Inconnu does his fair share of work to get across before the raft could capsize. "We should lift the raft in a little while once we catch our breath, make sure it's out of sight from the far shore. If someone is tracking us we shouldn't make the task easy for them."
'Do you imagine we'll need it again? Could just cut the lashings and send the wreckage downriver.'
"In case we do, better to take it ashore and hide it."
Dugan shrugs and grabs a corner of the raft to carry it further ashore.
There are few places to hide the raft on this side of the river. The Andoshen River marks a stark divide in terrain. The forested hills with which you have grown familiar are now at your back. Only flat land lies ahead.
As a result of over-logging, the northern reaches of the Carpenden Plains are mostly flat and treeless. Shrubs and bushes are scarce, and only tenacious scrub grasses survive in any quantity.
The plains provide little protection from the elements, and temperatures throughout the region can change quickly from blistering heat at noon to a frigid chill during the night. Most mornings, the plains are foggy and the grass is wet with dew.
Thankfully, there is little chance of getting lost, even if the plains remain trackless. The Andoshen River essentially bisects Andoran in twain, separating the nation's east and west, and leads all the way to Almas on the coast. Follow the river's course, and you will reach your destination.
A small copse of young trees stands several dozen yards to the south. Although it is not even large enough to hold your entire party should you find the need to hide, it could serve to store your raft.
"That copse should conceal the raft well enough.", Micheo says, indicating with his head as he continues to grasp the raft with both hands.
"We're in the northern reaches of the Carpenden Plains now. The bad news is due to overlogging there is little protection fromt he elements. Temperatures can be quite high around noon, best to keep our eyes peeled around then for shelter. At the least we should take a long lunch around then, quickly pitch the tents to provide some shade if we haven't found any. The night will be bitterly cold and the mornings will come with dew so the tents will be sodden. Even then the weather can change quickly."
"On the plus side even though there's no tracks it's damn near impossible to get lost so long as we follow the rivers course. We should stay alert for hazards and changes in weather."
[ooc]We need to make Knowledge Nature and Survival checks to make the journey easier.
Dugan quietly scans the countryside as they travel, wary of any potential dangers or opportunities that may arise.
"I suspect that extremes of cold and heat will have less effect on me. But that would be complacent to assume."
Micheo tries to spot anything the others have not yet.
When your party first convened in Falcon's Hollow, winter was just giving way to spring. Now that some time has passed since then, the air no longer holds the same chill, and the sun looks upon the land longer but without summer's harsh glare. Thus, you find yourselves fortunate to be setting out at perhaps the best time.
The wind keeps you refreshed as you march along the wide river's length. Nevertheless, you wisely don hats or other coverings to shield your heads from the sun. The exertion of the march also leaves an irritating amount of sweat beneath your clothes and armor, dripping down into your boots.
Of course, this means it will be important to find some manner of shelter along your route before too long.
Sudden rainstorms will be one of the biggest hazards to contend with, as they roll north from the Inner Sea. Even if they do not last long, they pose a grave threat of flash floods upon this flat terrain.
Fortunately, the land along the river seems very fertile, so you believe it will not be long until you come across some farming hamlet along its banks.
Micheo is glad of the shelter and of the company.
"This time of year I'd be wary of rainstorms, they've been known to cause flash floods. But I'd suspect we're not far off running into a few small hamlets I'd suspect."
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"Friends, I am glad that Sarenrae saw fit to guide me to the Vale and that I met you all. We have done good works together and hopefully many more."
Dugan nods at Inconnu's assessment. 'I reckon there'll be a downpour starting before too long here. Should be good weather tomorrow. I don't relish sleeping in the wet tonight so we should find a dry place to rest for a spell, and soon.'
Dugan's hopes are fulfilled when, after several hours of marching south, you crest a low slope and find a tiny village perched upon a lonely hill ahead.
Composed of less than a dozen buildings - largely made of brick, adobe, and thatch - it stands like an island among broad fields of grain planted alongside the mighty river and thin canals dug from its length. Although only a fraction the size of Falcon's Hollow (let alone Olfden), it promises a spot of peace and shelter, especially as the gathering clouds darken the sky.
'I can never understand why you'd build them any bigger than this.' Dugan says with a gesture at the town and a slow shake of his head.
"It is a good question, Dugan. A town or city where righteous freedom thrives is a healthy one. But oppression can be bred in those streets too. Regardless, we should appreciate the village before us and find shelter there."
The wind gains strength, heralding the approaching storm, and causes the mill's blades to groan as they rotate. Waves roll across the crop fields, sending ripples through the grain like a roiling sea.
As you draw closer, though, you make a grim discovery. Not a single soul can be seen among the village: No one working in the fields. No one walking between the buildings. You don't even see any animals in the outlying pens or grazing land.
”This is bad.” Ulark said. His previous quiet contentment at the prior weather (the heat, like the cold, rarely bothered him) and then the prospect of escaping the storm, evaporated.
”We should find shelter. And look for clues as to what happened here. I haven’t noticed any signs of struggle yet. Plague, perhaps?”
As he spoke his features began to change, subtly shifting into something more like his angelic ancestor. Most importantly, his eyes shone with the power to see that which was overtly evil.
Micheo feels a chill down his spine and utters:
"What torments have befallen the villagers?"
Almost unbidden, his sight of life and death comes to the fore, as he grips his armaments, and advances slowly into the seemingly-emptied village.
The metallic scent of blood wafts from one of the empty animal pens you pass on your approach to the settlement. Ulark notices large dark stains upon the soil, evidencing where former livestock was violently killed within the past few days. Broken fences also suggest that surviving animals stampeded to escape whatever attacked them.
Another, smaller bloodstain upon the loose soil outside the pen serves as a worrying marker for a farmer who met a similar fate, perhaps investigating a disturbance.
Off to the east, in one of the larger grazing fields, you can see a sizeable sinkhole - large enough to lose a wagon in.
As you cautiously make your way down the trail, which leads beneath the bridge connecting the mill to the watchtower, Micheo's divinely-aided eyes can pick out no visible creatures, alive or dead. Likewise, Ulark's senses cannot discern even traces of malice or wickedness.
Whoever they were, you did not sense any evil from their fleeting appearance.
'Hopefully, whatever it is doesn't come back while we're here' Dugan says.
"The watchtower should be defendible. I'd hate to be caught of guard by whatever it was so we should make do if we can't discover and root out the threat before the deluge comes. I saw we clear the tower first unless someone has a solid lead."
"I have no objection to that suggestion."
'Sound plan'
As you pass beneath the wooden bridge linking the two stony outcroppings that surmount the low hill, a man comes running out of the windmill. He waves his arms frantically, desperate to draw your attention.
"Get off the ground! Get off the ground!" he shouts, nearly straining his voice.
Inconnu makes a snap decision and breaks into full sprint towards the man at the windmill and the ramp leading up to it.
Between the shouting of the man and Inconnu's response, Micheo immediately barrels in the direction of the ramp.
Ulark was wise enough to know that when everyone starts running, then the smart thing to do was run first and ask questions later.
The party charges up the stone-and-earth ramp just in time. You can hear an explosion of earth behind you as something erupts from the ground you were just standing on. Some manner of shrill hissing sound fills the air, emanating from the as-yet unknown source.
Dugan's curiosity gets the better of him and he spins, readying his shield and Glintaxe.
Only a few yards behind him, Dugan finds himself staring down what is perhaps one of the most bizarre creatures he has ever laid eyes upon. The horse-sized monstrosity looks like a giant insect, with six legs propping it up from the hole it just burrowed free from. Its mandibles click together loudly, eager for meat.
Several more such creatures also burst free from the ground, but before Dugan can count them, the foremost one rears back then spits a stream of caustic fluid at the armor-clad dwarf.
Dugan's glance turns into a full blown stop and stare, his mind trying to wrap itself around what he sees. His shock is only momentary as he's able to duck out of the worst of the creature's sizzling spittle.
Inconnu chooses to focus on covering the ground quickly... and is very glad he's not slowed down by armour or a short stature.
Micheo has no intention of slowing his sprint towards the ramp.
Two more of the creatures emerge from the soil, and disturbances in the ground suggest another two or three are fast approaching. Dugan has but a split moment to turn and dash to rejoin his companions' flight for sanctuary or risk having a whole clutch of these acid-spitting monsters falling upon him.
The rest of the party surmounts the rocky outcropping that hosts the windmill. They find the bearded man who called out to them rapidly urging them to take shelter inside, shouting, "Hurry, hurry! They can't get you inside!"
Micheo powers past the man into the mill, trusting in the warning freely and fervently given.
Ulark ran on, not wanting to stop and face the insectoid horrors. The half-orc was just glad that there seemed to be place of safety, at least.
You find about a dozen men, women, and children crowded together within the mill. There is scarcely any free room left, with refugees even standing upon the wooden scaffolding leading up the mill's height and children sitting upon the millstones. The narrow, towering space feels all the more claustrophobic as you also seek shelter within the mill's walls.
Dugan is the last one in. As he closes the last distance to the mill's comparative safety, you can hear more shrill hisses and the sizzle of acid behind him. Once the armored dwarf is inside, the strongest men in the mill slam the thick doors behind him and hold it fast.
"Sorry that it's so cramped," apologizes the bearded man who beckoned you inside. "There might be a bit more space over in the watchtower, but you'll have to wait until them bugs dig back down before it's safe to cross the bridge. They can spit that burning goo pretty far. Thankfully, it don't seem to work on wood or stone."
Taking a look around, you can see relatively recent burns upon the farmers taking shelter within the mill. On their arms, legs, chests, and even faces, you see that very few of the residents escaped those monsters entirely unscathed.
Dugan huffs with the exertion of the last push to the windmill. 'How... How long... have they been... attacking your town?'
"I think it started about a week ago," the bearded man recounts, pausing to introduce himself as Romar. "The Akens lost a couple of sheep. At first we just thought it was wolves, but then the Froats started losing cattle. Old Froat tried to guard his herd, but then they got him, too. After that, they seemed to develop a taste for people."
Romar pauses and casts a nervous look around the cramped mill, worried that his words might further fray the frazzled nerves of his neighbors.
"We kept losing animals and people until...one night, they started coming up through the floorboards of our houses. It was horrible. Everyone panicked and ran outside, but that just seemed to invite more of them to feed. We fled up here, hoping to barricade ourselves and wait them out. We discovered they can't dig through the rock that the mill and watchtower are built on, but now we're stuck here. We've been trapped for going on four days now."
”This doesn’t sound sustainable.” Ulark said, taking stock of the situation. ”They didn’t bother us as we approached your town. Perhaps that would be the safest way to retreat. When do they usually come out?” He asked, already thinking about how best to get all of these people to safety.
Micheo looks around him with concern then replies with determination in his voice.
"We will assist you, however we can."
The servant of Sarenrae thinks about what these creatures could be.
As he does, he looks about the room, ascertaining whom is wounded - and whom he could heal.
"How many have been seen at once? Is there any access to the roof? One of us- our band not you don't worry-" Inconnu puts up a hand before anyone starts objecting. "Right so one of our band could lure one out while the rest of us rain down a few arrows from on top of the roof. They might see us once they surface but I'd bet they wont be able to til then."
"The main advantage we have is magical healing, in a war of attrition... the downside is we don't have infinite ammo."
As you have already witnessed, their two most notable features are their burrowing and their ability to spit acid.
...
No one in the mill is near death. Most of the injuries you see are disfiguring rather than debilitating. However, you can discern that most of these refugees are fragile due to a combination of thirst, hunger, and fatigue.
"They don't seem to care whether it's night or day. They come out whenever anything larger than a squirrel traipses through the square or the pens," Romar explains. "I even seen one of them burst out and gobble up some vultures that came poking around what was left of Old Froat's cattle."
Based upon what the survivors have observed, the "danger zones" are around the village's buildings and the former livestock pens. The creatures lurk just under the ground in those areas that attract the most prey. There is some debate among the villagers regarding how many are out there, but the most seen at one time is six specimens.
Inconnu's idea earns strong support from the survivors. Romar mentions that the villagers kept an old crossbow in the watchtower in case of trouble, but "None of us are no sharpshooters," he says. "We've put a couple shots in them, but we haven't killed any of them yet. I think we only have about a dozen bolts left."
Of course, the party's considerably stronger armaments and visibly apparent skill at arms fill the survivors with rare optimism.
"It's what about a hundred feet to the towers entrance and we can't be sure if the door is locked."
"If someone appeared on the bridge would they notice as quickly I wonder? The bridge might be in range of the ramp and with a little bit of magic I could tether a rope to it for someone to shimmy along. The bridge to the tower would be a short bolt but I didn't see anywhere low down to attach rope to."
"Does anyone else have any other ideas, my schemes are bit rough and could use some refining."
"The tower door shouldn't be locked," clarifies another one of the villagers, a woman with acid burns upon her scalp that leaves her partially bald. "Some of our neighbors took shelter there, too, like the Akens and Froat's daughter."
She also explains that when the beasts go back underground, they don't seem to notice when people cross the bridge, as long as you're quiet.
'Be easier taking them on the ground than getting in a spitting contest with them.'
"If it was just one... but a few of them might be tough."