Brental is hard at work piecing together yet another brilliant set of maps and gazetteers as the group emerge from the forest and into the rolling hills when Morof takes note of a particularly rocky crag between two of the hills and points out a small crack in the rock there only about five feet wide.
The group decide it is worth checking out and make their way towards it on their beasts of burden when a pack of wild dogs begins to gather around them, spooking their horses. Meneas, thinking on his feet, pulls his blade from its sheath and rears Veil up having her issue forth a mighty whinny. As the man's voice cries out sharply with his horse the dogs turn tail and run, dispersing in the distance. After a moment to collect themselves the party is able to proceed to the mouth of the cave where they dismount and file into the opening single file.
There, they cast their magics to illuminate the dark cavern for their human companion and observe that the wall before them glimmers slightly in the presence of the lights. It only takes Lina a moment to piece together that they have accidently stumbled upon a rich vein of actual gold, vast and untapped by sapient society!
"Well, the Swordlords will be delighted to hear of this." Meneas says dryly. "I can't imagine how swiftly this place will be inhabited if there's rumors of an untapped gold mine."
"Maybe releasing news of this wouldn't be a good idea until after we've taken down the Stag Lord, though." He adds, looking around the cavern.
The rest ofthe cavern seems largely the same. The group delve deeper into it but find nothing of note other than more veins of precious gold. It seems, for once, the group's golden reward comes easy.
The only hard part, what to do with this knowledge?
Lina goggles a bit at the sight, reaching out here and there to touch a glittering vein to try to assess its quality, more or less. She’s no prospector, and is working with her broad strokes reading and where it touched on geology. To think that she could just carve out a chunk of ore, purify it, and…
It would be a bit of a shame, really, and she’s sure Brental must have similar feelings about it. However they develop the place, she thinks she’ll have to insist on preserving at least one side cavern in a mostly natural state – perhaps adding a statue niche and an altar – in honour of Yuelral. The goddess would like that, the witch thinks, and she’s definitely blessed the adventurers this day. It would only be right to show some gratitude.
"Well, the Swordlords will be delighted to hear of this." Meneas says dryly. "I can't imagine how swiftly this place will be inhabited if there's rumors of an untapped gold mine."
"Maybe releasing news of this wouldn't be a good idea until after we've taken down the Stag Lord, though." He adds, looking around the cavern.
“It would certainly need guards and regular patrols along whatever route the gold gets out,” she says. Although she enjoys fine phrases and the pleasures of policy and diplomatic negotiation (at least as much as swordplay), she’s never bothered to really get a finger on the pulse of Restov, let alone Rostland as a whole, however. She tries to think of who she’s technically supposed to be reporting to, under her charter.
One of the dicta of her arcane training is perhaps unexpectedly applicable to this mundane situation. ‘To know, to dare, to will, and to keep silent.’ Mm-hm. And how. “Do you think Lady Aldori would be sensible enough to keep a secret? She might have ideas about how to sort this sort of business out. Otherwise, I think we can hope to get more out of this place than what the charter will give us for announcing its existence, and as you say, Meneas, a gold rush will hardly make the area more stable.”
Brental looks around the cavern warily as the group begins to discuss their find. With all due respect to the dwarves he had met, Brental was uncertain about the efficacy of mining. He remembers a trip to Druma during his early training, where his superiors had been contracted to work with local fey in the Palakar Forest to revitalize a river near a gold mine. The waters ran murky, presumably due to the influence of the local mining efforts. The Drumish actually had a fairly forward-thinking view towards the collection of resources and used relatively sustainable practices. But accidents still happened, especially if the humans currently ruling the profit-focused land did not consult the dwarves who had done this kind of work in the Darklands for millennia.
So was it possible to mine the gold from this cavern without destroying the nearby land? Perhaps. Would it be worth it? Well, for better or worse, most societies still used gold--or silver, or copper--as a currency to mediate exchange of goods and services. Depending on what exactly was to be done in these lands, this resource could be leveraged quite powerfully.
Brental wonders what his companions think. They were all being paid for their part in this expedition, of course. But none seemed to have eyes glittering for gold. Well, perhaps Morof, but Brental couldn't quite read the half-elf just yet.
For now, Brental begins drawing up two sets of maps: one clearly depicting the location of this cavern, and the other leaving it conspicuously absent. It would be helpful to be able to find it again, but he was uncertain whether--or more accurately how long--to maintain its secrecy. "It will be better to keep this to ourselves for now. We have more important business to attend to in the region, directly flowing from our charter. Of course, I doubt we will be able to keep this a secret from our employer for long. Nor perhaps should we."
"I have no issue withholding this information from the Aldori and Restov, let alone the rest of Brevoy." Meneas agrees. "It is too dangerous to open this information at the moment, so we shall not reveal it."
Brental looks around at his companions as they begin to break for camp for the evening and realizes that he is the only one who can innately see in the darkness of night.
"I should make us a long lasting light source," he mentions, looking around for something on which to dole out a gift of his celestial heritage.
Realizing that the evening is drawing on, Lina looks for a protrusion of ore that looks representatively pure and that she can chip off with an improvised tool for analysis back at the trading post. She imagines Oleg will have supplies on hand that will make the job easier to pulverize a sample and test it in a crucible and whatnot.
After that, she finds a decent place to spread her bedroll and sets about making herself as comfortable as can be. As she works, she hums tunelessly for a while before she finds herself singing softly to herself.
“I dreamt that I dwelt in glitt’ring halls,
With vassals and serfs at my side,
And of all who assembled within those walls,
That I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches too great to count, could boast
Of a high ancestral name;
But I also dreamt, which pleas'd me most,
That you lov'd me still the same…”
She catches herself abruptly before she’s even through the first chorus. She’s always meant to take up singing properly eventually, but she’s had her violin, and… Well, now. It also occurs to her that Signy would have known what she was doing, and that just makes it more awkward. It feels almost disloyal, somehow, to fill the silence on her behalf because the Caydenite is … gone. She settles back into humming until she’s done.
When Brental mentions his light magic, Lina perks up, always happy to see more spellwork. “I’ve got my signet,” she offers, drawing the ring off her hand, “unless someone else has something that they nearly always wear or that won’t take up a hand when they need it.”
As Lina hums and sings, Brental listens wistfully. Was it not but two days ago that they had sung and danced in the forest with the fey? And now...well, Brental had established that he had no talent for music. He looks over to see Vodnykel swaying and flapping his ears in time.
Brental is a bit surprised that Lina would request something akin to a flame on her ring, but chalks it up to 1) being an elf, and 2) being a mage. He reaches out and concentrates. His eyes glow, momentarily wreathed in heavenly radiance, before the fire flows through his fingers. A moment later, a small flame wicks up into existence directly out of the signet ring: utterly heatless but providing ample light.
"If you need to quench more than cover this, you will need decent magic to dispel it. My gift to you."
Settling in a bit more, Brental asks each of his companions something in turn.
First, he turns to Meneas. "We have had other pressing matters, but I admit my curiosity has only grown. Meneas: you were born of the Surtova line, yet you no longer use the family name. Even if you say the story is uninteresting, I would like to know of your family story. I don't know how the Surtovas treat their--" The word is unpleasant in the druid's mouth, "--bastards. So how did you emerge from a noble lineage into doing the business of the Eldest and the Aldori?"
Then the aasimar turns to Lina. "What exactly is your relationship to House Medvyed? And what is their interest in our little expedition? "
At last, he turns to their newest companion. "What were you, Nujo, Carla, and Lofin doing in this region? And what is your interest in this work?"
Meneas was about to speak when Brental answered his question. Well, I suppose concealing is better than having it burning in our faces at all times, but still. It'd be easier if we could extinguish it from time to time. He, too, begins setting up camp, though he brings Veil inside the cave as far as she'll go before trying to make her as comfortable as she can be. Even if he can't ride her in case of invasion, he still prefers her nearby.
At the druid's question, though, he pauses, weighing his options. "My father's some Surtova moron who happened to sleep with my mother. I didn't meet him until I was an adult, and the only thing I feel for him is scorn." The knight-errant's voice is cold, and he does not take down his hood. "When I was young, I lost my mother and her home, but my mentor took me in and taught me their ways." He gestures at his hood by way of explanation. "As for the Aldori, well... I had a dispute with the Surtovas, left my old sword in the guts of a half-sister - she survived, unfortunately - and came south to Restov. It's better than sticking around in the capital, anyways."
With that, he settles back, apparently unwilling to speak on the matter any further. I have to keep some secrets after all. I'd be doing Ng a disservice if I didn't.
Brental is a bit surprised that Lina would request something akin to a flame on her ring, but chalks it up to 1) being an elf, and 2) being a mage. He reaches out and concentrates. His eyes glow, momentarily wreathed in heavenly radiance, before the fire flows through his fingers. A moment later, a small flame wicks up into existence directly out of the signet ring: utterly heatless but providing ample light.
"If you need to quench more than cover this, you will need decent magic to dispel it. My gift to you."
Lina watches carefully as Brental channels his innate magic into her bauble. It makes it a bit trickier to sort out, compared to the regular sort of spell, but that makes it all the more interesting – all the different ways of working magic.
“Thank you, it’s lovely!” she enthuses, waving her hand about with a degree of excitement that rather belies her hundred–and-then-some years. The ring sheds enough light that it shouldn’t send shadows jumping too crazily if, as she fully expects, they’ll need it while fighting in some enclosed space in the future. “I wouldn’t dream of dispelling it. That’s what pockets are for!”
And prestidigitation: she takes a minute to practice palming her ring, relying on her elven dexterity. It is a bit showy to have her signet enspelled like this, even by Lina’s standards, but she doesn’t have a favourite hat or anything, and she dabbles in too many weapons for that to be practical. Though she cherishes the mark of her family’s history too, she doesn’t find herself sealing too many documents on a regular basis in the woods, so storing the ring away so she doesn’t just shine absolutely everywhere isn’t too much trouble.
Lina settles in with her grimoire, after that, looking up once she hears the conversation return to more curious topics.
"When I was young, I lost my mother and her home, but my mentor took me in and taught me their ways." He gestures at his hood by way of explanation. "As for the Aldori, well... I had a dispute with the Surtovas, left my old sword in the guts of a half-sister - she survived, unfortunately - and came south to Restov. It's better than sticking around in the capital, anyways."
With that, he settles back, apparently unwilling to speak on the matter any further. I have to keep some secrets after all. I'd be doing Ng a disservice if I didn't.
She gives Meneas a sympathetic look at his terse story, but senses the suggestion that he’s not inclined to go into more detail. Understandably. I can’t even imagine. I mean, yes, full sib and half are different, and my family’s, well, actually nice, but… She’s had her share of quarrels with her brother and sister, but she can’t imagine they could ever actually come to blows. She tries to ease the tension with a bit of triviality.
“But the capital, sir knight!” she exclaims, as if unable to imagine why anyone would want to leave the big city, before smiling in case there’s any doubt that she doesn’t really mean it. “Though then again, errantry has its attractions. Especially if one’s patron protects the roads, I’m sure.”
"What exactly is your relationship to House Medvyed? And what is their interest in our little expedition? "
Lina’s brought up a bit short when Brental turns his attention to her again. “Oh, well, that’s not too interesting a story. Working backwards, it’s mainly politics, I’m afraid: I don’t think the Medvyed are exactly fascinated with our expedition, not truly. We’re friendly, but Gurev … to be candid, he owes me a favour, and it’s a bit convenient to not have that hanging around your court, hmm, and if one can keep an eye on what’s going on in other lands? I still haven’t decided what to ask for yet, and when this opportunity came up, he was quite encouraging about my resuming my travels again.”
“I worry about that family,” she continues, softly. “What happened with Lorna was before I travelled that way, but there was also a little knave-child…”
“He was lured away from his nurse into the woods by a redkind, a bit like the ‘caps, but without the headgear and boots, and a bit more subtle. Did you know that if you can’t see them, for whatever reason, they half believe they can’t see you? Anyway, I was in the right place at the right time, and told the boy to close his eyes and run… It was a nearer thing than I’d like, but the fey was distracted by the loss of his chosen prey. And that was that,” the witch concludes simply.
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Morof listens to the stories a bit saddened. He is in fact uncomfortable that these people would tell their stories in his presence, he who doesn't know them well. He was always shunned by others when it came to serene moments like these. He wants to believe it's his elven heritage, but he knows the others just found his mother weird. He touches his ears, trying to remember who he is.
As Brental mentions his former party, he takes a while to respond, as if trying to remember those names. It's not clear if it is an act, but he says simply "We were fighting in Aldori's name, to liberate these lands, as per their call."
Trying to dismiss the subject as quickly as Brental came to it, he says "I believe in defending my country's honor." He says it so unconvincingly that it sounds almost mockery. Looking down hesitant to continue talking, he says "What about you Brental, how have you find yourself in these parts?" It is the first time Morof meets an Aasimar and he desperately wants to ask about that soon.
Brental listens intently to each of his companions' stories as the firelight sends shadows dancing across his face.
Meneas and Morof give the clear impression that there is more that could be told, but not yet. Brental does not press for more.
Meneas' difficulty with his blood family makes Brental think about his own roots, simple as they were. At the end of his tale, the druid simply nods and says "I'm sorry that things have been difficult. Thank you for sharing." Meneas isn't running from his past or his name, but he is wandering and seeking. Seeking what, though?
Lina is more forthcoming--as Brental anticipated--and weaves a story that makes Brental think of a line from an old poem about telling the truth slant. The tale of the redkind sends a shiver down his spine. Debts owed could be a powerful motivator, especially for someone with the long perspective of an elf. Lina's angle was more interesting than the Medvyeds'.
Morof asks Brental a question in turn, which he mulls over for a moment.
He had revealed his allegiances already, so that was no surprise. "I am a son of Restov by way of Silverhall, and always aimed to serve my home somehow. That service led me to train with the Oakstewards, following a druid who helped my family when I was young. They're farmers, my parents. I suppose I could have followed in their way, but I was encouraged to find another calling."
Realizing that his speech had begun to wander, Brental shakes his head and brings the story closer to the present. "Regardless, my superiors in the Oakstewards are interested in any effort to tame these lands. I suppose that could be why they chose me over other initiates of the Green Faith. Most of my brethren are highly skeptical of anything they see as the encroachment of civilization on the wilds. Many would avoid a city if they could. But I grew up in the the circle of House Lebeda, so I understand at least a little of aristocratic diplomacy. Humanity as an animal builds cities and trade networks instead of nests and burrows. If I can be a force to temper some of our more destructive impulses, I will be happy that I am fulfilling both the terms of our charter and honoring my lodge's principles."
"I see an intersection in our interests here, Brental. The fey tend to congregate in places of nature, and I am bound to aid them and protect places that open to the First World - of which there are likely quite a few in these lands." Meneas says, letting the consolations pass without comment. "Though I admit, I know little of your order, or, indeed, of the River Kingdoms."
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As inspiring as Brental's story is, Morof actually is more brightened by the story of his parents. He comments "Your parents sound like honest people. Farmers have always teased me and my mother, but I understand they are the ones who sow the food that feeds our bellies. If only they could understand my mother. She taught me a lot about herbs, some things that even druids don't know about. Take that leaf over there, you see? The one that looks like a flat grape. So the knowledgeable woodsman will tell you to stay away from it, as it makes you giddy at first, but very itchy in a few hours. What they don't know is that if you brew it into tea and add a few drops of lime and strawberry leaves, it does wonders for back pain with no side effects."
For once he seems eager to share what he knows. Stating the obvious, he just says "In truth, I miss my mother."
“That’s handy. I’ve heard of a few things that are kinder when they’ve been denatured by acid or coction,” Lina says, stopping herself before she rambles too far and starts picking the wizard’s brain for his thoughts on various trends in herbalism. She does feel for Morof’s homesickness. She needs to keep moving herself, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t miss her family and her best friend, who have their own rivers to float. Still, that means that their next reunion will only be more joyful, she hopes, trying to look on the bright side.
The thought does help a bit, but even better for now is picking out a few commonalities among the motley crew holed up in their mine for the evening.
“Between the lot of us, it certainly seems we have the talents and inspiration to make this forest bloom, eventually,” she proposes encouragingly. “And one day we’ll have to go visit Uringen! I only know it by report and intermediaries, since it’s not convenient by the usual rivers, but it has some marvellous flora, and part of it extends into the First World. Once we settle our charter, of course. It’s about 150 miles as the crow flies-”
That thought, though, rather quells her spirits, as her mind is drawn to the latest corvids she’s encountered. “Anyway. We have ground enough to cover for tomorrow. I’ll take the last watch, as usual?”
Brental smiles at the responses to his own tale.
"There's a reason people do not know much about the Oakstewards," he says in response to Meneas. "They keep their secrets, as do all druids. I appreciate a good secret as a whisper on the wind."
Brental marvels at Morof's demonstration. And it's true: although many druids do study herbalism to a degree, it's not part of the common lore (and certainly not Brental's forte).
"Farmers are good folk, but often suspicious and superstitious. I'm sorry some were unkind to you and your mother. I'm sure she was a lovely woman." No discussion of Morof's father, though. By designed omission? If Brental were a guessing man--which under the right circumstances he has been--he would venture that Morof's mother was human, and his father an elf. Curious that she would be the more herb-inclined of the two, but humans have such varied interests.
Lina has a good summary of things. Good big picture, there. Noting her linguistic slip, Brental tries to help move past passerines.
"I know little of Uringen, actually. Sounds like an interesting trip in our future! Thank you all for engaging my curiosity. I like to know more of my fellow travelers." After a beat, he adds, "I'll take second watch."
Brental sets out his usual array of camping protections and beds down for the first rest leg of the night.
"I'll have to take the first watch, then. I'm not quite as good at seeing in the dark as the rest of you." Meneas says. Home, hm? I suppose the home for me is the road. Is that depressing? Less than others might think, certainly.
The night proceeds on calmly and everyine awakens fresh and revitalized.
Stepping out of the cave you are greeted by the sight of a murder of crows flocking to the south and cawing like mad.
Nothing else seems amiss as the sun rises high in the sky.
Meneas and Veil glance up at the ravens as they pass by. "Given what we know of that Tartuk's familiar and background, do you think we ought to be concerned about that?" The rider asks. The mount remains sagely silent, saying nothing that she might know.
The night proceeds on calmly and everyine awakens fresh and revitalized.
Stepping out of the cave you are greeted by the sight of a murder of crows flocking to the south and cawing like mad.
Nothing else seems amiss as the sun rises high in the sky.
After a mercifully uneventful night, Lina moves comparatively easily from her watch into the morning’s tasks. She’s still rather sore from the madman’s wand the day before, but unless the morning goes dreadfully pear-shaped, she doesn’t anticipate it will be that much to worry about on the way back to the trading post.
It also seems like a good day to break in her jazzy new boots, or at least get a sense for what adjustments might need to be made once she returns someplace more comfortable for working on such a project.
There are a few places that call for awl, needle, and thread, but overall the boots put a welcome spring in Lina's step and - she can feel it - a surprising sense of stability that she's sure she can have fun with once she gets a sense for how the magic binds to the material.
"I'm paying attention to all portents. If I were to venture, those may be spies. We have officially attracted someone's attention."
Brental considers a possible counter to the tracking, or at least his own way of gathering intelligence. But that would require a different sort of spell work. He spends some time meditating, and then prepares more mapping materials.
Brental makes a wonderful map and gazetteer of the hilly new region of the Greenbelt the party find themselves in as when, once again the new half-elven party member spots a strange clearing in the distance. seemingly devoid of life. The rest of the hills have been populated by various forms of natural wildlife but this area is just a dead zone.
Deciding to make their way in that direction, the group continues onward until their horse's hooves start to sink into an unexpected area of deep, bubbling, and vaguely sulfuric mud.
The majority of the group is forced to turn back but Meneas and his trusty fey-steed are able to traverse the mud slowly but surely. When he finally finds solid ground he leads the others through the mud via rope, pulling them through when necessary and otherwise guiding them through the hot mud. The group is filthy by the time they all get to the other side but at least their skin feels ten years younger!
Continuing on one more obstacle stands between the party and their destination. A small chasm between them and the odd desolate ground. While the group debate what to do Lina dismounts her horse, takes a few steps back, and with the magical aid of her new boots, bounds across the chasm in one graceful leap. On the other side she manages to roll some already dead trees across the chasm and create a make-shit bridge for the gang to move their mounts across, somewhat unsteadily.
Finally, the group arrives at their destination, an area of utter desolation with a near 200 foot radius. The area is strewn with the bones of boars, deer, bears, and even a few humans.
The sun is high and a foreboding silence hangs over the party as they decide how to proceed.
"Well, that's cheery." Meneas says dryly, though he scans the area for signs of what might have caused this whether by tracks or otherwise. What exactly could've caused this? A natural creature?
"I don't think we should stay the night here until we figure out what exactly happened to these people and creatures." He adds after a moment. "Brental, do you have any insight into what might be happening here?"
As disquieting as the dead zone is, at least it distracts the fastidious elven witch from pouting about her muddiness, and provides an interesting intellectual challenge. A wildfire started by some unlucky or careless hunters? That would explain the human remains mixed in with the animal, but then it doesn’t look like new growth over scorched earth, and it seems like a rather small area for something that would have been left unchecked, unless there’s something about the lay of the land to constrain it.
Some sort of blight? But again, so highly local, unless a particular vulnerable plant dominates the flora in the immediate area… and it doesn't explain what happened to the animals, unless it's something virulent that affects non-plants as well.
Lina takes a look around, trying not to think about dragons or cursed lands too much as she tries to figure out what could have happened here.
"I don't know what exactly made them, but there're lots of weird tracks that lead towards the center of the area." Meneas points the tracks out to his companions.
A day of good mapping turns into the recognition of a blight of some kind. Whether magically initiated, an area of wild magic, a feyborn disaster, or something natural, it was deeply disconcerting.
"Let me try something," Brental says in response to Meneas' inquiry. It was something he had hoped to try earlier when they had encountered the murder of crows, but he had not yet prepared his allotment of magic for the day then.
Brental raises his hands to his throat and flexes his fingers in a vague wing-flapping motion. His lungs begin working differently as though propelling air abnormally. His neck muscles contort as he takes a deep breath and emits a piercingly loud, low-pitched bird call that echoes supernaturally.
While Brental waits for the nearby birds to come to a consensus, he examines the area himself, periodically refreshing a guidance orison as he works.
Brental also detects magic around the area, looking for any clear auras.
The birds flutter past and chirp their responses at Brental. "Predator in the middle. It watches you!"
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Morof comments about the crows "They're just birds. I think they look normal but it is odd that they would be so far from civilization." Thinking nothing of it, he goes on.
Morof feels at home, walking in the mud. It reminds him of his time as a child. After they're back on solid ground he cleans himself and whoever else wants to be cleaned with a cantrip .
He listens to the others and their take on the ominous bones. He tries thinking of something they haven't thought yet and tries to figure out if the bones resting place seems ritualistic in some way.
Lina gratefully accepts Morof’s magic to get the worst of the mud off, at least, though unless they just proceed straight ahead in due course, the group will only get messy again on the return trip through the mucky section.
Somewhat mollified, she raises an arched brow as Brental’s spell summons a mixed flock of chattering birds. That’s an interesting trick. I wonder…
“If that’s not a druidic secret, you’ll have to show me how to do that sometime,” she says lightly , then picks up Meneas’ observation, and considers the shape of the area around her, “Do you think it could be a hunting spider?”
"I don't know what exactly made them, but there're lots of weird tracks that lead towards the center of the area." Meneas points the tracks out to his companions.
“One of those giant, burrowing, trap-door kinds,” she gestures vaguely, with a botanist’s airiness about the details of zoology, before turning to what she finds more interesting, and then, finally, what’s probably the most important point. “The vegetation that should be here, though, down to the grasses – I mean, it’s been scoured pretty clean. I know of spells to shrink or blight plants, but here it looks like they’re just gone. Something nastier? The details are far beyond my capabilities, yet, but I suppose it could be an elaborate curse, with some sort of unpleasant guardian placed in the centre? Or something big just passed through here, and took a lot with it as it left. Should we just skirt the edges? Unless we feel confident about scaring up something that preys on bears.”
She nods at their remains among the debris, readying her bow just in case before following Brental’s lead and using her own cantrip in turn to start scanning the area for any lingering traces of magic that might explain what happened to the plant life.
Brental happily takes Morof's offer for magical cleaning. He has been desperate for a good bath for days.
***
Brental calls back his thanks to the nearby birds before his spell wears off, and relays what he heard to the group. He also chuckles at Lina's assumption that his spell was secret druidic lore, and offers to show her a bit later. But his knowledge came from communing with nature rather than a spellbook, so he isn't sure how much help he would be.
He the concurs with Lina's assessment.
"Something spiderlike likely ate these creatures, as Lina said, and now waits and watches us in the center. For the life of me I do not know exactly what could have caused the rest of the blight, though. There are wicked spells that can do something like this, as you say."
I could do something like this if I were so inclined, but that would be anathema...
The druid looks at his martially-inclined companions, who both have weapons that can be used effectively at a distance. Brental knows that if this is another large creature, it could be more challenging to fight up close. He puts his arms out and draws a sigil in the air. A spark of green kindles amidst the bones and spirals around Brental's legs, dabbing at his exposed skin. Where the verdant energy touches, his skin takes on the appearance of tree bark. A bit of extra protection would be useful.
"I am inclined to summon an ally to assist us instead of charging directly at the creature's lair when we don't know enough about it. Unless one of you has a better plan."
The thought of ignoring the creature doesn't cross Brental's mind in any serious capacity. This land needed to heal, and confronting whatever lived here, whether it was the cause of the blight or not, was the first step.
"It seems as reasonable a claim as any." The knight replies to Lina. "I'm not familiar with it, clearly."
As they prepare for battle, Meneas holds back on Veil, readying his lance. "Perhaps we ought to surround the creature, as well. It would be good to ensure it cannot easily escape, and I'll be able to slip some highly lethal blows in, as well." He pauses. "I may be able to charge past it, too, and thus get around it that way."
“Right,” Lina calls back from where she’s circling round. “If it is just an overgrown spider, that does limit my options a bit, though fortunately I haven’t prepared too much that depends on playing with more of a mind than such a creature is likely to have. If I can launch an arrow before we all close, so much the better, but we’ll see. Summon away, Brental!”
She turns to face where the tracks lead, ready to start closing in depending on how near Brental needs to be to conjure his ally, one hand half-raised to reach for an arrow if she can get a clear shot, if the critter can be lured out.
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Morof follows Lina's lead and tries to identify any magical auras in the place.
Still, he says "If it's just a natural creature.... aren't we just tresspassing?" He is genuinely concerned that they could be attacking a creature that is just living its life here.
Then, he looks again at the bones and realizes that there are human bones, so no, it's a much more dangerous creature than he thought and is actually harming people. After some thought, he says "Well, I know that spiders are usually of two types. One type is usually the webbing kind and the other is the leaping kind. I don't see any webs..." Slowly, he looks up, clenching his crossbow.
Meneas lowers his lance, eyeing the others, before gently pushing Veil forwards, to get into easy charge range.
Meneas and Morof leap into action the moment that a man-sized spider erupts from the earth scuttling towards Vodnykel. The beast is vibrantly colored, so much so that it looks outright otherworldly and it is difficult to actually even look at it.
Given the monster's strange qualities Morof's ray goes astray leaving Meneas to charge the creature alone.
Meneas urges Veil forwards, his lance lowered, slamming it into the bizarre spider, despite its strangely blurred outline. The knight keeps her moving past the spider, before pulling her up and helping her to turn back towards it.