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"Twice-cursed! Twice-cursed! Did I mention that I hate witches? Hate 'em! Does anyone know where that golden honey queen hangs? We've got to go underneath the tree to find something. Did I mention that I hate caves, too? Not as much as witches, though. Leave them to the dwarves and goblins, I say."
"I should find another witch, now. I hear its epic to be thrice-cursed! Maybe I can get those crones fighting over my soul. Too bad that's already sold, I tell you." The sanity of the gnome has clearly been disturbed. You haven't seen him this chatty in... ever.
He returns to search the inn for anything useful and good ale. He thinks twice about pointing out that he protected the Thorson from the giant goblin. That the mighty wielder of the Thorspear hid behind him, the gnome. Maybe not. He feels himself teetering on the edge of sanity and consciousness at the moment as it is. No need to provoke the WarCleric.
Shrugging at Ibrox "Eh, she was probably just exaggerating. You'd be mad too if your dinner stood up and walked away. Surely she'll forget all about us when a newt crosses her path on Thorsday or whatever other stupid stuff witches care about...c'mon, theres gotta be some treasure in here somewhere..."
The cocoon falls at Vrindel's feet. The person inside puts up a feeble struggle to try and free himself, but it takes a few more minutes to unwrap the imprisoned dwarf. The light from Trevor's axe suddenly winks out while Vrindel finishes cutting the frightened and badly injured victim from his leafy tomb.
"W-w-w-wh-wh-who's there?" He says in a dry, whisper. Unable to speak any louder due to thirst and terror. His head twists about for several seconds and its a that moment that Vrindel can see, the dwarf is blind. His eyes gone, although not by dagger, hot poker, or some other more conventional means. It's as if his sight was merely plucked away, leaving nothing but the empty sockets behind.
"Get away! Get away! Don't touch me!" The dwarf whisper screams, trying to scramble backwards. But his limbs are simply too weak to do little more than stir the leaves and dirt beneath the tree.
Scramsax is the first to step back inside the inn, his lantern providing a little light on the grisly, macabre scene. The fungal growths from Vrindel's spell no longer grip and grab, having fallen back to the floor and counters to continue their slow destruction of the former inn. Dead goblins lie about where staff, sling or axe dealt them lethal blows. Without the distraction of illusions and being paralyzed and thrown into a boiling pot as a sacrifice to goblins and a witch, the true darkness of the place stands out.
Scramsax, Aterro, and Ibrox can't help but gaze once again upon the numerous heads of elf, human, dwarf, kobold, halfling, and others upon the walls. All former victims of the witch and her brood. Also a reminder of just how close you all came to joining those trophies on that wall of misery.
The scent of burning flesh comes from the roasting spit, where a body still hangs on the spit over the hot coals of the fire pit. Combined with the smell of the still steaming stew sloshed all over the kitchen floor and the remnants of whatever Scramsax was smoking, the air inside is most unpleasant and uncomfortable to breathe.
Yet the thought of treasure spurs Scramsax forward. He rummages first behind the bar, finds little of value. Only roaches, spiders, worms, centipedes and a few other creepy crawly insects unfamiliar to his western background. Along the far wall, he discovers four more dwarves. Stacked like cordwood. Their limbs are stiff as hardwood, but their horror-filled, manic eyes still move back and forth. Following the light of halfling, cleric and warlock as they search the building.
Opening a cupboard filled with cobwebs, mice droppings and scurrying roaches, Aterro uncovers two old, dusty bottles of Skullbreaker Vodka, one of Vidim's finest, three bottles of '47 Trombeian red wine, and one bottle of Imperial Cellars Peach Brandy out of Dornig. The ale in the barrel behind the bar, seems fine enough. A rich earthy aroma with a honey sweet finish. But both Scramsax and Ibrox shake their heads warily and even turn a bit green when Aterro suggests having a drink.
It is in the back of the big common room, that Scramsax comes across something of interest. A locked door. Fortunately, the rusty lock seems simple and easy enough to deal with given the right tools and talents.
He glances back to the others raising his eyebrows high in pure delight. Ridiculously, of all things he pulls out a crisp little apple. But you watch as he slides the top half of the juicy fruit to the side, and you realize its no fruit at all but a little mechanical box full of picks, chisels, and wires...
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"Suit yourself," Aterro rumbles as he pulls out the cup of his mess kit and, dipping it deep in the barrel, takes a long, head-righting pull.
Find the cup empty again he dips into the rich cooling liquid and again does the cup fight to the last.
One last time does he wet his throat and now, finding himself sated, he thinks he at last can face the remaining mysteries.
The bottles he settles into the bottle-carrier part of his backpack (what? yours doesn't have one?) and he tromps forward to the locked door.
"An interesting thief kit. I would not have suspected that."
He stands a bit away, out of acid spray range, but close enough to charge in.
Though he doubts any more foes remain.
"Calm thyself. You are not among enemies, but among those who would see you liberated. I am Vrindel, and my friend here is Trevor".
Persuasion
"I am going to bring you some water now, and you can tell me your story".
Too weak to really struggle or get away, the dwarf simply nods and collapses back onto the ground.
A soft moan escapes from bee-woman trapped by the tree as whatever nightmare she appears to be trapped in continues to haunt her troubled mind. This causes another frantic effort by the dwarf to crawl away from the tree.
"Wh-wh-what is th-tha-that thing?" He stammers. Fright and weakness nearly overwhelming his ability to speak in any rational way.
By the time Vrindel returns with water, the dwarf has made it three or four paces from where he fell. Struggling futilely to escape the horrible places he's found himself in. Finally he looks up to see another pair of boots dangling from another leafy cocoon. The boots are a deep, dark brown leather with iron tipped toes. The leather along the ankle and up has been stamped with an elaborate vine and knotwork pattern.
"Lythur?! Lythur, is that you?" He turns to Trevor and Vrindel, eyes wide. "Get 'im d-d-down. P-p-please, it's my boy. You've got to help me get him down!"
The gnome pauses at the four stacked dwarves, "Hey, I think these dwarves are alive!" He starts investigating their health status.
He uses his telepathy to ask each of the four: who are you? How long have you been like this? Do you know how I can cure you?
It only takes the halfling a few seconds with his tools before the lock releases with a simple *click* and the door swings open with grace and oiled ease. It's almost as if Scramsax has done this kind of thing before. Or perhaps not...
Because the would be burglar completely missed a thin wire that was still connected to the lock as it was released. This rather innocent piece of metal, placed there by a most untrusting witch surrounded by very nosy and unscrupulous goblins, was meant to serve one purpose and one purpose only. It does so with admirable consistency and ease.
Having not been properly removed from the lock, it releases a second, specially designed spring lock attached to a rather large glass jar hanging directly above the door. Finally freed from its glass prison, a great glob of slimy, oozing goop filled with a variety of bones and other metal bits comes cascading down upon the threshold of the doorway to land with a loud sickening *SPLORK!*
Fortunately Scramsax, who apparently has done this before, was prepared for just such a danger and manages to scramble clear at the last moment. What no one seems prepared for is how the great glob of slimy crimson and black goop suddenly forms a psuedopod and lashes out at the halfling. The great glob smacks Scramsax right on the head, instantly engulfing the small rogues face in its putrefying mass. Quickly following up its success, the rest of the mass swarms over the halfling's remains and slides toward Aterro and Ibrox.
No! No! No! Not the door, don't open the door! Oh gods, NOOOOOO!!!!
Unfortunately, by the time these thoughts register, you've already heard the click of the lock and the loud slopping sound of something hitting the floor. You turn to see the halfling's head completely engulfed in a disgusting mass of red and black goop, and now it's sliding free into the same room as you and Aterro.
"Run away! Run away!" the gnome screams and dashes for the door self-preservation chasing him away from the ooze behind the door.
Trevor pales even further, outside the inn and uses his axe to free the Dwarf's son.
Vrindel helps to free the Dwarves Son, as he arrives back with water for the blind dwarf.
"We're cutting him down now. Please tell me your story as we work. We'll do everything for him that we can".
He then looks back at Aterro's call with a bit of anger in his eyes. He embraces Trevor with his eyes.
"It is your choice as to whether you answer that call or not. For now the lives of these people is more important to me so I will stay until this situation is resolved. We really need to learn to quit trying to do multiple things at once and focus on the more vital need".
For a moment the oozing mass glurps and slurps in the center of the room, various pods and slopping appendages swing about. Finally, sensing the rapid beating hearts of the paralyzed dwarves stacked along the back wall, it starts to slide in their direction.
Meanwhile, Scramsax lies dying on the floor as Ibrox and Aterro both rapidly retreat toward the front door. Aterro suddenly feeling his limbs seizing up and going numb as the two big mugs of witches ale take effect and try to override his system.
Trevors axe slashes through the mass of thin vine-like willow branches and the second dwarf drops to the ground. Younger and a bit taller than the first, the second victim is coated in blood and suffers from a multitude of small puncture wounds that cover most of his body. The source of the punctures becomes clear as Vrindel tries to remove the vines. They are thick with nasty thin, needle like thorns. A closer examination reveals them to be hollow in the middle and the vines themselves leak a golden red sap from where the axe sliced them from the main limb.
The dwarf crawls over to the one he called Lyther and holds the young man's head in his lap. Tears form in his eyes as he looks up to Vrindel.
"We was sailin' fer the Wolfmark from Rook's Cove in Tanserhall. Carryin' trade goods to the lads fightin' them undead hordes in Krakova. Symbols of Sif and Wotan to be blessed by the clerics. Along with wood, leather, and a bit o' silver." He runs a hand over the dead dwarfs head. "Was Lythur's first trip across the straights." He pauses for a moment sobbing softly.
"We was blessed with fine weather and a right good wind up until three days ago. That's when that foul storm seemed to leap up out of nowhere. Drove us south into the Ghed. Neither the captain or our windcaller could do much except keep us afloat try to stay off the rocks. Twas a fierce blow no doubt. But we couldv'e ridden it out if the Serpents own beast hadn't found us." His eyes close and his whole body shudders as he remembers the storm and its the terrifying beast that struck within its midst.
"Nothin' but teeth and hunger that thing, with more heads than any beast has a right to have. Took us not far off shore while we was battlin' the storm. Tried to fight it off, but as soon as you managed to take one head off, it'd grow another." He shivers again. "Captain figured we'd be better off taken our chances with the rocks and reaching dry land. So he turned her with the storm and surf and soon enough we were crashin' to shore."
He pauses looking off toward the sudden shouts and frightened screams coming from the front of the inn. His eyes growing wide with fright and panic as he starts to scramble away, dragging the lifeless Lythur with him.
"Don't let 'em get me!" He says scrambling away from whatever might be coming from the inn. "Don't let her put me back up in that wretched tree!"
As soon as he can, Trevor nods to Vrindel: "I hear you!" and dashes back inside the inn.
He hears the Dwarf mention Krakova and almost stops in his tracks, but just curses and keeps running.
When the Thorson keels over, the gnome loses what little sanity that he had, The gnome runs over to the Thorson and digs out the bottle with the most alcohol that he stashed in his special bottle carriers. He starts to rig it as an incendiary device.
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Scram was suddenly gazing over an intricate map projection of the forgotten Western Oceans, warm white sands gushing through his toes. There was a large red 'X' marked on one island, and a winding annotated dashed red line leading the way.
Yet the turny paths and confounding riddled instructions were indecipherable to the unfocused halfling, and the heat of the tropical sun and cool gentle breeze would have him cast the parchment aside and lay down for a right proper beach nap.
But there was a little prick on his toes as they dug deeper into the sands. "Ouch. Stop it." he called out lazily.
A colorful crayfish of a vibrant blue and purple saddled up beside him. He watched as the eyestalks slowly gazed towards each other and merged, becoming a swirling gooey biological mess. "Er...you..."
From the fleshy substance atop the crayfishes body emerged the face of a beautiful woman, one that looked forlorn but not wholly hopeless. "Where's your prize, thief? You were not expected to come here so empty handed." she asked in a gentle voice.
Scram flushed a bright red for some reason "Well, I had a map...sorta...just didn't really get it."
"You knew it once, you know it always. How could it leave you?" she offered.
He glanced back at the cartography, but it was even more confusing, like a full page of labyrinth with narrow passages and a thousand dead ends. Scram realized suddenly he was at one of the fatal walled junctions...he just needed to turn around...
The crayfish watched him puzzle it out, sad now and tears welling in her eyes.
Trevor comes charging back into the ruined inn and nearly trips over the fallen form of Aterro. The war cleric lays on the floor stiff and clutching the long softly glowing spear of Thor, in his frozen grip. Ibrox stands over Aterro fumbling through a pack and finally pulling out a dusty bottle filled with a clear liquid. Grabbing the thick cork of the bottle between his teeth, he tears it free with a loud *pop* and jams a piece if cloth inside. The gnomes eyes frantically stare across the room. Following his gaze, Trevor spots both the fallen Scramsax and the flowing blob of red, black, and flesh toned ooze sliding toward the stack of dwarves along the far wall. As he watches, the oozing puddle forms an oblong pseudopod that moves faster than one might expect and the pod lunges and strikes the immobilized dwarf across the face and chest. As it does so, the creatures soft phosphorescent glow grows a little bit brighter.
With full-on crazy in his eyes, the gnome holds his bottle bomb in his left hand. After blinking hard a couple of times, he looks at two down companions and a flammable, overhead roof and snaps back a bit.
He says "Ibrox," in a stern voice causing an Eldritch Blast of Void to jump from his pointed fingers toward the ooze. Then, he dashes out the door with his bomb in hand, in case the ooze wants to chase its threat.
Scramsax took the map and folded it in on itself () "...hehe...I've seen that trick before..." The crayfish just waited patiently.
Now, instead of just the lines and markings aligning after the fold, he noted the annotations also revealed a new message. This time it betrayed a false, hidden stone buried just under a single red tulip nearby.
After a few minutes of burrowing, Scram felt his fingernails scrape it. Tugging, it required some effort because deeper down the sand was wet, and wanted to form a vacuum as he tried pulling it free....
...finally with a *suck* the little rune marked piece of slate was ripped out, and a bright blue portal opened in its place with the sound of 100 crashing waves. Scram stepped through to find himself atop a snowy mountain in the middle of a blizzard...
Trevor slides a hand over Scramsax: "By Khors! You're more a fool than I am!? Get out of here!" and infuses the Halfling with His light.
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Aterro gets groggily to his feat. "The ale...totally...worth it," he mumbles to Trevor as his sense slowly come into focus and he takes in the scene before him.
"Well come on, men. We've gone and woke the beast now, and those dwarves are good an' done for if we hoof it. With all of us together I think we can give a good accounting. "
Medicine (Untrained)
Vrindel gently picks up the Dwarves son. "Come. Hold onto me. We're getting out from under this tree, and out of this area... then you'll wait till I come back with the rest of my group".
Vrindel leads the man and his son to a safer place, hands the man a dagger, and heads towards the chaos his friends have needlessly created.
Scram snaps to suddenly as Khors divine presence supplants whatever tenuous connection he was having with another.
"Nasty ol' jelly!" he put some distance between himself and the ooze, whipping a clear shot with his sling before taking cover.
Ibrox sends a blast of eldritch energy surging toward the ooze. It lands with a sickly hiss against the slimy substance, but the weak blast has little effect.
Aterro initially succumbs to the witches poisonous brew, but the thought of dying and being refused the halls of Valhalla because he was unable to defend himself from something as simple and disgusting as a bucket of semi-conscious goop drives the big cleric to focus every ounce of his strength and willpower to overcome the poison. Sweat beads on his forehead, but the effort pays off as his foot suddenly twitches, followed by an elbow, a knee, a whole leg. Soon enough he is able to stagger and stumble to his feet using the spear to help lever himself upright.
While Aterro battles the witches poison Trevor hurries over to Scramsax. The healing power of Khors flows from the knights hands and into the dying halfling. Moments later Scramsax returns to consciousness, his eyes fluttering open. His last moments of previous consciousness slam back into his mind. Remembering the trap and the living ooze with its deadly life sucking mass, he readies his sling and sends a stone slapping into the thick goop.
Feeling the sting of two attacks, the ooze slithers across a second dwarf and then turns its attention back toward those who cause it pain.
Vrindel manages to move the dwarf and the limp unmoving body of Lythur out from under the willow and to a patch of soft ground near the main path.
Giving the second dwarf another look, the druid is just about to give up hope that the young sailor is still alive when he manages to feels a very feint pulse. The smallest of heartbeats. Miraculously the boy still clings to life.
Scram popped another bullet from behind the table before zipping around the corner of the door...
Trevor raises his shield for protection, grumbling about curiosity and greed, and slams his magical axe at the ooze.
Vrindel spends one of his remaining spells to bring back the younger Dwarf.
Cure Wounds.
Hold Dwarf! You're son somehow clings to life. Let me see if I can revive him".
Vrindel looks back towards the ramshackle inn hoping to see his friends emerge... and hoping he has enough spell power back to keep them upright.
Vrindel sees Ibrox standing outside of the inn's front door, holding a bottle of something with a bit of cloth sticking out the top. A variety of shouts, screams, clattering, and the whip crack of Scramsax's sling echo out from the rot filled, smelly, ruined inn and its common room.
Ignoring all of that, Vrindel manages to seal some of the oozing wounds in the young dwarf and repair some of the other physical harms and it seems at least for now, the dwarf is in no further danger of dying.
Feeling Lythur's heartbeat grow a bit stronger, the other dwarf smiles his thanks, his eyes watering as he speaks. "Bless you for your kindness and giving my boy a second chance at life. We are both surely in your debt." He says, holding the still unconscious dwarfs head in his lap as Vrindel completes his initial healing.
Trevor steps up and slams his axe directly into and through the oozing mass. The mighty blow bisects the creature literally in two. Creating a second ooze that seeks its own prey.
Suddenly confronted with two targets, Scramsax picks the closest and sends another stone slamming into the oozing mass. Bits and globs splatter across the room as the stone disrupts the creatures cohesion enough to end its existence.
However, the other creature created by Trevor's axe, lashes out at the young knight with a sticky pseudopod. With unexpected quickness it engulfs Trevors leg causing his muscles to spasm and burn as the ooze not only hits but leaches his life energy away as it does so.
With a sudden buzz like the sound of a giant hummingbird, another slingstone whirled out of nowhere to catch the offending ooze in the side.
"What the..." says Trevor as he watches with horror his trusty axe make the situation much worse.
"My axe cuts it into two! I need a club!?" and he rummages around him for a club. He fights the instict to just grab the halfling and use it as a blunt weapon, and looks for a chair or a jar.
He fights the instinct to just grab the halfling and use it as a blunt weapon
From the safety of outside because companions didn't heed his advice to run away and instead offer themselves to it as a meal, the gnome maneuvers in from the door and windows to get a clean shot a the ooze.
With an stern-voiced "Ibrox", he snaps off a quick blast. This one lands very close to Trevor.
He continues to juke back and forth outside to get a clear shot of the ooze. This one misses Aterro by a fraction and explodes a part of the interior wall.
Vrindel arrives at the front of the inn just in time to witness his companions turn the slithering puddle of ooze into a electrocuted and splattered mess. One glob of glop given a particularly generous amount of velocity from Trevor's broken table leg manages to smack the druids scowling check with a soft *splork* punctuating the end to the current fray.
When the ooze stops oozing, the gnome shouts, "the dwarves!" And, he rushes back into the inn beside the paralyzed dwarves. If any are still alive, he telepathically restarts his questioning of the Cordwood Dwarves, "Hi again, ooze is destroyed. Now, where were we? Oh, who are you? Do you know how to cure you?"
He pulls out the wick of his Molotov cocktail and starts sucking on it to not waste it. Plus with day he's had, too much of a good thing will cause him to pass out.
Scram turned his attention back to the guarded room, his greed engaging like never before. Now just how many bars of solid platinum and giant cantelope-sized emeralds was this witch hiding. This was why he left the village, wasn't it...
Trevor looks at Scramsax with great anger: "Stop now! You took it upoon you to venture, without taking a minute to catch our breath, after I've saved you from the hag's pot, and nearly died if not for His gift. And now I can no longer heal these poor bastards... AND NOW YOU WANT TO GO AT IT AGAIN?!? Well, just know I won't be saving you. I need to rest. Have at it, and die rich!"
And he walks off to the porch and sits against a wall, finally catching a break, trying not to think of the dying Dwarves.
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A hand like an iron vice comes down on the Halfling's shoulder. "Even the iron legions of Thor's Children must needs take rest afore finding more glory. I too have spent all my grace for the day, and so any other honor must needs wait upon our leisure.
Let us retire outdoors, to the open sky, and spend a quiet, cool night regaining nature.
Upon the morrow, ready and refreshed, we can explore all anew.
Is that not pleasing to you?"
Scram bobs to the side casually "Meh, alright whatever. Wasn't done lookin' is all."
Once Vrindel determines that the others are alive, he stomps back out to the tree trying to determine if anyone else lives. First he starts with the Bee person.
"Hey! Can you hear me"?
The gnome wanders outside to find the trollkin. "Hey Vrindel, we've got two dwarves alive inside. Both paralyzed. One unconscious. Do you have anything to cure the paralysis? I think they're going crazy."