Durring the travels, Grenon sticks to the middle of the pack, riding along on Ferratal's back. Occasionally Grenon can be seen leaning over and speaking to the large fox. As the rains come and the group heads for shelter, Grenon watches carefully.
They recognize the cairns as graves immediately, but stay back, letting Mosely and Sorogar handle it, as changing hands at this point may be perrilous. However once the tiny Flit introduces himself, Grenon steps out of their saddle and bows low, the motion looking very stiff and practiced, yet also somehow off. Grenon begins to speak.
"Seebriŋaunseismoubledzle muudnmedmadmaiŋidz. Muugŋoodze bseugŋoodzoorau fmaale."
Grenon turns to the group and listens to Sorogar's summary of the situation and then nods. "I definitely don't like hearing how these things really are. It seems reckless to try to move one." They think for a moment before continuing, "But for right now, I think we just hold onto that info and report. As for Ogres, aren't we reporting to one when we get back?"
Sorogar looks over the clearing and blinks, suddenly realizing that Krokken was missing. Where had he gone so suddenly after she'd taken his ration to offer to the dead, only a moment ago? Hopefully, he wouldn't try to do something incredibly stupid like ambush the grove guardian for absolutely no reason? 'Cursed reckless male Growlings; ever thinking with their spears. Always have, always will!' she thinks to herself.
"I'm sure that if that were the case, Flit here wouldn't have explicitely used the word 'tribe' to describe them, wouldn't he?" she then answers Warren. 'He's a bit hard to judge; smart enough to use Tongues and avoid confrontation, but dumb enough to overlook very important details in a normal conversation... I'll have to keep an eye on them both. By the Skyfather, is this what my teacher goes through every single day?'
Turning the Grenon, she nods. 'Finally, a sensible one. Next to Mosely, that is. I guess among the outsiders, their size counts against their brain function.'
Instead, she says to the gnome: "A good idea. We could ask Gril for advice, and maybe he even has some history with the local tribes based on his race. Let's just hope he isn't some spurned mate of the matron, or something."
Finally, she speaks to Flit again. "Thank you for your advice and restraint, Flit. I'll honor my bargain and lead the caravan around this place. Though, before we go, would you have any other advice to us on how to handle this task? Are you aware if this is mating season for the birds, and if we could take and transport one of their eggs instead? You seem very knowledgeable about these topics. Whether or not it is a good idea, perhaps the best teacher for our patron is failure."
Take the skull as a token of peace. Time will tell what you intend but that may help you prove your intent to other guardians. He reaches out his hand summoning a blue plume of magic and enshrouding the diminutive skull briefly. The mark on its head now glistens with magical energy. It must be some kind of a magical signature.
The beasts are just leaving mating season so you may be able to find a late bloomer egg if you can get past the parents. That might be a good option.
If you report to an ogre then be sure to keep your counsel to yourself and don't trust the dumb brutes much. They are nasty as a whole. But then I am stereotyping but it doesn't mean its any less true.
You travel somewhat northernly for several hours following what appears to be a game trail. Tracks of several animals abound but none of them are out of place. The trail seems to broaden out and come into another grove area. The tunnel like exit from the trail is partially covered by vines. These vines are still dripping with flowers and an almost overpowering sweet fragrance.
Many of the tracks seem to disappear at the exit tunnel. Vegetation around the area has been mashed aside in places and trampled in others. Rivulets of water wander down the pathway ending in the sunlight just beyond.
Sunlight pours through the canopy over head in streaks of white brilliance. Looks at last like midday has arrived.
A few minutes after the group leaves the area Krokkin almost appears out of nowhere in the front of the group going the same direction. His tail Flits in a smug and satisfied way.
I can tell that they did not know where I was and I think I scared one or two of them.
As then travel into the grove Krokkin begins to stiffen and slows his pace slightly. He puts his hand up and closes his fist as he stops. quietly he turns his head to speak over his shoulder.
Something is wrong, something is here.
He pulls both scimitars out and points to the vines over the cave entrance that they are now about 20 feet from.
The plants move, and there are feathers.
Sorogar stiffens at the warning, then peers at the vines. "hm... were the animals eaten by this plant, perhaps?"
She growls in frustration. "I am unfamiliar with these things. Does any of you know more before we start hacking it aside?"
"Totally new to me," Warren answers, then turning his attention to Krokkin, "What do you mean 'there are feathers'? Is Sorogar right? Do you think these vines are a part of a larger plant that ate these birds?"
Now that Krokkin has pointed out the bits of feather and fur, it is obvious to the party that something happened here under the vines. Perhaps a creature struggled to its last breath or perhaps it was just dragged away.
Krokkin begins to move so that he is not standing directly in front of the entrance. If something were to come bursting out, it would be foolish of me to stand right in its way
I smell death, a hunt concluded here.
Keeping a wary eye on the entrance he begins to study the ground and surrounding area to see if he can find signs of a struggle or of prey being dragged away.
"A hunt, or a trap," Sorogar adds, nodding. "I don't like the looks of this. Hold a moment."
She produces a crude glass bottle with what appears to be a mixture of yellow, white and whitish powder. After taking a look and sniffing once near the corked exit, she gives it an experimental shake and nods in satisfaction. "Stay here and throw this into the vines, near the ground where those remains are. Let's see what happens. Maybe we can force this hunter to reveal itself. Or kill it before it kills us."
She looks around the group, holding the vial, waiting for someone to volounteer.
It is the orcish equivalent of an alchemists's fire, with potassium nitrate, sulfur and charcoal as some of its base components (in some experimental scientific circles referred to as 'gunpowder'). You suspect it will explode if the vial cracks and that the glass vial isn't all that sturdy to begin with. Perhaps starting a glassworks in the Anderian rainforest would be a interesting entrepeneural venture, when you're done here with capturing exotic animals for a noble who may or may not know what the hell he is doing?
Mosely puts away his vine-hacking machete for the moment and says, "Here, I'll toss that in." He holds out his hand for the alchemical bottle.
Having complete faith in mosely's ability, Sorogar hands him the explosive and takes a few steps back. Just in case, she draws her falchion and motions for everyone to get ready.
Mosely eyeballs the writing vines to take in their distance, then hefts the flask a couple of times to get a sense of its weight, before he heaves it into the possible carnivorous plant.
The vines tend to come alive writhing drastically away from the fireish substance.
"Ah, assassin vine," says Mosely as he draws his small sword. "Hack it up if you see a vine sneaking toward you."
Seeing their intrepid guide advance with his blade drawn, Sorogar decides to take action as well. She makes a few gestures in the air and casts a quick spell.
Standing a little straighter and looking a bit more threatening, she then starts moving after him. There also appears to be a minor blue glow coming from her stomach area, though her equipped breastplate makes it hard to see. "Let's go. Keep something sharp out. If you don't have anything, use my dagger."
She advances carefully, expecting to be attacked by the plants at any moment (and hoping someone else stayed in front of her as well, though she'd never admit that out loud).
"Be careful. Vines tend to sneak up on you."
"Assassin vine, eh?" Warren says, drawing his rapier and keeping as clear from these vines as possible while following Krokkin.
Suddenly all the vegetation comes alive as if under somethings spell or command. you find the grasses and other vegetation entangling your arms and feet.
The vines themselves begin to uproot and move towards you slowly.
"Well, great."
dice=strength check]1d20=3[dice]
Krokkin already in a heightened state realizes what this is moments before Mosley speaks.
Just before Mosley throws the bottle, Krokkin's left hand sheaths his sword, while he raise the sword in his right hand high and wide knowing that a weapon close to the body can be a danger if the vines grab him.
The tall grass comes alive around him trying to trap and topple him. Krokkin tries to leap in the air in a corkscrew motion as a vine shoots out at him hoping to tear away from the tall grass as if it were nothing.
Why did this not work. He struggles as his legs are held tight swinging at the vine.
Warren, certain he can't escape draws is begins to sing Their once was a farmer named dawdle. He liked to coddle his daughter. She sat on his knee and always said wee as he bounced her to avoid the water.
The assassin vines lashes out with a thick tendril like limb. and narrowly misses, leaving welts along the shoulders where the vine passed so closely.
Grenon draws his morning star and attempts to wiggle free from the vines. Still free he glances at his companion Ferratal and notices that he is entangled.
with the assistance given Ferratal manages to wiggle free as well.
Soragar takes a moment and casts divine favor and draws his falchion.
Kronin attempts to corkscrew out of the vines only to have his feet become entangled while he's off the ground.
Once they're free, Grenon, atop Ferratal's back, begins to cast a spell. They pull out a bit of butter as they motion and wave, pointing to Krokkin. Krokkin's armor begins to shine, a greasy layer appearing between him and the vines as he begins to slip and slide through their grasp.
Sorogar throws Warren an incredulous look. "We're about to be EATEN by a plant and you sing wetness innuendo limiricks about Girls and whether they rutt or not!? Aren't there more important things to you outsiders!?"
Somehow, Mosely manages to wriggle out of the vines!
Krokking yanks himself out of the grasp of the grass and then attacks the grass with a low Slashing motion trying to cut the grass to where it is short enough not to grab him.
x2 crit = 22 damage
The assassin vine lashes it main vine out at the entangled catfolk. The vine hits directly to the skull as the vegetation keeps him swinging. The impact is a loud crrrraackkk! And then a howl of pain from the feline fighter. The vegetation seems to revel in the blunt force of the hit as the remainder of the plant life spurns to a more rapid movement.
Krokkin slips from the vines and onto the ground, slashing at them as he falls.
Wincing at the audible damage from that vicious hit on her teammate, Sorogar foregoes her earlier plan of slashing the vine. In her estimation as a medic, no one could take that twice. She draws some of Krokken's pain to herself through their earlier spell, then channels healing magic on the party, taking care to exclude the assassin vine!
Having struggled out of the entangling vines, Mosely brings up his shield and sword in a guard position and starts hacking his way toward the root of the assassin vine.
"There once was a farmer named dawdle. He liked to coddle his daughter. She sat on his knee and always said wee as he bounced her to avoid the water.
The daughter grew into a fair maid, and with not a single man she laid, instead she took to roses and look! A master of gardens is made!
The farmer named dawdle grew mad at his daughter when with the only roses she'd play.So he sent the fair daughter to live with her mother
who wasted her days in play with daughter and both of them never got laid."
the bard repeats his song this time adding a new verse as he observes the other players to this deadly game. He struggles against the vegetation but at no success.
"Feeling" Mosley closing in the vines lashes out and hits his shield but does no damage. It is almost as if you can "hear" its frustration through the ground at your feet.
Oh I have had enough of this, stupid vine hits me harder than a man, then my body feels all warm and tingly. Screw this, give me my life force back you stupid plant!
Krokkin Bellows in rage as his hackles rise and his tail straight out behind him bristling, making him seem to grow larger.
STR 20 (+5)
CON 18 (+4)
Fort +7
Will +3
Max HP 37
AC/Touch/Flat 16/11/13
CMB +8
Scimitar +8 to hit, 1D6+5
Come to me Prey, he roars as he charges the vine that snapped out at him.He slashes out with his sword on the vine slicing it in half.
Sap sprays from the now almost severed vines. The vegetation shrinks back an returns to dormant now. Again its as if you could hear the harsh scream of the vine in the ground.
Grenon, seeing the vine almost separated, grasps his morning star and swings into the cut portion of the main vine.
His morning star slides right through the cut missing the fleshy parts of the vine and doing no apparent damage.
With the vines seemingly preoccupied with Mosely closing in, and Krokkin apparently fine, Sorogar tries to advance herself.
She takes a move action for 10 ft since she is still entangled. If that is enough to reach the vines, she attacks! If not, she takes another move action to get closer.
If she can reach the vines:
Soragar swipes with both hands at the strangling vine and slices a chunk out of it's main vine. The cut is so deep that about 2/3 the vine is missing and sap is literally dripping from the wound.
"Dark twisted vines
from a world that never shines
This determination's getting old
I've seen the sky
But my feelings fell behind
And I just can't seem to let it go..."
Having closed with the root of the assassin vine, Mosely brings his small sword to bear. He hacks at the twisting and writhing vines just like he's still cutting away the underbrush on the trail.
This is my Kill, he roars and attacks again. He hacks over and over chopping the vines into smaller and smaller pieces. after a few seconds he stops and seems to deflate. As he turns around his fur is covered with green spray and small pieces of vine and leaves.
His tail flits back and forth still agitated as he scans for danger. He is not able to keep the sudden fatigue after battle from showing on his face.