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"They are oversized, evil, intelligent wolves that often can be found dwelling amid goblins or other savage races. They can speak, and they often use that as a trick to lure unsuspecting targets into traps by pretending to call out for help."
Wonky seems too excited by the prospect of coming up on such a foe.
"Truly it would be a worthy aim to rid these lands of a malevolent being such as a worg."
The sky grows orange as you plunge through the shallower hills that characterize the land north of the river but south of the Rostland Plains. The vestiges of the day's warmth depart the air as a cool wind sweeps down from the distant mountains to the east. Amid the waning afternoon and hastening dusk, the monolithic sycamore tree comes into view.
“Whether we go forward with the aid of a light spell or Eunomia’s eyes, I’ll do me best if we confront our foe in the dark.”
She then considers how light spells are cast upon an object and mentions a plausible third option:
“If ye cast light on me arrow, could I keep it in the quiver when we don’t want a big obvious aura around us. Me thinking’s that if I shoot the worg with a lit arrow, the worg’ll be lit, then fighting in the dark ain’t so hard.”
The Vixen has a morbid picture in her head of the light spell’s aura becoming red after the arrow penetrates the warg’s hide. She hopes that won’t actually happen.
"To be fair, we had no way of knowing the wolf pack had traveled so far afield." Eunomia isn't in the slightest bit bothered by the waning light, but she knows she's rather unique in that regard. "It probably doesn't matter, if the pack is underground anyway. It would be dark no matter when we attacked. We'll just have to negate that advantage as much as we can. Shooting the warg with a lit arrow is a good idea. So long as the spell is cast on the fletching it should remain clearly visible for far longer than the fight will last. Unfortunately I don't have access to that spell, I've never really needed it. Harmond?"
Harmond looks concerned. "I also can not create light, although if anyone happens to have a spellbook with the spell in it I should be able to figure it out real quick. Is there perhaps a way we can lure the warg out into the open so we don't have to go into the warren?"
"Perhaps Harmond is correct. Even if we have no way of luring out the beasts, it might be best to simply wait." Eunomia studies the tree, eyes sharp. "Wonky, Ahto, you've been here before. Are there other exits? If not, we can keep watch here until they emerge. They will not be expecting us, while we will be expecting them. An ambush, of sorts. Far better than trying to fight them stooped over in the dark."
Wonky retrieves her Lorestone and begins splitting her attention between reading its inscriptions and offering scritches behind Sprocket's ears as the party pauses to observe the distant tree. When her attention is momentarily diverted from her work by Eunomia's question, she replies that there was only the one narrow tunnel leading to the warren, nestled among the thick roots of the sycamore tree.
Wonky abruptly looks up from her Lorestone.
"I am very eager to demonstrate this fantastical stone's equally fantastic properties - not to mention making Sprocket my extra big good boy - but it would best serve at the right time. Will we be investigating the tree now?"
The Vixen replies, "This is what I signed up for when I took the Enforcer role. Ready when you are."
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Ahto cocks and loads his crossbow, and checks that his dagger is clear of its sheath.
"It might be more practical to draw them out then try to fight them underground. Since wolves prefer to attack a single target as a pack, I will approach the tree and try to bait them out into the open. Once they emerge, the rest of you close in and attack. Use their own tactics against them," Ahto suggests.
Harmond draws his want and activates it touching himself.
"Sounds like a plan. Lets do it!"
Wonky nods and returns her focus to the Lorestone in her hands. The strange language she recites is made all the more incomprehensible by the rapid-fire pace at which the syllables launch from the gnome's mouth. Swirls of green energy uncoil like serpents from the lines etched upon the orb-like stone, and they reach out to wrap around Sprocket as the bulldog nervously whoofs at the intangible force.
The bulldog's limbs lengthen and his muscles thicken. His muzzle extends and broadens to accommodate the larger teeth and thicker ligaments that now arm his jaws. His fur grows and darkens, leaving the hound looking far shaggier. Sprocket has become possessed of a primeval aspect, more akin to a prehistoric wolf than the friendly hound you're familiar with. Nevertheless, once the transformation is complete, he still delivers an affectionate lick across Wonky's face - made easier now that Sprocket stands at least a head taller than the gnome.
Eunomia also casts Mage Armor on herself before they approach the tree. "Alright, let's get this done."
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Ahto, being the bait, doesn't try to be stealthy . Instead, he marches straight towards the entrance of the warrens beneath the old tree.
When he gets within human earshot, he begins whistling, as if calling a pet dog.
"Here boys, good little doggies. Come lay down at your master's feet," he says in a loud, but sing-song tone. "Especially you, WORG!" he adds in ultimatum.
He holds his crossbow in both hands, loaded and ready to fire.
Harmond is the first to see the figures moving about, lurking among both the thick roots and the gnarled branches of the sycamore tree. As he draws closer, though, Ahto soon sees them, too, and hears a nervous tittering from the small creatures, draped in the shadows of dusk.
Rather than the howls of wolves, though, it is a shrill yapping that issues forth - falling like a javelin from the branches.
Although it has been several months since they encountered the wily reptilian creatures, Ahto and Wonky recognize them as kobolds. Furthermore, Wonky strongly suspects they are members of the same tribe with whom you dealt before.
The Vixen says, "For tribute, either we give 'em their lives, or maybe Harmond can roll a huge fireball inside their tree."
Not that the Vixen is seriously suggesting they start a forest fire.
"Or tell 'em we're looking for a worg, and've no interest in them."
Harmond waves his wands at them threateningly when the Vixen mentions a ball of fire.
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Wonky steps forward, flanked by the bristling and feral-appearing Sprocket.
”Δεν είμαστε εδώ για να πολεμήσουμε ξανά τη φυλή σας. Ψάχνουμε έναν μεγάλο λύκο που μιλάει. Μπορείτε να μας πείτε πού μπορούμε...”
Wonky seems to realise something mid-sentence.
”Αυτή η φωνή βόρειου ανέμου είναι ο λύκος που αναζητάμε?”
Eunomia tilts her head slightly as she listens to the conversation. Draconic isn't a language she knows, and Wonky is likely the better negotiator anyway.
So she remains silent, but keeps a close watch on their surroundings. Depending on just how cunning this warg is, the kobolds may be a distraction while the wolves prepare to attack from another angle.
Although she does not recognize any specific faces of kobolds she met previously, Wonky does recognize the signature coal-black scales that give the Sootscale Tribe its name.
During the conversation, Eunomia counts a total of nine kobolds lurking around the tree: three perched among its branches and six taking cover among the thick roots. One of the branch-borne kobolds, clad in canvas robes, calls down in reply to Wonky.
His yapping voice drops to a quieter level before continuing, plaintively.
"Perhaps you can help free us from the howling one and his hungry kin, yes?"
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Wonky speaks an aside to her companions.
”It would seem that the Sootscale kobolds have found themselves dominated yet again by a different tyrant. This one goes by the name Howl-of-the-North-Wind and is the warg that we seek. These kobolds are the subjugated vassals of our quarry, and would be grateful if we would remove their shackles once more.”
Wonky then directs her voice at the robed kobold.
”Δεν ελευθερώσαμε τη φυλή σας από τυραννία μια φορά πριν? Μπορείτε να βασιστείτε σε εμάς. Μας κατευθύνετε προς το μέρος όπου θα βρούμε αυτόν τον ουρλιαχτό λύκο και θα τερματίσουμε την υπηρεσία σας σε αυτό το πακέτο κακοποιών.“
"Ah, all friends then."
VV offers a smile, making eye contact with any of the little guys she can see. (Else, in the direction of the kobold speaker's voice.)
"Let's go free 'em o' this alpha male, the Windbag o' the North."
"They might not be able to help it, if they're particularly weak." Eunomia wasn't present for the previous dealings with the kobolds and their tyrants, but she feels a little sympathy for the creatures. "If it's a choice between serving and being eaten...I can understand why they'd serve."
Both among the branches and among the roots, the kobolds lower their weapons. Those who can see through the dim light of dusk observe that they look significantly more at ease, having confirmed that you are previous allies.
The robed kobold pauses to scan the dark horizon of the hill country, stretching almost endlessly around the great old sycamore. He appears tense, as though expecting doom to come swooping down at any moment.
VV says to Wonky, "If the kolbods permit, I'd like to position meself to protect their leader. Admittedly, I ain't got the best eyes, so I may need to light the area to be much of a guard."
Ahto imparts a blessing of light upon the arrowhead, and it flares to life in the Vixen's hand. The sudden brightness startles the kobolds, who recoil and shield their sensitive eyes against the sudden influx of light. For their part, they soon adapt and resume their defensive postures, although they make a point to avoid staring directly at the glowing arrowhead.
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”I think that they were truly traumatised and forced into service of this warg. Chief Sootscale apparently lost an arm attempting to stand up for the tribe.” Wonky clicks her tongue in sympathy.
”They have offered us their grateful service as bombardiers to ambush the wolves once they return from their current hunt.”
Eunomia nods. "Works for me. Do they have any idea when the wolves will return?"
The Vixen says, "At least Eunomia—and likely, the kobolds—can see in the dark. I just need to whip out my arrow and not miss when the alpha shows up. Also... if we're setting up a forest ambush, should we perch on some branches? Wolves ain't known for climbing trees. I trust they won't be jumping in place barking while we shoot 'em, but we can at least soften 'em and give chase. Not sure if some'll flee, some'll double back for melee as I'm hoping. But I'd like to think following arrows with the immediate lure o' melee might throw the pack into confusion.
"If ye like this plan, Ahto, I suggest ye give a command for when we leap from the trees. Disorganizing the pack won't work if we're disorganized to the extent one on our side jumps down too early." Nodding he head to the kobolds leader, she adds, "And whatever plan we run with, the kobold leader should have a say in it. I've a feeling their fighters're more likely to fall than we are."
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Wonky considers things.
”I deign to use my stonebow as opposed to more conventional missile weaponry, but I can still make do with a bow and arrow. I am quite happy perching in a tree; it was to be my strategy for the combat. I have an assured way to ensure a truly-struck arrow, but it might be more prudent for me to hand off the infusion to you, Vixen, for initial use. What do you say?”
The Vixen accepts whatever concoction Wonky offers. And bonus: True Strike won't make her thighs enormous.
"So as long as I can see me target, and point me glowy arrow at him, I won't miss?"
The kobolds among the branches react with surprise when they see the eager gnome clamber up the sycamore as deftly as...well, a monkey. The shaman and the bombardiers soon calm themselves, though, and steel themselves to fight alongside their rediscovered allies.
The Vixen climbs with relative ease, then offers a hand to Eunomia or anyone else who needs (or requests) a hand.
Eunomia isn’t much of a climber, but with the Vixen’s help she tries to scramble into the trees.
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Wonky has a word with the bestial Sprocket before the battle.
”Sprocket-scruffles, I want you to stay by Ahto during this battle,” she says while scratching the large dog around the neck. ”Guard him and attack whatever he attacks. Ok?” Wonky receives a lick and a tail thump in response.
Wonky straightens up and addresses Ahto. ”I do not know how Sprocket will handle his more unfettered nature in the heat of battle. I would advise you to not place yourself in between Sprocket and a foe so as to avoid collateral damage.”
And with that cheery warning, the gnome drinks her extract and easily scales high (15 feet) into the sycamore tree. Once perched, she produces her stonebow and an alchemist’s fire flask.
As the Vixen and Eunomia join Wonky among the bare, gnarled branches of the tree, the kobold bombardiers quickly cobble together some ingredients in a pair of palm-sized clay pots. They stopper them with corks, then hurl them in high arcs in opposite directions. The impromptu bombs crack open and detonate with a brilliant flash the momentarily turns dusk into dawn around the old sycamore.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the pack crests a nearby hill and comes into view. Five brown-coated wolves follow behind a much larger creature, nearly a foot taller at the shoulder and easily twice the weight. This is undoubtedly the worg, Howl-of-the-North-Wind, behind the livestock attacks.
With positions given away, VV shoots her glowy arrow at the big guy!
Harmond, prepared for the Warg to make its appearance casts Flaming Sphere!