North of the Wind (Inactive)

Game Master dien

Ulfens and tigers and bears, oh my. Except no tigers.

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HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn, beginning to sweat through the first layers of his clothing, looks over to follow Rikka’s words. ”Yep. That’s about right.” It’s clear he’s not sure what to make of the stanzas or their speaker. ”Though I’m beginning to think there’s nothing the fae do without a price of some kind.”

He nods along to some of Tassidar’s words. ”Maybe our singing ork was involved in our children’s taking. Maybe not. But he may have information either way. If you can’t speak to him, well … I know a bit of ork tongue.”

Will we have to leave the path to go to the singing ork?


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

*climbs back onto this wagon, whuff*

The path seems to lead in the direction of the singing...

Cautiously, the group moves together, down the mossy flagstones, in the direction of the bawdy chanteur. (The song just gets worse as they go, too.) The path curves downhill, and around a hill, that is blocking your view of the singer, but you haven't walked more than a hundred feet when you round the bend and see...

...well, not an ork, at the least.

There's a small, enthusiastic stream here, flowing down between rocks and over a makeshift weir of twigs and bracken. A structure, if it can be termed that-- almost more of an enclosed lean-to, small enough that an Ulfen man might need to hunch a bit-- is between two birch trees on the far bank, and seems to be losing a war against gravity save for the trees that help prop it up. The air is filled with several pungent, sharp smells: woodsmoke, and the scent of boiling barley, and juniper branches... there's another scent, not entirely unknown to Ulfens but more familiar to Tassidar: the sharp tang of fermenting grapes.

The reason for the scents is plain enough to see: by the little stream, there are two men stomping grapes in a large vat. They look human enough, surely not orks, but there is something wild about them: their beards and hair are unkempt, their clothes stained with liquids, and there are hollows under their eyes that suggest they are very tired. Not that it seems to dim their vigor for the stomping of grapes! By the glassy look in their eyes and the smears of purple-red around their lips, you think they've been sampling what is being produced.

Sense Motive, DC 15:
...Actually, that glassy look in their eyes doesn't seem like drunkenness, to you... the jerky motions of their limbs and the dazed expression on their faces suggests to you they may not be entirely in control of their own actions.

Aside from the wine-vat, there's a beaten-copper pot nearby that's almost the size of a man, set atop a bed of coals; barley is boiling in that.

Still, stranger than any of this is the singer himself. From the waist up, he appears to be like a man: a stomach, a lean but masculine chest, shoulders, two arms, two hands... however, his beard is shorn to an odd, small point, and his ears are also pointed. Two horns, like a goat's, protrude from a head of wild, unruly black hair.

From the waist down, his body is entirely that of a black-haired goat, complete with tail and hooves. He wears no clothing, but has a single satchel worn with a shoulder strap. A bow and quiver are resting against a nearby rock. The goat-man is sprawled on the ground, propped up on his elbows, watching the two men stomp grapes and, as you've heard, singing.

He registers your presence almost immediately, however, and bounds nimbly to his feet.

Kn Nature, DC 14:
You've heard tales of such a creature as this goat-man-- they are called satyrs, and they are creatures of mischief and magic, capable of charming others to their will.

Kn Nature, DC 19:
You've heard tales of such a creature as this goat-man-- they are called satyrs, and they are creatures of mischief and magic, capable of charming others to their will. Their skin can turn a normal blade-- cold iron is needed to hurt them fully.

Kn Nature, DC 24:
You've heard tales of such a creature as this goat-man-- they are called satyrs, and they are creatures of mischief and magic, capable of charming others to their will. Their skin can turn a normal blade-- cold iron is needed to hurt them fully. They have numerous magical powers-- the ability to summon animals to do their will, the ability to play magical pipes and ensorcel men and women in various fashions. Though not inherently evil, they are selfish and shallow creatures who think little of anything beyond satisfying their enormous desires for revelry and physical pleasures.

"Mikä tämä on? Et ole vihreä-nahat! O-ho-- näen lunta puput ..."

Sylvan:
"What is this? You're not green-skins! O-ho-- I see snow-bunnies..."

The goat-man grins, showing very white teeth, and switches to Skald. "Well, well. A merry day to you, cold-children! Take off your cloaks, sweetlings, let the sun kiss your flesh. Much too nice to be hiding it!"

I will try and get up a map tomorrow, but feel free to have initial reactions.


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
Know (Nature): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

Eysteinn tries to take in the scene, but his focus is on the goat-man, whom he watches suspiciously. ”Fae,” he mutters to the team, ”A satyr, actually. A trickster and seiðr-creature who enjoys enthralling minds, so the stories go. Be wary of his pipes,” he says as he looks beyond at the two working men with suspicion, ”They are said to ensorcel men and women.” He lets his gaze be drawn back to the goat-man, ”Not evil, really, just … lazy and self-indulgent.”

Eysteinn doesn’t stow his blade or remove any clothes. ”I am good …” he struggles to know the proper way to address such a creature, ”… Master Satyr.”

I know one of the men looks and is dressed more-or-less Ulfen, but what of the other?
Know (Local): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5

Rikka watches cautiously, "Yeah, those don't appear to be willing grape-stompers."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Knowledge: Nature: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11


Male Human (Ulfen) Occultist

One of the Ulfen's cadence is noticeably slower than the other... no doubt product of his relatively slight build and the pallidness of his skin. He wheezes and draws deep breaths as he struggles to keep apace with his companion. His eye sockets are stained black with kohl, though the pigment has begun to run and it gives an impression of black tears. His shirt is open to his waist and his sleeves rolled up, laying plain a less than impressive physique. Under the ruby grape stains though are fading tattoos in madder red and weld yellow to go along with woad lettering upon his fingers. Apart from his breeches and shirt, the only possession upon his person is a grey stone pendant bouncing up and down upon a brown leather thong.


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

Tassidar takes in the sight of the encampment and the two humans stomping grapes.

sense motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
Know nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Tassidar whispers back, "I feel you are both right. I think we have to try to communicate with him though, I will give it a try."

Tassidar approaches with a bow.

"And greetings to you in return. My companions and I are most certainly not orcs, but wonder if have you happened to see any pass by? With young snow children with them by chance?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

Sense Motive 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
Knowledge (Nature) 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

Map

(The two men, though both Ulfen-looking, are very different in appearance. The one, as described, is slim and slight for an Ulfen, and the other is taller than Njall the blacksmith, with shoulders nearly as broad. In comparison, the smaller man seems almost a stripling youth until his beard is noticed-- straggly though it may be.)

Another flash of white teeth at Eysteinn's cautious greeting... it turns into a short laugh at Tassidar's words. "Per-haps. Perhaps I have. Oh yes, perhaps!"

The goat-man tugs on one horn. "But why should I tell you, my snowbirds? You stink of blood and steel. It's clear as stanzas six and seven that you're turning my lovely road into a warpath, hm, yes? Red roses all over, and so many thorns! And where war walks wild, however shall I flourish, dainty delicate daisy that I am? Truth: now shall I be parceling news to you, like any gossip-wag, why, the green-skins might not count me friend."

The satyr strikes a pose of exaggerated grief at this, clutching at his heart, then wheels around. "But they're ugly bastards, aren't they! So may the kindly ladies take them, and shape them, and all devils take the hindmost quarter. Still! Nothing's ever free, no, no, though I'm often cheap and easy. If I'm to be singing at you, my lovelies, I'll need to be taking a gift for my time, don't you think? Yes, we do."

The two men continue stomping grapes, seeming at best half-aware of your presence.


Male Human (Ulfen) Ranger 3 [HP 23/27 | AC: 17 (Tch:14 FF:13) | Fort +4 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +4 | Perc +8]

Knute is bewildered at the site that greets the party when they round the bend. He racks his brain for any tales of such a creature.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Kn: Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

Knute nods at Eysteinn and Rikka's comments, recalling to mind things he's heard about satyrs as well. He remembers something Eysteinn didn't mention: Satyrs resist normal metal, but are weak to cold iron... That could mean the orks were fighting his kind. Or just that my arrows won't work well on him, the ranger muses. He makes no move for it yet, but makes a mental note to draw the orkish falchion instead of the bow, if things go south.

At the satyr's mention of a gift, Knute starts thinking of all the things on his person. None seem to be suitable gifts for this strange creature. And I'm not sure I trust my tongue for speech with the satyr... The ranger keeps his mouth shut and watches the satyr warily.


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn is caught between being highly suspicious and equally curious. Suspicion wins out.

”A gift of your time? What gift did you make to those …” he borrows the Satyr’s term, ”… those green skins. If you claim this road, then you must have given them your gift of passage. Do you want to know what they did with this gift of yours? They came to our home in the night, and through fire, steel, and foul magic killed us in our sleep and stole away with our children.”

”Should we still be talking about what’s owed?”


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

The satyr cocks his head at Eysteinn, one dark brow arching.

"I think you're failing to understand," he says, blithely unbothered by Eysteinn's words about fire and steel. "The gifts come to me. Not the other way around. Your green-skins gave me a gift, and, I liked it so much, I let them walk wither they would. I do not--" the goat-man yawns, deliberately, with an exaggerated stretch, "--terribly care where that is, or why, or what they do there. You say they did terrible things! Probably so. To you."

The satyr sticks his smallest finger into one pointed ear, wiggling it around as if he had an itch. "Now. You want to walk wither you will, don't you? Go gallumping around chasing greens? Get these children back, haha, oh, lots of people try and get children back from the Green, it's true-- ooh, that was good, I need to write that one down-- anyway, point being, you want things from me, and so far you've not been very polite about it, have you? No, no you haven't."

Bright, alert eyes travel your little group, and come to rest on Rikka and Halla. "...oh, I could be very polite to you, ladies! Yes, yes I could. Sunshine and Moonlight, by the looks of you, what looks I can see of you, under all that horrible fur-- how's this, for a gift? The ladies stay with me. Very nice. Very friendly. And in return I'll be oh-so-generous."

The satyr's tail twitches at this prospect, and he smiles around brightly at the group, expectantly.


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

Halla pulls Signy's borrowed furs up higher around her neck. This may be a beautiful place but not one she's willing to stay in under any circumstances.


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

"Your people have shared the glades and groves of Kyonin with mine for time innumerable. An peace from understanding one another's natures. These humans mean no offense, they are just in haste hoping to be reunited with their young. Their hot blood may lead one to believe they are being abrupt in their manners. They are indeed direct communicators, even to others of their race. The snow might influence that to some degree. I don't believe they intend for you to feel their ire is directed at you in anyway."

Tassidar offers in explaination.

"Now, what did the green skins gift you? Perhaps we can match it or reach some other settlement with you so that we might enjoy a similar arraignment."


Male Human (Ulfen) Ranger 3 [HP 23/27 | AC: 17 (Tch:14 FF:13) | Fort +4 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +4 | Perc +8]

Knute frowns at the satyr's lewd suggestion. Why can't we be negotiating with more Tokkos? The ranger thinks wistfully. He's about to respond to the creature, when Tassidar says something far more diplomatic than what Knute had in mind. He again decides to keep his mouth shut, and merely gives a curt nod of agreement at Tassidar's suggestion that the group match the orks' gift.


Male Human (Ulfen) Occultist

*stomp,stomp,huff,puff*


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5

Rikka raises an amused eyebrow at the satyr's proposal. "Perhaps after we've rescued the young ones; It would be impolite of me to renege on my commitment to these people."


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn reinforces the satyr’s Ulfen generalization, staring quietly and bluntly at it … waiting to hear what the orks gave. Though he does give the small Rikka a sideways glance. Who would even think of agreeing to stay with this trickster?


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

The goat-man looks somewhat appeased at Tassidar's attempts to smooth things over. The question of what the orcs gave makes him laugh, slapping one furry knee as if it were quite the good joke.

"A jenny and a wagon," he says with a grin, hopping a few steps in the green grass. "Ver-ree useful. Very. Got to take my wines and my meads and my ales to Market, don't you know. One can only carry so much! My arms were made for caressing, not hauling things around. Even my friends here," he flicks his fingers at the two booze-spattered men still stomping grapes, "can't carry as much as my wagon and jenny, oh no. Now, do you have wagons? I don't see them! But my wagon folds up fine as a feather, maybe yours does too? Have you an ox-- or an oxycontin? The hangovers are terrible-- in your satchels and bags? Have you the means to improve my brews, or fetch me more prizes for them at Market? Because that's the gifts I'm wanting, sweetlings.

"Or your ladies, but the Moonlight hides her face and the Sun speaks of manners. Tsk. I'll show you manners."


Male Human (Ulfen) Occultist

*puff,huff,stomp,trip,fallingrapes,strugglebacktofeet,stomp*


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

A magic wagon? Where would orks get such a thing? And if they had it, why would they give it to such a creature for ... what? the privilege of passing? Could he really have stopped them, the orks who attacked the whole village and the huge wolf-creature with them? She eyes the lone satyr skeptically.


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

"Since they passed by you. Was it arraigned . . . For us to have something for you? Did any of my people speak to you of it?"


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Sorry. Work and life are pretty crazy right now.

Eysteinn looks at the satyr and the men stomping behind it. "Brews, huh?" He lifts aside his bulky coat to show his array of steins and flasks. "I know a thing or three of those. If I can find a way to improve upon your brews and process, you'll let us pass?"

He looks suspiciously at the men stomping grapes. "And here's a tip for free ... neither of those men look to know a thing of brews. I help you and you let them go."


Male Human (Ulfen) Ranger 3 [HP 23/27 | AC: 17 (Tch:14 FF:13) | Fort +4 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +4 | Perc +8]

Knute looks relieved as Eysteinn offers his suggestion of helping with brews, though he thinks it unlikely the satyr will just let his "helpers" go. If we can just get past this creature without losing anyone, I'll be happy. Maybe there will be some way to free them later, when we aren't in such a hurry. The ranger is conflicted, torn between helping the men and wanting to move on to find the children.


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5

Rikka finds her growing dislike for the satyr leads to a distrust in it's words.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14 Does his story about the ork's paying him off ring true?


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

The satyr cocks his head first at Tassidar, dark brows arching. "'Your people?' No. No, no 'arrangements' were made, elfling." He seems amused by the suggestion.

Diplomacy, Eysteinn: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

The satyr looks intrigued by all of Eysteinn's... steins. (The little goat tail twitches, like a puppy's.) "Well!"

He tugs on his short, pointed beard, looking thoughtful. "You're right that these two know nothing of brewing... nor are they much to look on! But I don't need them to-- they're excellent at stomping! And someone has to load the wagon, after all..."

Bright, alert eyes turn on Eysteinn again. "But I doubt you can teach me all you know of brewing in a half-day, mortal man! I think.... I think you should stay with me, and show me your craft. Lovely as the ladies are, their pleasures last but a season: a good brew is forever. Yes, yes I think that works out quite well... I'll grant you passage and stories of your prey, and... I suppose these two," he indicates the men with a careless shrug, "they're getting to the point where they're not worth much, it's true-- and directions to market-- and I'll get a brewer to show me the manling way of brews. Why, I'll even let you leave once you've taught me all you know."

The satyr grins and claps his hands together, as if he's pleased with this arrangement and thinks you all should be as well. "Do we have a deal, friends?"

Rikka: you detect no direct falsehoods in the goat-man's words, though he definitely seems to be finding this situation very amusing for reasons of his own.

If anybody wants to try and convince the satyr of a different bargain, roll a diplomacy (or other appropriate check) with your post.


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn stares at the satyr for a long time, both trying to determine just what all tis “deal” could entail as well as hoping one of his fellow Hofnites would have another plan. Both seem fruitless.

”You’re right. I can’t tell you everything I know about brewing in half a day. My offer was to show you a few ways of ‘manling’ brewing then continue on our way. Our children need us now, and time is wasting.”

He looks back at the group, lowering his voice, ”I don’t think he’ll take anything less than what he proposes. Ideas? Unless someone can think of something, either I take the deal,” his voice betrays his distrust and fear of that option, ”or we take his path by force. Let him sweeten his wines with his own blood.”


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

Halla frowns. Beneath the furs, she still feels the scrapes and bruises she took when she fell outside on the ice. "If we fight him now," she objects quietly, "we will only weaken ourselves before we find the children or have to face the orks and their wolf."

She turns away from the group to address the satyr in a louder voice. "The brewer may stay with you ... but only after we have found our children. We may need his sword to take them from their captors. We must come back the way we came, no, if we are to return to our village? Time enough to settle the debt then. Tell us what you know of where to find them, and it will help keep the brewer alive to return to you. Send them to help us," she nods to the grape-stompers, "and it will contribute to his survival as well."

Diplomacy 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

”Not exactly the ‘something else’ I was hoping for, Halla,” mutters Eysteinn with a glare.

He raises his voice to the Satyr, ”But if you open your road to us and free those two useless grape-stompers, once we retrieve our children I will come back and teach you everything I know of brewing ales and meads.”


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1
Eysteinn of Hofn wrote:
”Not exactly the ‘something else’ I was hoping for, Halla,” mutters Eysteinn with a glare.

She shrugs. "If you die rescuing the children, it doesn't matter. And who is to say that we won't find another way out? If we defeat the orks, perhaps we will find some talisman of power that will help us best the satyr as well. Anything may happen before we come this way again. The later a debt comes due, the more likely it need never be paid."

Besides, she thinks but does not say, you were willing to sacrifice your freedom for seiðr; why not for the children's lives as well?


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

The satyr clucks his tongue, tsking at Halla's suggestion. Bright eyes watch the muttering between the two thralls.

?: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (2) + 18 = 20

"It won't do," the goat-man says pleasantly after the muttering concludes. "As you say, Moonlight, he might die before you got back to me, and then where would I be? How do I know you'll even return this way at all? Why, I'd have told tales for pure promises alone. No, no, it won't do."

The goatman whistles sharply, getting the attention of the two men in the vats, who look up blankly with slack, easy smiles.

"My dears! You've been wonderful, but climb on out. I think your services are needed elsewhere, though I'll be finding your pay, let's see..." The goat-man strokes at his short beard, seeming to consider.

Sense motive, DC 15:
Though his manner remains calm and casual, you have the feeling that the satyr is considering the odds of what happens if you refuse his deal, and wants his 'friends' out of the vats and ready to assist him should that happen.

"I'm afraid my bargain's the same as it was: the brewer stays with me, but I'll let my stompers pass on with you. Or, of course, the ladies could remain in their stead..." The goat-man waggles his brows.


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

"I have no better ideas," he whispers to the team, hoping they'll come up with something at the last second.

Giivng folks a shot at that Sense Motive in case it's helpful to our cause, here.


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

Sense Motive 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

"Weighing your options? You think to bringing your charmed thugs to bear against us while flashing us your false smile at us all the while?"

"While I do not wish to expend my energies in attacking you or defending my party from you, I will not hesitate to use my powers if you force my hand."

"Tell them to remain in the vats."

"If the Satyr refuses, be ready to strike him and only him. we can break the hold he has over the men and take the cart as well."


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

Tassidar:
I'm wishing to clarify with you here re: the spoiler text. You don't get a particular sense of hostility from the satyr at the moment, merely that he wishes to have his back-up at hand given that there are five of you and one of him, should the nearly-finalized negotiation turn south. This probably qualifies as 'basic prudence.'

I am stressing the clarification of this because you have just a) insulted the satyr with the 'false smile' comment; b) threatened him; and c) given him a direct order. You've also given instructions to your comrades to attack him should he refuse to follow your order. You would certainly be aware, given your various knowledge checks re: fey earlier that you have essentially just initiated hostilities as far as the satyr is concerned. I wish to be perfectly clear and verify that you would like to let your current dialogue stand.


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5

Sense Motive v DC15: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Seeing few good options, save agreeing to the deal or gutting the satyr and losing what useful information he could provide, Rikka approaches Eysteinn. "In the end, the choice must be yours. But if you worry that he won't abide by the agreement, I may be able to ease that concern."

Rikka plants her spear in the earth and approaches the satyr without weapons. She comes to within an intimate distance of the creature. Her tone is matter-of-fact, not threatening, cajoling, or even particularly emotional, "You seem a mischievous creature. That's a fine thing. But in my experience, mischievous creatures sometimes forget their oaths when those who exacted them are out of sight. You should know that I - and others of those here - are not like that. We never forget our oaths and we hold others to theirs. I am a seiðkonur - 'sorceress' in more familiar tongues. More than that, I am a daughter of dragons. Like my forebearers, I hold all vows sacred and vengeance is exacted for any broken vow." She looks the satyr in the eye for a long moment. "Do I need to tell you what my dragon's blood will demand of me if you fail in any way to honor the spirit of the promises you make here?"

Not trying to threaten or diplo this guy - just stating a cause/effect relationship. If you want a roll for either:

?: 1d20 ⇒ 18 +3 for Intimidate, +6 for Diplo


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn gives the small woman a grateful look as she addresses the satyr. Anticipating the way this deal is coming together, Eysteinn suddenly feels as if he’s in free-fall. Knowing you’re possibly walking to your death for your people is one thing … being left in the realm of the fae to be mind-controlled and used at its whim. Not exactly what he thought he signed on for.

He moves to the back of the crew and sits down. ”Knute, do me a favor and stand between me and that satyr.”

He begins pulling reagents from his pouches and pockets, then puts a small stone vial on the ground. ”One of my … drinks may prove useful to you all, but it will only work for the next half-day or so.” He keeps his hands and mind busy, far better to focus on something useful than dread what is about to happen. ”Take this vial. If one of you is damaged. Drink it. It will help.”

He doesn’t meet Knute’s eyes, feeling a surge of mixed emotions. Shame at what he knows Knute must be thinking of Eysteinn’s .. work. And rage at feeling this shame. The skills that would get me exiled or executed might just save their lives.

After about ten minutes of work, he repacks his various odds and ends, then hands the vial to Knute. ”It’ll only stay good about half a day more. Remember that.”

It’s an Infusion of Cure Light Wounds, caster level 2.

Then he marches back up the path. Next to Halla, he stops, staring down at the raven-haired woman. ”You’ve got backbone and useful skills. I’m realizing the folly of worrying overmuch of the rights and wrongs of our people. Stop waiting for someone to tell you what to do.” He tries to give her a grin, though it’s weak. ”Or I’ll tell them what happened that shed.”

Then he nods to the group and marches up to where Rikka stares down the Satyr, giving the smaller woman a look. Half thanks, half imploring. ”I will see you all later, yes?” Again, his weak grin returns, ”Apparently I have to teach a satyr to brew. Old Yngvi will have fun with that one.”

Then he looks to the satyr. ”You release them. And I will come teach you what I know of brewing meads and ales. Then the debt of passage is paid, coming and going.” He removes his glove and holds out his hand, ”Agreed?”


Male Human (Ulfen) Ranger 3 [HP 23/27 | AC: 17 (Tch:14 FF:13) | Fort +4 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +4 | Perc +8]

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Knute tenses at Tassidar's words, and tries to ease the situation back. Though he's still uncomfortable speaking around the satyr, he speaks loudly and clearly: "He could be just as nervous around us as we are around him. No need to get all up in arms." Knute smiles at the satyr, though he truly doesn't trust the fae. If battle does break out I want it to be on our terms and at our initiation, not the satyr's, he thinks, eyeing the creature's pipes with worry.

He nods in agreement with Rikka. Keeping his voice low, Knute says to Eysteinn, "I agree, it's your choice. Not a bargain I'd take, if I'm honest. Those men don't look like they're here willingly or kept in good health, after all."

Knute averts his eyes at Eysteinn's work, but dutifully stands in front of the brewer. It's wrong, him doing that work... But it could save one of our lives... He says nothing as tradition and practicality wage a debate in his head.

Knute calls to the satyr, following Rikka's words, "Likewise, you have no need to worry if we'd keep our word. Our words are our honor, and we won't betray that. Count on it." He pauses for a moment to let it sink in. "And if the brewer did die, don't you believe we'd find another way to uphold our end of the bargain? We'd be able to negotiate a different settlement, surely. Or perhaps you or your stompers will come along with? To ensure the 'safety of your investment'?" The ranger grins at the last, hoping the satyr will like the idea of sending his two men along with the group with them intent on protecting and eventually returning with Eysteinn. Maybe we'll find a way to break whatever hold he has on their minds, while we're travelling.

Oop, I was ninja'd. That last bit should, ideally, be before Eysteinn offers to accept the satyr's standing deal. Hopefully this is still relevant. Sorry for the slowness, all! Mixture of didn't see a place for Knute to jump in earlier, and been busy with midterms!


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

This is worth responding to, so this would have happened while Eyestinn worked…

Knute Iversson wrote:
Keeping his voice low, Knute says to Eysteinn, "I agree, it's your choice. Not a bargain I'd take, if I'm honest. Those men don't look like they're here willingly or kept in good health, after all."

Eysteinn doesn’t look up from his work. ”I don’t want to take it, either, but what choices do we have? Try to kill the satyr and his men? Halla is right. We can’t risk some of us dying, and the children need us. Those men don’t look to be choosing their actions. So if they are enthralled, he will make them protect himself. Which just means we’d be killing possibly innocent men to get back our children. Seems like a deal with Loki to me, so I will play his game to get you all to those children.”


Male Human (Ulfen) Ranger 3 [HP 23/27 | AC: 17 (Tch:14 FF:13) | Fort +4 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +4 | Perc +8]

Knute frowns briefly at the brewer before again looking away from the man's work. "That's very noble of you! But we could use your help getting the children, and whether we succeed or fail at that, he might try to keep you here forever, which would be unfair and unnecessary. We should set a time limit to your captivity, or come up with a different bargain altogether." Knute goes silent for a bit, thinking. Cue his follow up to Rikka?

If the satyr doesn't respond positively to Knute or Rikka, before (or as) Eysteinn is going to give himself over:
"Although I'm certain Eysteinn has extensive knowledge of brewing to teach you, it definitely isn't endless. If you work him half as hard as you worked those stompers, the learning will go quick. He'll have taught you all he knows, at some point. We should return then to take him home, right?"

Pausing for a moment, he then addresses Eysteinn. "How long do you think it'll take for you to teach the satyr all of your knowledge of brewing? With some extra time to make sure he's mastered it all, of course" he adds, smiling at the satyr.


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

DM:
PM Sent


Plaguestone Map | Gallows of Madness Combat Map

Sorry, vacation hours mean y'all got a lot posted on me today, which I wasn't quite expecting; was hoping to clarify something with Tassidar, but I should have told you all to hold off on posting until I did. No worries, I'm gonna run with it. This scene's gone on a bit as is. :P

At Tassidar's words, the satyr's so far easy smile turns into an expression of cool incredulity. "...you... order me?" he says, brows climbing. "You order me, what I am to do and not do, in my home? Where your mortal feet are intruders? Where I keep this path? You order a sworn servant of the Glib Light, and threaten him, and on top of it all you even propose stealing my cart, my payment, from my corpse, like bandits?"

As he speaks, the satyr's face deepens into a scowl, eyes narrowed with increasing anger..... and then he bursts into bright, merry laughter, jumping about on the grass like a kid billy goat. "What JEST! What wit! What audacity! Oh, His Gleamingship would like you, of a certainty, my goodness."

Shaking his head, the satyr resumes gesturing to the two men in the tubs. "Out, lads! That's quite enough, good boys."

Bedraggled and soused with wine-leavings, the two stagger out. The satyr turns eyes again on Rikka as she speaks, and Knute as well. Rikka's words seem to pique his interest the most.

"...a dragon-daughter, are you? Oh, I know that snow-bunnies are prized for their words, true and straight as their steel, or so they say, but should you all get yourself killed you won't be keeping promises then, and I'd still be out. No, no, gifts upfront are best. Hmmn, hmn, a dragon-daughter. How fascinating."

He sniffs disdainfully at Knute's suggestion that he is scared, examining his nails, but he still seems content to keep his distance from you-- especially those of you carrying the ork blades.

When it's clear enough that Eysteinn is busy taking his leave, and brewing his infusion, the satyr claps his hands and turns to the two wine-stained Ulfen men. The goat-man clips easily across the stream, disappearing into the ramshackle hut, and comes out with satchels and rucksacks and an armful of weaponry he can barely see over, all of which he deposits at the feet of the two still-gazing-into-space men.

"Here you go, my darlings, just as you left them," says the goat-man, beaming up at the two men (definitely having to beam 'up' in the case of the very tall fellow). "And, oh yes, your wages of course--"

He pushes an earthen jug, stoppered with cork, into each man's unresisting hands. Klo & Stirgen, make a note that you each have a bottle of the satyr's payment to you in your inventory.

"There, that's done. Thank you gentlemen for your work, even if you weren't much to look at," the satyr grins. "Go along with these fine fellows, now, wherever they're headed. I'm sure you'll all get along famously."

Klo and Stirgen:
Klo and Stirgen.... your heads are clearing a little bit. You find yourself quite miserably tired, as if you'd worked for days and days with not quite enough rest... or food, come to think of it... but on the other hand you feel as if you've had too much to drink, on an empty-ish stomach, no less. Vaguely, you're aware that your really very good friend is telling you to go with some other people. Huh? What now? Your packs and gear are at your feet, and jugs are in your hand, and you see an assortment of people who look to be Ulfen nearby, though there's an elf too, and that's an odd thing.

Brushing off his hands, the satyr turns back to Eysteinn with a grin. "We'll have a fantastic time, I'm sure. Fan-tas-tic. You might learn a thing or three from me, too, brewer of meads and ales! Don't look so dour. You might even have fun."

The satyr looks quizzically at Eysteinn's extended hand, then offers his own, palm up, mirroring the gesture but not actually offering to shake, as he seems to have no idea what the hand-signal means. Still, the deal is agreed to, it seems, judging by the satyr's pleased grin.

(The satyr has a bit more to tell you before you go down the yellow brick road, I mean... the thing... but I'll allow for reactions, and also, someone should claim Eysteinn's CLW infusion.)


Male elf wizard 3, Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +10/+12/+15 visual in light, AC 13 [17 Mage Armored], touch 13, flat-footed 10 [14 Mage Armored] hp 14 (2d6+4) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4; +2 vs. enchantments, Sense Motive +8

Tassidar looks suprised.

"Well, if that is your choice, good luck to you. I will do my best to honor your sacrifice."

I suppose as a thrall he is no worse off than now and perhaps he will be actually find more Liberty here.

"May you find peace in your new journeys."

Tassidar bows to the healer.

"My deepest apology Master Brewer, I was under the impression he was being taken against his will."


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

Halla blinks slowly, suddenly aware that she and the butcher's son are the only Hofnites remaining in the band and that otherwise she stands with a group of strangers. Indeed, the butcher's son feels more a stranger to her than the outlander with the magic pig who shared the defense of Old Palli's hut, the path of a karl and a hunter rarely crossing that of a field-thrall turned healer's apprentice.

"Have you any message for your -- for Thorgal Magnisson?" she asks Eysteinn quietly.


HP 17/17 :: AC 15 T 13 FF 12 :: CMD 19 :: F +6 R +6 W +4 :: Initiative +2 Perception +5

Eysteinn looks back at Halla, his face an open display of mixed emotions. "Tell him I ..." he pauses as he struggles to pin down exactly what he should say, "Just tell him what happened here."


HP 35/39 | AC 16 CMD 17 | Fort +7 Reflex +1 Will +5 | Perception +7 Initiative +1

The larger of the two men—a pale-skinned, pale-haired man with thick, long limbs and a height of nearly seven feet—seems to struggle to shake off the effects of the satyr’s power. His long face is overgrown with a scraggly, shaggy pale blond beard, and his dark brown eyes have the unfocused look of a man coming out of a deep, looooong sleep. (more like a coma)

To Halla, Eysteinn, and Knute, there is something vaguely familiar in his features, but none of you can say you’ve ever actually seen him before. You’d guess he’s experienced twenty or so winters, and his clothes are what you’d expect to see on any man from Hofn. Other than the tired stoop to his thick-shouldered stature, he’s got a powerful, well-muscled frame. The pile of gear at his feet also seem to reflect Hofn sensibilities. Leathers and furs for the cold. A wooden shield. A few spears, both long and short. An axe seemingly made for both fighting and climbing. Then some fisherman’s gear: fishhooks, a few nets, and a thick, wicked-looking cleaver designed to hack through the thick bodies of the cold-water fish that swim the Hofn coastline waters.

The big man continues to stand there, slightly swaying as he tries to wipe the confusion from his face.

"What ... uhhhh ... what is going on?"


Female Human (Ulfen) Oracle (possessed) 2/ Summoner 1 | hp 10/16 | AC 14 - t 11 - ff 13 | Fort +3 Ref +2 Will +5 | Per +2 Init +1

The woman whose dark hair marks her as not being of unsullied Ulfen ancestry turns toward him. "Orks raided our village and stole our children," she replies shortly. "Help us rescue them, and you might find your way back to whatever home you left."


Male Human (Ulfen) Occultist

The other of the pair is not left standing, instead collapsing to squat upon his haunches as the flood of exhaustion weighs more heavily upon him as his free will is grudgingly and gradually returned to his own keeping. He first blinks and looks upon the jug gifted to him, placing it on the ground to one side before looking up squint-eyed at the humans come from his collapsed position. The only part of him that doesn't seep exhaustion is his eyes, deep in their sockets and stained with kohl... but watching and with an intelligence.

He doesn't immediately gather his possessions, though he steals a glance and is comforted by their presence. Instead he takes his greystone pendant in one hand, squeezing it firmly before offering a half-friendly half-guarded smirk up and addressing all and none "Do you seek bēot? - would you tie our urðr to the task? Or do you ask, as kinswoman to kinsman?"

bēot - boast / promise. Urðr - fate.


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5
Kló wrote:
"What ... uhhhh ... what is going on?"

Rikka answers the question matter-of-factly, "Your will was confounded and your body slaved to the satyr's ensorcelment... for some time. Now, you are free."


HP 35/39 | AC 16 CMD 17 | Fort +7 Reflex +1 Will +5 | Perception +7 Initiative +1

I shifted one rank from a profession to a craft … because satyrs.

Kló, seeming to come out of his haze far more slowly than the smaller man, looks down at Rikka and Halla, obviously still trying to clear his mind.

”Orks?” he replies dumbly, ”Children?” He looks over at Stirgen, ”We saw orks and children ... today?” He presses a hand to his forehead again, his voice dropping to a consumed mutter, ”Or was it yesterday?”

Then Rikka’s words seem to actually penetrate the fog, and the big man shifts an accusing, angry glare on the satyr. ”You.” He stoops to grab up the thick-bladed fish cleaver, and levels the point at the fae. His voice is heavy with threat, ”Why?”


Human Sorc 2 | HP 9/12 | 12/12/10 | F+0 R+2 W+4 | Per +7 Init +2 | Spells: 1st 5/5

Rikka steps between Klo and the satyr, facing the former with a hand up-raised. "I understand your anger but stay your weapon, friend. We have gained your freedom in exchange for the promise of information we need and that no harm comes to this creature in the exchange."

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