What am you being planning to do if you find the kidnapped people?"
"We would Free the kidnaped people, kind Fawfein, for all creatures deserve freedom."
"Pleased to meet you, Fawfein. I am called Tsin. This is Pemsworth. You can call this one Hektir." Tsin decides to move a little closer, and rests her hand on the cleric. "This is Quinn. The revered old one is called Malavarius."
Still on Tsin's shoulder, Zeno gives her a quick peck on the crown of her head.
"Oh my! All due apologies." Tsin blushes. "Fawfein, please call this fierce little one, Zeno." Shant forget that soon. Tsin rubs her temple embarrassingly.
Hektir nods to the beast, but mostly keeps quiet.
Them talky animals don't take a shine to me all the time.
It was all she could do to stay on the horse. She never compared, never tried to compare, to Melisande, who practically slept in the stables when not tending to father's papers.
Tsin didn't see the arrow fly, as she adjusted her aching thighs in the saddle, but she did hear the almost human scream as Orwyne downed the doe. Of course she downed it. Even blindfolded, she never missed her mark.
Orwyne's laughter quickly became sobs, as she realized that her arrow hadn't killed. It was murder, but of the mood, not the animal. Well, their mood, at least. For Tsin, you can't kill what is already dead, now can you?
Tsin welcomed the chance to dismount, welcomed the chance to bring silence once more to the forest. Standing over the doe, she takes a moment to study the placement of the arrow. "Quartering toward. You've struck behind the shoulder, but you've likely pierced through to its stomach." Orwyne's despair made worse, Tsin brings the falchion down, brings her talent to bear. Her mind eases as both creatures quiet down.
Tsin watches Fawfein intently, her eye drifting past the hollow of its shoulder, roughly a hand's width.
Pemsworth stays silent and tries to look appropriately sincere. Talking animals were definitely not his forte and if the others had a handle on this, so much the better!
The little thrush bows with a flourish from Tsin's shoulder, his left wing thrown out then brought across in front of his chest regally.
Malavarius shakes his staff threateningly at Zeno when he mentions the wizard's name, but then he settles down and begins to rake his fingers through his long beard as he regards the stag.
He mutters quietly to himself as his thinks on the nature of the stag, eventually trailing off into a soft chuckle, "Talking stags, eh? Hmmmm. Why's a stag talking? And to us of all people? Curious indeed. My my. Oh, but you know, it is a fine name at that. Zeno may have a point there. Hm hm hm..."
"Oh, how are you being freeing them, then? You do not look so fierce to me. How will you not end up being kidnapped too?"
Tsin thinks to draw her blade, then thinks some more.
"We're not sure about freeing them, but I hope we're fierce enough to avoid capture." She turns to Quinn and Malavarius as she quiets from saying rougher things.
Hektir spits on the ground and rises the Stag's challenge and to back up Tsin's words.
"Come now, Ungulate. I've been in these here woods for years now...I can take care of myself," Hektir says as he spits again. "Now, these fey are fierce, but we ain't children and we protect our own. We don't mean no trouble to our forest, of course, I think it my own as much as yours, but something ain't right here and we aim to find out what it is."
"Good forest lord, we do not assume success, but we've the courage and resolve to at least try, it would be a failure to do otherwise. Their undead creatures, sinister traps, and icy imps have not stopped us, and they do not turn to face us, I should like to think that my able companions here strike fear into those we follow."
"Well, I am thinking I should be wishing you a lot of luck," he says. "I am thinking you will be needing it."
"Um, good forest lord, you do believe in good freedom fighters vs. evil kidnappers, right? So would you provide just a bit of help for us, please? Our companion here, Malavarius, has seen many winters and his legs move a bit stiffer these days. You don't have to join our battles, but will you please carry him a ways so that we may catch up to those we pursue?"
"Please, sir Stag. A woman's life hangs in the balance. She was taken by cold fey, of the sort that ought not be here now. You know something is amiss; the seasons are changing out of turn. Please. Please if you can help us, please help us."
Pemsworth holds his hands wide, to show he has no hidden motives or weapons.
"That it, stag? Your forest winters and you offer nothing but luck? Bah. Go then. If you will not help, at least do not hinder." Hektir says with a wave of his hand.
"Fawfein. You are the second creature today that has presented in a color different from what we would expect for this neck of the woods." Tsin nods at Malavarius. "Our White One has identified a white tatzylwyrm, very uncommon according to him. And now you, who seems perfectly dressed for snowy landscape. Are these lands strange to you, too, I wonder? From where do you come?"
The snag snorts.
"These are not begin Fawfein's lands, but Fawfein is thinking they are quite nice. Fawfein is also thinking you are being in a lot of trouble if you can not even be dealing with a little snow."
He begins to trot away up the trail ahead of you, almost as if to show how easily he can move through the heavy snow.
Hektir snorts in return and continues down the path.
"That was strange. Let's move on." Hektir grips his heavy shield tight with his sling at the ready.
Survival
Perception
Hektir ponders as he goes.
The Golden Truffle
The punchline to all this, Hektir recalls, was that the truffle was delicious.
The recipe was simple: Golden Truffle Venison Stew
Ingredients:
2 slabs venison
1 onion, sliced at least thrice
1 spit elven wine
1 handful flavorful wild mushrooms
1/2 pound tomatoes, smashed between 2 rocks
A Glyph egg, boiled and shredded
2 tablespoons minced vegepygmy tuft
2 leaves basil, shredded
The leaves from a small sprig of thyme
and, most importantly:
A rare golden truffle sought after by one jerky priest for weeks
Preparation:
Toss everything in a large kettle, cook over a pine wood, stirring occasionally with the whisker of a dweomercat. Cook for hours while making sweet, sweet love to the town, uhm, 'partygirl'.
Variation: You can, if you like, use 1 Mandragora fang in place of the vegepygmy tuft.
Yield: 6 servings
----------------
Hektir had enjoyed the feast a few days after Quinn had called off the hunt, and, so angry was Hektir about the entire affair, that Hektir never mentioned his find to Quinn.
Hektir regrets this episode to this day and still looks for a second Golden Truffle to this day to give to Quinn.
Malavarius scoffs at Quinn's attempt at diplomacy, backing up his incredulation with a swift rap of his staff to the priest's head. "Well I never! I'll have you know that while I may be an old man, my stride is neither shorter nor slower than your own, Master Kestrel." He then leans in conspiratorily, but speaks just as loudly, "If anyone is slowing us down, it's our short-legged friend Pemsworth over there. Do you know, I think I rather his spunk though." He raps Quinn on the head a second time before turning his attention directly to Fawfein, "Forgive him. Addled in the head he is, takes too much to his god's holy brew, I suspect. I wish you the best, strange-talking-stag-with-a-name-I've-already-forgotten. I assure you that I personally have no desire to roast you for supper and I trust you feel the same."
Malavarius turns away from Fawfein then, looking around for Zeno. His eyes widen in recognition when he sees the thrush perched up Tsin's shoulder. "Aha! What'd you think of that, eh Zeno? Perfectly navigated. Expertly negotiated! But a talking stag of all things? Black magic, no doubt. Black magic of the worst kind. Mmm mmm mmm. I say, what are you still doing over there? Have you fixed us second breakfast yet?"
"These are not begin Fawfein's lands, but Fawfein is thinking they are quite nice. Fawfein is also thinking you are being in a lot of trouble if you can not even be dealing with a little snow."
Tsin is also thinking you are being in a lot of trouble if the land returns to normal somehow, and you're a white stag in a green forest.
Tsin thinks a bit on the stag and its direction, and scans its footprints, looking for any telltale unique groove that will allow her to recognize it again. "The stag wandered here from somewhere. Is that somewhere the samewhere we're headed?" Tsin tries to locate the stag's trail, and compares it to the trail Hektir seeks to follow.
Tsin, you can't see tracks to indicate where the stag came from, though it leaves clear prints in the fresh powder in the snow on the trail in the direction you're heading.
The trail, and the stag's footprints, lead you on for a couple more hours until -- around mid-day -- you see a human-sized snowman in the middle of the trail before a frozen stream. A crude wooden sign leans against it and bears the words “Trespassers Turn Back.”
Pemsworth scowls at the retreating white stag. "Is it too late to request white venison for dinner?" he mutters in a low voice, then sighs and starts back after the others on the path, walking in their footsteps.
Hektir reads the sign and snorts.
"Hey Quinn...they don't like you either," Hektir jokes, yelling over his shoulder.
Heh.
Burn.
Hektir kicks down the snowman, raising a foot to its face and pushing.
"This is my forest. No one tells me where I can't go."
Unless something happens, Hektir continues on.
Tsin puts a callused hand on Pemsworth's shoulder, and poorly stifles a laugh. "A shame, wouldn't you say? Our purpose lies ahead, and Fawfein was lucky to miss his today."
---
Watching Hektir foot his frustration, Tsin debates bringing up her crossbow, or unsheathing her falchion. Aggressive acts breed aggressive acts. She sets a bolt, and lowers it to her hip to take the strain off her forearm.
"You tell em, Hektir. Not sure who 'them' is, but tell them just the same." She scans the frozen stream for signs of life.
Pems, still smarting from the hidden trap before, examines the snowman before Hektir can kick it down!
Before either of you can get close enough to examine it or kick it, the snowman suddenly speaks!
"Can’t you read? The sign says turn back! Now get lost!” it says as you move to about 15 feet away.
Pemsworth just about jumps into the air when the snowman speaks! "Well bless my britches! Pardon me, Snowman, but we need to follow this path. We're searching for a missing woman, kidnapped a few days ago. Her trail leads this way. Please let us pass!"
Hektir nearly slips and falls as the snowman speaks.
I'm beginning to get annoyed with this winter crap.
Stopping short, Hektir gives the snowman the evil eye.
"Get out of my way, snowman. We got a job to do and this ain't your forest. Get out of our way or we'll make some chilled wine out of you."
"Blow me to Brevoy! Now it's a talking pile of snow! I'd dare call it a... a... a Snow-Man! Zeno! Zeno! Do you see this? Is there nothing in this wintry wood that can't speak?"
Zeno flits over to take his usual perch atop Malavarius' staff.
"Ho ho! Now stop it, Zeno. Hektir's not all that bad. A bit grumpy at times, but he doesn't talk all that much and you get used to the smell. Errr... eventually."
Zeno fluffs his wings then chirps,
"Oh?" Malavarius considers this for a moment, his finger tapping against his pursed lips. "Oh! Well fine then. Have it your way." He turns to the snowman, shaking Zeno from his perch then giving Hektir a swift rap on the head, "Is that anyway to say hello?" He looks to the snowman, "I say, now who might you be and why are you made of snow?"
Zeno lands on Hektir's shoulder and whispers, He trails off in tiny chirping giggles.