Vrindel pulls 3 small pebbles from his pocket, shakes them like dice, blows on and mumbles a small chant. He then throws one at the creature.
Magic Stone
Sticky Stone
But he obviously needs to practice this new spell, as the stone almost hits his own toes.
The cheery gnome pats down the flames that flicker on his cloak. "Sorry about that." He says to no one in particular.
Pointing at the crab again, he says in a stern voice. "Ibrox."
Finnigan's bolt sinks into the deep crack in the crabs shell, causing more internal damage to the creature. The ranger tries to strike directly at the big crab's eye, but his blade slides off of the hard shell near the creatures face at the last second.
Vrindel's magical stones both simply bounce off of the hard shell doing no damage to the creature at all, but that is followed by a nasty blast from Ibrox and suddenly the room begins to smell of cooking crab meat as the big creature staggers further suddenly realizing it may have taken on more than it can handle.
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Seeing the creature show weakness, Aterro senses that the tide of the battle has turned, and so shifts his grip on his hammer from a deflecting one to a more offensively-minded grip.
"Victory needs no explanation, defeat allows none," he states as though reciting the acceleration of gravity, or some other law of physics that is beyond question.
With a resounding crunch Aterro's hammer shatters the creatures big shell and plunges into the soft innards. The crab staggers again and this time collapses and expires a few seconds later. When he pulls his hammer free, Aterro realizes it is covered in several bits of hard, sticky shell which will likely take a bit to clean off.
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"Nice job, Brother of Steeeeeel!" shouts Trevor at Aterro and bumps him amiably with his shoulder.
"That crab's a mess. All this stuff... You think there all from dead people? I mean, its past meals?" he asks, horrified and disgusted.
"Oh, hello in there. Sorry to kill your friend, but he was going to kill us."
"We just exterminated the necrotic ticks from the town, so it's safe to go up there now. There will be a caravan arriving today if you need any supplies. We would love to talk to you if you want, just talk." Ibrox calmly calls down the cave.
"I saw him too. Everyone, a small person is there in the north passage. He disturbed some pebbles as he withdrew. Whether child or a race of small stature I couldn't make out.[
Finnigan likes Ibrox's approach.
"Yes, it is the cycle of life. We would have become food if we had not defended ourselves. Are you native to this cave? Or are you hiding? We want to be on our way soon but we're looking for something that can help us. We found a whole village cursed with death and worse. We have some children to look after, we want to make it safe for them to start over. Do you speak the Trade Tongue? "
Vrindel starts at the movement from within the cave. Passive perception is 15
At first he fears the worst and extends his staff ready for a fight, then as cooler heads prevail he backs down to see what the outcome might be.
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"Gratitude...brother," Aterro replies to Trevor, clapping him solidly on the shoulder.
As the others jabber on at some un-seen watcher, Aterro continues to contemplate the thing they just killed. His vision changes from his hammer to the crab and back again many times, until he seems to come to a decision. "I do not know the origin of the weapons, but, I mean to find out. Fin has stated a desire for more steel, and the village will need all they can get, if they mean to rebuild. I would liberate the blades, if Lord Thor grants me the power."
With an eye to freeing up all the weapons stuck to the crab, Aterro begins raining down blows from his sledgehammer, fracturing the shell until all it holds is loosened sufficiently.
Zove continues her ritual. The energies of the strange elven, shadow magic generating a slight tingle and chill to the air as she becomes lost in the signs and symbols of the complex casting.
At the same time both Ibrox and Finnigan call down the narrow tunnel to the north and Aterro proceeds to pulverize the remains of the crabs outer shell to try and free the few usable weapons from its sticky surface. After several minutes of smashing and pieces of shell flying every which direction the cleric is eventually able to claim two short swords, a machete, and a pair of long daggers. But his armor, clothing, and hammer are covered in tiny bits of shell and crab meat, that will take some time to remove.
With Aterro hammering away, Ibrox and Finnigan wait patiently for the creature to return. After a short time, their patience is rewarded. A thin, androgynous humanoid creeps back into view. Its skin is patchy and discolored and a few wisps of wiry hair wave across an otherwise bald scalp. Hands and feet are both clawed and would match the earlier tracks found along the pathway to the cave. Curiously the creature wears a menagerie of trinkets and odd items in necklaces or as charms pinned to its shabby clothing. Glass beads, religious charms, a few reaver fetishes, peasant baubles, all adorn the creature's neck in a haphazardly fashion.
A pair of slightly oversized brown eyes sit over a stubby nose and large toothy mouth. Holding it's hands out to the side it seems to be trying to appear non-aggressive. "No harm? No harm?" It says roughly in common tongue of Crossroads and Seven Citys.
"That's right. No harm. What is your name? Do you live here? We followed the tracks. We want to know what is making the people in the town sick."
The thin, frail creature creeps further from the cave peering around at all of the members of the party, especially Zove as she continues working her ritual magic.
When Finnigan asks it its name, it gives the ranger a slightly confused look for a second and then seems to understand. "Oh! Yes. Am mayor of fine village." It then rubs its chin thinking for a second. A suddenly very human gesture, for a very non-human creature. "Hmmm. Can't remember name right now. Ummmm...." It pauses for a second, and then the expression changes entirely and its voice becomes more gruff and rough. "My favorite days are when the see is open and calm. The fish are biting. Ah but alas I should have paid attention to the signs. Wind blowing from the north. Angel, I'm sorry for my harsh words. I can't control the boat! Dear gods! Where did that wave come from....soooo, sooo, cold." It whispers the last as its hand holds tightly to a short line of rusted fishing hooks tied to a thin line.
Then its other hand moves to a small bracelet of glass beads. It speaks again, but this time the voice is slightly higher pitched, even feminine in tone. "I'm so confused. So frightened. Why would someone do this, we don't know anything. Oh gods! What are those things..."
With another tilt of the head, offers a toothy grin at the ranger. "Many new thoughts...new memories. Yes? You wish to share yours?" It adds holding out a thin hand with long delicate fingers.
Aterro attempts to simply wash off the various bits of shell from his excavation of the crab, however, after about five, then ten, minutes of splashing in the cold sea water it is clear the stuff is much, much harder to remove than expected. The water seems to have little effect on the sticky stuff as it continues to cling to hair, clothes, cloak, armor, and hammer.
Several circling seagulls do seem to take notice of the cleric and the various chunks of crab meat and gore that washes into the surf. Although they keep their distance for now, they continue to circle and call out among themselves.
Trevor’s eyes widen in horror: "That creature!? Is it pissessed? Is it the god of death? Don’t let it touch you! It will take your soul!"
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Having ripped off all that he thinks he can, Aterro just shrugs. He is no stranger to gore, and shirks not from it following him for a spell.
He simply prays to Thor that in time the natural glue will fade and be weak enough to be crushed away. Perhaps tonight, some time spent with a dagger to cut it away...
His thoughts turning toward the future, he tromps back in time to hear Trevor's bellow.
"Eh?" Aterro answers. "'Tis a servant of Hel you say? By the Hammer of THOR we shall not let such evil live to see another sunrise!"
Aterro's hands shift to a familiar, offensive, grip on his sledge, and his heavy boots tromp quickly to close the distance.
It's obvious that Aterro, rarely needing much excuse for GLORIOUS COMBAT, will carry the fight to the creature if none intervene.
Finnigan takes a step backwards towards the opening of the cave but keeps his sights on the creature.
"No thank you! I'll keep my thoughts to myself. You wouldn't want my thoughts. I'm cursed with madness and it's contagious! How many of you are there in there anyway? I see you like to keep souvenirs..."
Finnigan appraises the items on the creature. Do any of them look ancient? Are any obviously from local villagers?
"Hey you, Lady with the pearls! Why would someone do what? What things? Tell me what you saw!"
The new arrival brings Vrindrel out of his funk. He places a restraining hand on Brother Aterro.
"Wait just a moment please. There seems to be no immediate danger, and I'm sure you're abilities will be able to snuff out any before they manifest".
Vrindel walks up to the creature, drops to one knee, and gives a snaggled toothed smile.
"Forgive us if we seem over excited. We just had a dangerous encounter with the other inhabitant of this cave, and our spirits are soaring a bit. Let's go back to the beginning. I'm Vrindel, and these are my friends. We mean to cause you no harm, but it's important that we know what has happened here, and can assess the current situation. What do you remember"?
Persuasion
Trevor stands beside Aterro, axe ready, though he seems uncertain: "Brother Aterro, Vrindel is right. This is some conundrum perhaps that the gods have put before us; there might be more to this creature and perhaps I was hasteful in my judgment, but if not, let's make short work of it if it tries to touch anyone... Got that?! Keep your hands in your pockets!" he says, the last bit directed at the creature, who may have no pockets...
Finnigan tries to get a closer look at some of the fetishes and baubles, but has trouble focusing on anyone in particular due to the creatures jumpy movements and the dim lighting in the cave. It simply tilts its head as the ranger asks several questions. But before it can respond, Aterro charges into the cavern shouting and brandishing his hammer causing it to step back several paces before Vrindel can intercept the cleric.
It looks at Vrindel as the trollkin kneels down, then points to Aterro. "No harm." It says while holding out its hands, beads and fetishes rattling softly. It shrugs at Trevor's demand, looking down at the patched and worn short pants that clearly have no pockets. For a second it scowls, but then turns back to Vrindel. "Friends are not very friendly." It says to the trollkin. "But might have good feelings and memories to offer? Yes?"
It breaks into a wide grin, grabs another item. This time a simple ceramic leaf the size of a coin. "I'll not treat with scoundrels and scallywags. Doctor or no." It says in a voice similar to a stern grandmother. It glances at Trevor for several seconds, then back to Vrindel. "You can take your filthy undead hide back to Morgau! This is a peaceful place and we've no want or need to trade with your kind...even if we did know anything about this pigsticker of Thor that you seem to be all fussed about." It staggers back once a look of determination in its eyes that is replaced by sudden fear. "Your bugs 'll not get you any more than what we've already given you fool." It says again, panic entering it's voice, then it drops its hand from the leaf, the fright and panic disappearing from its features.
"Now you share..." It says.
Finnigan speaks to his companions in a low tone. "It has the memories of many beings it has met stored within it. We are hearing different speakers from it's lips. Like fragments of different personalities. When it touches the pearls, the lady who owned the pearls speaks to us. When it touches the fishing line we hear from the sailor. That last one who spoke, the owner of the ceramic leaf, clearly knew something about the ticks and the fate of the village. He can tell us who brought them from Morgau and maybe how to stop the plague. That is, if Aterro can hold his hammer..."
Turning to the creature he addreses it. "What becomes of those who share thoughts and feelings with you? Does any harm befall them?"
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The cavern reverberates with a loud CLANG as Aterro's hammer falls from nerveless hands. "Pigsticker..." he breathes, quickly covering the steps between himself and the base creature.
He drops to one knee before it, as a supplicant. "What what? What is this you say? What know you of...of...they were searching for some...? Hast thou some cache containing Daisleif, the sword that must kill a man? Or Hofund? Or belike some brother to Laevateinn? What do you know...?
But soft. Thou art a merchant of knowledge, eh? Thou wouldst trade a memory for such sweet knowledge then? Fair enough.
Did I ever tell you of my first real campaign? High-Father Joakim had agreed to dispatch a company of Doomsealers to the Ironhide Hills, to crush a war band of SteelClaw orcs that had overstepped their bounds and raided farmsteads in earnest.
Though a mere hundred of us marched, the wagon train of provisions and fodder stretched back on the road 'till it crossed the horizon. At every village on our path everyone, from elders without teeth to farm girls, bouncing in their simple frocks, came out to shake our hands and litter our path with sweet-scented flowers, or offer hard-crusted bread and tough salted pork or even an earthenware pitcher of good clean water to wash the dust of the road from our throats.
Throughout the campaign, a steady caravan brought bread fresh-baked from local ovens and news from home. Acolyte Rufus was granted leave to see his first son born, and StormCleric Arrian was raced home when his grandfather, a warlord in his day, fell to his deathbed.
As we marched home, the corpses of the greenskins rotting at our backs, along the track we were showered in kisses and gratitude. Not a one of us did not feel a hero in a bard's epic, and each warrior knew what good was done that day."
Aterro pauses and takes from his belt a dagger of unremarkable work, with aged hilt and inglorious blade. "This dagger did I take from a goblin corpse and I have carried all the days from then 'till know. If you would hold knowledge of the 'pigsticker of Thor' they seek, then this blade...
is thine."
Trevor is taken aback by the revelations, watching Zove produce a bottle and Aterro a dagger, he wonders what is at stake here. Finally, Finn phrases his fears, turns them to words. Evil at work? He wonders, and asks Khors for His grace.
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Vrindel smiles as the others interface with the creature. "I have a very important memory for you, but I must retrieve it to share with you".
Vrindel hurries to the corpse of the dead druid to look for a personal item to give to the humanoid.
Zove senses nothing magical about the creature as she hands the small bottle over to it. Its hands carefully take the gift and it spends several seconds looking it over carefully, even running a fingernail around the inside lid as it sniffs the dried ink cautiously.
To Finnigan it shrugs nonchalantly, "Most already dead when I find. Harm comes to many." It adds glancing at all the weapons worn and the two still in Finnigan's own hands. "Especially those who seek it out."
Trevor also senses nothing evil...or particularly good for that matter...about the creature as Aterro drops to his knees and offers his treasured dagger. It starts to reach out for the dagger, a definite hunger in its eyes at the obvious passion Aterro carries for the item. Hand paused just a hairs width away, its eyes glance a the clerics hammer, his armor, the weapons carried by everyone else in the cavern and it pulls its hand back, shaking its head. "Know nothing more. Can only know what was gathered and known..." It stops, struggling to find the correct words. "...known by the holder before it comes to me. And only know what is....left behind...on the object if they have died."
Vrindel slips out of the cave hurrying back to the hut where the fallen rune-master still lays. Examining his observations and feelings as he runs, he did not sense anything of the fey realms about the creature. Although it is certainly odd, and with some sort of fascinating ability, it is not of the fey realms.
"Oh, he must be Corpse Thief. These creatures are of this world but are completely devoid of strong emotions. In a drive to seek out more powerful emotional sensations, they steal or gather objects from others and are able to briefly relive certain sensations, memories, or thoughts tied to the objects. Maybe he has a trove of other objects." Ibrox realizes.
Int.
Vrindel looks for any personal items that might carry a signature of the mans recent past, then returns to the cave in time to hear Ibrox explain what it was. He gives her a knowing nod as he had suspected the same.
"Here is something that might have some memories for you. What do you see"?
Trevor rolls his eyes. He lost track of all the potential explanation. As his gift tells him the creature is not inherently evil, and as punches are not flying left and right, he eases and recedes from the conversation, wondering what they will eat later and who will cook it. Ibrox was great fun to watch, but his cooking tended to be quite crisp.
Vrindel finds the corpse of the former village druid and manages to locate a polished and finely cut agate hanging from a leather thong about the man's neck. Although not magical and of little value it clearly meant enough for him to wear it. Quickly snapping the leather, Vrindel hurries back to the cave....
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Meanwhile back in the cavern, Zove approaches the Corpse Thief holding out her book. At first it steps back from the shadow fey, but then curiosity over the ornate arcane book draws it forward.
"Don't remember name anymore." The creature says to her flurry of questions as it reaches out a thin hand. "Can usually tell if owner is alive, but you are owner now, so already know." It adds with a slight shrug.
Its fingers brush the outer cover of the book and it instantly lets out a piercing scream as it few hairs immediately stand on end and the smell of rotting vegetation fills the cavern. It tries to pull back its hand, but the appendage remains firmly attached to the book. Anyone with a knack for magic can suddenly feel and see the power and arcane energies swirling in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns about the book and the creature. The air is electrified and any movement seems to generate a static charge. The creature's eyes roll to the back of its head and it begins to speak in garbled, broken snippets that appear to be a mixture of many languages. Its body twitches and jerks as if assuming different forms, perspectives, or persona's similar to what it did before, but this time in a rapid fire, uncontrollable wave. Occasionally a few words are understandable...
"Must protect her Imperial highness, if the giants should breach the walls we will all face our doom." In a deep authoritarian voice in an ancient dialect of elven. "....Ah! I see it now. If I simply add a bit more mandrake root and the scale of a black dragon, but not red, it should work. The little rat will never know what hit him...." A feminine voice, studious and bitter. "Ahhhh! Hahahah! Kill them! Kill them all! Let the people of Allain feel the might of Veal Turog and the cleansing fires!" This is a deeply mad, wild and disturbing voice. "No! You can't open the gate. If Pah’draguusthlai should enter these realms all will be lost. I beg you...ack...ack...no..." Pleading, struggling in the last throws of life. "I will record these last efforts here as this betrayal of the Empire must be dealt with. I only hope there is time for my apprentice to get this safely away."
This continues for several more minutes before as quickly as it started the interaction ceases. The smell of burnt flesh replaces the sickening sweet sent of vegetation as the Corpse Thief collapses to the ground.
A few moments later, Vrindel returns breathing heavily from the run back into the village.
"Is he still alive?" Ibrox asks.
After a pause, Ibrox remorselessly asks Zove, "Oh, did you find anything in that chest?"
"Is he still alive?" Ibrox asks.
No one can tell for certain without a closer look if the creature is badly injured or not. But it does appear to still be breathing, slightly. It is clearly unconscious, eyes closed and a thin trail of drool running from its mouth.
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Vrindel arrives back panting from the exertion and the excitement. He walks in to find the creature motionless on the ground. His head immediately whips around to Brother Aterro, but quickly dismisses that possibility as the body in nowhere near mangled enough.
"What happened? Is he dead... how"?
Vrindel rushes to the side of the body.
Medicine (Untrained).
After the reply, Ibrox remorselessly asks Zove ignoring the down corpse thief, "So, you didn't open it? Is it locked?"
To Vrindel, the cheery gnome adds with a smile, "Think he's still breathing. Zove zapped him with her magic book. It sounds like that tome has had many dead owners."
Vrindel kneels down as is able to find a feint pulse but otherwise has no idea what kind of damage the creatures encounter with the book may have caused.
Trevor wakes from his torpor as the Corpse Thief goes Bacon-Dancing-and-Singing on them: "What are you doing to him? What's that book doing? What!? What'? What's going on?!" he shouts, then as the creature falls to the ground, he moves forward, just a step from it: "Is it dying or just passed out? I'm lost! What's going on?" he pleads, clearly out of his depth, but ready to offer divine help if needed.
Trevor nods his understanding, but when Zove offers to share his memories, he recedes back: "Nothing interesting..." he blurts clumsily, visibly uncomfortable.
"When he awakes I would share the memories of our friend the fallen Druid. Those seem to be important to our situation at this time".