Trevor's stomach holds better than his feet. He steps in the clearing, he pales at the gruesome sight.
"That- That looks pain- painful, no? This is a horrible way to- to die, no? Who- What did this?"
"There's... There's something in the middle. Something moving! Tentacles, by Khors!" and he raises his axe in defense.
CON Save
Vrindel deeply feels the corruption, and his growing anger is able to overcome the sickness this place presents.
Seeing Aterro approach the center of the worst of the corruption, he follows.
"What...What is that"?
Taking care not to look at the vile bodies as he follows the brave if brash Cleric closer to the site.
Finnigan keeps a position in the back as the party approaches the clearing.. He is still cowed by Vrindel's chastisement and doesn't want to mess things up again.
"It wasn't cold enough last night to explain this wilt and wither. Something foul must be at play..."
He murmurs mostly to himself.
Then stumbling into view of the ritually dismembered bodies he begins to retch.
"Those tentacles in the center... ware! They are still moving, clutching that spherical object. Zove, what does it mean? By the golden hells!"
Ibrox takes out an embroidered butcher's apron and gloves of fine calfskin from his backpack. After putting them on and reshouldering his gear, he slowly spirals around the clearing. He occasionally pauses and carefully pinches something on the ground, that he brings close to his nose to examine. When he gets to the three bodies, he examines them each with equal dispassion. He wipes off a bit of the frost coating the bodies to look and smell the black and red mixture of blood and magical corruption on his gloved fingers. He is last to arrive at the center.
"Well, we don't have to worry about these reavers anymore. What's moving in there?" The cheerfully inquisitive gnome asks.
Aterro slowly approaches the center, followed by Vrindel, Trevor and eventually Ibrox. When the mighty cleric gets within ten paces of the circle, the slowly writhing mass of otherworldly horror erupts into sudden action. Seemingly dozens of black, tentacles unwind and begin lashing about. The central sphere with a black, supple surface rises up off the ground on three of the whip like limbs. A dark viscous substance oozes from the bottom of the sphere, dripping with an audible hiss as it hits the ground. Two of the remaining half dozen or more tentacle immediately lash out with whip like quickness. Perhaps it is Vrindel's affinity to the natural world and this creature's utter abhorrence of all things living or perhaps it is just the random chaos, but the first whip like tentacle lashes the druid across the arm with a loud thwack. At first the wound seems only superficial leaving only a light welt on his tough skin. But then a fierce piercing cold follows and quickly crawls further into the trollkin's flesh deeping the pain and harm. A second tentacle flashes past the trollkin, moments later but misses as he steps back in reaction to the sudden attack.
"There's no conundrum here! This thing is pure evil and madness. Let's rip it to shreds, by Khors!!!"
As he slides forward, his socks slip and mess his aim.
"The black slime coating it must be what poisoned all the undergrowth! Don't let it get on your skin! How far can that thing reach with those tentacles. Maybe we should stand back?"
Finnigan takes a shot with his pea-shooter but he feels sick as he shoots.
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"BACK TO THE DARKNESS FROM WHICH YOU CAME!" Aterro shouts, rushing forward with his hammer held high.
He closes with the enemy in an instant, all his training and all his oaths SCREAMING to him that this is an unclean thing that must be crushed with his holy might.
An aura of white radiance subsumes his form as the glory of THOR infuses every particle of his mortal form. He SMASHES into the black amorphic blob, bringing his hammer DOWN faster than the eye can follow.
"Ah! Stay back and spread out. This thing's tentacles sting and ache".
Vrindel takes a few steps back picking a few well chosen pebbles from a pocket, and slings one at the monstrosity. The stone seems to accelerate even after it left his clawed hand.
Magic Stone
Magic stone on flesh.
Ibrox steps back as a reaction to the striking tentacles. Unfortunately, the tentacled horror is not beyond the gnome's imagination. He hopes it is not too familiar.
"Ibrox. Ibrox, " he repeats in a stern voice pointing his calf-skinned, gloved finger at the mass of writhing tentacles.
With cold, wet, slippery feet, Trevor's axe swings wide while Finnigan's bolt also misses as his stomach rebels against the ghastly stench of the clearing. Unaffected by frozen feet or retching belly, Aterro strides up to the creature and begins to pummel it with his hammer. His first blow lands with a thunderous fury that crushes one of the joints where a tentacle attaches to the sphere. The rubbery limb is torn off and a splatter of stinging, sizzling ooze spurts from the wound covering the ground and boiling away the last remnants of living matter. A cold, eerie cry erupts from the underbelly of the creature and it attempts to slide away from the cleric, but is unsuccessful. Aterro's second blow hits again, but not with as much force or power as the first.
Ibrox sends a blast of eldritch power into the creature, and while it hits, it does little to hinder the thing as it continues to attack.
Zove flings a fiery bolt but the thing manages to avoid the blast and it disperses harmlessly against a wet log across the clearing.
Following Zove, Vrindel taps the power of nature and life itself, imbuing a simple stone with potent magical energy that strikes true and tears a gash across the sphere that oozes more of the acidic fluid.
Fully awakened, the creature nimbly moves outside of the circle and strikes out at Ibrox. The dark, rubbery tentacle lands with a solid "Thwack!" across the gnomes face and upper body making a nasty whelt and leaving his head and chest shivering with the cold. A second tentacle lashes out at Finnigan as it moves out of the circle, away from Aterro and toward the scout. But it apparently misjudges the distance and the tentacle snaps back well short of the Ranger's condition.
"Hurry! Let's put it down! It is not contained by the circle".
Vrindel positions himself away from the creature, but with a clear view, and hurls another spiritually enhanced stone at the abomination.
Demon killing rock
Death to demon.
Ibrox screams in pain. "Ibrox, " he repeats in a stern voice pointing his calf-skinned, gloved finger at the mass of writhing tentacles.
With his feet finally under him, Trevor swallows deeply while staring at the abomination only feet away. Finally something clicks within the young knight's mind and with a sudden shout swings his axe and lands a mighty blow that severs two of the creatures tentacles and elicits another pained and angry scream from the creature.
Aterro follows up Trevor's attack, unfortunately his first strike slides off of the creature's rubbery skin. But not to be foiled, the war cleric calls on his god once again to grant him strength for a second blow. This time his aim is true and the mighty warhammer smashes into the central sphere crushing cartilage and whatever interior organs such a horror might contain. With another ear-grating screech the thing falls to the ground, struggling to carry on the fight.
With the creature's fall, both Ibrox and Zove miss as their attacks fly through the space it previously occupied. But both Finnigan and Vrindel are able to correct their aim and Finnigan's bolt, followed by the crushing impact of Vrindel's magic stone put an end to the threat.
With the creature's death, light slowly begins to seep back into the clearing and the air begins to warm causing the frost to quickly melt turning the ground into a mucky mire. Despite the gray skies above the filtered sunlight still has an effect on the remains. After only a few minutes exposed to the light, the abomination's corpse begins to smoke and then sizzle as if being dissolved in a vat of acid. After about a quarter of an hour, the remains are entirely destroyed with no sign it ever existed except for the destruction in the clearing and now highly acidic soil where the once rested.
The bodies of the reavers also begin to thaw, but they do not simply dissolve away, instead they do what dead bodies usually do which is smell and attract flies. With the frost gone there is one thing about the sacrificed bodies that can't be missed. Written in blood, in a rough, shaky hand but in the same language that appeared on the walls of the shack are the same three words Awaken...Complete...Revenge
Finnigan looks meaningfully at Aterro. ”Well then, mate, it looks like dart guns are rather effective against these things. Zove, do you reckon this is the same sort of parasite that infests the dead with ticks? Will our reaver friends be reanimating? Should we burn the remains?”
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Breathing heavily from the short, but intense, combat, Aterro moves apace away from the regrowing vegetation and smelling bodies. Uncaring of monsters from the aether or plots of revenge--for all manner of such will, he is confident, meet the same fate he has meted out here--he takes knee and gives thanks the the Earthshaker for success in combat.
His silence for a span is total, leaving the others to meditate as they will.
Vrindel walks slowly about the crushed abomination as it begins to dissolve starting a bit as it begins to smoke and sizzle. He then looks at the bodies of the Dwarves with a sigh... Thus completes the circle of life...
As he picks up some of the soil in his hands he smells it and rubs it between his fingers trying to determine if it would recover naturally. He stops short of tasting it at the odor. Tears form in his eyes as he deeply feels the pain of the land through his bare feet.
Trembling with rage he speaks. If you thought his voice was angry during his tirade last night, you now realize it was only aggravation, as you now hear the full power of Anger in his voice.
"If you are looking for a cause... a purpose in your life here is where you should turn your thoughts. This...this... whatever it is an abomination which MUST be stopped. Nothing should have license to do this to the land... not to mention these Reavers who seem to be innocent victims of some vile ceremony. I don't know what is going on with these strange words appearing but this must be stopped".
He then kneels closer to the ground and attempts to flow some of his spiritual energy into a small wilting fern that somehow survived the scouring.
Whether the attempt is successful or not Vrindel turns to the others.
"We must seek out this threat and make sure it hurts nobody else. Do any of you have a clue what these words mean, and who might have written them"?
Nature
The usual chipper gnome looks unsettlingly serious. Once the abomination is well and truly dissolved, he examines the dwarves bodies looking for any trinkets and useful raw organic material. »A powerful magical predator hunted and used these dwarves to fuel a portal using magic not of Midgard. »
He pauses and asks, »Zove, this is the third triplicate we’ve encountered in hours. The words in the shelter. The three dead dwarves arranged the same way. And another word triplicate. Don’t you think it has something to do with your book? »
"So everything in threes, is that it? Let's review what we know. From the memories of the the thought eater we know the one who infected the village was a dhampir, working with human knights who serve the cause of the undead. Is that right? Do we suppose this ritual is their doing as well? If we hoped to gain an allegiance with reaver dwarves, they now have cause to hate our foe... if we can show them what has occured here..."
He trails off, taking in the passion of the trollkin druid and the aloofness of the shadow fey courtesan. What a strange fellowship, each with his own peculiar makeup, and none had expected to get swept up in something like this...
"But why perform this dark occult ritual? How has it helped them to aquire Thor's heirloom?"
Vrindel kneels down over the small fern, drawing on the power of nature he carefully reaches out to little plant letting the power cascade over the damaged fronds. At first, nothing happens but then several small stalks slowly push through the soil. Within a few minutes they grow several inches and slowly unfurl into lush, green fern fronds. Their green beauty a welcome and stark contrast to the black and brown of the rest of the clearing.
With the fern's growth and return, the druid knows that eventually the clearing will return to its former health given time. It will likely take many years since nature works on a different time scale than mortals. But this place will once again provide wildflowers for bees and hummingbirds, nests for rabbits, forage for deer, an owls hollow in the surrounding trees, a fox den in a rotting log now growing the next generation of trees from the fallen giant.
All this will come to pass over time, except within the circle of stones. Within the circle, whatever magic was used has rendered the soil, this very tiniest piece of Midgard, tainted, lifeless and unable to sustain anything for as long as the light of Khors continues to shine upon the world.
Trevor stares in horror at the writhing mass of corruption. The three words he rolls in his mind, over and over, afraid to utter them out loud for the power they may hold still.
As his companions comment on the situation, he nods and nods again, but Vrindel's words strike to his heart, once more. Is this my calling? Is Khors's light opening a path for me?
As he ponders the meaning this may have, he takes in the full state of his fall from grace. Standing in the muck, with water seeping through his socks and chilling his bones, without as much as a shield to protect his skin, how was he supposed to stand and fight what evil unleashed the tentacled horror that was foaming away?
Slowly, without a word, he makes the sign of Khors to guide these Reavers to the Life Beyond, then checks their boots and armours, hoping to find something his size.
"Vrindel, mate, I'm touched by your concern for innocent beings, whether it be children or plantlife! You always remind us what life is worth. Just looking at that black soil and wilt makes me wish Trevor had his boots. Honestly, mate, at least take my socks for a spell, yours must be soaked through and frozen hard twice over!"
He paces restlessly around the site of ritual massacre, his movements aimless and agitated.
"Awaken, complete, revenge... Is it some horror sleeping all this time? Zove, those were the same words you saw on the page of your book? Maybe the dhampir is not behind this? Maybe it is some unseen power..."
Vrindel does what he can to insure nature will recover from whatever fell magic was used here, others debate what may have happened and the source of such power, Trevor desperately looks for a pair of boots. Oddly, the sacrifices are stripped naked, but there is no sign of their armor, arms, or any of the other gear they carried when the left the shack the previous evening anywhere in the clearing.
That is until Vrindel notices several small pieces of metal inside the stone circle. With a closer examination it is clear the bits are most likely all that remains of the reaver's gear. A few rings from a chain shirt, the sliver of a broken axe blade, a copper shirt button, the end of a gold armband, a handful of other useless items. Handling the items is difficult as they easily chip, break, or even crumble into a sliver filled dust.
Walking back along the trail to the road, Finnigan spots one lone, dwarf-sized boot not far from the original reaver camp. Likely kicked or fell off during whatever struggle took place. Unfortunately its mate is nowhere to be found.
Trevor's shoulders sag as they find promises, but nothing more. He sits on one of the stone and takes his socks off, wrenching them as dry as he can, watching the brown liquid drip drip down to the ground, then he slips them back on and gets back up on his feet.
"Right then. Fight evil. I mean, Evil! Yes! I'm in, but what's next? I agree we should burn these reavers, in case they turn."
After not finding any useful raw material from the reavers without taint, Ibrox removes his gloves and apron almost ceremonially. And stores them in his backpack ready to go away. He bends down to enjoy the blooms of Vrindel’s magic and stands up with his characteristic smile.
Vrindel smiles to himself as he sees that most of the land will recover... but for the circle.
"I say we gather the bodies of the fallen reavers and put them in the circle, then cover it with stones. If there is some way to ward others from stepping to close then we should do so".
"I can make a magical warning to place upon the unholy area that will last eternally and warn others away...I believe animals will naturally avoid this area. They are smarter than sentient beings about that kind of thing".
After the grisly task is completed, Vrindel offers to heal any wounded by the attack... including himself.
As the Troll blooded sits against a tree at the edge of the clearing and relaxes he ponders the situation.
Let's try to make some sense of what we know. For one thing a Dhampir must have a Vampire mother or father. Perhaps there is an ancient vampire that has previously been defeated and staked or somehow defeated. It would make sense that it's trying to arise. Perhaps it's bonds are weakening. Perhaps it was trying to do something when it was defeated and now it wants to Awaken, complete what it started, and take revenge against those whom defeated it to begin with... perhaps the Reavers... I believe they hate vampires right"?
The big humanoid then rises to his feet pacing as he thinks.
"We need more information about the history of this area. Perhaps a bigger settlement might offer someone with this knowledge"?
Trevor looks at Zove, unclear if she was joking or not, then he asks: "So are we burning them or burying them? I say we burn them."
”Oy, mate! You already know where I stand! Was I not the first to ask if these dead would walk again? You might recall I was! Let them burn I say. As for cairns, I don’t oppose them. A first this is for me, seeing stones march merrily through the air on moonbeams! We don’t get much of that round the pub!”
Finnigan marvels at Zoves display.
I’ll have a look round the way for more stones...”
Once out of sight, Finnigan experiments with rubbing twigs together to get a spark.
What’s this? A suitable place to camp?
”OI! You lot! Over here! As your official Dancing Bear wilderness guide, I recommend we camp here!”
"They are dwarves. They belong in the ground or under rock after their death. Their clan would appreciate us interring them in the correct way were they to find out. Besides I don't want charred Dwarven ghosts haunting us as we sleep. I feel we should spend the additional time to properly honor them in their death... it was not a pleasant one I bet".
The Trollkin redoubles his efforts obviously using the hard labor to keep his mind off the circumstances.
> Finnigan: "I trust that you have found us a suitable campsite. We'll begin our journey first thing tomorrow".
Finnigan discovers a suitable enough spot to camp not far away from the tainted clearing. After a hard days work hauling stones and completing the cairn, everyone settles in for the evening. The rain continues in a dreary drizzle. Although the thick pine and cedar bows of the camp's thicket protect from the worst there are still those occasional large, eye-splattering drops that insure a damp and slightly uncomfortable camp. Especially when a breeze blows through strong enough to rattle the limbs and knock off all of the water at once.
Dry wood is hard to find, but the outdoor skills and magical talents of the group manage to keep a small, hissing, smokey blaze going. The flames provide just enough heat to warm your hands and make a bit of tea to go with the evening meal, but little additional comfort beyond the bare minimum.
Fortunately the evening and night pass uneventfully, unfortunately the wet weather continues. Although the rain doesn't fall in the downpours of previous days, the steady drizzle and wind are enough to keep bodies and equipment cold, wet, and generally uncomfortable.
Returning to the road, the march north to Nargenthal continues. Despite the rain and damp, the woods are once again alive with birdsong and the chattering and nattering of other small woodland creatures. A welcome return after the dark silence surrounding the ritual clearing.
A little after mid-day, Vrindel is the first to spot movement on the road ahead. The trollkin catches the glimpse of blue-gray cloth moving through the trees about the same time as the sounds of a sheep bleating and a child crying break through the natural background noise of the forest.
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Only the cold, wet patter of rain brings Aterro from his deep meditations, and he rises and looks about him, eyes blinking as though waking from a great sleep.
"I have been granted a vision by Lord Thor.
He was fighting a beast of many arms, and so great was the giant's strength that when the Thunderer threw his magic hammer Mjolnir, the many-handed thing did grasp the hammer and held it fast. Unarmed, Thor was badly beset by hammer blows, each one with power enough to crush a mountain.
As I looked upon the scene, filled with angst and anguish that I could not fight the giant on my own, the Earthshaker did look to me and stretched out his hand. Unto his hardened fist I passed my own weapon, and he held it high, bringing it down upon his foe with copious force.
The many-handed giant fell with a mighty crash, half his body staved by a blow none could withstand.
After retrieving his majestic weapon, Thor himself did come to me, and, giving me my maul by his own hand, now voiced, 'You have a good weapon, and it deserves a good name. Henceforth, when you wield this in my name, know that it is:
'
Then he left me, and I woke.
I know that we face an evil that strikes at us from many directions, unto we may not even now know what we truly fight, but I am confident that with heart and steel and Thor's guidance, we shall prevail in the end."
Then Aterro grew quiet and, pausing only long enough to light a good fire, fell into a deep sleep. He awoke refreshed and lead the group with a renewed determination to meet...whatever was foolish enough to come to their path.
Enjoying the peacefulness of their surroundings... especially when compared to the previous few nights, the smiling Trollkin is started out of hie reverie by a sudden movement and noise nearby.
He starts running in that direction.
"Someone is in danger! Hurry"!
Perception
After his routine share of camp chores last night, Ibrox settles into his bedroll and slips into deep slumber…
His mind’s eye opens surrounded by a dark forest, slight moonlight filtered by looming trees. He is alone until a beautiful elven lady steps out from behind a tree. She is dressed in elegantly embroidered silk robes of somber colors. ”Welcome. You have done well with my gifts, followed the path that I set before you.“
She approaches the reverent gnome and hands him a black, “calf”-skin bound book, ”Here is your next gift. Use it for your quest.”
The cheerful gnome awakes refreshed with a black, “calf”-skin bound book in his hands. He smiles knowing his divine patron supports his quest to reverse the curse of Grandmother. With a prayer of ”Ibrox,” a cheerful smile returns to the gnome’s face. ”Good morning, everyone. Hope everyone's dreams were as divine as mine.”
With a wave of his hand, the small campfire erupts from its drowned coals to bring heat to his companions. With another wave of his hand, vapor erupts from and drying his clothes and bedroll. He packs away his new book in his backpack and starts his morning routine of camp and breakfast. However, this time magic flows abounds warming and flavoring food. He dries the clothes and especially the socks of Trevor and Finnigan, so at least he can delay their complaining for an hour or so.
On the trail every hour or so, his companions can hear the cheerful gnome reverently repeat, ”Ibrox,” which causes vapor to roll from the gnome’s clothes and gear.
When Vrindel stops unexpectedly, the smiling gnome stops and asks, ”what do you sense, druid?”
Then, he starts running with his short legs to follow the trollkin.
Finnigan watches Ibrox warily throughout the morning trek... he is distrustful of the gnomes growing magical power, but he is grateful for the dry clothes.
"Astonishing! Did everyone have a significant dream last night? Myself, I dreamed of a golden cow whose udders give ale when milked. And you should have seen the maid who milked her. I take it as a sign!"
When Vrindel starts running Finnigan throws up his hands in the air in exasperation. "Golden bloody hells! What is it now?"
"Trevor, Zove, don't mind him. As your Dancing Bear Wilderness Guide I assure you, there is nothing afoot or I would have sensed it. Vrindel is merely running a pace ahead to answer nature's call. Let him go in peace and privacy, he'll soon enough return and be in better spirits for having relieved himself I reckon."