"Ha! Nice one Markus," Janira laughs, "I'm assuming there must be some kind of underground water source that they're using. Otherwise, if they spend more than a day inside they'd dry out... really! But as for why they're going into the caves or what we might find in there, I don't know! The only known permanent surface settlement of the gillmen is in Escadar. Why they’re venturing into the foothills of the Kortos Mounts is a mystery.
"Oh, hey Jillia... yeah, it'll be a little bit of a walk. About a day and a half. Don't worry, despite the local presence of the weather is looking to be quite pleasant and I've got provisions!" Janira pats her backpack, "The pace will be difficult, but rewarding in the end, I think! However, we do need to watch out for the local denizens. Centaurs control the lowlands and surrounding wilderness of the Kortos Mounts. The areas farther up the Mounts are controlled by minotaurs, and the icy peaks are home to tribes of harpies. They’re always vying for territory, but with any luck, we should be able to avoid them and reach the caves without conflict!" Janira seems cheery about all this, and not at all fazed by the list of terrors she's just rattled off.
"Ooh, and there’s always the chance we may run into bandits along the way, and there are dozens of kinds of predators in that forest. That’s why we should always be as prepared as possible!" she waggles her finger to accentuate the fact that she is rendering a lesson, "Speaking of... how well are you all stocked? Do we have alchemical creations, rope, climbing gear... lock picks, that sort of thing?"
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Jillia rummages through her backpack, opening it up for inspection.
Length of rope, a flask of alchemist's fire, a flask of acid, some flint and steel, a skeleton key, a torch, and a set of dominoes for long campfire watches. Oh, and the dagger I hid in the lining and promptly forgot about.
"I'll need to top off my waterskin, but I think I'm equipped well enough," Jillia shrugs. "I suppose we'll find out when we get there?"
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Boris looks away, seemingly confused, from the Master of Scroll's retreating form to Brobdingnagian, to Janira and Jillia, to Markus before looking down at himself and then Brobdingnagian again, with incomprehension bordering on incredulity. But he quickly dismisses it all with a massive shrug. "Does not matter now."
He then hefts his battered backpack onto the table, sitting back down as he begins to look through it, taking advantage of the situation for some impromptu cleaning. As this continues on, it becomes clear that Boris is a bit of a hoarder: Unfinished contraptions; pieces of old vellum with half-scribbled arcane writings clumsily written; more than a few empty amphora of wine, mead or other beverages; tawdry charcoal sketches of women and men in various states of undress... "AHA! Sorry about mess, Boris put in garbage. Here is!" Sweeping aside the junk he has thus excavated with one broad, hairy hand, he lays out a grappling hook, a wrapped bundle of rope, a set of torches, a half-dozen sealed pouches of dried nuts of jerky, an empty waterskin, some flint and tinder, a ball of twine, a journal with pen and ink, a ball of twine, a few pouches of oil and a lone alchemist's fire.
"Pathfinder he called Groin Orison of Clan Orison is to have teached me ... is taught me ... that if you to tie flask of oil to alchemist fire and throw, make bigger fire on thing you want to burn."
Looking at Jillia's possessions, he grabs the twine and a flask of oil. "You wanting to try?"
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Markus follows everyone else in looking through his kit.
"I've got what Harkin's Expeditionary Basics calls the 'Novice Pathfinder Kit'," he says, referring to one of the classic wilderness survival texts.
"I added a tent, no point in getting cold and wet if I don't need to. Got food, water, and a few extra odds and ends that might prove useful. I'm afraid I'm not strong enough to carry much else though," he says apologetically.
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Brobdingnagian chuckles. "At least you thought to add a tent. I'll admit, it's been a long time since I've spent the night outside. I'm much more accustomed to taverns." Looking at the odds and ends that everyone presents, a thought occurs to him. "I'm guessing that none of us are what you would consider 'outdoorsman?' Hopefully that doesn't end up biting us in a literal, mosquito-y fashion."
Janira pulls out a leather-bound journal and begins to take note of what everyone has, "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much if you don't have enough cash for some extra goodies. I've got a few packed myself, and I'm mostly just getting things written down to make sure we know what our strengths - and weaknesses - are. After all, the most important factors that determine whether an expedition will be a success are cooperation and preparation! Now, I don't remember seeing any wands or potions of healing... oh, Rin, you have one. Great. I have one also, and two potions. I have some other handy-dandy potions, and a wand that can make flames sprout from my hands - when I get the command word right! Markus, I imagine you would be able to more reliably activate it.
"So... I think I heard all of you introduce yourselves, but I can't remember telling you who I am. Well, I'm an eldest sister of six other siblings! As such, I'm used to taking care of my family - and the Pathfinders are part of my extended family. I'll do what I can to keep you safe... but we're not going to go to any great lengths to avoid excitement. I actually grew up in Absalom, the Eastgate district, and I can't think of a better place for a halfling family to thrive. I'm the first of my siblings to seek a career, and the Pathfinders were a natural fit for me. Desna has smiled upon my time here, and I've done quite well for an initiate. Still, I would dearly love to have my own Pathfinder Chronicle! I would say I definitely have a preference for the teachings of Master Shaine, but don't worry: I haven't neglected my other areas of study," Janira pats the whip at her side.
"So, let's chat about the mission!," Janira continues, her eager grin growing even wider, “After reviewing my mission reports personally, Master Shaine believes it is no coincidence that each time they entered the caves it was during a full moon, so it is also no coincidence that you have been called here now, just a day before the moon is full again. We both believe that tomorrow night is our best chance to find out why these caves are important and what exactly the gillmen are doing in there.
“The caves we’ll be travelling to lie under the base of the Kortos Mounts. We’ll need to spend every minute of daylight possible to reach the caves by foot, crossing over the Cairnlands, taking the paths to Diobel, and finally making our way through the wilderness. With any luck we won’t run into any of the local inhabitants. Once in the caves, we’ll need to work together to explore and determine whether any gillmen are present or have been recently. Keep an eye out for any other clues that might hint at the caves’ significance, too.”
Janira smiles at each Pathfinder initiate in turn, waiting to see if they have any questions.
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Janira's background sounds not unlike mine, thinks Markus. Traditional Halfling family, although hers is twice the size of mine, and it sounds like being a Pathfinder means as much to her as it does to me.
"I'll have a look at that wand if you need me to Janira, I'll see if I can get it to shoot fire. Not in here of course!" he adds hastily. "What sort of local inhabitants are we trying to avoid?"
"Avoiding? Well, the aforementioned harpies, minotaurs - probably want to avoid those territorial centaurs also - and any bandits that camp out in the hills between here and Diobel," a sly but playful expression crosses Janira's face, "And forests always have loads of creepy crawlies to worry about! Wolves, owlbears, giant beetles, wyverns, assassin vines, even mosquitos can be a menace... you know, fun forest stuff!"
Jillia asks about the full moon, and Janira leans forwards so that the candle on the table casts shadows eerily upwards on her face. The perky halfling affects a 'spooky voice', "I know what you're thinking, werewolves, right? Half wolf, half gillman? Awoooooooo-gurgle! Heh. Don't worry, I have no reason to believe the gillmen activity has anything to do with lycanthropy... but neither can I explain why they keep on entering the caves during a full moon. Loads of religions have superstitions and holy rituals associated with a full moon, so perhaps something like that. If we knew, though, you wouldn't need to go and investigate for your Confirmation!”
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Brobdingnagian chuckles. "I'll have to make a note about that were-gillmen idea... might make a funny story. So, assuming that the gillmen don't turn out to be carriers for a magical curse that turns them into bloodthirsty monsters, I would suppose it would be preferred to deal with the gillmen diplomatically, if at all possible?" He thinks to himself, Probably a good idea to figure out of there are any bloodthirsty types in the group in advance."
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"I think talking is almost always better than fighting, at least in my experience. People get hurt in fights and sometimes that person is you."
Besides, I'm not sure the halflings are going to stay alive if things go south. Better stick close to Boris.
"I even have a scroll that will let one of us understand their language - gill men do have language right? Even with their gills?"
"Rin is right, Brob! (It's okay if I call you Brob, right?)," Janira replies, "Peaceful overtures with intelligent races is always a Pathfinder's first preference. The gillmen are a known to be a bit of a secretive race, but they certainly aren't known for being hostile.
"Oh, those kinds of scrolls are very handy, Rin!" Janira enthuses, "But I believe most of them speak common when above water... and Aboleth when below."
Janira looks like she's itching to get going, and quickly hops down from her stool. "Well, we had best get going if we hope to get there before tomorrow night. Buy anything you need to, and let us be on our way!"
Janira takes the Pathfinders out of the Wounded Wisp and into the streets of the Foreign Quarter in which it sits. The residents are just waking up and the streets and alleyways are beginning to bustle with activity. "Ah, I love the Foreign Quarter," Janira chirps, "It's where a good majority of the non-native residents of Absalom live - inventively named, isn't it? - and with good reason! Did you know that anyone who lives in this quarter for longer than three months (and it doesn't even need to be consecutive) is granted the legal rights of a full-fledged citizen of Absalom? Small wonder so many merchants, adventurers, dignitaries and other frequent visitors to the city choose to stay here then."
Janira continues the tour, taking in the fighting arena known as the Irorium, the pugilist's hall where one can get a writ for fighting in the Irorium, and Blackblade's where a potential neophyte fighter ('meat' as they are known) can get the training needed to survive. Of course, she does not leave out Skyreach citadel and the Grand Lodge of the Pathfinders itself!
"Oh, did I mention that the three month law applies to you, as Pathfinders, also? The Grand Lodge is located in the Foreign Quarter! Pretty cool, isn't it?" Janira smiles a knowing smile, "I still get a little thrill every time I pass by the place we Pathfinders call home."
The Grand Lodge is a massive fortress-like edifice, and relatively new in the millenia-old city of Absalom at a little over 400 years. Its extensive grounds are kept private by a very tall stone wall that has but the one main gate. This gate, however, is only kept closed on rare occasions and has an enormous Glyph of the Open Road emblazoned upon it. Shops of all kinds surround the building, catering specifically to the adventurer-types that frequent the Grand Lodge. Above it all, the five-towered palace of Skyreach stretches up and into the sky.
"So, here is the best place to buy any more equipment that you might need," Janira advises, "Be quick about it, and we'll head north as soon as you are ready!"
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"Boris not talk too well person type. Is ... how is word again? Blunt, sometimes. Most times. Many years with Dwarf makes learn be blunt" he states as the party moves along out of the Wisp and into Absalom's streets.
"Boris has questions Jani. Is no exist text or book that say something about what place we go to used for in past? Maybe is place that is important in past. Like druid circle but for gillmen and gillwomen. Maybe some kind of the gill-person druid go there, explain why is moon. Anyway, is no document that maybe talk about?"
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Listening intently to Janira, Markus almost trips over stray cat, which hisses at him before it scampers off.
Must pay attention! What if that happened out on the mission? he admonishes himself.
"Janira, where's best to get one of those healing wands you were talking about? Sounds like something I should be carrying, just in case, if anyone in the group can use it. I'll grab a vial of alchemist's fire as well. I read that they come in handy sometimes, but I didn't get time to pick one up earlier. Won't be long," Markus says as he heads towards the shops.
"Boris, funny you should ask about that," Janira chuckles, "I've spent the last several months looking for just that information. It seems I was either the first to discover the caves (other than the gillmen, of course) or the first to realize that they were of any significance. No accounts exist, and the got in touch with the very few gillmen contacts we have in the city, but none could (or would) give us any further information on what is going on. Did you know there's an area called 'gilltown' in the residential Eastgate district where they hang out and hawk their wares?"
"Markus, you've done a mission or two with us before, right?" Janira asks, "Just quickly pop in to see the quartermaster at the Grand Lodge. They usually give them out upon request to those Pathfinders who have earned it with a bit of field work."
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"Only the one so far, and all I really did was help out a bit at the end," Markus replies. He returns a few minutes later with a glass flask full of reddish brown alchemist's fire tucked into his belt pouch, and a slender blue wand gripped in his right hand.
"The quartermaster seemed reluctant to let this wand go, but once I explained that I was going on my Confirmation he handed it over with a knowing smile. Not sure that makes me feel any better really. Is there anyone who knows how to use this, in case things go a bit pear shaped?"
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"Sadly this is my first mission for the society, so I don't have much of value." Varus quickly recovers and smiles to everyone "But I promise, I will help in every way I can. In this case, it means I can use that wand for you Markus!"
"Since I have no shopping to take care of, I am ready to depart when everyone else is." Varus walks over to stand near Janira, waiting for her to give the word to leave.
When the Pathfinders have finished their last minute acquisitions, Janira claps her hands together excitedly.
"We're off!" she declares, and continues her tour of the city. She regales the companions with tales of the city both recent and long past, beginning with the Coins district. After the mercantile discussion, she moves the party on through the Ascendant Court - where she has many tales to tell about the Starstone that rests in the massive cathedral in the middle of the district, as well as less interesting tales of provincial council, a collection of priests from all major religions known as the Chamber of Ecclestials. Finally the companions move through the Petal District, Absalom's wealthiest district, where Janira gives a "who's who" tour, showing the companions more noble houses than they could possibly remember over such a short time. The stroll through here is most pleasant, though, as the flowers are in full bloom at this time of year and the early morning sun provides its own enchanting glow to the dewy blooms that give the district its name.
Janira's tour doesn't end with Absalom, though, and as the companions head out of the city and along the trail to Diobel, Janira proves just as knowledgable about the Isle of Kortos and its countryside as she was about its largest settlement. When Janira has nothing to say about the local surroundings, she drills the Pathfinder initiates with history questions, taking note of whether or not they were paying attention during Kreighton Shaine's classes. The journey through the area known as the Cairnlands, just north of Absalom, is relatively uneventful. Only the occasional chat with a passing merchant from Diobel or farmers going late to market interrupts the pace of travel.
The party finds a spot to rest overnight and Janira settles in for some campfire tales.
"So, I've talked enough," the relief the companions feel at that is palpable, "Tell me a little more about yourselves. I want one story about an adventure you've been on from each of you! Then we'll get a good night's rest, and make a fresh start in the morning. Tomorrow, we head off the beaten path and into the forest!"
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"Thanks Varus. Can I ask you to hold on to the wand for now? If I get wounded enough to need it, I suspect you'll hear me!" jokes Markus.
The tour of Absalom covers a number of diverse and fascinating areas, and Janira's stories make the place come alive. The walk out of the city and into the surrounding countryside makes Markus feel more comfortable than he has in many days. The grilling he receives from Janira exposes large gaps in his memory of Master Shaine's droning lectures, but after many hours of walking the time comes to set up camp.
Markus raises his little tent in a matter of minutes, and takes a seat on a log near the campfire.
I doubt I've got Janira's talent for story-telling, but there's no harm in giving it a go.
I suppose the biggest adventure I've been on was when I went to Kaer Maga about a year ago. I was on a training attachment out there, and it was the oddest place I've ever been. I'm just a logger's son from rural Andoran so Absalom was a shock when I first arrived, but nothing compares to Kaer Maga. So many strange creatures, including some which would normally attack us on sight, just wandering around and going about their business like it was the most normal thing in the world. I was co-opted to help with some kind of undead-based problem, I don't remember much about it to be honest. What stuck with me was this huge city, seemingly hollowed out of a huge ancient structure, filled with troll oracles and men with the lips sewn shut. There were lots of halflings there, which was nice, but it was all very bizarre. I was glad to get back to the comparative normality Absalom."
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"Why is men sowing the lips shut? Is want to shut up you shut up. No need for lips to sow. Is very stupid." he states with finality as he kicks a small rock down the road. "Maybe Boris go to Kaer Maga someday. Is only to have been in regular city of men and dwarf. In fact, this is first adventure for myself! Spended so much time in Grand Lodge past few years, Boris not have good stories."
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Rin follows the group at a distance, occasionally falling back or wandering off before letting her long legs catch back up with the halflings in the lead.
She returns with a backpack, much more suited for days of travel than her previous shoulder bag, as well as several vials of Alchemical goods , a new scroll case , and what seems to be a large cooking pot and several fresh greens and carrots. She has also found a solid walking staff for the journey.
As the rest of the group sets their tents, Rin prepares her bedroll to lay out under the stars as she has for years now.
She boils a large pot of water, from which she ladles out several cups of tea, and then fixes a hearty stew of braised greens, barley, onions and carrots, which she happily shares with everyone. "There's little better for weary feet than a good barley stew."
As people settle in to tell stories, she stays quiet mostly, looking to the fire and occasionally upward to the stars above.
How long has it been since I've slept beneath the stars like this?...A campfire with stories -- like Varek used to tell. Rin smiles slightly to herself What was that one he used to tell about the big chelish man and his hellspawn lover? Eh... can't quite remember...
"I am afraid I am like you Boris, not too many stories of my own to share. But my grandmother used to tell a story of my grandfather from when he lived near Trollheilm."
"He and his sister once hunted a white stag through the forest -- for it truly was a hunter's prize. And for years they hunted this stag, and for years it evaded them, escaping from traps, running through thickets -- once it even leap up a waterfall.
But my grandfather was a cunning man and he reasoned that a magic stag must be fairykin. And there is nothing that fairies fear more than dark iron wrought deep from the earth. So he bought himself two hundred nails of Iron wrought cold and from them he made one hundred crosses which he fixed to a hundred trees to the far edge of the forest.
And after a moon, he came back and moved them closer. And again closer and again closer still. He did this for years, until the iron crosses sat within a bow's shot of the forest's edge. And then on the full moon, as he came to move the crosses -- convinced that the stag had slipped through his net -- there he was, brilliant and dazzling, his antlers shining like 10 thousand stars, his coat as pure and radiant as mid-winter snow. And the stag stood proudly; like a captured lord who walks stately toward the gallows.
And my grandfather stood. Bow ready. Arrow taunt. And they stood. And in the winter night the breeze blew lightly and the ice shimmered and danced on the tree boughs and the iron crosses stood like black coffin nails on the white winter snow. And my grandfather looked into the creature's eyes, which looked back not with fear or anguish, but with understanding.
And he loosed his arrow. And it flew and flew and flew until it struck white. It flew straight up toward the moon, amongst the stars and the frozen whispering trees and landed softly in the snow.
My grandfather let the white stag go. He took down all of his crosses and vowed to never hunt the stag again.
When the witches came with their frost-fanged wolves and their terrible huts, and destroyed my grandfather's village, it was the stag who first warned him. The stag that appeared to him amongst the trees at the village edge and lead him away. And as he ran from the terror of that horrible night he swore he hear the wind say 'even' 'even'. "
The companions set a watch, with Janira taking the last one. Every single Pathfinder is awoken the same way: they find their sleeping bags have been silently and subtly removed from their sleeping bodies, allowing the chill morning air to lap at their exposed skin. Janira stands next to their packed bags with a massive grin on her face.
"Time to get up, sleepy heads!" the cheery halfling calls out to the bleary-eyed companions. They may think to take offense, but the smell and sound of sizzling bacon silences any complaints they may have.
Not long later, with bellies full, the septet of Pathfinders move into the forest. Travel here is much more slow going than the trail was, and as the party progresses deeper into the forest, the trees towering overhead begin to shield most of what remains of the day’s sun and the vegetation beneath grows denser.
Janira pauses a moment and pulls out an intricate silver compass emblazoned with the Pathfinder Society logo: the Glyph of the Open Road. “I received this wayfinder when I successfully completed my Confirmation. Should we be successful on our journey, you will get your own as well. A reward for a job well done.” She flips open the device and holds it in front of her; the initials J. L. are engraved into the inside of the device’s lid. After studying the compass inside for a moment, she remarks, “We’re on the right path. We need to keep heading northwest past those large rocks up ahead.”
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Boris grunts and then, as consciousness returns to him, growls before barking, rising from his once-warm sleepign bag: "Kukayhdeksän alikerrosten helvetin on...
But the aroma of pork belly reaches him before he can say something regrettable. He pauses and sniffs. "Pekonia ?"
...
During breakfast, Boris takes the opportunity to read and prepare himself for the day ahead. This time, not try and bring the cold to the fight. Torag's thunder is what will be most better until you become more practice. Memorizing the incantation twice, he closes his spellbook shut, storing the book aside upon his belt, in the small of his back.
Hours pass and Boris tries his best to stay in the front, singing dwarven marching songs as best he can remember them. "Jani, is true that you can put ioun stone in wayfinder? And you can get many different wayfinder if you no like regular one?"
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Despite the shelter of his tent, Markus awakes cold and disgruntled without the warmth of his sleeping bag. Gathering his gear, he goes outside to break down his tent and rant about the theft of his gear, when he sees Janira frying up a pan full of bacon with a mischievous grin writ large across her face.
"There would have been some serious trouble if there wasn't a delicious breakfast to cool my rage," he laughs, sitting down to eat with the others before breaking camp.
Entering the forest makes Markus feel at home. The quiet whisper of the leaves on the trees and the soft crackle of the undergrowth calms his spirit.
"Vítr a Déšť, děkuji vám za péči tohoto lesa a je to stromy," he mutters, a quiet prayer of thanks to Gozreh.
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Rin wakes up early, to watch the rising sun and witness the last of the night's darkness fade in the purple rosey light of dawn.
... Twilight fades. For a moment there is light in the darkness.
She makes the sign of Desna as the last glimmer of the guide star sinks beneath the reddening horizon.
She says nothing as their halfling guide pulls the bedrolls from her companions, and checks her make up.
She starts another pot of water, this one for tea and washing.
As the group begins to walk, she sings a sweet varisian tune, mostly to herself.
"Atât de multe mile.
atât de mulți pași.
atât de mult timp încă
să meargă și mergem
și să umble și
să intensifice peste
dealuri și văi.
am mers pe jos și
de mers pe jos și
să intensifice pe râuri
și pajiști .
am mers pe jos și
de mers pe jos și pas.
am mers pe jos și
de mers pe jos și pas."
so many steps.
so long yet to walk
and we walk and walk and step
over hills and valleys.
we walk and walk and step
over rivers and meadows.
we walk and walk and step.
walk and walk and step.
As you enter the forest, her singing stops and she becomes noticeably tense. She tries to stick toward the center of the group, behind Boris.
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Between the 'interesting' awakening and the tramp through the forest, the adventuring life has been much less pleasant than the romanticized vision he'd had of it. "This is nothing like the stories make it out to be. Seriously, what epic features the heroes being called 'Sleepy heads'?" he muses to himself
He gives Rin a big grin as she completes her song and remarks, "That's pretty good. Perhaps you have interest in being a bard?"
He grows a bit serious (for him), a smile still on his face as he holds his shortbow firmly and peers around the encroaching forest that seems even bigger to the short halfling.
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Big-Folk never look where they tread.
Always their heavy feet fall
On our fields and our hearths and our heads
And they never hear when we bawl
As if it's they're right that they're tall
And they gather us up in their hordes
Yet their height only furthers their fall
To our slings and our tongues and our swords.
We are the little folk we
to little to love or to hate
But leave us alone or you'll see
Us act when our families at stake
We are the worm in the wood!
we are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!
Mistletoe killing an oak—
Ants carving mountains in two-
Rats chewing holes sinking boats-
How they must love what they do!
Yes—and we Little Folk too,
We are busy as they—
Working our works out of view—
Watch out, or you’ll see it some day!
No indeed! We are not strong,
But as a People we are.
Our courage will guide us along
'Til the time comes to meet you war!
For times perhaps may wear chains
But our hearts you can never enslave
Pretend we're the pet you can tame
One day we shall dance on your grave!
We are the little folk we
to little to love or to hate
But leave us alone or you'll see
Us act when our families at stake
We are the worm in the wood!
we are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!
Brobdingnagian looks to the rest of the group and gives a big grin to conquer his own nervousness. "We are the thorn in the foot!"
"Boris!" exclaims Janira, startling a squirrel that had become too curious about the companions' possessions, "Yes, you can indeed put ioun stones - even cracked or flawed ones - in your wayfinders for what is known as a 'resonant' effect. There are lots of them, but the quartermaster at the Lodge has them all cataloged. You can also personalize your wayfinder. One of the most popular is to have it styled as a holy symbol... but you can even go so far as to getting it to produce a much brighter light than the default ones, like mine, do."
Janira grasps her wayfinder, speaks an arcane word of command and it begins to glow for all to see. "I never get tired of doing that!"
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"Like some of you, this is my first mission with the Society. But having grown up in Egorian, I have had some adventures there! It is a rough place for many people, especially halflings."Varus smiles sadly, hoping his halfling companions have never known the mistreatment that is common in Cheliax. "My family was not nobility, but we lived comfortably. Perhaps because of this, I was raised with a very different attitude than most of the children my age. So when I saw my classmates attacking one of their halfling slaves, I thought I had to step in. I could not understand why it was right for them to treat another creature so poorly. After the halfling got away, they explained that the entire country was on their side in believing it OK. I knew something had to change, so it was on that day I devoted myself to the teachings of Milani, hoping to one day overthrow a government that would tolerate such treatment in it's boarders."
"Janira, that was a fine breakfast! You have quite some talent cooking." Varus takes up a position slightly behind the heavy hitters, ready to help out where he can.
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Janira calls everyone to a halt and once more pulls out her wayfinder. She taps it a few times, and the compass needle starts to adjust. As she does this, a cold stiff breeze picks up from the east and sets leaves everywhere rustling furiously. Nearby, to the north west, a cracking, groaning sound can be heard followed by the splintering of wood. It is followed by a longer, higher pitched groan and an almighty as a tree is blown to the ground.
The sound sends woodland creatures scurrying away in fright. Massive swarms of spiders and snakes exit the log near where the companions were standing and rapidly disperses into the underbrush. Mosquitos buzz out from a nearby patch of marshy ground, but fly off to seek larger - less half-sized - prey. Three gigantic fleas fly through the breezy trees while the freezy breeze blew. With nary a sneeze, these three fleas flee.
Two large creatures come forth into the clearing from the north and west. They both have the body of a horse and the forequarters and wings of an enormous hawk. "Hippogriffs," notes Janira in awe. They seem wounded and panicked, but their wounds do not seem to have been caused by fleeing from the sound of the tree. No, they have been clawed at and bitten. Seeing the open sky in the clearing, both leap into the air and fly off, thankful to have their lives.
Immediately afterwards, a brown wolf appears from the north sniffing in the air for its lost prey. Another wolf, who must have been coming around to flank the most wounded of the pair, appears to the south. The second wolf has a white pelt and is clearly - to anyone who knows about nature - an albino of the same species.
"Awoooo!" both wolves howl at the loss of their prey before scenting new prey, creeping forwards to attack. Only Brobdingnagian and Markus notice in time enough to react.
Already on edge after the falling tree, Brobdingnagian and Markus get the jump on the approaching wolves!
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As the trees fall down, Brobdingnagian starts to mutter to himself, "I've been a city dweller all my lifetime. 'There's nothing wrong with woods?' I must have lost my mind!"
Noting the condition of the hippogriffs, he comments, "Oh, you'd better see, it looks like the fauna's getting restless." Then, being the perceptive type, he spots the encroaching wolves. "Those wolves look hungry, So everybody head's up!"
Brob then takes a shot at the southern (white) wolf with his shortbow, and shouts, "Everybody head's up!"
Brob's arrow flies true and the white wolf yelps slightly as the missile grazes its flank.
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"Storm and salt!" exclaims Markus as the tree hits the forest floor. He watches as a myriad of small animals and unnaturally large insects flee, before two even larger creatures emerge from the trees. They are clearly injured, and it's not long before Markus spots the reason why - two wolves are approaching the group.
"Wolves to the north and south!" Markus shouts, pointing out both creatures. He then draws his morningstar and prepares to fight.
With Markus at the ready and Brobdingnagian already firing off arrows, the wolves approach as quickly as they can.
The wolves close in. The white wolf circles up and around, keeping a tree between himself and the archer. While the brown wolf seems content to take a slightly more direct approach, it nevertheless keeps a tree between itself and its prey.
"Stand your ground, friends, we cannot hope to outrun these wolves!" cries Janira, "But you've got this! You are Pathfinders and it is time you showed this forest what you are made of."
Janira's speech emboldens the gathered adventurers, while she draws a small potion from her backpack and steps a little closer to Markus.
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Wolves. Scarier in groups. Gotta keep them apart.
Jillia darts towards the nearer wolf, shortsword drawn as she runs toward the brown-furred wolf.
"Nice doggy," she calls out to the wolf as she slashes upward.
"...nice doggy?" she continues, voice denoting embarassment, after catching nothing but air with her swing, hoping for the beast to be a bit calmed.
Neither Jillia's sword nor Brob's arrow find their mark. The wolves seem to grin even wider, but that could be the halflings' imaginations.
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Rin drops her quarterstaff backing away from the white wolf, and stepping behind Boris, and next to Brob as she draws her crossbow from its sling on her pack.
Darkness seems to swell around her, and there's a slight chill in the air that sends hair on end as she begins to chant in a low hollow voice that seems to come from some place far and alien.
"Tyra'lyn Sw'lkljidw."
Rin casts Cause Fear on the white wolf. Dc 15 will save for shaken.
The wolf is shaken but not stirred.
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Edging his way cautiously towards the darker coloured wolf, Markus begins to draw upon his innate magic. He stretches out his hand toward the wolf, his eyes turning the colour of thunderclouds as he calls out in a ringing voice.
"Hněv bouře přijde na vás!"