I was thinking the bit with the coins
Grigor then groans.
Dammnit - that was perfectly good drinking money
Singed and gulping in great breaths of clean air, Valiard dashes out into the clearing, small whisps of smoke rising from his smoldering clothes. He appears the very picture of maddness as he turns about, his white eyes appearing to bulge from his ash streaked face as he searches for his prey.
Where did she go?
"Mireza is right." Iozef agrees before returning to his coughing fit. "Utterly foolish. We should all be present within the Boneyard now." Iozef then calls upon Pharasma's healing for all.
Noticing Grigor's wound, "Let me have a look at that, Mr. Vachkov." He moves to inspect the nasty looking wound, attempting to remove the 'thorn' that's causing it.
As he manages to remove it, he studies it a moment before tossing it aside and finding himself a place to sit. "I must rest a moment. It's not everyday I am near burning to death."
"Stupid of all of you," Mireza states coldly. "What did you expect to find in there? It couldn't have been a more obvious trap if it was a box propped up with a stick and a string leading into the bushes. Music from an abandoned tower, really!"
Singed and gulping in great breaths of clean air, Valiard dashes out into the clearing, small whisps of smoke rising from his smoldering clothes. He appears the very picture of maddness as he turns about, his white eyes appearing to bulge from his ash streaked face as he searches for his prey.
Where did she go?
Her tracks lead into the woods and would be easy to follow.
"There are her tracks." Valiard says pointing to the flattened grass and chewed up sod. "Do we let her flee? She wasn't some dumb animal to avoid a challenge. I think its quite possible that she might hold a grudge and hunt us down in the dark."
Be easier if we did now - outside we would have the advantage. Besides we need to let the fire in the lair burn out if we want to search it.
"Iozef, do you have any idea what she was?"
"I tried to discern what type of creature she was initially, but couldn't quite make out her features. But when she fled right by us, then I could make out her features. I recall reading about such a creature back during my days at University. Now, what was it?" he rubs his chin, pondering it a moment.
Definetely some sort of abberation, but what I couldn't tell
"So, are we going to stand around here chatting, or go and hunt her down before she gets us? I imagine that now she is out of her lair we will be able to surround her and take her down with bow and arrows instead of trying to disarm her by having her stab us repeatedly." Valiard asks with a grin at Grigor.
"I am glad that we got you out of there in one piece crow. Having your innards sucked out by a big spider would not have been a good fate for someone who went toe to toe with the Spawn."
Pulled away from his thoughts a moment, Iozef looks to Valiard with a raised eyebrow. "Mr. Tessar, I believe now is not the time to be chasing after large beasts that have the means to paralyze us, eat us, and whatever else it can probably come up with to do with us. Most of us are still injured and I'm tired. I'm ill prepared for such a creature or any more like her. But I can promise you this, I shan't be next time." He rests his head back up against the wagon as he's taken his seat on the ground next to it and then returns in his attempt at recalling what it was he learned of such a creature.
I'm for checking out its lair... it may have stockpiled a few travellers in its time... just want the smoke to clear some.
He starts binding a scarf over his nose and mouth.
"Very well, Mr. Vachkov. If there is anything new that happens upon you that prefers to destroy you... I would highly advise running."
Agreed, he said with less than his customary surliness.
"I will help you, Grigor. I suggest you wet that scarf; it will stop more smoke that way."
You bastards stole all my liquor so can't use that... anyone have a waterskin handy?
"I'm afraid I cannot help you in that regard, Mr. Vachkov. And please watch your language in front of Madam Mireza, it is improper," he reprimands rather oddly, as if he's lost in thought. Appearing to be as such, one would think he has some type of 'proper attitude' alarm that goes off when something he deems improper happens and he just responds automatically.
Grigor grunts at Iozef then goes through the motions of wetting the scarf.
Anyone provide us with some magical light? Don't want to take torches in - likely smoky enough already.
Iozef looks to Grigor through narrowed eyes, as if attempting to discern what it was he said, obvious his thoughts consuming him still with what that creature might be. Nodding, "That I can assist you with, Mr. Vachkov." He stands and walks over toward him. "Will your weapon suffice?" Iozef asks, as he casts the light upon the sword without awaiting an answer.
Valiard eyes Grigor's preparations uncertainly for a few moments, then retrieves a scarf from his pack and follows Grigor's lead in wetting the cloth and wrapping it around his head.
"I feel like a drowning mummy." he says, his voice muffled by the cloth, only his eyes poking above the bright fabric. Seeing a questioning look from the others, Valiard's eyebrows come together in a frown.
"What?" he says with a tinge of exasperation. "After all we have been through we should all know that letting someone go off into the darkness alone is not the best plan."
After a half second, Valiard realizes what he just said and catches himself before he laughs aloud. He contents himself by simply grinning at the irony behind the concealment of the scarf.
"Ready to brave the lair?"
"I can also provide some light." The inquisitor casts an orison on his mace, then takes his own advice, wetting down a cloth and wrapping it around his face.
So... Victory or death?
Well, she's neither going to suddenly blink out of existence or morph into a different PC in the middle of the forest. She's part of the party for the foreseeable future anyway.
The unlikely group makes his way back to the tower, moving through a cooling cloud of ashes. The flames moved fast through the tower and out. As such, most objects seem to be in a fairly better shape than expected, once you scratch the soot.
You find a small fortune in coins, carelessly piled under some rubbles.
A cocoon of great size reveals the corpse of a man, from the look of his clothes, of high standing. In his velvet surcoat, you find a sealed envelope half soaked in blood. The envelope contains a severely damaged letter and is barely legible. You find a ring of white gold on his hand and his bracers are in too good a shape...
Grigor starts dragging everything into the light to make a more careful assessment of the objects found.
As the others go to search the lair, Iozef begins to head back to his seat before catching sight of Mireza. Curious about something, he makes his way toward her. "Madam Mireza, if I may," he nods. "If you'll indulge me, I am curious about something." He glances back to where the others went, making sure they aren't heading back for whatever reason before turning his attention back to her. "What makes Mr. Tessar so...," he ponders it a moment before rolling his eyes, "'attractive'," he concedes with obvious disdain in his voice, "I guess is the word, to other women? He's reckless, his attire leaves much to be desired, and let's be honest, he travels on the side of 'scruffy' looking, for a lack of a better word."
Mireza turns her mismatched eyes on the priest calmly. "He smells nice, like living things rather than dead ones," she muses. "And he smiles. Not many in Carrion Hill do; certainly not you or the Crow. And he tells pretty lies; it makes every girl want to be the one he says such things to and means them."
When Grigor pulls the cocooned corpse free of the tower, she approaches it with interest. "What a fancy prize she caught; look at the velvet and lace." She casts an eye over the dead man, trying to gauge how long he might have been entrapped and then passes her fingers in front of her eyes, saying "Hud."
Valiard peers at the man for a few moments, his eyes stony above his impromptu mask. He spends a few moments in study of the quality of his clothing and the style that he is wearing. He then carefully takes the letter, and cautious of its delicacy after the fire, attempts to open it as the others bring the corpse clear of the tower.
Rejoining the others at the wagon, Valiard pulls down the soot stained scarf then turns to Grigor, "You know Grigor, this man seems to have been pretty drained by his ordeal. That might be why bug-lady was trying to get her hooks into you, so she could spend some special time with you while this fellow rested.", he says in a deadpan voice.
Grigor gives him a 'look'.
Funny
He goes back to the detritus in front of him recovered from the liar.
You ran a shop - I am sure people bartered with you for medicines - you able to assess the value of any of this stuff?
Foul servants of the goddess of disease and gluttony, weaverworms—or simply “weavers,” as they are often called—are terrifying abominations, combining the features of predatory insects, monstrously huge larvae, and deathly pale humanoids.
Creations of Urgathoa forgotten by their cruel mistress long ago, these horrors seek out the dark places of the world, sowing murder and fear from the darkness, and all the while raising
unnatural songs in praise of the goddess of gluttony.
Weaverworms are also know for their claws’ deadly nails, which function more like the stingers or barbs of many insects than weapons alone. These nails contain a potent paralytic f luid that passes into the bloodstream of a weaverworm’s victim, leaving it vulnerable to slaughter and ready for consumption. The nails often break off while embedded in the victim’s body, where they continue pumping the weaverworm’s toxins, filling potential meals with dose after dose of paralytic excretions.
The letter is sealed. You recognize the seal as Ascanor Lodge's. Such invitation usually bears the name of the noble invited for a stay. The corpse must have been on its way to the Lodge.
The corpse looks quite old to you.
The ring is one that allows its wearer to survive falls, making him float down gently.
The bracers are meant to give improved archery skills to its wearer.
Carefully removing the folds of the corpse's clothes, and supported by your arcane sight, you find more items of value under his clothes. In an inside pocket, you find a slim silver coated magical dagger with emeralds lining its hilt. The dagger is in a white leather sheat, holding also a wand alongside the dagger.
The wand shows an inscription on its side in Varisian You look exhausted! and contains twelve charges, creating a storm of cold icy rain
"Smiles? 'Pretty' lies? Hm. I suppose you have a point, Madam Mireza. Smiling is something I have not done in such a very long time. A very long time. The 'pretty' lies I completely do not understand so I won't bother. But I do not deal with the dead as much as you assume. I mostly deal with record keeping. To be frank, it's only been on rare occasions I've had to assist with those that have passed. If anything, I should smell like old books." he states candidly as he loses himself in thought for just a moment before continuing. "Thank you, Madam Mireza." He nods.
As the others make their way back, "This 'bug-lady' you speak of, Mr. Tessar, was a Weaverworm. I finally was able to recall what I read upon such a creature, Mr. Thetra. An abomination long forgotten by their creator, Urgathoa. Yet their 'songs' are in constant praise of the goddess. The nail that was embedded within you, Mr. Vachkov, was equivalent to that of a scorpion or a bee, with the exception of it's power to paralyze. And even though it was broken off, the nail continues its excretion of the paralyzing fluid. Impressive, I must admit. Anyway, so even if you weren't webbed up, you would've had a great deal of difficulty escaping," he concludes. "Oh, and as Mr. Tessar mentions the creature's, 'special time with you', what he means is, she would've consumed you. Fortunately for you, it is unknown as to whether it would have been dead or alive."
Iozef then examines the dead man himself, wondering if he can determine how long he's been that way.
Apparently humor cannot be taught by book. Valiard thinks, looking at Izoef.
"Well the letter is from the Ascanor Lodge. I am guessing that this is the invitation for whomever this is to spend some time at the lodge."
Examining the body, "Hm. He hasn't been dead for more than a week." Iozef states mostly to himself. Turning to Valiard when he mentions a letter, "Letter? What letter? May I see this letter you speak of, Mr. Tessar?"
"He was a wealthy man," Mireza murmurs, removing the magical items from his person, "and a gifted one." She turns the wand over in her hands and frowns. "A foreigner? This is inscribed in Varisian, but he was no caravaner, dressed in such fine fashion. Your gold would not have bought your freedom, Crow, not with the treasures she left on this gnat in her web. What sort of wealthy man travels alone through the forest? Ought not he to have had a retinue, a bodyguard, a driver at least?"
"I will tell you what sort of man; the only sort of man that goes and gets himself killed... the fool. Over confidence, I'd claim, is what led to his undoing. This forest is known for its dangers, yet he is found alone amongst the creature's victims. Either the rest fled and left him to die, or we go back to my original theory of him being the fool," he states as a matter of fact, not really caring one way or another.
"Ooh, now that is a nice sticker." Valiard says, eyeing the dagger in Mireza's hand as he hands the letter to Izoef. He then stands up away from the body, and brushes off his hands. "Well if we plan to borrow Crunchy's identity to get into the Lodge, we may need to do a bit of work on his clothes. A bit of repair and I think we have some noble clothes to pass off."
He then pauses, thinking on Miri's words.
"You know Miri, you always seem to catch things that the rest of us never see. I didn't even think about it, but you are right, he should have had a bunch of retainers."
"I bet they came into the forest much in the same manner as we did. Well, a bit more flouncing about, to be sure. Anyways, I expect they stopped some distance away. The noble wandered off into the woods to take care of business and caught a whisper of the music. Poof, he is gone before anyone notices, and before they send out search parties, he is in her lair, and she isn't singing anymore. Stab, spin, slurp. No more Crunchy."
Mireza places two fingers in a V on her face, one pointing to each mismatched eye. "One eye sees what is there; the other, what is not," she intones in a mystical voice, then ruins the effect with a pixie-ish smile.
Iozef takes his eyes off the letter a moment, moving them to Valiard as he finishes speaking before moving them to Mireza as she does. Raising an eyebrow to the odd woman's statement, he moves his vision back to the letter, resigned to shaking his head in unbelief. "Yes. 'Stab'. 'Spin'. And 'Slurp.' If only I could be as eloquent in my descriptions. It would come as a complete surprise for one not to understand such clarity." He mutters facetiously as he continues with the letter.
Windle paces a circle around the group as they search, bow out, waiting to see if the weaverworm returns. "Urgathoa's spawn...the Lady's judgment waits for you."
The trees keep silent.