Please D.O.T. below with your characters.
It has been three days since you left Elidir, climbing into the back of one of Bort Bargith’s wagons bound for the faraway Andoran capital of Almas. You are flush with success from your first mission, having documented an unusual cave containing art dating back prior to the the Rain of Stars some four thousand three hundred years ago. You had to fend off some wildlife and destroy the elven skeleton guards within the cave, but in the end, you came back with plenty of etchings and notes and a little bit of treasure.
The smiling dwarven caravan master, a retired Pathfinder himself, cut your travel cost to only a handful of coppers, so long as you promised to protect the wagons should any trouble arise. Fortunately, your journey through the hinterlands of Isger has been quiet, even if the ride itself has been far from comfortable.
As you broke camp this morning, Bort announced you should arrive at the town of Etran’s Folly by nightfall, and he promised a comfortable bed for the night as a reward for a long day’s travel. The caravan’s teamsters shared a chuckle between them, trading knowing glances and subtle nods, but soon enough you are on the road again, the wagon bouncing and creaking along the uneven trail.
With plenty of time on your hands, you talk among each other, discussing the news of the week, reminiscing about your past, and telling of your dreams of the future.
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A halfling, sporting a wild mop of thick dark hair that clashes with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, warily eyes his fellow passengers. Those taking a close look will notice a prominent scar stretching from the bridge of his nose down the length of his right check. He's not much to look at, but makes up for it with his fine clothing. He's clad in a rich black leather vest outfit, with very intricate stitching.
The bouncing of the wagon doesn't seem to bother him. In fact, his agile frame seems to subconsciously absorb the motion, which explains how he's able to drink his elderberry wine from his mug without so much as spilling a drop. He downs the last of it and pulls out a small cask from his pack.
As he's refilling his mug, he turns to his fellow Pathfinders, "Greetings ... I'm Tyrion. Anyone care to join me in some libation?" He pours for any who are interested and continues, "Where is everyone headed? As for me, it doesn't matter where I go as long as I put distance between me and my beastly family. We ... don't get along." He sighs and continues, "Odd jobs as an apprentice locksmith led to a full-time gig as a private detective in my home town. A word to the wise: Use caution when investigating one's own family lineage, as you may uncover more than you bargained for." He takes a long sip and closes his eyes. It's not clear, but he may have fallen asleep...with his drink still in his hand, remaining impossibly steady and motionless as the wagon bounces along.
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Sitting in the corner in the back of the wagon, a dark haired human and katana close to his chest sits further away from the other pathfinders. His hair is cut and hangs just a little lower than his chin and his eyes don’t meet any of the others, he just sits looking at the floor.
”Hello, I am Kaneda. Thank you for the offer, but I refuse.” Kaneda says waving his hand in front of his face. ”Where am I going? Well, lets just say far from home. I am, well was a samurai, but now I travel, so I guess you can say I’m just doing this now, and you're right don't dig too deep for what can hurt you.”
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In the darkest part of the wagon you see what appears to be the outline of a large human. His tan-darkened skin and close-cropped black hair further concealing him from prying eyes. The occasional beam of light briefly exposes a pair of steely blue eyes set in a somewhat ravaged countenance. A closer inspection, strongly discouraged by his angry scowl, shows a tall, lean muscled man sitting uncomfortably in slightly ill-fitting clothes; every part of his exposed body covered in an even crisscrossing of thousands of fine faded scar lines. Across this evenly scarred background, the occasional newer and larger scar can be picked out.
He seems to be of Kellid stock from the far north, but something is amiss. Perhaps it is the collection of unusual weapons hanging from different parts of his body that strikes the odd note. For he is clearly a member of that rare group known as the warrior monks, not something one generally associates with the Kellid.
Looking at the expectant faces turned in his direction, he clears his throat harshly and states a little too loudly, "I am Mandoo", before adding more quietly, "of the Keun clan", with less certainty. When this appears to be insufficient, he adds, "I am monk; I like to fight", before seeming to run out of things to say. He gruffly refuses Tyrion's offer of a drink with a shake of his head, but remains awake and within earshot of the others in the wagon.
As he's refilling his mug, he turns to his fellow Pathfinders, "Greetings ... I'm Tyrion. Anyone care to join me in some libation?" He pours for any who are interested and continues, "Where is everyone headed? As for me, it doesn't matter where I go as long as I put distance between me and my beastly family. We ... don't get along." He sighs and continues, "Odd jobs as an apprentice locksmith led to a full-time gig as a private detective in my home town. A word to the wise: Use caution when investigating one's own family lineage, as you may uncover more than you bargained for." He takes a long sip and closes his eyes. It's not clear, but he may have fallen asleep...with his drink still in his hand, remaining impossibly steady and motionless as the wagon bounces along.
A gnome, modestly dressed in an explorer's outfit, responds to the halfing with a somewhat forced, yet pleasant smile before holding up his hand to decline a drink.
"No thank you, Master Tyrion." he says to the Halfling, though his focus lies with the full vessel in the halfling's hand, which the gnome now eyes nervously. He quickly plunges into the adventurer's pack at his feet, removing an assortment of items, including a lute, a dagger, and a mirror, which he places on the jostling floor of the cart. Emerging with a small cloth and bar of soap, the gnome returns his gaze toward the drinking vessel. He eagerly clutches the cloth in anticipation of wiping up any wayward drops, but they do not come.
As the others introduce themselves, the gnome carefully returns the assortment of items to his bag. Then, even as the cart wagon rocks back, he cautiously rises to his feet and manages moves toward the center of the wagon, being careful to remain upright.
"Quecksworth at your service." announces the gnome, who punctuates his words with a deep, respectful bow. "The good driver has assured us that we will be arriving in Etran's Folly by nightfall where you are sure to be able to enjoy the comforts of a warm fire and accommodations. From there, I understand this fine caravan is moving on to Almas. Until then, please allow me to tend to your welfare and contentment."
He steps over and again begins to rifle through his pack, before producing a lute and a candle. Setting the candle on the floor, he takes his seat with lute in hand, even as the candle begins to roll away--a result of the movement of the wagon.
He strums a few strings and then suggests, "I would be happy to ease your journey with a pleasant melody, if you'd like?"
Looking around, and sensing those present may not be as receptive to the idea as he'd like, the gnome nevertheless plucks a few more strings. As he does, the candle on the wagon floor ceases rolling and begins to float in the air toward the darkest part of the wagon where the sits the Kellid man.
"No need to sit in the dark, Master Mandoo."
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Mandoo eyes the floating candle warily as it approaches him. There is now a slightly worried cast to his usual scowl.
”Ugh, magic. I hate magic”, he growls.
Seeing as his hiding place is now exposed, he uncurls his long body from its awkward position and finds a more comfortable spot near the others. While doing so, he avoids the floating light as best he can in the confined space.
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The half-orc sitting eyes closed, chin up with welcoming smile. He's bald and his face is covered in traditional Shoanti tattoos. He wears acolyte garments and a wooden Gozreh holy symbol hangs from his neck. Is shoulders are adorn with the hide of aurochs and on the same necklace as the holy symbol are two small hand sized pouches.
After taking a deep breath to enjoy this travel he opens his eyes and speaks, "I am Darr Gahgun. Thank you kind Tyrion, I will partake in your spirits." He pours himself a humble amount and says before he drinks"May Gozreh bless this day and our travels."
He takes a sip. Smiles. Then drinks the rest.
"Although our pasts may have been troubled, we are here and we are stronger. I'd like to think that is a daily sign of good things to come." He gives a hearty chuckle.
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From the back of the wagon you hear the jarring sound of hard nails scraping against stone. An Iruxi lowers his cowl, and holds out a chiseled mug.
"Why thank you Tyrion, I'll take a sssip. As you can sssee, I am a member of the Lizzzardfolk. Because my name is not possssible to ssspeak in the common tongue, I am known to my friendsss as Lizzzo."
The towering lizard humanoid in front of you is colored in blue and green scales, with a set of dorsal fins running from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. His hardened leather armor appears to allow the boney spikes through unencumbered, and you notice a bow and quiver draped across his back.
"I am pleasssed to sssee such a fine group of adventureresss on our misssion. Let'sss toassst to our good fortune on this journey, and enjoy the inssspiring melodiesss of Q."
"Greetings ... I'm Tyrion. Anyone care to join me in some libation?"
”Hey, Pass me some of that! yells Cooky, the venerable elf teamster driving your wagon. He also happens to be the caravan's cook. He has Tyrion pour some of his liquor into a shot-glass. He takes a sniff of it, nods his head, then dumps the wine into large pot held aloft by wires; a large iron skillet holds some hot coals which in turn is cooking a mostly covered and simmering hot pot.
”The wine will give some pretty good acidity and sweetness ta tonight’s stew. Hope ya are looking forward ta good elven trailblazing cuisine.”
A rather substantial bump in the road jars the wagon a bit. Fortunately, the ad hoc cooking contraption has enough suspension to prevent spillage of today's lunch.
A whistle cries out from the lead wagon, and the caravan slowly comes to a halt. Immediately, two large identical Ulfen men come out of another two wagons, both wearing identical clothes.
"Hey Cooky! they cry out in stereo. "Stew smells good. What's for lunch?
Cooky leans in with his right side. "Whats that you brats?"
"We said, Whats for lunch? they continue to yell, even though they are standing not 3 feet away from him.
"Eh? Oh. Mushroom and Beef stew. Now which one of you is Olf and which of you is Ulf?
One of them raises their hand. "I'm Urf."
"Right." He points at the other twin. "That makes you Urf," and then points at "Urf, "and you are Olf. Now go break out the dishware so I can serve everyone."
As the twins head off to go gram the bowls and utensils, the twins grumble to each other, "How does he always know?"
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Mandoo is a little taken aback by the emergence of Lizzo. He'd been eyeing the large hooded humanoid since getting on the wagon and had felt that there was something odd about him. He had never met or even seen one of the lizardfolk before; only knew of them from overheard conversations. Those passing snippets had not prepared him for meeting one face-to-face.
Mandoo himself was a pretty big guy, but it looked to him like Lizzo was possibly even larger. He wondered what it would be like to come up against one in combat and his trained eye reflexively flickered over the creature's body looking for potential weak points.
Mandoo nods to Lizzo. "Mandoo never seen Lizardfolk before.", before adding, "I am happy to meet."
A passing whiff from Cooky's pot makes Mandoo's stomach growl. He hopes it isn't long before lunch is served.
Mandoo works his way to the wagon's entrance, excusing himself with grunts as he passes the others. He jumps down from the wagon and arches his back to the accompaniment of a chorus of popping joints. After a couple of cursory twists left and right (with further attendant cracking noises) he seems satisfied. He decides that a short stroll around the perimeter of the camp will loosen the last of the knots and wanders away. Almost without noticing it, he automatically scans the area around him for potential dangers as he moves about the camp.
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Tyrion listens to the music of Quecksworth. He's heard worse. He nods to Lizzo and Darr as they join him for early refreshments. "In my village, we don't get many orc-folk and lizard-folk passing through. Of course, I've seen all sorts in my travels, but it's a pleasure to get to spend quality time, in this nice wagon, with you.". He cast a sideways glance at Kaneda, Mandoo, and Quecksworth, and continues in a lower voice, but intentionally loud enough to be overheard, "I find I have an easier time trusting those willing to share a drink." He takes another long draft from his mug.
When the wagon stops, he's more than happy to share his elderberry wine with Cooky. As he retrieves the cask, he says, "So tell me Cooky, what can you tell me about this Etran's Folly? In my travels, I've found it very useful, sometimes imperative ... to know as much about a town as possible. You understand ... in the unlikely event of me, I mean, anyone, running into trouble."
A passing whiff from Cooky's pot makes Mandoo's stomach growl. He hopes it isn't long before lunch is served.
Mandoo works his way to the wagon's entrance, excusing himself with grunts as he passes the others. He jumps down from the wagon and arches his back to the accompaniment of a chorus of popping joints. After a couple of cursory twists left and right (with further attendant cracking noises) he seems satisfied. He decides that a short stroll around the perimeter of the camp will loosen the last of the knots and wanders away. Almost without noticing it, he automatically scans the area around him for potential dangers as he moves about the camp.
There is a moderate amount of hustle and busle around. Olf and Ulf seem to be slowly setting up a portable while cracking jokes to each other. A female half orc starts yelling at them, telling the two to hurry it up or she’ll dock their pay, which Olf and Ulf immediately comply. Meanwhile, a gnome seems to be tending to the horses, giving them some grain as well as a little bit of sweets.
What a lively kitchen. Cooky, please allow me to assist.
Cooky gives you a once over, and then points to a bucket of water and a bar of soap. “Wash your hands, then you can help me slice up some of that salted venison I got stored in that barrel there.”[/b] Cooky says. ”I’ll start cutting up the cheese.”
When the wagon stops, he's more than happy to share his elderberry wine with Cooky. As he retrieves the cask, he says, "So tell me Cooky, what can you tell me about this Etran's Folly? In my travels, I've found it very useful, sometimes imperative ... to know as much about a town as possible. You understand ... in the unlikely event of me, I mean, anyone, running into trouble."
”Eh? he yells out, tilting the right side of his head towards you. ”Speak up son. You talk too low. I can’t hear ya over the sound of my cooking.
You hear a good natured laugh. “Ah, don’t mind poor old Cooky, Bort says to you as he approaches your wagon. “He’s been hard of hearing ever since we hired him on as our cook.”
Cooky replies, “Damnit Bort, I’m still the best damn cook you’ve ever had.” He turns to continue his work on serving lunch.
Another laugh by the dwarf. “Aye, no one is debating that, though of course talking to me while I’m speaking normally says that your deafness is more ‘selective hearing’ than you have trouble hearing anything at all, ya know.” The dwarf turns toward Tyrion. “So, ya wanted to know about Etan’s Folly? Well, not much to know about it. It is a pretty small community, maybe 150 people living about and around the area. Still, it has warm beds and plenty of room for us, and they got some pretty delicious turnip porridge. I keep asking Cooky to make some for me, but he refuses to try to make it on account of hating turnips the recipe.
“Damn straight. Them turnips are the devil’s vegetable.” Cooky yells out.
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The dwarf turns toward Tyrion. “So, ya wanted to know about Etan’s Folly? Well, not much to know about it. It is a pretty small community, maybe 150 people living about and around the area. Still, it has warm beds and plenty of room for us, and they got some pretty delicious turnip porridge.
Tyrion listens to the dwarf, nodding and committing everything to memory. He's remarkably focused considering his liberal intake of alcohol this morning. Almost absent-mindedly, he offers to fill Bort's mug, while he asks, "What about a pub in this town, good Bort? I've never been disappointed at such establishments when learning insights, rumors, and old stories."
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The wind changes direction slightly and Mandoo catches another whiff of Cooky's rather powerful stew; his stomach makes another involuntary borborygmic spasm. After that walk around the camp, Mandoo is seriously ready for some lunch.
Seeing Lizzo scamper up the tree as a lookout, Mandoo decides to see how the preparations are coming along. Maybe he can lend a hand if it will get him lunch a little sooner.
Mandoo walks up to the kitchen area and sees Cooky and Darr Gahgun working hard; looks like lunch will take a little longer than he'd hoped.
He calls out to Cooky, "Can Mandoo help?"
"What about a pub in this town, good Bort? I've never been disappointed at such establishments when learning insights, rumors, and old stories."
Bort chuckles. "There is just one inn in town. The Freedmill. It's also the general store and the main gathering place. It isn't a really amaizing tavern, but it has decent food and its better than eating on the road.
"I find I have an easier time trusting those willing to share a drink."Lizzo gives a slight nod of agreement, and finishes his mug. "I ssshould make myssself usssfull too, and ssscout the high ground. I'll be back before that ssstew is ready."
He leaps out of the wagon, landing with surprising grace for a creature of his size. Lizzo heads for the largest tree in sight. Where you see him scamper up the trunk and disappear into the foliage.
The area beyond is heavily forested, and there isn't much to see from your vantage point. Lots and lots of trees abound, though you do hear some wolves houwing in the distance... and are those howls getting closer? You are not sure.
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With Mandoo's and Darr's help, lunch gets served pretty quickly. The soup is both earthy and savory; and the sandwiches are flavored with some sort of cranberry sauce. The twins seem to be telling some tall story about how they swindled some noble merchant and got away; not really believable, but entertaining nontheless.
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Tyrion quite enjoys the meal, and nods appreciatively to Darr and Mandoo for their help. Washing down the last spoonful with a swig from his mug, he says to the chef, "We halflings are known for enjoying a hearty meal and this is most impressive, Cooky. Might I trouble you for your recipe?"
After some time, he turns to Bort, "Good info about the Freedmill. If I may ask, earlier when you mentioned spending the night at Etran's Folly, I couldn't help but notice your men chuckling. Is there something we should know?"
Tyrion raises an eyebrow at the twins' story about swindling the noble merchant. He seriously considers what it would take to swindle it back from them, but he decides they're not bright enough to have done any of that. Instead, he takes another long drink and closes his eyes.
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“Nothing interesssting to report from up high, but I did find us desssert!”. Lizzo returns just as the meal is finishing up. He reaches into his pack and carefully pulls out about a dozen bright blue eggs.
He hands one to each creature that's awake, keeping one for himself in hand. His other claw slashes the top of the egg, leaving a perfectly smooth opening 2/3rds of the way up.
Lizzo then brings the egg up, about 6” from the tip of his snout. “Mmmmmmm, my favorite. Watch, this is the Iruxi way”.
His forked tongue shoots out of his snout, and goes to work in a rapid whipping motion. The egg emulsifies and takes on a velvety texture that continues to linger in your mouth long after it’s gone.
With that, he cups the egg delicately in both hands like a baby bird, proceeding to take small licks with his tongue. It’s apparent that is something you should savor, and a smile of pure ecstasy comes across his face. At least you hope that's it.
Lizzo snaps too, after being fully engrossed in his catch. “Your turn”, and nods at his fellow companions.
He then takes his spot back in the wagon, ready for travel. His smile still remains.
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Mandoo is only half listening to the conversation; he's far more interested in getting as much stew into him as quickly as possible. Like his old master Ajit used to say "Eat while you can; life is uncertain."
After he finishes his stew, Mandoo surreptitiously looks about to see if there is anything more to eat. This is when Lizzo appears and hands him one of the eggs.
He watches Lizzo's performance with interest and then looks down at his own egg with some doubt. Unbidden, Ajit's saying returns to him. He shrugs, reaches for the Katar on his belt and deftly removes the top third of the egg with a quick slash before returning the blade to its sheath.
Mandoo looks into the raw egg, then at Lizzo. He feels the tongue in his mouth and decides against trying to copy the lizard man's approach. Instead, he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a short thin metal pick with a slightly hooked end, which he then uses to rapidly whip the egg's contents.
Tentatively, Mandoo raises the egg to his lips and dips his tongue into the mixture. He pauses for the taste to take its full effect.
"Not bad", he exclaims with some surprise before pouring the rest of the tasty egg mixture into his mouth. He swirls it around a little and swallows. "Not bad at all. Thank you Lizzo."
Satisfied with lunch, he sits back and relaxes. Only the distant wolf howls bring an edge of disquiet to his contentment.
Tyrion quite enjoys the meal, and nods appreciatively to Darr and Mandoo for their help. Washing down the last spoonful with a swig from his mug, he says to the chef, "We halflings are known for enjoying a hearty meal and this is most impressive, Cooky. Might I trouble you for your recipe?"
After you ask Cooky for the recipie, the Glunda, the gnome teamster, groans. Cooky yells out, "What? Ya want my recipe? Eh, why not." he grins. "First, Ya got ta have very specific mushrooms here. The locals call'em deathcaps, but that's a big lie. See, there is an easy way to get rid of the toxins..." He continues for a long while sprouting all sorts of obvious misinformation to you, telling that to "purge the venom from the deathcaps, you have to "squeeze them as tight as possible until they scream in agony so that they give up, and that the best way to char meat is to plunge it directly into an open fire.
"Cooky, stop telling obvious fibs. They are not dumb enough to fall for your obvious lies." she yells.
Cooky just grins back. "I know, isn't it great? Besides,... he turns back to Tyrion, "Ya didn't help cook."
After some time, he turns to Bort, "Good info about the Freedmill. If I may ask, earlier when you mentioned spending the night at Etran's Folly, I couldn't help but notice your men chuckling. Is there something we should know?"
Tyrion raises an eyebrow at the twins' story about swindling the noble merchant. He seriously considers what it would take to swindle it back from them, but he decides they're not bright enough to have done any of that. Instead, he takes another long drink and closes his eyes.
"Oh, that? Well then, its nothing really. Just a bit of black humor. See, Etan's Folly has another, unofficial name. A bit of black humor, ya see: It also be called Plaguestone, named after a location in town that was used as an area for sick people to indirectly interact with healthy people. The story goes that some pox or other fell upon the village one day and those infected got quarantined. The plaguestone was where people left food and medicine for the sick, and the sick will pick up the food and medicine, and leave some coins behind there in a depression in the rock filled with vinegar to decontaminate the coins. Its pretty old history, but the name's stuck around for now.
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“Nothing interesssting to report from up high, but I did find us desssert!”. Lizzo returns just as the meal is finishing up. He reaches into his pack and carefully pulls out about a dozen bright blue eggs.
He hands one to each creature that's awake, keeping one for himself in hand. His other claw slashes the top of the egg, leaving a perfectly smooth opening 2/3rds of the way up.
Lizzo then brings the egg up, about 6” from the tip of his snout. “Mmmmmmm, my favorite. Watch, this is the Iruxi way”.
His forked tongue shoots out of his snout, and goes to work in a rapid whipping motion. The egg emulsifies and takes on a velvety texture that continues to linger in your mouth long after it’s gone.
With that, he cups the egg delicately in both hands like a baby bird, proceeding to take small licks with his tongue. It’s apparent that is something you should savor, and a smile of pure ecstasy comes across his face. At least you hope that's it.
Lizzo snaps too, after being fully engrossed in his catch. “Your turn”, and nods at his fellow companions.
He then takes his spot back in the wagon, ready for travel. His smile still remains.
Most of the caravan looks in slight disgust at Lizzo eating the raw "desert egg," saying 'thanks but no thanks,' but Glunda looked intrigued. "Never tried this before," she says to herself. She cracks the egg open, and pours the contents into a cup, then 'drinks' the egg in one gulp. "Huh. Interesting flavor. She turns to the half orc. Hey Tamli, you going to eat yours?"
Tamli gives her egg to Glunda, and she once again cracks the egg open, drops it into a cup, and swallows.
"Not bad, not bad at all."
With the same calm grin, Darr finishes his food. "Thank you everyone for helping with the meal." He looks to Cooky with a stern face. "Does the plague still manifest itself from time to time or was it that one unfortunate event? It might be worth looking into this disturbance."
"It was a singular event. Bran replies solemly. It was a pretty bad event; a lot of people lost their lives when the pox hit. But the Plaguestone, the actual stone, not the town mind you, is actually covered with vines from being unused for so long.
Tamli gives her egg to Glunda, and she once again cracks the egg open, drops it into a cup, and swallows.
"Not bad, not bad at all."
Mandoo looks around expectantly to see if there are any more eggs up for grabs. "Mandoo likes eggs too!"
One of the twins offers you his egg.
After the awkwardness that was Lizzo's desert eggs, the caravan packed itself up and continued on its journey. The few clouds in the sky, combined with the temperate air and the ability to sit in the wagon whenever you felt like it, gave the afternoon a “lazy afternoon” feeling, while the forest around you shields much of your journey from the heat of the sun.
"Well you young ones, up ahead is the town of Plaguestone, Cooky shouts. However, No sooner does the call fade from his lips than it is overshadowed by a series of long, mournful howls emanating from the woods to either side of the caravan. Moments later, you hear cries of panic as a pack of mangy wolves descends from the forest with teeth bared!
After the awkwardness that was Lizzo's desert eggs, the caravan packed itself up and continued on its journey. The few clouds in the sky, combined with the temperate air and the ability to sit in the wagon whenever you felt like it, gave the afternoon a “lazy afternoon” feeling, while the forest around you shields much of your journey from the heat of the sun.
"Well you young ones, up ahead is the town of Plaguestone, he continues to shout. However, No sooner does the call fade from his lips than it is overshadowed by a series of long, mournful howls emanating from the woods to either side of the caravan. Moments later, you hear cries of panic as a pack of mangy wolves descends from the forest with teeth bared!
"Gah! Get away from me you mangy mutt! Cooky yells out as a wolf failed its attempt to bite him.
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Mandoo Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
When Cooky yells out, Mandoo is half asleep in the back of the wagon recovering from the stew and Lizzo's eggs.
He scrambles to his feet as quickly as possible, but the others have a head start on him and he's the last to move. He jumps out the back of the wagon and blinks twice to get his eyes accustomed to the light. He quickly takes stock of the situation (including the fact that he left his temple sword and staff in the wagon), and then moves a little further to get within 20ft of the nearest wolf before releasing two shuriken in its direction.
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Sitting near the front of the wagon, Tyrion repeatedly offers to help Cooky drive the wagon train -- assuring Cooky that he can work the reins just fine with one hand while holding his mug in the other. He gives up the request when he hears the howling.
Dropping his mug, he quickly heads to the back of the wagon and steps down. He draws his shortbow, notches an arrow, and fires at the wolf furthest north of the wagon.
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The howls awaken Lizzo at his spot in the front of the wagon. He was enjoying a nap after such a satisfying lunch, but is wide awake now after a jolt of adrenaline.
He jumps out the front of the wagon and begins to circle around back. Seeing Tyrion's shot wiz towards the northern wolf, he decides to focus fire. Drawing both arrow and bow in one fluid motion Lizzo fires.
Sitting near the front of the wagon, Tyrion repeatedly offers to help Cooky drive the wagon train -- assuring Cooky that he can work the reins just fine with one hand while holding his mug in the other. He gives up the request when he hears the howling.
Dropping his mug, he quickly heads to the back of the wagon and steps down. He draws his shortbow, notches an arrow, and fires at the wolf furthest north of the wagon.
The howls awaken Lizzo at his spot in the front of the wagon. He was enjoying a nap after such a satisfying lunch, but is wide awake now after a jolt of adrenaline.
He jumps out the front of the wagon and begins to circle around back. Seeing Tyrion's shot wiz towards the northern wolf, he decides to focus fire. Drawing both arrow and bow in one fluid motion Lizzo fires.
Both Lizzo and Tyrion draw their bows and fire. While the wolf managed to avoid Lizzo’s arrow, Tyrion’s arrow flys straight and true. It plunges straight into the wolf’s heart. Canine blood splashes out of the wolf as it collapses to the cold dirt.
When Cooky yells out, Mandoo is half asleep in the back of the wagon recovering from the stew and Lizzo's eggs.
He scrambles to his feet as quickly as possible, but the others have a head start on him and he's the last to move. He jumps out the back of the wagon and blinks twice to get his eyes accustomed to the light. He quickly takes stock of the situation (including the fact that he left his temple sword and staff in the wagon), and then moves a little further to get within 20ft of the nearest wolf before releasing two shuriken in its direction.
Stepping out of the wagon and seeing Cooky in trouble, Mandoo throws out a pair of shuriken at the wolf attacking the cook. One of the flying blades slices deep into the wolf’s skin, causing the wolf to yelp and turn his attention to Mandoo.
After the Quecksworth works diligently to clean up the area, employing his prestidigitation spells liberally to do some tidying up. As the wagon bearing the party approaches their destination, he is startled to spot what he believes is some dried egg yolk on the lizardfolk's clothing. Then, he notes the howl of the wolves.
Seeing his allies spring into action, the gnome quickly moves to his pack and retrieves his instrument.
"Though music may not always serve
To soothe the savage beast,
Allow my tune, to inspire you,
To vanquish it, at least."
After the Quecksworth works diligently to clean up the area, employing his prestidigitation spells liberally to do some tidying up. As the wagon bearing the party approaches their destination, he is startled to spot what he believes is some dried egg yolk on the lizardfolk's clothing. Then, he notes the howl of the wolves.
Seeing his allies spring into action, the gnome quickly moves to his pack and retrieves his instrument.
"Though music may not always serve
To soothe the savage beast,
Allow my tune, to inspire you,
To vanquish it, at least."
Quecksworth's music invigorates everyone, inspiring the entire caravan to hit harder and more accurately.
"I'm sorry young wolves but we are not your meal today," Darr says while raising his staff. He shouts, "TEMPEST SURGE!"
As the cloud begins to form the wolf makes an unexpected move, throwing off Darr's aim. The expected spark of electricity misses the wolf completely, discharging harmlessly against the ground instead.
Kaneda purposly strides out of the wagon and yells out, "Watashi no kazoku no ha o ajiwatte kudasai!" (taste my family blade!). He strides over to the wolf that was threatening Cooky and promptly beheads the wolf.
While you and the caravan were dealing with the dozen+ wolves, another wolf, larger than the rest appears at the edge of the forest. Its dark and fur has an unnatural green tint to it, and its mouth drops saliva that causes the grass below to his and smoke. It unleashes a a terrifying howl, and when it does so, all of the other mangy wolves join in. The sound seemingly reverberating against your soul causing you to cringe...
(fail)
(Crit - Frightened 2)
(Frightened 1)
(Crit - Frightened 2)
(Frightened 1)
(fail)
After the wolves howl, they leap forward and attack!
piercing
piercing
piercing
piercing
piercing
piercing
One wolf attempts to attack Kaneda. Kaneda sidesteps the initial lunge, then uses an armored arm to shield himself from another bite attack.
Two other wolves attempt to gang up on Mandoo. Fortunately, he is nimble enough to dodge their attacks, using items grabbed from the back of the wagon to spoil a wolf's lunge.