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"Good job, Cyrus. You covered every point quite well! I will add that we left a small horde of these kobolds there, and they will likely continue to be a menace as long as this 'golden guardian' remains present."
"Then again, my companions were quite competent in laying the leadership of the creatures low, so it will likely be some time before they grow bold enough to harry your miners again."
"Thank you so much for your detailed report. You have struck a blow against the kobold menace, and rescued citizens of Fort Bandu. It seems we were wrong about the Society, whatever our feelings were about Sharrowsmith. You are all a credit to your organization.
"As for this," Sylien indicates the item Cyrus has placed on the table, "I'm not sure what that staff proves, but I have news for you on the Aspis Consortium front. First, though, I think I can help you with that journal you found from Sharrowsmith. The Krihirik are a tribe of grippli (frog-men) who live in the Kaava Hills just northwest of here. We have an annual trade visit from that tribe. Their representative left for home only yesterday morning. More importantly, and suspiciously, our Aspis Consortium friend Amersanus Valacosti abruptly wrapped up his business here and left Fort Bandu only a few hours after the grippli trader did. The gate guards said he left in the same direction.
"I suspect that Valacosti learned something from the Krihirik tribesman and has decided to pursue this line of inquiry in the Kaava Lands with the tribal elders," Praetor Sylien moves to the table-map and shows you where the Kaava Lands are, and you can all see the home of the Krihirik tribe marked on the map, "If you want to catch the Consortium, I'd suggest you hurry. Feel free to buy what supplies you can in town, but don't tarry long. They have quite the head start on you."
Praetor retrieves a long, thin package from a nearby desk and hands it to Gunari, "This arrived for you from the Society. It came with a note that you'd need it enchanted, so I've had a visiting wizard handle that for you. He'll expect payment, but wanted me to know that he recognizes your special discount (whatever that might be)."
Cyrus tosses the kobold sorcerer's staff onto the center of the table, and lets the similarities of the staff and Valacosti's cane sink in.
"As is usual with the ass-piss consortium, you have been deceived. I don't know what his part is behind this, but it is clear there is a connection, and it is not a good omen."
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The thought crosses Cyrus' mind that this little kobold wizard might have had nothing to do with the consortium, especially with the latest news that the Praetor decided to share. He thinks about saying something, then decides he doesn't care. Whatever similarities between the nefarious creatures in this area and the consortium there are, and whatever conclusions someone might draw from them, well, it was none of his business.
"Thank you Praetor. I only have two things I need to pick up. We should be ready to leave shortly."
Cyrus heads out to the camp, and purchases a masterwork acrobatics kit. He takes a few minutes to put the numerous straps, bands and tape on his joints. He flexes his knees and hops around a few times, testing out the gear, smiling inside at just how well they seem to help him bounce around.
Lastly, he heads over to the wizard that Gunari had visited, and picks out a simple, yet elegant ring. He hands over the requisite gold, and makes ready to move back into the jungle as they search for their consortium nemesis.
The Pathfinders eagerly pick through the Pathfinder Society cart that rumbles into Fort Bandu just prior to their departure. Each package is carefully wrapped, with the individuals' faction symbol emblazoned upon it.
Freshly equipped, the Pathfinders set off for the Kaava Lands and the Krihirik tribe. Foremost in their mind is beating the Aspis Consortium to the mystical orb that can be used to defeat the golden guardian.
The journey from Fort Bandu to the Kaava Lands is oppressively hot, but it gets easier as the days go on and the terrain transitions from rugged foothills to open grasslands before giving way to dense jungle. Following the directions from Fort Bandu’s garrison captain, it is not difficult to find Krihirik village, which lies approximately ten miles inside the jungle’s border— and twenty feet off the ground. Narrow rope bridges connect a few dozen tree-dwellings overhead, forming a small but secure community. Bright-skinned, bulging-eyed gripplis go about their daily business nearby. Crates and sacks of trade goods litter the jungle floor, and several gripplis busily inspect a bundle of swords, throwing down their spears and nets in favor of freshly forged steel.
A blue-and-brown-skinned grippli in practical traveling clothes bounds forward and holds out his webbed hands in welcome. “More visitors come to trade with the Krihirik? You are most welcome here, though I fear we have little to offer at this time. Or perhaps there’s some other reason you came all this way?”
"Oh, where are my manners," she interrupts the first Pathfinder to speak, "My name is Mother Bogwynne. I am the chief elder and Lorekeeper of the Krihirik tribe. Now, please, tell Mother why you have come."
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------------
Earlier
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Lifting Finarin off the ground, Amaranti and the other use their restorative magics to bring the elf back from the brink of death. Blinking back into consciousness, Finarin looks around, completely disoriented.
"What ... where ... my scimitar...." Quickly surveying the carnage around him, a boiling rage erupts from the normally stoic elf, pushing he huge Grundi away, "." he screams as his friends brace him. Pushing them away he begins frantically searching the dead until he spies the agent who scorched him with lightening.
"."
Finarin begins hacking the corps into tiny bits of kobold, screaming as he does some unintelligible words of rage.
His friends look on, wating for the elf's anger to run it's course. As the sounds below set everyone on edge, they eventually pull Finarin from the red, pulpy mass.
Normally pristine grab covered in more blood, grime, and gore than a score of butchers, they drag the elf away from the temple, hoping to stay ahead of the horror unleashed below.
The remainder of the journey, the elf sits in sullen silence, ignoring his comrades. The men who were like brothers to him, now he shuns like diseased beggars from the Coin's District.
Once they return to the Fort, Finarin wanders off, rather than to the Praetor;s chamber. Wandering the bazaar, he contemplates the errors he has made. What is causing this torrent of uncontrollable emotion? His near death experiences, or letting his friends down?
The image of Yamasha, of Nethys' agent, AGAIN, is burned in his psyche. He went about it all wrong. It is not the magic, or the steel, but both, in harmony, in balance. He will never achieve greatness, never achieve prominence, never achieve respectability until he understood, and embraced the balance. He must find it, but where? In a temple? On a sparing ground? With his friends? He must find it and soon.
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Present
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The elf strides into the Praetor's office, tardy, unapologetically.
"Praetor, I have heard ... much of what you said. What can you tell us about these ....Kaava Lands? You say that you occasionally trade with them, I am sure any information you could share would prove ... invaluable."
The Pathfinders, and Praetor turn towards the haughty elf. His hair is powered white, and pulled back into an elegant ponytail, tied up with a black satin bow. The sides of his head a shaved close, and died black. His attire, new and pressed perfectly, as is his new white leggings, and white tunic, banded by a wide leather belt. His black boots are polished to a high shine. His black linen cloak covers his left shoulder, leaving his sword arm free. His hand grips the pommel of his scimitar, while his left grips a silken handkerchief. He gently cleans the chair before taking a seat, ignoring the bewildered looks from his brothers.
"The Krihirik tribe is quite friendly, and happy to trade their valuables for things of functional use to the tribe," Praetor Sylien says helpfully, "I get the feeling they are in some kind of protracted distress, however. They are getting more and more desperate for military supplies and less and less precious about their jewelry and other things that serve a more aesthetic purpose."
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"Trade?" the Varisian's attention is piqued. "Trade, you say. Perhaps there is something that we can do in that area. What sort of things are these gripplis interested in? Wine? Beer? Fine art? Magics? What do they have to offer?" the Caydenite is practically beside himself with the possibility of brokering yet another trade agreement.
"Military goods, is that what you say? I am certain that we can talk about that, but why do they need weapons so desperately?"
"Yes, trade," repeats the Praetor, "All I know is that they have, in recent months, been far less interested in things of beauty, and far more interested in weapons and ammunition. This hasn't been their entire stock in trade, they do still ask for food supplies, tools and other things. Before you get too excited about potential for the Society, though, I'm sorry to report that they don't have much to trade."
"Shiny orb? We have an orb, but it is not shiny. This is what you speak of, though, I am sure of it. I do not believe in coincidences, but if you will allow me, I will just check," Mother cocks her head to the side as she regards the group, "What is it that you would use the orb for?"
None are sure what this 'coincidence' of which she speaks actually is.
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Cyrus walks into the settlement with a small amount of trepidation, vividly remembering when he encountered a pirate grippli and nearly didn't live to see the next sunrise. He glances over to Ibid and grips the pommel of his sheathed wakizashi a little tighter. As the group enters, and the kind frog-woman approaches them, he relaxes a little, though his senses, along with the hairs on the back of his neck, stand ready.
"A pleasure, m'lady" Cyrus forces out, trying to not let his paranoia get the best of him. "We are travelers seeking to uncover the secrets of this world, wherever the secrets may be hiding. My friend Amaranti," Cyrus gestures towards the large garundi, "gets right to the heart of the matter. We are indeed seeking an orb. What is this coincidence you speak of? I too, do not believe in coincidences. As for what we would use the orb for, there is a powerful, evil force lurking in the bandu hills that seeks to destroy the miners and the settlement there. We wish to hold off that threat, in order to protect the hundreds of lives at Fort Bandu, and the Orb is the key to that victory."
Cyrus bows, his paranoia melting slowly away as he speaks, feeling far more comfortable in the details of the mission they have set out on.
I wonder if I should mention sharrowsmith... Maybe best to wait on that. Who knows if the events he allegedly set off have affected these frog-men too, no sense in hurting our chances before we start.
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"That, and trade. We also come seeking trade alliances. Partnerships. Agreements. I hear that your people are on the lookout for new trading partners, and that we might be of assistance!"
Gunari wonders, 'Has the Trade Prince corrupted me already from the simple path of the Varisians? Simple tinkers and tradesmen we are, but ones not afraid to reap the bounty of a simple package that has fallen off the back of a wagon. Now I talk trade agreements? What would Uncle Guaril say?'
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"Mother Bogeynne, it is a pressure to meet you," the old man begins, bowing low out of sincere respect for the creature. "In addition to everything my companions have said, please let us know if there is anything we could do to be of service to you." As Ibid speaks, he turns slowly, observing the hanging bridges and tree-dwellings, and suddenly feels a desire to stay in this village and live with the creatures. Even not knowing why, he cannot help but let his fascination of their society take a fierce hold on him, and wonder what it would be like to remain here, and what help he could bring these creatures.
"You did mention something of interest, though. Mother Bogwynne, could you tell me of the other visited which have been here recently?" he says, pulling his attention back to the matter at hand, and fearing the Aspis Consortium may already be a step ahead of them, seeking the same prize.
Mother Bogwynne listens to all the Pathfinders questions and assertions, nodding along. Finally, she favors them with a smile (or a grimace, it is impossible to tell), "You seek a weapon against the Golden Guardian, and yet in the seeking of this, you would deprive us of our only defense against this creature also. But you are not the first to ask for this, and we will not deny you the opportunity to trade for it, either."
The Grippli elder motions for another of her kind to come forwards, "This is Gwellik, one of our more prominent traders. He has just returned from Fort Bandu on quite a successful trading mission. He also brought back with him a small group of explorers who were also interested in this orb."
Some of the Pathfinders recognize Gwellik from his trade stall in Fort Bandu. He also smiles (or grimaces) and waves hello.
"But let us start at the start," says Mother Bogwynne, "Please, follow me to the hut of elders. We will have a meeting to discuss these matters of trade and defense."
At her signal, Gwellik lifts a tall ladder from its hiding spot amongst the trees, and places it against one of the huts amongst the branches, "Guest ladder," he explains before accompanying Mother Bogwynne scaling up the trunk of the tree. The suction pads on their hands clearly help with this, as they seem to leap up the tree rather than climb it in a traditional sense.
Rickety rope bridges connect half a dozen grippli tree houses to one another, though to the north, many more appear overgrown and abandoned. One dwelling is larger than the others, hangs over a small pond. Inside, three gripplis with mottled gray-brown skin, including the just arrived Mother Bogwynne, pass a finely crafted short sword back and forth with admiration.
Gwellik announces the Pathfinders as they arrive, "... and you have already met Mother Bogwynne, our lorekeeper and chief elder. This is Finyik, our hunt-master and Diblop, our chief brew-mistress and miracle worker."
Mother Bogwynne, the largest of the gripplis, slowly gets to her feet and hands the sword to the trader. “Thank you Gwellik. You have done well in our time of need, bringing both weapons and travelers from afar to lend aid to the Krihirik,” She pauses and looks over her guests in the meetinghouse, “So, you seek a weapon to fight against the guardian of the Bandu Hills?" she asks, as much for the benefit of the other elders as for the Pathfinders, "Word of our tribe’s secret seems to have reached many ears of late. The Krihirik have such an object, but it is a treasured possession, entrusted to us long ago—one we could not surrender lightly. However...” She looks to Finyik, the hunt-master, whose old bones creak as he gets to his feet to speak.
“We are fewer in number with each season, for we are hemmed in by enemies on all sides. Those who would seek our remaining weapon would do well to bring us one in return, and this is the same opportunity we gave to those who came before you. Travel to Deepblood Ridge, where two beasts of the Kaava Lands reign, and bring back one or more of their eggs. These we can nurture as our own, far from the hungry talons of the lizardfolk who fear the beasts and would eat their young. Do this while surviving the dangers of our forest home, and you shall have our gratitude and our respect.”
Finyik sits down, and Diblop, by far the oldest and grayest of the three, speaks, “The great scaled ones are mighty creatures, the king and queen of the Kaava Lands’ many beasts. But the lizardfolk—may curses haunt their breed to the ends of the jungle— chased them off, leaving the nest vulnerable. Now is the time to strike! Those who can defy the lizardfolk and aid us now will be most fit to wield the weapon the dwarves gave us so long ago and end the vile guardian’s threat once and for all.”
Mother Bogwynne looks over the Pathfinders, "You asked what the coincidence was. Well, the explorers I told you about wanted the orb also. I do not know of your foreign trading organizations, but they called themselves members of the Aspis Consortium. The leader of these men had terrible scars up and down his arms, and his panther animal companion was similarly scarred across its face and back.
"In any case, if you best them and bring the eggs of the great scaled ones to us, then we will give you the orb - and be willing to set up a more permanent trading arrangement. The riches of the Kaava lands are many, and if the encroachment of the lizardfolk were to be turned into a retreat, we would be able to enjoy those riches once more - as would our trading partners."
Sorry, no Exchange boons/mission on this one! Very happy to keep it alive roleplaying-wise, though. Just be aware that there's nothing specific around. Love that Gunari's looking for it, though!
Oh, and it's not too bad to tell you, since the scenario summary online doesn't mention a faction mission (and they almost always do these days).
The following is known about the area around Deepblood Ravine:
- Deepblood Ravine runs from northeast to southwest in the eastern Kaava Lands. Most of the ravine’s western half is close to lizardfolk territory, and the eastern half is generally considered less dangerous. This check also grants the PCs a +2 circumstance bonus on Survival checks to navigate the Kaava Lands during this scenario.
- Deepblood Ravine was once the home of a large tribe of lizardfolk, but the arrival of carnivorous dinosaurs in the ravine drove them out. Ever since, the lizardfolk have aggressively expanded their territory in every other direction.
The following is known about the gripplis and lizardfolk that inhabit the area.
- The lizardfolk of the Kaava Lands are generally more open than others of their kind when dealing with non-lizardfolk. Nonetheless, they are highly unpredictable, proud, and violent—a combination that has resulted in a many deadly encounters over the years. The lizardfolk of Deepblood Ravine, in particular, are aggressively pragmatic survivors. Their conquest of the Krihirik village is inevitable unless the gripplis can secure some advantage.
- Based on the Krihirik gripplis’ descriptions, a human with terrible scars on his arms leads the explorers. He carries numerous daggers, seems to know his way around the jungle, and wore a strange metal badge with a snake insignia. His colleagues sometimes referred to him by the nickname Fiveknives.
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Cyrus sees an opportunity to ingratiate himself, and his companions to these creatures. As the frog-people scale the tree, Cyrus inspects the trunk, feeling for handholds. He quickly scales the trunk behind them, not showing any sign of falling behind as the group makes their way to the top.
Once at the top, he is practically giddy with excitement at the description of where they are headed. He keeps quiet for now, electing to let his more diplomatic brothers do any other necessary talking. His eagerness would be difficult to hide, if he bothered to try.
The gripplis are clearly impressed by Cyrus's tree climbing skills. They smile (or grimace) as they nod in appreciation of his skills.
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"Well, friend gripplis, I believe we must undertake your task, if only to free you from the burden of having to deal with those backstabbing, overbearing, evil Aspis Consortium agents. They may give you sugared words, but believe you me, that they are rotten to the core. They only desire to control your fine people, to exploit them to some foul end.
"We Pathfinders are seekers of knowledge, not power. We attempt to free people from evil overlords, much as we have done in Varisia and the Worldwound recently. We shall be your saviors, and bring back these eggs."
Gunari looks pleased with himself, until he sees Gilligan poised to steal the crest from Mother Bogwynne. He waves off the monkey, and then tries to cover for his frantic motions with a smile, and the conjuring of beer.
"A drink, a toast to the Accidental Hero, at the beginning of our newest adventure, and our newest trade partners?"
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Finarin listens attentively to all the gripplis are saying. He keeps trying to get a reading on their facial expressions, but he is left somewhat bewildered.
Looks like when Kaisharga's has gas after eating kobold
"My new esteemed friends. I am .... overcome with joy at your hospitality. It saddens me to think that your race, your village, is .... suffering so. We will do our utmost to retrieve this egg, and not drop it." Finarin gives Gunari an icy stare.
He better sober up when we get this egg remembering a fairy tale of his youth about the large cracked egg, and the village that ate well for a fortnight.
"Just to there are no .... misconceptions. It is not in our manifesto as Pathfinders to disrupt the natural ... order of things. We cannot force the lizardfolk to retreat. However, if you still choose to ... use the creature we give you, well, that is best left for ... after we return. You have shared with us much knowledge, and for that we are .... most grateful."
Once the conversation is ended with the gripplis, Finarin address his brothers.
"Well, we are to ... hunt dinosaur. And apparently fight off a mad druid and his panther. What say you we talk some ... strategy. We best travel carefully. I am more accustomed to the wine bars, and operas then these ... jungles. Something to aid us in our trek might be useful, as well as spotting natural ... traps. I also know that druids like to use the forces of ... nature against us. If anyone has some last minute suggestions .... we should consider them before we depart with all haste."
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"Agreed, Finarin," the old man says, turning toward the elf. It looks as though Ibid is waiting for Finarin's mood to change and his darker side to appear out of frustration. "Perhaps, Miro might be able to enlighten us, since he is so well versed in this region?"
Ibid can hardly believe his own words, realizing he sounds like a petulant child after the halfling was able to correct him on many important facts about the lizardfolk and Deepblood Ravine. Unused to knowing less than others, Ibid feels ashamed for taking out his frustrations on his friend.
After a moment, he looks to Miro apologetically for putting him on the spot in front of the others.
"Just to there are no .... misconceptions. It is not in our manifesto as Pathfinders to disrupt the natural ... order of things. We cannot force the lizardfolk to retreat. However, if you still choose to ... use the creature we give you, well, that is best left for ... after we return."
"My friends," says Gwellik, "I'm not sure why you feel you need to be fighting your fellow explorers. Surely the trade rivalry you have, however fierce, doesn't necessitate actually killing one another? This is not a challenge to the death. We will award the orb to whichever group provides us the asked for eggs first."
"I would also recommend against fighting either of the Kaava Land beasts!" the master of the hunt Finyik states emphatically, "They are a mated pair, from what I can tell, and the only two great scaled ones in the region - but they are not to be trifled with. If you see them, run. As I say, though, the accursed lizardmen have been good for something. They have chased these creatures off and their nest remains vulnerable, for now. Time is not your ally, you had best be off as quickly as possible if you want to defeat your rivals - and ward off the return of the eggs' parents!
"Here are the best directions I have to get to the nest. Be warned, these directions were also given to the members of the Aspis Consortium. I only pray that one of your groups is successful. Do you have any further questions before you set out?"
Finyik passes the Pathfinders a rough map from the Krihirik village to the ravine where the dinosaurs' nest lies. According to the hunt master it is a hard 4 mile trek that will be difficult to navigate. It is about 2 hours' away. He tells the group that the Aspis agents set out just over an hour ago.
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Miro does not try to tell the gripplis to trust the Pathfinders, or to give them an edge. It is rapidly apparently that they favor neither faction, and are currently only rooting for someone to succeed and bring an egg back. He nods and bows courteously to Mother Bogwynne before turning to his fellows.
"If we steer to the eastern portion of the ravine, we should be able to evade the lizardfolk more easily, as they are more prominent in the western basin. These lizardmen are actually more open than average, but are ruthlessly pragmatic and aggressive survivors. Their conquest of this region is inevitable, unless the gripplis find a way to defend themselves."
"The leader of the Aspis Consortium is some scarred druid referred to as Fiveknives. Perhaps that gives us a measure of his capability, fighting wise. Regardless, it's best that we leave immediately."
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"I would agree, Gwellik, though our experience with our... rivals... has shown that they tend to shoot first, ask questions later. I hope you are right. As for the beasts, I am hoping that we don't have to face them. Thank you for the map, I am sure we'll get there soon."
He turns to his friends, and says, "The Aspis agents have quite the start on us. We'll have to push hard if we are to have a chance. Let's hope they get tied up with someone along the way, else we're unlikely to have a chance."
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Cyrus stiffens all of a sudden, as his mind drifts at that familiar name.
"I knew something about this felt... Familiar. We have heard the name fiveknives before..."
He trails off, waiting to see if the others remember before reminding them of the information they found at the dead drop in blood cove.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Gunari is ready to go, but first asks, "Mother Bogwynne, would you mind having someone keep an eye on my little buddy, here? His name is Gilligan, and he's a wonder for getting into trouble. However, he's cute, and knows how to fetch things. He knows a few other commands, too." Gunari will go over the commands and tricks the monkey now knows. He'll use however much of the 25gp he has for services needed to pay for "stabling" the monkey... and anyone else's pets, as needed.
"We will look after Giligan for you," says Mother Bogwynne, grimacing, "You have no need to pay for a 'stable', but thank you for the offer. The mission you undertake on our behalf more than allows you such a favor."
Wanting to get moving as quickly as possible, the Pathfinders say their goodbyes and set off for the ravine.
The Kaava Lands teem with wildlife, from squawking birds and stinging insects to humongous trees that create a dense canopy above. Vines, roots, and large-leaved plants cover much of the ground. The gripplis’ directions lead northwest through the dark, virtually trackless terrain. The myriad sounds of the jungle grow louder, and the undergrowth grows thicker, as the Krihirik village vanishes into the distance.
Luckily for the pathfinders, the jungle canopy in the Kaava lands is much thicker than it was further south, and the shade fends off both the sun and the humidity. It is harder to see, but heat exhaustion is not a concern for the companions. Some parts of the wilderness are especially dense with vines, tree trunks, and broad-leafed plants that try to soak up what little light reaches the ground. Other stretches are relatively open thanks to the relative darkness. Picking their way to the ravine is not an easy task. A distinct lack of visible landmarks, however, combined winding trails mean that the group struggles more than once to continue in the right direction.
About four miles from the Krihirik village, the terrain suddenly drops off into a deep ravine. The far side of the ravine is sixty feet away, and its craggy faces descend one hundred feet to the ravine floor below. The gap in the jungle allows a glimpse of the sky above, but the trees grow to the very edge of the ravine, and their dense canopy still blocks out much of the light. Several of the trees have massive, shaggy-barked trunks sporting countless twisting limbs. The trees’ strong roots grow deep into the earth and some even dangle over the side of the ravine.
Ibid identifies the trees that have their roots dangling into the ravine as monkey trees. The enormous trees' roots make an ideal climbing aid, but the bark and roots contain concentrated oils that react upon contact with skin or leather. When that happens, it creates an overwhelming, spicy odor that cannot be easily washed off (only time, measured in days, dulls the stench).
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Amaranti was just about to grab the roots, when he hears Ibid's warning about the oils. "No want to be smelly... Kaisharga, come here!" the Garundi commands, and starts drawing magical power from his planar connection. Soon, the magic pulses into the eidolon, who grows larger with each surge.
The eidolon, now much larger than the summoner, bends down and lets Amaranti climb into an odd-looking saddle on it's back. Kaisharga uncoils, and straightens up to it's full height. And there, on the saddle, Amaranti sits smiling, and looks down. This... This is how it should be.... But since there's no enemies to vanquish, the Garundi sighs, and commands the eidolon to climb down the ravine.
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"If we are able, we should follow Amaranti's lead," Ibid announces, while crouched and prodding one of the tangled roots with his knife. After carefully scooping a small bit of sap onto the blade, the old man brings the substance to his nose and inhales with a cringe. "There are creatures known to hunt by scent and scent alone. This sap, if stuck to us, could announce our presence once we are further into the ravine and allow us to be tracked no matter how well we cover our trail."
Ibid then pulls and rope from his pack and begins to secure the line.
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Miro looks at the steep drop dubiously, then shrugs. He slips his chain shirt off, looking to Gunari. "Ummm...you mind holding this for me?" He winces as he sees Finarin lose his grip and start somersaulting down the slope. He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to use your head when you did that.
He then uses the secured rope to safely lower himself down.
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At the bottom of the slope, while waiting for the others to climb down, Ibid leans in close to the pungent roots and vines. The spicy odor emanating from the bark stings his nostrils a bit, and he turns with a grunt, expelling the vapor by forcefully breathing through his nose. Staring at the close-standing jungle pressing claustrophobically about them, the old man crouches and draws his longbow as his eyes survey the area for any sign of movement.
A sudden fear of ambush washes over Ibid as he scans the boughs, imagining an invisible stalking cat, directed by a merciless scarred master, preparing to pounce down upon him from an unseen perch. While thinking of Fiveknives, in all likelihood hunting them at this very moment, the old man is reminded a foreboding verse from an obscure children's story. A tale about about a young boy magicked away to a dangerous jungle, overrun with predatory and chaotic animals, carnivorous plants, and a merciless, skilled hunter. The boy left to die or survive of his own accord.
A hunter from the darkest wild... makes you feel just like a child... he shudders, unknowingly holding his breath in dreaded anticipation.
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"Amaranti, I hate to bother you... but perhaps a little help down by your snake friend would be... prudent at this juncture." The warpriest looks down at his heavy armor. Gunari accepts Miro's chain shirt. He thinks, that perhaps if Karshaiga cannot help, then he'll do something similar. "We could just put all of our armor in a bag, lower it down with rope, then climb down. I could easily do the climb without the burden of my fine plate armor, but would take a little extra time"
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The summoner may cast a spell with a target of “you” on his eidolon (as a spell with a range of touch) instead of on himself. A summoner may cast spells on his eidolon even if the spells normally do not affect creatures of the eidolon's type (outsider). Spells cast in this way must come from the summoner spell list.
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The summoner may cast a spell with a target of “you” on his eidolon (as a spell with a range of touch) instead of on himself. A summoner may cast spells on his eidolon even if the spells normally do not affect creatures of the eidolon's type (outsider). Spells cast in this way must come from the summoner spell list.
Kaisharga ferries the Pathfinders who cannot easily navigate the ropes, being sure to never go too far from Amaranti, and also avoiding the tangled roots of the stinky monkey trees.
After reaching the ravine floor, the canopy again shades the sweating Pathfinders from the afternoon heat. As they continue along through the dimly jungle, they begin to follow a disused hunting trail through the center of the ravine.
Fallen trees, rocky streams, hanging vines, and other obstacles litter the ravine floor, making travel through this area just as difficult despite the sparser foliage. After several hundred feet, the terrain gives way to a natural trail running through the middle of the ravine. In most places the trail is a mere five feet wide, though it widens to fifteen or even twenty feet in some areas. The ravine walls and the distant canopy still block out most of the natural light along the path.
Where the path narrows again, a humanoid corpse—one hand stuck in its vest as though desperately trying to reach for something—lies sprawled in the dirt next to a thick, thorny plant. Countless biting ants swarm over the corpse, making its features difficult to discern.
Upon sensing the Pathfinders' presence, the ants form two large masses of teeming insectoid doom and descend upon the group.