Beorae senses Shark's unease and her sharp senses are already scanning the forest when his growl warns of a hidden foe.
The thick jungle clearly makes Themp extremely uncomfortable. For some odd reason, his companions can notice he always calms down when he gets a glimpse of the sky, but half-crouches into a ready-stance whenever the thick foliage completely blocks it.
Shark's deep growl snaps the thief out of his reverie in one of those moments he is staring at the sky, violently so. Themp quickly surveys his surroundings, completely out of his element, terror held back by a thin layer of self-respect.
Mot hears the tigers growl and heels his own hackles rise. Eyes narrow in suspicion as he sniffs the air and tries to spot the cauese of Sharks unease.
Olp takes up his spear and listens carefully, tense.
The druidess sees movement under the bushes, something a rusty brown color. Something big. Then a pair of hungry and wild amber eyes meet hers and she recognizes the obscured whiskered head immediately. A full-grown tiger stalks them!
The kobold looks to the others, waiting for their lead on what to do.
“It's an adult tiger, over there,” she warns, indicating the undergrowth where the animal is hiding .
Beorae reaches down to Shark and casts on her companion, who slinks off into the underbrush.
"A what?!" Sparks asks, not sure she heard the warning correctly. It's only after she turns her head towards the unfamiliar voice that the archer notices the thick trees, dense underbrush, and... and...
For a long moment Sparks' mind isn't able to form a complete thought.
She stumbles sideways and leans unsteadily, against one of the larger nearby trees. There, her eyes snap to the people standing near her. A tall, no huge, frighteningly muscular man wearing an armored shirt of chains and some sort of... skirt? Beside him is a female elf... no, half-elf... with striking red hair. She does not so much as flinch as the tiger... tiger?!... beside her slips away into the jungle. To the half-elf's left is a small, terrifying looking lizard that is walking on two feet and holding a crude spear. Its movements and directed attention speak of at least some intelligence... A Kobold?! And finally, very nearly blending in without consciously trying is a second, shorter man... or perhaps a near fully grown boy?... holding a simple, if well made, shortbow.
"Nini kuzimu ni hii?!" Sparks demands even as her voice cracks with surprise and fear. "What in the hell is this?!" she repeats in common as she begins to back away. Her frightened question is quickly drowned up by the multitude of soft, dampening plants and trees that surround her and do their best to passively impede her near panicked retreat.
Olp sees a full-blooded elf standing in place of the half-blood paladin! With a snarl at the unexpected visitor, the kobold shifts to stand between Beorae and the just-as-confused stranger. “What is! Who is! Why?” he cries, hefting his spear, pointing it in the retreating elf’s direction.
Tensing up even further, if that is even possible, Sparks pulls her longbow from across her back and holds it, pointed towards the ground, with one visibly shaking hand. "Put. The spear. Down," she says, her voice one part threat and two parts fear. Subtlety, without even meaning to do it, she inches her right hand down to rest on quiver hanging at her side.
"Please... Just direct me to Sharlstown... or Dutos... Or if none of you know those then some..." she takes in a long, slow breath as her eyes dart from person to person arrayed in front of her, "...then some other safe town and I will be on my way... in peace."
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Beorae looks over the newcomer, then glances around at the forest with uncertainty. Magic forest, indeed. “It's okay Olp. Kuna ni maeneo unaweza kuwa salama. Unataka ukweli, ingawa, wewe pengine salama juu ya hoja.” The druidess risks taking her eyes off the tiger with one more glance at the elf, sizing up her abilities. “Na sisi kamwe kuacha kusonga.”
Switching back to Common, she finishes, “But you'll probably want to step back from the big tiger that's in those bushes…”
“There're places you might be safe. You want the truth, though, you're probably safer on the move.”
“And we never stop moving.”
"Siwezi kuja na wewe ... nina nyumbani na wazazi na ... na dada ambao wote wanahitaji yangu. Je, mimi–" Sparks complains right up until the slightest ripple in the air replaces her...
...with Nme'an.
"-to do what now?" Nme'an finishes.
The Paladin closes his eyes in a long blink before asking, "Did any of receive a strange vision just now? I saw a calm clearing and dead bears and a party not so un-alike from ours..."
"Either it was a holy vision, or whatever lurks in that tower must be powerful indeed," he concludes.
At the word "tiger", all the color fades from Themp's face. Sheer panic freezes the city boy in place. His mind wanders so far down the winding track of imaginary terror that he completely fails notice, much less react, to the strange switch-a-roo happening right next to him.
So far, not a single word spoken has snapped him out of it, and judging by the blankness of his stare, Themp is a serious danger to himself in this state.
Mot snarls and has his sword in hand before Beorae finishes speaking, moving through the trees towards the vicious beast.
Olp nods, visibly relieved now that the knight is returned to his place and the elf stranger nowhere in sight.
But the relief is short-lived when a large swath of underbrush near Mot stirs. A full grown tiger leaps from where it hid with a terse growl, and claws and teeth bared against the big Casns warrior!
Mot swings too low, his blade skimming the waist-high vegetation as the tiger’s swipe catches the side of the hairy Urlghain head. In the blink of an eye, the powerful feline wraps around the berserker, thrashing the jungle floor as claws and teeth work against the shirt of woven chain.
The kobold snaps out of his surprise and quickly moves widely around the entangled wild man and wild beast. Glancing up at the constrictor snake, Olp wades into the thick underbrush momentarily in case the snake had any hungry ideas, and continues his circling path. He stops and hefts his spear, hoping to take advantage of the tiger’s Urlghain distraction.
"Hold on Mot!" Nme'an shouts,
Falling to the ground Mot looses his grip on his greatsword as the massive tiger grapples with the Urlghain warrior. The Casns roars in fury and tears his dagger off his belt. Flecks of spittle fly from his mouth as rage-fueled muscles send the blade out, stabbing furiously up towards the cats rib-cage.
The highlander's blade comes away bloody, and red tinges the thick orange and black fur.
The sight of Mot's bloody blade snaps Themp out of his cowering panic.
It bleeds! We can kill it! "Together!"
He wields his bow and, careful not to hit Mot, shoots into the giant striped mass.
However, the thief underestimates the struggle his shot sails wide.
Shark takes a step closer to the other tiger and lashes out with his claws and teeth at the larger cat.
Of all the days I decided not to bring fire… The druidess is frozen in thought for a split second. Suddenly, though, she stands tall and begins speaking in her mysterious druidic tongue, looking around at the rocks, dirt, and plants surrounding them as she does so. Her arms start low and over the course of a few seconds, slowly rise, palms turning toward the sky. A low rumble, steadily growing louder, can be heard under the din of combat.
Shark’s teeth and claws tear at the bigger tiger’s hide.
Keeping a tight hold on the berserker, the tiger’s back legs rake down the big man as the predator takes another bite.
The big, sharp-toothed maw closes around Mot’s shoulder and part of his chest, as the rear claws shred at his back and legs.
The wounds are too many and the mountain of a man collapses, unconscious. The great tiger drops him and steps back when the ground begins to rumble, baring its teeth and roaring at Shark.
Olp, alarmed at the fall of the Casns warrior and the approach of the big tiger, backpedals away. Then with a stomp, he unexpectedly springs his momentum forward and thrusts his spear at the tiger’s hindquarters.
But the jab was off-balance and the spearhead fails to even touch the big cat.
As soon as her spell finishes, Beorae rushes over to Mot and attempts to staunch the massive bleeding from the tiger's attack.
Even as the tiger roars at Shark, the ground behind it suddenly explodes, rocks and dirt thrown violently into the air. But instead of falling back down to the ground, the chunks of earth and stone spin and twist in the air, coalescing into a shape roughly resembling a humanoid. His eyes glow with the shine of rare The creature summoned from another plane then roars a deep, growly roar—not unlike an avalanche—back at the tiger.
Shark lashes out at their enemy once again…
…but the sheer size and power of the tiger has Shark wary of getting too close.
At the same time, the elemental slams his "fist" of stone forward, swiping at the large cat with a rumble.
Placing himself between the tiger and Mot, Nme'an goes on the offensive!
Themp moves slightly closer to the tiger for a better shot.
As the arrow sails forth, the ground explodes into a veritable golem, which growls deeper than anything Themp had ever heard. Jehoshaphat!
The bigger tiger’s attention on Shark, the earthen creature clobbers its hindquarters. Nme’an’s blade makes a quick stab and draws blood, and Themp’s arrow likewise punctures the orange and black fur. Suffering many wounds, the massive tiger spins and hurries away gracefully, though with a noticeable limp where the earth elemental struck.
Too quick for Nme’an or his companions to find an opening, the great tiger slips away through the underbrush. It squeezes between towering trees, limping further in an arc, warily watching the adventurers, pausing to open its sharp-toothed mouth at Shark.
But the would-be terrifying roar only comes out as a guttural wheeze, no doubt caused by the severe wounds sustained.
The tiger seems interested in fleeing, but is trying to deter pursuit.
As the druid tries, unsuccessfully, to stem the tide of Urlghain blood, she feels a prickling on the back of her neck. No, a ...tickling?
Be it luck or instinct, Beorae twitches and hears the snap of jaws just short of her pointed ear. Right beside her, coiling down the tree trunk, is a large constrictor snake! A thin, forked tongue flicks out from a brown head as it bobs threateningly. Mot’s grievous wounds flow freely into the thick underbrush.
Turning round, Nme'an reaches down and places a hand on one of Mot's larger wounds before saying a brief prayer.
"Hold still and allow me to heal you further before you charge off again," Nme'an orders.
The druidess, keeping her eyes sharp, takes a gentle sidestep away from the snake. “Watch out for these snakes! This one tried to attack me when I got too close.”
Both the Elemental and Shark give quick pursuit after their wounded enemy.
The tiger falls to the pounding earth and Shark’s sharp claws. With Beorae stepped away and among allies, the constrictor snake turns and ascends high into the tree branches, well out of reach. With the attack fresh in her mind, the druidess sees another snake, well camouflaged thanks to mottled scales, in a tree a fair distance away.
The humid air of this dense forest is quiet for a few minutes, but slowly, the calls of animals resume their echoes through the trees.
Beorae moves delicately through the jungle toward Shark, keeping an eye out for more snakes on the way. The elemental crumbles to the earth and Shark growls at the spot where the creature stood.
Walking up to the tiger, Beorae draws her knife and begins the difficult work of skinning the big cat.
"Well, that went smoothly, huh?" Themp comments, adding an encouraging wink to Mot, who shows definite signs of improvement. Improvement over being mauled to ribbons, but improvement nonetheless.
"Need a hand, big guy?"
Mot reaches up for assistance as he rises to his feet. Spitting blood the behemoth curses as he looks to stop up his gaping wounds.
Nme'an helps Mot up and applies another healing surge to the big man.
"You are skinning the tiger? Now?" Nme'an asks, unsure what Beorae would want the big cat's coat for.
“Why not now?” Beorae asks without taking her eyes off the task at hand. “A tiger pelt could be very useful, you know.”
Olp looks on in approval at Beorae’s trophy-taking. The druidess makes quick work of the deed, and in fifteen minutes, the tiger carcass is without a coat.
As the troupe prepares to get on their way, Beorae gathers everyone together. “Hold still, I'm going to use a spell to conceal our movements. In the event that someone is trying to follow us, you know?” She mutters a druidic incantation, weaving her hand through the air in a delicate, deliberate manner. She finishes by touching Nme'an, Themp, and Mot on the shoulder one at a time, then stands back and looks at the three with approval.
Useful how? Are you going to distract the mad wizard with it?" Nme'an asks even as he follows the instructions to hold still. When the spell is finished Nme'an marvels as his movements through the thick jungle don't so much as disturb a single leaf or branch.
"It certainly looks good, I guess..."
As the group moves forward Nme'an finds a quiet moment to pull Olp aside. "For you efforts in protecting us since you joined our group," he say to the Kobold as he hands him a small bag. Inside are 100 gold coins. "As long as you are part of our group and follow our rules you are entitled to a fair share."
The druidess remembers a spoiled nobleman’s daughter about the same age as Beorae, when the Deeproot girl and Shark passed through the wealthier parts of Thaleniel. The high-born brat made a comment in passing, on how beautiful Shark’s coat looked. By her greedy stare at the white and black stripes, the druidess knew she wasn’t complimenting Shark, but instead had crueler thoughts on her mind.
Tiger hide is a rare thing in the civilized world of Vyren, most often added to the gaudy cloaks that boast expensive linens, exotic weaves, and sparkling jewelry, worn by the richest of Vyren. Themp recalls one traveling merchant who accidentally led his wagon into the poorer side of Thaleniel. Unfortunately, one of his crates “disappeared”, and when it was pried open a few alleys away, it contained rolls of silk, and at the bottom, a folded tiger pelt quite similar in size to the one in Beorae’s hands now. Not that Themp was definitely there, or anything, but he heard from his most reliable source that the tiger pelt sold for 400 gold pieces. Such a large city means there is always a bigger fish, so to speak, and word travels fast. The pelt-seller was quickly persuaded by thugs to turn over either his life or the sudden riches into their hands.
Olp’s eyes narrow at the gold in suspicion. “Daar yuvon los fah fos Zu'u lost nalkun drehlaan? Daar los ni ofan fah vomindok hindah ko aluntiid?”
Though a twitch from his claw betrays his desire for the gold, he does not take it just yet. The kobold looks up at the paladin, waiting for an answer.
“This gold is for what I have already done? This is not a gift for an unknown favor in the future?”
"Tol los folov," Nme'an replies. "Ol hi lost nun multiple tiid nu, mu shik rahzaas mu bo yaav equally ahrk fairly benix mii. Ol lingrah ol hi wundun voth mii ahrk ofun ko un krilon hi los entitled wah paaz ofun do urid," he explains.
"Nunon "favor" Zu'u fen alun laan do hi los daar: Hi kiibok un rel ol lingrah ol hi wundun voth mii, ahrk waan hi nid lingrahiik hind wah kiibok un rel uv nid lingrahiik hind wah ofun ko un krilon, tol hi lif mii ko drem ahrk dreh ni togaat wah morkon un grav."
Then, returning to Olp's initial question, Nme'an says, "Daar yuvon los hin wah dein nid trun fos hi komaan ko aluntiid. Zu'u fah gein hind hi fen fey voth mii. Un ahsod, waan successful, fen drun fahbo tahriik wah lot pogaan stahraal joriin."
"That is correct," Nme'an replies. "As you have seen multiple times now, we spit the resources we come across equally and fairly among us. As long as you travel with us and share in our risk you are entitled to a fair share of the rewards." he explains.
"The only "favor" I will ever ask of you is this: You follow our rules as long as you travel with us, and if you no longer wish to follow our rules or no longer wish to share in our risk, that you leave us in peace and do not attempt to hinder our efforts."
Then, returning to Olp's initial question, Nme'an says, "This gold is yours to keep no matter what you decide in the future. I for one hope you will stay with us. Our mission, if successful, will bring continued safety to a great many innocent people. "
Mot cringes at Beoraes touch, as fresh bruises begin to darken. Nevertheless the Highlander is grateful for any sort of magic to help ease their passing. Holding an arm tightly to his blood-soaked side the Casns moves ahead of the group limping through the underbrush. Eventually the softly spoken curses give way to an old wanderers walking tune, half-hummed quietly through the jungles trees.
Gradually a dim amber light forms in the warriors hand clutching his side. It slowly spreads over the bleeding holes and begins to mend them, drawing strength from the arcane power of song and earth. The ponderous movements of the massive man smooth out as the pain begins to subside.
Mot notices the amber-hued light fading from where it covered the gash in his side.
The big man smiles to himself and turns his head up to grin at the heavens. Surely the Accidental God noticed his faithful adherent was suffering and saw fit to help heal his wounds. Bloody hand no longer clutching at his side the Highland fighter grips his walking spear and crouches as he stalks his way ahead of the group.
The kobold warrior nods that he understands, though he says nothing else. Quiet in thought, he takes the gold purse and fastens it to his belt. Holding his longspear like a walking stick, he follows the champions of Thaleniel deeper into the humid, lush forest.
The six of them maintain their course to the northeast, even though the canopy of trees blocks their sight to Ithalgol’s Keep. In some places, the branches and leaves are so thick, that Themp and Mot have difficulty seeing very far, but they persevere through the patches of low light with caution and wary senses. Ahead of them, to their sides, and even behind them, a faint and distant fog obscures what might be far ahead. Trees, underbrush, and fleeing forest creatures about one hundred feet away are white-tinged from the thin mist, but things seems to vanish completely into the fog near two hundred feet, or just beyond. The going is slow, for all the thick vegetation, and the ground seems to be getting softer and softer, until the patches of exposed earth on the forest floor are muddy.
In time, the stink of mud mixes with the smell of green, growing things and the feel of close air between trees. The travelers would most certainly be leaving deep footprints in the soft, squishy ground, were it not for the magic of the druidess. Though it feels longer for the slow pace, in an hour’s time, the six come upon a small clearing of dirt and grass. On the far end of the patch of dirt, there seems to be a tangled pile of white bones, with a man-sized skull among them.
The spread of dirt ahead smells ...wrong. The smell reminds the Casns warrior of a time he watched a man disappear under what looked like perfectly solid ground -only to find it was quagmire. Quagmire looks harmless, but can spell doom to anyone careless enough to walk into it.
Moreover, the highlander thinks he spots the culprit to the pile of bones -four pairs of red-brown leathery wings ruffle in the tree near the skeleton. Two insectoid creatures the size of house cats take refuge in the branches, spindle-legged and needle-faced.
For a second, the druidess though she saw the patch of dirt ...ripple? Yes, again, though she nearly missed it the second time. Knowing the dirt ahead to be quagmire, she glances about to find the cause of the disturbance. Resting on the edge of the grass and undergrowth was a large tangle of vines, that prickles the awareness of Beorae: an Assassin Vine. Such plants are known to lie in wait for unsuspecting passersby, before the plants around them wrap entangle their prey and the carnivorous vines squeeze the life out of its next meal.
A brownish-red flutter in a tree branch catches her eye, and she gets a glimpse what appear to be two oversized mosquitoes, but with leathery bat-like wings.
Mot stops in his tracks and sniffs at the air uneasily. Holding out a hand he indicates that the others should as well. Shifting his weight he points ahead and quietly says. "Bohg oop aheed. Ahn soome wee buggs too."
Beorae stops at the same time as she eyes their surroundings. “Mot's right. Don't step into the patch up ahead. And there's an Assassin Vine up there, too. I imagine that's what befell our skeleton friend.”
"An 'Assassin Vine'? If the terrain ahead is dangerous perhaps we should fight from here?" Nme'an asks.
“Yes, an Assassin Vine is actually carnivorous. They lie in wait until a victim gets close, and then they strangle their prey and eat it. Nasty. As far as fighting from here… that might not be a bad idea.”
Mot sniffs again and spits on the loamy ground. "Wheel thahn, lee's doo tha' then!" Hefting his spear in one hand he takes aim and lets fly at the nearest of the overgrown cockroaches.
Quite similar to mosquitoes in the danger they pose, the insectoids the druidess can see are called Stirges. The most obvious difference between the two pests is the size, though both use a needle-sharp proboscis to feed off the blood of their victims. Stirges flap four leathery, bat-like wings each, and technically warm-blooded mammals, they can be found in the same wet environment as mosquitoes. As is the case with any blood-drinker, these creatures are occasionally carriers of disease.
There is some speculation as to their origin, though the prevailing theory involves a magical crossing of species that could never be crossed, and the results were either released or escaped centuries ago. Since then, stirges have found their niche in the food chain.
Mot's spear sails over the questionable earth and sticks the bug good! It struggles to flap its wings, off balance and nearly skewered completely, but the four-winged creature does not die.
"So, over here, even the plants are out to eat us? Aren't tigers, snakes and giant bugs enough?!"
Noticing Mot picking up his spear, Themp wields his bow and sets loose an arrow towards the closest bug.
Before the arrow even strikes its mark, Themp steps closer, careful not trip over or hit his head on anything, and shoots yet again, this time at the second insectoid.
"If it is a plant it burns," Nme'an says confidently as he raises his hand towards the mass of vines.
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