The fetid expanse known as Graidmere Swamp lies northwest of Karcau. Beyond the cosmopolitan confines of the city, the theaters and academies give way to ramshackle farmsteads, little more than moss-draped shacks occupied by suspicious farmers. Gnarled vines seem to pull every structure down into the swamp, and the roads gradually deteriorate into muddy footpaths. The air becomes thick with mosquitoes and the shrill shrieks of unseen creatures.
Tak leads the way to the ruined estate known as Tangledyne, approximately one hour’s travel from the city. Impromptu causeways of soggy debris wind through the swamp, several converging on a decaying stone manor whose walls have settled, sagged, and sunk unevenly into the wet ground. Garlands of sinew strung with animal bones hang from the stones like a threadbare spider web, partly obscuring the small carvings incised into the crumbling stone. A small hut of wooden posts and woven grasses stands atop a nearby hummock.
The air is rich with the buzzing of insects, calls of birds, and splashes of amphibious activity, but you see nothing bigger than a lizard in the area. The wall carvings in the manor are very old and partly overgrown with moss and lichen, but if you take a closer look...
Tak hears only the soft buzzings of swamp insects and the occasional plops and splashes of small amphibians. He notices a wall-eyed lizard on a tree branch, but it seems to not be paying any more attention to the party than the rest of the swamp.
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"Yeah...ah, they've already gone m'lady. Er, being observant not a strong point either, I see?" Thoriel winks.
She then waits for the scout to return, spending the time flicking bits of grime off her robe and no longer very shiny mithril chain shirt. "And to think that this day started off so well, with a nice trip to the theatre!"
Greyveil swoops about the collapsed manor, looping the premises in only a handful of seconds. Nothing leapt out, physically or otherwise, and the remnants of rooms seemed to contain nothing of particular note. No creatures appear to be inhabiting the hut either.
Tak sees no other tracks besides the ones spotted earlier. Thoriel approaches the manor, confirming what Greyveil saw on his invisible flight was correct. There appears to be nothing here but the swamplife.
The swamp remains quiet, the only creatures to approach being the buzzing insects that occasionally alight on your skin for a meal. Tak finds himself able to fill his open spell slots easily.
As Tak finishes the invocation, there is a moment of absolute silence. All around the manor, birds and other creatures turn to peer directly at the gathered Pathfinders. The wall-eyed lizard peers at Tak with one eye, then turns to regard him with the other, before crawling away into the brush. As if a floodgate has been opened by that departure, the birds about leap into flight, frogs hop into the water to swim away, and the buzz of flying insects slowly fades in the distance. The area is quiet save for the exhalations of the party and the drip of wetness from tree boughs.
Long moments pass, stretching out into unsettling minutes without an answer.
Examining the hut turns up nothing new from the last inspection. The minutes stretch on, as the light begins to fade, shadows lengthening and deepening.
After the better part of an hour, a pair of figures approaches the circle of light given by your spells, stopping near the hut. Animal bones and geometric patterns of mud adorn their armor, clothing, and skin. A pair of massive boars follow behind, staring at the party with white, rheumy eyes.
As they draw nearer, you realize they are a man and woman. Painted faces glare from under giant cat’s skulls and over the man’s painted wooden shield, only his eyes are visible. The woman uses her feathered spear to push several ropelike strands of matted hair away from her face and addresses you. ”How di’ you law’n to call awn th' swamp, outsidah?”
The woman looks thoughtfully at Greyveil, ”Yeh spea’t speerts, d’yah? Course, nun li'in’ dare spea’ so freely o’us. Ih do well by yoo.”
"Ah wand'r how di' you 'spec to quill th' spe'tre, out 'ere?" the man speaks, shield lowering to reveal more of the angled patterns on his cheeks.
"I wonder how you expect to quell the spirit, out here?"
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As someone that has an actual spirit with them and is bound to a second spirit, I'm going to jump in.
"Thank you for heeding our call. We have a request to make. We seek a woman, a singer by the name of Olivina. We have been made aware that you know what happens in these parts. Will tell us what you know and help us save her?"
”Ah tells yeh troo, nawn o’ awrs‘d done't, dat be fah shawr.” the man responds.
”Course naw’” The woman scoffs, ”No swampah’d 'are't. Th' city’d burn us awl oar come nea’ tryin’. Gods knaw we’d hahd ‘nuff a’ready.”
She turns back to the group and holds both hands in front of her, palms facing up. ”Yaw come seek’n awr knaw’n o’ deh sewah. In dis place, dat knaw’n come wit’dah price.” She pauses to take each of your measures in turn. ”Fiv' hunneds o’ gol' fer each o’ yah dat be corper'te 'ere.”
”None of ours did it, that's for sure.”
”Of course not. No swamper would dare to. The city would burn us all or come near trying. Gods know we’ve had hard enough already. You come seeking our knowledge of the sewer. In this place, that knowledge comes with a price. Five hundred gold pieces for each of you that be corporeal here.”
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Tak eyes the swampers curiously trying to gauge if these are people that he can negotiate with.
If he thinks that will work.
"This is a person's life surely some goodness in you wants to help. Is there anything else we can offer? Time is short, and your cost is high."
Nail attempts to aid with visions of possible futures, but they are too vague to interpret in time.
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Seldiliel stands up from where she was meditating, a dark look blazing in her eyes as she walks up to the swamp folk.
"As you said, the city folks are liable to burn your whole rotten swamp to the ground if something terrible happened to befall their most glittering ornament, Oliviana. You may not have anything to gain from her capture but you will suffer none the less if even one silken hair on her precious head is damaged. It seems like WE'RE the ones doing YOU a favor by making sure she is returned safely. Tell us what we need to know and we'll talk about arranging a reward for you AFTER we bring Oliviana back safely."
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Chusynd shakes her head at the pair. Ah hate when she's angry — you wouldn't like her when she's angry — though Ah confess she does have a point about the city folks, he says. But Ah promise you, we will do everything in our power to prevent that from happening. We just need a little assistance in return.
[dice="good cop" Diplomacy]1d20+17[/dice]
In unison, both massive boars make a loud snort. The woman looks to them, then back to Tak. "Th' swamp car's neithah fah good nah e'il. Bu' a wor' might be wort' more'n gol' inna righ' ear. Haf as mush an' a promise, aye'll tell yeh wha' I knaw." Her eyes roam over the party, seeming to not look at the Pathfinders, but more to what they carry. "Might' be yeh pay wi'h trinkets fa'r, troo. What d'yeh say?"
"The swamp cares not for good nor evil. But, a word might be worth more than gold in the right ear. Half as much and a promise, I'll tell you what I know."
"You may pay with items at fair price, true. What do you say?"
As Seldiliel approaches, so too does one of the boars. The man reaches a hand out to steady the beast. "Troo yeh spea't, an' ir'n yeh ha'e 'nside to thre't th' swamp. Ih yeh cannah beah t' par' wit gol' or treashah, I wi' tayl yeh wha' you wan' t' knaw fer neithah."
The woman's eyes narrow as she shoots him a glance, “He spea' troo. An' 'e ha' as'mush knaw'n as aye. 's yer choice whish price t' pay. S' witch i' be?” She spreads her arms in an invitation to decide.
"Truth you speak, and iron you have inside to threaten the swamp. If you cannot bear to part with gold or treasure, I will tell you what you want to know for neither."
"He speaks true, and has as much known as I do. It's your choice which price to pay. So which will it be?"