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"Do you see a Department of Public Works team nearby?" Aterro asks his friend as he pauses in his labors, leaning and resting on something that had once been a fine shovel. "Are we within shouting distance of an architect, or have you a levy of engineers in thine pocket?
Nay, brother, it is just we, and those few heartbeats around us have little background in masonry or carpentry.
As in battle, when doing something, anything, is better than doing nothing at all, so I have found that it is thus with any problem. We could debate and plan and think until we see, to our great surprise, that the sun has set and the water is no easier to cross.
I've no doubt that had we the Master of Engineering before us, with long beard and heavy spectacles that we would have a plan that would have this bridge repaired in a trice, but, alas, that is not so. So what I lack in book learning, we must make for in sweat. And there are few problems that enough buckets of sweat can not solve.
If a better plan comes about, we can enact that, but for the now...?"
Aterro again bends to, turning over another shovelful of dirt.
Though the first channel isn't quite deep enough, the second one moves enough water around so that the bridge is stabilized with the handful of nails he could find.
Trevor looks at Bentknee, his eyes saying: See what I have to put up with?! See!?!
It takes most of the remaining afternoon and a lot of back breaking digging, but eventually Aterro, Trevor, and the wagon crew get the bridge stabilized enough and the wagons are able to safely make the crossing.
In the meantime Vrindel and Finnigan are able to find their way back into the mill without any trouble. Scorch the Forest Drake greets them in a wary but friendly manner. He quickly asks the two for any news they may have discovered about the rune-master and his return.
And finally as Zove and Ibrox finally emerge from the caverns and back out into the light, it suddenly strikes the two that as they passed back through the main chamber there was no sign of Anymore.
Vrindel's eyes drop as Scorch greets them. "Well we have answers, but they are not ones you'll like. The Rune Master will not be returning. He died bravely trying to defend the village".
Vrindel then takes the simple amulet he had let Anymore borrow, and hands it to the drake.
"Which brings up another question. Now that we're sure he's not returning, what can we do for the long term welfare of these children. We should go down to the bridge, and wait for Bentknee's return. Maybe he'll have some ideas".
After the digging ordeal, Trevor goes back to where the others are and tries to find as much food as he can eat, then sits against a wall and takes a solid nap while the others discuss what's at stake.
Of course, he first helped Bentknee across and greeted him with a strong smile. Wouldn't want your boss to think you're weak, or ungrateful for a bit of digging...
Inside the mill...
Scorch appears saddened by the news, but is not surprised. "I feared that may be the casssse when...he did not return sssssoon after the battle in the village...and when the undead creaturessss continued to ssseeek entry."
It turns back to the children and then to Vrindel and Finnigan. "Then my obligation here issss done. The chargessss are yourssss to mind now. I musssst return to the wood both to mourn the lossss of a friend and to ssssee to the treessss again."
A clawed foot gestures to the table and the small silver bell sitting there. "I believe the chime of the bell...will wake the ssssmall onesss." It says, then turns and disappears up the stairs. A few moments later the ranger and druid can hear the clatter of claws climbing down the exterior of the mill then silence aside from the light breathing of the still sleeping children.
At the bridge...
With the wagons across and the sun beginning to descend toward the western horizon, Bentknee decides to set up camp near the only remaining building, the mill. Meeting Vrindel and Finnigan he directs them back to the mill to find a reasonable spot to camp. Fortunately, after a dry day, the flood waters have dropped substantially leaving behind plenty of mud and debris in the lower areas, but there is enough high ground within a short distance of the mill to keep the wagons and oxen dry.
"Sad news about Freoderick." He says preparations for camp get under way. "We'd spent some time in the south. He, Britta, and I. We did a bit of adventuring ourselves before settling down to our own lives." He shakes his head. "Freoderick was always studying nature and writing things down. Also had a knack for runes and their mysteries." He chuckles softly. "That time the three of us were in Zobeck for the Harvest Dances and ended up shacking up with that elf-marked and his sisters...." He says trailing off before shaking his head. "Now Freoderick is dead at the hands of Morgau if what you've gleaned is true. And trouble is certainly heading Britta's way." Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the old kobold seems lost in memories for a few moments before he speaks again.
"I'll need to see to his remains, and obviously you lot should go on ahead to Nargenthal. But first things first, what's this about children?"
Finnigan nods solemnly as Vrindel beares the bad news to Scorch. "Aye, mate! I'm sorry about your friend! But what can you tell us about these kids and the nature of their spellbound slumber? When will they require food? Would they awaken in case of fire or the roof falling? How long will you watch over them? We mean to travel north to foil the plans of those who brought this calamity. Vrindel here in particular requires consolation before he will leave these sleeping beauties to fate..."
The drake looks back at Finnigan as it readies to depart.
"Thessse are not my hatchlingssss....they are humansss. I know not what they need to ssssurvive naturessss harsh trialssss. Asssss long asss they ssssleep they require little but protection. Only bell will awaken then. Once the sssspell isss broken....well sssurely you would know bessst."
"Bloody hell! I had hoped the magic that made them sleep would relieve the need for food and water... if not we'd better not leave them snoozing long..."
Finnigan trails off, hoping the scaly one will volunteer some form of assistance. The pub crawling rabble rouser isn't keen on the idea of playing parent.
"Have we checked the village? Has no one survived who can care for these sodding dreary little angels?"
Ibrox falls into his chores of the caravan, setting up camp, and regretting the lack a raw material for parchment. He replies to Bentknee, "Freoderick magically put the children of the town to sleep. Vrindel wants to ensure the orphans are well taken care of."
"Do you have a map to Nargenthal? How far is it? Can you tell us about it and the way there?" He asks for information about his next test. Maybe he'll find something about his curse there. He may have found an ally here who found two spells for her book.
"Just slithering away are you? I'm shocked. Honestly, I was just telling my mates what a good bloke you are. I would have thought you'd look over the kids until all this is sorted out. What else do you have to do? Honestly, mate.... You didn't even tell us how long it's been since they had a drink of water!"
Finnigan suddenly reallizes the tone he was taking was overly accusatory...
The drake's eyes rekindle with a soft red light for a second, but then it shakes its head and they dim again. "Out of ressspect for my friend...I will not take offenssse at your wordssss." It turns away but says over its shoulder. "For many weekssss young onesss have ssslept in ssstasssissss. No food, no waterrrr. Sssstill living ssso, magic musssst protect."
Once the camp is set and the group is settled, Bentknee gathers everyone around to discuss how they will proceed. Having heard of the situation with the children, the old kobold agrees to take them under his care with the help of the other drivers.
"We'll need to clear some of the goods from one of the wagons to make room for them. But that isn't much of a loss, because with this village gone I've too much stock. Better to leave it locked here in the mill for the return trip rather than hauling it all north." He says. "Might be some folk from here made for Nargenthal when the trouble started and will at least be familiar to the kids when they wake." He says.
He then turns to Ibrox, "I've no map of the region, but that's no loss." He says as the gnome inquires about Nargenthal. He cuts a hunk of tobacco from a bar kept in his pocket and begins to chew it slowly. "Nargenthal is the next village north of here. About a three day journey if traveling at a good walking clip." He says, spitting into a nearby shrub. "Just follow the main road right up the coast and it'll get you there. Wagons'll take longer, especially since the road is wetter and muddier than usual. Probably five or six days if we're lucky. Maybe a whole week or more if not."
He spits again, then rubs his chin thoughtfully. "If this doctor or creature of Morgau is hunting some religious weapon, then I'd agree with the young war priest there. Probably best for you lot to go ahead again and try to stop them from finding it. Bloody undead scum, need to pay for what they did to Freoderick." He adds. Fists clenching in obvious anger before he calms himself. "I'll follow with the little ones and the wagons."
"A simple letter of introduction for you lot to Britta at the Frost Maiden Inn." He says handing Aterro an envelope addressed to Britta Gleamguard, in a rough slightly shaky handwriting. "She'll be an ally if she's still able and hasn't ended up the same as Freoderick."
Finally he turns to Zove as the young shadow fey peppers him with questions. Spitting again, he shakes his head when she mentions the corpse thief. "Can't say I've run into one personally. But I have heard of such creatures. Usually harmless enough. Notorious for sneaking about and lifting items from folk so they can try to capture more feelings or memories or whatever.
"
"As for those scrolls and what you found in the cave..." He says handing them back to Zove. "That all belongs to you folk. You've earned it for sure and Freoderick is probably the only one in these parts that would've been interested in the mystical works. Not much use to a hungry villager." He says releasing another glob of spit into the unfortunate shrub before holding the small obsidian potion vial up to the fading sunlight. After a few seconds he shakes his head. "I've not seen anything like it before. Although some of the folk who live along the borders of the Western Wastes use volcanic glass for a variety of things. If it did come from the west, you'd best be careful." He says handing the vial carefully back to Zove. "Nothing good comes from where the Dread Walkers slumber."
"Just slithering away are you? I'm shocked. Honestly, I was just telling my mates what a good bloke you are. I would have thought you'd look over the kids until all this is sorted out. What else do you have to do? Honestly, mate.... You didn't even tell us how long it's been since they had a drink of water!"
Finnigan suddenly reallizes the tone he was taking was overly accusatory...
Vrindel walks around checking the children, to make sure none are in distress at the moment.
Medicine (Untrained)
He then nods at Finnigans words. "Yes. Let's see what input Bentknee might have before scouring the village. He knows this area better than us, and might have options".
"Though I fear they might all be dead".
Vrindel is pleased with Bentknee's offer to care for the children. "That is a good plan. There is a bell to ring up there which should awaken them if they're not dead. I would like to be there when they awaken, as the loss of their families would be terrible... but I fear my appearance might make things worse".
He nods in resolve. "Yes. Let's hunt down those responsible for this and make them pay".
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Aterro needs but little pause after his earth-moving labors, taking time to devour an entire day's rations and consume several skins full of water, refreshed from the ever-flowing river about them.
Gorged and sated, he stands and stretches his muscles, vigor once again returning to them.
He accepts gratefully the letter to Britta and stows it away under his breastplate. "Gratitude," he replies.
"With that, I would council we take sleep here, as it is the most secure ground to be found, and we've had a long day. Then we head out at first light.
Is this acceptable?"
"See Aterro. A letter of introduction to a potential ally in Nargenthal, and our duty done with Bentknee and the children in exchange for a few hours of patience. A good trade. A good trade indeed." The smiling gnome observes.
After he performs his chores of camp with enjoyment, he returns to the devastated town looking for anything of value.
Ibrox spends a bit of the evening hours searching through the remains of the village but finds nothing of real use or consequence.
The night passes uneventfully with Bentknee in a somber mood.
At one point Tymothy, the driver of the third wagon approaches Vrindel. Giving the trollkin a quick bow of his head he slips his hat off running his fingers around the brim as he speaks.
"It's a right decent thing you've done saving those youngins." He says. "I just wanted to let you know, I'll keep an eye on 'em as we travel north. I've got three of me own back in Courlandia, an my missus says I've a good way with'em."
He shakes the trollkin's hand. "Anyways, I just wanted you to know they'd be in good hands." He adds before returning to his wagon to finish the work of clearing space for the children.
In the morning, all is readied, the children carefully loaded into the wagons and tucked snuggly into a well padded area and the whole caravan sets off shortly after daybreak.
Ibrox wakes early and readies for the road. While he waits for the others, he sketches a map of the town, mill and cave. Maybe will want to buy it to resettle.
"You hear that boys? The kids don't need food or water as long as they sleep... I drank a bottle of whiskey once that had the same effect!"
Finnigan wakes up feeling sore and tired of sleeping on the road.
"I'm actually glad to go on ahead by foot. Sleeping out of doors can't be any worse than sleeping in a wagon cart. And it'll be but three days versus nearly a week by cart? Sod that, let's be on our way by foot! The first thing I'll do in Nargenstall is take a room at Britta's Inn. A room with a big bed!"
Trevor eases as Bentknee accepts his new charges and relieves them of immediate wagon duty to... Then he realizes: he and his companions were more or less walking three days to get likely attacked and killed by horrors beyond those they had faced here.
He slept uneasily that night, only to wake to Zove's ritual, then he did not sleep at all.
The next morning, rested but a wretch, he limbs along on the path, unable to enjoy the mud at his boots and the chill in his back. He curses the weight of his armour as his helm once again slips to block his view: "Three days? Really?! I mean... Nevermind."
Eneventually, the road eases into him and he smiles again, feeling somewhat proud to be doing such foolish things. After all, keeping his eyes closed and his head down had only brought misery.
Vrindel seems satisfied with the arrangements for the children.
"Thank you Tymothy. I've no cubs of my own, but have always had a soft spot for those unable to defend themselves. I don't want to be there when they awaken, as I can be a bit scary to children, but I'd appreciate it if you could get there names and write them down for me. I'll try to keep up with where they go in life, and if I can help them in the future".
Vrindel then gets the first good nights sleep he's had in a while, and is ready to leave at first light. He gets up just before dawn, and gives thanks for his blessings.
The morning dawns bright, with birds singing in the valley and the sun quickly warming the spring air as it rises over the low eastern mountains. After a short meal and final preparations the caravan leaves the sad remains of Vandersthal behind.
The party quickly outpaces the caravan and the sounds of the wagons creaking, oxen lowing and Bentknee's shouting are soon nothing but feint echoes in the distance.
The road continues to wind its way along the coast with occasional turns into the forest to avoid swampy ground. The soft crashing of the waves, a constant nearly hypnotic sound in the background. Evidence of spring is all around with crokus, daffodils, and other spring flowers blooming in the sun. Birds flit back and forth chasing one another in the everlasting springtime dance, while the air simply smells fresh and renewed. The morning and early afternoon pass with little incident.
The weather continues to warm, until later in the day when thunderheads can be seen building out over the water. By early evening the skies have turned dark gray and winds once again blow bending trees and grass to its will. The tingle of electricity fills the air until finally a bright flash followed by a crackling boom of thunder erupts overhead. That is followed by several more strikes of lightning and thunder and then the rain begins to fall. Sparse, heavy drops at first and then a deluge as it seems the gods must have decided to suddenly move half of the entire bay.
The weather had managed to lift Trevor's mood. Somehow, the colours, the smells, the brightness, all conspired to make him forget the small pains in his feet, his neck, his back, etc.
But the dark clouds brought it all back. As the first drop hits his nose, he sighs: "Here we go, wet socks once more... The more I squeeze out of my socks, the more water they gush... That's my conundrum."
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As soon as it was agreed upon that they would march at first light, Aterro returned to the small tool-shed, made as clear a spot on the dry floor as he could, and collapsed into a deep sleep, never fearing that any vile creature had escaped their purification of the wrecked village.
He awakens early, performs his morning prayers, and feasts mightily again on dry rations and a re-filled waterskin.
Greeting the sun with fresh eyes and renewed vigor, he stoically begins the movement North, eager to see where the future lead.
As the clouds gather and the rain falls, Aterro roars his approval. "Yes! You see? Lord Thor sees us! He sees all of us!" the thunder rolls and the lighting crashes, Aterro seems to gain energy with each strike. "Ah! Truly we are blessed in our quest! None can stand before us so long as we keep to the path of the righteous!"
Once on the trail, Ibrox returns to his usual antics wandering off the trail to take notes of the landscape to annotate his future maps.
By the the rain arrives, the cheery gnomes has his cartographer gear stowed away while his smile remains. Lightning, thunder and rain are delightful experiences compared to boiling pits and flayed stakes of the Grandmother,
After about a half hour the deluge starts to let up, but thunder still rumbles overhead along with the occasional flash of lightning.
Vrindel walks in the middle of the party, enjoying the sunshine, then the rain. He appreciated and revealed in all aspects of nature. He even used some of his druidic powers to clear out some of the larger puddles in front of the miserable Trevor (Destroy Water in the larger puddles as the young knight walked).
Perception
He stops for moment as a sudden movement in the trees catches his attention. "Ware! Something is there in the trees". he shouts pointing to the area he saw movement. "It looks like a giant lightning Moth or something"!
"No mate, your hallucinating again. There's nothing there! Never mind, gents! Nothing to see here!"
Finnigan continues slogging through the mud unperturbed.
Trevor ignores the discussion on moths, trying to figure out how Vrindel's Keeping Feet Dry incantation worked and whether he could replicate it. If only Khors would grant him such a mighty blessing!
Vrindel's shouted warning echoes through the trees with the dripping patter of rainwater falling from soaked branches. Moments later four large moths descend onto the party. Each is nearly two feet long with a slightly larger wingspan and each sparkles and glows with an electrical aura clearly charged by the passing storm. The long probiscus of each insect turns toward the party, seeking whatever nutrition it might provide.
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Aterro, his face upturned and reveling in the amazing lightning display , did not pay heed to the druid's yelp. Of course a druid would be amazed at some passing insect, but such news was hardly of note.
When the insects make an appearance and show themselves to be of a threat, Aterro does not let them dampen his mood. "Yes!" he yells, charging forward and hefting up his heavy hammer. "For so sublime a display of Lord Thor's POWER I would have such a ritual completed with GLORIOUS COMBAT.
Come, my brothers! Let us revel in the rain and the blood letting that the Thunderer has graced us with this day!"
And then he is among them, joyfully swinging his hammer to and fro.
Finnigan ducks into a low lunge and thrusts his blade up at the underbelly of a moth passing over head so that it can slice it's innards open with it's own momentum.
Turning on one heal he follows up with a crossbow bolt straight into the creatures tailfeathers!
"There was nothing there when I looked! These moths must have just arrived after I looked away!"
Vrindel pulls three small pebbles from his pocket, and spits in his hand chanting. He then slings one at one of the Lightning Moths.
Magic Stone
Stoning
Quickly reacting to the sparking, fluttering threat, Zove's shadow magic bursts into the air at the same moment as Aterro's hammer slams into the nearest moth. Stunned by the massive hammer blow aided by Thor himself, the giant creature succumbs to the shadow fey magic and drifts to the ground in deep insectoid slumber.
Finnigan lashes out with a viper like dagger strike as a second creature flies low over his head. The blade scores the soft body leaving a trail of oozing yellow blood dripping from the creatures long body. His following crossbow bolt shreds the moth's rear wings knocking the creature away and directly into Vrindel's magic stone which rips through another wing and causes another big gash along its body.
Startled by this sudden turn of events tendrils of lightning erupt from the wings of the damaged moth engulfing everyone nearby in a sudden electrical storm. Having moved to engage the first moth, Zove and Aterro manage to escape the effects of the lightning blast, the others are not so lucky and tendrils of lightning race over, through, and around Finnigan, Vrindel, Trevor and Ibrox.
The injured moth then uses the distraction to move back up into the trees. The two remaining moths swirl down near Trevor and Ibrox. Each of the creatures trying to sink their probing proboscis into the two adventurers.
Trevor suddenly feels a sharp sting as the creature finds exposed skin and sinks the needlelike appendage deep into his flesh. It tries again but this time the insects needle nose bounces harmlessly off of the young knights armor.
The fourth electrically charged moth zeroes in on the gnome, driven toward the little warlock as if it was a favored pet of Baba Yaga herself. And as if the old witch was guiding the giant insects aim with her special malice and hatred for his race, it strikes out and plunges it needle like proboscis through the gnome's thin armor and directly through his left lung. Adding insult to injury, the creature strikes a second time near the same spot drawing more blood. There is little the gnome can do except grab his chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding as he gasps and gurgles. He collapses to the ground, his lungs filling with blood slowly drowning himself in his own life giving fluids. The laughing cackle of an old woman blows through the wood on a sudden chill wind that smells of dry dust and distant grassy plains before drifting off into the east.
Trevor grunts as he gets electrocuted, but otherwise refrains from break-dancing on the ground. Instead, he spins and sends his axe towards the closest moth's belly.
Trevor lashes out with his axe at the moth hovering over his head. His strike shears the end off of one of the creatures spindly legs, which does just enough to irritate the big insect further, but barely slows it down..
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Seeing at least one foe down and another fleeing, Aterro walks peaceably amidst the chaos and tumult, feeling the day to not be a waste at all.
He slowly, almost langoriously, walks toward the downed gnome, all but ignoring the whirling danger around him. He even chuckles, mildly. "No, no, little gnome, a battle can not be fully experienced if one is -dead-. We must have blood in our veins to feel it pumping hotly!"
He aims one armored fist at the senseless mage and a pleasant yellow light surrounds him.
CON Save
"Ha! You think to use lightning to harm me? I live for the forces of nature, and by them you shall die".
Vrindel slings another of his humming with power pebbles at the one he hit before.
Throwing stone
Impacting stone
But in his eagerness to end the battle, almost hits Brother Aterro's hulking form.
"Whoops! Sorry bout that!"
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Finnigan marvels at the hairs standing on end all over his body. Looking at Ibrox's crumbled form, chest punctured, hair standing up like mad from all the static in the air, he let's out a stifled inappropriate laugh that halfway out becomes a sob.
It is poignant to see the war priest, dealer of death in battle, equally at home mending wounds and tending to life.
He pictures the pub. Studying the patterns in the moths coat, he can almost pretend he's looking at the rings of a dart board.