To confirm, the short sword is medium sized.
I believe that wraps up the loot discussion which brings us back to the group high-tailing it out of there?
"Let's get going."
Time is beginning to lose meaning as gray, sunless days merge into black, moonless nights. Each night the sky blackens and boils, but still no rain falls.
Day 3
Day 3 is largely uneventful. Perhaps the group has attuned to the swamp and developed a sixth sense for survival? It isn't until twilight that setting changes; a light is seen off in the distance.
"This time, we need to move quietly. We missed him before, we should be wary he's onto us." Samantha whispers.
I won't miss that swamp, for sure...Let's be cautious.
As they set out on the third day, Morthak looks distastefully at the sky.
"I don't know where we are. But this cannot be the Brinestump Marsh."
"The Brinestump Marsh is only a couple of miles wide. It would not take three days to traverse. By now the current should have taken us to the sea."
-----
When the group spots the light in the distance, Morthak whispers:
"Shh... let the raft drift closer. If you wish I will swim out and scout ahead."
Morthak slips quietly into the water and begins heading towards the light.
A little island of dry land rises out of the stagnant water. The light comes from a fire that forms the center of a small camp. In the flickering light, you can clearly see a colorful gypsy wagon, two old mares, three gaily-clad children, and an old woman. A moment later, two men step into view. One is old and thin, the other young and strong. They settle themselves beside the fire. Then the old man looks up, directing the gaze of his good eye upon you. The other eye is milky and blank. The man smiles and motions with his withered hand, inviting you to join his group.
I am tempted to join them, if only to warm myself by the fire, share a meal and ask a few questions..
Hem... Hello? My name is Atsushia, and we are travelers.How are you? Nice to meet you..
The old man responds in a warm, deep voice, "Sastimos! Please, join us! I am Scarengi and this is my family," as he waves his arm out to indicate the rest of the group before digging out a pipe from a vest pocket and filling it thin filaments of tobacco.
Morthak climbs slowly out of the reeds and shakes the water off. He comes slowly to the fire, looking around carefully, suspicious of these strangers.
He looks over at the wagon and the mares, and frowns.
"How'd you get the wagon out to this little island?"
Morthak gets the impression that he's being sincere.
Scarengi lets out a hearty laugh, "That is my son's doing, Carloni," nodding in the direction of a strong young man with black hair and a matching mustache, "He is good, ya? Please, come. You are wet. Sit by the fire and warm yourself up."
Morthak looks the young man up and down, not really satisfied with the answer.
But he is quite wet. He shrugs and settles down near the fire, staring into it.
Morthak looks up after a moment and looks around at the 'family.'
"Has anyone else gone past in the last few days?" he says.
Scarengi takes a few long puffs on his pipe, the embers glowing while he does before settling down. Shrugging, "I am not sure. We just arrived here today. We're returning to the road after spending some time at the village at the edge of the swamp."
A plump woman with silver hair and laughing eyes carries a large cast iron pot to the fire, adding the earthy scents of cumin and paprika to that of the tobacco, offering smiles as she moves around. Scarengi adds, "It is not far, but it is not a place to visit on a night such as this."
Under his breath, the mustached man adds, "Better to stay in the swamp."
The woman agrees and says to Scarengi with a slightly reprimanding tone, "Say no more to our guests. To speak of evil is to invite it to dinner."
Scarengi takes a few long puffs on his pipe, the embers glowing while he does before settling down. Shrugging, "I am not sure. We just arrived here today. We're returning to the road after spending some time at the village at the edge of the swamp."
At the mention of the village Morthak looks at the rest of the party meaningfully.
Once Scarengi is finished talking, Morthak says,
"Edge of the swamp? We thought it went on forever. Heh. We've been crossing it for three days."
"Which way is this village? And which way to the road?"
Samantha remains on the raft, crouching low and watching the area around them with some suspicion. She has a hand on the pommel of her new short sword as she watches.
"The village is east and slightly south of here. Just look for the wood-and-thatch buildings and the plantation." The children move around the campsite as the larger woman starts to unpack small bowls and silverware. Scarengi pauses to inspect the stew simmering in the pot, "'Tis almost ready. Sit and enjoy the fire while we finish up. Perhaps, " he says with a sparkle in his eye, "There will even be time for a fortune."
Who is remaining on the raft and who is moving to join them at the fire?
Lars will go to the fire, glad to be off the water. If he is still wet, he has an extra incentive to move towards the fire.
Atsushia talks about recipes and the art of cooking, helping the older woman if she's allowed
If not, she will take time to put a small show for the children, using minor tricks of magic
Atsushia inspects the dish and exchanges trade conversation with the older woman, that introduces herself as Ryana, Scarengi's wife. A simmering combination of tomatoes, meat, and paprika, the goulash gives off a slightly sweet and smoky scent that smells inviting. Ryana asks Atsushia to start serving as she gathers the mamaliga (corn bread). Ryana even brings some out to Sam on the raft.
After dinner, when the children have been put to bed, the door at the back of the wagon opens to reveal a shapely young woman with dark, expressive eyes. She smiles shyly, then settles nearby, beside the fire. “This,” Scarengi proclaims proudly, “is my beautiful daughter Valana. She will tell your fortune.”
Valana gazes at each of you in turn, with the firelight shining in her large, black eyes. “The trouble began when I cast the runes for that quiet and lost young man,” she explains sadly. “Perhaps it will end with another casting.” She holds a flat pan in her lap and stone tiles in her hands. Then, after gazing once again into your eyes, she drops the tiles into the pan.
“The lost one has called you!” Valana gasps. Each member of her family hastily makes a protective gesture. “The dead will walk with the coming storm, and you must find a way to put them to rest. If you cannot, the rain will turn to blood! It will drown you-you and all of Marais d'Tarascon.”
Scarengi quickly ushers his wife and daughter into the wagon. “No charge for your fortune,” the old man adds hastily. “It is time to rest after the adventures of the day. Be our guests and sleep beside the fire.”
“This,” Scarengi proclaims proudly, “is my beautiful daughter Valana. She will tell your fortune.”
Morthak glowers, still soaking wet, but he scratches his beard in thought.
I haven't consulted the bones in days. Maybe that's why we're lost?“The trouble began when I cast the runes for that quiet and lost young man,” she explains sadly.
"Wait... what man? And what trouble?"
“The lost one has called you!” Valana gasps. Each member of her family hastily makes a protective gesture. “The dead will walk with the coming storm, and you must find a way to put them to rest. If you cannot, the rain will turn to blood! It will drown you-you and all of Marais d'Tarascon.”
Morthak's eyes widen. Then he frowns.
Is this real? Is she a true seer, or is this just a sham? In the Age of Lost Omens prophecy tends to fail. If she recognizes my Pharasmin markings she knows that the undead are my enemy; this could be a con.He watches as the father ushers the daughter away.
"The dead tend not to walk for long when I am around," he mutters.
"But what is this 'Maray Datarascon?' Is it a place?"
Lars remains silent as he sits by the fire. Words of dire prophecy meant little to him, as their quarry was all that was his concern. He decided to let the halfling interrogate them, for now. Because unless they were able to help them in their current quest, he had no use for them.
Atsushia watched the girl doing her stuff, trying to determine what kind of magic she might use
Errrr... when will this storm begin, exactly? And supposing the dead will walk, why are we the ones who can stop them? And how?
The conclusion of the fortune is frenetic. Scarengi focuses on moving his family inside and really doesn't catch many of the questions. You do catch that Marais D'Tarascon is the name of the village in between his commands to round up the family.
Atsushia doesn't detect anything that would identify a spell - at least not according to traditional paradigms.
Only Carloni remains outside, settling upright into the driver’s seat of the wagon with a heavy cloak around him, eyes closed.
"I don't like it," Morthak says as he pokes at the fire with a stick.
"Do you think the 'Lost Young Man' was Greenway?"
Hard to tell, we don't had a description. Then, who would come willingly here? Let's do the best of our situation, and keep close by the fire. We should keep guard, if only to repay the kindness of those who fed us.
As the group begins to settle for the night, a shapely form appears outlined in the wagon doorway. Barely above a whisper, "Beware the madman. Beware his blood." Then the door closes.
==========================================================
The group awakens in the morning to the dying embers of the fire. The makeshift raft remains secured against the water's edge, but there's no sign of Scarengi, his family, or his vardo (wagon).
What does the group wish to do?
Samantha is boggled at the disappearance of the wagon, and the nature of the swamp in the first place. It would have taken far less time to cross than they have. Have they been affected by magic?
Once she checks everyone over with detect magic she will help them set up breakfast and prepare for the next day's pursuit.
"Well that was bloody worthless! Best to get on with it then. I won't be scared off by actors as piss poor as these."
"Hm. Think they were ghosts? They fed us though. I don't think ghosts can do that."
Morthak gets up and begins going through his morning ablutions.
"There's no town on the edge of the Brinestump Marsh."
"But wherever we are, it's the only lead. Our quarry may be there, and if not, well, I'm sick of this swamp anyways."
That was quite spooky... I haven't heard a thing when they left. Just a barely audible whisper, "Beware the blood of the madman", or something like that..
Atsushia shivers from the cold and wet weather, or maybe from something else
We should eat something and go as soon as we are ready
Samantha doesn't detect any magic outside what she expects from the party already.
===================================================================
The same bleak weather persists. Clouds overlap like watercolor strokes, building deeper shades with each layer.
Resigned, you eventually set off into the swamp again, still feeling hopeless about finding your bounty. At least you aren't the only souls in the swamp.
The trees in this part of the swamp close in around the raft, forming a thick tangle of branches and exposed roots, making progress slow and difficult. Sharp, broken limbs scratch your arms and legs as you push the raft forward, and the wind whistles an odd, lifeless tune as it rushes through the leaves overhead. As you break through a clump of foliage, a light appears in the distance. It is brighter than a single lantern, warm and inviting in the cold, damp air. The light is not at eye level. It hovers in the dark so that you must look up to see it.
Like moths to a flame, you and your raft slide easily toward the source of the light. It is a small wooden house, hardly larger than a shack. Light spills from its two front windows and a wide open door. The house appears to be suspended in the air above the surface of the swamp, its reflection shimmering in the dank pool before it.
The house appears to be suspended in the air above the surface of the swamp, its reflection shimmering in the dank pool before it.
"Wonderful. Another Oddity."
"Well, this is unexpected. Think our quarry has been through here?"
As you get closer, you see four stout poles rise from the swamp, lifting the house some 8 feet above the water. It's centrally located in the water, so it'll take more than just climbing a nearby tree.
This has a strange, eerie beauty...I guess it's a good way to avoid unexpected guests.
Samantha tenses as she sees the house, but relaxes once the stilts are noticed. "Whew!" she exhales. "Was worried it was standing on chicken legs. We'd be in a load of trouble were that the case. My ma'd tell me stories about that witch. Said she'd snatch me up if I misbehaved."
"I fear that we are losing the trail. Let's see if whomever lives here has seen anyone matching the Hooked Horror's description." With that, Lars looks for a way to get to the house.
The front of the shack has two windows and an open door. No curtains cover the windows. There are no windows or doors on the sides of the structure, and the back wall holds only a single window, also bare. All attempts to hail the residence go unheard, raising the question to leave or consider other methods of entry.
Suddenly a rope ladder drops from the doorway. No figure steps into the light to greet you, and not even a shadow passes the open door. The ladder, constructed of wooden steps and thick rope, simply rolls out with a brief clatter of knocking wood. The last step hangs just above the surface of the fetid water, inviting you to climb up into the warm light.
"Well, what's the worst that could happen?"
Lars starts to climb up...
The little house has only one room. All told, more than two dozen lanterns hang from pegs on the wall and sit on the warped wooden floor, flooding the shack with light. To the right of the door, unopened boxes have been neatly stacked against the wall. An open-topped barrel sits beside the boxes.
In the center of the room, facing the door, is a young man. He sits within a circle of five burning lanterns, with his large, blank eyes fixed in place. The young man is unusually thin and pale, and his long, blond hair hangs limply to his shoulders. His features are tortured. The simple shirt and pants that he wears are clean and fresh. He clutches a small book in his lap, but makes no move to get up or greet you-except to slowly struggle out an incomprehensible phrase: “The on descend shall evil of night the land, at near is signs of hexad this when hand.” Then he returns to his quiet state, neither speaking nor responding in any way.
Morthak follows Lars up the ladder. He listens to the young man speak.
"That makes no sense. Did the wagon people tell you that?"
Morthak waves his hand in front of the man's face for a moment. When he gets no response, he shrugs.
He looks around the room, poking into the boxes and such.
Afterwards, he pulls out his little pouch of bones. He shakes them, and then spills them out on the floor. He looks at them for a few moments, trying to discern the future in his own way.
I guess this man isn't as alone as he might look. His clothes are clean, see? Someone must take care of him...Morthak, do you see any cooking ustensils? If not, it's another proof of visiting.
Atsushia looks at the book the man is clutching, trying to read the title, if any.
She then listen carefully at the sentence, writing it on a bit of parchment from her own pouch, and try to figure out what it might mean
“The on descend shall evil of night the land, at near is signs of hexad this when hand.”
"The night of evil shall descend on the land, when this hexad of signs is near at hand", maybe? That makes a little more sense, in a "prophesy of doom" kind of thingy
Samantha shakes her head, losing heart.
"Are we even in brinestump anymore?" she asks. "I'm starting to think we should head back to Sandpoint and retrace our tracks. Something's wrong here."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Samantha shakes her head, losing heart.
"Are we even in brinestump anymore?"
"No, I think not. The Brinestump is only two, perhaps three miles long, and much narrower. Even at our slow pace we would have come to the other side in a few hours."
"And there is no town called 'Maray Datarascon' anywhere near it."
Morthak shakes his head.
"Perhaps fate carried us here. Wherever this is."
Morthak returns to examining the contents of the room.
"Fate can go sit on a pike if it wants anything from me besides finding Trevol." As Lars said that he continued his search for any clue as to the murderer's presence, completely ignoring the prophet.
Morthak follows Lars up the ladder. He listens to the young man speak.
Yes, I'll try to call it out when you match the description. This gaunt young man definitely does not.
[dice=Perception for any signs that our quarry was here]1d20+4
Lars doesn't see any indication of a man on the run or his utensils of predation, but does manage to find large stores of fresh produce and baked goods in the boxes as well as what appears to be clean water in the barrels. Morthak assists in the discovery, but finds no cooking utensils.
The young man continues to stare blankly in front of him, paying no mind to the intrusion.