Lina is a bit confused, as she often is when it comes to normal sorts of feelings. She can’t quite figure out why Tiressia thinks it’s her fault that her consort was mauled, but the dryad is in more than enough distress to distract the witch from her morbid interest in what a scythe tree might be like, and whether its leaves might be useful for various sorts of magic.
At any rate, she manages to keep the curiosity off her face. It would be terribly insensitive otherwise, and Lina likes to think she isn’t that.
“It’s as Signy says,” she nods and offers, “The woods have granted me some healing today. I could only do it the once until after I can refresh my spells and perform the appropriate rites, but before we go hunting this terrible tree, I’d be happy to do what I can to do what I can for your Falchos’ wounds.”
Brental raises a brow at Tiressia's show but nods along with Signy and Lina's explanation.
"Yes--we can help Falchos if you can tell us where to find him. And then we aim to help you deal with this scythe tree if you can tell us where it is."
The Hooded Knight nods in response to his friends' words. "Just so. You have our aid in this matter. We are, I must say, a rather competent bunch when it comes to mauling and violence against threats."
He looks down at the dryad, wondering at the display she's given them. Are all of her fellows so... emotional? A quiet giggle. One would think that a tree's guardian would have greater patience.
The mirth disappears swiftly. Scythe tree?
A scythe tree, on average, is 20 feet tall, but may reach or exceed heights of 30 feet. It weighs about 3,500 pounds and has a trunk diameter of 3 feet. Its bark is dark brown, shading darker as it nears the roots. What few leaves a scythe tree has are reddish-brown (and do not change color or fall out as the seasons change).
The branches of a scythe tree resemble wicked-curving scythes (this is where the tree gets its name). The scar that appears on the trunk is the tree’s mouth (it appears as a scar when closed). Scythe trees hate treants and dryads and attack both on sight (though a scythe tree usually only confronts a treant when it outnumbers it.)
It is highly resistant to piercing and bludgeoning attacks and is particularly vulnerable to fire.
Tiressia seems relieved then suddenly quite sheepish as she wipes away her tears. "Oh thank you all so much, you are too kind... Ummm... As for the location of Flachos well... To be honest he has been hiding in those bushes over ther waiting to spring to my aid should you have chosen to attack me but... Well, Falchos I think you can come out now, they seem friendly!"
Suddenly the foliage behind Lina shift as a mature well-built satyr emerges from behind. His barrel-chest and cutting abdominals covered in deep gashes as he more or less stumbles forward. Sweat drips from his brow as he clearly suffers from his wounds and his body wrestles with infection.
"So sorry for the deception," He chuckles deeply although his warm brown eyes are half closed from exhaustion. "You can't be too careful these days... No-harm, no-foul right?"
Tiressia frowns at the state of her companion and looks pleadingly to the others. "Please, heal his wounds, he has fought nobly in my defense and deserves a better fate than this. If you can heal him I'll be happy to point out the location of the scythe tree to you... Do you happen to have a map?"
Brental arches an eyebrow as Falchos emerges from the brush. "No harm indeed. It's good to make your acquaintance." His eyes drift down to the dashes. "Now let's take a look at those scars."
Brental retrieves a satchel from his shoulder and begins leading Falchos to a level clearing where he'll be able to do some healing. On the way, he blinks and pauses, then turns back. "I have quite a few maps of the area. While I'm helping Falchos, you're welcome to them." Lina, Meneas, and Signy all know where Brental keeps his maps--in one of the saddlebags on Vodnykel.
While Brental goes into medic mode with the satyr, Vod trots up to Tiressia and puts his trunk on her shoulder, patting as if to say "there, there." He had always been an empathetic soul.
The druid begins pulling items from the satchel much too large for the bag itself, including a fine wooden gurney that expands and contracts to the contours of Falchos' body for him to lie on while Brental gets to work. There are also vials of liquid aplenty, a glass lens that flickers with multihued lines as it passes over the fey's wounds, and a set of tiny needles and threads that seem to animate spontaneously.
Brental calls Lina and Signy over as well. Although Brental was confident in his healing prowess, their magics would likely soothe over any scars and get the satyr back up to full muster.
Lina startles a bit as Falchos appears, the idea of a scythe tree on the loose making her jumpy, not least because a moment’s reflection recalls that while in theory they could be negotiated with, in practice they are entirely creatures of malicious hunger, and that prefer dryad – and elf! – flesh above all, no less!
“Mm-hm,” she nods, belatedly moving to catch up with Brental. While the druid sets to work in a more ordinarily comprehensible manner, the witch takes a moment to circle – unthreateningly – around the satyr, her head tilted to one side as if listening for something in the distance, her arms fluttering out as if to get a rather cursory sense for the space around her. Like most any arcanist would tell you, some of the best magic is about trusting one’s own instincts and the connections they draw than hidebound rituals and symbolism, but there’s no harm in being polite, especially if it has its advantages, sometimes.
It's a bit tricky, with her thoughts always slipping back to the tree out there that would like nothing more than to sneak up on her and eat her, but Lina focuses on what she likes about the Narlmarches - the woods' generosity in supporting the folk that live there, the good hearts of fey like Tyg and Peri and Tiressia and Falchos - and the satyr's wounds begin to close over the cleansing salve Brental applies to them.
"There! I hope that helps! It's a pleasure to meet you two, though I would have rather that it were under happier circumstances," Lina concludes as she finishes off her weird magic, focusing on not letting the thought of the scythe tree get to her.
The spiteful part of her thinks that Corax should count himself lucky that he didn't run into that, and a slightly more generous part wonders how many warnings she would need to offer to make it fair, and not dangerously misleading, to offer a bounty on any other scythe trees lurking about apart from this one, if folks like Corax need to find trees that Lina and other Narlmarchers won't miss. Be prepared to hack and saw away, and apply a judicious amount of fire. It's a good thing Brental's got that sword, and between wands and prepared spells...
Lina's magical mending much swifter than Brental's mundane work, the latter of which is merely augmented by magic, but they demonstrate themselves a capable pair.
It's a stark contrast from the year prior. He was still setting up makeshift wards in any place that would carry one, like they had after slaying the Stag Lord, but they were better equipped to handle the challenges now.
As he works, he investigates the wounds. This was one of the benefits of mundane healing over magical. Magic was fast. You didn't usually need to understand the nature of the injury to undo it (although many supernatural healers still did). But the mundane required a clearer understanding of the body and its wound. The added benefit was that this was, in its own way, a study of the enemy they would face on the morrow. To know that these were the wounds of a scythe tree gave him ideas to prepare.
Once Falchos is more stable and on his way to a (hopefully) full recovery, Brental gets down to discussing strategy with the others.
"A tree is still a tree, whether it eats meat or not. Enough arrows or hammers might eventually fell one, but a blade will serve best, especially if it's augmented with flame." He taps the Salamander and looks with concern towards Meneas. "We can avoid that if needed, but it's something to consider."
The druid thinks for another moment and folds his hands together. "If we can track down the tree and sneak up on it, we may be able to handle it from a distance as well and keep us all safe. If you all would not mind, I can burn it to ash before it dares to close with us."
Lv3--Burning Entanglement, Quench
Lv2--Ashen Path, Flaming Sphere, Pale Flame
Lv1--Commune with Birds, Heightened Awareness, Tears to Wine, Tracking Mark
With a note that I can also cast spells while wild shaped thanks to my natural spell feat, just in case I want to be extra-dexterous, flying, or what have you.
Meneas looks at the satyr, shrugging. "You had your reasons for your choices, and it did us no harm." He looks to Brental with a sigh. "So long as you keep the fire well away from me, I will be fine. However, given that my only chopping weapons are reserved for getting up close, that will be the main weapon."
He swallows. "I agree that we should try getting rid of it from a distance at first."
Signy dismounts and does what she can to help Falchos as well.
When talk turns to handling the scythe tree, Signy brings up what she can contribute.
"I have some fire arrows." She checks her quiver for a quick count. "Seven of them total."
"A ring around, then, perhaps, to cut off any paths of escape. I'll give us all the ability to see through smoke, as I did earlier today, and trap the creature within a ring. Then we can sling what we can at it from a distance, pepper it with arrows and spells. Then if it tries to flee, we'll give pursuit to ensure that it troubles these woods no more."
Brental nods at Meneas. "My elemental preference is not for flame. Salazar's Order, while necessary, is not my own. And yet I must respect the power of fire, for good and ill."
He clicks his tongue and turns to Lina. "I don't suppose...do you think there's a way to seal the flames of my blade into the edge so that it retains its magic but it less burdensome to fight alongside? Some additional runes, perhaps, to focus the energy."
Tiressia and Falchos thank the party a great deal for their help and offer them a lovely little burrow to spend the night in and prepare for their journey tomorrow after they heal Falchos's wounds.
In the morning, the party finds that Tiressia has marked a location on the map Brental provided only a few hours south of their current location in the Narlmarches.
After breakfast and some pleasant goodbyes the pary make their way to where the dryad claims the location of the infamous scythe tree to be.
The sweet stench of decay hangs thick in this woodland clearing. Knotted branches of sickly trees line the perimeter, creating a thick canopy that blocks most of the sunlight and cloaks the hollow in shadow. Withered vegetation struggles to grow in ragged clumps among the multitude of bones strewn across the forest floor.
The scythe tree is nowhere to be seen however.
Signy looks around from where the party is located at the edge of the clearing, trying to figure out if the scythe tree would be hanging around in the clearing itself, or hiding amongst the other trees encircling the clearing.
"It seems like nobody's home. Anyone ever seen a tree like his before? Will we know it when we see it, or is it the kind of thing that will really blend in?"
Arriving at the marked location, Brental is not surprised to not see the tree immediately. It was mobile--there was little reason to expect that it would stay still in one place.
Brental felt connected to the woods today more than most days. The events of yesterday in particular had given him a sense of the pain of the Narlmarches. There was conflict, far more than the natural pattern of prey and predation. Deceit in the cause of destruction, stripping social bonds as much as flesh from bones. And yet this, too, was a cycle. It was impossible to purge harm from any area completely. It wasn't a reason not to try, but most druidic philosophy hewed towards a recognition that one could get lost in zeal. Brental had to watch himself that he didn't go on a crusade. If he sought to destroy every threat, he might begin seeking out threats where none existed, and perhaps become the cause of a new threat.
So this was the challenge: it was not that there was no place for something like a scythe tree in the world. But this one was causing problems, disrupting the plans that they had set out for this area. Brental would be judicious, but not zealous.
"It will blend in," Brental tells Signy. "That is how it attacks its prey."
The druid asks the others to take watch while he begins going through a series of spells. Then he settles down into a meditative stance amidst a circle of rocks and begins whistling.
The whistles loop into increasingly complex patterns, potentially recognizable to a mind attuned to rhythm and pitch as the makings of grammar. Over the course of a few minutes, the series of whistles and chirps seems to begin to echo as all of the birds within a mile begin responding. Agreement, disagreement, uncertainty, clarification, and finally consensus.
<"We're looking for a tall tree: 20-30 feet tall, 3 feet wide, dark brown, with reddish-brown leaves and branches that look like the curved blades of a logger and a scar on one side. If you have seen it, where is it now?">
As the answer comes, the druid clutches his mistletoe and begins a final series of incantations. His eyes dilate and vine patterns rise on his forehead and temples as he expands his perceptive abilities. Then he waves his hands over the rainwater collected in a nearby natural receptacle formed from a felled tree and the rocks and leaves around and within. The water darkens into wine, into which the druid dips his waterskin. He takes a long drink and then offers it to his companions. With the final elements of his incantation, the vine patterns near his eyes grow more elaborate as the druid focuses his vision to find the scythe tree. Now only the thickest trees in the forest would provide the scythe tree a chance of hiding.
Signy considers for a moment, and decides her questions isn't so dumb it would be embarrassing to ask.
"Do you know if it's smart? If it is, do you think it's evil? If it is, I should be able to pick it out from among all the other trees."
Figuring it can't hurt to start trying while she waits for a more expert opinion, Signy begins to concentrate on finding any evil auras close by. She turns to check to the right first.
It's certainly not a dumb question, and Brental responds accordingly. "It's intelligent in the same way that we are but does little with its intellect other than devise new and cruel methods to torment its food once it has secured meals. That should answer the other question as well. Scythe trees are inherently malevolent." The druid pauses, considering. He had always wondered this question but not thought to ask before. "What does evil feel like, or look like? What makes it different from other modes of being? An angel from a devil, an azata from a demon? I know the philosophical arguments, and the metaphysical ones, but when you do that...trick...of yours, what are you sensing?"
While he asks, Brental does as Signy does, scanning briefly in each cardinal direction.
"A ring around, then, perhaps, to cut off any paths of escape. I'll give us all the ability to see through smoke, as I did earlier today, and trap the creature within a ring. Then we can sling what we can at it from a distance, pepper it with arrows and spells. Then if it tries to flee, we'll give pursuit to ensure that it troubles these woods no more."
Brental nods at Meneas. "My elemental preference is not for flame. Salazar's Order, while necessary, is not my own. And yet I must respect the power of fire, for good and ill."
He clicks his tongue and turns to Lina. "I don't suppose...do you think there's a way to seal the flames of my blade into the edge so that it retains its magic but it less burdensome to fight alongside? Some additional runes, perhaps, to focus the energy."
“We can try to hold the line while you rain down fire, if we can find the wretched snag,” Lina agrees as talk turns to strategy, “but I’m afraid that, like Meneas, the best weapons and spells I have involve getting rather closer.”
She frowns for a moment. “Fire magic isn’t quite my thing either, and that extends to forging magical weapons. That said, I’m sure there’s a way…”
The witch’s eyes light up at the prospect of a magical puzzle to untangle, before she adds, in a display of quicksilver elven moods as she goes from cheerfulness to a resigned sign, “Closer to home, I can think about sneaky spells, and - if it comes to that – I suppose I would be ideal bait.”
As evening draws on, Lina leafs through her grimoire for suitable spells for the morrow and tries to garner inspiration for future research into fire magic that won’t push hard against Meneas’ nightmarish memories of what flame can do.
After a bit, she slips out of the cozy hollow their hosts offer the group of adventurers, and continues her musings in a few rounds about the grove, taking a moment to connect with the forest here too so she can repeat the healing she offered Falchos if necessary.
Lina wakes confident that she’s done what she can, given her current repertoire, though she gets more and more nervous the closer they get to where the scythe tree’s laired, and even some uneasy joking can’t gloss it over.
"Do you know if it's smart? If it is, do you think it's evil? If it is, I should be able to pick it out from among all the other trees."
Figuring it can't hurt to start trying while she waits for a more expert opinion, Signy begins to concentrate on finding any evil auras close by. She turns to check to the right first.
“Very definitely smart, and evil,” she concurs. “They prefer fare like dryads and, well, elves. Can you imagine?! What kind of monster would want to eat such darling people like Tiressia and yours truly?!?”
The witch stops just short of batting her eyelids in an improbable combination of winsomeness and indignation. She’s also curious about Brental’s question – if she had to guess, she would imagine it would be some sort of aurasight, but maybe the conceptual similarity with the sort of detection spells she’s more familiar with is misleading.
“A propos of very little, I knew a bugbear in the guild,” she floats casually, recalling her time in Daggermark as she tries to keep her eyes open for an signs of the scythe tree, “Odd fellow. Surprisingly polite, and nimble at, er, our apothecary work to boot, for someone built like Kesten or our Brental here. Anyway, the point is, I don’t think he felt like us, and he had a morbid fascination with fear. As I remember it, he said something about being able to smell it, and I was rather inclined to believe him.”
Meneas nods his gratitude to Brental, but keeps his silence, preferring not to think too hard about the fiery druids that had attacked Oleg's the year prior.
Meneas scans the forest, sighing aloud. "It couldn't be so easy as just attacking us while screaming its intentions, of course." He, too, joins in on the search for any signs of the scythe tree.
He looks to his more magically inclined counterparts. "My usefulness at range is... very limited, especially against a tree with no organs to stab. I will charge it and cut at it if it gets close to any of you, but I'm afraid that may be the extent to which I am useful."
Signy thinks about the question, it hard to describe.
"Well... you've seen the way whisps of mist rise off a lake or river in the early morning, right? It's kinda like that, but less whispy. Not so much as water mist. It's also tinted, and I can intuit what different colorations mean somehow."
"I can't say much more about it. I haven't been able to do it at all until fairly recently, and I've only tried it a few times. Mostly people look sort of dishwater, and I've only tried on humans."
Smelling fear. Mist on the water. Dishwater. Despite the tension in the air as the determine whether they are the hunters or the hunted, Brental smiles. "Well today you can try on an elf, a nephilim, and a tree. I know that our witch queen is more of the resident tinkerer ad experimenter among us, but it's always good to test out what our various patrons and studies enable us to do."
Lina’s expression and posture are comical at Signy’s description, and even from the back, the fancy elf is all too clearly aghast at the dishwater simile. Her thoughts whirl in an attempt to process the gist of it while reframing it in a more comfortable way.
After a moment, the riverine witch settles on swamps and marshes: certainly, there are mucky, peaty pools and such, but those are necessary and help filter the water as a mass, and beyond the turfy hummocks of sodden, squelching vegetation, there are also deep streams of pure, clear water. Hmm. She’s not sure what she would make of that.
He looks to his more magically inclined counterparts. "My usefulness at range is... very limited, especially against a tree with no organs to stab. I will charge it and cut at it if it gets close to any of you, but I'm afraid that may be the extent to which I am useful."
Thinking about Meneas’ concerns, Lina manages to school her expression once more. Her features are calm and serious when she turns to face all the group, and when she does so a raw, red mark on her cheek becomes much more apparent. It looks like she must, in her sleep, have kept worrying at the spot Carmine caressed, and weirdly like the beginnings of an elven rune. Regardless, the witch tentatively floats some tactical ideas, “Signy, do you think you could make Meneas invisible if we spot our quarry before we get spotted, so he has a better chance of getting close undetected while the rest of us pour down fire? I’ve got an old elven trick prepared, for my part, but while it’s easier, it’s much less thoroughgoing, takes a bit more time to get into position, and, most importantly, it would probably take an elixir to get it to stick on anyone not casting it by their own power…”
She trails off as she considers the possibilities.
Signy actually only paused for a moment so she wouldn't lose her focus.
"...it's not the sort of thing where I can just know; I have to decide to check and then really concentrate to see anything. That's why I haven't tried it much. It seems kinda rude. Like, I wouldn't creep into someone's room and go through their stuff just to see what's there right? But, if I thought maybe the person was burgling stuff from houses, I then might creep in to see if they have stolen stuff stashed in their room."
"Oh yeah, I could make Meneas invisible. The thing is though, the effect would end as soon as he did anything to the scythe tree. So, it probably wouldn't last long at all."
Brental stops the others before they get too far into considering melee. "If my plan goes well, no one will want to be close to the tree. I'll ring it in fire 40 paces out in all directions. I don't want to give it a chance."
Meneas glances at his companions, letting their discussion about magic go on without any contribution from himself save an odd giggle.
At the mention of practicalities, he returns his attention to the present. "Being invisible would be a handy trick for me to have. If nothing else, it would give me a chance to hit things where they would hurt the most. But as Brental says, we shall hope that it does not come to melee." The Hooded Knight shifts on his saddle at the thought of the flames.
Brental had long since gotten used to Meneas' quirk of giggling. It was almost unnerving. But especially with the hood and no ability to read the knight's expression, Brental had almost given up on trying to figure his friend out when he didn't want to be figured out. No need to second guess. The man was probably lost in some reverie or another.
Whatever the case, the fire would help to cleanse the rot and wither here. That was the proper use of fire to a druid: clearing out areas grown too festered to allow natural growth. A controlled burn would help to bring this area back into harmony.
Signy stays on task with her scan for eevul, although her immediate inclination is to look over at Meneas. Damn he creeps me out sometimes.
"No Meneas, I haven't checked you. That goes for all of you in case you're wondering. If you'd like my best guess Meneas, I'd say dishwater, not too much of anything in particular. I'm a light vermillion or saffron. I tried in on myself right away obviously."
The birds in the region swoop about Brental as he asks the avians to impart to him their knowledge. In a sputtering of caws, chirps, and squawks the druid hears the following, "Brother of Trees there is a large eating tree that sounds just like that not a mile south of where we flock. It swats us birds to the ground when we get too close and knocks down the trees where we have built our nests."
With this knowledge in hand the party heads further south until Brental receives a ping on he detection spell. The scythe tree is near.
Peering through a clearing in the trees Brental spots the creature clearly with the help of his magic as it attempts to blend in with the surrounding foliage. This many-branched and twisted tree has few leaves on it. In the center of its trunk is a long, deep scar. Its roots are twisted and dark, blackened as if by fire.
Lina silently draws a wand with one hand, while the other moves through a graceful series of gestures that are showy for anyone watching but calculatedly not sweeping enough to draw much attention.
And with that, her flashy silver armour and bright complexion dim and start to shift towards tones that fit better with the surrounding trees, and her hair seems to curl and bush and acquire a slightly green sheen, becoming rather leafier by the moment.
“We’ll probably have to get a bit closer to get within bowshot,” she says quietly, “And I’ll need to either move slowly or take a moment for my make-up to catch up. I can try to provide some additional support while we see if we can snare the scythe.”
Brental stops the others before they get too far into considering melee. "If my plan goes well, no one will want to be close to the tree. I'll ring it in fire 40 paces out in all directions. I don't want to give it a chance."
“Worst case, I’d like to think that elves can outrun most trees,” she adds with a small smile.
<"Thank you, my feathered friends. Soon you and your nests will be safe,"> Brental chirps and tweets back.
Moving until Brental's arboreal sense pings clearly, the druid allows his divination to fall and points clearly in the direction of the scythe tree ahead. Before the group begins to fan out, Brental calls them together and burns a small stick of incense between them. "We had no need of this yesterday, fortunately, but my opening spell will cause a great deal of smoke. This will enable us all to see through."
Brental didn't intend to get too close to the Scythe Tree. His opening spell could be targeted a tenth of a mile away or more, while this distance of 160 feet was nearly perfect for his second salvo. A little closer still, 120 feet, and he'd be in range for his third salvo. He just needed to be patient. Two minutes, and then he would unleash hellfire on this tree.
Meneas looks at Signy, startled, but laughs again - though this noise is distinctly less fey. "And yet you see to the heart of the matter. Well, it's nothing important."
Meneas pulls Veil to a halt. "I shall remain here. I am not particularly stealthy as things stand, unless you think it wise for me to approach, in which case," he turns his hooded gaze to Signy, "I would ask Signy to render me invisible. But I don't think it wise or necessary at the moment."
Signy slides off her horse and readies her bow with one of the flame arrows. She looks to Brental on how to proceed.
Signy starts to creep up on the tree to get within reliable shooting range, with a little help from self-casting Guidance.
The scythe tree remains perfectly still as Signy approaches. Seemingly unaware of her presence.
Once she's in range, behind a NORMAL tree for cover, Signy looks back and gives a the rest of her friends a questioning shrug. She's ready to go, but doesn't want to idiotically ruin things by starting before everyone is ready.
Brental holds his position, breathing calmly as he waits for the two minutes to end. Counting down the seconds, he offers a brief prayer that everyone is in position.
Three...two...one.
The druid thrusts his hands out to either side and begins drawing a large circle in the air, beginning a low chant that increases in volume and speed until he raises his hands into the air and issues a challenge.
: <"I cleanse this place in the names of Tiressia, Falchos, Melianse, Tyg, Peri, and all other goodly fey preyed on in these woods! The Predations of the Scythe end now!">
For forty feet in every direction around the scythe tree, tall grasses, weeds, vines, and every spare bit of foliage reach up and grasps towards the sun, ensnaring everything in its path. The sun responds in kind as flames lick up and set the area ablaze. Smoke begins choking out the area almost immediately, but Brental and the others--thanks to the druid's spell--are able to see perfectly well to the scythe tree in the center of the conflagration.
This spell functions as per entangle, except it sets the foliage on fire.
This spell causes tall grass, weeds, and other plants to wrap around creatures in the area of effect or those that enter the area. Creatures that fail their save gain the entangled condition. Creatures that make their save can move as normal, but those that remain in the area must save again at the end of your turn. Creatures that move into the area must save immediately. Those that fail must end their movement and gain the entangled condition. Entangled creatures can attempt to break free as a move action, making a Strength or Escape Artist check. The DC for this check is equal to the DC of the spell. The entire area of effect is considered difficult terrain while the effect lasts.
If the plants in the area are covered in thorns, those in the area take 1 point of damage each time they fail a save against the entangle or fail a check made to break free. Other effects, depending on the local plants, might be possible at GM discretion.
A creature that begins its turn entangled by the spell takes 4d6 points of fire damage (Reflex half), and a creature that begins its turn in the area but is not entangled takes 2d6 points of fire damage (Reflex negates). Smoke rising from the vines partially obscures visibility. Creatures can see things in the smoke within 5 feet clearly, but attacks against anything farther away in the smoke must contend with concealment (20% miss chance). When the spell’s duration expires, the vines burn away entirely.
The character is ensnared. Being entangled impedes movement, but does not entirely prevent it unless the bonds are anchored to an immobile object or tethered by an opposing force. An entangled creature moves at half speed, cannot run or charge, and takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls and a –4 penalty to Dexterity. An entangled character who attempts to cast a spell must make a concentration check (DC 15 + spell level) or lose the spell.
When Brental's spell erupts, Signy casts her own spell.
As the grasping pants ensnare the scythe tree even before they are set ablaze, the tree itself crackles and snaps to life attempting to dislodge the troublesome foliage gathered about its base.
Signy fires a couple of arrows that do nothing at all.
Brental continues his chanting and waving as he walks 20 feet closer to the scythe tree.
The chanting increasingly takes on the sound of hissing, popping, and crackling, full of quick percussive sounds that the others might vaguely recognize as Ignan, the tongue of fire. Whirling his hands around as though around an invisible globe, Brental finishes his chanting as a burning, molten globe appears at the scythe tree's tangled roots.
Meneas holds back, pulling Veil slightly away from the raging flames. I cannot hit it from here with an acid vial or anything similar. He glances at the bow dangling from his saddle. I may as well.
Taking out the composite bow, he draws an arrow back and fires it towards the tree. As he expected, the projectile is less than relevant.
Lina watches with grim satisfaction as the adventuring council of Helikia starts its attack like a harmonious concert, Brental laying down a rain of fire supported by the missiles of Signy and Meneas. As for Helikia’s prima donna, having stepped forward rather too boldly to take much advantage of her camouflage magic, to her friends’ bemusement, she continues to sweep forward at speed in what she would like to think is a majestic fashion.
Head held high, Lina rather looks the part with her spell still keeping her coloration very dryad-y, even if she’s moving too quickly to blend into the trees.
<“Worthless weed, we will cleanse the woods of your invasion!”> she vaunts scornfully in Sylvan, crystal wand held ready.
The scythe tree bursts into flame and is soon wholly engulfed in it like cheap kindling. The wood itself also seems the crack, grind, and snarl as the popping flames wreath themselves around it.
The pain of the burning as Brental's spells work in concert provoke the tree to action. Vines strain momentarily before being ripped to bits by the immense bulk of the scythe tree. which lurches forward on spindly roots with shocking speed.
Well that's all very nightmarish Signy decides as she watches things play out. There's a goodly amount of fire, and of course smoke to go with it, but Signy is pretty sure she had no role in it.
That being so, and with the tree rolling on up toward her, Signy can't think of any good reason to stay put. She evacuates back in the direction she came. Sheer stubbornness demands she pause briefly to get off another shot though.
Brental watches the scythe tree wrench free temporarily from the burning vines and rush towards him. With a twist of his wrist, he beckons the flaming sphere to follow after the scythe tree while reaching his other hand into his spell component pouch and withdrawing a small purple-orange crystal. In his hand, the crystal coalesces into a pale flame. He draws back into a throwing stance and then launches the unnerving flame at the enemy.
Creatures that make their save can move as normal, but those that remain in the area must save again at the end of your turn. Creatures that move into the area must save immediately. Those that fail must end their movement and gain the entangled condition. A creature that begins its turn entangled by the spell takes 4d6 points of fire damage (Reflex half), and a creature that begins its turn in the area but is not entangled takes 2d6 points of fire damage (Reflex negates).
Meneas swaps his bow for his sword, readying himself to charge at the scythe tree if it comes into melee range of his friends.