Once you leave behind the newly plowed roads around your settlement, the going becomes slower now that you bear a laden wagon alongside your steeds. Nevertheless, you reach the river ford by early afternoon, and by nightfall you enter the more trackless hills that surround your destination.
In the distance, through the fading light, you suspect you can see the massive, lone tree several miles ahead. The animals don't have the stamina to press on any further today, and traveling through the hill country by dark would be dangerous. Thus, you make camp and spend an uneventful night under the wide open sky.
The canvas covering upon the wagon proves to be a godsend, for the gray morning brings a persistent drizzle of rain. Besides potentially souring your mood - especially for those of your party who are not sharp in the morning - the dreary weather hides the horizon in a curtain of gray and leaves plentiful patches of mud to squelch beneath boot and hoof.
Bydar offers to create small light cantrips when needed.
The rain is depressing, but he comments "At least it keeps the land green and lovely when the sun returns"
"Oh dear," Syretia says, prying her boot from the mud. She promptly summons a horse, climbs onto it, and then raises her hood. While staying dry is hopeless, she does magically cleanse the mud from her clothes and then does her best to avoid kicking any up as she rides along.
"Hopefully it'll be a bit drier under the tree."
The rain and mud make these last few miles feel even longer than the entirety of yesterday's travel. Brandt advises the party to guide the wagon on a winding path between the hills to avoid sliding down their uneven slopes or, worse yet, getting stuck in the muddy morasses accumulating at their bases. Despite the inclement hardships, you eventually draw upon your destination.
The old sycamore tree looms over the hills of the northern Kamelands, at least 100 feet tall. Despite its size, the tree is a graying hulk, clinging to the last years of its life. Its bare branches twist towards the clouded, rainy sky like innumerable arms reaching for salvation.
"The rain isn't too much of a problem. The real pain is the mud. This will slow us down greatly." At the tree, Orlog points at the graves. "Well, this explain what happened to the mites, but then again, who buried them?" He is about to poke at the graves when he rapidly stand and get his shield on his arm. "Company is coming, can't identify the rider."
Christian nods slowly as he sees the bodies that most assuredly are the mites.
When Orlog mentions the rider, he turns and scans the area. It is hard for him to make out anything with the rain coming down so hard. With his aid, Christian is able to see the rider.
The young lord checks the area around them hoping to catch a glimpse of something that will prove his hunch that this is not a lone rider.
Watch for others on our flanks. Do not forget our back side.
Knowing that the rain is making it difficult to see anything at all, he turns his attention back to the rider and keeps his eyes on the guest as he comes closer.
Brandt shakes the rain from his oilskin cowl, peering around the tree, His cloak alternating between the grey of the rain and the green of the landscape around them, providing a slightly nauseating effect as the Ulfen moves and blends into the terrain.
Brandt casually remains mounted, and draws an arrow to his bow. Perhaps they are friendly and mean no harm. Brandt sidesteps his horse away from the graves, prepared to move to flank the rider should they prove hostile.
He speaks softly in skald to Fenrir,
Fenrir follows Brandt and the horses a few steps away, and turns to watch all around the tree, turning in circles beneath the horse and testing the wet air with his nose.
Busy gazing up at the tree and its many branches, Syretia's attention is brought down to earth by Orlog's warning about the oncoming rider. She quickly casts a spell to aid her senses, then tries to spot the figure for herself.
Fenrir pays little heed to the distant rider. Instead, the wolfdog's nose is simultaneously intrigued and irritated by the looming tree, so much nearer at hand. Perhaps it is the mite corpses in their shallow graves, or perhaps it is some odor wafting out from among the roots of the tree - as the party easily discovers the earthen shaft tucked among the roots, leading down into the plundered mite lair - but Fenrir is very wary of the old sycamore tree.
As the rider closes the distance, the party scans the rough hills of the northern Kamelands, looking for hints of other riders, but there are none. With the rain likely driving much of the local wildlife into hiding, the lone rider is the only other living thing the party can see for perhaps a mile around the tree.
Brandt watches the rider slowly approach, then pays attention to Fenrir's antics. Whoever that is, they are certainly taking their time getting here. Fenrir doesn't like this tree, for whatever reason. Could be a problem for certain brewing here. We should be careful without a doubt. Brandt keeps an eye toward the giant tree, and periodically looks at Fenrir to see if there are any changes in his behavior.
Bydar positions to where his glaive's reach can do the most good if a fight breaks out, but hopes it doesn't. The news of the tree? "Well, I if he doesn't like it, maybe there's something poisonous in it's make up?"
"Brandt, have you ever seen a tree like this?"
With the cart at the Kobolds' place, Booker is astride his pony. With Orlog's news that a lone rider has been spotted, he dismounts and begins to undo the girth until he can remove the saddle. "Might be ah li'l late fer allah this, but I'd rathah try," he explains, tossing the riding equipment to the other side of the tree. Tying off the reigns of his pony to another mount, as though it were simply following that horse's lead, he then tries to use it as cover to remain unseen.
A sling tumbles loose from somewhere up his sleeve and he fishes a bullet out of his pocket. "No mattah what they says, be on yer guard. Tha only people ridin' solo 'round 'ere are eithah crazy-crazy or crazy-strong," he warns with a whisper. "Like yous guys said, we gotta pay attention to tha tree too. I bet like tha Kobolds, ah couple ah Mites made it too."
________
Brandt will offer up what he knows of these types of tress in response to Gita's question. But personally this is a giant, and I've never seen its like before.
I wonder if there is a way to....heal it? To help it grow again?
Christian remains in the open with no weapon drawn and waits for the stranger to approach. He knows calling out to whom ever this is will be futile with the rain. So he waits.
This is a particularly impressive specimen of sycamore, or at least it once was. You do not see any signs of cankers or blights upon its trunk or boughs, so the cause of the tree's poor health must be unseen. This leads you to believe that the mites lairing beneath the tree, among the tangle of its roots in the earth, may have been poisoning it with their unseemly affairs. You can also see signs that insects - either sizable swarms or particularly large specimens - have been nesting in the warrens under the tree, potentially also parasitizing it.
If the mites are truly gone, it might be possible to turn around the tree's health. The best chance at saving the tree would involve magical intervention, though. If restored, the tree could be a could habitat for birds, rabbits, squirrels, and many of the other small creatures that live among the Kamelands.
As you examine the tree, you notice something out of place. There is a wooden staff embedded among the roots, blending in very well and very easily missed. Something is carved upon its length.
A woman's voice calls out across the hills.
"Hold your arrows! I carry a message!" the rider shouts, nearly straining her voice to be heard.
When she draws closer, she recognizes you.
"Oh, thank the gods. It's you," she says, sounding clearly relieved.
This oversize sycamore is in relatively good shape, however the mites may have done a significant amount of damage to the root structure of the tree, and we may need magical intervention to save it. Certainly it could be magnificent.
Brandt looks up to the new arrival from his inspection of the tree, What's this then?
He motions Syretia over, pointing out the staff laid in the roots of the tree, Syretia, what do you make of this? Looks unusual to me.
Christian listens to Brand and looks up at the tree.
If we can help this tree, not only would it be a majestic land mark but it would be a natural lookout for the area. Perhaps maybe even all the lands between the Thorn and Shrike rivers all the way to the South Rostland road. Very strategic point here.
We can use the seeds to plant more of these trees back home.
As the stranger calls out, Christian keeps his eyes on the messenger.
Nice weather we are having here, perhaps you should come closer under the tree and out of the rain...
Looking back up at the large tree
...as much as we can that is.
Christian moves closer to the tree but away from the mites.
So you say you have a message for us? How do you know who we are and what is your name...Lady...?
Syretia moves over to join Brandt, and, head tilted in curiosity, examines the strange staff. "Not sure. Let's take a look!"
Booker does his best to remain hidden by the alleged messenger. One wrong move, buster, and yer gonna getta face full ah lead!
________
The rider slows her swaybacked horse to a canter. She is now close enough to see that she doesn't carry any weapon larger than a dagger or shortsword. Once she is partially shaded from the rain by the tree's twisted boughs, she doffs her cloak's hood.
"I can't blame you for being wary, especially out here under this gloom. If you can't recognize me from this close, though, you'd best have Sirs Orlog or Bydar have a look at your eyes."
It is Svetlana Leveton, your diplomat and co-owner of the trading post.
"I was riding to bring word: Nivakta'a Crossing has been destroyed. The survivors have fled to the trading post for sanctuary. They say that a dragon burned their homes to the ground, not with fire but some kind of poison or acid."
Specifically, you can recognize - from afar - that the sigils are tied to the element of lightning. However, there are also symbols that correlate with summoning or conjuration magic, which complicates the nature of the trap. You develop a hypothesis about what it might do if one were to get too close or tamper with the staff.
"Stay away from the staff," the sorcerer says in a disappointed tone, rejoining the rest of the group. "It's some kind of lightning trap, and--" Syretia's mouth clamps shut when Svetlana describes the destruction of Nivakta's Crossing.
"Svetlana," she asks in a quiet tone, "what color was the dragon? Did anyone say?"
"Maybe I can help the tree with magics meant ot cure and..." Then he stars at mention of the Crossing and the dragon "Svetlana, how many are injured?" the Dragon could be the mother or father. Everyone is thinking it.
"I...I don't think any of them mentioned the color," Svetlana replies. "I didn't think to ask."
"I didn't get a full head count of everyone, but there's got to be at least two dozen survivors at the trading post now. I don't know how many are injured. I know some of them are badly burned."
"Stay away from the staff," the sorcerer says in a disappointed tone, rejoining the rest of the group. "It's some kind of lightning trap, and--" Syretia's mouth clamps shut when Svetlana describes the destruction of Nivakta's Crossing.
"Svetlana," she asks in a quiet tone, "what color was the dragon? Did anyone say?"
Brandt takes several large steps away from the staff and the tree as Syretia says this. Keeping his distance from the potentially deadly trap. Okay, so we know this is here and is meant to trap, specifically us. Can we undo it at all?
When Svetlana shares her story, Brandt looks very concerned, Christian, should we head to Oleg and Svetlana's directly to render aid? If this is what it could be maybe we can prevent others from being harmed with some quick negotiations. But it sounds like those folk need care.
Syretia nods vigorously. "I agree with Brandt. It alters our plan, but, as they say, men plan and the gods laugh."
I can't blame you for being wary, especially out here under this gloom. If you can't recognize me from this close, though, you'd best have Sirs Orlog or Bydar have a look at your eyes.
Christian smiles lightly at the woman.
Tis good to see you but what are you doing out here in this weather?...alone?
I was riding to bring word: Nivakta'a Crossing has been destroyed. The survivors have fled to the trading post for sanctuary. They say that a dragon burned their homes to the ground, not with fire but some kind of poison or acid.
Christian looks off in the direction that would have been towards Nivakta's Crossing. His face a blank slate as the shock sets in. Within moments it is gone and replaced with concern
I...I don't think any of them mentioned the color,
I didn't get a full head count of everyone, but there's got to be at least two dozen survivors at the trading post now. I don't know how many are injured. I know some of them are badly burned.
...there were well over a 100 souls in that village.
"Stay away from the staff,"
"It's some kind of lightning trap, and--"
Christian looks back to the staff, up at the tree, to the rain and darkening sky.
Okay, so we know this is here and is meant to trap, specifically us. Can we undo it at all?
Christian, should we head to Oleg and Svetlana's directly to render aid? If this is what it could be maybe we can prevent others from being harmed with some quick negotiations. But it sounds like those folk need care.
Syretia nods vigorously. "I agree with Brandt. It alters our plan, but, as they say, men plan and the gods laugh."
Christian looks at each of his companions. The concern look on his face has weighed down his shoulders or could it be the rain.He sighs heavily and straightens his shoulder again.
Well it is too late for anyone to do any traveling now. So let us get some shelter.Looking at Booker and Syretia.
I would like for both of you to look at that staff. Disarm it, bypass it...destroy it...I do not care. I would rather be sheltered inside than out and it would appear that that staff is keeping us from a dry and warm sleep.
He turns to Svetlana.
Come morning Lady Leveton...I will ask that you ride to the capital and carry your message to Lord Narthropple and Lord Garress. Inform them what you have told us and that we are making for the outpost to give aid as best we can. After that we will most likely travel to Nivakta's Crossing to see what aid we can lend there. They are to keep the peace. Protect the populace and those around the area. Patrols in and around the region. Keep people safe and maintain order. We need to be visible and vigilant until we get to the bottom of this. I would like for you also to locate Lady Sapphira. She will most likely be at the tavern. Tell her the same but also tell her to stay put and that we will send word to the tavern as to what we will do next. After you have rested I want you to come back to the Outpost with some guards to bolster the defenses. Bring what supplies you think you will need. I am not sure you will find much in the way of extra food as we just took some supplies to the Kobolds to help them out. So it may be a burden on some, please do not force it. I wish you to take this to help purchase anything that is needed...it is not much but it is all I personally have on me at this time.
The mercenary leader pulls forth his coin purse and hands it over to the woman with eagerness.
Turning to Brand, Christian speaks his thoughts to him but also so all can hear his plan.
I know some rangers are capable of spell casting and that they can communicate to animals. Do you think there is a way to...persuade...an animal to deliver messages for us. A bird would be able to get things back and forth a hell of a lot faster than by horse. I am hoping we can send word of our next moves once we reach the outpost.
Lastly the Nobleman turns to both Bydar and Orlog, again directed at them but loud enough for all to be included.
I would ask that you pray to your gods for a dry morning and that we are in time to save as many as we can
He returns his attention to the mites.
Since we are here...if we can gain entry to the mite's lair...We should investigate it and see what we can do to save this beautiful specimen of a tree.
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Alrighty, well if the othahs trust 'er, then I can roll with it. Stowing his sling, Booker steps into full view. "Nice tah make yer acquaintance Miss, I'm the Booker Marmilade," he explains before nodding to Lord Christian and heading over to this staff. "You gotit, Boss man!"
He makes a rectangle with his pointer fingers and thumbs, then frames the staff. Closing one eye, he moves the frame closer and further from his face. "Yuppers! That one's a doozy awwright! Stand back folks, this is ah hahdhat area an' there's ah man at woyk!" he declares as a set of tools unrolls from his chest to his knees.
Putting on a pair of rubber gloves, he plucks a wooden mallet and a stone chisel from his toolset. The Halfling then gently wedges two fallen branches behind the staff to brace it for impact. He then sets to work striking through the arcane sigils while singing softly to himsefl. "Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening me!, he starts, before humming for a bit. "I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me. He's just a poor boy from a poor family, Spare him his life from this monstrosityyy!"
________
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Turning to Brand, Christian speaks his thoughts to him but also so all can hear his plan.
I know some rangers are capable of spell casting and that they can communicate to animals. Do you think there is a way to...persuade...an animal to deliver messages for us. A bird would be able to get things back and forth a hell of a lot faster than by horse. I am hoping we can send word of our next moves once we reach the outpost.
Nodding in the affirmative Brandt agrees, Aye tomorrow morning I should be able to send messages back to home, likely to Sapphira. I can do it twice a day if I focus myself.
Watching Booker from afar, he leans over to Christian, Would it not make more sense to just pitch a tent for the night, and then make way overland to the Leveton's? Certainly we can explore beneath this tree, but I'd rather not spend much time with it
"I'll pray, of course, for just that" A nod to Lord Chiristian, "But like Brandt, I wonder if we shouldn't build up or strength, rest, and race to the survivors...and come to this tree later rather than risk stumbling onto something here that might deplete the reserves they need"
With no small amount of curiosity, Syretia studies Booker's tools and his technique, and even hums along with him. "Easy come, easy go," she murmurs.
Svetlana sighs and rests her weight upon the pommel of her riding saddle.
"I'll deliver your message, rest assured," she promises. "Frankly, I've come to hope that this disaster might convince my Oleg to relocate south, to your settlement, but I know it's a fool's prayer. My Oleg's too stubborn and proud. He'll never give up the trading post, even if that dragon were upon it."
"Will you let me go?" Booker continues, rhythmically tapping away. He takes a moment to plan his next few strikes before continuing.
________
Looking form Brand to Bydar...
Your concerns are understandable. I would like to get to the outpost right now myself but...
It is dangerous to travel at night under the best of conditions and this weather has made it far worse. One wrong step could be disastrous.
Christian lets his gaze wonder to the tree and the two working together on the trap. He sighs and looks back.
The trap needs to be dealt with above anything else. It is too dangerous to be left alone.
He gives a reassuring look to the two.
We got some hard riding to do. Sleeping on the cold wet ground is kind of what we are used to but if we can be dry and warm for the night it will make for a better ride in the morning. I am also for leaving this tree alone and coming back but I feel this is a better use of our time. We are here and have an hour maybe before the night sets in...so why not make the most of our time that we have left. Secure a defensible spot inside and then explore the mites lair.
The detour to deliver the promised goods to the kobolds consumed a sizeable chunk of the rainy day's meager light. As you stand beneath the knotted sycamore tree, with Svetlana and her horse Claptrap beside you, dusk has well and truly fallen upon the Kamelands.
Booker makes some progress safely effacing the runes that hold the magic upon the staff, but he suddenly feels a crackle of static electricity build along his knuckles. He tumbles away before misfortune can strike...but it never does. The staff and its magical trap remain just as they were.
Christian runs to the halfling extending his arm to help him up....
Are you ok?
"Tell Oleg eventually another town is soon to form around his outpost and he'll just have to deal with people. See if that moves him to us as the devils he knows?" Humor
Then Booker and the staff ALMOST Happen
"Well," Bydar concedes even as he's moving as well to Booker "This certainly illustrates a point about the trap."
Since there is no longer a threat he can deal with with, Orlog remains on the side, dealing with the mounts. We go from one extreme to another. First kobolds, now a dragon!
"A close one!" Syretia exclaims, her hair standing on end. "What a fascinating trap!"
Booker stands up from his emergency roll, eyes wide. "GOOD GOLLY that was close! I stahted feelin' ah li'l buzz through my gloves, see? Thought fer sure I was a goner!" he explains collecting the equipment he had in hand from the floor. Notably, the tools tucked into the many pockets of his apron have held fast.
Preparing to dive into the breach again, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and shakes out his limbs. "Don't yous worry none, the Booker Marmilade is on tha case!" It's unclear whether that was a pep talk for his allies or himself.
Getting into position again, he continues to delicately chisel away. I sees it now, that rune was ah li'l worn an' I misread it...
________
Christian lays a hand on the shoulder of Booker just before he can get back to work. The grip is firm and determined but the voice is soft and concerning. The look in his eyes is one of approval and understanding.
In order to succeed, we must first believe that we can. I have complete faith in your abilities....
With a soft and gentle push...christian removes his hand from Booker's shoulder. Stepping back away to allow him room to accomplish the task at hand.
Brandt watches Booker go to work on the trap again, waiting for the smell of ozone to flood his nostrils and tell him to duck. Come on Booker, you got this...
Having arrived in the middle of the matter, Svetlana is uncertain what the halfling fellow is fiddling with at the base of the gnarled tree. However, she sees the rest of the party giving him space and takes the hint. She leads Claptrap away from the tree, leaving the shelter of its branches and braving the rain rather than...whatever else might be about to happen.
Booker chisels away the offending rune and.....the charged magical energy releases harmlessly. He can feel it rush skyward, leaving a flash of heat upon his face, like the sudden ignition of a campfire in front of him. The party can see a spindly streak of light reach to the sky, like a reverse bolt of lightning in miniature.
This proves to be akin to popping the cork from a bottle of sparkling wine: once that first spout is safely released, the rest is simple. Booker effaces the other runes, letting the stored magical energy slip back into the world.
The trap is defeated.
Orlog moves to stand next to the halfling. "Way to go little buddy!" He slaps the rogue on the shoulder. Turning toward Christian. "So, are we going in, if so, I'm taking point as usual... Well, aside from our great trap finder!"
Well done...Now if no one has any objections to getting out of this rain...we can at least locate someplace dry inside.
Fenrir and I will poke our noses in, and then let Orlogg lead you all into the space... Booker, well done lad.
Brandt will duck inside and see what there is to see with Fenrir.
The shaft hidden among the sycamore roots leads down into a claustrophobic earthen warren. The tangle of roots make climbing down an easy affair, but that is the end of your ease. The roof of the tunnels rarely exceeds 5 feet high, meaning that only Orlog, Booker, and Fenrir can move about without stooping down or crouching.
After climbing down, the party's vanguard find themselves in a ransacked workshop. A trio of crude, wooden workbenches have been toppled across the cramped room, with one of them entirely smashed. An array of tiny tools, made from wood and copper, and wooden blocks are also strewn about.
Narrow tunnels lead off to the east and west, both descending deeper into the earth. Fenrir pins his ears back and his fur bristles, for he smells something from the eastern passage that he does not like.
Booker victoriously raises a fist and beats his chest. What ah rush! Ain't no trap I can't handle!
Once everyone is ready to go, he blacks out his eyes and pats himself down again before diving into the hole with the other vanguard members.
"What's he smellin'? If yous wanna wait ah tick, I can go scoutin' proper like," he offers.
________
Brandt and Fenrir focus on the eastern tunnel, Sounds like rats or something not good. I don't know how effective I can be down here hunched over like this. Wish I brought a spear or something pokey. But Fenrir's really not happy about whatever he's smelling, means unnatural or undead possible. Be real careful Booker.
Brandt takes a knee and brings up his longbow to sight down the passage to the east.