"Enchanted by the witches, or..." Avora puffs, letting her voice trail off to avoid speaking what everyone is thinking. Slowing her pace, she intones a rhythmic phrase as she lays a hand upon Bugsby.
Bugsby elated smile at the information they're gaining on his poor Mierul sours a little as it's revealed the direction she must be heading. Is she under some sort of compulsion? Is she a witch!? I wonder what blue witch babies would look like... Get your head in the game Bugsby! a rainbow of emotions cross his face during his internal monologue. He looks around at the others, "Isurewouldliketoknowwhat'sgoingon." he states simply, looking toward where Mieruls prints lead on.
He realizes Sven asked a question and thinks back to his conversation with Meirul, finally -and a little guiltily- admitting that while she never mentioned witches, she was perhaps a little over-curious about our group... skills and strengths and weaknesses and whatnot. "Imustfacemybeloved...andknowthetruth!" the gnome states with finality. He pats Avora's hand, knowing she means well, if it doesn't help the knife beginning a slow twist through his heart. He looks to Kalt, "We'regettingclose,right?" he's been doing much better since Avora cast that spell
Bugsby looks torn at that, "ButwhatifMeirulisinTrouble? Ifwedetourshemightbebeyondourgrasp. Ifwe'reclosemaybewecangoforalittlewhilelonger, andifwedon'tfindherinafewhoursreturntothetown?" he looks about at the others, large eyes wide and hopeful.
”I’m with Bugsby – Sven has carried him this far, we might as well catch her and finish what we’ve started.”
After repositioning and spreading out of his gear, as well as slinging his shield and readying his crossbow, Ankih keeps pace much better. Every so often as someone's lips turn blue, he channels to keep them going.
" Bless us Milady." Being an oft heard phrase on this hours long race.
Huffing and puffing along, Ankih just nods when they decide to continue in pursuit.
I fear this isn't going to end well, poor Bugsby.
And so the chase continues. As the sun rises, though miles separate you, you begin to see the monolithic spire that can only be the Pale Tower. Like a massive shard of ice, it scars the landscape with its unwelcoming appearance. Birds begin to squawk and fly around, some, even begin to circle. You occasionally see flashes of blue as the bard dashes between trees and brush, her pace quickening now that she realizes she is being followed. She dashes into a field and hundreds of black ravens take to the sky, circling her. You see her gesticulating and they begin to head south, directly at the group.
When they catch her up enough to see each other Bugsby shouts her name and raises a hand high in greeting, only to slowly lower it as Meirul directs the birds their direction.
A crestfallen Bugsby answers the Ulfen, "She's sending a swarm of ravens to attack us..." the words slow and sad, but a determined look slowly hardens on his small face. He scoops some glowing green protoean energy from the ground and smears quickly over his body, muttering a few arcane words as he does so.
" I have seen a swarm of scarabs devour a man whole before, but never a swarm of ravens.... Fire should help."
Ankih says as he moves forward and prepares to blast the ravens as they close.
Kalt is silent for a moment after Sven's question, in awe of what he sees. "Never seen the like, Bjornson, but I think our friends our right. Sorry, Bugsby, sometimes it goes this way. I'm not sure what use our blades will be against a flock of crows, but I imagine we'll find out soon enough."
Kalt takes several steps to the side as he draws his sword, saying, "Spread out, if the flock stays together, we don't want it to hit all of us. It's just like a swarm of bees, hungry after a long winter - you don't want to bunch up."
Mierul dashes on, seeing her followers will soon be occupied. The flock of crows swarm over the group, with Ankih's fan of flame crisping a few. The flock surrounds Ankih and Sven, pecking and clawing at their faces. Not having anything beyond his hands free, Sven swats in the air, batting a few of them into a nearby tree. Still channeling Sarenrae's fire, Ankih is unable to get his hands up fast enough as the birds gouge and his eyes and tear his face apart.
The ruckus and commotion echoes through the forest, catching the attention of a nearby man who awoke early in the morning to fetch a few ingredients from the forest. Stepping around a nearby snowdrift, he spots the party engaged in a whirling maelstrom of claws, feathers, and beaks.
"Iiieee!! My eyes. Milady I am BLIND!"
Ankih shrieks as he lets go of his crossbow and holy symbol, the latter falling back to his chest. Falling prone he curls into a ball on the ground.
Blind, darkness, never to see your holy light again, Milady. Forgive me for my sins, Lady Sarenrae, I never meant to offend you.
Kalt hurries across the snow and swings his blade hard at the swarm, careful to aim at a section of the fluttering, flapping maelstrom where none of his friends are standing. As he does so, he calls out, "Someone, stop Mierul, we don't all have to fight the ravens!"
Surprised by the sudden appearance of the foul raven swarm, the man in the treeline makes a few strong strides towards the group, using the show shoes on his feet to help his movements. His body is well covered in thick clothing and his features mostly masked by a heavy hood pulled close to his head. As he moves forward a black whip-like tail shoots up from behind him and quickly drops to his belt, where it detaches a strange gourd shaped object and swings it around, presenting it in front of the stranger. As it holds the item there his hands quickly drop to the bandoliers crossing his chest as he produces a flask and a pouch, combining the two in a swift movement. At once the mixture begins to spark and foam, creating a trail of smoke behind him. His deed done he snatches the strange gourd device from the tail and tosses the vial inside, whipping the contraption behind his head and sending it sailing forward towards the group.
"Gorush mak elkin pah!"
"Begone foul witch-spawn!"
The man watches as the bomb explodes into the swarm, igniting the foul vermin and burning them with fiery residue. Obvious to the party is the fact that the projectile was thrown in such a manner as to precisely hit the flock as to shield the members from any of the flying flames and liquid.
Bugsby watches in a kind of terrified fascination as the gourd device sails through the air and explodes all around some of them with a delightful ball of fire. Finding himself unscathed he turns to the newcomer with a large smile, his dejection at Meirul's betrayal nearly forgotten. He snatches some magic from the air and turns to hurl it at any remaining ravens, the spell morphing into an acidic, hissing ball.
Kalt is startled by his sword swinging through the flock of ravens and meeting little resistance. Still, he feels the blade connect once or twice, and a handful of gleaming, black feathers flies through the air as his weapon comes clear of the flock.
He is startled further to see a black-skinned man with horns sprouting from his head throw something at the ravens, while calling out in the language of Kalt's homeland. And his surprise reaches new heights altogether when the thrown object turns into a ball of fire, singeing and scorching the attacking ravens, yet somehow not touching Kalt's friends as they stand surrounded by the dark cloud of birds.
"Mikä mies olet?" he calls out to the strange new arrival.
"What manner of man are you?"
Avora shouts, "Sven!" and moves to the edge of the cloud of ravens, stabbing at them with her spear.
Being assaulted on all sides, the swarm is quickly being dispersed, but not before it rolls over onto Avora and Bugsby in a flurry of claw and feathers. Being lower to the ground, Bugsby is able to duck low and keep the majority of them from his face, giving up his back for their fearsome talons. Avora, too surprised that her strike did not kill more than she expected, is quickly overcome by the flurry and finds herself in a similar situation as Ankih, her face a mess of tattered flesh.
Amazed at the tenacity of the swarm, the man steps forward and readies another flask, shaking the concoction and preparing to send it flying towards the swarm. Flaming drops of liquid all at his feet as the flask in his hands bubbles and froths out of its container.
"Síðar, nú verðum við að bregðast. Óvinur óvinur minn er vinur minn. Skref burt frá fuglum, fljótt!"
"Later, for now we must act. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Step away from the birds, quickly!"
With that the man waits, poised to strike...
Hearing the huge Ulfen man speak the common tongue, the newcomer calls out in kind, realizing this particular group might not be native to the area or they prefer to speak a different tongue, "Away, back away from the birds. I do not have control over the fires enough to protect you all." as he indicates the sizzling and burning flask in his hand.
Seeing the swarm Kalt takes a quick step to one side, shifting his position so he can strike at the swarm without driving his blade directly into Sven. "Hold still, Bjornson," he says calmly, as if removing a splinter from his partner, rather than battering at a swarm of enchanted rooks. "I'd hate to muss your feathers, friend."
He then swings his blade in a downward arc, cutting clean through a number of the ravens, and wondering when it will be enough.
Seeing the men step away from the mass of birds that remain, the newcomer aims another throw at the swarm of birds and lets the flask fly, trailing smoke and burning droplets through the air as it arcs towards the group.
The man winces as his throw falls short of the target, but is satisfied to see the flaming droplets finding their marks and managing to burn the terrible avian swarm further.
The blows from the two ulfen and the new arrival kill enough that the few remaining ravens squawk in annoyance as they flee north. Silence quickly comes over the forest, with the smell of roasted bird carried on the wind.
When the group looks north, Mierul has vanished again, using the time the birds have given her to extend her lead.
"Sven! I can't see! My eyes... they're..."
As the swirling mass of ravens dissipates, Kalt drops to his knees next to Ankih, examining the damage to the Keleshite's eyes. He tears a strip of cloth from Ankih's shirt and uses it to staunch the flow of blood from the worst of the injuries and contrive a makeshift bandage.
He then turns his attention to Avora, saying, "Sven, lend me a hand here. She's hurt bad, and I want to be sure I don't make things worse when I try to help her.
The two work feverishly on the wounded faces of their companions. It seems Ankih's wounds are not as bad as they thought, and they are able to bandage him up well enough that his vision will probably come back in a few hours. Avora, her face being far more torn up, proves to be beyond their skill to repair.
Kalt takes Avora's spear from the ground, offering his other hand to Ankih and saying, "You got a big dinged up there, let me know if your eye starts to bother you again - though you can probably heal it better than I can."
Sven's question to the black-skinned man raises other questions in Kalt's mind. "Who are you? Why did you help us? I don't mean we're not grateful - your flames were far more effective against the birds than my blade. But Irrisen isn't the kind of place one looks to aid from strangers, especially in a fight with a witch?"
The man takes in the questions, noting the tone and inflection from each speaker, trying to better puzzle out the origins of this unlikely band. When presented with an opportunity, he responds in kind, "My name is Gilganis, and I have no love for the witches or their lackeys, the opposite in fact. It was chance alone that allowed us to cross paths, though I am glad to see I was able to aid you against the foul witch-born creatures you fought." He turns his attention to the druid and cleric, whom he is not sure how to address, "They will need a place to recover from the attacks, and yes" he says, turning to the massive Ulfen, "I know the town well enough. Enough to know your arrival might be of some concern. They are not overly fond of outsiders in Waldsby. I am a resident and they still treat me with a measure of disapproval."
The ebon skinned man lowers the hood on his winter wear, exposing his tiefling heritage to the new found group, and letting them react as they may, "I have a small shop in town. Let us get your wounded inside and out of the elements, and we can speak further. That is, if you will accompany one such as myself." and he lets the statement hang in the air, silent.
The Village of Waldsby, a quiet little northern village is just waking up on this wintery morning. Children still rubbing sleep from their eyes are being set out on their morning chores and the smells of breakfasts begin to fill the nostrils of our valiant heroes who have spent the past few hours rushing through a forest. Stomachs grumble as there has been quite a bit of energy spent, and that vegetable stew is just a fond memory. An unusually large cemetery is seen on the southern edge of town, previously missed in the darkness, and a castle like storehouse dots the north. Gilganis points out The White Weasel, the local tavern. While they don't have rooms per say, the Goltiaeva's who own the establishment are always willing to let people pay for a spot on the floor. Perhaps most unusual, and something that causes many a double take, is the stature in the town square. It's the exact same statue the marked the center of town hundreds of miles to the south, in the warm village of Heldren. Looking around, you can almost see Heldren in the buildings here, as nearly every building is in the exact same spot as its counterpart.
Gilganis leads the group to his shop/home right off the main square, a quaint house whose sights and smells bring back the first location many of the group met, watching colorful smoke pouring out of a window, and a gnome being dumped on the stoop.
As Ankih listens to the others talking and the introduction of their new ally, he turns ever inward.
" Welcome, and thank you for your help." He mumbles to Gilganis, before slipping into silence.
Ah Milady, I should never question you. You are teaching me caution as well as bravery. He ponders as he feels the presence of his Goddess like never before. I understand. I must become your Servant of Holy Fire. I can see the path before me now...
Bugsby's stature is low and defeated as they nurse their wounds and travel back to town with Gilganis, his neck a mass of clawed and torn flesh where the ravens got to him. The curious gnome keeps glancing curiously at the horned head of the tiefling as they walk, and soon it's garnered his full attention. Before they get to town, Bugsby has aligned his steps with the man and loudly clears his throat to get the mans attention. "Gilganis, IamBugsby Featherfoot atyourservice. I'veaquestionortwo,ifit'snottoomuchtrouble. How'dyoumakethoseexplodinggourds? Andwhydidn'ttheyhitus? Why'retherehornsonyourhead? Dotheyhelpyouseeorhearbetter? You'reskinisblack, wereyoubornthatway? I'verecentlybegunlookingintoturningmyskinblue, doyouhaveanyinformationthatcouldhelpme? ..." and he finally pulls in a breath, ready to spew another salvo of questions.
--------
When they arrive in town Bugsby looks around in confusion, then joy, and back to confusion. He looks up at the others, "DidwegetbacktoHeldrenwhenIwasn'tlooking?"
Flex Time:
"Sven... I can't see anything! Will my vision return? Ankih! Can you help? I can't... I mean..." Avora is on the verge of panic.
"B-better," she stammers, drawing closer to the big Ulfen. "Has someone joined us? I heard a new voice?"