"See, Themp, this is sparring! Ouch!" she says when Nme'an catches her off-balance and lands a hit. Under her breath, she mumbles, "I really need to work on this…"
Beorae notices that the mild sparring blows mitigate the pain somewhat, better than her old leather armor set, at least.
Olp lends his clean spear to the fathoming of the cold, opaque pool. He prods at the stone floor underneath, noting how quickly it graduates into a sheer drop. Testing beyond the drop-off, he nearly loses his spear, until it thuds against stone with his claw submerged above the wrist. The pool seems to be about eight feet deep, and icy cold.
As Beorae and Nme'an start lightly attacking each other, Themp gives up on trying to understand what is going on and simply walks towards the secret passage.
His eyes are immediately caught by the chest just outside of the door, but he manages to overcome his instinct to pocket everything and walks past it to check inside the cave.
"Hey, Olp, we have more squiggly writing in here! Stop crushing the insanely powerful defenseless eggs and come check it out." he shouts out the door. "Also, what the heck happened to you guys? You all look terrible for someone who entered an abandoned cave full of loot..." he adds casually, much quieter, addressing Mot.
Beorae picks up the glowing rock and refreshes the Light spell on it before tossing it in the pool. "Wonder what's down there," she muses.
"What do you guys think about staying here for the night? It's shelter, at least. We might want to move that pile of meat in the back, though… that's kind of nasty. And I'd like to seal that room again," indicating the secret doorway that contained the undead creature.
Mots one-track-mind causes him to look towards Themp blankly at the Rogues question. Eyes still squinting in confusion, he asked a question of his own. "Lizaard people coome froom ehgs?"
Rolling his eyes at Mot, Olp follows Themp into the secret room, squinting up at the writing. “Tongue of dragon… but not understand…” he mutters, deep in thought. A moment later, realization comes to his reptilian face. “Old dragon tongue. Puzzle language. Use of to mage, scratch magic at in objects.” He shrugs, looking up at the thief. “Not know it says.”
"Hang on, let me see those again..." Beorae says, holding up a newly-lit rock to shine on the walls. She inspects the writing as though it were a scroll, looking for magical inscriptions.
Beorae thinks if she has enough parchment and charcoal, rubbings of these magical writings could be used as magical scrolls.
"Yes, this is likely the best place we will find to rest." Nme'an agrees.
"I would suppose they do. Do they not, Bi Sevenstone?" Nme'an says, answering Mot's question. But then his gaze turns to follow Mot's to the sight the freshly smashed eggs and the brief back and forth discussion Olp, Beorae, and Themp had while he was testing the depth of the pool takes on a new, more sinister light.
"Mot..." Nme'an says as his heart sinks, but further words do not come to the half-elf. And he fears what the big man might do next.
The pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place, as comprehension, horror, and then building anger is plain across Mot’s hairy face. Muscular hackles begin to rise as he takes heavy steps toward Olp. “Yoo kill’d babby lizahrdmehn? In teh broke ehggs?” His breathing and posture become more aggressive with each step, and the knight’s sympathetic call falls on deaf ears. Ham-sized fists clench and begin to shake.
“Yoo doon ah bahd bahd theng…”
The kobold slowly backs away from the highlander and defensively grips his longspear with both claws. He frowns at the accusation of wrongdoing.
“Big man. Troglodytes kill dragonkind. Dragonkind kill troglodyte. Fair not?”
"Both of you stop!" Nme'an commands. At his words the dim cave darkens further as a thick envelopes all present.
'Yes, that will do,' Nme'an thinks as he offers a smile up to the heavens.
"Olp. Think of our actions. We did not kill you. We did not kill the guards we came upon in the food storage. We did not seek to harm your farmers though we could have. We have killed some warriors, yes, but only as a defense, and only after attempting to explain ourselves. We even paid a fortune to avoid more killing. While you travel with us you will follow our example. You will not harm any more who are not a threat to you, no matter the histories involved, or you will be left to fend for yourself," Nme'an warns with grave seriousness.
"And you, Mot? What did you intend to do?" the Paladin asks in the same tone. "Injure one under our protection to make a point? To leave him in pain throughout the night only for Bi. Sevenstone or myself to heal him in the morning? Disarm him so he cannot defend himself as we move forward? Kill him in retribution? It is clear he does not know right from wrong as we do but I believe I can teach him and make it clear to him what we will not tolerate any longer. If you truly wish to do something useful then go bury to unborn so that we my all mourn them..."
The red in the Highland eyes begins to fade away as the Casns casts back and forth in the small cave, unable to see the subject of his rage. It takes him a moment to recognize that the Paladin is talking to him. Even longer for Mot to understand what the half-elf is saying. With a deep growl he responds; "Wee lizaard man is a moorderer. Hea kelled harmless babbys." The growl is cut short by an embittered laugh. "But theen Ah woodn't eshpect yoo ta unnerstand..." Idly, he takes a few aimless swings into the mist, but they do little save move the fog around.
Nme'an cocks his head and clicks his teeth at the barbarian's insult but he does not respond immediately. First, he raises his right hand and aims an invisible line between where Mot and Olp last stood. A pinpoint of fire forms in front of his outstretched hand, but just before it leaps forward Nme'an adjusts him aim a slight bit higher and a slight bit to the right. The bolt streaks forth, burning a brief hole through the fog clear enough that Mot and Olp can see each other for a handful of seconds.
"There he is, Casns," Nme'an says as the small passage burned through the air begins to fill again. "Have at him. Perhaps one more murder will help balance the scale."
The druidess is rummaging through her pack looking for parchment that isn't there when the situation in the other room flares up. Moments later, mist starts pouring into the hidden chamber
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Beorae exclaims as she finds her way into the main room. After a moment the druidess' left hand erupts in flame and she waves it through the air, burning off the mist that's lingering in the cave. She addresses the three, turning to each as she speaks to them, "Nme'an, that last part was completely unnecessary. Mot, your insult was also unnecessary. Olp, I hope you understood what Nme'an was telling you – people in the Kingdom do not kill those who are weaker, they help instead. If we acted back in the pass the way you just did with those eggs, what do you think would have happened to you? Sometimes helping others makes everyone stronger. That's going to be an important lesson for living in the Kingdom."
Beorae becomes aware that her hand is still encased in magical flame, and she squelches the spell. "Way it is is the way it is. We got to deal with what's in front of us." Looking back at their kobold companion, she finishes, "From here on out, Olp, we're going to refrain from killing those who cannot do us harm. Do you understand?"
When Olp sees a brief path in the mist burned away, and hears the knight’s command to “have at him,” the kobold snarls and steps back, bracing his spear against the stone wall. His scaled muscles are tense and ready to stop the highlander from getting near him. But the mist rolls through the area cleared by Nme’an’s hand, and Olp is obscured from view.
As the fog clears under Beorae’s magical fire, cave and all inside slowly fade back into view. By then, it looks as though Olp had retreated further back, using the brief visibility moments ago as a feint. He remains poised to attack anyone who gets too close, but the druidess’ words keep his attention. With a suspicious glance to Mot and Nme’an, he nods slowly in answer to her question. “Understand. Not kill not threat.”
He looks at the pile of mashed eggs behind the Casns, then up at the towering highlander. Though the gears turn inside his tiny head, he remains on guard.
Mot growls as the mist clears. But it's easy to see that there's no trace of red in his eyes any longer. He stalks past the Paladin and up to the Kobold. He points a sausage-link finger from a ham-fist at the diminutive dragonkin. "Nae moore." He says with a dangerous gleam.
Heavy footfalls reverberate through the cavern as the Highlander stops outside.
"Heshima, Bi Sevenstone," Nme'an replies as the tense situation begins to wind down. "Wewe walikuwa katika chumba wengine na mimi tu alikuwa dakika chache fupi kuokoa maisha kobold ya. Matendo yangu na maneno walikuwa tu maana ya kuwa Mtu Mkubwa kufikiria matokeo ya mwisho ya kile walionekana nia ya kufanya. Hakuna la zaidi."
Nme'an releases a held breath as Mot stalks out of the cave without incident. "Labda unaweza kuzungumza naye? Elezea kwake tunaelewa? Kwamba sisi pia ni hasira. Na kwamba mimi ni kweli sorry I hakuwa na taarifa vitendo Olp's katika muda? Napenda kufanya hivyo mwenyewe lakini tumekuwa katika msuguano tangu mwanzo wa huu na sijui jinsi ya kuzungumza naye..." he says to Beorae, sadness filling his voice.
"Mbali na hilo, Je, unaweza kuona njia OLP alikuwa ameshika silaha yake? Alidhani tulikuwa wote akageuka dhidi yake na mimi kuhisi mimi lazima kueleza kujidhihirisha kwake pia."
"Olp," Nme'an says, getting the kobold's attention. Once he has it he slowly and deliberately removes his sword, then mace, then dagger, then bow and places them against the back wall before saying, "Aal mu tinvaak ful Zu'u aal gelaar dii dren?"
"Perhaps you can talk to him? Explain to him that we understand? That we too are angry? And that I am truly sorry I did not notice Olp's actions in time? I would do it myself but we have been at odds since the beginning of this and I do not know how to speak to him..." he says to Beorae, sadness filling his voice.
"Besides, did you see the way Olp was holding his weapon? He thought we had all turned against him and I feel I must explain myself to him as well."
"Olp," Nme'an says, getting the kobold's attention. Once he has it he slowly and deliberately removes his sword, then mace, then dagger, then bow and places them against the back wall before saying, "May we talk so I may explain my actions?"
The kobold looks over the knight’s weapons on the wall, and lets the spear fall from his claws. “Zu'u gi,” he answers indifferently.
“I am listening.”
Nme'an cautiously approaches and kneels down to Olp's level.
"Mindoraan tol Zu'u lost unt wah aax hi ahrk lost bo wah vos saak jul aax hi," the knight apprentice explains. "Rok lovuneh gir wah zey fod rok los rahgron. Dii dren lost seik wah drun mok wah lorot us rok dren. Us rok aax hi. Lost rok tul unt wah dren Zu'u fund lost stopped mok dahik hi clearly drey ni mindoraan fos hi lost drehlaan. Nu hi dreh mindoraan ahrk borii tiid, waan til los borii tiid, Zu'u fen ni kos vos wah hiif hi. Tol saag, ol lingrah ol hi kiibok un rel Zu'u kaat tol hi fen kos ney jaaril ahrk vahraan voth fir ahrk paazom. Waan hi alun lost laan do fos wah dreh bo wah zey ahrk laan. Hi fen neh kos aax laan. Mindoraan?"
"Understand that I was not trying to harm you and was not going to let the big man harm you," the knight apprentice explains. "He rarely listens to me when he is angry. My actions were meant to cause him to think before he acted. Before he harmed you. Had he still tried to act I would have stopped him because you clearly did not understand what you had done. Now you do understand and next time, if there is a next time, I will not be able to help you. That said, as long as you follow our rules I promise that you will be both protected and treated with respect and fairness. If you ever have a question of what to do come to me and ask. You will never be harmed for asking. Understand?"
Seeing Nme'an has taken the work of calming down and/or chiding Olp (Hell if I know what he just said...), Themp approaches Mot.
"You know, big man, what he did was cowardly, but if there is one thing I learned on the streets back home about bullies is that violence never fixes them. In fact, it always makes them worse." he says softly, showing signs of resentfulness at the statement he's making. "Threats only go so far, as well..."
"Now, I'm not saying I know what to do about all this, nor for you to stop being so passionate, but I thought you should know this." he adds, adding a little pat on the arm and an encouraging smile.
“Mindoraan,” Olp gives a curt nod.
Mot stands staring out back the way they'd come. He doesn't look at his companion, but his fists flexing and unflexing denote that he has at least heard Themps words.
Nme'an sets about the messy work of removing the smashed eggs from the cave. Lacking any proper digging tools the Paladin uses his hands to dig a shallow hole for the remains of each egg. Next, he works alone to drag the foul smelling lizard men a fair distance away from the cave. On his way back he passes by the sullen Barbarian and can't help but stop and sigh.
"For what it may be worth... I am sorry."
Nme'an collects his share of the money the Kobold paid for their deaths then once again volunteers for the first watch of the night.
While Nme'an cleans the cavern, Beorae moves over to Mot. “Hey, Mot,” she says quietly. “I know you're upset, and things have been tense lately. We've all been under a good amount of stress and are dealing with new experiences. I know I'm needing to remember that every day,” she offers with a smile. “Let's do our best to help Olp be a better person. I think it's going to take some time, but I know we can do it.” Resting her hand on the big man's shoulder and the newly-found pearl in the other, Beorae mutters words of healing, causing magic to flow through her hand and heal the barbarian's wounds.
Beorae then calls Shark out into the clearing and they work on their daily training for the 'Come Here' command. To help Shark focus on their task, Beorae pulls a dose of Feline's Felicity from her pack and uses it to guide their training. The session goes quickly and after a couple hours they head back into the cave to prepare for the night.
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"Wake me when your shift is done, paladin. I'll take the second.", offers Themp, thinking it best for someone other than Nme'an to wake Mot up in the middle of the night.
While the others go about their preparations, Themp tries once again to craft some arrows.
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During his shift, Themp tries his hand at crafting yet again.
Mot tenses as the Paladin approaches. He is stoically silent as the Half-Elf speaks his peace. Stiff and unmoving it seems as if the towering Highlander is intent on ignoring the holy warrior. As Nme'an turns to leave the Casns sags on his feet, mumbling quietly; "Ah jest thaght wea were tha goood guys..."
Beorae offers her words and Mot nods, making eye contact. His brows are tight knit in concentration as he thinks about the days happenings. But he offers at least the shadow of a smile before she returns to her errands.
All but Nme’an turn to bed, and the knight watches vigilantly as the night deepens, and soon only the campfire light allows him to see deeper into the black. Right around the time comes for Themp’s watch shift, Beorae wakes. She feels fully rested, and after only about two hours of quiet, though her magical reserves reflects the same amount as before going to bed. The druidess has a feeling that the fullness of her power will return at dawn, when she normally prepares her magic.
“Evening,” Beorae says as she wakes. “This ring really is something. I already feel like I've eaten a feast and slept all night.” The druidess turns her hand in the firelight, inspecting the intricacies of the darkwood jewelry. “Want some help with that armor? I figure I can take the rest of the watches and let the others sleep.”
"Good evening, Bi Sevenstone." Nme'an says quietly in reply. He listens as she recounts her experience with her magic ring and is about accept her offer of help when she mentions taking the rest of the party's watches. The knight apprentice sighs quietly at this last part.
"While I know you mean well, I do not think you should take on more shifts than necessary," he says gently. "And I am not just being contrary or..." Nme'an starts defensively before cutting off his own words with another sigh. He takes a breath and explains: "A night shift is about more than sleep or rest. It is about alertness and trust. Alertness as staring out into an not moving night for too long, even when fully rested, dulls the senses for when something does come. And trust because while one of us watches the others put their trust in us to keep them save. Even if we do not think about we are doing so."
"The Order of the Dawnflower taught me that," he says somewhat distantly, remembering perhaps some moment of instruction he received months or years before. "We are not a military unit... clearly," Nme'an says with a quiet rueful laugh as he glances back into the cave at the others, "but trust in each other is something we are lacking on this journey and I'd ask you not take away from any of us the chance to trust or be trusted."
“That is… an excellent point. I hadn't considered the value of trust, but you're right,” she says with a sideways glance at the sleeping Ulgharian and their kobold companion. “Very well, I'll try to get some more rest, then.”
Themp’s shift begins soon enough, and the dark hours of the night pass quietly for the thief. Next the highlander takes watch, and try as he might to peer into the black, he sees only what the firelight will show him. The air of the northern ravine is stone-quiet.
One sound from the corner of the cave draws Mot’s attention. A wet plop slaps against stone, in the shadowed nook where piles of meat, fresh tossed over the spoiled. Out of the dark wiggles a pale, fleshy maggot, near the same size as the sleeping Olp. Raising it’s greasy dark brown head in Mot’s general direction, a circular mouth unfolds and reveals a ring of sharp tiny teeth.
The slimy larva inches toward the barbarian gnawing jaws!
Mots face scrunches up in distaste at the sight of the mealy looking creature. His quick Urlghain reflexes bring him to his feet with weapon drawn faster than it takes the worm to snarl.
With a swift step he brings his greatsword down in a heavy arch.
Half-way through his swing he remembers his sleeping companions and slows his blade to be as quiet as possible.
Mot's attack slows too much and the blade bounces off the slick, soft maggot skin. But to his credit, the highlander's quieting efforts do not wake his companions.
The maggot's bared teeth try to close over Mot's knee, but a shift in stance keeps the overgrown larva from taking hold.
Mot starts to growl before stopping himself from making extraneous noise. With comically overstated tip-toes he spins and brings his sword to bear in an oddly quiet arch.
The silent spin whiffs over the large maggot, and the ring of tiny teeth reach for the highlander again.
But again, Mot is able to stay out of the aggressive maggot's reach.
Mot chuffs in anger and has to take several deep breaths to avoid doing something stupid. Righting his stance he swings low, attempting to lop the creature in half.
Two maggot halves splat in two different directions, and while the wild man was somewhat quiet, the stench of what rotted inside the larva fills the cave. Shark lifts his furry head and blinks sleepily before turning a disappointed ‘what have you done’ look to Mot.
But in time, the smell passes as does the remainder of the highlander’s quiet watch. Nothing else stirs from the pile of meat in the corner, but now the Casns warrior is wary of it nonetheless. Beorae wakes and takes up the watch, and for the first hour, all is quiet.
But as the coming dawn slowly pushes away the dark of night, the druidess thinks she sees a peculiar shape out in the ravine. Near the far rock wall, Beorae discerns the dark silhouette of a horse in the low light. No, not a horse, not entirely. A woman’s torso, arms, and head sprout from the front of the powerful equine body. Garbed in leather armor, with the horse half of the body uncovered, this graceful creature holds a spear at her side. Long, woven dark brown hair hangs down her back and to one side of her foreshoulder. Her facial features are broad and beautiful in a wild way, though a stoic expression regards the half-elf indifferently. The female centaur says nothing.
Beorae peers back out at the centaur and reflects on what she might know or have heard about their peoples.
Aloof with other races and at odds even with their own kind, the centaurs are an old race only slowly coming to accept the modern world. The majority of centaurs still live in tribes roaming vast plains or the fringes of eldritch forests, keeping the isolationist ways of their ancestors. Due to their connection the fey and the natural world, the horsefolk are sometimes known to ally with elves and gnomes on rare occasion, and even rarer still with dwarves and humans. Typically found on the fringes of civilization, they are legendary hunters and skilled warriors. Beorae also knows that the wizened among them practice star-gazing and other natural forms of divination, and most tribes function under a matriarchal social structure. They are proud and do not easily forgive, and to be ridden by another humanoid is an honor they seldom offer (many of them see it as demeaning). Sylvan is their native tongue, but intelligent creatures as they are might lend them an understanding of Elven and Common as well.
Approaching the mouth of the cave, Beorae looks at the centaur and quietly speaks in Sylvan, “สวัสดี ฉันสามารถช่วยคุณได้อย่างไร”
The druidess neither sees or hears other horsefolk nearby. Presumably, this one is alone. Now that she is closer, Beorae can see a wooden shield hanging off the centaur’s back, and a belt holds a weapon sheath in place. The sheath appears to hold a longsword.
The centaur’s steady, impassive gaze follows the half-elf as she nears the mouth of the cave. The druidess doesn’t think the four-legged watcher blinked once since she noticed her, until Beorae greets the she-centaur. A pensive quiet follows her question, until at length the hunter answers slowly, “No.”
The centaur woman studies Beorae for another moment or two, before speaking again, in a low, feminine voice that shares the same resonation of swaying tall tree trunks that moan in strong winds. “The stars told of second visitors from the south. Of the first who would break like water on rock, and the second who would heal the land. Do you know what you must do?”
When Beorae does not give the answer the centaur is looking for, she breaks eye contact for the first time, turning an annoyed look to the rocky ravine wall in consideration. She looks again to the druidess after a moment, and resumes her slow speech. “The tower is a festering splinter, and the living things grow fouler with each moon. My sisters and I would have cleansed the Deeping Font long ago, but the Stillwater… is not still.”
The centaur straightens and stamps one of her hooves. “Foretellings can change time; I have spoken too much already. Some things, even bad things, must be allowed in their season.”
With a silent nod of farewell, the centaur trots northward, out of sight.
The rest of Beorae’s companions wake when the sun is fully up, and the druidess recounts her experience with the fey creature. Both half-elves complete their meditations and the four plus Shark and Olp are ready to continue north.
Once clear of the stinking hole of a troglodyte home, the smell of water in the air returns as they tread through the rock-faced ravine. The underbrush grows thicker here, and the observant notice a slight decline in elevation as they travel, and the ravine is gradually widening. Still, the bends in the Blackcrag Pass keep them from seeing too far ahead.
After two hours of travel, the pass gives way to steep foothills, covered in grass and bushes. The bottom of the large hills lays a thick carpet of trees. The deep green forest spreads for miles, as far as the eye can see. And in the distance, a single, black stoned spire rises from the center of a lake crowded by trees. At long last, the heroes of Thaleniel can see their destination: Ithalgol’s Keep.
While the half-elves meditate, Themp attempts, yet again, to fletch some arrows.
_____________________________________________________________________
"Is... is that the keep? So the Prince made it to the it?" asks Themp, once they have clear sight of the spire, apprehension cracking through.
Based on one’s understanding of weather and the wind that carries it, and how it interacts with the various terrains below, this dense, lush forest shouldn’t be here. To put it simply, the Komat Mountains “squeeze” the rain out of the clouds as they are pushed north. The rainfall waters the Carenthir Forest. The amount of water needed for a woodland so vibrant would be staggering -even the distant lake could not feasibly hydrate the vast forest. In short, this forest might not be naturally occurring.
"Well, there it is," Nme'an comments simply.
As Mot looks out over the forest, he stretches flexing and unflexing sore muscles.
“This forest… shouldn't be here,” Beorae muses, mostly thinking out loud and not really trying to provide any real information. “And yes, that appears to be our quarry.”
By her estimation, the thick forest will slow their travel significantly. If this was an open plain, it would take them only half a day on horse to get there. But on foot, working through dense vegetation, it should take exactly sixteen hours to reach if her companions don’t dally. If they push themselves, they might be able to cross the distance in two days.
The density of the forest will be a hazard in itself, if the druidess is not careful. The reduced visibility in a pathless terrain could increase the travel time if they were to get lost.
Surveying the lush treetops, the druidess suspects that lighting might be an issue in some places. Not for her or Nme’an, but probably for Themp and Mot.
Beorae, Mot, Nme’an, Themp, and Shark start down the foothills. Olp lingers for a moment, looking back at the ravine opening, thinking. After a few moments, he spits in that direction and hurries to catch up with the others.
Reaching the foot of the hills do not take long, and the travelers can feel the air thicken with humidity. As they near the forest that teems with calls of wild animals, a mist can be discerned among the tree trunks, and shade-growing underbrush covers the forest floor. The plants between the towering trees reach the waists of most of men and half-elves, with some that grow to shoulder-height as well. At times, Olp disappears completely in the undergrowth, but lacks the natural grace that Shark uses to slink under the leaves and branches. The druidess, familiar with how plants grow and spread, sees where each of her steps must go and effortlessly continues on her way. The ground is soft and damp, and the air is close and wet.
The five and Shark do not get far into the rainforest when the men and half-elves notice a constrictor snake laying still on a low branch, waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander too close. Olp does not seem to notice, though the snake is not directly in the path of the adventurers.
The grey tiger’s nose pinpoints other constrictor snakes hidden in the trees.
Snakes of this size do not generally rely on poison to bring down prey. Instead, they will coil their muscular bodies around a victim and squeeze, until the prey is crushed and unable to resist. Then, the constrictor will unhinge the jaw and swallow their prey whole. Such snakes tend to lead solitary lives, found in numbers only while mating or recently hatched from eggs. They emerge from the nest ready to fend for themselves and need no parenting.
Deciding to leave the snake be, the champions of Thaleniel get only a few more steps forward when a deep rumble comes from Shark’s furry chest. Crouched below the threshold of the undergrowth, grey tiger clearly smells something he doesn’t like, in the northwesterly direction. The rest of the travelers see only trees and waist-high vegetation, and the one constrictor snake that does not seem even slightly interested in giving chase.
Nme'an holds position at Shark's growl and does a thorough visual search of the forest ahead. As always, the knight apprentice, weighed down with dozens of pounds of armor and weapons to the point the others could leave him behind without meaning to, is ready to spring rapidly and decisively away from danger... when it counts.