Mornin' Time
Fiona opens the door at the girl's second knock, having already been awake for a short time. "Thank you," she replies to the offer of breakfast, "That will be most welcome."
Fiona wears practical garb, consisting mostly of leather pants with a cotton tunic and steel breastplate over the top. She carries her polearm (roughly two hands taller than she) easily in one hand, its blade covered in a well-made leather sheath with quick-release straps for combat.
At Sahar's question, Fiona raises one hand as she finishes chewing and swallowing her current bite of sausage. After washing it down with a sip of coffee, the tall woman speaks. "I spent some time going over the maps yesterday, and I believe I can get us there, though I've not traveled it before. If they've found an extra map since I inquired yesterday, of course, that would be welcome. Having a map never hurts."
party-
Merlan hops down from his chair as the rest stand up, snagging a last (?) sweetcake as he does. He merrily wanders around from small group to small group, meeting people and chatting while holding a drink in one hand.
Observant members of the party might note that they never actually saw Merlan drink from the glass. (Until right before he left, when he finished it in one gulp) Mostly he just used it a prop for his stories.
The stories are another thing he seems to never run out of. If his 'Archmage in Training', doesn't pan out, he has a good chance as a bard.
He seems to just be having a good time at the party, seemingly nonplussed about his 'heroic adventure' starting the next day. And if Halflings know how to do anything well, it is a party.
In actuality, the clever wizard is getting a feel for the people in the room, (and hopefully the town itself), trying to see how they feel about Kalthun in general, or specific, What they think about a potential Orcish threat, and what they really think of the 'heroes' Kalthun has hired.
Merlan keeps his meager findings to himself, and files them away for later consideration. He bows graciously to whomever is nearest, (creating another breeze with the waving of his enormous hat) And politely, cheerfully, and not-quietly thanks everyone for their support.
If during the evening he lingered just a few seconds too long over the hand of a lovely lady, or three, when they were introduced or said their good byes, who could blame him?
Morning-
At the second knock on Merlan's door, it is thrown open to reveal a wide-awake halfling grinning at the poor, timid girl who 'eeps!' as the door is flung open. Merlan's grin widens.
"Wait, did I die in my sleep and go to heaven?! Because a lovely lady waking me up, and ,..." he sniffs deeply,... "And breakfast! THAT sounds like heaven to me! Half a moment!" The halfling vanishes into his room. There is the sound of a small scuffle, and Merlan reappears almost wearing his backpack, and carrying what must be his wizard's staff.
The pint-sized caster appears to the others downstairs following the girl, still merrily chatting about,... anything. He still wears the same oversized purple hat as last night, but his clothes are, slightly, less flamboyant. He wears a similar outfit as before, but the colors are more subdued. This outfit is at least less likely to stand out in the middle of the woods.
"Thank you for the escort young lady. But you needn't have worried yourself. If there's one thing that a halfling knows how to find it's,... FOOD!" Merlan declares happily, dropping his pack and making his way hastily to the table. For all of the jokes about how slow halflings are, Merlan seems to be quite capable of keeping up with 'normal-sized' humanoids. At least when food is involved.
His Wizard's Staff stands where he left it, next to the pack. It is a short, twisted thing with an odd carving on top. It seems to be a carving of a reptile, with feathers tied onto it. As the staff slowly starts to topple from it's balancing point, the 'carving' lifts its head and hisses. The feathered lizard,... (Yes. You look again. It is definitely a reptile. With feathers.),... raises it's snake like head and spreads a surprisingly wide wingspan, grabs the staff, which you can now see is a halfling sling staff, and half-carries, half drags it to the nearest corner, where the lizard deposits it and re-perches on top. It hisses again.
"Oh bother! Give it up Squeaks! NO one is buying that 'I'm a big scary lizard' act." The halfling calls over his shoulder. He doesn't even bother to look from the plate he is filling. 'Squeaks' hisses again.
"Oh, your always such a drama queen before your breakfast. Come and get it!" Merlan calls, holding a piece of breakfast meat up over his head.
Squeaks promptly launches himself from the staff, and in two flaps he is across the room and landing on Merlan's large hat. He snatches the meat from the halfling's fingers before his wings are folded.
Merlan reaches up to scratch the tiny Pterosaur's head with a smile.
"Good morning Marquan! Morning everyone. Allow me to introduce Squeaks, my familiar. He's as cantankerous as the ancient old wizard I hope to grow up to be! And he's a darn good flier and scout. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him." Merlan says affectionately.
"Oooh! Maps?! I LOVE maps. I was looking at maps most of the day yesterday, but they were mostly for the old Sunwall border area. Probably not much help for this trip."
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At the party
Xia watches Kalthun as he speaks. When he finishes, she hungrily digs into the vegetables and nuts, never touching the meat. Not that she appears to have any disdain for those eating the flesh of another, more that she just has no interest in the meats.
Afterwards, she partakes in the festivities, speaking, if haltingly, with a number of the other patrons. Invariably she has the desire to fall back on her old standby of mocking and imitating people, only to realize that this is not the proper place to use such antics.
Next morning
Xia is happily sleeping the next morning when the party is rudely interrupted by the incessant knocking. Dreading having to leave the first bed she has slept in in years, she eventually rolls over and gets up. She quickly dawns her light leatherish armor and slides her pack and shield over her back before following the others downstairs, once more dressed in a combination of ragged clothing, and clothing that likely used to be rags.
At the breakfast, she quietly eats, watching the others, still trying to gauge her new companions and how the group will work together.
At Dinner
Afterwards, she stops to bid farewell to Kalthune. "Thank you for this grand sendoff. I hope you have hired a good bard to either record our adventures or to decorate them to meet the high expectations you have set!" She laughs and offers her hand. "Thank you as well for recommending Maeve as my agent. I hope to see you when we return from Rustknoll."
Kalthun nods his head in farewell, and adds, "Hopefully, we can entice Drewan to take up the tale, if not, I suspect you'll just have to be sufficently impressive as to attract someone who wants to tell - or embellish - your tale. Good journeys, I hope."
Mingling among the guests for an hour or so, she seems content to chat and enjoy the evening. After an hour or so, she catches Drewan's eye, nods toward the door, and meets him there. "Walk with me please," she requests, and chats lightly until they arrive at her room.
The catfolk's eyes sparkle with amusement as he arrives at your request, and he asks, "Are you certain that you'd want to be walkhing back to your room with a Rakshasa? What will the others think?" He laughs at his own joke, motioning forward with his mismatched hands, "By all means, lead the way. It isn't my reputation at risk." His tone shifts slightly, from teasing to almost conspirational, as he says, "You will find, as I am a ..curiosity... here. there are a number of rumours circulating about me. To be honest, I find the whole thing rather comical, which is why I wear this," he says, tapping the bolt on a chain around his neck. His tone light again, he spends the rest of the walk making light conversation, and certainly avoiding commenting on the leadership of the Castle.
"If you will wait one moment, I will return your bangles. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing my outfit to be complete."
He bows, and says, "It was nothing. As you said, the outfit needed completion, and far be it from me to deny a Hero presenting the right impression on the evening of her emergence."
He waits patiently, and taps the sack, his ears cocking as the bauble rattle together, "I believe it's all there... and, if not, I'd not force you to endure such hardships either way... Best to leave the mingling and drinking to the professionals, " he teases. He then bows again and says in a serious tone, "May Mother Moon guide you on your path, and the Dawnflower grant you peace... or guide your blade, if she cannot."
As you circulate, you feel a sense of familiarity - this is clearly a military occasion, and the assembled are mostly soldiers. You also get a sense of gratitude from those you speak to - and not only because of the meal.
Despite your best attempts, you learn very little about the happenings at Firrine - almost everyone wants to speak about the Initiative - but rather than speaking about it, you are regaled with a number of stories of failed candidates -- like the gnomish barbarian who came with only a loincloth and a wooden arm he used as a greatclub, or the halfling swashbuckler who cut off his finger twirling his starknives, and the one-eyed elven archer who tripped over his own bowstring. Beyond that (and about a dozen other such tales), people wish you well "tomorrow".
After the meal, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and then a whisper in your mind, "I wanted to apologize.. It only occurred to me while we ate that I had intruded on your silence uninvited.." You can feel the mental sigh as she adds, "..and, in fact, I'm doing it again now. I often need a dear friend to remind me that not everyone is as... outgoing.. as I am."
Following the meal, a small knot of soldiers form around you, pleased to meet you - you recognize one of them as a fellow 'graduate' from Mother Kitnan's - though he's about a half-dozen years your senior.
Marquan says, "We had them copy a map of the area west of here, and then mark where the dwarven map indicated Rustknoll is. It's quick work, but it should get you to the right place - or, at least, what we think is the right place." He snaps his fingers and says, "We should have kept Rickan's bird.. but we wanted to send word that you were coming... and, to be fair, I would imagine that between Merlan's flying lizard and Lysander's hawk, the poor thing would probably have died of fright in its cage rather than lead you anywhere."
Lani makes small talk during the party, but for the large part she lingers near Merlan, piggybacking on his conversations. Once the party ends, she bids him good night and retires to her quarters.
In the morning, it's clear the gnome's appetite might rival even the halfling's, as she stuffs her face with the various breakfast items. She is clad in purple robes that match the shade of her hair, along with soft leather boots and her fancy new cloak, midnight blue adorned with star patterns.
"Oh, excellent!" replies Fiona, looking over the map with evident pleasure. "And it also shows Orcdeath Cave — very nice. Your scribes work quickly, Master Marquan!"
Realizing she's monopolizing the map, Fiona glances up (and down) at the rest of the group to see if anyone else is interested in looking it over. "I'd be happy to carry this," she offers.
As you gather your mounts and pack beasts, Fiona and Lysander spend a last moment revwieng the at the map. Marquan offers, "We copied the locations onto a modern map to avoid pointing you toward roads and bridges that don't exist anymore... though..." He pauses and marks a spot along the river with a piece of charcoal, "while you shouldn't need to cross the Kestrel, there's a collapsed stone bridge here that serves as an excellent breakwater -- making it a safe place to ford the river if you're chasing down Orcs --- or wanting to head to Everstand for a safe harbour."
Lysander nods, noting the advice and a few landmarks before Fiona rolls up the map and puts it away.
The old cleric walks with you to the gate, nodding approvingly, "You seem well-prepared, and well-equipped." His tone shifts to one of warning and he adds, "...hopefully that doesn't get you any unwanted attention. I know we've already said it, but within a few miles you enter lands that might be ours, or theirs, or nobody's -- and we received two different reports of increased scouting activity from patrols that arrived yesterday.... and, we know nothing of this 'Rickan', other than he was willing to reach out for help."
He then chuckles and adds, "..and, of course, officially or not, you represent Lastwall in this.. Hearts and minds, as Kalthun says."
He takes a breath, then turns back eastward, looking at the distant horizon where the sky is now painted in pinks and oranges and smiles, "Looks like it will be a nice day to travel.. at least, I don't see any red in the sky... nor many clouds.. It almost looks like Sarenrae herself is offering you a warm send-off, though I shan't speak for the Dawnflower."
With that, he taps his staff gently on Sahar's horse, "Well go on, then. Get. You're supposed to leave before dawn, and that sky is getting bright."
You leave Castle Firrine, following what is clearly a well-worn trail, likely the path followed by countless guard patrols, making good time. The terrain is mostly open, grasslands and scrub with small hills and what some might generously call mountains, you suppose, marking the western horizon. Looking ahead, you see a few random trees, most relatively small, likely no more than a few decades old.
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After a bit more than two hours of plain, flat and boring terrain, you're no longer on a set trail, though still making good time -- your biggest concern is not letting your mount step on a rock that might twist it's leg. Ahead, you see a cluster of trees ahead and to your right, maybe another mile away (and about a half-mile from the path Lysander has you following), with larger trees in the middle, surrounded by smaller ones -- the whole thing maybe a half-mile in diameter...and that's when Fiona and Lysander first catch the faint scent of smoke... and note a thin plume of grey rising from within that wood.
You can't be sure from this distance, but you suspect that it might be an overgrown orchard, one that's been left for a few decades to spread and grow without being tended or pruned.
The catfolk's eyes sparkle with amusement as he arrives at your request, and he asks, "Are you certain that you'd want to be walkhing back to your room with a Rakshasa? What will the others think?" He laughs at his own joke, motioning forward with his mismatched hands, "By all means, lead the way. It isn't my reputation at risk." His tone shifts slightly, from teasing to almost conspirational, as he says, "You will find, as I am a ..curiosity... here. there are a number of rumours circulating about me. To be honest, I find the whole thing rather comical, which is why I wear this," he says, tapping the bolt on a chain around his neck.
"Lord Kalthun seems to trust you, so I suppose I should, too. Within reason," Sahar teases back, smiling behind her veil. "He told me you were the only one in town capable of doing justice to our adventures in story or song. Seems like you are a man of many talents."
He waits patiently, and taps the sack, his ears cocking as the bauble rattle together, "I believe it's all there... and, if not, I'd not force you to endure such hardships either way... Best to leave the mingling and drinking to the professionals, " he teases. He then bows again and says in a serious tone, "May Mother Moon guide you on your path, and the Dawnflower grant you peace... or guide your blade, if she cannot."
Sahar regards the catfolk gravely. "Many thanks for your blessing, though I fear peace is not in the plan for my life, not for now." She turns to her door, then looks back. "When we return, perhaps you would be pleased to hear our story and see if it is worthy of a song, or maybe an epigram?"
Preparing to leave
"I would like to at least have a chance to memorize landmarks from the map if I am to be on point," Sahar replies, abandoning her attempts to lure Squeaky to her by means of sausage bribes. "Other than that, Fiona may have it, or whomever else is enchanted by bits of vellum. Merlan seems to be of that ilk, as well."
As they assemble and pack, Sahar also peers at the markings on the map to put their morning's travel landmarks into her head as well as possible.
She greets her horse with joy and affection, speaking softly to her, though the conversation is audible to any who listen. "Yes, we are off today, my sister. Stop trying to step on my feet! Let me check your harness... holding your breath again, sly wench? You wish to embarrass me in front of my new friends?" She tightens the girth, adjusts the tassles hanging from the bridle and breastband, and straightens the odd necklace of large beads around her mount's neck, then checks her donkey's packing and his guide tether to the pack animals, giving him a brief nose rub and neck scratch. Returning to her mount, she slips the mare a date saved from the previous night's banquet.
Unable to wait any longer, she springs into the saddle to listen to the end of Marquan's briefing, holding Sharisa in check while the mare snorts and dances, eager to be off. The mare's antics make it difficult for Sahar to slide her shortbow into place in its saddle sheath, but she manages.
She smiles at the brightening dawn when Marquan points it out. "I pray this beauty is her blessing on our mission." At the touch of Marquan's staff, she does little more than loosen her wrists and forearms slightly, and Sharisa springs into motion, colorful tassles streaming.
She allows the horse a minute or two to run and kick up her heels before pulling her into check and returning to the party. "I am off on point. Give a whistle and wave if you feel I am going wrong. The sun looks to guide us well today."
She spurs out a dozen yards ahead of the party, then reins her mount to the pace of the pack beasts, much to the annoyance of her horse. She occasionally circles back towards the party, looking to Lysander (who seems a seasoned outdoorsman) and Fiona for signals to change direction, then heads back to point. The extra exercise seems to please her mount.
Merlan seems to enjoy sharing breakfast with the gnome who is giving him a run for his money with the delightful morning foods.
He nods and flaps a hand dismissively when mentioned in the same breath as the map.
"I love a good map as much as the next person. But I confess that isn't one of my, many, specialties. And I already have enough parchment and papers to keep track of." he indicates the leather scroll-cases and pouches on his bandolier and belt.
When they head out to the courtyard, when the horses are brought out they are accompanied by a large, shaggy dog of some breed or another. When the dog sees Merlan, it immediately races forward and greets the tiny wizard with a bound that puts the wizard on his backside, being welcomed by big, sloppy kisses.
"ACK! Stop it! Get off me you Infernal Hopping Hellhound! Off I say! I'm supposed to be riding YOU! Not the other way around!" Merlan protests vehemently.
The sternness of the rebuke is somewhat diminished by his slobber-coated laughter. 'Squeaky' seems, less amused.
When the Riding dog, (called 'Tiny') Squeaks, and Merlan are all settled, the halflings equipment fits neatly onto the furry, mixed-breed mastiff. You realize that he has the same amount of adventuring gear as most of the others, his just takes up less space.
With his slingstaff-wizard staff tucked neatly into his dog's saddle, he grins at the others.
"Well, then what are we waiting for?" And he lets his hound run as he wishes as they leave the town. He can't keep up with Sahar, (and he doesn't try) but the dog seems to be enjoying the morning exercise as well.
After the initial excitement has worn off, Merlan joins the others in casual conversation. (not being, quite, as flamboyant as last night, or even this morning) While Squeaks rides on his oversized hat.
As the group nears the stand of trees, Squeaks seems to be agitated. The featehred lizard keeps squawking in complaint, and burying his pointed snout under his wing.
"What's wrong now Squeaks?" Merlan asks his familiar, sounding more curious than concerned.
"He's not happy about something. But I don't think it's a beast. It's something he doesn't like too much, not the same feeling I get when he's worrying a monster will eat him." Merlan explains to the others.
When Fiona and Lysander point out the thin plume of smoke from the trees, Merlan turns to his familiar in frustration.
"Really?! THAT'S what was bothering you? You can't just give me an image of smoke, or a feeling of heat? Or even 'dinner'? Use your big-boy Empathy you lazy lizard!" Merlan fusses at Squeaks, But again, his cheerful tone and grinning face are at odds with his supposedly fierce words.
"Ah well, time you got your exercise today anyway. Time to earn your keep you freeloader! Go have a look-see and let us know what you think, eh?" Merlan tells Squeaks, flapping a hand for the lizard to be on his way.
Squeaks sighs, and then crouches, spreads his surprisingly wide wingspan, and obediently takes off. You swear the he deliberately shoves Merlan's oversized hat over the halfling's face as he does so.
That's not funny. Anymore." Merlan chuckles, muffled by his own headwear. It takes a moment for the wizard to get his over sized hat back on top of his head instead of over it.
The lizard flies off, and reaches the wood about 10 minutes later.
Squeaks closes on the copse of trees and Merlan gets a sense of surprise, or maybe curiousity, as he approaches as to just how overgrown the trees and canopy are, followed by a sense of frustration as he starts to circle, trying to get a good look. Merlan gets a strange flash of hunger for a moment, and then it fades, being replaced with the frustration again. Finally, a sense of resolution comes across the link, and the small lizard descends into the canopy. The mix of curiousity and frustration continue for a moment, and then they stop, replaced by digust... and hunger... before the wee beast emerges from the canopy and begins his return trip to you.
The lizard returns, and deliberately lands hard on the brim of the hat, pushing it back over the halfling's eyes... before then walking around the outer edge, using his weight to lift the brim almost out of the way.
Merlan stops talking, (which should be the first sign that something is wrong), and looks towards the stand of trees. He silently watches Squeaky circle the trees before finally entering the trees proper, and then shortly exiting again and making a beeline for the group.
Merlan points towards the trees and his familiar.
"We should go take a look. Somethings wrong." Merlan says simply.
Without further explanation, the wizard urges his panting canine mount into movement, heading straight towards the trees, arm already upraised to give Squeaky a landing spot.
Fiona nods and signals the turn to Sahar, pausing to ensure the vanguard acknowledges before turning her own horse—you need a name at some point—and following the group, keeping her eyes out for any danger before or behind.
Sahar, hearing Fiona's whistle, sees the group turn towards the trees and spurs to join them, staying bunched with the main group.
"What's going on?" she asks the others. "Lunch already?"
Fiona explains the situation to Sahar as they ride, finishing with, "I just hope it's not a forest fire... those can be very difficult to outrun, even on horseback."
"Um... we're riding towards it."
"A forest fire would be very unlikely. A copse of trees hardly counts as a forest. But Squeaky is telling me that's no campfire. He LIKES campfires. He knows they mean suppertime!" Merlan responds from Tinys back.
"Can your 'Squeaky' tell you anything useful about it?" asks Fiona, trotting along behind and loosening her polearm in its stirrup. "Can't you, you know, close your eyes and cast a spell and just tell us what we're riding into?"
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Xia quietly rides with the others, unsure what the giant four legged beast she is riding might do. When it does not immediately throw her, she relaxes somewhat. Throughout the morning, she is quiet as reading other's lips is more than a little difficult from horseback.
When group oddly stops, followed by the strange halfling sending his even odder bird-lizard toward the trees, she raises her eyebrows.
Looking for someone to advise her what is happening, she looks around.
What is happening?
When the smoke is pointed out in the trees, she tries to wrack her recollection as to what might be causing a fire such as this in the ares.
"Can your 'Squeaky' tell you anything useful about it?" asks Fiona, trotting along behind and loosening her polearm in its stirrup. "Can't you, you know, close your eyes and cast a spell and just tell us what we're riding into?"
Merlan's eye roll is so large you can even see it from under his hat.
"Well now. As my Arcanus Familiarus, Squeaks is the smartest Pterosaur that you'll ever meet. But he can't actually, you know, TALK quite yet. Give him time. But we have an empathic bond. We can tell what each other is feeling. And I didn't get a sense of 'danger' when he saw it. It was mostly, disgust?" Merlan explains.
"And YES. Given a little more time, study, and access to a library or three, there are multiple spells that I could cast that would show us exactly what is in those trees. Sadly, those aren't the ones I have. Yet." Merlan expounds, patting one of his larger leather pouches. This one has the distinct shape of a book.
"Right, so the best way to see what's going on is to go there and see it! Lead on!" Lani says, taking a moment to scratch Tiny behind the ears affectionately.
You continue following Lysander's path as the tiny proto-dinosaur does its scouting, then stop to discuss your options upon its return. Curiousity peaked, you turn northward, heading toward the copse - the edge is still roughly a half-mile away.
As you approach, the thin plume of smoke seems to shift, almost like it was dancing in the wind, though it never gets any wider - in fact, if anything, it seems to be narrowing, as if the fire were burning out.
Around the edge of the copse are smaller trees - not quite reaching as high as Sahar, Fiona or Lysander in their saddles. And, these smaller trees are in flower - at least, the side you're approaching - with pale white and pink blossoms - and as you get closer you see that fallen petals have created a pale ring around the small wood -- one that contrasts greatly with the darkness within the wood.. because as you look past that outer edge, the trees within are taller - easily 20 or more feet - and thicker than you'd expected, and close enough together that their branches cross over each other, making a thick canopy of leaves and blossoms.
You also note, off to the northwest half a stone wall, maybe 10 or 12 feet long, eroded, poking out of the grass -- maybe the remains of the house of those who once tended the orchard. You'd say it's probably just past the edge of an expert archer's shot from you.
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--
You realize that if you look past the smaller trees on the outside, the copse is regular in shape... in fact, it seems to be forming a perfect circle -- about a half-mile in diameter.
Hint: That's probably not natural.
The animals do not seem to be reacting negatively to the wood, though you think there may be a few places where the trees are close enough together that the oxen might need to be careful to avoid tangling their tack and harness were you to bring them in with you.
"And I didn't get a sense of 'danger' when he saw it. It was mostly, disgust?" Merlan explains.
"Oh dear," Sahar sighs, "Have we come too late on our very first mission?"
As the party approaches and sees the house, she sniffs, frowns, and draws her shortbow. She holds three arrows in her fist along with the bow's grip.
"I do not think it will do well to ride in this tangled grove" she offers, guiding Sharisa to a spot near the pack animals. Dismounting, she gestures oddly at the mare with a firm "GUARD."
She is relieved that the spicy mare has worn off some energy in the morning's ride and seems content to obey. Siblings can be a handful at times.
"I thought I smelled... cooking?" she explains to her companions, tapping Xia's ankle to draw the deaf woman's attention and facing her as she speaks. She gestures to her carried bow.
Fiona eyes the ring of flower petals with clear unease, gripping her fauchard more tightly. Dismounting, she approaches the petals slowly, then reaches out with her polearm and nudges some of the petals in an attempt to break the circle.
The petals move easily, some tearing as they're being dragged, releasing a faintly sweet smell as they break. Others leap into the air from the wind made as the pole swings near them.
"Cooking?" Merlan asks in mild surprise, sniffing the air himself in an attempt to see if he can catch it.
The small wizard dismounts at Sahar's suggestion, pulls free his 'wizard's staff', and turns to Tiny withe a stern, "Sit. Stay. Guard. Good boy." Tiny licks Merlan's face, and does eventually sit. Although it seems more from getting comfortable than obeying instructions.
Squeaky maintains his perch on Merlan's hat, leaving the halfling free to use his staff as he sees fit.
As they approach the treeline, Merlan gets a curious look on his face as he examines the flower petals circling the trees. Hm. Something about them seems,...
"Bugger, WAIT!" He shouts, reaching out to Fiona, too late, as she breaks the circle,...
There didn't seem to be anything special about the fallen petals -- and maintaining a magic circle that big would take a *lot* of power.
** spoiler omitted **
"Ah, Um. Nevermind." Merlan adds almost sheepishly, (after a brief, tense moment where,... absolutely nothing seems to happen.)
"For a moment I thought maybe the grove was a large, enchanted circle of power. But on second look, judging by the perfection of the trees, and the almost perfect, thick, growth, the large almost perfectly circular patern, and the fact that actually powering a circle that large would take a LOT of power,... I formulate that the trees were magically enhanced to grow like this. Likely with a Plant Growth enchantment. Or some variation thereof. I estimate the spell has, um, a quarter mile radius from the center." Merlan expounds, pointing his tiny staff at the trees as he says the last part.
He pauses, holds up his staff, places one end on the ground, measures it's shadow, and looks at the trees once more.
"Yes. Quarter mile radius from the center of the spell. Give or take a few feet." he says decisively.
SOoooo,... It'll be my first time in a genuine, enchanted wood! How exciting!" he says cheerfully, bouncing on his toes.
The wizard turns to the others, and bows, indicating for them to precede him.
"Ladies first?" he smiles.
In a half crouch, Lysander approaches the others as a hawk flies from the sky and lands on his dark leather armour. With an apprehensive look he addresses the rest; "Looks to be an orchard of some sort - a perfect circular copse - so it may be symbolic rather than just..."
He takes in the looks of concern from the others with a nod, he unsheathes a dagger from his belt. As Fiona disturbs the petals he looks around, keeply sensing the disrupton in the flows of magic in the area.
"Not surprising, a growth spell on an orchard," Sahar smiles and says quietly, "Yet with such a magical investment, for this place to be so long deserted speaks of long troubles. And we know what troubles roam this land."
She shrugs and looks at the group. "I propose the three of us with pointy things proceed first to draw out attackers, with the magical folk behind. I am fine with three abreast, though if you prefer to send a silent scout first, that is well."
She looks to Fiona, the most martial of the odd bunch by far.
"What say you, Oath-Sister?"
With a sooft whistle from the rugged woodsman, a mountain lion with a soft shiny coat moves from the undergrowth beside him. "Three by three is good, it is a magic number." he nods to Sahar.
"Is there any wrongness to the magic in this place?" Sahar asks the wild man and the wild dresser.
Fiona grimaces. "It is not our mission to investigate every mystery between Firrine and Rustknoll," she begins, still glancing uneasily at the circle of petals. "Still, if there is a danger here, I would rather not have it on our tail."
She looks over at Lysander. "Can your cat understand a command to guard our rear? I would not want us to be caught off-guard from behind, especially in a place full of unknown magic."
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Xia attempts to listen to the others, nodding appreciatively when Sahar speaks where she can see the lips.
Cooking? Is not strange place for cooking?
Trees magically big? Very strange. Maybe fey magic? Or druid magic? Most common when working in forest.
Maybe we search home. Might be clue in house about strange woods?
Xia attempts to listen to the others, nodding appreciatively when Sahar speaks where she can see the lips.
Cooking? Is not strange place for cooking?Trees magically big? Very strange. Maybe fey magic? Or druid magic? Most common when working in forest.
Maybe we search home. Might be clue in house about strange woods?
Merlan turns to face Xia directly,
"Oh I do hope so. I enjoy seeing new magics." He says happily. He speaks distinctly, but Xia might have LITTLE trouble understanding him. (?) Not everyone can maintain such a large grin while talking,...
Xia attempts to listen to the others, nodding appreciatively when Sahar speaks where she can see the lips.
Cooking? Is not strange place for cooking?
Sahar looks grim. "It depends upon what is being cooked." She points to the smoke. "I think we should focus on that. Our duty is to push back the orcs and hearten the folk of Lastwall. We should not ignore what could be... Anyway, Sharisa will guard the pack animals. Tie them to a tree; command your horses to stay and guard."
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"Don't worry! Everything will be perfectly fine!" Lani says reassuringly.
For a moment, the gnome looks into the distance, murmuring to herself in a strange language. She makes a few arcane gestures, then blinks and shakes her head. "Yes, perfectly fine."
"We are meant to help people, even if it's before Rustknoll." Lysander says softly. "There's no direct magic at work here."
"Kruss, my Leonine friend should be able to guard our horses and our entrance into the woods." He ascents, then crouches down before the creature and holds his mane telling the creature what to do.
The group heads in, Lysander, Sahar and Fiona in the lead - though they can't always walk shoulder-to-shoulder, with one needing to fall behind or walk around a tree before rejoining the others. Looking forward, you see only darkness and tree trunks - the ground beneath your feet is void of plants or grasses, only old, disintegrating leaves from last season over hardened earth.
As you get into the wood, you feel a chill as the ... assuredly unnatural.. canopy begins to block out the sun's warmth.... and its light, as you feel your eyes starting to adjust as well. (It's little surprise, then, that there's no scrub, brush or smaller trees here.) You lose sight of the forest's edge behind you by the time you've gotten about 200 feet in, and you lose the scent of smoke - replaced with the damp, rich smell of a deep forest -- and in the dim light you hear nothing other than the sounds of your own progress, footsteps pushing leaves on the ground.
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--
Your progress is slow - especially in the dim light and trying to avoid tripping over a root under the rotting leaves... and you'd estimate that you've gone about 700 or 800 feet when both the hawk and the lizard begin looking up into the canopy, each sending their master a puzzled expression over their links.
The trees here are changing - subtle at first, but now you're sure of it. Where those even 200 feet back were straight as rails and healthy, the branches here are beginning to twist, with grey and green patches on the bark overhead... and you're pretty sure now that the wood itself is starting to thin - both fewer and narrower branches. While this doesn't seem to be affecting the thickness of the leaf canopy at all, you do note that the flowers have changed -- from multiple small apple and pear blossoms in light pink and white to larger, misshapen flowers in a deeper crimson and violet... And as you look around, you note about 80 feet ahead of you - covered with fallen, rotting leaves is the first downed log you've seen in this place.
Kneeling down, he picks up some mulch and crumbles in between his fingers then sniffs it. Keeping in a low crouch, he looks around the forest and the trees, his voice low; "It's strange here, almost like the area is trying to keep people out. A slow corruption seeps out from the centre...."
He points to a broken and corrupted log 80 feet ahead of them, where a tree rotted and died so it couldn't hold the heavy wood. He shakes his head with disappointment at the corruption.
"Easy Squeaks. What is it? Do you hear something?" Merlan looks around, trying to see what is bothering his companion.
"I don't think it's a creature. Squeaks seems, Puzzled?" He explains aloud, looking around.
He looks at Lysander as he investigates. The Halfling seems to understand what Lysander is doing. As if he's seen it before.
"Corruption? So THAT's not just a natural phenomenon? A tree just falling in the woods?" Merlan asks, pointing to the same crumbling log that the druid just indicated.
"Hmmm. So. Smoke where there shouldn't be any. Long abandoned farmhouse in what appears to be a cultivated orchard, and unnatural corruption in an area magically enchanted to enhance growth. Yep. SOMEthing's not right. Time to do what I do best."
Merlan hefts his sling-staff onto one shoulder and grins with excitement.
"Poke it with a stick and see what happens!"
You press forward, and the effect on the trees that Lysander pointed out becomes obvious to each of you -- the wood is definitely thinning, though the canopy is not... the trees are increasingly gnarled and twisted, their branches all but woven together, and you realize that in many places, it's moss and lichen, rather than leaves, that are blocking out the sun. The smell, too, changes, to one of rot and decay.
Finally, you reach what you assume is the centre of the rot - and likely the centre of the copse as well -- an imperfect circle (likely due to the twisting of the trees) roughly 50' across -- a clearing on the ground which is not mirrored in the woven canopy of decay above your heads.
There's a pit in the centre of the clearing, maybe 10' across, one that looks recently dug based on the mound of dirt around it. Around the hole are 6 corpses which you assume are orcish from the size and the rough armour still on them, looking like they were left where they fell.
And, now, the source of smoke becomes clear - a small pyre of twisted wood and moss, roughly 15' from the opposite edge of the 'clearing'. The pyre has burned poorly, leaving a blackened body rather than ash -- and your senses are confused by both an almost appetizing smell of roasted meat and a putrid smell of rotting.
You detect at least one magical aura in the area before you.