Though his swings come slower and slower, there's still fight in the wounded warrior.
Seeing one of the armored Kobolds sprout an arrow from his side, Mot grins evilly and whips his heavy blade at the other stout lizard-man.
Beorae sees one of the kobolds trying to escape. Knowing that her sling won't injure the kobold enough to stop it, she moves next to Shark, casting a Guidance spell on him, and directs him to attack the kobold in the tunnel entrance.
With a snarl, Shark makes one fluid movement and leaps down into the pit, bearing down on his target.
Nme’an’s arrow skewers the skull of one armored kobold, as Mot delivers a deep cut to the other. The last well-armored kobold makes an attempt to repay the barbarian in kind, but is stopped short by a twang of Themp’s bow.
Shark bounds back into the pit, wrapping onto the escaping kobold, who yelps out in surprise. He struggles to get away and the tiger bites down to make sure he does not, while a nearby kobold warrior tries to separate his comrade from ferocious tiger. He accomplishes little more than yipping and hopping about. The grappled kobold wiggles his way out, but a parting chomp from Shark drops him to the ground.
In a matter of moments, only one kobold remains, and Mot steps in, swinging a horizontal cut that lops the kobold’s head clean off. Yet, for all the favor fortune lent them in battle, one kobold warrior managed to escape.
Gathering only the supplies they could use, the heroes of Thaleniel continue northward, now with an eye peeled for shelter. The sun inclines for the horizon, and their long and embattled path taxes their bodies. Places to camp are scarce, with nary an advantage over camping on open ground. Eventually, the druidess’ sharp eyes and the stone-shattering strength of Mot and Nme’an render a small cave to camp for the night. The chunks of broken stone are piled up to form a makeshift barricade. Mot spends the remaining daylight hours whacking his tuning fork against various stones, while Beorae works to teach Shark a new trick.
Watch shifts are arranged for the night as dusk draws near, starting with the stalwart knight, then the city scoundrel, followed by the druidess, and the last watch taken by the already snoring highlander.
Nme'an finishes his watch then, with Themp's brief help, removes his heavy armor and attempts to get some sleep. Deep sleep does quickly find the half-elf, but he tosses and turns as vivid, unpleasant dreams spill across his mind. In them he sees his past failures, from leaving his mother and brother, to mistakes and regrets spread across his days before Thaleniel, to his most recent angry dealings with Mot. In each instance that feeling of regret was replaced by a strange formless compassion and forgiveness.
The dream then shifted away from sharp remembered images to an odd, formless conversation... a negotiation. One without words or sound or really even solid thoughts. Even so, a deal was struck inside that strange soothing void. Power, to protect and to heal, and to burn, and to purify was offered in return for the forgiveness of others and even himself. And by the end of those minutes or weeks or hours that the dream spanned... that power was accepted...
When Nme'an awoke the next morning something was different... about himself. His usual morning prayers saw him feel a sense of energy he hand not felt before... and looking over his companions as they readied for the day... Nme'an's hurt and anger towards them, caused by them and all to often by his own actions... it wasn't gone but it was blunted and smoothed over.
Whatever had happened the night before, it gave the knight apprentice a renewed sense of calm and purpose that he had not felt in a very long time.
As Mot sleeps he returns to his dream world far away in the hills of his home. To a house on a cliff, and a hearth both warm and cold. Warm in it's memories of a childhood full of laughter and love and friendly violence, and cold in it's artifice.
As he turns in his slumber, the Casns realizes he is dreaming and that this facsimile of his childhood home is naught more than illusion spun through the intangible strands of the dream-weaving spiders that live in the space between spaces.
The big sleeping face stretches into a smile as the warrior rolls over and scratches his belly. A tremendous, and strangely melodic, fart fills the small cavern and nearly wakes the unconscious Barbarian.
In his dream he runs and jumps off the cliff, and then flies happily into the sunset, singing the wandering songs of the road.
The quarters inside the barricaded cavern are close, and Beorae curls up against Shark, her head slowly bobbing up and down with the rhythm of the tiger's breathing. There was a lot more combat in the day than she expected, and the strain of battle has taken its toll on the travelers. In between one of the Casns' bizarre noises, the druidess manages to drift off to sleep.
When dreaming comes, it is strangely vivid. She is both herself and Shark, two as one. She's had these dreams before, but this one is stronger, different somehow. She smells the earth, feels the scent of the forest in her nostrils. The rabbit is sitting under the tall fir tree. She pads over the wet undergrowth, leaving nary a trail, closing in on her prey. The rabbit perks its ears, though, and bolts out across nearby clearing, Beorae and Shark only steps behind. Now they are different, she and Shark, but together they chase the rabbit.
The chase goes on. Over mountains, through rivers, across the plains. The rabbit is a gazelle, then a strange striped horse, then a bear. Back in a clearing, the bear turns to growl, but instead speaks in a rather quiet voice, “May I approach?”
Themp nudges Beorae awake. It's the middle of the night and the moonlight outside casts shadows in the pass. This cannot be good…
The voice in the dark steps forward, an unarmed kobold magistrate, as an envoy to the Thaleniel champions. Around his neck hangs a necklace of thirteen thumbs. Beorae and Themp listen to his terms, and counter with one or two of their own. The magistrate demands one thousand in gold pieces and goods, the release of the prisoner Olp, and information on the military strength of Brenan’s Crossing, all in reconciliation of the kobold lives lost (most notably, a Blood Arrow) and the traps that must be rebuilt. The brief talk ends with an agreement that the terms must be discussed with the others, especially Olp, and the magistrate informs them where he will wait at dawn.
The next morning, four pool the various resources acquired along their journey. Foodstuffs, potions, scrolls, jewelry, armor, and weapons are categorized and accounted for. But still, they are short of the monetary demand. Nme’an and Beorae freely give of their coffers, and Mot begrudgingly, to a total value of one thousand and five in gold and goods. Beorae and Nme’an agree that sharing any intelligence (if they had any to give at all) is not an option, and lastly, the four Thaleniels ask Olp if he wants to return to his kind and face trial for his crimes, or continue on with half-elves and humans. Nme’an assures Olp that if he remains with them, they would protect him. But he also adds that the kobold would need to do more than hide if everyone’s lives were at equal risk. After some consideration, the kobold guide decides that he will join the tall folk in their quest, in hopes of finding a place in the kingdom of Vyren after.
Prepared for the day ahead, perhaps better than the one before, the five set out to meet this kobold magistrate. They find him in a clearing, alone save for a muscular lizard waiting by his side. By the yips and howls sounding off from the holes in the rocky ravine walls, this exchange is watched by scores, if not hundreds, of kobolds. The envoy, garbed in leather armor, with a shawl of bones and feathers draped over top, grins greedily when the four present the mound of treasure. In one hand, he holds a staff that hangs a banner, a white field behind blood-red draconic characters. Tension begins to rise when he learns that the other two terms would not be met, but together Nme’an and Mot manage to diffuse hostilities.
Still unsatisfied, the magistrate addresses Beorae in her secret druidic language, demanding an oath of honesty sworn on their common reverence for growing things and the forces of nature. Once agreed, he asks what lies to the north that the four of them seek. Caught off guard for a moment, she tactfully replies that they search for the knights who have not returned to human lands. To this, he scoffs and freely tells her that only a handful escaped the wrath of the kobolds, and to not expect to see the rest ever again.
Instructing Beorae alone to step forward, the magistrate’s hand briefly ignites in flame when Themp follows after her. A sharp word from the kobold, and assurance from Beorae, the thief agrees to hang back, and the wary exchange is made without escalation. The magistrate hovers over the pile of goods as the druidess’ companions join her, and in moments a dozen warrior kobolds cross the wide ravine to begin carrying away the wealth gained. Both Olp and Nme’an can see that the banner reads in draconic: Friend to dragonkind. The druid magistrate promises that if the half-elves and humans intend to travel through the Blackcrag Pass again, they will need to bring double the amount they paid this day. Free to go, the Thaleniel heroes plus Olp continue north. They do not get far before Beorae checks the banner for magical properties. The staff, she discovers, emanates a detection spell that alerts the holder of any pitfalls or snares within sixty feet. However, the magic of this unexpected boon will fade in two days.
The next five hours pass relatively smoothly. Olp, who asks to hold the staff so that he can actively help, guides the tall folk around traps without even needing to look for them. In the two hours, they navigate through more kobold farmlands, and the workers and warriors on guard watch them warily as they pass. In the next three hours, the defected kobold directs them around more traps. Handfuls of kobolds warriors at a time watch them from battlements in the rock, but none engage the travelers.
After nearly five and a half hours since the dealings with the kobold magistrate, the travelers come to a wooden sign that reads: Straag rigir. Saak pusonin amvit. Nis kos krii.
Turn back. Big scorpion ahead. Cannot be killed.
Beyond the sign, the ravine is quiet, but the path ahead is obscured by a bend to the right, perhaps fifty feet away. When Olp sees the sign, he shakes his head and curses under his breath.
“Olp, what does it say?” Beorae asks, uncertain about the meaning of the sign and the bend in the path ahead.
Nme'an briefly consults with Olp on the meanings of the draconic script... beginning to recognize their language when spoken was one thing, reading it quite another... but after Olp's help in sounding out the letters and words a few times he translates the message.
"Turn back. Big scorpion ahead. Cannot be killed." he says, relaying the sign's contents to the others. "Well, it was a good try but I suppose it best we head home," he says seriously before cracking a wry smile a beat later.
“I… what?” Confused by the paladin's sudden dry wit, Beorae looks back at the illegible sign and tries to recall anything she might know about large scorpions or other unnaturally large beasts.
"Giant... scorpion...?"
"Bwahahahaha!" Mot bellows as he slaps Nme'an on his armored back. "Och aye! Wea dinnae daaare to face tha wrath oof ae wee giant scare-peon!" His smile broadens as he looks to the bend in the path. Drawing out his chanter the big man gives it a test toot while he thinks. No small task, mind you.
But try as he might, no amount of mental prowess will manifest itself in his big, simple, mind. Idly, the warrior begins to fill his bags, lungs inflating like a bellows.
"Now there is an idea," Nme'an responds with a quick laugh, "Mot will simply scare the beast away with his 'music.' I doubt the Kobold ever thought to try that!"
A chuckle stops short as a contemplative look takes the barbaric face. "Neva playeed foor a scare-peon befoore..." He mumbles before maintaining the airflow to his pipes. Taking a few steps the big man begins to march a bit. Contemplative look still on his face.
Scorpions have stinger tails! Better watch out!
Scorpions tend to live in dry climates, or underground. Because their bodies are so close to the ground, they might be able to pick up on the vibration of footsteps, within a certain range. Also, their stingers are poisonous. The amount of magical creatures are far and wide, but nonmagical creatures are more common.
The city scoundrel knows a guy, back in Thaleniel, who sells scorpion venom for a pretty penny. Extracting it from a live scorpion might not be easy, though.
Olp shrugs, agreeing to the fact that the kobold’s first reaction to neutralizing a giant scorpion is not through music or song.
"Weel et's settaled than!" Mot proclaims as he strikes his bag and gets a drone going. Launching into a tune his long legs begin to carry him into the canyon. The music blares off the rock walls.
Nme'an follows a few steps the big man with his sword hand free and his shield on his arm ready to swing into position. He keeps his senses open for anything unusual.
Slowly, carefully, Themp advances, keeping pace with the knight. As well as he can over the loud highland music, the scoundrel keeps his ears open for any danger.
As he advances, he draws his bow and sets the eyeglass on.
Beorae follows the group, keeping an eye out for anything that moves, Shark close at hand.
As she passes Themp, she puts a hand on his shoulder and quietly casts Guidance on the rogue.
The howling bagpiper marches around the bend, and sees an array of bones large and small scattered over the ravine floor. The remains of many kobolds, and some bigger than kobolds, are picked clean of any flesh and bleached by the sun. Small broken spears and ruined leather armor lays among the bones as well. Walking and wailing further ahead, the wild man does not immediately see a scorpion, but easily spots two dark holes in the rock large enough to keep a horse or two. The big scorpion could be hiding in one of these two caves.
Olp cautiously follows the Thaleniel champions, dutifully carrying the truce banner.
“Not make it angry…”
Nearly drowned out by the blaring pipes, the scarcely heard scraping of dry bones against dry bones betray stealthy footsteps in the northmost cave.
An odd, loud sound pulls Nme'an ahead of the playing highlander. "Can you hear... Mot, quiet for a moment, please... Are the rest of you hear that?!" Nme'an all but shouts above Mot's bagpipes.
As the Highlander continues to play, Beorae replies, “Yes, I can hear it. From up ahead on the left.”
While she has time, Beorae takes a moment to cast Guidance on Mot and Shark.
The Casns lets his pipes die down with a weeze. At first he doesn't hear what everyone is on about. Placing a meaty hand up to his ear he tilts his head trying to hear what the others apparently are.
"Ah dinnae hear noothen!" He loudly proclaims.
Nme'an watches Beorae cast her spells and for some reason remembers his recent dream as something compels him try something similar. With his hand held on the chest piece of his armor he glances skyward and says a brief prayer, asking for guidance. A moment later he draws in a sharp breath as he feels that familiar buzz of power sharpen his senses.
"Something is in that cave up ahead, I think..." Nme'an says in response to Mot. He cautiously moves forward, picks up one of the larger bones, and throws it overhand towards the cave in hopes of reveling the threat.
Keeping it quiet, Themp moves up closer to the Urlghain, sighing in relief that the music isn't on this close.
Olp follows beside Beorae, peering ahead. The tossed bone clatters against stone and dry ground, followed by a sudden crunch of shifted weight against bones or rocks just inside the cave. Whatever is inside stirs to exit the dark hole in the rock.
But the Thaleniel champions and company were ready and seize the moment!
Mot quickly fills his bag and strikes up a tune, blaring it at the cave with light in his eyes. He marches forward, resolutely.
“Is he trying to serenade the scorpion?!,” Beorae whispers to the others. “Come on…”
Moving as quickly and quietly as she can, Beorae brings Shark and moves up along the right-hand wall.
Nme'an too moves forward to get a better view of the creature exiting the cave. Once again, memories of his strange, partly insubstantial dream fill his head and as if by instinct he raises his free hand and waits, poised to unleash some kind of attack when and if the Scorpion shows signs of hostility.
A small, eye searing bolt of fire leaps from the Paladin's hand and streaks towards the Scorpion. Nme'an doesn't see the impact, however, as he is too busy shaking away the brief, unexpected pain from the his palm.
for
At Beorae's call, Themp moves up, bow at the ready and eyes fixed on the cave.
Olp follows the sneaking druidess and tiger.
Black, oversized pincers open as the bear-sized scorpion titters and clicks out of the cave, sped along by eight segmented legs encased in hard, black shell. A handful of spearheads are lodged between the joints of armor, belying the attempts of kobold’s past to bring down the giant arachnid. Oblivious to the music echoing off the rock walls, the bizarre array of solid black eyes over restless mandibles seem to look nowhere and everywhere at once. The last segment of the arched tail is deep crimson red, and a hooked stinger bobs anxiously.
With uncomfortable speed for something so big, it skitters to the nearest living thing with raised pincers. The reflexive fiery blast from the knight burns a spot into its thick, plated shell, but it nonetheless reaches forward with a claw to close around Nme’an.
The momentary distraction of his burning hand allows the scorpion to effortlessly close a large claw over Nme’an’s form, squeeze, and pulls him in close.
Olp steps to a pile of bones and picks up one with a thick, bludgeoning end. He hefts it once, testing the weight.
As soon as it's apparent that the music has no effect on the scorpion, Beorae directs Shark to attack the scorpion while she doubles-back to Mot. “Hang on, Mot… I've been wanting to try this.” She presses her left hand to the big man's bicep and gestures with her right while speaking a new incantation, “Invalesco tauri”. She steps back and bites her lower lip, waiting to see if the spell had the desired effect.
Meanwhile, Shark moves into position behind the scorpion and snaps at one of the creature's hind legs .
Though his shield arm is pinned by the scorpion's large claws, Nme'an is still able to reach his sword and stab defiantly at the large creature.
for
"I have it on this end. Someone flank it," Nme'an grunts as he attempts to heal himself, unable to see Shark doing just that on the far side of the scorpion.
"'This end'?! You're going to get yourself killed there, you crazy lunatic!" yells Themp as he shoots the giant arachnid.
Mot is dumbfounded at the sight of a being who does not show any reaction to the sound of his beautiful pipes. The song dies off as the instrument falls from his suddenly frozen fingers.
"Dinnae lahk mah moosic..." The big man whispers.
He doesn't notice when the druid appears behind him and speaks her words of power, but he does notice the strength flowing into his arms and legs.
Suddenly the Casns warriors blood begins to boil, his feet leave the earth and as if by magic his great sword appears in gnarled, hairy, hands. Heavy legs pound the earth and in a split second the Barbarian of the Highlands is in front of the beast screaming in it's face;
"MA MOOOOOOOOOSIIIIIIIIIIIIC!"
The scorpion’s exoskeleton crackles and breaks under Shark’s ferocious bite. Themp’s arrow drives deep into the giant bug’s side, and Nme’an’s sword cuts through the black shell where the pincer connects to the body. The Casns’ mighty chop arcs down from on high, and cleaves the scorpion down the length of its body. A moan and shudder later, the venomous monstrosity crumples to the ground, releasing Nme’an from its grip.
Olp absently drops the bone club, in shock at the incredible dispatch of such a huge and terrifying creature. A moment later, he snaps his snout closed, not realizing he left it open. “Nis kos krii, dii reym…” he mutters to himself.
“‘Cannot be killed,’ my ass…”
Mot sneers at the fallen beast, breathing heavily he grips the mammoth sword and with one hand severs the claws holding Nme'an in place. Reaching down he tears a plate of the chitinous exoskeleton off and presses it to his heaving chest. The still warm fluids hold it to his chain mail until he's able to tie it down with some spare leather strips.
Satisfied, the Bardbarian walks back to where his pipes fell to the ground and retrieves them. Muttering under his breath at the under appreciation of music in the mountains.
"Oh... That was... fast..."
Looking over the carnage of bones and broken spears and armor, the thief does not see a whole lot worth keeping. Though, rifling through an undamaged pouch spotted under some bones, he finds a small, chipped agate, with milky, brown and red rings. Other pockets he finds are empty, or torn open. His search leads him to the mouth of the northern cave, where the scorpion was hiding. A glint of metal draws him inside, and amid the piles of bones and dust, he finds a halberd and well crafted light shield.
Inside the southern cave, the scoundrel is startled when he sees another pair of black pincers just at the entrance. But a closer look shows the hard shell body of this second scorpion hollowed out, torn open from the side. Kicking a stone and disturbing nothing inside, the city man finds a mostly-buried set of chainmail under the scorpion carcass. Nearby is a weapon haft, when unearthed, proves to be a bearded waraxe of dwarven make. Searching further into the cave, just beyond where the chainmail was found, he finds a small leather bag. Inside the bag are two tiny glass bottles, a chunk of unpolished fiery-orange carnelian, and an assortment of loose coin. The bottles are sealed with corks. On his way out, he stubs his toe on a hard, blunt metal object. Wiping away the small bones and dirt reveal a heavy mace.
Nme'an drops to all fours and grasps at his wound, but after a moment he is able to glance up at Themp. "Lunatic?" he asks, trying to manage a smile.
He slowly stands, but is only just able to remain standing. Nme'an moves his hand and prepares to heal himself once more but once again something sees him hesitate. Instead of resting his hand against against his injury, the half-elf instead looks to the heavens and says a prayer of thanks. At the end of his prayer he loudly clasps his hands together in front of his chest, and a fast moving, thin, spherical shockwave of bright gold tinted air bursts out from where he stands.
In an instant it strikes Mot, then Beorae and Shark, then finally Olp, wrapping around them almost like blown sand diverting round a lone structure before dissipating a short distance past each of them. The rest of the shockwave that did not touch the four continues rapidly outward until it is nearly touching both sides of the pass. There, some thirty feet from where it began, it crosses an unseen boundary and simply ceases to be. The strange effect leaves Beorae no better or worse than she was before, but Nme'an's fresh wounds as well as Mot's, Shark's, and Olp's older injuries quickly mend themselves shut, or nearly so.
Nme'an once again consults with Olp while the other victorious party members spread out looking for things of use. Olp listens to the knight apprentice then draws small symbols in the dirt, causing Nme'an to smile and nod. He moves just south of the big scorpion that could not be killed and redraws the shape writ large in what is now clearly draconic script. When he is finished the the message reads:
As Mot finishes securing his pipes in his pack, the wave of healing energy makes contact. He breaths deeply as his remaining injuries heal themselves and he feels whole once more. He nods appreciatively at the Paladin saying; "Tha's ae neet trick!"
He stretches, back popping and begins to toe through the gear accumulated by their sneaky companion.
“Is that, uh… a new thing?” Beorae asks, having watched Nme'an's new healing spell in quiet amazement. Calling Shark to her, she examines the cat's wounds to find that he's almost completely healed. “How…? You didn't even touch him! I feel like that might come in handy.”
Moving over the area, Beorae kicks loose various bones and rubble, looking for anything of interest. She helps Themp point out their findings to the group and tries to determine if any of it has magical qualities . The bottles pique her interest and she holds them up to the sun to see what might be contained within.
“So, if the kobold magistrate is going to charge us double on our way back for safe passage, maybe we can add this stuff to the tab?” she offers. “Plus, what's our fee for killing a giant scorpion that's obviously been a problem for them? That's got to be worth a couple hundred gold at least, right?”
Nme'an is still looking around in awe when Beorae asks her question. "I think it... yes, I'm fairly sure it was something like to what our clerics did to heal us after live combat training. But, I have never done such before. Before today that is..." he replies. "The fire spell too. The only experience I have with fire is using torches and candles... and getting burned by Kobold sorcerers... I just acted on reflex"
Upon hearing of the discovery of a heavy mace Nme'an hurries over to pick the weapon up and give it a few experimental swings. Satisfied, and saying nothing to Mot, he attaches it to the lonely hook on his armor that had been vacant for the last couple of days.
Mot's new chitin plate "armor" tugs a familiar thread in the back of the druidess' mind. After a few minutes, she remembers the incense recipe in her pack and checks the list of ingredients.
Crab chitin… I wonder if scorpion chitin would work as a replacement.
The shell plates of crab and scorpion are definitely similar. The druidess is pretty sure the scorpion chitin might work, but she doesn’t know for certain.
Themp seems to have gathered everything of value, and Beorae also notices the second scorpion carcass. As the four look over the leavings of these enormous arachnids, Olp idly kicks around the piles of bones until one too big to come from a kobold catches his attention. Grabbing one end, he drags it behind him and asks to borrow Nme’an’s dagger. In simple draconic, he conveys that he intends to sharpen the bone and wield it as a polearm.
Nme'an, of course, hands his dagger over to the small Kobold. "Dreh hi lost naan zaak fos los vortii het?" he asks as Olp begins to shape the bone.
Olp shakes his head. “Pusonin lost eldraag wah zey. Zu'u mindok wundun zeim rahn kuz do sed sul. Mu uld ofaal tir do rahn naal dahvulon. Vortii rahn los grud lufeykro, zurun lu, ahrk vorohah. Nuz tol los nunon fos Zu'u hon,” he shrugs, “Zu'u dreh ni mindok fos los amvit ko rahn.”
“The scorpion was a surprise to me. I know travel through the pass takes about three days. We might get out of the pass by tonight. Beyond the pass is thick jungle, strange magic, and madness. But that is only what I heard. I do not know what is ahead in the pass. Probably more traps.”
Sharpening the bone is slow going, and at Olp’s rate, it might be an hour before the point is sharp enough to pierce. Presently, Nme’an’s dagger has whittled down the knobs at one end, forming a decent (although somewhat grisly) walking staff.
Upon seeing what Olp intends to do Nme'an suggest to the others that they wait. The two caves should be good to keep them out of sight and the lingering threat of the scorpions should keep away any who wished to do them harm.
"Ok, we can wait."
Shifting uneasily, Themp picks up the looted money. "I've picked quite some haul around here. Thought you guys might want to recover from that kobold shaman..." In an offering gesture, he holds the 36gp out to the band.