The rider plants its glaive in the ground and a dense mist rolls forth, quickly filling he area in a thick fog. From the depths of it the rider's voice, sounding hollow and metallic, calls out in sylvan.
"He's running away." Troxell translates, with some relief in voice, as he uses his healing wand on himself.
Myhm waits for a clear path to charge the warrior, meanwhile trying his best to muster up an intimidating stance, but ends up looking more like a pacing animal.
Not wanting to waste more of her spells, Teena holds, knowing she had a strong chance to miss him entirely. "Good job everyone," she nods, as she watches th mist roll over the area.
"Though I do not enjoy the feel of your barbaric speech passing my teeth, do not presume I cannot comprehend it." The rider says from somewhere in the mists. "I am commanded to spare the Ent, but have no such orders concerning you others. I am Z'rix of the Marcaigh Fuar, and I run from no mortal."
Myhm frowns at the mention of his moniker; not at the insult but the familiarity. "How do you know me?!", he shouts at the dark rider in plain common, "Do you know my brother?!"
"We know of all of Kobb's sons. The Ent, the Ox, and the River..." A hollow chuckle echoes from the mist, and the jingle of its spurs seems to surround you, growing unnaturally loud.
Searching his memory, Xerexis recalls something and two words slip from his lips. "Cold Rider."
Troxell moves over to where he saw Myhm last and uses his wand on the large human if he's still there. "We need to group together, on Myhm." He calls out to his companions.
Teena moves closer to the others, closing ranks, as the spooky voice echoed about all around them.
"Raaarh!", Mhym bawls with anger at the mention of the names, and spins around and around at the flittering sounds, great axe ready in hand.
Looking very spooked, Mikmik ducks away into the bushes again.
Moving with a step so quiet that no one hears him approach, the rider suddenly appears out of the mist and swings his glaive at Troxell, slashing his side with the chilling cold blade.
PERCEPTION
Myhm suddenly leaps at the knight in a blind rage, feet leaving the ground. Spittle spraying out as he roars and charges, mitts reaching out to grapple any piece of armor he can grasp.
"Gah!" Troxell exclaims as he nears death once again, casting defensively to place Faerie Fire in a 5' radius around where the attack seemed to be originating from, then moves out of the weapon's range.
Teena, Banting to be sure she struck the rider, uses her Burning Hands spell to cover him in a wave of sparks.
Damage
Reflex 16 DC for half.
|
Xerexis sees his target glow with the magic of faerie fire, he takes one last shot with his firearm
no modifiers included.
Holding his musket in this left hand Xerexis quick draws his falcata with his right and advances towards the rider.
Troxell summons faerie fire that flickers into being around the rider. Teena's arc of electricity makes a spiderweb of cracks through its armor and forces a howl of agony from its skeletal-like face. Mikmik jumps up and fires his crossbow, but the small bolt bounces off. Xerexis' shot, however, sends ice flying as the bullet punches through its breastplate and passes through its body near the shoulder.
The cold rider stumbles and seems about to fall when Myhm bursts from the mist and wraps it up in a bearhug.
At first, the rider's head hangs back limp, but then some of the cracks in its armor begin to seal, and the hole in its shoulder starts to close. It's head raises and it looks into Myhm's eyes with its own red stare.
"This is the First World. This is not the end."
It then thrusts its antlers forward, tearing into Myhm's face.
Mhym flinches from the sudden horns in his face. He releases the bearhug and tears into the knight with bear hands and teeth.
@
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With his magic nearly exhausted, Troxell opts to use his wand to treat his grevious wounds.
Xerexis, Mikmik, and Myhm take on the Cold Rider up close and with furious determination. Xerexis slashes with his falcata, Mikmik stabs with a small blade, and Myhm tears off an antler with his teeth, then smashes it's skull in with his bare fist.
The rider falls, his armor shattering into pieces as he lands on the icy road. Whatever ability he possessed to heal himself so quickly before seems unable to bring it back this time.
A moment passes, then tiny peals of laughter ring out from the canopy above.
"HAHAHA! Now THAT was the funniest thing I've seen in an age! HAHAHAA!"
Though the source of the voice is unseen, you are all certain it belongs to the tiny fey that gave you directions earlier.
"Tiny one, why would you lead us into such a trap? We are only looking for our friend. If you won't or can't help with that, I'd appreciate if you leave us be."
The druid blinks slowly a few times at the fey's mocking words, his grip tightening a considerable amount around his quarterstaff as he tries to contain his anger. Luckily, the charismatic Teena takes charge of the conversation preventing Troxell from making the situation worse.
"Leave you be?" The voice asks, sounding confused. "Then how will you find the Witchmarket? For without my help, you'll wander this realm until you run across another nasty sidhe, and frankly, a joke told twice is only half as funny."
"How can we trust you not to send us into another ambush? That thing beat us half to death, you know. A little help would have been nice too."
"You mistake me for a will'o'wisp!" The voice replies with a laugh. "I take no pleasure in setting death traps. I expected you to run from the rider - I doubt he would have pursued you far off the road. I did not expect you to face him in a duel to the death. Or defeat him in such! I underestimated you, and thus my own surprise makes this even funnier! Still, you have made an interesting point. You cannot truly trust me, but you will likely never find the Withmarket without me."
"We require rest before we go anywhere." Troxell states with a wearied sigh, "Why do you want to help us anyway? To continue to be the brunt of your little japes?"
Mhym gathers around for any fist-sized rocks he can find.
"Rest?" The voice asks. "That would be a bad idea. Night's comin and the shadow hounds will be hunting soon. Gonna have to be quick as it stands now to make it to the Witchmarket before dark." As he talks, the unseen fey seems to be moving back in the direction you came from. "I'd say trust me, but we know that's not likely, and I don't have the attention span to convince you. I'll just say this - it's rare that a mortal comes to the First World, and very rare that they survive an encounter, much less defeat, a Marcaigh Fuar. Life can be boring here, and you aren't boring me yet, so pranks and jokes aside, you should follow."
Teena shakes her head, and looks at the others. "Following him is probably insane, but I don't know any other options. I think we have to follow."
Raahh!, Mhym hurls the rocks after the fading feys. Then moments later from spent rage, he sinks down to the soft ground and collapses.
"This is terrible." The druid grumbles to himself as Myhm collapses, pulling out his wand and healing the large human to consciousness.
Troxell then retrieves his Pearl of Power from his backpack and restores his knowledge of Cure Light Wounds. He casts the spell on himself.
"No time to sleep, Myhm, let's move." He helps the big man up if necessary and follows the others.
Mhym comes to and gets to feet, stumbles crashing into the nearby brush before righting himself, putting a hand on the half-elf's shoulder, "Thank you for medicine. Where's that stupid evil butterfly?"
"We're going to follow him. If he betrays us again, feel free to kill him brutally." Troxell advises in a matter-of-fact tone, his anger back in check again. Mostly.
"Quick! Quick!" The fey urges as you start following him. A few minutes into the journey you begin to catch glimpses of him darting from branch to branch. Apparently his ability to remain invisible is limited. He never lets you get too close, and in fact is setting a pace that has all of you breathing hard.
"I am Tumblewing." He says, introducing himself. "Who are you? And what are you doing in the First World?"
Troxell remains silent at the fey's questioning, having little constructive to say to him at this time.
Mhym is feeling to weak to be angry at anything at the moment and waits for someone else to speak for the group; meanwhile stumbling along the woods and basically stepping on every flora that might have any fey value.
[b]"Teena. And we are looking for the human who resembles Mhym over there. If you did indeed see him before."[\b]. Teena didn't want to give too much information to the as yet untrustworthy little creature.
"Who's Paid?" The fey asks Xerexis, then, in reply to Teena. "So you're lookin for a big guy like him named Paid? Yeah, I saw him, just like I said. Was just a couple days ago, so he might still be alive."
You hussle hack along the road for a while at a pace that threatens to wear you out. Eventually Tumblewing comes to a stop, waiting for you on a branch - quite possibly the same branch you first found him sitting on a few hours ago. The sun, or whatever creates daylight above the trees in the Forst World, is setting and the forest is filling with shadows. "Quick now, it's getting dark!" He says in a loud whisper, then flies off the road into the gloomy forest.
"Too tired. Can't keep up." Mikmik struggles to maintain the pace and is in danger of falling behind.
Myhm picks up Mikmik and slings him over the shoulders and presses on.