Simon coolly aims again at the approaching plant.
The taut vines pulling the plant forward slacken, and the carnivorous mound of vegetation slumps and stops moving.
Rolg turns and fires at the Twigjack.
Aladdin steps away from the killer plant and fires again.
The Twigjack waves his tiny spear angrily at the death of the Assassin Vine. In a raspy, high-pitched voice, the Twigjack answers the dwarf. “Get out! My forest!”
A burst of thin slivers of wood explode from his body, covering Bolgrith, Simon, and Balion in splinters.
“Go home!”
A shrill cackle, like that of snapping sticks, chatters before the Twigjack winks out of view.
Jamie turns her wrath to the source of the splinters in a roaring charge, shouldering past Simon. Then she stops suddenly, and whirls around to the group.
“Where is it?!” she shouts.
The Ranger waits next to the dwarf
Bolgrith spits as thin lines of blood form on his face. Dropping his boarding pike next to the sling on the ground, he does an elaborate shrug that causes his shield to swing around from his back onto his arm. Gripping it tightly the dwarf speaks in a language not meant for this world as blue flames follow his hand, tracing out ancient symbols in the air. A wave of healing flame passes out from his body, encompassing and soothing the wounds of both him and the Ranger.
"Well, seeing as you're uninterested in talking..." Bolgrith calls out to the hidden fey. Turning he catches Alladins eye, "This one my friend is indeed susceptible to fire. May I suggest the low brambles first?"
Your knowledge of the Twigjack’s abilities gives you a fair guess at where he might be next. However, this is also an especially sneaky creature, and it seems to be making great use of the environment. You are unable to spot him.
Simon nocks an arrow as he squints through the underbrush.
“Wherever you are, we just want to pass through. We don’t want to harm your forest.”
Aladdin pulls out an acid flask and readies it.
“Lies! You arrow’d that vine! And your biggun friends axe the trees!” Simon, Bolgrith, and Balion suffer another rain of splinters. Focusing on the source, Bolgrith and Jamie are able to momentarily spot the Twigjack, a few feet in front of Squall.
“They’re afraid to grow up!” the tiny fey shrieks, and again suddenly disappears among the brambles.
“Ack!” Simon waves his free hand at the burst of splinters. Then he looks about. “Do you see it anywhere, Balion?”
Coughing out a quiet prayer Bolgrith traces out a pattern on his shield and grabs Balion with a glowing hand.
Squinting at the low tangles of vegetation the dwarf attempts to spot their tormentor.
Balion looks about in a calm manner attempting to see the little fey.
With the help of his companions, Balion is able to spot the Twigjack. It crouches in the undergrowth behind Squall!
The Ranger exclaimed.
Squall whirls and attempts to grab the Twigjack. "Come here you!"
“Leggo!” The Twigjack screams.
It jabs its tiny spear at Squall’s arms as the mighty paws close around the fey and pull him off the ground.
The twigged creature squirms in the eidolon’s grip. The empty knot-holes where its eyes should be level at Squall.
“Put me down!” it shrieks. Another explosion of splinters emanates from Squall’s closed claws.
"CALM YOURSELF" Squall bellows to the tanbark he has in his paws. "Before I decide to sharpen my teeth on your bark! What manner of creature are you? If that assassin vine is your friend, we apologize for attacking it, but to our knowledge they kill our kind. Can you call it off?"
Bolgrith traces out the a symbol on his shield and whispers to himself quietly as the healing blue flames return and spread over the wounds of the company.
"The wee evil has exhausted himself. That's the last we'll see of that splintery blast today I think. Somebody take that stick from him, Squall watch out for those claws. Perhaps a bit of rope is in order?" Leaning his shield against his knees the dwarf uses a corner of his travel-worn robe to mop the blood from his face. "Whatever you do, don't set him down in the brambles or he'll open another doorway and we'll lose him again. We should move to a clearing, somewhere with no underbrush."
The priest scans the area trying to find something like he described.
The ranger looks about the area to assist the priest in his search for an opening.
The Twigjack shakes in rage as it struggles in the eidolon’s grip. “No one friends the eater vines! You stomp into my forest to kill with arrows and bad jokes! Die!”
The Twigjack again jabs his spear at Squall.
No clearings can be seen nearby, as these thickly bushed flatlands stretch east, west, and south. At about an hour’s trek north, the land rises into the foothills that precede the mountains. It is difficult to tell from this distance if the underbrush continues over the hills. Darker clouds inch slowly overhead, though the sun hangs at high noon.
“Hold still, man-bear-thing!” shouts Jamie, as she rushes toward her quarry in Squall’s claws, her ragged falchion held aloft.
Her heavy blade shears the Twigjack in half, and Squall clutches a bundle of inanimate sticks and thorns.
Bolgrith stands there for a moment and blinks. "Well that's that then." Pressing his hands together he says a quiet prayer for the fallen fey, misguided as it was. Placing a hand on Balion's shoulder he says;
"Here lad, help me see who's been through here before us." The Priest walks over to where the assassin vine lay, and begins to sort through the remains keeping an eye out for any that look to be of a sentient race.
Among the tangle of vines and roots, the stink of rotting flesh mixes with scents of earth and sap. Bolgrith nearly misses a corpse that is deeply buried within the finger-like roots and creepers. As he tries to move the vegetation aside, the roots seem to be woven throughout the tissues and wrapped around the bones, and it takes several minutes to free the plant from the corpse. However, even careful removal results in dragging rotten entrails from the sloughing flesh. The smell of rain in the air seems to strengthen these rank smells.
The body looks to be a bit bigger than human, and dark, thick brown tufts of a fur coat the parts of greying flesh that remains. The mangled face possesses a strong under-bite with sharp teeth, and the surviving ear is long, pointed, and black with rot. The ear and muscular build seem familiar, though.
Rolg would know what this guy is, yes?
Aladdin speaks up weakly. "Oh dear cleric friend of mine, would you be able to spare some healing? I seem to have taken a log through my chest area and could use some help." Aladdin walks over to Squall and lays hands on him.
Simon plucks the splinters from his face and arms using the small looking glass kept with his razor. He vigorously scrubs the running blood off his face, and tries to stop up the many small open wounds with his sleeves.
“Another one of those healing pulses of holy fire wouldn't go amiss, Bolgrith,” the young noble grins.
Rolg taps his shield with his knuckles.
"Suddenly this doesn't look so heavy does it. Every fighter should have one."
"Aye it would lad, though I'm afraid I don't have it in me." The dwarf sighs heavily as he leans on his shield. "Come here though, I'll see what I can do, you too Aladdin." Saying this, Bolgrith straights up and rests a hand on the ranger beside him. Closing his eyes he winces as he recites a short prayer. He does the same when the others reach him.
Slumping a little in his armor the Priest wipes blood from his wounds. Reaching for a loop on his belt he pulls forth a small flask. Uncorking the potion he downs it in one go.
Balion says nothing to the rest of the party as he pulls the entrails from the assassin vine. He can be seen pulling bits from the vine as if searching vigorously for something.
"Thank you, Bolgrith," Simon rolls his shoulders and adjusts his pack.
"I'm good to go. Shall we continue? Not sure when this storm will hit, but I bet we can reach the cover of the ravine by nightfall."
He points north, beyond the foothills ahead and to the gap in the Frosttooth Mountains.
Bolgrith looks out at the lay of the land and sniffs the air before answering the young lordling.
Rolg stows his weapons and shoulders his pack, indicating that he is ready to go.
"The weather could turn nasty before we know it. If we press on though we might be able to make Grik Pass before the skies open. Might be our best chance for some shelter to weather the storm." The dwarf grins at the play on words, pointing at the corresponding point on his map. "Wherever we bed down for the evening though, we should be sure to post a watch. I think this might be Bug Bear county, they like to ambush a night if I remember correctly."
"Good one, Bolgrith," the youth grins before taking an informative tone, "And agreed. We must be more careful from here on out. Goblin raids are known to sneak out of Grik Pass, along with the occasional wandering cluster of undead."
Simon keeps his pace, but is silent as he considers something. "Odd, that we haven't seen a Borderguard patrol yet."
Up ahead the field rises into hills thick with more underbrush. The wind sends strong, sporadic gusts, and a light sprinkling can be felt from the clouds above. Looking behind, the East Snowrun River is a grey line dividing the fields, and to the southwest, the dark walls and rooftops of Stonebit are visible. After travelling for two hours, the party is at the top of a smaller hill, and larger hills rise ahead of them.