Lina keeps her bow handy and one eye on the gentlemen as they set out through the thickets, while also doing some of her own, considerably less toothsome, gathering. The poor pine she’s picked out has a long split in its bark that will only ooze more sap as the day heats up, and that, purified, and then enhanced with a bit of this and that, might be another way to keep creepy-crawlies at bay.
It's slow work, but then that's to be expected of trees and elves, and at least Lina has a good feeling about things as she tests the first drops for an appropriate reaction with her other reagents. Now to wait, gather, and watch. Her gaze flickers back to the trio down the valley, wondering what sorts of scratches she might have to help patch up later. Blackberries are one thing, but the thorns on the fangs seem to live up to their name.
The gang proceed to gather up another full bucket of these bright red berries. Should any of you taste them the taste is powerfully sweet. It almost feels like a sickly sweet punch to the mouth.
This time, they are far more cautious around the dangerous berries and manage to avoid the thorns altogether... however, Meneas has taken note that more and more thumb sized spiders seem to be gathering about them. Rubbing their large serrated mandibles together hungrily.
"I think we might be pushing our luck - your spell hides us from creatures so long as we don't touch them, yes? It might be we've started accidentally touching some..." Meneas says, his hood turning back and forth. Fortunately, Veil won't be too hindered by this underbrush... once I get on her back. Well, that's not as helpful as I'd like...
"If we don't touch them, we should be invisible for half an hour. Does anyone know how long it has been? Bokken asked for three buckets. I think we can fill one more."
Brental mentally begins to prepare to cast a spell to Control the Vermin if they show themselves to be aggressive. He then presses on, hoping that the magic holds long enough.
Target up to 3 HD of vermin, no two of which can be more than 30 ft. apart;
Duration 3 hours
Saving Throw Will negates (DC 15)
Description: You and a number of allies less than or equal to your caster level designated upon casting can use Handle Animal and Ride checks to influence or control the targeted vermin as if they were animals and had animal-level intelligence.
Just as the swarm seems ready to pounce Brental speaks his ancient druidic incantations and waves his hands about and after vibrating in irritation for a moment, all the vermin are still.
The trio finish harvesting their last bucket of berries and scurry out as quickly as possible.
In his haste, however, Meneas stumbles into a tangle of thorns and finds himself rather cut up. In a few moments the band are clear from the patch, however, and stand with their spoils intact and the natural ecosystem unharmed.
|
Morof hugs his bucket of fangberries with much enthusiasm as they manage to get out mostly unscathed. He asks if Meneas is ok, but feels a little silly, asking such a powerful knight if some cuts are a hinderance to him. He comments "Well, now you know a herbalists life and you'll tip them better.", thinking of his mother.
Meneas shrugs, spreading gauntleted hands. "I'll be fine. Irritating little plants, though. I wonder if Bokken will be able to handle them if you plant him his vineyard." He moves back to Veil, rubbing her down before mounting up once more. "Do you all want to bring these back directly, or continue exploring northwards and circle back towards Oleg's and Bokken's once we cross the Thorn again?"
Lina stands up straighter, frowning, as she sees the others gather their last batch of berries with considerably more alacrity and hurry out of the brambles. They don’t seem to be pursued by anything, so her bow stays at her side, and she smiles a bit as she catches Morof’s comment once he’s worked his way clear.
She holds up and lightly shakes a translucent vial of slightly yellowish fluid in her other hand, tiny bubbles indicating a slow reaction still in progress.
“I was going to complain that my fingers are all sticky -” and there is a decidedly pine-y aura about her, really “- but that seems a bit silly now. This still needs some more time to work a bit, but it should be helpful if we need to do anything like that again, in combination with Brental’s magic. But enough of that – are you quite sure you’re all alright? It would be no trouble.”
She looks the others over for signs of particularly uncomfortable bug bites or thorn lashings.
“Although, speaking of the toils of the herbalist’s life, didn’t we say we would try to bring Bokken a plant of his own? Would one of these do? We’ll probably have to move quickly anyway. Berries tend not to travel all that well,” she adds, taking another look at the younger plants at the edge of the brake. They’ll produce fewer canes until they get established, but hopefully they’ll also deal better with being transplanted – and bite less in the process.
Brental laughs as the trio emerge from the brambles. Only minor injuries and no unnecessary death seemed like the best outcome possible! He grabs a handful of berries from his own stash to offer to Meneas, grinning.
"Well that went better than the last time we were surrounded by spiders," he muses. It was nice to be prepared for peaceable dealings instead of defaulting to violence. Lina seems bent on some sort of alchemical solution as well: he'll have to ask about that more later.
Brental looks at the gathered berries and considers some spells he may be able to prepare of his own.
"Morof: you mentioned that you might be able to start a vineyard of these nearer to Bokken. I may be able to prepare a spell on the morrow to encourage some growth, but do you think we have enough here to start, even without magic? Or do we need some vines and roots?"
"Given that, I'm happy to travel back. No sense in letting them go bad with no clear way to preserve them."
"Perhaps this time we can cross the Thorn in relative shallows near Kressle's camp." Meneas suggests dryly. "Or we could try the bridge where we met that moron again. Not sure it'll still be up, though, given how bad it was before."
"That's a fair point. Let's head a bit to the north to move towards Kressle's old camp."
“We could always try to fit together a raft, at some point,” Lina shrugs, as she returns to her improbable bags to rummage for a pot for a fangberry plant. I hope no one wants stew for dinner tonight. “After we visit Bokken, and next time we find ourselves heading downriver. I gather there are spells for that, though they’re not in the traditions that I dabble in.”
“Oh, for a proper boat of my own!” she sighs, producing her improvised transplantation pot with a flourish. “One day, one day. I’d be happy to ferry us back and forth with the little coracle I’ve got, but I don’t think Vod or Veil would be too keen, to say nothing of the ordinary horses.”
Heading north as quick as they can the group encounter surprisingly few issues as they rush back to Bokken with the berries and Lina's potted fangberry bush.
Once again approaching the caustic smelling hut the party is greeted by a resounding explosion followed by smoke erupting from the hut and a few moments latter a coughing soot-coveres Bokkon unharmed and wild-eyed as ever. The man sneezes and sputters a few time before laying eyes on the party again and sneering. "Who're you!? What do tou want with my land?! And... and!!!" He stomps the ground and points emphatically at Veil in an accusatory gesture. "And why is that horse so pretty?! I swear it sparkled... that just aint right, aint natural... only vampires do that." He mutters, trailing off into nothing as a blank expression begins to play out on his face.
"I would be happy to traverse some of these smaller rivers on a vessel! As for Vod, he's actually perfectly happy to swim. Might even prefer it."
The little mastodon flaps his ears in response.
"You can ride with us if you want."
More flapping. Brental grins.
"And with our recent acquisition of this bag, our primary need for horses is to speed our progress across this region rather than to carry equipment that we come across."
***
Brental is convinced that Bokken has probably taken his own hearing with his experiments, and possibly his mind as well. He wrinkles his nose as they approach the hut and are greeted with incredulity, but relaxes into a smile.
"Bokken, it's the four of us who visited with you yesterday. You asked for us to return with some fangberries in return for your potion services. We have a few buckets here."
Hopefully he remembers that, at least, or they may have their work cut out for them.
Meneas sighs inwardly. I wonder how long it's been since he had guests before we dropped by. Given his behavior...
"Veil is unique." He answers the half-deaf alchemist, raising his voice slightly so he is heard, before he looks aside to Morof. "How long is that likely tot take? Not that I object to doing it, per se, but..." A shrug. "There's plenty to do, after all. If I can be of help, I will, but I'm no farmer."
At the mention of time, Brental remembers a spell that could help Jumpstart the process, but he wouldn't be able to cast it until the next day. Instead he thinks of various tools slung in the packs on Vodnykel's back and recalls some of his parents' lessons. Even if he hadn't pursued farming, he still knew some techniques.
Lina grins at the reappearance of Bokken. Something about the odd fellow just pleases her immensely, although that may just be the reassurance that though she’s flighty and impractical, she’s not the person with the most tenuous grasp on reality around.
He stomps the ground and points emphatically at Veil in an accusatory gesture. "And why is that horse so pretty?! I swear it sparkled... that just aint right, aint natural... only vampires do that." He mutters, trailing off into nothing as a blank expression begins to play out on his face.
Meneas sighs inwardly. I wonder how long it's been since he had guests before we dropped by. Given his behavior...
"Veil is unique." He answers the half-deaf alchemist, raising his voice slightly so he is heard, before he looks aside to Morof. "How long is that likely tot take? Not that I object to doing it, per se, but..." A shrug. "There's plenty to do, after all. If I can be of help, I will, but I'm no farmer."
“Sir Meneas is a consummate knight,” she says seriously. “I’m sure he checks for fangs regularly.”
Setting aside the question of vampiric steeds, the witch considers the potted plant curiously, but with surprising fondness, for all its thorns. “If it’s like any of the other berries I know, it’s made of sterner stuff than it looks. Replanting it where it will get enough light, a good watering, and I think it will settle right in. If anything, in a few seasons you might be wishing it would settle down a bit.”
The demented alchemist's expression changes to one of absolute shock as he shouts out, "HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING?! I NEVER SAID NOTHING ABOUT NO VAMPIRES!" He stomps his foot which creaks so loudly upon impact it woeries you all that it may be broken bit he carries on as if it's fine.
"THE IMPROPRIETY OF YOUNG PEOPLE THESE DAYS ALWAYS READIN' MINDS WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A 'HOW YA DO?' IN MY DAY WE..." The elderly man gasps in delight and, with a sudden burst of manic energy, approaches the berries and scoops up a handful shoveling them into his mouth.
Red berry juice runs from his mouth when the man smiles at them with exhuberance. "OH YESH! THASHH THE THICKET!" He sputters through the mouthful of berries splattering some of which upon anyone unfortunate enough to be within spitting range.
Eventually whiping his mouth and hobbling over to inspect the plant the man continues. "HONESTLY FORGOT ABOUT YOU THE MOMENT YOU LEFT. WROTE YOU ALL OFF FOR DEAD I DID. BUT WELL, THAT'S WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN THINK TO WRITE YOUR OLD GRANDPA." He snickers and begins nibbling one of the leaves. "BUT OLD MAN BOKKEN HASN'T FORGOT HIS PROMISE NO SIR NO SIR! FOUR POTIONS OF YOUR LIKING FOR THE BERRIES JUST DON'T DRINK THEM ALL AT ONCE! OH... AND YOU'RE NOT ALLERGIC TO SKUNK-FISH ARE YA? NEVERMIND I'M SURE IT'S FINE!"
With that the man opens up his clinking satchel and reveals several types of potions, each smellier than the last. He introduces them to you as Moderate Healing Potions, Blur Potions, Reduce Person Potions, Enlarge Person Potions, Shield of Faith Potions, and Lesser Restoration Potions and lets you know you can each choose one.
"Yes, I file my fangs away every day." Meneas nods agreeably. "Just to make sure they don't start troubling me." After a moment, he adds. "But I confess, if Veil is a vampire, she has not told me of it. Perhaps she's keeping it a surprise for me when the time comes."
He looks to the others, a soft puff of laughter emerging from beneath his hood. "I, for one, wouldn't want those growing in my garden. A little bit too risky for me."
"I always wondered about the hood," Brental quips back with his own laugh, avoiding the spittle of berry juice with a quick sidestep. "Must be good for avoiding that pesky sun."
Brental looks at the potions and selects one of the Potions of Lesser Restoration. He then offers his thoughts on the planting.
"I can search out a good place nearby where we can plant this bush. I am also happy to offer some tips on its proper cultivation so that it will provide fruit for many years to come." He adds, for Meneas' sake, "And it won't take long."
Bokken had made jokes about dying soon, but if his own experiments hadn't killed him yet, then Brental was sure that he would live to a venerable age out of spite.
“That does look promising,” Lina says with a nod, echoing Brental’s choice of potion, holding another vial up to the light. Skunk-fish. Why am I sure I don’t want to know? She indulges in a few moments of scorn for the animal kingdom, though she has to admit that there are some fairly rank flowers in the world as well.
Lowering the potion, she redirects her gaze over the low, gently rolling hills beyond Bokken’s hut for a promising spot for his fangberries.
After assisting the crazy old man with planting the berry bush near his 'property' if such ramshackle accommodations can so be called, the party say their goodbye's to Old Man Bokken and head out to the Trading Post. There Svetlana greets them with her usual zeal and offers them to try some of Oleg's famous blood sausages he's just finishing cooking up. There hasn't been any return on mail just yet but that is to be expected as it has only been a day since the letters were initially sent out.
Otherwise Vlad seems to be progressing well with his training with Kesten and the Levetons even offer the young ex-bandit a seat at the table as lunch is served. He still doesn't dare make eye-contact with any of the adventurers though.
Kesten asks for a progress report from the the party while Jhod continues to hassle them about finding his bear and putting it out of its misery.
The time is only mid-afternoon and the adventurers still feel they have some pluck in them should they wish to continue on with the day. Or they can rest here.
The choice is theirs.
Upon their return to the Trade Post, and once all the greetings are handled, Meneas waves Jhod away exasperatedly, gives Kesten a brief summary of the events since they'd last left, and dismounts to tend to Veil.
Finally, he looks to the others. "We should probably try to get some more exploring done today. Maybe we should head northwest, before swinging west past the Thorn? Or we could circumvent the Thorn entirely. Either way, I'd like to get that forest explored. The fact that our fey friends were lurking nearby makes me think that there might be some First World influence there."
Brental is sure to avoid any mention of Davik Nettles during the report, but otherwise enjoys another brief moment of respite. He notes Vlad's lack of eye contact, and privately asks Oleg later if he can take down and bury the bodies of his erstwhile slain companions.
With his companions, he agrees to head into the forest straight away.
Oleg readily agrees woth Brental as, he confesses, the bodies have begun to really stink and he feels that the message has been sent. Besides, Svetlana thought they were 'dreadful' anyways so might as well take care of it now while he has help.
Lina’s grateful for a bit of a break at the trading post – she doesn’t think she’ll ever quite get the hang of really enjoying riding – and makes the best of lunch. She’s not entirely sold on the concept of blood sausages, especially after the conversation they’ve just had with Bokken, but she’s willing to give them a chance, though part of her wonders whether a broth of some sort would be an easier way of doing it. Maybe blood soup is too vampire-y, though.
With the others, she pores over Brental’s current maps of the region, happy to be headed back into the woods, and especially, “There. Let’s get that corner out of the way. It’s one end of the forest covered by our charter, and who knows, we might even find the headwaters of the Thorn!”
The band of adventurers say their goodbyes to the people of Oleg's Trading Post and head out, once again, into the wilds.
After only a few hours on horseback, roaming over the scattered hills dotted about the land, the sun is starting to hang low and it is not long after that the verdant green edge of the Narlmarches can be seen not too far off in the distance.
A few minutes later and the gang disappear into the looming forest around them. Evening birds trill their solemn songs and the sound of crickets fills the air as they delve deeper into the forest growing louder and louder until... hey, wait a minute, do you recognizer that chirping?
Glancing about them in all directions the adventurers suddenly take sight of a small elf-like woman with white hair and tiny horns leaping and dancing around the adventurers on her cricket-like lower body hand-in-claw with a tiny blue dragon with the most vibrant of wings, like that of a butterfly. A cheerful jig plays out as the cricket-elf, no larger than a house cat, rubs her hind legs together. The tiny dragon has a trail of glittering dust trailing him as he bounds along joyously to the music.
A small raspy yet squeaky voice chimes excitedly in each of the adventurers minds directly as the dance comes to an end and the creatures bow whilst giggling.
The small lady covers her mouth masking a giggle as she chirps.
A raspy gasp is audible in your minds as the tiny dragon flips backward in the air then proceeds to flutter about you searchingly.
The critter flits on over to Veil and gives her a quick smooch between the ears.
The creature with the torso of a nude elven woman simply shrugs and bounds gracefully along on her insectoid lower body hoping mischievously around at Morof's horse's feet hoping to make him nervous of flattening the small creature though she always manages to gracefully avoid the falling hooves with apparent ease.
Meneas sighs inwardly as the fey arrive to greet the party. Well, at least they're not hostile. He answers their question, nevertheless.
He gently pats Veil's neck, watching the pair from beneath his cowl.
Brental is happy to find the friendly fey instead of one of the area's more surly denizens. He also appreciates their rhyming scheme in their own tongue, and only wishes he had enough of a grasp on the language to return with his own rhymes. But he had other things to focus on. Let Morof introduce himself, hopefully not perturbed by the sudden appearance of these creatures.
Brental tries to make something rhyme, but fails awfully.
Lina beams as Tyg and Peri put in a new appearance, though her expression softens and fades as their banter turns on the reshuffling of the group. Something of her smile remains, though tinged by fear and loss.
Strangely, despite the sombre mood the fairies’ questions inspire, their antics also draw the witch’s words out in a wistful sing-song.
More than mites to seek at old Sycamore:
Came we there, and nothing daunted,
Over unseelie wight and vermin vaunted,
Foe laid low and paean chaunted,
When came a shadow, flying, seeking,
Stygian raptor, crying, shrieking,
Raven-formed, ruse new-fledged to catch,
To claw, two friends to snatch,
Angel of a fate beyond our dreaming,
Tearing a door in the world’s seeming,
To that First World unknown to mortals,
Though we may stumble through its portals,
Where two may come and one may go:
Who to, who from, the Eldest know.”
She glosses over the details of precisely when and how Morof joined them, letting him tell his own story. Her voice falls into its normal rhythms as she concentrates on not getting swept back up into things out of her control for now,
|
|
Morof, realizing that the others know these creatures that he gathers as being fey, takes a while to understand what is being said. He remembers, when he studied Sylvan that this language is culturally different in many ways to the Common tongue, but some expressions can still be traced to ancient elven, or vice-versa.
He speaks in a defensive tone.
"My name is Morof, my mother is Theresa Tarci. I come from the north. Why don't you introduce yourselves, lest you seem.... falsey?"
It was at this moment that Morof knew he would never be a rime performer.
The fey creatures gasp at the mention of the crow and huddle closely togethershivering in apparent fear.
Holding her dear friend tight Tyg stammers.
The raspy voice echoes through the party's minds again.
The fey woman hangs her head and nods.
With this the fey bow before the half-elf.
|
|
Morof looks horrified at the implications of a terrible fate of those dragged by a mystical crow. He thinks of the words "true divinity" and wonders what it means.
Morof chuckles at the fey's response to his awkward introduction and replies to them.
"I'm pleased to meet you. I do, in fact, dance, but never in front of others. Only the gods will every laugh at my moves... Well, someone invisible might see me too."
He winks at Tyg as if he's telling a secret.
Well rotting earth. Tyg and Peri certainly knew of the cursed nightmare rook, and it sounded like an even worse problem than Brental anticipated. He sighs heavily. A master and a god. He didn't want to mess with such power. Some gods were distant, working through their chosen avatars, while others were more direct in their meddling. This seemed like the latter.
Meneas sighs softly, flexing his fingers. Divinity? No true gods rule over the First World, but there are the Eldest... He looks on in interest to hear the answer to Brental's questions.
Peri flutters up high and spins about joyously.
The knight sweeps a bow from atop of Veil. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have killed an innocent hunter for this, but we may have to extricate him or her or them from some sort of sticky situation if they're just trying to survive out here... Meneas flexes his fingers.
Lina didn’t know that fey often concern themselves with matters of the gods, except insofar as their highest lords and ladies come to more or less the same thing, but either way it’s clear that the adventurers have stumbled upon something terribly dangerous and that the two fairies in question don’t want to talk about, so she takes the hint and lets Brental change the subject.
That doesn’t mean that she isn’t trying to think on her own of what sort of power she needs to watch out for and hope not to offend further. Something dark and birdy? Meneas might know, since he follows one of the Eldest, but the only one that she knows anything about, really, is the Green Mother, and that’s only because of her time in Daggermark and her appreciation for said Eldest’s particular aesthetic. Even within the category of the just too damn weird that the fey gods generally fall into, even by Lina’s standards, the sheer malevolence of the Feasting Flower is not something that Lina finds compelling.
The news of a reckless hunter is another matter.
Tyg hums along an answer to Meneas' question in her sing-song voice.
Peri adds on.
Peri chuckles and hovers about.
I suppose that answers that question... Not exactly a person we would want in the Greenbelt.
Meneas turns his hooded gaze to the other three, his fingers flexing. I hope we can handle this. Bear traps and pit traps can't be too hard, if we see them. The others, well... maybe we can trigger them without getting hurt if we see them?
Brental gives a polite bow to Tyg and Peri before taking his leave with his colleagues and looking for the traps in the vicinity, much less the hunter who set them. Although he isn't necessarily confident in undoing the traps any way other than trying to safely trigger them, he commits to helping however he can.
Morof has great success in spotting the many traps scattered throughout the woodland region of which their are many... a great many... too many. Scores of dead and dying animals are found within he jaws of already triggered traps designed to inflict maximum pain. The mites could have learned a thing or two from the man who designed these traps.
In a few hours you've found most of the traps but the sun has finally set.
Peri bows before you gratefully for your work and rasps.
Tyg giggles and leaps beside her companion.
Lina sets to work with the others, keeping an eye peeled for suspicious disturbances that could mark a trap in the areas Tyg and Peri have indicated. She keeps her long spear in hand, using its haft to poke dubiously into bushes and unsteady accumulations of stones from a safer distance. At least, that's the idea.
In actuality, it's a good thing she does, because it soon becomes painfully obvious that she belongs on the rivers she grew up on or, at best, carefully gathering individual plants rather than trying to read the forest at large. The optimistic way of looking at it is that green things love her. More cynically, that is especially true in the sense that stumbling roots and pricking thorns would happily swallow her up outright. In hindsight, all sorts of disasters were clearly averted by her not trying to enter the depths of the thicket while gathering Bokken's fangberries.
By the end, when her faerie friends call everyone together again, Lina's looking, charitably, perhaps a bit like a particularly bedraggled and bruised dryad, all leaves in her hair, dust on her cheek, and weariness in her bones.