As Morof releases the first wolf from its cage with his mystically conjured hand it bursts forth almost faster than the eye can see and begins tearing ravenously into the dead rabbit before it, flinging the thing around and ripping it to absolute shreds.
Each wolf released comes out much the same.
Once they've rather swiftly finished with their meals the wolves gather up and turn towards Brental staring him down with bestial eyes. As one they lift their snouts towards the sky and howl a hauntingly high note and depart into the woods, in the direction of the bandits.
“That was brilliant!” Lina enthuses as the bandits run off, horrified by Brental’s display, before nodding at Meneas’ words and going back to retrieve her own horse.
She mounts up again, easing out of the persona she assumed, her tone levelling as she gets just a bit more serious. “Let’s hope they lead us all the way. If nothing else, I’d hate for them to think I’m all that silly.”
When the wolves set off with their unearthly howl, she feels a surge of some strange atavistic impulse to lean into the wind and ride the bandits down in a wild hunt. Something sings in her blood that quiets her outwardly as she listens, keeping an eye on the path ahead.
At last, Brental breathes a sigh of relief. As he said, they weren't done yet. But at least it appeared that the difficult part was done.
It appeared that balance had been achieved. Good.
The druid nods at Morof and Lina. "You played the parts well! Lina, I think you bought us enough time to manage a bit of communication with the wolves. And Morof: I'm trying to learn and listen after being nearly devoured by spiders. Well done. Now I just wonder: are they chasing the bandits out of misplaced loyalty, or hungry vengeance? Meneas, your sword may taste blood yet."
Before he goes to find his horse, Brental walks over to Vodnykel, still standing behind a bush and looking a little bit shaken.
"I'm sorry about that, my friend," he says, touching the mastodon's trunk tenderly. "They're not all bad."
After his companion seems calm, Brental mounts up on his horse and looks wickedly at the others. "Yes, let's follow the tracks."
|
Morof places his hand on Brental's shoulder and says "You know, a lot of people say that nature is chaotic, but sometimes... Sometimes I feel that nature understands justice. I think they're after the men for revenge."
He tries helping Brental.
Sadly, he is too distracted with the soothing sound of the leaves.
The band of adventurers mount up and head east in the direction that the bandits and wolves took off. The trail through the trees is familiar and foreign all at once. They've never been here before that much is certain but the landscape has begun to look so similar to what you've been trekking through for over a day now it's easy to feel as though you're going nowhere.
his proves not to be he case however as soon enough barking, snarling and blood-curdling screams can be heard in the distance. Hurrying onwards the sounds you come across a grim sight. Three of the bandits are dead, ripped to shreds by the pack of feral wolves which now gathers around he sole surviving bandit. The bloodied bandit leader has his back pressed against the tree and his sword drawn warding off the slowing encroaching wolves who are wet with gore and snarling viciously as they advance.
The bandit barely manages to catch you ou of the corner of his eye and immediately begins a desperate cry for aid. "HELP! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF PHARASMA HELP ME! THEY'LL EAT ME! YOU SEE THE HUNGER IN THEIR EYES!"
Meneas looks down at the bandit, shrugging slightly. "Yes. What's your point?" He flexes his fingers. "We don't especially care for you. You're not welcome in these lands any more. Risking our lives and limbs to save you from the consequences of your own actions... why would we?"
He turns to the others, disregarding the surviving bandit. "While I don't especially fancy letting wolves know that people can be food, I don't really see a way to prevent them from eating once this idiot's dead."
"I purchased their freedom. What they do with it is their business," Brental says coldly, echoing Meneas. He has the spells, but no interest in intervening.
Brental barely even cares about retrieving his bag of gold. But he's willing to return for it after the wolves are done.
The druid stays atop his horse, fully aligned with Meneas in this moment.
Lina reins in sharply as the chase comes to an end, in a way that makes her rather uncomfortable. It’s hardly that she hasn’t got a vindictive streak a mile and a half long: a clever trap or ambush? Perfect! A showy duel with lots of flashing swords? Dreamy! Even, riding a felonious caitiff down at speed? Thrilling!
Watching something desperate at bay? Not so much.
The others seem unconcerned, though.
<“You didn’t ask for this, right?”> she asks Brental, remembering to speak in her sing-song Sylvan rather than Elven, for Meneas’ benefit. Unfortunately, she doesn’t speak Wolf.
Not that it matters, really, she thinks, as she remembers how the wolves have been mistreated, that they were almost set on her for the crime of being friendly to strangers in the wood, and as she considers that it’s a fool that gets between a hungry wolf and its prey unless it’s something one really wants to save. As it is, while she can’t help but think it’s a bit of a waste, she figures this is really between the wolves and their former tormentor.
If he were a smarter man than he seems to have turned out, he would have climbed a tree while the wolves were busy with his friends. “Just a squirrel after all,” she says in Common, her Elven accent sharpening in her stress and displeasure. “Not very interesting.”
She turns her horse around, and hopes she won’t have nightmares later.
<"No, no. I was unable to speak to the wolves without the magic I used earlier. We just came to a mutual understanding that we would not harm each other.">
It was a difficult thing to explain. It was neither magical nor linguistic, but instead a way of reading physical movements and syncing up his own. Lots of eye contact, triadic shifts to ensure attention and intention, and most importantly patience. It didn't always work, but Brental was getting better.
Brental can tell that Lina is uncomfortable. He was initially interested in staying to ensure that the wolves were unharmed in their vengeance hunt, but on second thought they seemed to be handling themselves just fine. He turns his horse to follow after her. He would come back for the gold later, if it was convenient. He doubted there would be much left to bury by that point.
|
|
Although Morof feels sorry for the man, he internally retreats to the discussions on morality he had with his mentor. He remembers there were many books about it, but voicing his concerns has always been more engaging than the thoughts of a scholar from 10000 years ago when giants were enslaved.
He does remember a very particular discussion about a Varisian shaman who gave a seminar in Absalom. He claimed that justicars of the so-called civilized world would consider themselves just when they would hang a pauper for stealing an aristocrat's bread to feed his family, and would dismiss the crime of a noble forcing himself on a farmer's daughter. The shaman claimed that the "savage" ways of an eye for an eye was indeed much closer to justice. It is a scary way of living, but maybe people should be scared of retaliation.
Morof's eyes water as he remembers the injustices his mother suffered, being bullied for being different, and then her asking him to pay it no mind, that she was fine. He starts to see this man as the representation of everything wrong with sentient humanoids and just says "He brought this on himself." not bothering to address the man. He turns his back to the carnage that is about to happen and rides away.
The band of adventurers turn their backs on the man and ride out into the forest once more before they can even hear the end of it. After a short while the desperate pleas for help fade into the distance and are replaced with the sounds of birds chirping, insects buzzing, and squirrels darting playfully through the treetops.
Darkness is beginning to descend now but the band of adventurers feel they have a little more left in them before calling it a night.
Meneas casts a glance at the deceased bandits. Hopefully, this doesn't come back to bite us - literally or figuratively. When animals know that people can be food, they might start hunting our sick or our young...
Brental is too ill at ease to really write effectively about what he's seeing and experiencing, but he dutifully drafts up a map during the dusky travel. It would be good to rest soon. They had earned it this day.
A particularly wicked curse crosses Lina's mind as the group rides away, though she doesn’t express it. The silly bandit isn’t worth it, and besides, she doesn’t have the magical skill (yet) to actually make it stick.
Putting a bit more distance between them and the luckless wretches seems like a good idea, though, and Lina urges her mount on that little bit faster.
Making their way throigh the forest at a leisurely pace the party continue setting about the exploration of the Stolen lands.
All is well until Morof perks up insisting that he hears someone screaming in the distance. Now galloping at a steady pace the trees give way here and the party can see the sorce of the noise. A small caravan is being attacked by a massive bat-like creature which is upturning carts, threatening to pick up civilians, and otherwise screaming and making a general nuisance of itself.
Meneas bolts into action and fires a warning shot at the beast not inches from its pig-like snout. With one last terrifying shriek the creature drops the small child it had managed to pick up and flaps off into the night.
Reacting swiftly, Lina dives and just manages to catch the infant before she hits the ground.
There is much thanks offered to the party for their assistance as the travellers explain that they are from Numeria and were attempting to head south through the Stolen Lands in order to evade their pursuers in the Technic League.
The caravan leader offers the party 50 gold for their assistance along with their thanks and then assists his people with making ready to move out once again.
The hooded knight bows his head in acknowledgement of their thanks, but doesn't reply verbally.
"Numerians..." Meneas muses once they have left.. "Not exactly surprising in these lands, but still, hopefully this Technic League won't be troubling us. We've enough problems without them."
After the party swoops into action to save the caravan, Brental listens curiously to the stories of the travelers. Despite the proximity of Brevoy and the River Kingdoms to Numeria, Brental had tried to avoid those radiation-scorched, alien lands as much as possible. He and his mentors had preferred the relative safety of the northern River Kingdoms far more during the small handful of trips he had taken out towards Ustalav and Nirthmathas.
Brental doesn't want to press about their reasons for fleeing the Technic League--bad news from the sound of it with little time to spare--but he does try to make some polite conversation.
"Where do you intend to go?"
He also warns them about local bandits. "As you continue to ride, please be careful. These lands have been having difficulties with a pernicious breed of organized banditry. We're not sure where they are based, but I would hate to see you fall prey to their machinations. Besides, it is late. Why not make camp for the night? We can ensure that each other stay safe, share provisions, and part ways in the morning."
The crying child's tears are swiftly exchanged for laughter and amusment as Morof entertains the toddler with cantrips.
|
|
After remembering some things he once read, Morof does not bring up the Technic League's name again, to avoid any hurt feelings. He says "That's a great idea, Brental. We've walking for a while now, a rest wouldn't hurt. And if anyone would try to bother us, they'd be in for a surprise."
When they're alone, Morof comments to the others "If what they say is true and they're running from the Technic League, they are likely escaped slaves. This league is a group of criminals with too little scrupulous and too much power. I'm sure these people have gone through a lot. Let us try to be sensitive."
Lina’s very happy that she was able to catch the infant, but also to see her safely into the arms of her parents and soothed by Morof’s magic. She has decades of remembered scrapes involving herself and her siblings to set before her mind’s eye about the sort of trouble an adventurous youngster can get into, and one can’t really reason with a toddler like one can with a teenager. Even if with non-elves one’s not counting into the -teens of tens.
She does agree with the others’ offer, though, her eyebrows lifting at Morof’s quiet explanation as the caravan gathers its scattered supplies and considers setting off again. She suggests to the refugees, tentatively, that they might want to follow the rivers (what else, being the person she is?), though she admits that she’s not sure what else they might find along the Skunk before it joins up with the Shrike. Even if they prefer to cut cross-country, she guesses Mivon is the closest thing to civilization they’ll find on the right side of the Stolen Lands from their perspective.
“We’re headed back up north-east-ish,” she explains, “but it will be quite dark soon, and I’m sure you must be shaken by this evening’s chances, so we’d be happy to share a campfire and a watchful eye. And possibly some distraction?”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of putting you off your supper by my singing, but…” she produces her violin with a flourish, offering to do her best to take everyone’s minds – adventurers’ and refugees’ alike – off the troubles of the day once everyone’s settled in.
The refugees thank Lina for her offer but insist they must put as much distance between themselves and the League as possible as they are sure to have sent an elite group of trackers after them.
Saying their fond fairwells the caravan disappears into the night leaving the party to their own devices.
It was a shame, but Brental understands. He bids the travelers farewell. He wishes for a brief moment that he had prepared a spell to help them avoid trackers. After they leave, though, he excuses himself from the rest of the group and begins retracing their steps. After traveling out for a while, he then doubles back, deliberately obscuring their trail (along with his own). He picks up some twigs, berries, and other supplies. He then returns to the group to assist with remaining camp preparations.
Lina can’t help it: her face falls a bit, though she recovers quickly as she bids the travellers a heartfelt farewell. She earnestly hopes they can escape their pursuers without further difficulty. Once the adventurers have made themselves comfortable in their own camp, she plays to please herself anyway before the first watch, settling back into the more introspective modes that suit her best.
The night passes without incident for the travelers and they make themselves ready for the morning.
Heading out once again the gang follow the directions of the boggard and arrive at a bend in the Skunk River Several sandy islets create a ford across this remote section of the Skunk River. The sandy islands make for a natural choke point in the river, but the thick piles of rubble, branches, leaves, and dead bodies that partially block the
river’s flow are anything but natural.
Here they spy a long worm-like reptilian creature sunning itself on the center of the island surrounded by rubble.
Tatzlwyrms are more primeval than dragons in evolutionary terms. They branched off the family line millennia ago, and didn’t advance in the same ways. Undersized compared to their larger cousins, tatzlwyrms are ferocious in their own right. And while most other reptiles can’t compare to them mentally, tatzlwyrms are hardly impressive specimens when put beside their notorious relatives. Tatzlwyrms don’t possess a dragons’ raw capacity for intelligence and creativity. Although they understand Draconic, other languages are beyond most tatzlwyrms’ limited comprehension. Nevertheless,
tatzlwyrms are deeply cunning, building complex lairs and rudimentary traps.
Tatzlwyrms are quite rare, and only a few particularly curious and lucky adventurers can claim to have seen a living specimen. Reports do agree on some basic features, however. About the size of a full-grown human, discounting their tails, tatzlwyrms have only two limbs and no wings, and there are no reports of the classic draconic breath weapons, though tatzlwyrms do possess a weak poisonous breath. An adult tatzlwyrm is 6 to 8 feet long, its long, serpentine tail adding another 6 feet or so to its length, and weighs between 400 and 500 pounds. A tatzlwyrm’s scales give the creature limited camouflage, ranging through various shades of green, brown, and gray.
Most knowledge of these smaller dragons comes from folklore local to areas with active nests. Peasants use tatzlwyrms as a sort of bogeyman, an excuse used any time a villager goes missing—“the tatzlwyrms took ‘em!” Often, when hunters fail to nab their quarries, tatzlwyrms become the scapegoats—“I would have had that elk, but a tatzlwyrm grabbed him before I could take my shot.” Some of these stories probably do have merit, however; tatzlwyrms are notoriously vicious, particularly to any creatures invading their territories, and those on the wrong end of their bites rarely survive.
Some musical catharsis and a good night’s sleep do wonders for Lina’s mood, and she rises having shaken off, to all appearances, the events of the previous afternoon. She leans forward in the saddle eagerly, wondering what the new day will bring.
Lizards, it seems. Or something like. The witch's indifference to the animal kingdom doesn't do her any favours, but this particular sort of creature is interesting to her for other reasons.
"Did you say Oleg wants a tatzlwyrm? Because here we are," she declares, from a safe distance. "Do you think it will be worth it? They're vicious and relatively cunning, for brutes, though we should be alright if we keep a wide berth. But they are venomous."
Only Lina (or, in fairness, most of the guild in Daggermark) would add the last as if that were a second thought against the importance of staying far away.
The thought of capturing poisonous breath is an intriguing technical challenge. Probably would involve removing and sealing glands quickly before adding a stable solvent that is nonetheless extremely volatile in air. Quintessence of aqua vitae, the voice of the Guildmistress lilts in her memory, You do remember what our sister guild says, hmm? About being the Vessel Between?
|
|
Morof comments "Well, tatzlwyrms are known to disrupt local communities. They understand Draconic, but I don't think we should try reasoning with it, it's very territorial. Brental, don't you have magic that protects us from poison?" Morof has read that druids and clerics do have access to magic that protects against poison.
Meneas looks at the tatzlwyrm from beneath his hood with something approaching disgust. "I thought dragons are supposed to be majestic? Certainly the Rogavaria heraldry loved worshipping dragons..." He shakes his head with a sigh. "I bow to your superior knowledge in this matter, Morof, Lina. That said, I'm not sure Oleg would appreciate us coming across one and just... leaving it be." He sounds amused at the thought.
2nd: invigorating poison, lesser restoration
1st: cure light wounds, entangle, and shillelagh
Orisons: create water, detect magic, grasp, guidance
No direbat revenge overnight? That was a blessing, even if Brental half-expected it. In the morning during his meditations, he prepares for tangles with tatzlwyrms and brawls with boars based on Garuum's directions and Lina's prior information about the small dragonlets. Poison is foremost in his mind, and so when Morof asks about it Brental is prepared with an answer.
"Direct protection is challenging. I can protect against incidental exposure or delay the effects for a couple of hours. But in preparation for this, the earth gave me something a bit different. I can ensure that one of us is instead invigorated by the poison--whoever thinks that they are most likely to be affected."
Given his tendencies, Brental imagines himself as a viable recipient of the spell, but he can give it to anyone.
It still feels strange accepting multiple hunting commissions, especially of intelligent beasts, but Brental has satisfied himself in the endeavor by recognizing that they have been disruptive. He's not hunting them to extinction, but rather culling what is harmful to the community he is now a part of.
"Let's proceed with caution."
The party slowly approach the serpentine creature until it's beady red eyes snap open and the beast lets out a horrifying hiss as it begins to snake itself forward towards the adventurers, mouth agape.
The tatzlwyrm hisses in a rage as the web of color Morof casts out descends on it. The beast appears ravenous, hungry, and ready to strike until... it starts bobbing back and forth as if mesmerized by the half-elf's magic. It halts in its tracks seemingly unable to overcome the fascinating array of colors before it.
"Well done, Morof! You really are quite something." Meneas lowers his lance, spurring Veil forwards. Taking advantage of its distracted state, he aims carefully for what he thinks are its most vital organs, driving the lance home to strike.
"Direct protection is challenging. I can protect against incidental exposure or delay the effects for a couple of hours. But in preparation for this, the earth gave me something a bit different. I can ensure that one of us is instead invigorated by the poison--whoever thinks that they are most likely to be affected."
“Oh, that is interesting!” Lina says. Unlike some of her former colleagues, she’s not the sort to take it as a slight to the profession, and indeed, wonders if it’s a trick she could learn one day. For now, though, she follows on foot behind Meneas, racing along with her long spear ready to offer additional support in off-balancing the beast.
“I’ll try to keep it beyond arm’s length!” she calls lightly over her shoulder, thinking to save Brental his spell, if possible. As the wyrm snaps out of Morof’s spell when Meneas thunders past with a heavy thrust, its head turning to follow the knight, she steps in to exploit the opening.
Morof continues to amaze with his dazzling bag of tricks. Brental smiles to see their little group beginning to work more tactically with each other. He nods at Vodynykel and murmurs the order to surround the tatzlwyrm. Mastodon and druid both pick up and cross the makeshift dam with alacrity, speeding to end the threat before it poses much of one.
Before the monster has a chance to react Meneas' charge tears through a good portion of the creature's scally hide snapping it out of it's trance with a savage roar of pain. As it spins to face the cavalier, however, Lina scales the rubble and pierces between its shoulders producing a fresh goat of blood.
Already hobbled by the attacks of Meneas and Lina the tatzlwyrm stands no chance to defend itself against the blitz by Brental and his steadfast companion. Vodnykel tears into its exposed flank with his fierce tusks, ivory rending flesh and snapping bone, when Brental's scimitar comes down in a flash of brilliance decapitating the creature.
As its head cascades through the air and its elongated body slumps to the floor the party is suprised to hear another his from beneath the rubble as a second wyrm bursts through the debris in a furt and burries its fangs deep in Lina's shoulder whilst wrapping it's muscular bulk around her tightly.
Lina’s about to congratulate herself and all the others on a well-executed attack, when her footing gives way and something else wraps around and bites her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! she rebukes herself. Nothing to say there wasn’t another one hiding nearby!
She rocks about on her feet, unbalanced and trying to use the shaft of her spear to gain the leverage to break free…
Using her spear as leverage is a good idea and Lina can feel the beast struggle to maintain its hold on her but hold it does, straining its muscles against her attempts at escape.
|
|
Morof's eyes widen as another wyrm pops out, revealing there to be a couple. He starts to wonder if there is a nest with eggs nearby, but he wriggles out of fantasy and fumbles in his materials pouch. Just as he finds the ground mica he intended to use, he realizes that it'd be dangerous to try to blind the creature with glitter while it's grappling with Lina. The half-elf is afraid to blind Lina as well.
Instead, he says some dark arcane words and shoots a black ray at the wyrm.
The ray of necrotic energy blasts into the tatzlwyrm and sucks the strength from its body. Lina can begin to feel the creature's muscles relent.
Brental feels a moment of victory before a second tatzlwyrm emerges and latches on to Lina. Morof springs into action with a well-placed spell, and Brental nods at Vodnykel to shuffle down the dam with him, hopefully allowing Meneas the opportunity to charge in again. They are careful not to hit Lina.
In a flurry of movement there is a great ripping and tearing of the creature that has bound Lina in its clutches and soon the beast is no more.
Lina stands absolutely soaked in gore but not terribly wounded, surrounded by meaty chunks of what was once a mighty demi-dragon.
Brental huffs as he severs the head of a second tatzlwyrm. Would Oleg pay for two heads, he wondered? Or maybe they could find another buyer. It seems a shame to have slain two of these rare creatures for no reason. Brental prays that they're not endangered. The second one was brought down as much by instinct, as it had coiled around his friend.
Friend...yes, that sounded right. They had been allies and companions, but Brental was beginning to trust these people more. They could be friends. He thinks they are.
"Is everyone okay?" he says, wiping his blade off on his pants. "Lina, I can take a look at that wound."
Brental knows that Lina will likely want to harvest the poison, and perhaps other parts, from their draconic quarries. But as long as she is still enough to allow him to tend to her wounds--more to let the poultices prepare and set than anything else--then they should be able to do both at the same time.
Brental grabs a variety of tools and, given Lina's consent, begins stitching the wound closed. "Magic is wonderful, but I have found that the occasional mundane work is still useful, especially early in the day when we still anticipate further danger. We can always clean this up to avoid scarring with a bit of magic later."
Meneas turns Veil back, just in time to see the others finish off the tatzlwyrm. "Apologies - I think she caught scent or sight of something, and got a little reluctant to turn."
"I think we work rather well together, don't you?" He asks dryly. "Perhaps we should continue doing so, no?" There's a smile in his voice, and possibly on his face. "Maybe even go exploring this Greenbelt area together." The knight gestures at the forests beyond. "I'm sure we'll be able to handle anything it can throw at us."
Growing serious, he continues. "If Lina feels up to it, we should go onwards. There's yet more to explore, and I think we should start swinging eastwards, back towards Oleg's. There's still a fair amount of unexplored land between us and it."