5E Adventure's in Midgard – North (Reaver's Spring)

Game Master Tareth

Aterro knew war.

Within him factions, cabals, juntas and sects were forming up and calling the ranks and making mighty clashes. Briefly the Super Cautious Party gained control of the reigns long enough to knew a brief spear of fear. Knew that the rational thing was to walk away.

But then the other bands thought it smelled of cowardice and the SCP was carried away in a popular tide that swept in new leadership.

Eventually a majority coalesced between an alliance of the Superior Curiosity People For Aterro and the Bold Action Now coalition of some minor powers and a wing of the What Would Thor Do? clique.

The WWTD movement actually had a solid power base, because the example of The Thunderer was quite clear.

Thor would hit it.

A wing of Caution bargained its support for a plank of rationality, and at last a ruling government was formed.

A rare grin creaks across the WarCleric's face.

"I will sleep now, and regain my power," he said, evenly, betraying no hint of the chaos that had raged within him.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, feasting in the deep smells of Power and Sex that radiated from the queen.

"When I awake, full of Grace and lust, then. Yes. For whatever course or needs this path requires, I will tread it.

Is this...acceptable?"

Unwinding such a Golden Knot would be a story with telling amongst his Midgardian brothers. Thor himself tells us that victory should be honored with revels.

Trevor grumbles in his sleep and turns to the other side, falling fast asleep again.

The queen smiles, her grin slyly flashing along with her eyes as she nods her head ever so slightly. "Rest is indeed a prudent venture after your experiences child of Thor." She says gesturing toward the waiting room and accommodation. "Perhaps on the morrow we shall see how the thunderers spirit mingles with that of the First World."

With a smooth swirl, she turns and walks slowly down the golden corridor deeper into the inner chambers of the hive.

As Aterro finally prepares himself for sleep Trevor tosses and turns upon the soft comfort of the hivebed. His dreams troubled by witches, mushrooms, and dissolving dwarves and hovering bee folk.

Waking in the morning, the young paladin finds himself sweaty, chilled, sluggish with his hands and feet feeling a bit swollen, clammy and clumsy. Despite the pale face and sickly look, his appetite is furious. His eyes and grumbling stomach welcome the honey sweetened summer fruits delivered by a pair of halfling-sized bees who buzz in carrying the platter of food and a pitcher of clear cool water.

Similar trays are left for everyone, even the quiet and meditative Vrindel.

Ibrox wakes just long enough to take another dose of the queen elixir and then drifts back to sleep. The gnomes mind while calmer still churns tumultuously as he fends off the last remaining effects of the crystals. Amazingly, while he still feels a tenuous connection to his patron, the gnome no longer feels the ever present niggle of Baba Yaga's curse that affects all of his people. Somehow, his near brush with burning madness and undeath seems to have lifted that particular curse from his head.

After his breakfast, Trevor makes his way slowly to Vrindel's hexagon. to the druid, he confesses: "I haven't been feeling well... Everything spins, all the time, except when I lie down. Then it's better. I think I caught something in that tunnel. This mushroom-man, he did something to me I believe..."

As the queen turns and walks away Aterro's eyes drop and a low, guttural sounds echos in his throat. 'Confound such a woman could bring sweat to a statue.'

The WarCleric had known women. His most noteworthy had been a half-orc near HardWheat. She was double-agent with questionable morals and he was young and full of himself. Thrice he toed the battle-line with her and though she died soon thereafter, he considered it a point of pride that her short time in this world was not wholly of pain.

He relaxes audibly into the hivebed, and spends some time wondering how he could ask for one to be delivered to his abode after this was all done. Surely no craft of human hands could make a thing so luxuriantly comfortable?

He frowns with baleful fire as his breakfast tray is delivered. "Oy! Do this again. Bring another one," he states without mercy.
The plate lacked meat, and he knew his appetite would grind without quarter on such a meal that lacked staying power. His only hope was to eat great amounts.
He augmented the honeyed fruits with bites of hard jerky, and his stomach found the offering amenable.

At last gorged and sated he stretched enormously and communed one last time with his lord. In answer again the vision of the queen sashaying away from him came unbidden to his mind, and he felt a stirring in his groin. Such a sign seemed characteristic of The Thunderer, and he knew Thor would judge him based on how he rose to this new challenge.

For challenge it was. Odin's magic runes were not just sorcery and success in battle, but also of lovemaking, for what was the point of living and fighting if one was not skilled in the softer arts?

He rose, ready.

And sought a royal rendezvous.

Aterro spends the day wandering the hive, but cannot find the one he desires. Nor can he seem to find anyone or anything conversant enough in the common tongue to ask of the queen's whereabouts or simply provide directions.

Perhaps Ibrox could have been of help as the gnome has shown certain abilities to communicate with the wild creatures of the wood. Unfortunately, the short warlock was still struggling with the symptoms of his brush with undeath and was in no real state to be casting spells or communicating with others.

Trevor is the war clerics only companion for the day and the knight spends most of it clumsily bumping into things and worrying about some likely imagined influence of the mushroom from the willow. He pleas to Vrindel for aid finds the druid distracted and wrapped up in his own meditative contemplation.

Further off putting is the vegetarian diet of the giant bees, but it is all they are able to offer. That is until the following morning when another drone flies into each of your respective quarters. Trevor, feeling even worse. Vrindel still contemplating...whatever it is trollkin contemplate after such experiences. Ibrox finally wakes from his fevered state, feeling odd, but much better. And Aterro is even more...thunderous and thunderstriken than ever.

But unlike the other drones with their typical black and yellow markings, this one is larger, all black with a single royal red stripe that runs around the midsection of its body. The wings are larger as the whir softly within the confines of the enclosed space. Most notable is the long stinger, the size of a small sword or large dagger, the tip shining with some kind of venom. Its multifaceted eyes watch each of you with an intelligence much more advanced than the other insectoids of the hive.

Like its appearance, what this creature carries also differs from the platters of fruit and goblets of water you've received so far. Upon the tray sits a small crystal bottle. Each bottle contains a cup of gold liquid. A quick sniff reveals an aroma that can only be described as one of the most exciting, intoxicating scents you've ever encountered. It is as if these creatures were able to distill passion, beauty, lust and sensuality into a single invigorating drink. Even the mere sniff of the bottle leaves you light headed and amorous.

A note written in an elegant handwriting sits folded upon each the tray.

All receive the invite and the elixir.

"Do you feel all well, man?" Aterro shoots at Trevor as the paladin seems altogether out of sorts.

"'Tis my inclination to let you sweat it out and so do at least one battle on your own mettle. But...beseems I myself might have a valiant struggle before me, and I shall need as many brothers of steel at my shoulder as I can.

I can not say if this will restore thy steel, but 'tis a powerful spell to ease suffering."

Aterro spends a bit of his badly-needed grace.

Casting Lesser Restoration on Trevor.

Later, as the noble bee floats forwards and extends the gold-drink at him, Aterro reads the note and inwardly sighs.

'Am I somehow cursed? All I wish is to sip drinks freely given with good friends. Yet...whenever someone offers me a beverage 'tis a prelude to me spilling it on the ground in insult.'

His hand tensed to crush the goblet.

But then he paused.

Would it be so bad? He doubted not he could win through any challenger. And then?

And then he would be king.

An entire clutch would be filled with his children, and he would be away from all this. Perforce, his beloved Krakovia was forever dead. There was no doubt of that. The undead maintained their march upwards, and the only country on the other side was the land of the dwarf-reavers, who were now as jackals feeding upon the corpse.
So too, would not the greatest of glory to Thor be to bring his light unto races not even human? Mayhap there could be a whole hive of bees with small bone-carved hammers around their necks?

He was tired. So very tired.

He stared, motionless, at the drink in his hand.

The gnome blinks many times and awakes. He felt odd but better. He dreamed that he was free of the Grandmother's Curse, but it probably was a dream. Where was he? What happened? Everything around him was strange and calm. Gone were the Shroomen, goblins and undead. Was that all a nightmare?

He swung his short legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. A little wobbly, like he hadn't used them in a while. How long has it been? From his morning routine, he cast Prestidigitation, that he used to magically clean up, groom, and smell fresh. Out of the habit of self-preservation, he suits up ready to run away. He stows anything of usefulness that he can get into his backpack, like clothes, a note and the bottle of Elixir.

While shouldering his backpack, he gets hit by a missile of fur that knocks him back on the bed. Still a bit groggy, he doesn't react as a threat and finds a weasel rubbing his fur against him as it climbs all over him, dangerous claws lightly digging for support but not into flesh nor blood. "Rikki. You must be Rikki. I dreamed of you, too. Where is everyone? Take me to them." The weasel nods and detaches itself to pad out of the room.

In the next room, he finds Trevor who is still sleeping. The gnome finds a comfortable chair and starts telepathically tickling the paladin, ::Trevor? Trevor? Time to wake up.::

The day before, Trevor lets the priest of Thor first tease him and torture him without a word before administering his holy remedy. Vrindel had been so... remote, and the numbness so infuriating, that whatever Aterro could bring forth seemed like comfort in comparison.

The next day, he wakes with Ibrox by his side. He smiles and gives the Gnome a warm embrace, asking: "It's nice to see you sitting! And you've made new friends, so you're probably back to your usual senses, yes?" though he doesn't clarify what he considers normal when it comes to Ibrox...

"And you brought me a gift? No wait, there's a letter... 'Renew the hive,' now that sounds like a good deed! 'Only one will prevail...' Not sure I like the sound of that..."

He walks over to Aterro and asks: "Did you get a letter like this too?" He doesn't assume Ibrox got one.

Did Aterro's spell relieve me of the condition?

Vrindel was in a daze. He was overwhelmed by everything. He already had a strong connection with the Fey, but this direct exposure threatened to claim his soul. Finally he began to notice those around him, and come about a bit. Though everything still seemed obscenely colorful, and loud, and the aromas and flavors of the offered food seemed to be almost too much, he was slowly learning to deal with it. He had always considered his connection to the fey to be a blessing, but now he wondered. He was only able to keep down the offered water, as he know better than to accept the food offered by the fey.

Then he got the elixir and the note. It was enough to rouse him from his troubled dream state. He heard voices in the distance and wondered off to find Trevor and Ibrox chatting.

"How long has it been? How long have we been here? I think we should leave with all haste. Remember how time is distorted in the fey realms. I know for myself I am much happier serving as a medium between the realm of the Fey and the mortal world, than I am being a part of it. I shall always have a connections but that is enough".

He places the note and elixir on a shelf.

"I say we find Aterro and get out of here... with grace... don't want to make enemies of those we've so recently made friends".

By the time Trevor awoke, Rikki had filled in the gnome on the events since he last remembered, as well as a weasel can, with dryads and queen bees. He replies to Trevor, "Yes. I've no desire to be one with the queen. I think I just broke the Grandmother's curse on me. Now, I need to find how to break it for all the gnomes. That won't be here in the hive."

"Sounds good, Vrindel. Let's excuse ourselves politely."

"Hm?" Aterro grunts at Trevor, never taking his eyes off the crystal beaker with the pooled gold. "Mmm, a letter? Ah, yes, yes..."

There is no WarCleric here. Only a man.

In contemplation.

Aterro's magic washes over Trevor, the electrical charge of Thor's healing burning through the knights body, purifying it of the toxins left behind not by the mushroom man but by the foul ooze from the witches closet. The knights color returns to normal and he can once again feel his fingers and feet properly. Gone is the sluggish heaviness in his limbs and loss of reflexes that had plagued him for the last few days.

With the disease cured, Ibrox and Vrindel are able to piece together the cause based on Trevor's symptoms and their basic knowledge of creatures wild and foul. Known as the Seeping Death. It is a disease most commonly carried by a Suppurating Ooze and acts like a form of reproduction of the species. The knight was indeed fortunate not to let his condition progress much further and perhaps the days spent in the slower fae world under the willow were an added blessing. For certainly if he hadn't been cured the disease would have continued to dissolve the entire bone mass of his body and he would have ended up a mindless oozing mass just like the thing that attacked and infected him. A deadly and most painful way to die. Or at least most would consider it death. No one, wizard, druid or cleric, has ever discovered if the victims of the disease retain any mental or emotional faculties after the transformation. Most sincerely hope they do not.

With Trevor rested and healed, Ibrox recovered from his undeath induced madness, and Vrindel having regained his voice, the companions are ready to forego the queens hospitality and most generous invitation and depart for the village. All that is, except Aterro who sits deeply contemplating the crystal bottle and its enticing elixir, the memory of multifaceted eyes, a soft touch, and throaty laugh all whirling in his mind....

"I think he's really considering it..." says Trevor to the others, while they all stand watching Aterro ruminate.

Having been explained how he would have turned a ooze, mostly because of the stunts Aterro and Scramsax were pulling off that night, Trevor feels even less inclined than usual to let the thunder priest run free and wild. He tries to find the words to convince the priest...

But words were still a struggle for him: "Look, it says you need to win some contest. You might die if you don't prove strong enough, and that would reflect badly on Thor, no? So best to just avoid this, forget about sex with the Queenbee, and accept the rewards of hard, but safe work, yes?"

"Are you calling me a COWARD!?" Aterro snaps as his head whips around to the paladin. "You say I might die in glorious combat? I am still old enough to remember a time when followers of Khors JOINED the followers of Thor in believing that was an end worth striving for!

Confound man..." Aterro steam now seems mostly spent and his head swivels back to the goblet as iron fillings to a loadstone. ...did you see her? Such a woman would rival Valkyries in beauty and grace. That she seems a lycanthrope is not a flaw. Nay, I say nay! That is merely a display of what we mortals call true power.

...and all around me hath crumbled."

He stares hard at the liquid.

"Nay, I would not shirk from this before me. Odin himself sacrificed an eye, and hung upside down, pierced unto his heart to the World Tree, with no bread nor meade. And he emerged with the sacred runes.

A man could be called for a worse challenge than mounting the most luscious woman ever seen and siring a kingdom."

He drinks the beaker.

His companions watch with worry and perhaps a bit of eager anticipation as the war cleric drains the crystal bottle of its sweet, golden elixir. For several moments nothing seems to happen. With a frown, Aterro runs his tongue across his lips, a bit of frustration crossing his face as whatever expected effect doesn't seem to manifest.

While waiting to see what happens, everyone notices a change in the pitch of the ever present hum permeating the hive. It has dropped lower. Has grown almost rhythmic, oscillating in a pattern the feels ancient, instinctual, primal. It also seems to emanate from a specific part of the hive rather than from all around as has been the case up until this point. Now the thrumming appears to have a source, somewhere further, deeper within than any of you have explored before.

Suddenly Aterro takes in a deep gasping breath throwing his head back. A low vibration rumbles in his barrel chest, up and out of his throat in a tone that matches that of the one emanating from the hive. His chin drops forward and he raises his eyes to Trevor, Ibrox and Vridel. But they are no longer the eyes they've come to know during their adventures. No longer the eyes of a Krakovan devoted to his fallen nation, devoted to his companions and the might of justice. They are no longer human at all. Two multifaceted orbs peer back from Aterro's face, glittering with a thousand reflections of the surprised and worried faces.

His companions stare in wonder and maybe a little fear. Momentarily frozen in place. Watching with wonder as slowly the priest begins to undress. Humming in unison with the rest of the hive the warrior sets aside spear, armor, cloak, helm, tunic, boots, everything until not a stitch of clothing is left.

Ignoring questions, pleas, any and all attempts to stop him, the cleric stands, his arousal obvious for all to see. He turns toward the exit of his small hexagonal chamber where you all gathered. As he does so, all can see the glistening set of wings growing from his muscular back. Still tiny at this point, but rapidly weaving themselves larger even as the man walks through the door and starts making his way deeper into the hive. His hair floats about him occasionally giving off a static snap of electricity. Illuminated in blue sparks and the golden glow of the hive Aterro exits the chamber. His pace steady. He follows a path that leads deeper into the hive, toward that primal sound that now rumbles within the bones and ears of his companions. Each step lands in concert with the oscillations of the hum that now grows even louder.

Trevor was about to reply something about teenage horniness not counting among the worthy causes among followers of Khors, but, seeing Aterro down the drink, he nods then shrugs.

Then he gets back to his room, pulls a bit of wax from his bed and stuffs it in his ears.

He lies in bed and says as he closes his eyes, now properly deaf: "Wake me up when Odin is done suffering as he rubs himself against the World Tree!"

"Not in this reality? Well, I think you mean Midgard, because a great many things exist beyond Midgard. And..." The gnome's answer dies on his lips when he sees Aterro drain the elixir. He clears his throat to change the subject from his mind, "Rash is a superlative that describes Thor as well. You practice it well in his name." The gnome watches Aterro strip and head toward the beeorgy.

Turning towards Trevor and Vrindel, the gnome asks, "Any ideas on where that halfling went? Or, what the other two tests of that witch's curse are? We only passed her first test."

"On the bright side, I think passing that witch's first test actually broke the Grandmother's curse on me. I feel it. Hopefully, if we can pass her next two tests, they will break the curses of my family and then all of the gnomes. How amazing that would be." He finds a comfortable spot to sit and wait for Aterro's return. Then, Rikki finds a comfortable spot on the gnome to curl up and wait until Ibrox must stand up.

Trevor pretends to be annoyed at having to remove the wax from his ears to listen to Ibrox's questions: "I don't know. I asked about him, but you know we spent a month or so in that hole. Yes, I know! Time just went a different pace while in there, so I'm not sure if he escaped, and if so, where he is. I keep hoping he's waiting for us at the village..."

He says nothing about the other curses. He had forgotten about them. Now he knew he would not be able to fall asleep so easily... He puts the wax back in his ears and lies down, muttering a prayer to Khors as he does so. A minute later, he is snoring without a care in the world.

Trevor falls asleep and Ibrox tries to put together all of the puzzle pieces of recent events. Vrindel showing a bit more concern about Aterro's rash action, follows the naked cleric deeper into the hive.

The druid watches Aterro continue to transform as he walks along the winding passage. The wings grow further, to the point where they begin to flutter occasionally, partially lifting the heavy man off his feet and forward. Fine, black hair grows all over his body and his head continues to reshape itself, becoming more angular and insect like. A small set of mandibles replace his human jaw and teeth, while his ears develop into a two wiry antennae.

Any they progress through the hive, the hum becomes almost overwhelming and the corridor grows warm, almost stifling. A hot wind blows from the direction the cleric walks adding to the heat.

Finally, the tunnel ends. Coming to an abrupt end at a ledge that drops off into a vast domed chamber filled with thousands of giant bees. At least a hundred feet deep and thrice that wide and tall, the chamber is a massive construction of harden wax and honey. Clouds of yellow pollen fill the air, sticking to bodies and then being flung off again by the wild movements of the creatures. The great bees all emit the same oscillating hum that thunders within the chamber. The presence of so many bodies and their fluttering wings generating the heat and added wind felt within the tunnel. Some swirl about the rim of the chamber flying slow spiraling circles up and down while other perform odd looking dances as they cling to the wall or walk about the floor wings fluttering and bodies gyrating wildly.

Vrindel's eyes are immediate drawn to a huge bee, more than triple the size of any of the others sitting in the center of the great chamber upon a single raised mound. Above the mound, sunlight shines through a large opening in the center of the dome. The light sparkles upon a crystal crown that rests upon the huge insectoid's head. She is coated in pollen from head to tail as her wings regally flutter, stirring the cloudy air further.

Aterro simply steps off the ledge, his now fully grown wings easily carrying him into the massive swirl of the others. The others seem to make way for him as he drifts toward the waiting queen. When he gets within twenty feet of the raised mound, he way is blocked by several of the odd black bees who delivered the elixir earlier. There is a moments pause, the hive suddenly become quiet as the bees all cease their flight, finding perches on floor, wall, or ceiling.

Suddenly it is only the hum of Aterro's wings and those of the queens guardians. Within that sudden silence the queen rises from her perch. Although large, she still retains a sensual beauty and grace as she circles upward toward the opening in the doom. When she nearly reaches the bright, light filled circle her she utters a command in a language never before heard by human or trollkin. She then shoots through the opening. At the same moment half the guardians take flight to follow the queen while the others holding Aterro, suddenly release him and the transformed cleric bursts upward in a frenzied flight following the queen.

Vrindel can't help but wonder what the war cleric has done and if this is the last he will ever see of the boisterous warrior of Thor.

Truly enjoyed this scene, thanks!

Other follow as you must. For you will be the one.

There can be only one!

Vrindel decides that his curiosity and concern have for the moment surpassed his caution, and follows the foolhardy cleric into the hive. He watches the events unfold, before returning to his two remaining friends to report what he saw.

"It is good to see you both looking better. I know not what the fate of Thor's friend is, but I don't think staying here is wise. There is no telling how long he will be gone, or even if he ever returns. I say we leave here now, and leave word for Arterro to come find us in town. The world does not stop to wait on anyone, and I fear time is passing us by the longer we are in this place. If Arterro continues to put his own desires ahead of the group, then he will no doubt create his own fate as did his patron".

He then looks wistfully from whence he came. "I'm leaving within the hour. I hope you will accompany me".

Trevor sighs. It seems there would be no nap today... He gives Vrindel an annoyed look as he pulls the wax out of his ears. Again. Then he asks him to repeat.

He thinks on it, as he considers Vrindel among the wisest people he's ever known, but then says: "Nah, I'm waiting a day. Then I'll go."

He waits to see if anything happens before trying again to fall asleep.

"Vrindel, if you don't want to wait, I'll go with you. Do you want to reclaim the Thorspear?" The gnome replies to the trollkin and tempts him.

Once the queen and her suitors have disappeared into the sky, the hive begins to return to its normal activity. Bees begin to take flight exiting through the same opening in the dome, while others make their way into the many tunnels entrances that line the great chamber.

With the hum and noise of the hive returning to normal Trevor is able to just drop off to sleep only to be abruptly awakened when Vrindel shows up and makes his announcement.

Eventually the druid's hour passes and still no further sign of Aterro. Returning to his honeycomb, you discover his clothing, armor, the Thorspear, have all been removed. Yet no indication of the war cleric himself.

With Vrindel and Ibrox ready to leave, the only question remaining is whether or not Trevor wishes to leave now with his remaining commpanions or try and make the journey back to the ruined inn and eventually the village all alone should the cleric not return....

Trevor will not leave without the priest, if only because if he would, and the priest survived and made it back, he would never hear the end of it...

He waits for a full day at least.

The companions split their number yet again as Vrindel and Ibrox leave Trevor to wait within the fae hive. The hike back to the ruined inn is peaceful and pleasant with the forest providing cover and shade from the hot late summer sun. As they approach the grand willow, the change that has occurred over the handful of days since they departed this dark place is remarkable.

A spring bubbles from beneath the arching branches on the eastern side of the tree. The trickling water travels a dozen paces where it empties into a small, but slowly growing pond. The water clear, cool and fresh.

Late summer cone flowers bloom in great bunches of yellow and purple while just beyond the shade of the trees canopy. Where each of the bloody stones marked the witches circle, new stones stand. These gray rocks sparkle with quartz and other silica deposits. Small pink and blue flowers bloom around the base of each stone while multiple circles of tall sunflowers mark the outer edges of the great circle, their massive yellow, orange, and red blooms swaying lightly in the early evening breeze.

Birds chatter and sing among the limbs of the willow while a rabbit dashes away into the cover of the wood as the two travelers approach. The smell of a familiar pipe smoke tickles their nose just before they spot the dryad sitting casually up in the tree, naked legs dangling from one of the big limbs.

She waves and smiles upon seeing the druid and warlock. Then takes a moment to tap the pipe on the limb before dropping down to greet they two new arrivals.

"Vrindel, Ibrox!" She says clapping the two upon the shoulder. "Good to see you again." She spins gesturing toward the pond and flowers. "What do you think? It's taken a bit of work, but not bad for a city girl...errrr...I mean....well I don't know what I mean. But not bad eh?"

Meanwhile back at the hive...

Trevor spends the remainder of the day waiting. Sleeping, waiting some more. Eventually another meal of fruit and water is brought to him, but no sign of Aterro. And no amount of asking, shouting, pleading or other forms of persuasion can bring the paladin any clarity. The bees simple ignore him and go about their business whatever it may be. Through the night and into the next morning, nothing. No sign of Aterro.

Without companions and with a curse still upon his head, now the young knight is forced to make his way back on his own. At least the trail to the old inn is easy enough to follow, perhaps he'll be able to catch up with the others there unless he decides to wait longer.

Trevor shrugs and leaves back in a hurry, once the time he said he would wait has passed, hoping not to lag too far behind the others, and wondering what the village was like in this time of year, and how tall had his ward grown!

The new armor still had some kinks.

I make no effort to hide my presence, so my heavy footfalls leave large rents in the ground.

Even Fin notices. Which says something, because he doesn't notice anything.

Still, it was good to find him, in the village.

I still don't really have my bearings after...well, just recently.

We come across the carcass. A huge hydra, on the surf.

I smile. Quite a battle.

We must be getting close.

We come across a massive patch of giant, purple flowers.

There are no bees around. Not now. Of course not now.

Fin knows these. He says they make a potent brew. Figures he would know about them.

I smile. I encourage him to talk. He talks on matters of import so little, it's important to let him impress when he thinks he can.

Vrindel and Ibrox spend a pleasant summer evening and night in the dryad's circle. A gentle, cool breeze blows in off the bay bringing a welcome relief from the day's heat and rustling the long hanging branches of the now harmless and restored willow. The little spring bubbles and gurgles in a way that simply relaxes the two travelers. Adding to the comfort is the utter lack of biting insects, apparently driven away by the fae's magic, or her pipe smoke. Neither druid or warlock is sure which.

Surprisingly, the dryad is quite talkative, speaking of the flowers around the circle, additional trees she plans to add once the pond is full, and other plans for restoring this small patch of the natural world following the devastation at the hands of the ancient witch. Both travelers notice that occasionally the fae slips into an unusual western accent, one they can't help but feel like they've heard before, but then it goes away again.

The following day has the two ready to leave when Trevor arrives, having left the hive early, before first light in order to try and catch up as quickly as possible. It is glaringly noticeable that the young knight is not accompanied by the wayward Aterro.

With Trevor's arrival there is more conversation and yet another opportunity to eat. Unlike most fae, meals seem to be extraordinarily important to Illarya and she does put out quite a spread, even for a simple midday meal.

Cheeses, bread, honey, fruits, nuts, vegetables and even some roasted meat are set out on a finely carved wooden table. The spicy muscle soup pair with a light wine is especially good. What is truly surprising is how much of it all the dryad ends up eating.

It is as the group is finishing its meal that a pair of voices can be heard coming from the south and west along the trail back to Nargenthal. One is familiar while the other is not.

"Look, I'll say it again...I'm sorry about not seeing that patch of poison ivy where we camped. The familiar voice of Finnigan can be heard echoing through the trees. "It was getting late and I simply didn't spot it when setting up your tent."

A second voice responds, but is hard to understand, sounding as if it was coming from inside a big metal pail or can.

"I promise that ointment should clear it all right up. It's my wife's recipe and she knows her way around a herb garden." Finnigan responds.

More echoing grumbling.

"Now don't go feeling that way, I'm sure we're nearly there. Trail is hot as old Hildigunns roasted pepper and black sauce chili."

"I know I said that a day ago, but this time I'm certain of it. Can feel it in my bones. Just trust me..."

The conversation continues, drifts away as the trail loops around an outcrop of rocks and thick patch of forest. It returns as the travelers finally round a bend and come walking up the same path taken by Vrindel, Ibrox, Aterro, Trevor and Scramsax when they first came to the old ruined inn.

Walking in front, chattering away is the familiar face of Finnigan, once companion and now inhabitant of Nargenthal and investor in the Frost Maiden Inn. Still as scruffy as ever, and as clueless about nature as any bar hopping city dweller can be. The second figure is not familiar at all. Covered in armor that crushes grass, weed, and low lying branches beneath its heavily protected boot.

"Ha! I told you we'd find them. And amazingly alive as well!" Finnigan shouts beaming a thankful smile toward the waiting group.

Okay getting everyone back togethere here. Trevor is now back with Vrindel and Ibrox. A new face arrives along with Finnigan (who is still an NPC.)

Back when they arrive at the dryad's

"Helluu. You are looking dazzlingly better. Love what you've done with the place." The gnome chit chats with the talkative dryad. But really he has a number important questions that he will ask several different ways casually, sideways and straightforward to get answers from many perspectives:
* Who was that witch?
* What is the relationship between that witch and the Grandmother?
* Who would know where she went?
* How would we know what the next test is?
* Is it normal that a breaking one curse, breaks two curses (his gnome's curse)? Is that indicative of a closer relationship between the the witch and the Grandmother?
* Any idea how to break the Grandmother's curse of the gnomes?
Persuasion (gather info): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 171d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

In addition to continuing to politely extract information, the gnome will search the area the next two days with Detect Magic. And Identify anything found.
Investigate: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Didn't we find some magic stuff before?

I love the thing with Scramsax. Wonderful!

Before

Trevor breathes a sigh of relief when he finds his companions. He feared he would get singled out by the witch on his way, and kept looking over his shoulder and at his own shadow the whole trail.

Then he sees the dryad and a red glow flushes violently over his face, leaving his ears like bright violets.

"Ah well, all are here! Yes, what a beautiful grove this has become... Look, about Aterro, I waited... But I don't know..."

Eventually, once Ibrox is done with curse talk, he'll ask Illarya if she knows what could have become of Aterro. Meanwhile, if he notices a particularly loud bee, he'll give it closer attention, thinking it might be the priest.

Now

Noticing Finn, Trevor gets up from his nap and sweeps the food off his surcoat, then shouts a greeting: "Finn! What a wonderful surprise! How is everyone in Nargenthal? How is Owyn?! Wait! How long have we been gone!?!"

I'm jealous and feeling stupid. I totally missed the thing with Scramsax

Heh...I was wondering if anyone was going to say anything. I figured it was as good a way as any to keep the halfling safely tucked away in case Mishima ever wants to jump back in. And in the meantime you all get another reliable (well as reliable as Scramsax) ally. ;)

I picked up on it as well. That's why I asked her if she knew a Scramsax. Masterful.

Vrindel walks around the grove with the dryad, learning the names and purposes of the plants he was not already familiar with. Her vast knowledge inspired him to someday know as much as she did about the natural world. "I would be happy to help you with the recovery of this grove. And I know of a girl who would be overwhelmed to study under you. She lives in a village near here, and learning under your tutelage would be both better, and safer than mine".

He mumbles to Ibrox when they notice Aterro's absence. "That one always burned to bright and hot to burn for long. I hope he fulfilled his destiny and found peace".

"Greetings Finnigan. Surprised to see you out here. And who is it you bring to this freshly healed grove, only to crush it beneath their metal shod feet"?

"Haha." The dryad laughs lightly as she is barraged by Ibrox's questions. The sound is bright and cheerful so similar to the water babbling into the nearby pond. "I'm afraid I know little more than my sister and I already shared about the one who imprisoned us." She says with a friendly smile.

"I know even less about the ancient grandmother herself." A shiver runs along her skin. "And I must admit, I am quite comfortable with that lack of knowledge."

"But all fae know a little something of curses, I can only offer my opinions. Whether they are accurate, well only time can say." She leans back against a nearby stone, her eyes staring up into the branches of the willow as she thinks. After a few moments, she taps her pipe against the rock and casually fills it with some sort of herb. Pulling a thin brand from the fire she expertly lights the pipe and flicks the stick back into the flames. A cloud of smoke gathers around her head as she puffs quietly for a few more moments.

"The way I see it, your brush with joining the undead meant you were very likely actually dead for a time." Her voice takes on a deeper tone as she speaks and smokes. Slightly more masculine and with the occasional familiar accent. "Since the old crone herself cursed all your living kin, once you were undead...or close enough as far as the curse was concerned...it jumped ship. Figured it's job was done and set sail for other shores."

"As for how that helps the rest of your folk, I haven't the slightest idea." She says shaking her head. "Case of the cure being worse than the curse is my guess." She holds the pipe in her hand by the bowl an points the end at Ibrox. "I mean, you barely survived and almost went completely mad. How many are going to risk becoming brainless undead to break free of a curse they've already learned to live with? Not too mention, the others your kind made a bargain with for protection. They might not react real favorably to someone coming along and messing with their sweet deal."

She slips the pipe back between her lips and blows a smoke ring. "I'm just saying, watch your back friend. Most folk don't like change. They like it even less when it messes up a good business arrangement."

Later when Vrindel asks about bringing his young protege to the glade, the dryad nods thoughtfully. The pipe is back in its pouch and her voice is much more feminine and sparkling. She causally weaves together a chain of summer dandelions as she ponders Vrindel's proposal.

"It is an intriguing proposal. Long ago my kind would occasionally take on mortal apprentices or students to teach them the ways of the land and its care. Yet the practice ended as mortal kind became less interested in caring for the land and more in its use and exploitation." She says placing the chain of flowers around one of the small standing stones. "Perhaps this is the dawn of a new beginning. When mortal and fae can live again in harmony with nature and each other."

She turns to Vrindel and bows her head. "In thanks for my rescue and to try and build better relations with your people, I accept this responsibility. Have her come here and I will show this charge of yours the ways of plants and wild things and finding the balance within so that she may live in harmony with all." She picks a small sunflower from one of the stalks along the outer ring of the circle. Squeezing it in her hand for several seconds, she mutters a few words. There is a quick flash of power and she hands Vrindel the sunflower. Only now it has been transformed into a delicate glass replica, perfect in color, texture, and detail even down to the tiniest bits of bright yellow pollen that dimple its dark interior surface. "Have her return this flower to me and I will know she is the one you have found worthy of learning the way."

**********

Finnigan greets everyone with friendly warmth and surprise. "I must admit I didn't think we'd actually find you out here. Thought you must have take off for good or gotten into a scrap you couldn't get out of." He frowns with confusion when Trevor asks how long they've been gone.

"You don't know?" He says his eyes wide and surprised. "Hmmm...best I can recall I think it had been a year this last spring and it's late summer now. Went went looking near the wreckage. Found the carcass of that big beast. Most thought it got you all or wounded you bad enough that you wandered into the woods and died or drowned in the sea. Most folk'll be mighty glad to see you safe and back again."

"As for the lad, the missus and I took him on and have him working at the inn. He must've grown a full hand over the last year. Eats us out of bloody house and home." He adds with a mock frown which breaks up into a wide grin. "But he's a good hard working lad." He winks at Trevor. "Doesn't take after me at all."

"When this one came around looking for you the lad was all fired up to come with us. Fortuantely Rosemary convinced him to stay sayin' she needed a 'man around to help her and Britta run the inn.'" He smiles mostly to himself. "She can be a mighty persuasive woman, my Rosemary."

"Now that I've found you lot for the quiet, walking golem over there, I'll be able to get back to her and her cooking." He adds patting a belly that has certainly filled in some since the last time you saw him. "As for the who's and why's, well best to hear that straight from the source." He says waving a hand toward his armored companion.

I take in the scene.

The dryad is...lovely. And graceful. And talkative.
Is she not a dryad?
I've never known a dryad to smoke, but she does so with such grace that she makes me wonder why all women don't smoke.
But that trick she does with the flower. Perhaps she is a nature elemental? That would be interesting....

Finnigan talks a lot. It's good for him. Hides his fear. How would he have done against the hydra? Ran back to Rosemary, I'd wager.

Vrindel. Ibrox. Trevor. They're not talking to me yet. Odd how this armor almost makes me invisible. Perhaps it does? I should think on that. Am I invisible now? Perhaps I did it without knowing.

The towering suit of armor, gleaming and perfect and wide and thick, with a great and heavy shield bolted to its off arm at last moves. The shield arm swings up and the head turns to look down at...something. The right hand ducks to the left forearm and does...something.

No, I'm not invisible now. Had to check.

I'll wait for them to talk.

Is this rude? I'm not sure. But it is intriguing. And isn't that what's important?

Vrindel turns his head towards the new arrival, frowning a bit at the scar he leaves on the earth.

"Well"?

"Thank you, so much. That's a very plausible theory. And, one that would be difficult to test again." The gnome appreciates and thanks the dryad.

Bringing Trevor and Vrindel into the conversation, he continues, "I don't know what to do. With my life. My curse of the Grandmother is broken. And need immense power to barter with the Grandmother to free my kin. So until then, what are you guys doing? What do want to do?"

====================================================================

"Hello, Finnigan. How are you? You are looking well fed." The gnome greets his old acquaintance with a genuinely cheerful smile.

"More than a year? Whew. That's weird."

"Walking golem? Does it speak?" The gnome turns his attention squarely on the towering suit of armor.

I notice the troll frowning at my foot. I look down. Yep, I trampled on some yellow and purple flower.

I look back up. And then, because I can't help myself, my unseen grin grows slightly as I dig my heavy heel in to the fertile dirt and drag it back, making a palbable, if utterly meaningless, furrow in the ground.

I'll never understand druids. They do know plants have evolved to grow out of control don't they? Even civilizations people call successful and advanced have entire crews dedicated to keeping the greenery from taking over.

I'll have a hard time not twerking his nose. I have to remind myself he's an ally, and, technically, I need his help. And he needs mine. Symbiotic.

I turn to the gnome. Warlock. Not the weird kind. Somehow the phrase "messing with powers beyond his comprehension" comes to mind. Can you ever master something you can neither conceive nor understand?

It's time get this party started.

And started parties are my favorite kind.

I walk toward the gnome, and he'll be assaulted by the smell of lilacs and strawberries.
Like, it's a hammer to the nose that something reallllly is smelling like lilacs and strawberries.

A lot.

A girlish giggle emits from the towering suit of metal...

...and it cracks open down the middle.

A pretty and jump-suited girl escapes the clutches of the cocoon of armor and favors the gathered group with a contagious smile.

"Hoi chummers. I'm Wraith."

I laugh again. Some more. A high-pitched girlish laugh some like and some don't. But I like it and that's all that matters.

"Golem? Sheyeah. I wish. But that -would- be interesting! Could I build one? I've been drawing up some plans. Perhaps, like, a Homunculus? Perhaps?

The exploits of the Heroes of Nargenthal hath reached the ears of the High Court, and I, yours truly, has been sent to gather thy reports and act as thy reinforcement."

She bows deeply, but awkwardly, as if someone once described a bow and she's going on third hand information.

"I have been briefed on much of your activity to now, and the spoor of your conquests lies in on your trail--I saw a corpse of a fairly large hydra. May I presume that is your handiwork?"

"Huh. Well, that identifies what we could do next." The gnome finishes a previous conversation in reply to the royal herald.

"Large and Distended? That doesn't sound very complimentary of royalty. And yes, that dead hydra was killed by us here and some who are not."

"Would you happen to have any letters of patent to prove you are who you say you are? We've just been suckered by a witch, so I'm a little bit more wary about who I believe and what I drink from strangers. Even if they are escorted by someone familiar, no offense Finn." He nods his cheerful smile toward Finnigan.

Trevor gives a puzzled look at Ibrox. The Gnome sounded quite... right, which seemed... wrong?

He shakes his head and gives the newcomer a bored look, saying: "We're doing just fine so far. And why would we report to a stranger that seems to think we're in need of reinforcement. We're in need of getting back to the village, that's what. My feet are killing me..."

He turns to Finn: "No offense, friend, but we don't know her. How did you two meet? Oh, and congrats on your wedding! Way to go, dear friend, and my best wishes of happiness! And thanks for taking care of Owyn. I never thought we'd be away for so long. You did a good deed there! Indeed a good deed..."

Allie looks at the gnome. She takes a few small steps closer.

Then she gets down on her hands and knees. She crawls toward him.

"I read a paper that hypothesized that a short stature, in relation to those around you, creates a paranoia psychosis. Something about trying to feel powerful when your own stature is continuously--and subconsciously--reminded of a powerlessness.

Is that true? Does feeling taller than someone alleviate the feelings of insecurity?"

Without waiting for an answer she stands and stretches.

"I would think that someone who gathered Power from an unknown source would be more accepting of things they were told without verification, but I guess an un-reliance on the Positive Material Plane is, itself, a kind of abomination."

She taps her chin cutely in ulfish thought.

"But anyway! Yes, I have paperwork for you, if you think it gives you power."

She goes behind her armor to the donkey that has always been following her and digs around in a saddlebag. After frowning in search for awhile she comes up with two scroll cases. She walks back and hands them to the gnome.

One is a plain-looking letter that states:

Know all ye men by these presents the bearer of this is Allison WhiteAngel, member in good standing of the Order of the White Angel.

Propoket knows. Propoket is watching.

The other scroll is elegantly, even ostentatiously, designed with delightful, skillful scroll-work from rich and rare inks.

Behold, the bearer of this Letter of Marque is executing a duly assigned alliance between the Great and Fearsome Court of Her Majesty Zennalastra, my she live forever, and the Order of the White Angel.

The full power and weight of Her Majesty will go with this charter until Krakova is freed and returned unto its rightful sovereign.

"That good 'nuff?" she asks sweetly.

"That reminds me," she says pertly, turning to Trevor, "my data indicated there were...more of you? A halfling thief--because of course there is--and, um....a cleric of some sort?

I represent a foreign's nation's subsidiary of assistance. Some might consider that important enough for a word an' a hot cuppa, hmmmm?"

She smiles prettily.

"You just sound like a spy... We don't need 'foreign agents' looking to control us. Besides some vague letters that prove little, what else you got to 'help us?'" replies Trevor, his tone preoccupied.

The cheerful gnome laughs in Allison's face when she gets to his height, "Short jokes? Even a sophisticated short joke? Haven't heard that one before."

"Notable guerrilla force? I think you've found the wrong crew."

Finnigan takes a long swig from a flask he pulls out of his pack. His whole body shivers and shakes for a second after drinking and he coughs twice before offering the flask to Trevor. The young knight can instantly smell the alcholic fumes of a strong distilled liquid akin to whiskey but more like something used to remove rust and grime from armor.

"It's a bit raw yet." The scout says with a wry grin. "But it does the trick in a pinch."

He gives a nod to Allison. "I don't know anything about an Order of Angels or whatnot. But there've been a few changes since you lot disappeared." He says. "It seems that agent of Morgau you lot did away with had partners throughout the country. Caught the queens attention. When a bunch of folk started turning into undead because of some candy being handed out, she got downright irritated."

He chuckles softly, "If you've not seen a really angry ancient red dragon, well, you don't want to."

"Being as how we're the only village still standing this far north, our little berg has turned into a key outpost." As he talks, his eyes beam with the opportunities. "We've got a regular outfit of queen's guard, a new stockade, additional couple of docks to host a regular navy patrol, and a bit of coin sloshing about."

His eyes flick toward the armored woman. "Seems reasonable someone would show up to dig into things a little further."