Henry Southgard hustles off to the northwest, keeping a fair distance between him and the plant.
Quick’s magic strikes one of the thickest vines, and suddenly, the tangled heap of vegetation begins to move on its own! The vines shoot out and dig into the earth, slowly pulling the writhing plant matter closer to the mage by ten feet.
"THAT IS DISGUSTING!" Quick screams as the plant starts to move. Wuick draws his crossbow and fires a quarrel at the tangle of vines.
'Try standing downwind of it, kid,' Henry Southgard thinks as the smell of sour carrion hits him.
For a moment, Gorim stares in awe at the approaching monstrosity. He's heard of these creatures, though for the longest time he considered them as metaphor of the untamable wilderness. However, if there was one thing he'd learned on his travels, it's that these stories of oddities more often than not held strong truths.
He shudders once again, before snapping back to reality.
Stepping hurriedly towards Quick, placing a hand on the Half-Orcs crossbow, the other reaching for the pocketed pearl. A familiar faint aura transfers to the weapon.
"Hopefully there's a little more umph in this spell than before"
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Gwath hurdles through the grass and shrubs to the northwest, thinking to spread out their force to attack from different sides, but still waiting till the magic-minds have their way first.
A hundred plant/gardening metaphors spring to mind, but Gwath stems the need to quip. That will come later.
Quick's crossbow bolt pierces one of the vines as it slumps and drags forward another ten feet.
Suddenly, the underbrush around the feet of Gwath, Quick, and Gorim begin to move. Grasses, stems, and branches reach up to wrap around their legs and hands!
Quick moves away from the vine and out of the entangle in the opposite direction of Henry.
"Fus!"
"Gahh"
Gorim manages to kick free from the entangling plants and runs.
Henry Southgard charges towards the patch of flowers, but stops short. He's not quite certain that the perambulatory weed has abandoned its bait for his.
The magical bead strikes the murderous mass of vine as it drags closer to Gorim and Quick. A tree standing in the way bends under its weight as it rolls forward. The wave of entangling plants also advances; the plants under the dwarf and half-orc are on the brink of control under the pursuing plant.
Henry Southgard draws his falchion and prods at the stalks. When they fail to sprout tendrils and grapple him, he lays into them. After all, the difference between a falchion and a machete is just a matter of perspective.
Quick moves away from the vines and concentrates. The tips of his fingers seem to freeze in the space of a second, then a white ray of frozen energy issues forth.
"Fo!"
Quick's cold magic does nothing to even slow the shambling, hungry vines.
"Well that really doesn't work..." Quick fumbles with his quarrels.
The Dwarf backs away from the approaching mess of vines, glancing at Henry's efforts to harvest the plants.
Keep it comin' this way a tad longer...
The assassin vine drags itself a little closer, and the nearby flora again threaten Quick’s legs and arms.
Seeing the plants advancing on him, Quick abandons his attempt to load his crossbow and flees the animated flora.
"Fus!"
Henry Southgard sees Gwath get entangled, but doesn't slow his harvest. There's no aid he can give without luring the Assassin Vine back to the stems.
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Gwath swings his sword about clumsily as he attempts to gain a footing. Every foliage he thinks he cuts away seems twice as thick at next glance. With an unintentional orc-bellow of frustration, he channels all of his adrenaline into pushing out and free of the entrapment...
Only to fall on his face with a yelp and a thorn literally in his side.
Gorim backs away from the encroaching plant.
The assassin vine slumps in a new direction when the sorcerer escapes, and the privateer fails to. Snapping and dragging through the forest, it slowly advances on Gwath.
Henry Southgard stops his harvest when he sees Gwath go under, and reaches for his crossbow when the Assassin Vine reverses direction.
"First contact with the enemy," he mutters darkly.
Henry's bolt punctures the thick of vines and leaves, but the vine appears to have planty of fight left.
Quick loads his crossbow and fires the quarrel at the writhing plant.
"Sometimes I wish I had one of those..." states the Dwarf motioning slightly with his axe toward Quicks crossbow.
Gorim begins to approach the distracted plant, cautiously.
The hungry plant tumbles toward the half-orc, the thickest and longest of the vines snaps is it draws closer, poising to strike. By the length of writhing vines, Gwath thinks it can reach him from where he stands.
Henry Southgard quietly reloads his crossbow, takes aim, and fires.
Another bolt drives deep into the center of plant mass, and vines slump to the ground. It appears to be dead, as the entangling plants around it recede to their normal, inanimate states. Gwath and Gorim confirm its death when it does not pursue them when they continue to move.
With a furrowed brow, Henry Southgard sets his crossbow aside and resumes his harvest of the stalks.
When he has harvested as much as he can, he empties out one of the fish jars and begins mashing the roots.
"We're done here."
Henry cleans and mashes enough root paste to fill two empty jars, enough for twenty-five applications for wounds.
Gorim nods in agreement, "Let's move".
Quick stows his bow, and falls in line.
As they continue the trek toward Redstone Keep, Henry Southgard slowly pulls ahead until Gorim and Quick are twenty paces behind. Confident that the rest of the party can't easily overhear the conversation, the mercenary motions for Gwath to walk closer.
"In spite of the well-earned reputation for mindless violence, I've found that some of the cleverest fighters I've known had Orcish lineage. And the whole part of this journey, you've struck me as a real pragmatic sort. So, could you explain to me why you walked into the range of that plant's entanglement? Almost looked like you planned to fight the thing."
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Gwath is hesitant to respond at first, having had his foolishness pointed out to him so directly, especially when there's still dirt on his face, but he responds after a thought...
"With Orc lineage also comes arrogance,and I'll be the first to admit that when you're usually bigger and hardier than every other being about you, that perspective seeps into everything you do. It's a natural assumption that you can barrel into every situation and come out with your goals in hand and heart still beating. And it's an assumption I've tried to avoid all my life, because that line of non-thinking is how Orcs always find their death... I'm just not always successful at keeping it at bay."
But after a half-second of gazing at the path, he turns back with a smirk.
"But I'll also blame that damnable plant. You don't fight many living plants on a boat. Krakens, maybe. But plants? That's just unnatural."
Henry Southgard laughs in agreement. "Damn right. Bloodthirsty plants are the last thing you expect when you're trekking through the forest. And then you wander into Druid territory and someone asks 'Where's Sven? He was standing right there a second ago.'"
He glances over his shoulder meaningfully, and sees that Quick is still out of earshot. "You're right about overconfidence. Every Orcish war I've studied has been won by avoiding the enemy's strong points until their ignorance of logistics hamstrings them. The wars against an Orc general who understood grand strategy... those were always lost. But you know you have limitations, so you're already ahead of the curve. And the kid, he had me worried with his talk about honorable combat. His hesitation to attack the plant was very reassuring."
The four break free of the edge of the forest, and descend into an expanse of rolling foothills, all the while following the tracks of the she-drow. The progress is slow, but certain, until about an hour passes. After traversing over a mile from the Sargentich, perhaps two, Henry finds the tracks disturbed, the earth beneath freshly turned up, and for the moment he loses the trail. Looking over the surrounding area, the wild grasses and underbrush are uprooted in meandering patches.
The exposed earth is evidence of a wild boar, in search of roots and grubs for food. These stubborn omnivores are often hunted for their meat, though they are unrelenting when provoked, known to fight on despite mortal wounds.
Presently, no wild boar is seen or heard near the rooting grounds, but it is likely not far.
Henry Southgard impatiently storms around the area, looking for where the she-drow's tracks pick up.
Quick shakes his head sadly. "I have learned much from watching you and Henry, but I have no real skill in these matters. I'm sorry."
"How will we ever recover the scale now?"
"We found her tracks by dropping into the middle of a forest, no real effort required on our part. Just a little more time and we'll find the trail again."
The Dwarf wanders around patiently, careful to not disturb any of the ground he treads and has no luck spotting the tracks.
Henry’s determined search yields the familiar bootprints after ten minutes. However, the four also find something else; a brutish snort precedes a wild boar that comes thrashing from underbrush not far from where the travelers search. Angry, beady eyes find the four and the beast tosses its large head and jagged tusks aggressively, its muddy hooves scraping the ground, about to charge Quick.