The hot, humid air continues to suck the strength from you bodies as you all slog along the path for another few dozen feet. You glance out across the marshy landscape. Thick curtains of moss hang from the surrounding trees along with vines of morning glory, ivy, and even the occasional honeysuckle patch. It's syrupy sweet blooms casting their scent across the land. A small salamander slips away into a deep pool of murky water and everyone is grateful for the raised path you travel. Without it, travel through the short stretch of marsh would be nearly impossible. Even still you all have grown so tired from the march, heat, and thick air, that each step is like your pulling your foot free of thick heavy mud. It is hard to imagine how difficult it would be if the path wasn't here and you give thanks to whoever decided to put the effort into building it.
Slapping at the mosquitoes and flies that constantly buzz and bite, solace finally arrives in the form of a clearing. High, solid ground, complete with a fallen tree for fire wood and others for shade. Plunging forward, Vrindel is the first to reach the edge of the clearing. Stepping ahead on the path the druid lurches forward and disappears with a startled shout and a flurry of sudden splashing.
That feeling of being watched returns in force and laughter suddenly echoes through the wood. A harsh brittle laugh. Like brittle brambles breaking apart and scattering upon sun baked clay.
"Oh look at what wonders the wood." A tiny voice says from one of the branches several feet up in a nearby tree.
"Indeed, indeed. Mortal kin, full of purpose and promise." Another from a tree opposite the first.
"But carrying something, oh so naughty. A bauble and gift for our mistress so fair." A third, this time from somewhere just behind and above.
"A gift, tis true brother Knick. Really two. For entertainment is a gift as much as some trinket of steel and gold." The first voice again.
"You are correct as always brother Knack. I'm sure she will find such fine creatures to be excellent companions. Even the tall one who smells of honey. Phew. What say you brother Whack? Do you think she'll be pleased?"
"She will. She will. And the game is already afoot. For the big trollkin still sinks below. Tell me brothers, do such mortal creatures have gills like fish to stay so long in the watery depths. Hahahheehee."
As brittle laughter echoes was again from up in the trees while the odd sound of bubbles and sloshing water comes from the dry ground of the path ahead.
”The terrain ahead is an illusion! We are on a muddy track towards a deep pool!” calls Gunnar in alarm.
Unable to see any of the sources of the voices, Gunnar casts See Invisibility on himself and looks around.
Vrindel enjoys the pleasant walk. Seeing the salamander, he wonders how it sees and feels the world. He daydreams the memories of being transformed into similar forms.
Finally, another new wonderful camp site. How amazing this trek has been... Water! Wait what? Time to become a big salamander. His initial surprised flailing relaxes as he shifts his form to a natural predator becoming a crocodile.
Holding his breath, Vrindel-crocodile surveys his watery environs and slowly swims below the water around the island emerging around plant coverage to expose his nostrils and eyes to breath and survey above the water.
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Aterro was a hard man. A warrior, come to a warrior's deity. He'd had hardships unnumbered and suffered through dangers untold, and still he'd kept a fire in his heart, ready for the moment of conflict when hammer would clash against the breast of the enemy and on the day of victory no one was tired.
But this? Unto this even his iron will told a quiver of sorrow. No path on the way here was this hard. Was it?
When the druid disappears at first he thinks he found a cool pond to bathe in and wash away the aches of the road, but as the scene flickers and Gunnar calls out a warning, he knows the ram has touched the wall!
Unable to see a foeman, and as yet unsure exactly what goes here, he stands his ground and calls upon THOR to grace the sure conflict that comes.
"By the power of THUNDER you shall know BATTLE and the scale of thy mistake will be made plain! Thus do I call upon THOR the MIGHTY, THOR the BRAVE!"
Sparks of light fall from the sky unto the three warriors to aid them toward VICTORY!
Quickly recovering from his sudden plunge into the depths of the pond, Vrindel-Croc lurks among the reeds and vines of the water. At the same time Gunnar taps his arcane powers to reveal those who might be hidden among the shadowed confines of this bog. With a few words and wave of his hands across his face, Gunnar's dwarven eyes suddenly sparkle with the cold light blue and yellow of a lightning blast streaking across an autumn sky.
As Aterro's calls to Thor deliver the god's blessing, Gunnar points into the trees. First one, then two, and finally another. Three small beings no more than three feet high each. They've skinny, thorn covered bodies with waists no bigger than a fist and long spindly limbs no thicker than a finger. Wide, plant like heads with walnut eyes and prickly smiles look down upon you from their perches in the trees surrounding your current position.
"Oh my!" Cries one.
"Oh dear!" Shouts the second.
"Oh brother..." Mumbles the third.
"Why can't mortals, just accept their fates? Always with the shouting." Continues the third.
"And lots of pouting." The second.
"Not to mention...errr...um....I can't think of anything that rhymes with pouting." The first, ducking his head as the other two turn their gazes toward it.
"Oh wait till Mother hears about this. Knick can't rhyme." Cackles the second, hopping back and forth and clapping wooden hands together.
"Shut up Knack! It's not my fault. You took my word!"
"Knock it off, the both of you." He points toward the lurking crocodile. "Don't let them get away or you know there will be many hells to pay.
"Yes, Whack." The other two chime and then snicker quietly and they both look at the drifting crocodile. A burst of mossy green light flashes in their eyes and suddenly all of the vines and reeds start to twist and tangle around the crocodile.
The third turns to Aterro. Clears its throat and suddenly spits something toward the big war cleric. A pain erupts in his neck. Reaching a hand up to the spot he finds a bleeding wound caused by a wicked thumb sized thorn piercing his flesh.
Gunnar moves to the north through the mud, slogging to the base of the tree underneath one of the twig creatures and aims his hammer up at the creature, casting a spell with a thunderous voice and attempting to blow the creature right out of the tree. The command words incongruously contain the clear dwarven word for 'peaches'.
Vrindel-croc smiles at the attempted entangle and slips the vines with a roll. He ducks below the water and swims out of the effect. He heads for a position with a tree blocking line of sight to one of faeries. And stays below the water holding his breath.
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Attero looks up at the one that so foolishly engaged him in GLORIOUS COMBAT. He tosses away the thorn contemptuously. "I see you have chosen wisely your ground of battle. I admit the powers of THOR are somewhat diminished against COWARDS who chose to sit in trees and fling barbs.
However," his words are emphasized as his brother Thorson's explosion reverberates out, "I am not wholly without answer."
He raises his fist, and a lot of things start happening.
Vrindel-croc manages to slip free of the entangling water plants and moves to a seemingly safer spot within the pond. While the druid lays low with the decoy absorbed into his reptilian body, Gunnar steps up to the tree below the little plant creature called Knick. The briarkin tilts its head in curiosity when the dwarf starts waving he hammer and uttering in the grime, laborious tones of his native tongue.
Thunder blasts for from Gunnar's hammer knocking trees and twigs from branches and causing a pair of crows higher up to leap into the air voicing their anger and having their roost disturbed with such cacophony. The tiny plant creature yelps in surprise, but manages to drop flat and wrap his wiry arms around the big branch that makes up his perch. For a moment his thin legs flap around like a kites tail caught in a breeze before the spell is spent and he rises back to a squat shaking its head.
"Hahaha! You should've seen yourself! Ahahahah" The briarkin across the way giggles and shouts, pointing as his fellow ambusher and trickster. "Flapping around like a storm blown leaf. Ahah...Errp"
The briarkin's laugh is cut off abruptly when Aterro's holy hammer manifests directly in front of his wooden nose. With a solid Thwack! the weapon smacks it in the nose and sending it staggering. A follow up burst of holy light catches the skinny creature right in the chest.
"Bey! Bat burt." Knack says his voice all nasal and distorted as he flails his arms about to try and maintain his balance. Unfortunately he is unable to do so. "Wha...wha..whoa!" He shouts as he tumbles from the branch and plunges into the pond with a splash.
"Bahahahah! Who'se laughing now chuckles." Snickers and quips Knick from above Gunnar. "I hope that crocodile doesn't like Knack Snacks. Heeheehee."
Rolling his eyes and holding back a heavy sigh, the third briarkin clears its throat once again. Once again a thorn goes zipping toward Aterro. The sharpspitter finds another opening in the cleric's armor and sinks another jagged thorn into his flesh.
Back above Gunnar, the briarkin Knick follows the example and spits a thorn at Gunnar. The dwarf brings his shield up, but the tiny creature's quickness surprises the stout wizard and the thorn passes just over the rim of his shield to embed itself deep in his shoulder.
And until today the weather had been pleasant. Pleasant, not too hot, gentle breezes. Idyllic conditions for traveling. Which is fortunate because the conditions of the path you've been on have certainly been less than ideal. Really one could barely call it a path. An overgrown and occasionally nonexistent deer track is really more like it. Whoever this Radovan is, it's obvious why no one has seen him in years, it's bloody impossible to get to him. But gold was gold, and duty was duty, so you both continued to hack your way through the brush and slog through the soggy marshlands.
Then the clouds moved in and things turned hot and muggy. This made going even slower and harder. But then your path intersected with another. Recently traveled and cleared. Taking advantage of this boon you both hurry along surprised and the good fortune but also just a bit wary after all the various troubles involved in just getting this far.
It is as you make your way over a short rise in the land that the first booming rumble of thunder echoes through the forest. You immediately look to the sky, but while there have been faint rumblings all morning, the sky above doesn't seem dark or threatening enough for an actual storm. Then you here more shouts from further ahead. Shouts of anger, fear, surprise, you can't quite be sure except that something is happening.
You huury along the path as it dips down into a vast stretch of marsh with a good sized pond marking the center point. It is tough to see through the trees, but eventually you spot a pair of armed folk glaring up into the surrounding trees. For some reason they've walked out onto a swampy, muddy stretch of land practically surrounded by the waters of the pond. A glowing hammer drifts twenty feet above the tall one, swinging at something up in the tree. The shorter stranger is across the way waving his own heavy hammer at another tree while occasionally ducking behind a big shield.
Knick: 46/50
Knack: 41/50
Whack: 50/50
At the last moment, a shield of arcane energy flares up and deflects the incoming missile, but is the shield enough to stop the incoming missile?
After accepting Rook Bentknee's job, the six companions had left Courlandia for Nargenthal and beyond. Throughout the journey, Kali had been trying to mediate the many disputes and smooth the even more numerous ruffled feathers that had arisen while around the Four Fools, as she'd taken to calling them under her breath when she thought no one would hear. The strange, masked girl had never shown her face, nor had she even lowered her hood, but she had somehow managed to keep them from getting killed though her charm and pluck.
That didn't stop the Four Fools from dropping like flies after leaving Nargenthal behind. Kalisuel's martial skills were nowhere near meeting that task. Even a god would have been hard pressed. So it was, not even a week out from the fort-town, that the company of six had been reduced to a pair.
Kalisuel had born the journey without complaint so far, but the growing humidity and heat were beginning to take a toll. Li'l Man hadn't heard her sing a single note since entering the marshlands, and he could even hear her huffing under her mask. She'd slipped more than once, and her normally light steps were heavy with the mud now caking her boots and splattering the bottom eight inches of her clothing.
Then came the shouts, the thunder, and the other sounds of battle. Despite the wear the trip though the marsh had laid on her, Kalisuel doesn't hesitate. She ran up the path to see what was going on.
The masked woman tilts her head to the left as she watches the antics below.
"Are they playing a game," she asks Li'l Man. The words come out slowly as she tries to puzzle out the mystery before her. "I thought only children played at fighting the creatures they imagine."
Gunner levels his hammer at the foe who frustratingly held onto the branch above, saying, "Winter comes for us all, my leafy adversary. Reconsider your attack and I will not have to further hasten its arrival!"
Gunnar casts Curse of the Frost Giants on the foe above him, attempting to freeze the little creature solid, or at least turn its leaves interesting autumnal colors.
Cold damage and disadvantage on next attack, Constitution Save for half damage and no disadvantage on next attack.
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Brother Aterro laughs loudly as the plant-xeno suddenly loses its grip and plunges down to the marshy ground.
"Ha! HaHA! Look how the mighty are cast down from a high place. Come, let us now struggle and strike as THOR has intended!"
Alas, Aterro's brave words are interfered with as the mucky-muck stick and suck at his heavy sabatons, and he can not come to struggle as quick as he would rather.
"Until that moment, however, more hammer and FIRE, is needed."
Kalisuel ponders the events before her. It seems that if it had been a game, it had long since lapsed into something more serious. The pull of her curiosity overcomes the pleadings of common sense with ease and she moves closer to the strange goings-on. Still, as curious as she is, prudence does still have some sway and the young woman has no interest in finding out how deep her dainty feet would sink into the mud beyound the spur of relatively solid ground.
"Ahoy! What game do you play with such ferocity? I've not seen its like afore," she calls out to the dwarf and human fighting against the trees.
Must be some of Thor's followers. I hear some of them hate trees as much as giants.
As you fight against the strange fey, you hear a feminine voice call out to you. It's sweet and clear, like chimes in the wind and the scent of spring wildflowers. Its owner is a small figure, barely five feet if even that, dressed in pale green-blues and grays and browns. They wear a simple mask over their face that does not muffle their words and a hood over their head. At their side is a sword and a dagger, on their back a bow and quiver. Despite the seeming innocence of the question, they wear scale armor that gleams in the light. The lower eight inches of their clothes and cloak are splattered with mud that also cakes their boots.
Nearby is a dog almost as large as the newcomer ridden by what appears to be a halfling of sorts. Both of them have been following the trail you've blazed through the swamp straight to this marshy pond.
Lil' Man would hum 'didies usually adding a in few dirty limericks to pass the time on the road. He enjoyed when he could be silent and listen to Woodface sing. With the mask reverberating, the music came out all eerie. Still Lil' Man found it soothing somehow.
"Are they playing a game," she asks Li'l Man. The words come out slowly as she tries to puzzle out the mystery before her. "I thought only children played at fighting the creatures they imagine."
"Nay. Answers Lil' Man. "Dwarves ain't got the imagination for games."
Lil' Man follows after Kalisuel
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"Apparently we are playing 'Try not to drown while trading shots with twig creatures'," replies Gunnar while maintaining his focus on the creatures in the trees above. He tries to identify the exact creatures as he continues to fight them.
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"Apparently we are playing 'Try not to drown while trading shots with twig creatures'," replies Gunnar
Sarcasm is for winners thinks Lil' Man
"So you won't be needin' our help then.
Have fun."
After a few seconds underwater, Vrindel-croc emerges from the water showing just his eyes and nostrils. While he doesn't want his companions to fall, his responsibility is the bear the sword of evil. Or, at least its decoy.
Kalisuel tilts her head the others and taps the chin of her mask with a finger as she ponders the question.
"Is this one of those questions that I need not answer? For that matter, we have not even met. How would I know what powers you'd bring to a game," the masked and hooded figure asks.
It is true, but there's still the fact that this all seems a bit excessive for just a game.
"Game or not, do you need help or can you and your dwarven companion handle it?"
"Is this one of those questions that I need not answer? For that matter, we have not even met. How would I know what powers you'd bring to a game," the masked and hooded figure asks.
"Game or not, do you need help or can you and your dwarven companion handle it?"
Lil' Man nods his head in agreement. He crosses his tiny arms across his tiny chest. "Let's just watch." He says to Kalisuel. "I bet ten gold crown that the thorn chucker dies first."
"But what if they truly need help," Kalisuel asks Li'l Man.
"But what if they truly need help," Kalisuel asks Li'l Man.
"Then they would have asked for it, wouldn't they?" Lil' Man smiles at her. "Besides, given their attitudes, they probably earned the ass beating they're receiving."
Gunner levels his hammer at the foe who frustratingly held onto the branch above, saying, "Winter comes for us all, my leafy adversary. Reconsider your attack and I will not have to further hasten its arrival!"
Gunnar casts Curse of the Frost Giants on the foe above him, attempting to freeze the little creature solid, or at least turn its leaves interesting autumnal colors.
[dice=Frostbite]2d6 Cold damage and disadvantage on next attack, Constitution Save for half damage and no disadvantage on next attack.
"Then they would have asked for it, wouldn't they?" Lil' Man smiles at her. "Besides, given their attitudes, they probably earned the ass beating they're receiving."
"Huh? But I see no beasts of burden," Kaliseul says as she looks at Li'l Man. The young woman is short enough that on the massive dog he's almost eye-level with her mask. Even without seeing her face, she looks positively confused. "And if there are any, what would they be doing in the trees? Do donkeys climb them as if they were spiders?"
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"Huh? But I see no beasts of burden," Kaliseul says as she looks at Li'l Man. The young woman is short enough that on the massive dog he's almost eye-level with her mask. Even without seeing her face, she looks positively confused. "And if there are any, what would they be doing in the trees? Do donkeys climb them as if they were spiders?"
"Ah, I see your confusion." Replies Lil' Man during the lull in combat. "You see, when I say 'ass beating', I'm referring to the physical punishment that they're receiving from the 'twig creatures'. Who knows why the 'Twig people' are so upset. Maybe it has to do with the sticks that the man and dwarf obviously have lodged up their rectums." Lil' Man shrugs
"By all means just stand there, if ye be COWARDS!" he barks at the two figures chatting away like on a Sunday picnic. "Or if ye've come to watch thy MINIONS at work, I'll have something special for you once I've crushed the un-natural life from them, by THOR!"
"I guess asking for help is against the Thorian religion!" He yells back.
Turning back to Kalisuel. "I'm mean, he's beseeching aid for this and beseeching aid for that. Two people come along that could help...answering his prayers, by the way… and what does he do?"
"He insults and threatens them."
Lil' Man stands up in his stirrups and yells at the Thorian with a pointed finger. "Thor deserves a better class of worshippers good sir!"
Having decided that the new arrivals would rather talk than enter the fight on either side, Gunnar’s focus remains on the enemy actually actively trying to kill him—the others are a problem for after the battle. Ignoring them for now, he prepares his next spell for the twigs, hoping to get two or three of them in a group or line so his more powerful spells might be more effective.
Gunnar's magic washes across the briarkin causing it to shiver and shake, the leaves dangling from its thin arms and legs turn yellow and brown.
"B-b-b-brrrr. I-I always t-t-t-thought d-d-dwarves were c-c-cold hearted." The little creature stutters through shivering teeth. "M-m-mother's going to b-b-be furious if I c-c-catch a c-c-cold."
Unable to see or reach the briarkin who fell into the pond, Aterro turns his attentions toward the one that hit him from the rear. The cleric of the thunder god turns and calls forth another blast of holy fire. But the nibble creature is paying closer attention than its companion and dodges aside. But it is unable to escape the pursuit of the glowing hammer. Aterro's holy hammer comes smashing down on the creatures leg. It cries out in pain as the thin limb crackles and cracks under the force of the blow.
But before the cleric can follow up, two strangers come hurrying through the wood. Polite banter is exchanged.
As Lil'Man and Kalisuel move closer to the scene and observe the situation, they do finally spot the two wiry, small briarkin perched up in the trees. One standing above Gunnar, currently shivering and suffering from chills. The other hops on the branch on one foot after having the other smashed by Aterro's hammer.
As they decide what to do. Vrindel continues to lurk in the water on the far side of the pond, hidden from view of the two fey still in the trees. With his attention focused above the surface, the druid-croc doesn't notice the foot long flat worm like creatures swimming toward him until they are nearly on top of his position.
The creatures swarm in on the druid sinking sharp, needle like teeth into the scaled crocodile hide. Although the bites sting, they seem like little more than an annoyance to the transformed trollkin. That is until he feels the very essence of his magical energies and connections to nature being sucked from his being. The creatures begin to glow with the springlike green of new leaves as that drain the trollkin.
Elsewhere in the pond the briarkin flails about under the water, frantically trying to make his way back to the shore, but unable to make much real headway. He spins around frantically in the murky water, his panic filled eyes searching the pond for any sign of movement.
On the surface, the chilled briarkin tries to spit another thorn at the dwarf, but the partially frozen dart moves slow and simply bounces off the shield and bursts apart. The third creature recovers and angrily coughs another thorn at Aterro, who distracted by the newcomers, forgets to duck in time and finds himself pierced yet again by the little briarkin's prickly projectile.
Knick: 40/50
Knack: 41/50
Whack: 40/50
Gunnar slogs through the marsh a few steps to get behind the Briarkin, trying to line it up so if his next thunderwave works, it will sling the creature over towards its compatriot (to set up an area attack next round after it hopefully lands hard).
Thundarwave DC 15 Constitution Save for Half Damage and no Push:
Vrindel-croc now sees the water is a threat, too. So, he swims toward the shore and surges out of the water near Aterro and Gunnar. Then, the crocodile returns to his natural trollkin form.
The druid then lifts up his voice and staff to the sky and calls on lightning to strike one of the briarkin who he can see. "Enough!"
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"I think you are little better than he is. They may be heading our way, and we've been reduced from six to two. There's safety in numbers in this land," Kalisuel says as she pulls out her bow and nocks an arrow.
"Thorson, I did not know the reason behind your antics." She takes aim and draws the bow as she pauses her words. A moment later, she lets fly.
The arrow streaks through the air like a hawk diving for prey. A smile colors her voice when she continues.
"Now that I do, Perhaps I can be of some aid. Odin take them all!" Her shout is clear as a mountain brook and chimes like crystal. Something in Aterro's blood burns to answer the call.
"I think you are little better than he is. They may be heading our way, and we've been reduced from six to two. There's safety in numbers in this land,"
"Very well. Let's focus on one, maybe the others will surrender." The ranger readies his bow and floods it with energy. He let's loose with an arrow at Kalisuel's prey.
Casting Time: 1 bonus action
Range: 90 feet
Components: V
Duration: Up to 1 hour
You choose a creature you can see within range and mystically mark it as your quarry. Until the spell ends, you deal an extra 1d6 damage to the target whenever you hit it with a weapon attack, and you have advantage on any Wisdom (Perception) or Wisdom (Survival) check you make to find it. If the target drops to 0 hit points before this spell ends, you can use a bonus action on a subsequent turn of yours to mark a new creature.
This 1st-level feature replaces the Favored Enemy feature and works with the Foe Slayer feature. You gain no benefit from the replaced feature and don't qualify for anything in the game that requires it.
When you hit a creature with an attack roll, you can call on your mystical bond with nature to mark the target as your favored enemy for 1 minute or until you lose your concentration (as if you were concentrating on a spell).
The first time on each of your turns that you hit the favored enemy and deal damage to it, including when you mark it, you increase that damage by 1d4.
You can use this feature to mark a favored enemy a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
This feature's extra damage increases when you reach certain levels in this class: to 1d6 at 6th level and to 1d8 at 14th level.
At 3rd level, you can augment your weapon strikes with mind-scarring magic, drawn from the gloomy hollows of the Feywild. When you hit a creature with a weapon, you can deal an extra 1d4 psychic damage to the target, which can take this extra damage only once per turn.
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"Yes!" Aterro calls, echoing a battlecry to the Allfather. "Odin take them all for on Sleppnir he rides from the battlefield to VALHALLA!"
Feeling his brother Gunnar has his own in hand, and seeing no need to help or hinder the twig-folk in the water, Aterro continues his barrage on his current target. And since Odin was spoken of, he releases the call of battle on this strike.
While the briarkin above him recovers from its sudden confrontation with winter, Gunnar slogs around to the other side of the tree, his feet sinking even deeper into the thick mud as he gets closer to the water to achieve his desired angle. In position, with the small waves of the pond lapping at his boots, the thunder wizard unleashes a rumble of power up into the boughs of the trees.
The small creature is unable to hold onto his perch as his fiberous limbs rattle and tremble from the thunderous blast. He tumbles to the muddy ground landing with a *splat* and sinking a fingerwidth or two into the muck.
Vrindel flees from the water, ignoring the water dwelling worm attackers and his own defense. Yet the creatures do not ignore him. They continue to bite and drain more energy from the druid before he is able to fully swim free. Once he reaches the peninsula, Vrindel bursts from the water covered in circular bleeding bite marks. But ignoring his own wounds, he immediately focuses on the briarkin pulling itself out of the mud only a few feet away.
Another rumble of thunder crackles over the pond and suddenly lightning comes crashing down out of the electrically charged sky. With a startled squeak, the briarkin rolls away from the worst of the blast gathering more mud to itself as it goes.
Aterro continues to harass the third briarkin, but the quick moving creature manages to duck and dodge the worst of the blows and once again avoids the searing radiant flame of the cleric's magic.
What it doesn't avoid is the sudden strike from behind. Kalisuel's arrow pierces its tiny wooden body and passes through ripping away leaves and strands of vine and bark. Whack's head whips around and ducks just in time to avoid the second magic riddled arrow fired by the small man next to the tall hooded one.
Covered in a thick layer of mud and guck churned up by the boots of Gunnar and Aterro, Knick the Briarkin spits a thorn at the angry trollkin and then retreats back up the peninsula toward its companion who still lurks in the tree between Aterro and the two newcomers.
The second briarkin comes lurching out of the water holding a wriggling, foot long worm that is trying desperately to sink its rows of circular teeth into the plant fey. Drenched and cursing the briarkin slams the worm into the nearest tree trunk multiple times until the thing is quite pulverized and hangs limply in its small hand.
The third briarkin retreats up the old tree. It's prickly feet and hands easily gripping the rough bark as it scurries up thirty feet and disappears among the thick branches and green foliage of the old cedar.
Knick: 19/50
Knack: 41/50
Whack: 30/50
Kalisuel sighs as she sees she'll need to get into mud after all. She slogs another half-dozen steps closer as she nocks another arrow.
Another missile goes streaking towards the briarkin. While Kalisuel's aim is sure, it seems that the wretched little thing is paying her more attention now and manages to twist out of the way just enough to lessen the damage the arrow does as it tears past it.
Now that she's had some time to observe them, she begins to wonder what exactly these creatures are.
It's about this time that she notices the crocodile turned bleeding trollkin and her attention shifts for a moment.
"Do you need aid with your wounds," she asks Vrindel. "I can help."
Ignoring the Briarkin in the tree for the moment, Gunnar grunts in satisfaction and moves to line up on the two now-grounded foes so that no allies lie in a line connecting the three of them. Lowering his hammer at the pesky creatures, he says, "Ware the one in the tree--it seems to be grabbing something," and looses a lightning bolt on the two Briarkin!
, DC 15 Dexterity Save for Half
Seeing the two new strangers engaging the fey threats, the trollkin looks over his shoulders to Aterro and Gunnar asking, "who are these two? Good that they help."
Then, he glimpses the third briarkin through the foliage of the tree as it moves in the wind. It's lurking fifty feet up in the tree and looks to be rummaging around up there as if moving or grabbing something. Although the shot would be difficult, he can see it enough to at least give it a try. "Gunnar, you're right! That fey looks like he's doing something."
The druid points his staff at the top of the tree and calls more lightning on to the fey.
Gunnar moves into position, waits just a few moments watching the fleeing briarkin close the gap to the far tree while its cousin disposes of the worm thing from the pond. Dwarven eyes twinkle. The final word of power passes Gunnar's lips and suddenly the entire peninsula feels the electrical charge in the air.
"Wha?!" Is all that escapes Knack's mouth as it turns toward the dwarf and is blasted by the arc of lightning that booms through the glade. The muddy fleeing Knick only has a second to react. But his mud heavy frame doesn't move quite quick enough. Lightning engulfs the little plant fey and electricity charges through his body causing it to glow and smolder. His head swells bigger and bigger like a balloon being blown up by a giant. Kalisuel fires her arrow. The little briarkin's eyes go wide and it starts to shake it massive bulbous head.
"Oh No! I...hate....this......p....*POP*" The arrow hits and the briarkin's head simply explodes. Hundreds, possibly thousands of little thorny seeds go shooting through the air. They land in the water and soon the once calm pond is a frenzy of activity as whatever lurks there feasts on the bounty. Seeds embed themselves in mud, trees, and dirt hundreds of feet away. They also embed themselves just as well in soft mortal flesh. No one easily escapes the sudden cloud of waspish stings.
Vrindel, ever quiet and focused, recovers from the briarkin's demise and calls upon his own connections with nature and storm. His keen eyes spot the third fey up in the tree and soon enough a bolt of lightning comes slamming into the tree top. But the much more prudent and responsible Whack is ready for the druid trickery and ducks away from the bulk of the blast. The strike instead expends most of its energy on the hapless tree. The lightning slams into summer dry boughs. Sparks fly everywhere with several smoldering and more than some bursting into flames.
Back on the ground Aterro revels in the electricity and power rampaging all about the wood. Thor's cleric steps up the smoldering and shocked Knack and slams the thorspear into the creatures thin midsection. Electricity flows. The briarkin's jaws clatter and tremble as its eyes grow wide and its head follows the pattern of its kin. Swelling...swelling...swelling....until *POP* Another cloud of waspish seeds explode across the area.
From out of the top of the tree a big blob of now flaming pitch and pine resin comes dropping down upon Kalisuel and Lil' Man. It splatters in a heap only a few steps away. It's burning mass spitting and crackling upon the damp ground.
Knick: 0/50
Knack: 0/50
Whack: 23/50