Sophiel is shorter than Mila, but somehow still manages to be imposing. She looks Mila over, ”no offense taken - but before you judge me, recall who we are facing and what they’re willing to do. At the least, multiple people have tried to murder me,” She stretches herself out, still catlike, ”your cover identity had run its course. I’ll read over the rest of your reports later.”
She continues, ”I have a crew that I’d like you to join. Right now they’re planning on clearing out the Slough. With Drelev dead and Armag … agreeing to nonaggression, we have some breathing room, but I need the routes cleared to build roads and other infrastructure.” She smiles slightly, ”a break - from pretending to be someone else, for at least a few months.” She smooths down her hair, ”obviously, you can say no - but afterwards, I intend to take Pitax completely - it will be the last major external enemy other than Brevoy.” She clears her throat, her voice catching on the last words - as if there’s shared knowledge between the pair. A knowing, a reminder of something terrible.
A few moments later, she ushers Mila into a conference room.
"Well, here she is - one of our assets. She can tell you more about herself - including her real name - if she's so inclined." She gestures, "Tikroch - who is a druid, Donovan - a veteran of the demon wars, the mercenary Mum, and you already know Governor Sootscale."
Sootscale looks Mila up and down, "good disguise. Yes. You coming to fight with us, now?"
"It is hard to know what is enough without having a better idea of what is happening. Kids might just have slipped on their own. Unlikely, but I've heard it happening before."
---
"I'm certainly not against spending some time away from the cities... I do miss not smelling piss everywhere."
At the mention of stop pretending to be someone else, Mila deeply inhales. "I don't think there is such a thing anymore... I feel the 'myself' part has slowly become just another persona. But, perhaps this time in the road will help me with that."
Mila waves as she enters the room then proceeds to offer her hand to all present. "I'm Mila Ekanheart. If Sophiel trusts you, it is good enough for me." In her world of trickery and lies, drawing a line of trust was important and Sophiel was her line.
With the disguise gone, Mila is slightly taller than Sophiel, with wavy black hair braided in some place, brown eyes and fair skin. With a tug of her sleeve, the noble dress she is wearing transforms back into plain clothes under a dark leather armor and a green cloak on her back.
Mum who is a dark haired warrior of average height and full body, gives a slight smile of her curved lips. "Oh, I don't know. Lady Medvyed... " a very brief flash of amusement is sent Soph's way before she turns her dark eyes back to the newcomer "... was once friends of that horrible iron baroness from the Fall, so I guess even the good ones can make back choices." the mirth holds plenty of weariness though.
Sighing, Mum places her hands on the two shortswords hanging on her hips "Sadly Ms Ekanheart, I need to depart. Other promised employment for a while. I wish you all a good luck."
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The hulking druid looks over the spy not unkindly but definitely judging. He stands over six feet tall with longish dark brown hair. His dragon scale armor is etched with wild runes and designs. A gleaming scythe is stowed but a discerning eye shows that it hasn't seen much use and is more of a symbol. "I am Tikroch of the Wildwood Lodge. I will be honest. I've had my misgiving about how useful a person trained to hide in the midst of a kingdom's court might be. Sophiel has assured me your skills are equally adept in the wilds. I'm happy to see your wardrobe is already in tune with our tasks at least. I look forward to working along side you." He is not intending to be rude, but his time shapeshifted as a beast and spending time among the creatures lends itself to socializing being... efficient.
"Do you know what we call people who only make good choices?" Mila asks, smirking and offering her hand. "Really, I do want to know, because I've never met any."
To the giant, she also offers her hand, not intimidated or at least pretending not to be. Mila is over of the best pretenders around. "The tiger's stripes make it almost invisible in the tall grass, and many hunters have missed a spotted deer in the forest during autumn."
"People are slightly more intelligent animals, Mister Tikroch, and the courts are a wild place in its own way... So be you hunter or prey, knowing how to hide is just good practice."
Mum returns the smirk, her eyes very watchful of the other woman. Soph has told plenty of stories, and it seems this Mila matches them well. "The warrior releases her grip on her sword, the one holding the ever hot one and grasps the offered hand, giving it a warm and pleasant shake.
"Please help our Lady continue down the path of more good choices."
Sophiel smiles, slightly, ”there was a time when Mila was as home in the woods as you or I. Things have changed - but she’s not a neophyte.” She claps her hands together and nods. ”Well, this seems like as good a time as any to get to work. Let me know if anything comes up.”
The woman puts her drink down and gets up, ”well, if it’s us then it’s us. Let’s get ready to go.”
It isn’t long before Lord Fantol comes downstairs - but he isn’t alone. With him come a young man, wispy, barely 19 years old, with pale hair and a ruddy complexion. He’s accompanied by a large man, stocky and scarred - with a shaved head. The younger man seems to be a little nervous. Fantol runs his hand through his hair, ”well - developments.” He looks towards the two humans and back to Mila, and extends a hand, ”good day to you both, I am Lord Fantol Mevyed.” He gestures towards the young man, ”this is Nicolas Surtova - he will be accompanying us on this mission.”
The larger man nudges the wispy one forward, and Nicolas stumbles a bit before clearing his throat, ”good, good day to to you both.” The adventurers look him over and share a look, but the woman shrugs, ”what can you do?”
Nicolas blinks rapidly, and fumbling, grabs a pinch of something from his pouch and lights it, a small flame appearing in his palm. He looks nervously at the pair, ”I’m a… sorcerer. Um, miss.”
The woman bows, and elbows Cerny, who does the same, ”Denisa and Cerny. Mila filled us in. We’re ready to go.” She looks back to Fantol, who has a look on his face like he swallowed something unpleasant.
Fantol nods, slightly, ”as good a time as any. Well, it’ll be dark in the forest. Let’s be prepared - who knows how long it will take.”
The Ranger seems pretty knowledgeable about survival and speaks with the innkeeper, gathering supplies. He keeps giving tips, such as they are, to Nicolas. The young man’s bodyguard grunts, and seems to imply his safety is my problem but Fantol doesn’t seem to care - and does what he can - nervously to prepare the man. Mila can tell - he’s a seasoned ranger - and he knows how to prepare.
Once ready, he speaks to Denisa and Cerny alone, briefly, who seem to lose some of their joviality, and the to Mila - ”Nicolas is a Surtovan. One of the cousins. Something like 10th in line. Nevertheless, his safety is paramount. Let’s hope everything works out.”
When she and Lord Fantol were alone, she could not help but to question the whole deal. "Lord Fantol, sorry for being frank, but if Nicolas's safety is paramount, why bring him along in the first place? If we do not know what is happening, how can we assure his safety?"
It is a simple thing, a greeting. An exchange of this is who I am then a return of this is who you are. Sun Mong Bon is enamored with them, the wry Tian-Min woman would eagerly greet new customers in the tavern at the Fall, with a simple 'Humblest Welcome, kind and generous patron of the Weaver's Respite. I am Sun Mong Bon, struggling painter but successful waitress, may I take your order now?'
Rain Flowing Sharply though rarely got the chance for greetings. Her blade performed the deed silently and those that received that greeting had little chance to do anything other than bleed.
So this moment, where the neatly put together Kitsune with earth colored skirts and leathers, unadorned curved blade on her back, and covered in chocolate and tan fur met the group her mistress has requested her to help (not kill)... this was one of her first.
The woman bows humbly at the waist. "My name is Rain Flowing Sharply, a regretfully mediocre performer but a skilled warrior for a patron who wishes to remain anonymous and wishes for Lady Medvyed to success in her endeavors in this land. Please accept my blade, teeth, and tails in your exploration efforts." six lusciously soft fox tails wag just a little at their mention.
Rain might be a little proud of them. One of her minor indulgencies, her tail pride.
Fantol sighs, ”politics. I’m supposed to show him the ropes, or something. Plus, they want to monitor me directly. So here we are. It isn’t worth arguing about,” he finishes quietly. ”With luck, we can track down the kids and deal with the problem. Quickly.”
He looks over the five other humans and sized them up, ”last place they were seen was just outside of town near the woods. Let’s start there while we have daylight. None of us have darkvision, or anything like that.” Nicolas lights up his hand and waves it around, and starts to speak, but Fantol cuts him off ”yes. We all have magic, but if we hit night, a light in the forest is not good. For anyone.” Mila is keenly aware of this - a light can act like like a homing beacon in the dangerous depth of the primeval woods.
He gathers his things and beckons everyone to follow. In particular, he has Mila stay with him, ”just check over what I missed.” They get to edge of the woods and he starts looking around. Nicolas looks warily up at the shorter trees, and the taller ones deeper in the forest.
Denisa pulls out her oiled blade and takes a few practice swings, and cracks her neck, doing some stretches. Cerny rolls his shoulders, and flexes his hand and then grips the holy symbol of Torag in his plated fist. He frowns at the imposing forest. ”I do not like the woods.” Denisa pirouettes, slashing at the air. ”it’s just like a dungeon, but more… tree-y” Cerny’s frown deepens, ”yes this is the problem. Trees.”
Nicolas’ bodyguard silently watches the developments.
It’s only a few minutes when, after tasting the soil, and holding it up for Mila to smell, he calls everyone over, pointing at the ground. There seems to be nothing there, but Mila knew the clues. He says, ”humanoids. At least a few. Some a few days old. Walking straight in. Nothing else, though it isn’t always clear with these things. Come.”
He casts a spell which seems to make everyone's footfalls a little quieter, and the party steps into the forest.
Mila follows Fantol around, helping as instructed, bow in hand and at the ready.
"Comparing woods to dungeons is surely close to blasphemy..." She shakes her head. Absurd.
Once Fantol says his piece about the tracks, she adds. "Straight in. If they were looking for something or exploring, they usually do not go straight. This isn't a corridor in a dungeon." She quips, half a smile, then points to the subtle marks in the ground. "Just subtle marks... they weren't running I believe, otherwise the marks would be more pronounced. Reckon they weren't fleeing."
Fantol stands, and nods at Mila. "Acute observation." Cerny doesn't seem to respond to the comparison, though Denisa smirks slightly. She asks Fantol, "well? Something enchanted them, most likely, right? What could it be?"
Cerny grumbles, "yes. The forest is known for such things."
Nicolas is starting to look nervous, and glances at the bodyguard. The heavy, thick-necked man frowns, and says to Fantol, "theese - theese is waste of time. We should return. People are gone - no finding them again." His Taldan is highly accented; he must have grown up in rural Brevoy. The ancestral language of the Brevians has largely been subsumed by the success of Taldan as a lingua franca, but they still use some words here and there. "Это место проклято" says the bodyguard, and he has his own sword drawn, a well-oiled longsword.
The party moves deeper into the forest, which Mila knows heightens the danger, but there are no signs of such as they travel. There are rustling leaves near, birds chirp and call to each other, and before too long, they cross a small stream, where he refills his canteen. It takes Fantol but a moment before they find the trail again and the party continues.
After about an hour of total walking, Fantol stops by a boulder, and takes a drink from his waterskin. The signs of passage are more apparent - and there's a small amount of blood on the boulder, as if someone touched it with a scratched-up hand.
He draws his own greatsword, and points up. The forest seemingly had grown quieter. Mila's own hair stood up on end, a feeling she had in the areas of the forest whenever something was off. While she was impossible to frighten, she was still able to tell when things weren't right.
Fantol whispers, "we must be close. Prepare yourselves." Cerny focuses, and mutters a few prayers, bolstering the party , and he grumbles, "stay close" and he also delivers a blessing,
Fantol nods, and looks back at Nicolas, who's conjuring a shield of force for himself, and the bodyguard who pulls out a potion, and drinks it, and then hands another to Nicolas. The young mage drinks it, and seems to be more hale
Denisa drinks a few alchemical items, . Fantol hesistates a moment, and then focuses, and touches Mila on the shoulder, and her skin toughens for a moment, .
Fantol takes the lead, and points towards a darker area of the forest, "I would guess there," He nods at everyone, and Denisa moves to step right behind him, bouncing on her heels.
In a few second's time, they approach a clearing. Within the clearing is a strange sight, out-of-place in the forest. It looks as if there is the ruin of an overgrown cobbled street, with street lamps that are unlit and bent. In the distance, the forest fades away to darkness before Mila can see very far. Behind her, the forest remained... foresty, but the incongruous "street" gives off an unsettling feeling. At the end of the street, on the left side, is a decrepit two-story wooden building. Fantol holds up a hand, and looks back at the others. He tests the cobble with his sword, and finds that its solid. Frowning, he exhales slowly. "look, blood there." The sight is unmistakable.
Nicolas looks like he's going to bolt, but one glare from the bodyguard steels his nerves. Fantol raises an eyebrow, and mouths, "I think there was a town here an age ago. There must have been." He glances into the dark clearing. "I hazard that the kids have gotten to that house. It seems like something drew them here, but - this place is ... wrong. it should not be here. The forest has taken everything else over. Be on guard."
As they are about to enter the darker area, Mila turns to the others, specially Nicolas and his bodyguard. "If for whatever reason we get split, we meet by this boulder. If you hear the sound of thunder, you go back here as well." Turning to Cerny, she adds. "Dark and evil woods aren't like dungeons... they are mazes. You'll need either me or Lord Fantol to bring you out. We enter here as a group and we'll try to leave as such."
When they get close to the lost street, she adds. "Master Korodri
told me of places were our world touches the realm of the fey and the barrier goes thin. People disappear and come back years later... perhaps the same can happen to small towns."
She then points up, to the branches. [b]"We have not seen other tracks aside from the ones we are following. Our thing could perhaps fly."
Fantol nods again, and whispers ”or… something else. You don’t leave tracks? Nor do I. It’s also possible that they were drawn here by the house itself. But I’m sure you and Korodri would have said something if you had known…” He frowns and looks around carefully, ”how could… this is a dark place. He should have known…” There’s tension in his voice as he criticizes Mika’s teacher. She realizes that this area - she’s been here before, not long ago, but there was nothing like this here before.
As Lord Fantol contemplates the situation, the feeling of dread continues to grow. Mila, in tune with the First World and natural world, is ill at ease. There is only only darkness in the distance once they step onto the cobbles - soon the forest behind them disappears. Fighting off panic, she steps back, returning to the forest, and sees that it is still there - there is some illusion which hides this place, but does not prevent passage in and out - something of a reassurance, but it would have been impossible to find had they not followed the trail.
Fantol says to Cerny, quietly, but sharply, his commanding authority coming through ”fear effects. We need protection from them, now.” Cerny grumbles and waves his hands, and everyone’s a little bit bolstered, and Fantol nods, gesturing for the party to approach the hovel. He adds one more thing, ”does anyone know of illusion magic? Or enchantment magic?” The party largely does not, and he gets a number of confused shrugs as a response. He turns to Nicolas, who looks downright frightened, and the young man shakes his head ”n…no - I am an elementalist.”
The building is stout, with thick beams, and an old architectural style that dates to about four hundred years in the past, common in the area for certain well-preserved cities. As they approach the door, they see it is slightly ajar, and darkness looms from within. The merry lights of the party’s source cannot penetrate. Fantol looks for the telltale signs of traps - string, lines of silver runes, and the like but finds none, and he pushes open the door.
The party’s light barely extends inside - as if there is a little bit of darkness magic getting in the way, and he tightens the grip on his greatsword. He mouths the words we need more light and Nicolas shakily nods, and a moment later the unmistakable shining evocation of a daylight spell illuminates the glade, piercing the darkness from within - almost burning it away.
This reveals a countertop and some abandoned stands where threadbare clothing is has mostly rotted away, but was once prominently displayed. Behind the counter is a doorway, which once held a door which has clearly broken - based on the size of the house from the outside, this looks to be a back room of some type. A rusted iron staircase is in the middle of the showroom, though it seems to be unsteady.
Fantol is considering their next move. He looks around, and it seems like he spots something on the ground - a disturbance in the dust and grime that leads around the counter towards the back. He looks like he wants to follow, but hesitates, trying to decide if that’s the correct direction, or if they should check out the upstairs first.
When entering the house, Mila readies and arrow. Shooting in such close quarters was not ideal, but worse would be for her draw her longsword, which she wasn't nearly as good with. She points to her eyes and then the stairs, while motioning for Lord Fantol and Cerny to take a look forward.
Fantol nods slightly, and the group heads slowly up the stairs. The ranger is taking a look carefully, and finds a trap embedded within the stair, a few sharp, but rusty blades that look as if they might just be part natural parts of the rusted stair itself - it isn't clear. He points it out and the party steps over. When they reach the second floor, they find that it is something of a parlor or display space. There are some more mannequins in the corner, though two are displayed in such a way that one seems to be holding a jagged blade, and is sawing through the head of the other. Mila watches them, and despite her imagination running wild, they don't move or do anything else. There are some rotten, overstuffed armchairs, and a private area where it looks like people could change in privacy. Fantol heads towards there and glances at it, then pulls back the curtain to see a pitted, silvery mirror that is so badly tarnished as to be unusable, though the small amount of light which does reflect off of the surface from their sources seems to distort the party's shape slightly.
Frowning, Fantol closes the curtain. He approaches the mannequin, crossing the creaking floor of the room, and with a swift motion, moves to chop off the wooden arm holding the blade. With one motion, it is severed, and he catches the weapon with his gloved other hand, before it falls to the ground. Mila is looking around when she sees what looks like a small elevator - not large enough for anything more than a child, set into the back - it seems that they would transport the clothing up from a basement storeroom. Fantol says, "that little elevator - I'm going to disable it. I do not want anyone coming up here behind us." He looks around, and seeing a few large pieces of metal from the coat rack, moves to the small dumbwaiter, and opens it. A smell of dust and decay assault's the groups' senses, as the open door reveals the bones of a long-dead creature - small in size, either a halfling, a gnome, or a child, curled in the corner, with threadbare clothes.
Fantol sighs, sadly, and gestures for Cerny to approach. The grumpy priest does so, and moves across the creaking floorboards of the room. He reaches for his holy symbol, and after an incantation of blessing, shakes his head, "just dead, Lord Fantol." Fantol nods, and seems to be considering something. He then reaches in and retrieves the bones, carefully putting them into his magical satchel, with tenderness. He looks around for a bit of hard iron, and finding a stand that is rusted less, grabs it, and jams it into the elevator so that the door cannot close, and that the elevator cannot descend, though the metal makes a racket as he jams the steel mannequin stand into the opening. He sighs, and wipes the dust off of his hands, and gestures for Cerny to head back.
Fantol moves to come back over, crossing over the carpet, which creaks badly as he steps. Suddenly, the floor gives way below his and Cerny's feet! They scrambles to gain purchase before the cleric and Cerny fall down, onto the counter on the first floor, which shatters with a crash. A tumult of dust is raised, but Fantol keeps his bearings, and scrambles before grabbing onto the edge and pulling himself up. Denisa's joviality is already gone, and she curses quietly to herself, rushing downstairs. Fantol, holds up his hand as if to say, wait but she's already gone. He gestures as if to say, go, go! and the party, Nicolas and his bodyguard leading the way, scramble their way down the iron stair.
The young sorcerer seems to have forgotten the lesson of the stairs in his rush, and he steps on the jagged fragment, his soft boots providing minimal protection, and crumples over as he falls over the railing and lands with a thud on the floor below. The bodyguard curses, loudly, and leaps over the railing, landing next to him as Nicolas shrieks in pain and holds is foot.
Mila and Fantol scramble down themselves and assess the situation. Denisa is helping Cerny up, who is not that badly off, though he coughs as the cloud of rotten wood dust settles. Cerny gingerly removes a few shards of glass and steel that have embedded themselves in his side, apparently the counter had a number of old jars of dye and metal equipment stored underneath. With blood oozing out of the wound, and a shaky hand, the cleric summons positive energy while clutching his holy symbol, and Nicolas is also healed by the magics.
Immediately he stops whimpering, and takes a shaky deep breath, as his bodyguard helps him up. He tests his foot gingerly, and winces.
Cerny waves his hands and heals himself again, as his wound closes up, and steps over to the young man, healing him as well. They both seem no worse for wear.
Fantol frowns, and doesn't bother whispering anymore, "well, anyone would have heard that. Let's go to the basement." He shakes his head at his own mistake, and grabs Mila by the shoulder with one hand, "I think, Mila, at this point, it may be difficult to believe what we see - be on guard. I... that trap - upstairs. It didn't exist. Not until the second time we passed."
Denisa whirls around, "didn't exist, Lord? Or you made a mistake? Cerny could have been killed, and then we'd be f*~~ed. You understand that? All to retrieve bones!?"
Fantol takes a step back, "Denisa - this was, something in this place is wrong, I can feel it. Can't you? Don't you feel the fear? It's making everything harder..." She's shaking slightly, and she backs down, "yes, yes, sorry. I just..." and she trails off, before Fantol continues, looking of Nicolas' injury, "we can't leave now - I would bet the kids are in the basement. This is it. Whatever is haunting this place, we need to put it down. Nicolas, can you walk?" The young man is pale, and obviously scared, but nods. His bodyguard frowns, "if anything happens to him - I will cut your throat, lord or not, do you understand."
Fantol's brow furrows, "nothing - just, nothing will happen, but..." he looks like some of his own confidence has shaken, and with gritted teeth, he looks like he's about to retort, but instead adds, "then stay upstairs, I'm going down, and I expect Cerny wants to as well." The cleric is coughing a bit, but nods, and says simply, "this place is a blight, I would cleanse it if it is Torag's will." Denisa has calmed as well, and she grabs him by the shoulder, "it's kids, of course - just, be more careful."
Nicolas tries to summon his own courage, and wipes the blood from his foot onto his robe, "I... I want to help too." The bodyguard says nothing but glowers at Fantol. With it decided, Fantol nods, and leads the way down.
The party moves into the backroom, which has a staircase that descends into darkness. With his light source held aloft, he moves down below. The light seems to flicker as he descends, until it is largely muted. He looks to Cerny, who shrugs, as if to say that's all I can do. Fantol sighs and looks to Nicolas, who shrugs, and the ranger rummages through his satchel until he finds a scroll, passing it to Cerny, "if we need to, this may illuminate the place, this darkness is magical." Cerny looks at it, "we need it now I think." Fantol shakes his head, but then relents, and says, "fine - go ahead." Cerny reads the spell from the scroll, and a piercing light emanates from his shield, as bright as can be, and the back storeroom of the shop is lit. Without the darkness, it even looks cheery, though dilapidated - this little shop was once someone's pride and joy, and it's sad to see it have fallen into disrepair. Mila sees an elevator door in the back, in line with the other elevator, though the door is closed. Fantol nods, "subtlety is over. If we think there's an enemy, we strike. Ready?" Everyone nods, and Fantol descends.
The darkness melts away as they move down, but they can't see into the basement until they pass around the corners. Fantol gasps as he moves down, but his pace doesn't quicken, it slows. He grips his greatsword, and soon the party, following him, rounds the corner of the stairs, past the small landing, and sees a grim tableau.
Tied to the mannequins are a number of kids of varying ages with cuts on their bodies. Some seem to be unconscious, but others are awake, their eyes bright with fear and grubby cheeks stained with soot, where dried tears fell. All are gagged but none seem to be dead.
Standing near a table in the rear of the room is a tall man with a tall hat, looking over some surgical tools. He has a long coat, and is holding a knife which he puts down before turning towards the party as they file down. The room is large - larger than it would seem on the outside, and seems to disappear into the shadows without end, as if there are piles of boxes of clothes here and there that extend endlessly into a trackless void. A large, polished mirror is standing nearby, but it doesn't seem to reflect a room - instead it reflects what looks like a room in a decrepit castle or dungeon.
The lanky, fanged humanoid inclines his head, "good evening, Lord Fantol, and Nicolas. I've been expecting you." He looks at the others, "a... crew? How marvelous and noble. There is a palpable, terrible aura of dread which comes from this being. It a creature of nightmares, born of nightmares, and it seems to be made of dreamstuff. Mila remembers what it was like when she was younger, and she would dream of being chased by a giant mole - a silly dream, but she thinks for a moment that she can hear the snuff snuff as the mole roots around in the boxes, somewhere in the void, and realizes that mole is searching for her.
Fantol hesitates, but the bodyguard frowns, "you say fight, fight, coward!" to Fantol, and the bodyguard charges the tall man, roaring, his sword raised. He strikes towards the man, but his sword passes through the image - an illusion. Confused, the bodyguard barely has time to react before one of the empty mannequins comes to life, and with a sharpened clawed hand, steps forward and swipes across the bodyguard's neck - slashing it. Gurgling and clutching at his throat, the bodyguard's eyes roll back into his head and he collapses to the ground. The mannequin's from melts away, and the tall man in the hat takes his place. With a smirk, he licks the blood from his hand. "So impolite." Cerny moves to go heal the man, but stops when the tall man raises a finger and waggles it, as if to say no, no, no. Cerny frowns deeply, and it soon becomes clear that the man is dead. Nicolas looks around, and he looks up the stairs, as if to flee, but the doorway seems to have been closed behind them. Denisa looks like she's trying to fight off panic, but the swordlord stands next to the young man, and tries to reassure him, "don't worry, I'll protect you," and she tries to smile at him.
The creature sighs, and puts his clawed hands together, "Nicolas, Nicolas, your family. You Surtovas, you haven't been holding up your end of our bargain." Fantol frowns and looks towards the young mage, angrily, "what? This was all for you? What aren't you telling us."
Nicolas stammers, "I... I don't..."
The man smiles, and it's horrific. "Everything the Surtovas have gotten. Everything, has come at a price. And sometimes, the debts come due. These young people - " he gestures towards the tied up kids, each in obvious pain as the wires dig into their ankles and wrists, though they all seem to have given up trying to escape, "they are a type of payment."
Nicolas shakes his head, "I... don't know anything about that."
The man smiles again, "well, then, I shall make it plain, you can take their place - my master always needs ... helpers. These fine young people would not have been killed. No, of course not. Nor will you. That isn't the bargain." He inclines his head.
Fantol opens his mouth and closes it. Denisa whispers, "I won't let them take you, kid." Cerny looks to be filled with rage, but is whispering prayers and looks ready to draw upon Torag's magic heavily if things go south, and he looks to be completely unaffected by the fear magic of this monster.
------------------------------------
Negotiate, perhaps? What to offer? The thing has made its offer and she could neither force Nicolas to take it nor make the decision for him.
Counter offer then... but what to offer? Would the thing accept her in Nicolas's place? Slim change, for she wasn't special like him, not that she was aware. Would she actually be able to do it? Yes, if this was the only choice.
She raises her bow, hands shaken. They could certainly fight. They had the numbers, apparently, but it had the terrain. Fantol's words came to her, hinting that the thing could probably control the house.
A dark thought crosses her mind. How important was Nicolas to the thing? The information about the bargain was important. It did not want Nicolas harmed, he was important. She could point her bow at him and threaten to kill him unless the thing let everyone out... it would be a bluff, of course, but if it knew she was a paladin of the Old Deadeye, he'd never believe in the ruse. But, perhaps, someone else could do it... someone with no obvious allegiances or vows.
"Denisa... Nicolas seems pretty valuable to this thing, no?"
Denisa glances at Mila, ”I’m guessing not. Why?”
Fantol frowns, then looks to Nicolas, ”Lord Surtova, please, what’s going on? Do you know who this is?”
Nicolas steps back and stammers, ”I… I … our family… I can’t say…”
Fuming, Fantol steps towards the young lord and grabs him by the shoulder, ”can’t? Why did they send you here?” He grips the young man’s shoulder tightly.
The horrible, thin man finishes cleaning off his clawed hand, and lifts up his arm, pointing at his wrist. The looks of incomprehension abound, and he shakes his head slightly, ”you humans have such limited understanding. Time. Time. Your time grows limited.”
Cerny makes a gesture towards Denisa, but what it means is incomprehensible.
Nicolas turns to Fantol, ”please, protect me. That’s what my family would want, right? I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Fantol frowns even harder as he considers their options.
The party, without Chrysa, gathers up for what Sophiel explains is their next objective. Since the rush light festival is in a few months, she’s asks for everyone to get some intelligence about what the borders of Pitax look like, and what they might be up to. So far, Iorvetti has not made any aggressive attacks against Gliocas, but the relationship that he had with Drelev certainly lended credence to the idea that he thought Gliocas was a threat for some reason. Sophiel explains that she has no intention of attacking any country preemptively, but that she had been trying to plan for various contingencies - especially since the Surtovas seem to be probing the northern border for weakness regularly - and the only reason the front isn’t larger is that Shadowfall is running a sophisticated campaign which guerilla attacks and sabotage against Gliocas regularly assuage Brevoy’s imperial ambitions. If there is a hint that any of this is a facade, or if there is anything else at play, she does not mention it - every word she says makes it seem that Shadowfall is a bitter enemy. The fortified walls of Bogha Foirnheart, where the old temple of Erastil was, remains standing, but she expects that she may have to abandon the settlement within 6 months before Shadowfall will begin to do real damage to Gliocas.
She asks for the party to scout or research the glenborn uplands to get a sense of the threats, if possible, and to know how much they should need to muster if Iorvetti were to attack. She points at a few places on the southern end near Pitax’s capitol itself which are hilly and would allow for a concealed approach.
There were many options, but only one she could live with, so Mila finishes to raise her bow and shoots. Up. At the ceiling. Her arrow turns into a bolt of electricity and when it hits the ceiling, a peal of thunder rumbles across the basement, the symbol of Erastil flashing and illuminating the place. "Now!"
She fights.
The party moves north, towards the borders of the undead kingdom, in the Glenborn Uplands, avoiding any sort of armies.
Mila has not spied in the undead kingdom but she has heard rumors that it's ruled by a death knight of considerable prowess. Unlike Geb, or the whispering tyrant, these undead seem to have no wish for expansion, but largely wish to be left alone. However, as any Pharasman knows that the creation, and continual existence of the undead is detrimental to the fabric of existence, if only slightly, and it is unclear what their larger plans are. They send few diplomats out, and their diplomats seem to all be humans. For whatever it is worth, humans seem to be working with the death knight leader, but they are very insular, and have so far only sought to observe proceedings, never taking part in negotiations, except to warn others of the consequences of 'interference.'
The environment near the 'undead kingdom' or Barony seems slightly less robust, and less lively. There are fewer birds or animals, though Vincent knows that it's odd that there would be any in an area that seemingly is so devoted to death. Having briefly interacted with less savory undead, especially when he was captured by Vordkai, he knows that tend to drive away animals, and their corrupting influence seems to kill plants as well. In this case, it seems that the undead who rule here have less of a destructive influence - though Tikroch still smells fewer than he would expect.
The Glenborn Uplands, much like Gliocas, are lightly wooded and hilly. It's sometimes hard to see far beyond the next ridge, though Tikroch's scouting ability comes in handy.
Donovan detects no fiendish presence, but there is a somewhat unsettling feeling in the area, as they approach the "borders".
****************************************
The party has been traveling for a few days, when they spy a curious tableau. There are two groups of beings, standing apart from each other, and regarding each other warily. One, comprised of five humans, two male, and two female, and a horse, attached to a cart, seem to be speaking quietly amongst themselves as they glance surruptiously at the second group. They are well dressed, and seem to be equipped as reasonably-competent adventurers, though only two has a weapon. The others appear to be spellcasters, or have some unarmed skill. One appears to have a longbow, and is heavily cloaked to seemingly obscure their features.
The second group seems to be an odd collection of creatures that seem quite a bit more out of place. Two huge, ragged oak trees with twisted and grim faces in their trunks are at rest near a pair of human-sized runed cats that seem to be prowling, and growling at the humans. They seem to guard a green-skinned woman about 12 feet tall, with pointed ears, and a longbow and large longsword, wearing rustic armor. She seems to be trying to speak to the oak-tree creatures. She has her bow out, and is watching the humans carefully.
Denisa nods grimly, and signals Cerny, who unleashes a spell. He says, ”Illusions all around! Focus!” he seems to have spotted some sort of magic and is trying to dispel it.
The area shimmers for a moment, and suddenly the endless shadows disappear, and the room seems to just be a basement, with a dingy lamp lighting the area.
Denisa nabs a sunrod from her bag and cracks it, with lightning speed, and the ambient light brightens considerably. With an equally impressive flash of steel, her Aldori dueling sword is in her hand, and she bolts to stand near Nicolas. She says to Mila, ”I’ll protect him for now, but you have to put pressure on the enemy.”
The room, now lit in normal light, is just a dingy basement, and the tall man’s illusion appears to have been pierced. As the man regards the party, the form attacked by the bodyguard dissolves into nothing.
Denisa nearly shoves the cowering sorcerer, saying, ”do something, or by the gods…” Nicolas swallows, and shaking, withdraws a few pinches of components from his pouch, summons spears of fire which blast towards the tall man.
one of the flaming spears seems to connect with the tall man’s in the shoulder, his tidy-looking suit getting singed.
Fantol nods at the young man, ”courage, Nicolas - keep the courage. Don’t make us regret saving you.” He takes a moment to study the tall man, and charges forward towards the [i]real[/b] monster before swinging his sword in a crushing arc.
His swing is wide, though, and his aim is poor, and the tall man dodges out of the way.
Surveying the situation, the tall man brushes his shoulder, and frowning, seems to ignore Fantol. The ranger swings at the tall man, to no effect. In a few, quick strides, he’s adjacent to Cerny, and as he looks down on the cleric, a shimmering doppleganger appears behind Cerny. Confused for a moment, Cerny’s concentration and guard seem to falter. The tall man’s blood-tipped claws rip into Cerny, cutting their own hole into a gap in the armor in his neck, The cleric cries out in pain, ”ARRGH!” but doesn’t fall, even though he is bleeding badly. Gripping his neck, he growls, spitting blood, ”hit him - as hard as you can.”
Tikrock periodically checks back in with the party, spending most of the time traveling as a hawk to survey the area. Thankfully there isn't much of note to see. He spies some sort of encounter off in the distance so decides to turn back into a human and stick with the group. As they approach he ponders what the creatures could be.
Vincent frowns and spends a few minutes observing both groups as the stand-off continues.
"Two Quickwoods, two dweomercats and a forest giant if I'm not mistaken." And I'm not. The unshakable confidence in his voice proclaims. "All of them have been touched by the planes though. It would not be an easy fight for us. I can't see enough of the people to say anything beyond the obvious. I suggest we let this play out and deal with survivors if it comes to it."
The child-like vampire turns to Mum with a sardonic grin. "Your command Auntie?"
Mum considers Vincent's assessment, her dark eyes following the forest giant especially. "It would be interesting to see the results... but waiting might make it so we lose understanding." her mind sees two sides of the story playing out becoming one and Chrysa feels Knowing all is the only way to survive.
Knowledge of people as well as the creatures, she tries to put together their style of dress, coloration, demeanor to find out whatever she can about them.
Then Mum sighs, "We'll talk first, and follow your advice if need be. Leaving them too whatever this is if talking isn't helpful." her eyes track the others, seeing if any disagree.
If none do, the dark haired warrior walks out with enough noise to let them know she is coming, hands held out away from her twin swords.
"Greetings" Mum says in giant, then sylvan, then common "We came across your meeting in the woods, and thought just slipping bye without saying hello would be rude at best, potentially morally reprehensible at worst. Can we share your space a bit, find out what is making you all wary of each other?"
Tikroch nods in deference to Mum's plan and follows her into the clearing. With a hand on Luca's back, he eyes the creatures identified as plane-touched with a little suspicion but not hostility. Not yet at least. He maintains a neutral expression as he awaits whatever responses come forth.
The trees and cats seem ready to strike, but the giant holds up her hand, and whispers something to them . She raises her hand to block the sun and blinks, before responding in Sylvan, ”I am sorry, I got turned around. These beings that are with me are dangerous, keep away please. I just need to find my way home.” Her sylvan accent is very odd and archaic.
What seems to be the leader of the four adventuring types raises his hand, and calls over, in accented Taldan, ”um, excuse me. Hello. Yes, I am Percival. My companions and I live somewhat nearby. Those creatures you speak to - what she says is quite true. They are very dangerous. We were led to believe they came through a portal of a sort.” He clears his throat, as his voice is somewhat raspy, and it sounds better, ”those things have been popping up all over. Could you perhaps, aid us? The trees and … cat things, they pose a threat to some nearby villages.” He waves his hand dismissively, ”the giant is free to go, but I think she’s protecting them. We were trying to figure out a plan when you came along.”
The giant frowns, but says, again in Sylvan, ”I do not know what those beings are saying.”
Mum answers in Sylvan to the extraplanar forest giant first, its companions being the most volatile of group. "They are worried for the people that live near by. Worried that your companions, the Quickwoods and Dweomercats, might harm them if they make contact. They believe they came through a portal. I'll ask to see if they know where the portal is."
To the adventures, in Taldan "Greetings Percival, I'm Mum. The forest giant does not wish harm to come to the creatures or to you, and is only searching for its way home. Do you know where these portals are?"
Percival raises an eyebrow, ”thank you for translating, miss. But the portals close as soon as they are opened. Those beasties are stuck here.”
A thin man in robes with sunken eyes nods, his voice a loud whisper, but similarly accented ”there has been magic afoot. Our greatest scholars are learned, but even they cannot identify the source.”
Percival turns back to the Mum, ”we are… we are citizens of Dengrazod. The borders are close.”
Another one, who has been silent, nods, and points at the giant’s crew, and says only ”danger.” He smacks his fists together. ”Fight. Soon.”
The one with the potions arrayed in a bandolier, pops open one of his potions, and downs it, his speed increasing. He’s bouncing on the balls of each foot, ”Percy, I gotta, I want to burn them.” Mum sees that he’s got burn scars on his face and arms, both chemical and flame.
Percival holds up his hand, as if to calm the alchemist, who twitches, grumbling, ”my friends here, some lack patience. And mine is not infinite, nor is our master’s.” He gestures towards the giant.
*******
The wood giant nods at Mum, and waits for her to return. In Sylvan, she asks, ”portals. Treacherous magic. But I do not remember such a thing. I was walking with my companions,” She kneels down to pet the dweomercats, who half purr-half growl. ”these two trees - I was checking on them. They feast upon flesh, of course - I was hoping to feed them if the game had been sparse.” She pats her backpack, ”enough for a few weeks, but a quickwood is always hungry.”[b] She looks up, [b]”the sun, the trees, it is very different here. Quiet. If it truly was a portal, where am I?” Her voice is melodic and deep, and she seems to exude an aura of calmness.
Showing his poor aptitude for reading people, Tikroch ignores them and addresses the giant in sylvan, "You are not the first group I've encountered that have been thrust through a portal to get to these lands. If I'm not mistaken, you are from the First World? You are currently in unclaimed portion the Stolen Lands though it's quickly being reshaped into the nation of Gliocas. Surprisingly friendly to misplaced beings like yourselves... if they can follow the rules. You and your pets might find refuge there. It will take you a long while to get to the borders towing your trees though."
The druid raises an eyebrow at the alchemist drinking potions but trusts the others in the group to engage with them. He holds off on casting spells himself for now.
Vincent pulls his spellbook out and starts skimming it for spells that will be useful if the First World creatures decide that violence is the answer.
Mila, being a newcomer to the group, remains more distance, trying first to learn how they operate.
Between the two groups, she trusts the 'heroes' less, so she watches them more closely. That alchemist seemed way too intent on violence and that wasn't good to say the least.
These damned fey and their tricks... at least this giant seems sincere in her goal to protect these creatures. In Sylvan, "In deference to the current leader of Gliocas, I suppose we'll have to at least give you the opportunity to prove your good intentions and hope she can find a way to get you back home or find you a place to stay in this world. If they like, we may be able to speed up the travel time to present your case to her adjudicators. You will have to keep them docile until the magics can be prepared."
In Taldan, "Thank you for your restraint. This is an unfortunate situation. They are here through no fault of their own. They are peaceful enough for now. Your presence is no longer required." Tikrok nods to the Dengrazodians considering the conversation complete.
The hooded figure whispers something toward the leader, who tilts his head and then nods, ”these … interlopers. If you say they will go to Gliocas - fine, but our Baron, he grows concerned about their expansion already. Perhaps the silver-tongued elf that has bewitched the population will bewitch that giant as well? She is a lover of the fey - who’s to say she is not summoning them to her army?”
The thin one says, ”dweomercat blood is quite valuable for crafting magic items…”
The giantess looks confused, but she reaches down to pet one of them, seeming to have at least picked up that they were talking about the cat. Slightly distracted, she turns her satchel forward and opens it, rummaging around. In moment she’s retrieved what appears to be slightly preserved meat, which she offers to one of the cats, and then gives to the quickwood.
The leader pinches the bridge of his nose, ”listen - our Baron is… merciless. He says to deal with the monsters - I see four monsters. If we disobey him - he will know.” His voice is flat, and he runs his fingers through his hair, and then puts his dark helmet back on.
One of the arrows connects, and Mila’s holy magic seems to slice through at least some of the defenses of the creature, who looks very surprised.
Touching the area where the purplish blood oozes out of his arrow wound, he blinks, as if curious ”interesting. Denisa cries out when Cerny is attacked and gestures to Nicolas, ”come - he’s not a dragon, everyone bunch up, backs to each other. Cerny, you great lummox, don’t die on me…”
She launches herself at the monster, who tries to parry one of the sword blows, but her aim is exceptional and it connects, even if doesn’t seem to do as much as she expected.
Fantol’s mind is racing, and he calls out - ”a fey, of some sort. Cold iron, if you can.” With significant speed, he grabs a cold iron axe from belt as he moves over, and with two hands brings it down as hard as he can against the enemy. It connects, and the creature’s flesh sizzles away, parting easily at the wound.
Nicolas manages to summon a few more lances of fire, but they miss, he stumbles over to stand near Mila, nodding.
Cerny grimaces, and tries to concentrate has his own blood trickles between his fingers. Hands shaking, and with no way to step away, he tries to cast some sort of spell.
But the energy dissipates, and doesn’t do anything.
Almost idly, a similar effect appears again, and this time, the blades claws connect in the gut of Cerny, who doubles over in pain, dropping to the ground. Denisa cries out again, ”Cerny!” and fury in her eyes, she flares her nostrils as she prepares to try and hit the creature again, who seems to have turned his attention to Fantol, the axe wielder.
"Then I will speak with him." Vincent says, stepping forwards. "We will deal with this matter as it should be dealt with, by those of us with the proper perspective. Let them depart, make them Gliocas's problem and then I will ensure it is not your problem."
He smiles coldly, fangs prominent.
Chrysa was considering the best way to kill or recruit these adventures without provoking the ire of their more Good companions. Vincent's words are clumsier than she had ever heard, which made her worry for a moment before she smiled inwardly, recognizing his attempt to get THEM to attack.
She informs the giant in Sylvan "They would like to kill your companions and harvest their bodies for profit. The lady of the lands the majority of our group is from, Gliocas, would never allow such acts in her lands, so we should get you to her lands as quickly as we can. If you agree, be prepared for a fight once we start moving."
"I wonder if this isn't the moment to put anger and greed aside so we can look at this situation with a more objective and logical way?" Mila intervenes as she steps forward a bit, still behind Tikroch and Chrysa.
"You claim the lady of Gliocas has love for the fey and assuming that is true, attacking these 'monsters', as you call them, might result in a diplomatic problem. I'm assuming your Baron would be against it." She continues. "Also, not to insult the intelligence of anyone, specially of rulers, if the lady of Gliocas was indeed summoning the fey to form an army, it would be reasonable to say she'd be doing so inside her own borders... why conjure a portal close to your kingdom and thus handle the information freely? You must choose... wither she is a cunning and capable spellcaster, or she is an incompetent fool."
"There is also the fact that the whole situation got trickier once we've approached... love triangles invariably go messy." She jokes a bit, mostly to lower the animosity.
"With three parties involved, there is always the question of to whom the third group will side in case of aggression. You've tipped your hand, friends, by revealing your will to kill these 'monster'. If you do attack, do you assume we'll just watch? Perhaps we'll defend them for some reason, perhaps we'll join you. You don't know for sure. If we join them, are you confident you'll be able to take our two forces combined?" She asks, raising a finger to punctuate. "And this is not a threat, I'm just laying out the possibilities."
"The way I see it, your Baron asked you to deal with the monsters. If they leave with our promise that they'll not return to Dengrazod, you've dealt with the monsters by striking this deal with us. No bloodshed, no incident and perhaps some goodwill in the future. Doesn't strike me as the worst plan."
The helmeted one considers carefully what Mila has explained. For a while, ”I can find no fault with your reasoning. Just … get them away from here. And if you speak to this witch, let her know that the Baron’s patience is finite. Dengrazod expects to be left alone - get the fey situation managed.” He turns to the others and whispers something, then turns back to Vincent, gesturing for him to come over, ”a word, young man?”
The skeletal man waits a moment, and once Vincent is near, says ”we would have privacy from your companions - which may be provided with but a word. But I would not have them attack, is it agreed? We have matters to discuss.” The leader nods, his eyes shadowed behind his helmet.
**********
Donovan realizes that the giant is feeding humanoid flesh to the trees and cats. Seemingly elven and human, though it seems preserved, somehow - like jerky.
The giant thanks Mum and Tikroch, and responds in Sylvan, ”my thanks miss and sirs. I shall gladly come with you,” Her accent and word choice in sylvan is odd and archaic, as if she’s speaking a somehow earlier version of the already primeval language. ”I am not more than a warden, so the high majick exceed my knowledge. Should what you say prove true - then this is the … material plane? I have heard stories of such a place.” She gestures broadly, ”it is much less… life-full. Is it always like this? Is your queen more so? Can you tell me - shall she know how to get me back?”
Vincent walks away from the rest of the group without qualm and glances back to Mum briefly before inclining his head, just so it is clear he isn't being taken advantage of.
"Speak." He says simply.
The thin one nods, and an opaque bubble appears around Vincent and the other humanoids.
The leader takes off his helmet and inclines his head. "Vincent Maridos. I knew of your father, and it seems we know of you, now. As you might have guessed, we -" and he gestures to himself and the others around him, "carry something of the same gift as you, though it is harder for us to hide. Dengrazod has many of our people. It is a... sanctuary. Of a sort. In exchange for tempering some of our appetites."
And he swallows, nervously, and Vincent realize his tongue is longer than he would have expected, "we are safe from the final death. We even have some of your kind, as well - though my companions and I do not to traffic in their affairs." He extends a hand, "as I said, I am Percival Hornsbury."
The thin one inclines his head, "Edgar."
The twitchy one grimaces, saying "Paul" and scratches his neck.
The heavy-set one that seems more deliberate takes a moment and says "Menkhtu."
He gestures towards the hooded one, shrouded in shadow, and says "my companion, Syema". The figure does not move, but Vincent can see a pair of red-dots staring at him from beyond the shadow, which he realizes his vision cannot pierce.
Percival says "Krovax would have you meet with him. He believes that we should offer you a place in our Baron." He gestures towards the others, "whatever loyalty you have to them - it pales in comparison to the loyalty we have to each other. They will never know the chill in our bones, nor the suffering we endure."