Sivantanpisil smiles at the hobgoblin, "Yes, brother of mine. Essences made of this magical energy can be absorbed by many things. But those things must be of a high quality... or something that you hold dear and meaningful. Your whip is a masterful work of art and therefore, it could easily accept such magic, making it grow in power and substance. And yes, those trinkets that have meaning to you as you journey about this torn world, can accept them too."
The Hazard contemplates Gruskorb's request, then stands and approaches the bookshelf directly behind his desk. He takes a large clay jar from the top shelf and sets it upon the desk. Lifting the lid, he pulls a length of scaly leather from the jar. "Not one month ago, a creature appeared and began to harass a small village not far south along the shore of the Rynin Sea. My apprentice was dispatched to deal with the beast as we were told it wielded magic. He returned the next day having defeated a chimera... you know what that is, don't you? A magical beast made of a lion's body with the heads of a goat and dragon on either side of its lion's head. My apprentice had destroyed the beast by bathing it in fire, but its tail remained intact... virtually unharmed. It appears to be that of a dragon, which is quite strange for a chimera as their tails are typically that of a lion, of course. I harvested the meat from the tail, but have kept its skin for research. While it has dried quite hard, It has remained elastic and plyable. I suspect it would make an excellent cord to string your trinkets. And, of course, anything you have vanquished, you would certainly have a right to take a token of it as a trophy for your necklace."
"Haemil is on the other side of the mountains than the lands of our clan, brother. Do you think we will have a chance to see if our people yet live?"
Niyut approaches the wizard as he is reading. She pulls out the Liber Sanguinem. It makes a low thump on the table. "This book details a ritual that allows multiple casters to alter the elemental nature of an essence. What do you know of ritual magic?"
"I know very little of the art of ritual magic. Very few people left in the world would have any experience with such magic. But you ask for a bowl made of mithril, so I must assume that you know something of the practice. Even still, I, unfortunately, do not have such an item for you. But if I come upon one or if Baerwynnd has such an item, I shall hold it for you. Before the end of things, I suspect we shall see each other again."
"My people practiced such rites, but I know little of them."
Something must strike the oracle as amusing because her face brightens into a smile. "Things have already ended, necromancer. Now the question is: will things begin anew? My mother would say this is a time of fear and hope. I look to the sky and see that the moons have hatched, so perhaps there will be a rebirth."
His sister's presence is enough to break Truk'tosh from his fey mood. He puts the craft down as he considers her question.
"If the Hazard's power can send us close enough and we have the time... I would like to see what's become of our people. As long as I have the strength, I will to see our quest through to its end but to see even a single familiar face would do our hearts good. Do you think they could have survived the sundered sky and the endless night? Everyone else that we've met since we started this journey only survived by the mercy of a Hazard's magic or by being deep beneath the earth."
"Some of the gnolls survived. They are a people of forest and plain. I also believe that is someone alive at the Crossroads. I think some may have survived, especially amongst our father's people. The Blood of Vash has always avoided the open sky. My theory is that the storm scoured those with weaker souls more strongly, pulling them from their palaces of bone. It is my hope that Mother and some of the other elders survived and protected our people."
Niyut trails off and she looks quite sad. "I do not hear voice her in my dreams, but I do not find her amongst the ancestors either. Do you dream of her, brother?"
"I've never dreamed like you and mother do", Truk'tosh says echoing his twin's sadness for a moment. "But I have dreamed of her since we started this quest. She comes to me in memories of happier times - milking the goats or chasing the rock lizards like we did when we were children. Waking from those dreams is painful but a memory will not make this world whole again."
After an extended period of rest and preparation, everyone begins to gather in the chamber to depart. "The range of my spell is but a mere one hundred miles, but that should get you very close to far end of Kragenwood. You will still have to walk several days in order to reach Haemil. I shall inform Baerwynnd of your condition. I'm sure he wil be well pleased that you found me and recovered the staff. If you have no further questions, I'll send you on your way."
Sivantanpisil draws the gnarled wand from his sleeve and begins an incantation. With a thrust forward, the wand emits a black cloud of smoke. As the cloud expands, a clearing opens from its center as a portal takes shape through which you see a deadened forest. The cloud expands and envelopes the group. You feel the pull of the ether and a rush of wind, yet all is black around you. When the smoke clears, you find yourself standing in the midst of a forest. The trees are bare of leaves and a cold wind howls out into the night.
You stand in a clearing among the trees around large rock formation which rises ten feet above the ground. Its top is covered with a dried, blackened moss. Carved into the rock are several sylvan symbols. Well-trodden paths lead from the clearing in all directions.
We are close. Querkus' troubled voice echoes in Gruskorb's mind. To the north... The hobgoblin feels his eyes turn instinctively to the left.
Niyut shivers in the cold. "Brother, please ward me."
She looks at the menhir, tracing a symbol with her finger tip.
A focus for a leyline? I wonder how it works.
Letting her senses sink into the world of the spirit, the spirit guide tries to discern if this menhir can be used.
Prior to leaving the Tower of Necromancy, Garidan packs away his new alchemy ingredients, as well as the acid he's currently concocting, then does a final check of their check of their supplies. After some careful thought, he retrieves the mostly full bandoliers from Gruskorb and Truk'tosh, reapportioning both flasks and contents of same, as neither of the duo showed much interest in their use. Afterwards, he happily settles down to sleep. A welcome night of rest, followed by a partial helping of rations before and after is enough to restore him for the next stage of their journey, and Garidan moves through the waiting portal with a spring in his step.
Unfortunately, the transit through the portal is rather disorienting, leaving his spring to degenerate into a nauseated wobble on the other side. He manages to keep his most recent meal down, by sheer force of will, but finds it too hard to focus his thoughts beyond pointing out a few recognizable constellations overhead when the others try to figure out where to go next. The disorientation doesn't last too long, however, and the swashbuckler is soon ready to go.
Niyut's hand falls away from the stone.
"It is a sad, broken relic of ancient power. I wonder what spell the Hazard used. That was not Teleport. Not that it matters, I guess."
She points to a path to the northeast. "Haemil lies in this direction. Let us head forwards."
Scouring the tower, Gruskorb settled on three pieces to take with him: a fragment of the construct that barred their passage while the butler watched, a chipped piece of bone from the mummified guardian, and a shard of plating from the guardian in the tomb. Yes, you who almost killed me will accompany me everywhere ... though you're used to servitude after death, I'd guess.
The other hobgoblin couldn't possibly have given him a finer cord. This will endure longer than I will, thought Gruskorb as he drew the material out carefully with a knife, the fine tendrils of the chimera's remains holding intact as he focused on the ductility.
Though the rogue had not actually trained in the ways of creating chains and the like, he'd had plenty before his time of slavehood. So it was he found himself at a bit of an impasse after a while. He had the vision, but not the skill. As if sensing his confusion, Querkus chimed-in.
Are you sure you want to make something so ghastly?
Always watching, I see. Yeah, I do. Your ... talks helped me see I should have my roots somewhere. Even if I don't really have a home anymore, I guess my memories of what I do experience will have to do.
There was a pause, and the rogue felt he heard a hint of humor in the druid's thoughts. Open your mind. In the wilds, we learned a thing or two about how work living things into clothes and trinkets. It wouldn't hurt you to learn ...
It took him some time, but Gruskorb has a crude necklace in the works with his "charms" attached. As he held it in front of him, admiring his work, he felt a flux of energy drawn forth from within...
Truk'tosh doesn't share his twin's interest in the fallen monuments. His focus is on the earth and the few plants that thrived in the harsh environment and what they could teach him.
With a bit of careful effort, Garidan manages to get himself properly bundled against the bitter cold--and reminds himself, yet again, to look into acquiring some proper cold weather gear--then takes up a watch position at the party's rear, a few paces back and to the left from Tacal. After a soft murmur, the ioun torch over his head dims down to a mere spark before settling in against the base of his throat. "Well, on the road once more, with killing cold, shambling undead, and ferocious gnolls all waiting to make our journey a truly memorable experience that we'll no doubt treasure forever," he says with a deadpan expression and monotone voice while ensuring that his weapons and various flasks are all ready for quick entry into a fight at any range. "And let's not ignore the special charm to be added by the eternal night, the blighted landscape, and the piles of shattered debris that used be thriving population centers."
Niyut leads the erstwhile companions down the path she selected.
Sever Storm
Survival DC:15
Garden - Success
Success
Failure!
Niyut- Success
Truk'tosh - Success
Fortitude Save
1st: DC:17
Failure!
Failure!
2nd
Fortitude Save DC:23
Failure!
Failure!
Back into the familiar formation, the group begins the arduous journey towards Haemil. As usual, the elf is clueless how to protect himself or anyone else, but thankfully his magical robe protects him from the harsh conditions of the world. Keeping a vigil eye, Niyut recognizes the emptiness of the forest, devoid of life.
After an hour, it becomes clear to everyone that it is particularly colder now and the wind picks up a bit with a steady breeze in everyone's face. Unfortunately, Garidan and Gruskorb fail to re-acclimate to the outside since their stay in the Tower of Necromancy and over the course of the first march, they soon become fatigued. After a brief stop for food and little rest, the group continues but quickly realizes that the weather is changing. The wind is picks up dramatically and begins to swirl.
Making their way through the dead forest, the loud snapping of branches fills the air, as does debris and dust. Becoming difficult to continue, the group's pace slows down as the weather worsens. Truk'tosh looks up at the sky, and the druid feels the approaching maelstrom. Querkus's cracked voice in Gruskorb's head confirms his suspicion. A storm approaches... you need to find cover.... Feeling his own bones chilled beyond belief, Gruskorb looks over his shoulder at the Swashbuckler whose face is void of color. Garidan feels the light within Ruza flickering. As a precaution, the small ion stone flies to closer to him looking for shelter herself.
Up front, Niyut feels her familiar's claws sinking into her back, as the cat hides in terror. Similarly, both Truk'tosh's and Malthazir's familiars are clearly shaken.
"The wind grows too great! We must not loose Tacal. Brother, help me find shelter: like a cave."
Niyut tries to help her brother get a lay of the land.
Aware of Garidan's suffering, Truk'tosh shares a ward with him as well to shield the swashbuckler from the harsh winds.
When the wind goes from a hinderance to a deadly hazard, Truk'tosh immediately begins scanning for signs of some form a shelter. "Shield your eyes!" he shouts over the howling winds as he leads the way.
Niyut follows her brother.
Alas, the time spent within the relative warmth of the Tower of Necromancy--short as it was--has dulled Garidan's nascent skills at keeping warm, and his preparations prove futile in the face of what even he recognizes as a right brutal storm approaching. Fortunately, a bit of friendly magic helps matters considerably, and he nods his gratitude to Truk'tosh, unwilling to try speaking over the rush of wind battering them all. Able to focus properly, Garidan turns his efforts toward locating something the party can use to as shelter, as well as aiding Truk'tosh in his own efforts to do the same
The group had been heading generally northeast for some time prior to the weather turning upon them. Unfamiliar with the forest, Truk'tosh can only surmise that the forest has been thinning the past hour and that the ground is slopping steadily downward and becoming much more rocky. The druid thinks that the current path will surely lead out of the forest in the next couple of hours and onto the plains. There, you would be further exposed to the elements but will have a better chance of locating a cave or other rocky shelter.
As Truk'tosh calculates the odds of finding a cave, Garidan points out to him, that to the north the trees are broader and thicker. Scanning the tree tops to the north, the swashbuckler has spotted the massive canopy of a chestnut tree towering over the forest. While the tree appears to be just over a mile away, the group would have to venture off the path which they had been following since leaving the Gathering Stone. Caught between the guarantee of a wooden partial-shelter and the uncertainty of a better earthen one, the group contemplates their options.
"To the tree! There may be shelter in its roots."
"This is a Gathering Stone, carved and dedicated by mystics thousands of years ago. It is said that they were constructed to be used as focal points to draw ethereal energies from the ether. Every stone is decorated in Sylvan symbols representing a specific type of tree. This one contains the symbol for the chestnut tree that is common in this forest."
As usual, the elf is clueless how to protect himself or anyone else, but thankfully his magical robe protects him from the harsh conditions of the world.
Malz looks around with a frown, robes billowing gently in the hurricane-force winds. [b]"I hope you have an idea of where we can take shelter.[/ooc]
Truk'tosh nods in agreement with his twin and leads the party toward the distant trees. "We have run out of time to be picky. Hurry!"
Thanking the necromancer of his blood as they were let loose again on the open road, Gruskorb felt his eyes drawn away from their natural wandering. Where is it, Querkus?
The druid had kept the hobgoblin safe from the extremes of temperature with a few words - oddly seeming quite basic to the rogue now - yet could do little for squalls. As the storm grew in power, the persevering agent looked to his allies. "This is getting worse before it gets better. We need a safe spot!" Garidan looked worse by the minute.
Residing within himself so near home though, perhaps Querkus kept Gruskorb warm with something besides his magical abjuration.
I'm guessing that stone was easy for you to recognize back there. Nice landmark, but makes you vulnerable, obvious to find and plunder. What do you think we might find at your home? Just want us to be prepared.
Truth be told, Gruskorb worried little for overt danger there and more for the emotional fit the spirit was likely to be in if he found it gruesomely destroyed.
As if on cue, Malthazir filled them in on the stone.
That tree ... is that your home?
He asked the question as Niyut directed them towards roots for shelter. That's a new way of looking at things, but I guess we don't have much choice...
Normally, storms were a great opportunitiy to catch prey sneaking in for the scarce shelter spots, yet the winds were so high, Gruskorb didn't risk using his trap.
"Turn your backs to the wind and huddle!"
Did you usually get storms like this?
Perhaps it was his near-death experience just now, but the intense windstorm didn't seem to phase Gruskorb's mind as much as it threatened to do with his body.
Strength Checks vs 100+ winds
Non-lethal damage
Thunderous booms are accompanied by flashes of lightning as the group scrambles through the prickly undergrowth of the forest. The terrain proves slightly difficult but the howling wind is the bigger challenge. Both Gruskorb and Niyut find the wind too much and are unable to move forward until Garidan offers up Tacal. The pair grab ahold of the beast's packs and stumble along. Only Malthazir looks remotely capable of withstanding the harsh winds.
After an hour long struggle, the group finally manages to break through a thin briar patch and enter a small, open glade. Rising up majestically in the center of the glad is an ancient chestnut tree. Its massive trunk is nearly fifty feet in diameter, and Niyut gasps as she looks up and sees its highest branches over two hundred feet in the air. It's leafy branches sway violently in the storm, creaking and moaning with each gust of wind. A feeling of elation overpowers Gruskorb as he feels Querkus's relief to see the tree still living.
The group surges forward racing to the tree's base. As you approach, you had first believed that the trunk is splintered and cracked as light from the brilliant flashes within the sky reveal its flaws. But as you draw near, you now see that the tree is in fact a ring of trees intertwined. The trunks wrap around each other, curling and twisting into an intricate nest of living wood. The individual trunks merge together only to split again higher up. Branches stretch out from one trunk and then collide with another. Limbs from two trunks twist together until finally merging together as single, thicker branch. From a distance it had been a single tree, yet up close, it was a living community. In the final few feet, your heart began to sink as you finally see the intricacy of weaving wood and realize there is no hiding at its trunk. There is no shelter from the coming storm. Perhaps the open plains beyond Kragenwood would have served you better.
Then Gruskorb looks up from under his hood and his voice rings out in a clear, piercing tone above the roar of the wind, "Panta lle ranqui !!" Hearing the ancient sylvan tongue, a split in the ancient chestnut tree's trunk widens dramatically, inviting you in. Breaking for the entrance, you feel the violence of the storm surge and the winds intensify. Gusting to over 100 miles per hour, the winds over take the group and everyone but Malthazir is flung to the ground. . Even the great beast, Tacal, could not stand against the wind. Looking up from his back, Truk'tosh sees the dark clouds billowing up and rotating violently above them. He looked to the center of the maelstrom and knew that something was strange. Then the winds died as if the storm was taking a breath before its final exhale.
Dashed to the ground, Niyut's dark hair swirls around her lovely face like ebon river. Part of her is quite afraid. The spirits of the sky do not speak to her, though they grant their favor to her twin. Breath and bone. Blood and shadow. What good were they when the maelstrom tries to swallow them whole?
"Brother, get them into the grove while the way remains open."
There is power here. Where there is power there are also spirits.
As she stands, Niyut's vision catches not the world of flesh, but instead the world of spirit.
"Spirits of the Firebird, ancestors, lend me your wisdom. Mine is not the power of storm or stone, wave or flame; but, that is you gift! What must I do?"
Truk'tosh calls to the spirits of the wind and sky but they do not heed his call. Whatever had happened to enrage them put the spirits outside his reach for now.
Granted a respite by the lull in the storm, Truk scrambles to his feet picking up his companions as well. He tugs on Tacal's lead, desperate to get the panicking beast moving inside the shelter. "We don't have much time. Move!"
Garidan wastes no time at all scrambling to safety, even after his brief tumble. Seeing Truk'tosh struggling with their generally placid pack animal, the swashbuckler delays just long enough to offer what assistance he can.
As it happens, his efforts are worse than no help at all, and he quickly backs off to avoid making a bigger mess of things. Instead, he ducks around the duo and makes for the waiting opening in the tree, his ioun torch flaring to full brightness as he moves out of the way of the others at his heels.
Initiative
+8 with swashbuckler initiative
Domain power use.
Fort Checks; DC20
4 Rounds
Run child! the voice of Niyut's grandmother shouts. The twisting voice of the great spirit that rules the sky is about to descend upon you!
Without needing any encouragement from the half-orc, Tacal scrambles to his feet and bounds forward towards the opening with Niyut quickly scrambling after the oxen. Malthazir nimbly moves through the opening and enters the tree with Gruskorb right on his heels. Just as the hobgoblin finds safety, a massive funnel cloud reaches down from the blackened clouds striking the ground nearby. Having helped the oxen along, Garden and Truk'tosh hesitated before making their way to the Chestnut tree and pay the price.
The tornado descends upon the two travelers with a force never felt by either. Truk'tosh is able to withstand the torrential winds, but the young swashbuckler is flung through the air and smashes against the chestnut tree before falling to the ground. Bloodied and broken, he looks up at the half-orc and realizes that Ruza is no where to be found. Quickly scanning the area, he sees the ioun torch near the edge of the glade, helplessly fluttering within the tornado. The torch flashes with light and to his shock he sees a large humanoid emerge from the briar. Covered in brambles and moss, the giants' arms appear as tree branches and the legs look to be massive tree trunks. It stands tall in spite of the storm and looks towards Garidan and Truk'tosh in delight.
Coughing up blood, Garidan shakes the encroaching unconciousness away, then blinks as he hears his sister calling to him. He can't quite make out her words over the sluggishness of his own thoughts, but he gets a sense that she's terrified. Looking around blearily, he finally recognizes the fact that the light coming from his ioun torch isn't shining around him! More worrisome still is the not-insignificant detail that the light is shining quite brightly upon a very unwelcome sight, its source perilously close to yet another foe for the party to deal with.
A burst of fear clears the fog from Garidan's mind as he realizes the full scope of the situation. His sister's vessel is no longer in his possession, and to retrieve it requires that he face two different, yet equally lethal foes at the same time. And his current wounds make that a suicidal proposition, at best. Shaking in frustrated rage, Garidan does the only thing he can under the circumstances--he picks himself off of the ground and retreats to the waiting gap in the tree. With a pained grunt, he squeezes past the hobgoblin and those behind him, hands squeezed into tight fists.
Approaching Malthazir, he looks the elf in the eye and nods toward his restorative pet. "If you would be so kind as to let me make use that for a few moments, I'd quite appreciate it," the swashbuckler says in a tone devoid of emotion, his expression similarly empty. "I'll need to be as fit as possible by the time that gods-damned tornado passes, in the likely event that that giant is still lurking out there. I have something very important to retrieve outside, and killing that overgrown wall of meat will be necessary if I'm to do so."
Malz voluntarily drops to the ground so the winds can't shove him down there.
Truk'tosh channels the captured draconic essence into his legs granting the powerful limbs a burst of energy. Arriving alongside the rest of the party, he calms his pounding heart long enough to call on the raging spirits just outside the tree.
"Sister, can you slow the beast down? I do not think he means to share this shelter."
"I will try, brother."
The tree giant reaches out and snatches the Ioun Stone out of the air, then bounds forward towards the group and the opening in the chestnut tree. "Grumpa tarh e feg vra zarzu!"
Niyut is surprised by the giant's dexterity and the fact that it was yelling something she didn't understand. Since he was bringing Garidan's magic rock towards them, she couldn't Shadow Trap the giant. She felt the wisdom of her grandmother's long years, suggest that understanding brings the most decisive actions.
With this in mind, she calls upon her ancestors. Tongues
Niyut shouts at the giant, hoping to be heard.