The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

Round 2

Drazan thrashes to break free and put turn the tree to kindling. Fire springs from his arms as he tries to leverage Imix's advice.

One of the beastlings falls to Istiel's fists, and another stumbles under her next assault, before the last of the monk's attacks go wide.

Another vine smacks into Drazan, though he's able to slip its grappling grasp.

Oios feels his ribs crack as the tree squeezes, and a muffled scream emanates from the vines, wrapped around Nat, as she's pulled to the tree's trunk...

The beastling runs forward and thrusting its hands forward, a gout of flame spreads over the tree's bough. Vines whip about you frenzied, and one of the standing beastmen withers and mulders, leaving just one standing.

Oios wriggles free from the tree's grasp, only to be smacked by another vine, which snakes around his waist, holding him tight.

Imix hesitates a moment. 'While monstrous, it is alive. If I heal the others, I heal the tree - and its puppets. There is also a chance the Beastman might be hurt, turning him from an ally into an enemy. The risk is too great. Better to concentrate on toughening the others, or helping them to slip free.'

Round 3

Drazan breaks free of the large writhing horror, vision blurred in a red rage of blood and desperation; neither one his own. Then Drazan let's out all of himself in a fiery last ditch attempt to quickly and suddenly end this battle, knowing it was either everything right here and now, or he would not survive long enough to see his earthly home ever again.

Round 3

Istiel notices Drazan is barely on his feet. The indomitable shape-changing warrior whose name the Frozen only whisper to avoid attracting his attention. The comrad she would trust with her life, her only known equal, is being killed by a particularly angry tree.

So was she.

Ragged and dripping blood into the mud below, Istiel lets go of her temper. The monk nearly unhinges her jaw with a yell so loud and fierce, miles away the denizens of Darlholme may have wondered who pissed off Marinette herself.

Istiel slams her fist into the remaining beastling puppets chest.

If I am to die it will be doing my duty!

Its ribcage shatters apart under her fingers.

In glorious battle!

Splinters of bone push into its heart and lungs.

People of Shadeholme! Domhnall! My brothers! Sisters!

Her other fist follows, hitting the same devastated spot and cavetating the wound.

I WILL MEET YOU AT THE CROSSROADS A HERO OR NOT AT ALL!

The last beastman falls quickly to Istiel's onslaught, and a great shiver goes through the tree. Its entire bough bends and shakes back and forth as if in rage. Then Drazan plants the Baneaxe deep into the tree's trunk, and it cracks upwards. From that fissure, smaller ones sprout, and branches fall around you as the tree comes apart. A large bough scrapes across Drazan's head, leaving the Man From Fire Peaks staggered and bloody, and Oios and the beastling also suffer from the tree's implosion.

Nat falls into the mud, gasping and just rolls to the side narrowly avoiding the tree's toppling trunk. With a crash, the horror lies in pieces upon the muddy beach, the only sounds your haggard breath, and the current of the Cheya passing by.

Imix almost collapses in exhaustion. He stumbles forward, holding out a hand to assist the native to his feet. Carefully he channels healing into the group, ready to stop if there is any sign of discomfort from the Beastling.

Istiel, expecting the onslaught to continue, rounds on the tree as the last puppet falls. Drazen had already planted his axe deep in its trunk, and as the monk rushes forward it starts to topple.

She stops, dumbstruck, as the mighty beast begins to splinter. A razor-sharp bough whips directly through the area where she would have been had she kept running. Istiel's shoulders slacken for a brief moment, staring at the toppling monstrosity. How do we keep surviving? How do I brush with death every week? The Father of Waters... Dohmhnall.. All the gods must watch over us.

The moment of reflection passes when she Nat's groans reach her ears. She straightens up and runs through the muck towards the priestess, putting an arm under her shoulder, the other under her thighs. With an effortless flex Istiel lifts the priestess from the muck and begins to carry her towards drier land.

Imix's healing magic washes over them both before she even gets halfway, and both her and the priestess' breathing becomes easier. Istiel relaxes and lets Nat carry her own weight if she wishes.

Only thanks to the healing from the Suriname's magic, does Drazan, in his earthly form, find the strength to stand over the tree and pull Bane from the corpse. Then as he lets the rage slip from his body, his breathing becomes labored as fatigue overcomes him. Never mind. We can may linger a moment longer.

Oios stumbles back as the tree explodes in a shower of splinters raising Telowo's staff in a futile attempt to shield himself from them. When it's clear that there is no more violence forthcoming the old man plants the staff against the wet mud and allows himself to collpase against it; its firm and comforting stability the only thing keeping him standing.

He murmurs a prayer of thanks to all the gods of the Three Peoples for keeping them safe before pushing himself to a fully standing position. It takes a lot of willpower to do so. He uses Telowo's staff to heal Nat so that she can find the strength to heal the party. He will assist her if necessary but otherwise he turns to the newcomer who helped them.

He wearily cycles through all of the languages he knows. In each he points to themselves and then to the North repeating We are from the Valley of Water to the North. We wish for peace

The beastling walks towards you all, energy crackling around the creature's body, it addressing Oios in a language that the Shadow doesn't understand.

"Ez dakizu hizkuntza hau! Ez dakizu hizkuntza hau!"

Then, the creature gets a closer look at Imix, and stops cold. He stares at Imix for a good minute, before dropping to his knees, and forming a circle with his hands on the ground in front of him. Placing his forehead atop the circle, the beastling kneels prostrate before the Suriname.

"Harambe! Harambe!"

Oios sighs with relief as the healing energies bring everyone back up to full health. He nods at Imix wearily It seems like you are best placed to be liason between our peoples Imix.

Istiel stands tall as the beastling approaches, crossing hr arms over her chest. She listens to the exchange between Oios and the beastman, but it was clear a communication barrier was present.

When it begins staring at Imix the monk's hands fall from hr chest, and she shifts subtly, foot pushing back slightly in preparation to charge the creature in case it took offense to the Suriname.

Her head jerks back slightly in surprise at it falls to its knees, making clear gestures of supplication before the Suriname. She looks from the beastman back to Imix, clearly confused and finding no answers.

Imix stands tall when the Beastling kneels, but at the name of Harambe he slouches as if a puppet of the tree whose vine was cut.

He sits on his heels next to the Beastman, and draws two figures in glowing lines in the mud. One big, one smaller. He points to the larger, which glows brighter, and says "Harambe" then points to the other, which again pulses with brightness, and says "Imix". He points to both figures and says "Suriname" and they both glow. Finally he touches his chest and says "Imix", then points at the chest of the Beastling.

He turns to look at Oios. "Food. We should all share a meal." He points to the pack of supplies and continues in the same tone, as if discussing details. "The name he says is problematic. We need to play along. Everyone be respectful of me - act if you need to - and friendly."

Between heavy breaths Drazan staggers his questions, Be respectful? To what purpose? What's happening?

"One of my brothers has been this way." Imix says in faux-calm. "He seems to have made an impression."

The beastling grovels before Imix, before lifting his head and looking at the Suriname with an all too human expression on its face: wariness.

As the Suriname flashes his magic, the beastling scoots back a foot, energy crackling around him. Then settling as no attack comes, it raises a hand to its chest. "Harambe Imix Surin Am. Mac."

The beastling called Mac shoves food into its mouth, taking little time to chew and no time to savor it; it seems little more than (badly needed) sustenance.

Other than the sounds of biting and gulping, Mac makes little noise, not talking to any of you. Occasionally, it throws a furtive glance your way - especially towards Imix - before reaching for yet more food.

Once finally sated, the beastling rises, and taking one of the puppet's corpses by the legs, begins dragging the body back up the path the Marionette Tree made, towards the center of the island...

Another Suriname? Oios asks wearily. Another secret. Another falsehood. I wonder why the Flame did not sweep through the Valley in hours rather than days.

Istiel warily eats her share of dried jerky, observing the beastling the entire time.

It didn't take a Suriname to figure out this wasn't going any where. "Do we follow it back to its village? How will we speak with them?" The monk inquires, pointedly inquiring on how the others meant to solve the communication barrier.

We are rich with Linguists Oios notes. But much depends on what their village is like. We should go and see it at least.

Drazan offers up his reason for agreeing with Oios, May be for the best. I want to chance an ally with them more than risk them coming at us for our food. However, there isn't much optimism in his tone or expression; far too many enemies already. At least we can learn their numbers and strength if things keep going with the trend.

"The core falsehood." Imix agrees with Oios while he carefully eats with the Beastling. "History talks of the Seven Suriname who turned against the Empire and were defeated. The other - I will not say his name now - turned against the Empire before I was born. He fled. He has talked to the Wo'tah. The Barbarians. The not-dead. Even these."

When 'Mac' starts to move off Imix turns to Oios. "I suggest we each carry one of the deceased and follow this one. This may be our only chance for a peaceful discussion."

---
While walking, Imix turned back to his companions. "I discovered information on Harambe in the last fortnight. I believe he set a Purpose of his own. While I do not know what it was, he set himself against the Empire. Now the Empire is gone. We should not underestimate him"

Following Imix uggestion, Istiel pulls a body out of the muck and throws it over her shoulde, preparing to follow Mac.

"It seems he succeeded in his Purpose." She comments dryly to Imix, now hauling a mud covered dead beastling around a ravaged island in the middle of a forsaken swamp instead of serving the civilization she swore to protect.

Perhaps her foresaw the coming of the Flame and was ignored in his warnings Oios shrugs as he helps someone with a body. The Flame seems to glory in powerful champions and this Harambe would have been at the forefont of the invasion... not meeting with beastlings off the Southern edge of our maps. Whatever the case, it is a conundrum for another day.

"No, he is not with the Frozen." Imix agrees "If he has been this way I wonder if he has gone to set up his own Empire. Something has freed the Flame, however. I think he should be part of our investigations." Imix concluded.

Drazan doubts the idea of this Harambe, a man he has never met or heard of before now, Are empires so easily created? Even in one man's lifetime?

Over the course of an hour, the dead are dragged to the slowly burning spot on the island, and bricks of peat are stacked around them. Then, Mac makes his way to the south end of the island, and pulls a reed basket from a stashed roundboat there. Removing a gourd from the basket, Mac returns to the bodies and douses them with a liquid before conjuring a fan of fire and setting the makeshift pyre ablaze. You're largely ignored by the beastling, who seems to have determined you're no threat.

Standing silent for only a minute, Mac turns and begins gathering the remaining peat, and filling his boat, then stoops and scoops some riverwater into his mouth, before setting off upon the meandering current. The boat mostly drifts, with the occasional course-correction via Mac's paddle.

The day has grown long, the Ayida-Wedu beginning her nightly death. The sounds of birds, settling in for the night, drift on the humid air.

Fire is a foreign manner of burial to the Three Peoples, who are used to giving their dead to the water. But the recent horrors had already forced the Shadeholme refugees to burn corpses so Oios makes no comment as the strange person takes care of his own.

Istiel watches, not fascinated, but intrigued by the fire burial. It amuses her that the creature mostly ignores them, and she wonders if the flight was with them if it would be acting differently.

As the beastling makes his way to leave, Istiel takes her place at the back of the canoe. Paddle in hand, she looks to the others and gestures in the direction of Mac.

As Mac carries on about his business without more futile attempts to communicate Drazan struggles with the inaction. With no real confidence that this beastman recognizes or even cares about the service himself and the others have just provided, Drazan deliberately allows himself to era toward inaction. To continue to help without any sign that the beastman is interested in helppin in return, just wasn't sitting well with him.

When the beastman pushes off down the stream, Drazan's face shifts from initial confusion, to that of being offended.

Catch up to him, otherwise I will come find you, Drazan says before stepping into the river water, his form shifting to that of the water elemental. I will watch him and leave a trail to follow should the route shake you.

It is easy enough to follow the beastling, even in the quickly enveloping nightfall. The birdcalls soon cease, and ahead of you, Mac drifts, sometimes paddling, sometimes casting a befuddled glance backwards towards you. The sound of the water is the only other constant, as the hours move languidly by.

Eventually, a light - or lights, really - appear in the distance. You draw closer, and Mac beeches his watercraft on a small island a few hundred feet from what appear to be signal fires. The beastling draws a horn - literally a horn, carved into an instrument - from his pack and blows into it five times. A few seconds pass, and three blasts of a horn echo back at you.

Without so much of a glance, the beastling pushes his craft back into the water and begins paddling. Following behind, the sound of water grows louder, and in the moonlight you can make out a great disturbance in the water: a series of rapids lie ahead! Two large boulders sit, towering above the waterline, with forms moving atop them, backlit in the moonlight.

Between the boulders, a rough rope bridge twists in the humid air, with more beastlings atop it.

Mac yells, "Beste jainko batzuk iritsi dira! Harambe Imix Surin Am deitzen diot. Ez dakit jainko onak edo gaiztoak diren ala ez!"

The beastling slips through the opening between the boulders and then a large and old, rusted metal chain is lifted out of the water. Projectiles, of some sort, plunk into the water around you.

Another voice calls out from atop the rope bridge. "Gelditu! Lurreratzea baino gehiago!"

Istiel started to wonder if they would be following the beastling for the remainder of the night when fires appear in the distance and he gets out to blow a signal horn.

Something about the action did not sit right with her, and seemed more of a warning. After all, wouldn't they recognize one of their own?

The approaching rapids cause her to carefully slow the craft for better control, but all her concentration on the task evaporated when the chain was put up and projectiles started flying.

Harambe has done us no favors. Is her only thought before rapidly paddling towards the side of the rapids in a effort to avoid the chain and rocks.

Istiel spots the landing off the side, the beastling with the spear, and the ropes. Recognition dawns.

She shouts loudly over squawking/howling beastling and the rushing rapids: "There! A landing to the right! Paddle right! Grab the ropes!" The monk strains against the current, paddling as hard as her prodigious muscles can manage.

Surging along side his companions and with the river's current, Drazan's vision focuses sharply in as the rapids come into view and the beastmen line the rocks with weapons drawn and pointing. Drazan wasn't surprised that these things were no allies to the group, let alone the Shadeholme Flight. Were it not for Istiel's shout breaking through the drowning sounds of everything going on, things might have gotten a but more violent.

Drazan shifts his gaze to the right, thought he hardly makes anything out. Though without question, Drazan chooses to trust the monk in spite of her dedication to hiding her face, and he begins to help steer the companions in the general direction of the landing.

Imix has no paddle, but jumps the side, holding onto the boat with a death grip as he struggles to push the boat closer to the landing Istiel spotted.

Oios grimaces at the seemingly hostile turn of events. He helps as he can to get to the spot Isitel pointed out.

Despite Istiel's best efforts, the current is too swift. The boat crashes into the chain and flips, sending you all tumbling into the river. The water is warm, almost as warm as the evening. As you come up for air, you catch the distinct sound of a score or so of beastlings laughing; the laughs are generally yapping, like a young coywolf's bark, though you hear some resemble the calls of birds, or the grunts of boars.

Ultimately, with Drazan's watery help, you're in no real danger. The elemental from Fire Peaks deposits you on the muddy bank of yet another island, this one connected by a causeway of boulders to the "entrance" with the chain. Your canoe sits beside you, turned on its side, and a couple of oars seem to have dissapeared. Mac is pulling his boat further up the bank, into the treeline.

The beastlings bound across the causeway, barking orders at you in their indecipherable tongue. "Ez dira jainkoak, hah! Oraindik ere, zurizko zuhaitza garaitzeko lagundu zidaten," Mac says as the beastlings surround you, weapons pointed at your throats, the threat implicit.

Istiel is paddling as hard as she can to avoid the chain one moment, and the next is floating in the absolutely disgusting water.

Popping up for air the monk begins to swim for the bank, suddenly swept up in a Drazan shaped current and tossed onto the shore.

Soaking wet and surrounded by heckling beastmen, this is not Istiel's finest moment. She picks herself off the ground, black silks dripping with almost as black water.

The monk tenses when the beastling surround the group, spears threatening. Nearing the point of snapping, she clenches her fists and stares the nearest beastling down. "Oios. Imix. Make your peace now." Istiel growls over the yipping and snorting.

Palms facing the warriors, Imix calls for peace in every language he has ever studied, in the forlorn hope that one of these savage warriors might have a shared language.
'Perhaps I should have shifted my mouth more. They might be more likely to accept me.'

Oios, already tired from a long wearying day which started by finding death and monsters is frustrated beyond belief by having it end by them being accosted by hostile beings rather than the allies he had hoped for. He casts about looking for a way that they can retreat without causing casualties but he has had enough otherwise.

He slams Telowo's staff on the ground and snarls Put the Spears down and let us Leave or by Damballah we will FIGHT our way out. hoping the tone of his voice makes clear that the group is well capable of defending itself.

Istiel, Drazan, if these beastlings persist in this folly. If they dare attack then lay them out unconscious. We will not be taken prisoner!

One does not need language to communicate threats, and Oios makes his intentions clear. The beastlings hiss and growl, but stay their ground, advancing no further.

Mac stows his boat in the treeline and then approaches you again, standing among his people, as if for protection. The beastling points to each of you and then grunting a command, turns and walks into the trees, jerking his fingers from you to the treeline as he goes.

The island is long but narrow, remaining relatively flat along its expanse. You walk a few hundred feet into the forest, mostly filled with cottonwoods, along a cleared and well-trodden trail. Eventually, the forest bleeds into the village, and where there were once trees, now lie lean-tos and cookfires, their embers almost out in the dead of the night. Other than the trees, the ground has been largely cleared of brush and weed; you step through the trees on an earthen "floor," important byways designated by wooden planks to serve as a roadway through what otherwise must be a muddy mess when the rains come.

Of which, there is no evidence: the earth is hard-packed and dusty. There is also little evidence of the beastlings themselves. Word of your arrival seems to have proceeded you: the lean-tos are vacant. Occasionally you catch furtive glances, mostly by brave children and women, from the edges of the village. Your escort, including Mac, moves with you, surrounding you, but keeping their distance.

Eventually, you come to a large fenced enclosure. Within the enclosure, you find large, hairy rodents, and smaller enclosures; wooden cages. The rodents are listless, and the enclosure is much larger than the number and activity of the creatures would seem to need. The cages contain lizards, deformed and runty creatures, possessing six or eight legs, as well as multiple lesions.

Standing near one cage is a beastling, and older man, with clawed hands, and fur covering his body. He holds a stone knife, serated and sharp, in one hand and a lizard in another. The man is stooped, and what sort of animal he most resembles is lost under a blistering of tumors that all but cover his face and make him stoop under his own weight.

The old beastling and Mac speak quietly for a few minutes, and then with a strength that belies his age and posture, the old beastling cuts the head from the lizard, and then in a few quick cuts and jerks, has skinned the poor creature. Slicing a few bits of meat from its side, the beastling shuffles forward, offering you the slices of lizard meat, his voice coming muffled from under the tumors.

"Zer behar duzu, Harambe Imix Surin Am?"

Oios accepts the bit of lizard meat as a gift. Imix Surin Am. he
repeats then points to Imix and then gestures towards the North. Then Oios gestures towards the whole group and points to the North. Trying to let them them know where they came from.

Istiel is ready to follow through on Oios' orders at the first sign of open hostility, her feet shifting back and her arms raising in a defensive posture. The stand off amounts to nothing, however, and she is soon walking in their tight, escorted circle.

The monk glances about at the primative but well-organized village. She simultaneously has a longing for the orderly and well-designed streets of Shade Holme, and gains a mediocre respect for the beastling. They have at least embraced civilized life and cooperation. Perhaps they are more human than beast.

There are strange sights and smells, but Istiel merely looks and proceeds. Hazel eyes glance down at the offered lizard meat from the elderly beastling, then towards Imix. How will there be peace if we cannot speak? She thinks skeptically, accepting a piece of lizard meat after Oios does so.

Drazan takes what is offered no matter how foul the food. Thankfully while maintaining his elemental form, he has no readily apparent mouth and settles for holding the lizard flesh instead of eating it. Did this meat cause this one's apparent affliction? he wonders aloud toward Istiel.

Then in soft but urging tone Drazan addresses Imix over the Suriname's shoulder, Best finish making peace and get us out of here while we can, or else risk the taint of this land spreading to us.

"Possibly." she concurs to Drazan, reaching into her belt pouch to produce a small slip of paper. Usually used for pressing herbs, Istiel firmly wraps the meat and puts it into another belt pouch... The same one that contains Tom's cursed, eternally-darkened fingerbone.

"This land is corrupt. Perhaps cursed. I will give this meat to Suuha. Perhaps he can tell us more." She intones to her warrior companion, returning to her usual cross-armed stance while Oios and Imix gesture and draw pictures on the ground.

Oios chews into the lizard. He's eaten a lot of different things to try and engage with the local populations of the small villages of the Valley he used to work in and the lizard is far from the worst he's had. The tumors are a concern though...

Oios through words and gestures attempts to explain that they come from the North. And that the North has been taken by a fearsome foe that burned everything in its wake. He asks for safe passage for his people through the beastling's land to escape the calamity.