The critter struggling to fly falls to the ground when Themp’s arrow pierces its tiny head, and the other stirring in the branches beside it likewise tumbles down the tree when the scoundrel’s second arrow strikes true. Whether by natural toughness, or another manifestation of the eldritch forest, the great tangled mass of vines does not seem harmed by the paladin’s fiery blast. But now, the carnivorous vines begin to twitch and tremble!
Olp steps up alongside Themp, brandishing his longspear in case the vines approach.
Beorae and Shark sidestep to the left of the bog and the druidess begins the same summoning ritual from earlier in the day.
Shark stays back, but readies himself to defend Beorae should the shambling plant move to attack.
Mot's hand naturally goes towards the greatsword strapped to his back, but this time he pauses. Clear blue eyes narrow as the Highlander stops to consider the field and the still fresh wounds in his side. Teeth clenching in irritation his hand goes instead towards a thin leather strap the Barbarian has worn on his arm since the journey began.
Untying the strap he shakes it loose and reaches for a small rounded pouch on his belt. Inside appear to be a small collection of shiny rounded spheres made of metal. He grabs a handful of the pellets and places one gingerly into the leather strap. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed the big man spins the leather ensconced ball until the entire assembly is but a mere blur above his head.
Taking aim at the strange carnivorous plant the Casns releases the bullet from his sling and watches, hoping for a reaction.
Made apparent by Nme’an’s attack, Assassin Vines are resistant to fire. The druidess suspects that it has defenses against other elemental energies, but she can’t remember which, at the moment…
The small metal ball slung from the highlander sails left of the vines, bouncing against the tree trunk.
Suddenly, two other stirges come flying from different trees! One of them flaps toward Shark, and the other closes in on Themp! Long, thin, barbed legs hang lazily from a reddish-brown body, and each raise a needle-sharp proboscis as they draw near.
Shark deftly ducks away from his unexpected attacker, but Themp was too slow! The barbed legs latch onto his shoulder and back, and the stirge wastes no time plunging his sucker into Themp’s neck!
The carnivorous plant tumbles to one side, dragging itself along the forest floor with thick vines that sprout leaves eerily hand-shaped. Suddenly, the plants around the Thaleniel champions begin to move as well! Grasses, branches, leaves, and roots reach up from the earth to wrap around everyone.
The jungle foliage entangles the highlander, thief, and kobold!
Though the entangling vines wrap around Nme'an, he pulls forward towards Themp, breaking them with every step he takes. Once near, Nme'an swings a careful downward arc at the dangerous bug creature hopeful that he can drive it away from Themp.
for
The groping vines finally manage to find purchase on the knight apprentice the moment he steadies for his attack on the Stirge.
With a clean cut, the paladin’s blade opens the oversize pest, and his sword comes away with stirge goo and Themp’s ingested blood. The flying creature falls dead.
Seeing Nme'an come to aid the archer, Olp struggles against the vines that wrap around his legs and arms to jab his spear at the approaching mass of vines.
"Tol truk fen flatten hi Olp. Unt ahrk ofaal hond!" Nme'an says to the Kobold.
As the druid's spell finishes, the air is filled with the now-familiar eagle screech, but this time there is a second call that follows the first. The winged creatures zoom into the fray. One snaps at the overgrown insect attacking Shark while the other lashes out at the unnatural plant.
Shark sidesteps and attacks the bug while it's focusing on the bird of prey.
The tiger, focused on combat, fails to notice until it's too late that the vines and plants are growing in around him.
Beorae steps toward Mot and casts on the big warrior. "You've got this, Mot!"
Dizziness setting in, Themp notices he can't move. What the hell was that thing?
Tracking the source of his trap, he finds the big carnivorous plant a few feet away from him. Feeling his muscles sore and weak, the thief does his best to aim at the wild creature.
Mot grunts as the plants wrap around his legs and ankles. Flexing sore and battered muscles the warrior attempts to break free.
With a deft motion he swings the sling around again and hurls another bullet at the writhing plant.
One of the eagles clips off a leathery stirge wing with its sharp beak, and before the bloodsucker can recover, Shark swats it to the ground with savage claws. The other eagle fails to do any serious harm to the crawling vine, though Themp’s arrow finds its mark in the mass of tangled vine. The Casns warrior, bursting the green bonds, sends another metal bullet off-target, this time soaring over the carnivorous plant. Despite the missed shot, the big man has the presence of mind to avoid the plants reaching up to ensnare him again.
The largest vine, one as thick as the highlander’s arm and many times longer, lashes out at the harassing eagle.
Before the vine fully coils around the flurry of feathers, the raptor dies from blunt force of the strike, and winks from view with the loud, sharp sound of cracking stone.
With a twisting dance, the kobold frees himself of the entangling branches and grasses, and turns to leap away from the assassin vine. But the man-eating plant whips out a vine to stop Olp in his tracks!
The dragonkin takes a hard blow to the back of the head, and his eyes flutter closed before he scarcely gets off the ground. The spear falls from his claws as he collapses into the teeming vegetation.
Seeing Olp fall, Nme'an closes his eyes in prayer, sending a surge of healing energy in all directions.
Olp's eyes snap open as the golden light washes over his injury. The roots and grasses coil around his limbs before he has a chance to get up.
The remaining eagle flails at the vines…
…but his attacks fail to find purchase.
The druidess, uncertain what to do, draws her shortspear and flings it at the large plant.
Shark attempts to break the bonds that are holding him.
His instinct screamed to drop the simple sling and grab for his sword. But with a determined glint in his eye the barbarian grits his teeth before loading and releasing another steel bullet at the carnivorous plant.
Themp quickly squeezes out from the coiling vines and moves away from shambling mass of man-eating plant.
Beorae’s spear pierces one of the thicker vines dragging the murderous foliage forward. Shark is still restrained by the twisting plants, but the Casns warrior keeps from being trapped. Unfortunately, his sling misses again.
The thickest vine whips out and bludgeons the last eagle, and Beorae’s feathered friend vanishes in a similarly loud, cracking sound. The assassin vine rolls forward. As it does so, the grass, branches, and roots around Beorae’s feet begin to move.
Before the Sevenstone can react, she finds her legs, waist, and hands wrapped tight by the underbrush around her!
Seeing the tangle of hungry vines advance, and noting that he lies face down with nothing between himself and the fate met by Beorae's two eagles, Olp follows his instincts of self-preservation and plays dead.
To his companions, the act is far from convincing, but perhaps the plant won't notice...
Seeing that the monstrous plant will need to be confronted head on, Nme'an does a quick check of his equipment as he says a prayer seeking . Confident he is ready, Nme'an stares down the vine as he prepares to move.
Relieved that he has finally escaped the clutches of the floral nightmare, Themp recomposes himself and sets an arrow racing into the green mass of death.
Beorae attemps to find some slack in the bonds and tries to step back.
She shakes the vines off and moves back a few feet, trying to reassess their situation.
As the Assassin Vine inches closer, Shark attempts to wriggle out of the vines clutching at him.
The tiger finds no trouble in shaking free of the fetters and quickly moves away from the large plant.
Unable to hold back the fury within, Mot rips his greatsword from his back and a few long strides closes the distance to the hungry vines. He raises the heavy blade high over his head and brings down a ferocious chop.
While the assassin vine’s method of hunting is particularly devious, Nme’an finds no conscience for evil to take root. Themp’s arrow shoots a little too high and misses the plant. Beorae is able to escape the entangling plants with little difficulty, but the writhing tangle of green lashes out at Shark as he retreats.
Unconcerned with his own safety, the highlander wades through the teeming jungle plants and cleaves the thick tangle of vines in half. Right away, the twitching of the surrounding vines diminish until they are still, and the grasses, branches, and roots recede and are once again docile.
As the Urlghain warrior catches his breath, peace returns to the dense, wet forest. Olp pushes himself up, brushes the dirt off his chest, and retrieves his longspear. Moving around the edge of the quagmire, the travelers look closer at the bones on the far side. Scattered by the creatures of the forest, or perhaps the assassin vine, it is still plain by the size and shape of the skull that these bones once supported a human. Searching these remains turn up little of value, though they lend some insight to the departed: two phials of antitoxin, a partially submerged shaving kit, and a string of wooden prayer beads that end with a miniature holy symbol of Sarenrae.
As they look over the area, the Thaleniel champions notice something else right way. Large footprints, the size of a man’s torso, trample over the soft ground near the bones.
These are the unmistakable footprints of an adult dragon. By the webbing between the digits, a black dragon makes the most sense, given the terrain. Black dragons make their lairs in swamps and bogs, and issue forth acid from their mouths. Once they reach adulthood, dragons are especially terrifying to behold, and possess magical abilities in addition to their sharp claws and teeth and sweeping tail. Black dragons can befoul the water around them, and accounts say that this manipulation of fluid extends to potions nearby. While capable of flight, black dragons prefer to swim or walk through their marshy homes, taking inexplicable delight in causing destruction for the sake of destroying things. Among the other types of dragons, black dragons are the most difficult to reason with. Like other dragons, they are compulsive hoarders of treasure. It is not much of a stretch to suspect that a black dragon found something (or somethings) of value among the bones and helped himself.
Even though these tracks are twelve days old, they can be followed easy enough. After padding through the area for a bit, the big, clawed footprints travel in a southeasterly direction. The soft ground also gives evidence of a long tail among the footprints suggesting a large, reptilian creature.
“Those, are, uh, black dragon footprints. An adult, I think. Looks like they head back to the south-east.”
Nme'an snaps free of any remaining vines and carefully moves to inspect the human remains.
"Another of the Prince's men? A cleric perhaps?" he muses aloud. "In any case, he should be properly buried." Somberly, he pulls the shaving kit free of the muck and checks it for any inscription or markings.
Noticing Shark's injured limp, Nme'an again channels healing energy in order to restore some vitality to the tiger and ease any lingering pain Olp might be in.
Mot's chest heaves as his eyes blink back the red tinge. Vision clearing he sees the damage wrought by his rage-fueled blade. With a disgruntled sigh he straps his sword to his back and ties off the leather sling before stooping to examine the tracks Beorae found. "Drahgoon?" His eyes scrunch up in consternation. "Dinnae thay fly?" He runs a scarred palm across the deep foot print.
"Why es et whalking?"
"Perhaps it could have been injured," Nme'an suggests.
Themp lets out a hearty laugh.
"Hah! 'Dragons'. Dragons are dead, aren't they? All we have now are big lizards."
"...Right?" As he notices the look on everyone else's face, a bit of an edge creeps into his voice.
Olp thanks Nme'an for the healing. The knight apprentice finds no further clues about the deceased in the shaving kit. The kobold studies the large dragon tracks with interest, though he keeps his thoughts to himself regarding the great beast. That is, until Themp says something about dead dragons, to which he looks up at the thief with a glare.
"Hefhah jul! Not I dead, look to you?" Olp springs to his feet, looking around to the others, "Even most great of dragonkind see The King of Fire one time in one lifetime. Stories told remind of fear, of power..." He levels his gaze back to Themp, using a gravely serious tone. "Pray you not meet a dragon, tall man. Even black. Not dead. Very not dead."
"Idiot man!"
When the paladin begins to dig a grave for the man, Olp helps him.
“I think we should continue North, but we should be under the assumption that the dragon may follow us.”
The druidess calls Shark to her side and she inspects the tiger's wounds. Knowing that they're running short on healing spells, she does what she can for her companion.
Mot shrugs at Themps question and Olps outburst. "Theers loots oof thengs ah've nevar seen befoor. Dinnae mean tha doon't exist." Rolling his shoulders he tries to work out some of the soreness as he checks the bandages on his wounds.
At Beoraes words he says; "Noorth es good fer mae." A wistful look takes his face. "Thoo a drahgoon... THA woould maek fer ae soong!"
"So, we have the 'guarantee' of a dragon that way or the other way towards whatever made the Prince's Guard not come back..."
"Might as well keep on doing what we already were. North it is for me."
North sounds about right, but it might be because Beorae said it.
The knight and the kobold work the earth until a suitable grave is dug. After the bones are buried and words are spoken, the champions of Thaleniel and Olp continue on their northeast trek.
As they travel, the ground gradually feels firmer and firmer underfoot, and the men, half-elves, tiger, and kobold leave the soft muddy terrain behind. Passing through thick vegetation, the sounds of wild creatures are never far. Even with a few conscientious detours to avoid more assassin vines and other natural hazards, Beorae is still able to keep her companions on course.
After about an hour of travel, the six see an area ahead with fewer trees, a sort of small clearing. Some of the underbrush on the far side of the clearing begins to shift and shake, until the travelers realize that the greens and browns that move are in fact heads of wild hair. The owners of these heads, numbering four, appear to be gnomes. They are dressed in simple, close-fitting furs dyed green to resemble moss, and each of them carries a wooden walking stick. Two of the gnome band are male, the others female, and all of them frown suspiciously at the six.
One of the lady gnomes shouts before the Thaleniel champions can even reach the clearing. “That’s close enough, kobold-friends!” Her tone, along with the aggressive posture of all four, suggest that they are prepared and willing to fight, despite their lack of armor or steel.
"Kobohld frends?! HAH!" Mot stands to his full height and strikes a fist against his chest. "Yool fahnd nae Kobohld frends here!" He squints down at the little people and casts about, as if looking for something.
"Naow, wheer aer yoor parents, ya wee litel childrehn?" The big snaggle-tooth grin belies the joke in his voice, though his general demeanor makes it difficult to tell if the Highlander is serious or not...
"Please, may we talk?" Nme'an calls after giving Mot a sideways glance. "We are companions from the Kingdom of Vyren to the south. We have come seeking the whereabouts of a party that went before us."
Nme'an takes a single step forward with both his hands clearly showing and says, "My name is Nme'an. May I have yours?"
The speaker squints as she listens to the paladin’s account, and the aggression in her posture diminishes, though she and those around her are still wary. Then she suddenly seems taken aback by Nme’an’s request. “No! You may not have my name! Not unless I can have yours, Nmmmean!”
The other three gnomes grimace distastefully, muttering attempts at variations of the knight apprentice’s name. “Nimnim?” “Knee-man?” “Nmmm…?” They all shake their heads and seem to agree that the speaker should not take any form of the stranger’s name. The speaker mumbles something in an unfamiliar language which raises a ripple of laughter from the other three.
She steps forward. “We are not children. Today we are the Ekki’Ekki’Ptang!” The gnome points her walking stick at Olp. “You are not kobold friends? There is one right there.”
Looking over the garb of the champions of Thaleniel, she adds, “They were loud enough for us to avoid them. Your friends are not in the jungle. Well, some are. But they are not friends anymore…”
Choosing not to disrupt the knight's attempt at conversation (while holding back, not quite successfully, a humorous smirk at the tiny creature's attempt at speaking his name), Themp stands still, eyes and ears open for any and everything.
"This Kobold is Olp, and he is our friend. He helped us when so many of the others only wanted us dead," Nme'an explains. "As for those we are looking for, can you be any help to us? Even simply explaining what happened to them or pointing us in their direction would be helpful."
Beorae stands back, letting Nme'an do his best with discussion. “What does she mean, ‘Not friends anymore...’?” she whispers to Themp.
Beorae notices a collective sadness weigh on the gnomes when the speaker mentions that the (assumed) knights “are not friends anymore”. In light of their avoidance of the Order of the Dawnflower, the druidess wonders if whatever made the preceding knights unfriendly might also negatively affect the Ekki’Ekki’Ptang in some way.
“Birds live in nests. Fish swim in rivers and lakes. Aye-yurn wearers live in tall stone,” she gestures to Nme’an and his armor. The apparent leader inclines her head in a northeasterly direction, and she is visibly uncomfortable. “Many things happened to them. Some ...changed here. The rest went to the lake, to the tall stone, but met the monsters. The monsters are still there.”
At the mention of “monsters”, every gnome eye turns up at Mot. But the awkward moment is quickly interrupted when one of the male gnomes suddenly tenses, on edge. His big head of hair exaggerates his movements as he turns and peers at the edge of the clearing behind him. His companions notice his change in stance and follow suit, though his sudden paranoia is a bit odd when nothing about the environment seems changed. Birds are calling, the bugs are clicking and chirping, and even the silence of trees add to the natural soundscape. The speaker turns untrusting eyes again to the Thaleniel champions as the four huddle in close and watch all around them.
The watchfulness of the thief and druidess pay off, and their ears pinpoint the source of the sound. Short, thin and green, a small humanoid crouches with tendrils of fungus dangling from its arms, legs and midsection, blending almost perfectly with the thick vegetation of the rainforest, and carries a spear in one hand. Brief movement draws Themp’s and Beorae’s attention to another one of these plant people, also hiding in the underbrush.
The first creature creeps closer to the first gnome on alert , and the second they see at the base of a tall tree not far from the other.
The highlander spots a short green plant-man with a spear near some of the trees behind the gnomes. It looks like it is sneaking up on the wee lads and lassies!
These sneaking plant-folk are known as the Vegepygmy. They are created by a dangerous fungus called russet mold . The mold infects a living creature until the infection kills the host, after which the body incubates the spores. After twenty-four hours, a handful of vegepygmy claw their way out, often forming crude weapons from the grisly remains. Accounts claim that blunt or slicing weapons work best against them in combat.
Vegepygmy maintain tight-knit tribes that fiercely guard their patches of russet mold. They bear no relation to the body they came from, though they strangely retain a sort of reverence for their “birth corpse”. Vegepygmy cannot speak, but they communicate with rhythmic taps, clicks, and beats, and will often employ stealth while hunting in groups. These tribes are led by a chieftain, though how one particular vegepygmy assumes leadership is not known.
"Is something dangerous near?" Nme'an asks.
"By the smithy's beard, what are those?!" exclaims Themp, bewildered by the rotten appearance of the tiny green people sneaking up on the gnomes.
Mot's hackles rise as he spots the little fungusy creature. By instinct his sword is in his hands as the Highlander glares at the unknown entity.
"Frend oof yoors? Ore anoother wee moonstar?"
“What happened to the knights who came before us? And who are these?” Beorae asks, indicating the new creatures. “We only wish safe passage through to the tower at the lake, and we would be grateful for any help you might be able to give us.”
The gnomes crouch into defensive stances. “Yes!” snaps the leader in a hushed tone, “Quiet! Go away, don’t-knowers!”
The sighted plant-people amble out of the underbrush, and answer Nme’an’s question by lobbing two spears at the cluster of gnomes. Both stick into the ground, falling short of their targets. Suddenly, a handful fungus-folk emerge from the foliage and close in on the band of gnomes.
At first, it seems as though the four gnomes can hold their own, wielding their wooden walking sticks with surprising proficiency. While they may not wear armor to protect against spearheads and claws, the forest gnomes seem to almost anticipate the attacks and capably dodge them. That is, for the most part. Very quickly, the gnomes find themselves outnumbered two to one, and their victory is uncertain as these bizarre, walking fungi draw gnomish blood.
Just then, one of the spear throwing plant-people begins clicking and tapping a strange rhythm, and four more of its kind climb out of their hiding places! While none of the Thaleniel champions are hidden, the fungus-folk pay them little heed.
With the roar "CASNS!" Mot hurls himself into the fray, long legs eating the distance between him and foe.
Too far out to do much good, Nme'an say a prayer asking for then rushes towards the ongoing battle.