As Aden talk Rosa nods, Her anger had got the better of her and she was now angry at herself for this. Discipline was her mantra but she had acted out of a blood lust long repressed, Aden was only saying what she had been saying to her self for a few hours now. She locked her self-control into place. She nodded as he talked.
When Aukan the Goliath dose not move from sleep, she walks over and reaching down shakes him awake.
Then as they get to the hill she stands and waits studding.
She just looks waiting to see what the others do.
As everyone is mounting (or rise up to flap-flap) the crab sitting atop Old Snowbeard walking cane scuttles down.
A blink of an eye later, it grows in size until it is the size of a horse - or maybe a little bit larger.
Old Snowbeard stands firmly atop it's shelled back and points an old finger in the direction the kobold was rushing off to.
The crab hurries off, fast as any horse - despite its strange sidewalk.
Half a day into their travel, they stop before a strange sight indeed.
"Narll, the giant is talkin' with a skelet afoot the tree. Trees aint talk.
Unless they do. You'r in trouble if they do. Or yer an elf. You know, maybe they do talk with the tree...
See those apples a' pear. Something is not right with them. Fruits aint shimmer like gems in the sun, yarll?
And those linnorms up there ... There are more than three of'em.
Maybe a full nest hidden in the clouds or something."
She gets up with the help of the Desnian cleric likely. Once up she takes a few trying steps and shakes her head. With a few arcane words she conjures a floating disc and sits upon it. Then she conjures a mount and tethers the disc to the mount. "Davian if you can ride you can take the mount, otherwise I am sure Matt will ride it again."
Î cân rîde, jușț noţ well", admits the varisian. "Î șhăll ţâke țhe mounţ. Ţhănk you, Olîvîrâ."
Another half day of travel and the group comes upon a strange sight indeed, a giant of some kind sitting on the top of one of the hills next to a tall dead tree that still gives enough cover for the undead skeleton in armor to be in shade. Who appear to be conversing.
Looking at the strange skeletal figure before him, Aden cocks his head, "Perhaps I am half mad, but does that skeleton look like its conversing with the tree?"
"No. Î șee țhem ţoo, Șîr Pâlâdîn. Jușț anoțher peculâr sîghț țo șee on our lîțțle journey șo fâr. Vârîşîâ wăs never ţhîş şțrânge."
When Alagon notices something up ahead he flies down to Serill and wishing to have a look for himself at the strange thick mist hops on Alagon's back. They fly up and get a good view from the air.
As the others look, Rosa heffs off her black blade, and slings it into the air, in a moment its go gone from site.
Her blade will go Invis and teleport over the tree and giant, taking a look around and the teleport back.
Perception
Stealth
Then the its back in Rosa hand, she nods her head as if listing to something.
Besides that, he may perhaps be one of the finest male specimens you have ever seen. He is fit beyond reason, without an ounce of fat, and tightly corded groups of muscle standing out only against other ropes of tightly corded muscle. His proportions are just perfect; like a sculpture's vision. His teeth are straight and shining white, his smile engaging, his jaw strong, and his eyes a bottomless clear blue.
Besides the plain and unadorned homespun, he wears a few pieces of finely crafted magic, most relatively common, like the belt of strength across his waist, and a band of... charisma on his brow? Unusual choice for a giant. Besides that, he has only a ring on each hand, and a few small pouches on his belt. He has no weapons on him or nearby; not so much as a stout club. His feet are bare, and while clean and well tended, they have the calluses of someone accustomed to going barefoot.
You catch only a portion of the conversation with the skeleton, but they are speaking in Draconic, which fortunately the sword understands. Accents on both parts indicate it is likely not the native language of either, but both seem to have a good grasp of the tongue. While hard to judge when entering in the middle, the conversation seems to be about some of the ancient writers in martial philosophy. They are debating the finer points of one philosopher's viewpoint vs. another's, and the place of honour or chivalry on a battlefield as opposed to personal combat, and whether the same rules should still apply. The only other snippet caught during the brief observation is one of them remarking on the shadows, and how much longer they will have to wait before their is adequate shade for the skeleton. The why is not brought up.
|
Lidras stood calmly while watching the scene. ”I love this place, wherever we are. So much power in the air! Can you feel it? It is like this tomb is a lodestone for it! Why, perhaps that is exactly what is happening.” The pale winged elf smiled. ”I theorize that we are not meant to succeed, but rather are a sacrifice. Whatever is within most likely seeks to feed and grow off of us. I can barely contain my excitement.” He stretched his arms and wings. ”If any of us survive this we will truly prosper.”
Dacian looks at the elf kineticist sideways. "Yeș. Țhăț îș one wăy of lookîng ăț țhe sîțuățîon, Î șuppoșe."
Rosa fails to wake the shrinking sleeping giant. Rosa notes that the lizard did not get into her belt and thus has nothing of hers.
Rosa picks up Aukan the Goliath and slings him over she shoulder, and just carried him with them.
As her sword comes back she places the sleeping Aukan the Goliath on the ground.
With the she jumps into the air and her dark shadow like wings spring out of her back as she flies to the odd couple under the tree. If not molested Rosa comes done and lands next to the them.
Standing her 16' foot tall she looks down at them and asks.
The giant raises an eyebrow and looks askance at the skeleton, as if to say, 'Friend of yours?'
When the skeleton shakes his head, the Ogre climbs slowly to his feet to turns to meet the newcomer.
He gives her a quick assessment, warrior to warrior, followed by a slower one, from a man to a woman. After the third time he has looked her over, foot to head, he responds.
"Well aren't you polite for a... She-Devil? Are you one of the threats of this region that were used to entice me here? If you are wishing to try yourself against me, I'm afraid you'll have to wait your turn. This is the spirit of the Great Ptolemizreon. He has challenged me to single combat, and I have agreed. If you were hoping to challenge him, I am afraid you are too late, for he would have to defeat me first. No disrespect to your memory, Ptolemizrė, but I have no intention losing."
Addressing the newcomer again, he says, "Oh, where are my manners? I am the Ogre, Niche."
She had spoken in Dreconic, something she had not spoken in a while she she was relived one understood her.
The as he looks at her so Rosa looks at him. Seeing the brash confidence and manner in which he moved. He had already given her some information. He too like them was not of this place. Interesting, could it be that everything here was not of this place. She had meet a beast once the held a whole world in its belly. She smiled, this Ogre hand honor and so was lawful.
Kn(Arcana)(Int)
Kn(Dungeoneering)(Int)
Kn(Engineering)(Int)
Kn(Geography)(Int)
Kn(History)(Int)
Kn(Local)(Int)
Kn(Nature)(Int)
Kn(Nobility)(Int)
Kn(Planes)(Int)+
Kno(Religion)(Int)
she went to the tree and sat, taking out a small cigar, she lit it with her finder and then started to smoke as she looked on.
"A monk?" he said, mild exasperation and amusement in his tone. He then spoke again, this time perhaps with a bit of agreement, "I guess so, after a fashion at least. I have taken no vows, but I live with those that had, and learned something of patience and tenacity from them. Ptolemizreon and I were just having a talk while we waited. Neither his kind nor mine have any precise problem with daylight, but this is to be a fair duel, and neither wants the other at anything but his best. How else could such a contest be said to be fairly won? If you would like to wait, please, join us."
He indicates a vacant spot near himself and the skeletal warlord.
As Rosa placed her cigar in her mouth then reached out her hand into which appeared a large black blade. She held the pummel to her lips and whispered.
"Go tell the others it is safe to come"
Then the blade was gone.
----------------------------
It came into being in-front of the others sticking into the ground, black flames washed over it as words came from it into the mind.
"My Mistress says it is safe to come"
The Blade waits to see what the companions of his mistress chose to do. do.
----------------------------
Once her blade was gone, Rosa reached into her bag and brought out a flask. She uncorked it and took a wig from its contents. A small bit of flame come from her mouth as she plugs it once more.
She let out some smoke.
"A whole band, hmm? Are they all..." he makes a general wave gesturing to the whole of Rosa's presentation, "As tall as you?" he finishes.
"A referee is only required were betrayal is expected. However, I wouldn't necessarily have an objection if it was something Ptolemizreon desired. Devils are generally seen to be a bit fanatical when it comes to rules. Of course, it would be no violation of the rules to wait until the victor alone remained, but presumably wounded and weak, only to take advantage by slaying him then. I think I would have to have a peace bond, say 24 hours, between the victor and you and all those of your band, or brought hither by your direction."
Still up in the air, Serill talks to Alagon, "A guardian and an ogre, but they aren't fighting, just talking. And the wyverns are leaving them alone." He looks down, considering telling the others but Rosa is already on her way over... With the sleeping goliath on her back? How is he still asleep? Then she leaves him a bit away with her sword.
He had never seen a sublime creature, only read about it in an old scroll detailing several rare types of creatures. As far as he knew, no creature was born sublime. Which meant that this ogre had been on an interesting journey and the fact he had achieved this, transformation? seemed a good clue that it might be less prone to violence than usual, though getting closer the ogre's strength showed, telling Serill that he was very capable of violence if he wanted. Alagon flew closer to get a closer look at the fog.
I think I would have to have a peace bond, say 24 hours, between the victor and you and all those of your band, or brought hither by your direction."[/b]
She stood back up dropping her cigar and crushing it under her foot.
She looked up seeing Serill Elamaer overhead, then at the two of them.
Still thinking about the drakes overhead, Old Snowbeard's strange mount starts to shrink and finally, after returning to its small shape, returns to the top of his walking cane. As the dwarf trots over, he mutters under his breath.
Another voice in my head?
Oh, that's just lovely.
Maybe the devil sword and the strangler will become will become best friends.
Wouldnt that be amazing...
All that mind talk happening in my head ...
I can't wait for it...
Having approached the two far larger individuals rather unnoticed, the diminutive knight steps from behind the hell-spawned giantess with a smirk on his face, "By the stars, Lady Rosa. Are you making a promise of safety and trusting that your companions will respect it? Seems an interesting twist of circumstances. Was that not the very thing I offered only recently to another traveler in these lands... I wonder, have all followers of Asmodeus become so fickle as of late?" Though Aden is clearly poking fun at the situation, he does so with an immensely honest smile that carries not wrath in it.
Reaching up to the as-yet-to-be-acquainted, Aden extends a hand. "Swordbrother Adegard Underhill... I am one of those paladins the lady can identify on sight. My apologies for delaying my greeting with such jests, it is a rare chance when you can give an agent of Hell a spot of trouble for loosing their composure. Do tell me, is your... companion-" he gestures towards the skeleton, "of some unique less-than-horrific nature, or do you tend to keep the company of the undead?"
Ptolemizreon nods in agreement and simply agreeing with a croaky voice, "I welcome a referee. Peace bond for my opponent."
Serill getting closer to the fog does not help learn what is within.
The lizard comes zipping up with Raden on his back. Stopping next to old Snowbeard he looks up and says, "Ohhh, if only you knew. Talking sword, talking beard, talking lizard, talking mind thing, yup all sorts!"
He walks forward with no regrets into the fog. Then you hear some slashes and metal ringing on bone. He runs back out of the fog but a second later is snagged by a large bone claw nearly double in length than him and it skewers into his chest. He gags and gasps in pain but the attack did in his ability to make much vocalization. Blood bursts from the wound and he is quickly pulled back into the fog.
She looks around and tells those still near, mostly Davian, "No worries Matthew will be back soon enough. He might try to kill it before he comes back to us. So it may take a while. Though I would stay out of the fog until he comes out at least."
He continues to sleep. Soundly snoring and continuing to shrink where Rosa left him.
The giant studies the curious little fellow that has just entered the glade, behind a 16 foot towering she-devil. He takes in all the details of his armour, and his tabard, and the sigils thereon.
"Greetings Hallowed Shield-bearer. Do Heaven-born now sally forth with Hell-spawn? Have the end times come then? Tell me, is your companion some breed of kind and caring devil, of do you regularly keep the company of the Infernal?"
The giant leaves the witticism in the air for a moment, and then barks a laugh.
"HAH! I jest; though I've not yet had the chance to best a Paladin, but if you are willing to accept the peace bond, so shall I, and that contest will have to await another day!"
He watches as the rest of the group arrives, looking from the Desnian, to the sleeping Goliath, to the lizard, the pale and winged elf, the woman upon a Unicorn, and last the decrepit dwarf.
He smiles, some merry bewilderment in his eye, "This is perhaps the strangest assortment of fellows I think I have ever laid eyes on. Perhaps my invitation was not just dross, and grander forces are at work upon this land after all..."
"Peace to you all. I am the Ogre, Niche!" He smiles a bright and cheery smile, and gives a formal bow. It is not a courtly bow, but more akin to the formality of the Jade Empire, hands by his sides, but eyes always towards his opposites. "My companion there names himself Ptolemizreon, the Great; conqueror and king by his own hand in a long and bygone era. He tells me he was betrayed and slain, while travelling under a promise of safe passage, to pay homage to the god of his father. To hear him say it, and I doubt it not, he has not left this glade in all that time, but rather is bound to stand guard here until bested in a trial of honour."
"That is how you come upon us. We were waiting for the high sun to pass, and the shadow of the canopy to cover this clearing again. I have agreed to meet his challenge. As I was telling your Infernal companion, if it is to be a trial of honour, I would rather any challenger at nothing but his best. We've been passing the time in conversation. He's surprisingly well read, even if he has not kept abreast of the newest thought in philosophy."
In response to all this, the Skeletal Warlord Ptolemizreon just nods. Once.
Looking up and around himself, Niche sees that the last rays of sunlight have disappeared from the glade, though the trees above are still bright and airy.
The flat, hollow voice of Ptolemizreon speaks, using a subtly accented dialect of Draconic, "I am ready. Enter this challenge alone. Enter without preparation or blessing, even from thine own hand. Fight with only thine own power, and not the trickery of potions and wands. The tools of your trade are accepted, as is the power of my blade, for a warrior chooses his craft with care. The hand of treachery will gain you nothing here; only by valorous combat may my final rest be found. Only thus can you prove yourself worthy, and thus end my burden and claim your prize."
He turns and addresses the others gathered in the shade, "Should I fall through deceit, nothing shall you reap. Seek me on the morrow, for another day shall I be bound, and only through my rest, the treasures found."
"If wanting, this challenger be, may the next prove worthy."
Niche looks from Ptolemizreon to the gathered spectators. He then shrugs and moves to a position about 20 ft from the Undead Warlord. He rolls his head on his neck, and stretches his shoulders, before settling into an unarmed fighting stance. Those familiar with monks would recognize it as a posture from the Dragon Style. Ptolemizreon brings his blade up to one side, gripped two handed, and extended perpendicular to his body but level with the ground in an old guard known as the Iron Gate
Niche glances at Rosa, "Maddam? On your word."
When the lady has satisfied herself that neither party bears enchantments that violate the rules, and gives the word, the fight begins in earnest.
The Ogre, Niche, leaps forward, his leg extending out in a powerful kick. However, whether due to sitting so long, or the soft, wet grass, his launch is clumsy, and the kick pulls up well short of the Warlord. The warlord counters quickly, moving to the inside of the giant's longer reach, shifting from the Iron Gate to the downward strike of the Boar's Tooth, and then swiftly back up, intending to strike with his blade's sharp back edge, and ending in a stance called the Crown. The first strike was obvious, allowing the Ogre to sidestep easily, but the second strike was closer, coming within inches of the taller man's chin.
The skeleton pressed the attack, moving with eerie swiftness, and in total silence, the breaths and exhalations that would normally accompany such strikes jarring in their absence. He moved to the Two-Horned guard, trying to slash the giant across the middle, then again attacking skillfully with his false edge, ending in the same stance on the other side. The Ogre slid his feet to take him just out of reach of the blade's first strike, and dropping below the second with a spinning kick aimed at the Warlord's legs. The Warlord dropped the tip of his blade, shifting his weight effortlessly onto his back foot, catching the attack on his blade with a stance called the Long Tail. The ogre recovered his balance with unnerving speed however, and almost as it pushing himself off against the blade, struck the Warlord's chest with an extended knee. Bones cracked in the Skeleton's chest, the dry snapping seemingly at odds with the warrior's graceful moves.
Seemingly unbothered by the injury, the Warlord swept his blade upwards in a sweeping strike, ending in the Window. The ogre sidestepped neatly, but this time the Undead swordsman had anticipated the move, and struck forward with a lunge. The tip of the blade sank deep into the ogre's chest. However, what might have been a strike for the heart was tempered just slightly by a subtle move of the ogre at the last moment, instead leaving him with a deep, but far less fatal wound.
The ogre grunted as the blade pierced his chest, but reacted quickly, knocking the blade free with a hand while sweeping at the skeleton's front leg with his own. As before, the skeleton blocked the maneuver with the Tail, but just as he'd predicted the Ogre's move, so too did the ogre anticipate his. While his blade was low, the ogre struck out with a vicious punch, hitting the Warlord in the face. The skull of the thing rocked back with shattering force, a spray of teeth and fragments of bone tearing loose.
As his head snapped back forward, his blade coming up to guard, the ogre threw a quick, snapping kick at the swordman's middle, which was blocked by the blade, but then he hopped into the air, spinning halfway, and striking out with a long leg, over the blade. The giant's heel connected solidly with the skeleton's breast, and the creature flew backwards a dozen feet, slamming to a halt against the trunk of his tree.
His rib cage was caved in, and his arms hung loosely, his collar bones no longer attached, and his arms seemingly useless.
The Warlord looked up at the tree and its odd fruits, then back at his opponent. Again, he just nodded, once.
At that the bones of the creature fell to dust, as though 18 centuries were added to its toll in a single moment. Seconds later, there was nothing left.
Round 1:
*************************************************
Round 2:
*************************************************
Round 3:
*************************************************
Round 4:
*************************************************
As they waited Rosa studded Aukan the Goliath,
Will take 10 on all skills for
10+8+4 =22
What is wrong with him
Rosa waits and when they are ready, holds out her hand and her blade is back in her grip. She then says simply
At the end of the fight, as the Skeletal warrior fades away to dust, Niche drops to his knees, and gives his fallen opponent a formal bow. He rests his two fists on the ground before him, and bends low, his face nearly touching the grass.
The wound in his chest seems to be giving him no major concerns, and while the side of his tunic has become thick with blood, the bleeding seems to have stopped for now.
Standing up, he approaches the dead tree. He scoops up the warlord's sword in his hand. Though a greatsword in form, it looks almost like an arming sword when sized for the giant. He looks it over reverently before setting it upright in the earth. Glancing an eye upwards towards the wyverns circling overhead, he reaches up to the fruits, and plucks them from the branches, one at a time.
If nothing surprising happens, he'll sit down under the tree to examine them, the blade standing upright in the grass beside him.
Rosa got over and walked to the monk, She took out her healing kit from a magic pouch in her belt.
Setting down next to the monk she opens it up and places her hands on the side of the monk.
She examines his wounds
Niche sits still while the devil woman leans in to examine the wound on his chest. While he knows it is completely unnecessary, he allows it for reasons of his own.
By the time Rosa has her healing kit ready, and starts cleaning away the blood in order to see the wound, she discovers nothing there, not even a scar.
Rosa ether did not see or did not care that Niche was trying to she down her dress.
She leaned back and packed away her healing kit. Then she stood.
Was all she said stood there looking down at him.
She the looked off to where they were heading.
"Do I know the tomb? No. But something stirs in the air around here. You can feel it. I came because of this," he reaches into the pouch on his belt, and withdraws a letter. It is the thick and formal type, made on velum of the highest quality. There is a slightly scent of incense to it. He hands it to Rosa, if she'd like to read it, and merely waits for her to finish. It is written in a fine hand, using draconic script.
To the esteemed Niche, also called Niche the Immortal, Ogre of Kodar, Champion of 崙山;
I have been made aware of your presence in the region, and I have since taken a personal interest in your exploits. It has come to my attention that you recently emerged from 崙山 alive, and whole; the first to do so in centuries. It is said you seek challenges worthy of your skills, and like your brothers of old, seek to achieve oneness by mastery of your faults, and seek the adversaries necessary to find them. As an admirer, I offer you this advice; upon the map enclosed, you will find depicted an area overwhelmed with unnatural forces; a place where the walls between worlds seem to draw thin. I have no doubt that in this place you would find all you need to gain the knowledge you wish of yourself, should you survive the challenge. Other would-be champions have answered the call to explore, to surmount this challenge, or to defend this realm, but none has of yet proven equal to the task. Should you survive, please call on me. I would reward handsomely anything that could be learned of these tidings.
Bitten Valor
Prime Wizard of Brighton
She pulls her own letter out and hands it to him. Its very much along the same lines.
To the Hound of Hell, Rosa Luminasss, force Commander and tribune Absolute;
I have been made aware of your presence in the region, and I have since taken a personal interest in your exploits. It has come to my attention that you recently emerged Banished the Demon Lord Affggreeffullon, in his temple deep. Slaying he twisted guard and a Chaos worms warband, Doing so over a millennia, in relentless attacks. As a reprecentive of the Hell's, I would talk with you, enclosed is an invitation to an event I am throwing. Be come if able.
Your
Bitten Valor
Prime Wizard of Brighton
She waves the letter at the others.
and hands around the letter.
"One of you, am I?" He takes a look at Rosa's invitation. "What language is this? Infernal? I'm afraid I don't know it. Handwriting looks the same though." He flicks the vellum with a finger, and gives it a sniff. "Stationary is the same as well."
He hands the letter back to the she-devil.
"This Valor is what? Collecting curious individuals within one region? Is that the cause of your... shall we say diverse group?"
Rosa's with a slight grin on her face says in response to his comment.
She said this with a hint of irony. Then added with a side ways glance.
”And Matthew is who, again? A wayward soul bound to you, perhaps? You sound familiar towards him, sure of his eventual safety, and unconcerned with his pain.”
”Honestly, I don’t know. A fighter that can ressurect within minutes, he came with the first group. Ha! Elf do you have wax in your ears?! You could say he is a good pawn. He is of no concern to me.” She then shakes her head.
—-
With Matthew getting to her this time she quickly casts a spell and his armor quickly memds, then another and his weapon loses its chips and cracks.
You would have a necklace and bracers that were delivered with the letter.
As Niche puts the blade into the ground it would grow in size to a large weapon and grow emeralds from the base of the hilt and on the crosspiece.
The wyverns continue to fly about far overhead seeming to still not take any interest in the group.
From the fog some more hacks of metal on bone have been heard and before those a sound of buzzing or the start of fire through long dry grass. It takes about 7 times before he emerges running. He gets to Olivira and any still on this side of the fog.
He just drops to his knees placing his sword in the ground waiting for something.
—-
Once his equipment is mended he stands and charges into the fog once more but being more tactical about it. Then a loud blast can be heard from the fog. The fog dissperses as Matthew is crouched over a pile of bones, electricity roiling off of him as it finishes dispersing. Replacing his greatsword on his back he then pulls off his warhammer from his side and smashes a demonic skull about half of his size. Red sand seems to break out of the skull. He then walks up the hill to Niche and puts out his open hand palm up to the giant.
If he was advised to take only one, he will do so, and leave the other two fruits in place.
He holds the apple in his hand, reflecting on it for a time, then eats it, sparing nothing, but eating the core, seeds, and all.
Green cleric? Could be as obvious as a cleric with green skin, but more likely a matter of domains. Erastil perhaps, or a druid? Neither of those are typically trained with a greatsword though... Who's the one that uses it? Goram?
When the odd little man comes up after facing the creature in the mist, Niche quirks an eyebrow at him. "You're not by chance a 'Green Cleric,' are you?"
If it is one of the fruits hes after, Niche directs the man's gaze up the tree to where the other two still hang.
Rosa stand and walks over to the tree,
"Which one do you want, Matthew?"
As she touched them she will gain some knowledge of what they are.
She places a hand on each of the reaming fruits, but dose not pluck them yet
Davian looks on as the events unfold standing next to Olivira, perplexed.
For the first time Old Snowbeard really felt like a dwarf.
All those giant people around ... and they are getting more by the minute!
"Yarll, ye big one ...
Ye can call me Old Snowbeard ...
That was some good kickin' ya showed there.
But do ya know what's up with those fruits?
We all eat from them now?
There's lots of walking left and walking with full stomach is slow."
Turning to Matthew: "Ye dooin' good?"
Serill watches Matthew go into the fog, battling some skeletal beast. He calls Raden to fly to him and imbues Raden with a spell, Protection from Evil. He speaks a few words in a strange language and the little Pseudosphinx flies down and waits. When Matthew comes out to have his gear mended, Raden's monkey head licks him, transferring the spell into Matthew. A small aid, Serill thinks. Once the fog clears, Serill waits to see what the Wyverns do next...
"He be the only one who came back out of the tomb, yarll!
All other that went together with him are probably thoroughly dead, pour souls may Desna take them.
Pretty-Olivia a me a my beard stayed outside to guard the camp as thy fools went ahead.
Unprepared bunch of overconfident small-frys if ye ask me.
Well, all but Matthew it seems. He be the odd one in the group."
Niche smiles at the ancient crippled dwarf, looking him up and down.
"Is the 'Old' bit optional, or is it part of the name? Either way, it is nice to meet you, Old Snowbeard. The fruits? Defeat the champion, eat a fruit. Eat one without defeating the champion first? I'm told that's what the fellow that creature in the mist used to be did, and how he came to be the way he was. At least, that's what Ptolemizreon said. There were three fruits. Ptolemizreon, the mist monster..." he looks around in an exaggerated fashion, before slowly turning his eyes upwards. "I know nothing for certain, but could be why those critters aren't moving away. Perhaps they are tied to the place in some way. Seems like this tree collects its own guardians. 'Miz wasn't born here, obviously. The fellow that became the mist monster wasn't either. Maybe they tried to snatch some fruit and got snared up in the power. Maybe that's how the tree decides how many fruits to grow. When it snags its next guardian, it'll regrow two fruits; one to replace the one stolen, and another for the new guardian to guard."
He looks up at Rosa, her hand extended up to the branches of the tree, "Don't know that I'd be doing that if I were you. I don't know if you have to eat the fruit, or if just taking it unearned is enough to enact the curse. Personally, I'd let the little scrapper pick his own apple."
"Oh, and by the way," he pulls a distinctive leather bracer from his pouch at his waist. It is sized for an ogre, but otherwise the same as those the party received at the outset from Valor's manor.
"This a question, Mr. Niche.
People just call me like that.
Ya can let it go if the name is too long fer yer long tongue."
At the explanation of the tree.
"Told ya, yer getting in trouble with magick-trees.
They just aint like earnest mudfeet, walking around minding their own braids a stuff."