Pandir seems more excited than anything. Despite the many stings and wounds about her, Mister Grog carrying her is always a joy!
"Hired for extermination? Ah, hello? Potential new friend?"
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Finch throws up her arms in exasperation. "Of course the place is haunted, to boot! What, are we supposed to be exorcists as well as exterminators?! Are we supposed to thin out the repellent with holy water?! Burn godsdamned incense with the pitch oil?!"
"This gig is a mouthful of troll's b*llocks," she grumbles. "Let's go fetch some kinda bug-killing juice and be done with this...."
Pandir stares blankly at Miss Rosefinch before falling over, laughing. "Oh, Miss Finch, you are ever so funny. Why would I eat troll posteriors?"
She stands upright and aches. "It may be the laughing, or it may be the wasp stings. I am not sure."
Looking around for the speaker, Katala shrugs. "Let's get back to camp where we can safely work on the wounds. We can come back and finish off the wasps later, and maybe the haunts too if that is needed to keep the local folk safe...."
“Haunted!? I will let you know the Landlord does not allow ghosts in his property! It is on the contract!” Finch is somehow sure that the voice capitalised Landlord.
No one is really sure where the voice is coming from—it is very close, almost as if the speaker was but a few centimetres away.
"Ah, we shall return with more supplies to exterminate the swarm, then." Pandir catches her breath from the invisible Landlord.
Once they get away from the house, and the wasps, Katala calls for a halt to treat the wounds. "Wait. It seems safe here. Let's treat wounds and think about this.
While treating wounds Katala thinks about normal wasps....
Pandir sits still long enough for Katala to address her many stings.
Pandir is still too fidgety to handle the worst of her wounds. "W-we'll handle it later." She huffs.
She's too busy shaking dead wasps from her petals to worry about complicated plans!
Grog looks around for the speaker, and then grumbles.
“We’z apprecia’e i’ you makes yerself seen.”
“Safe? Well, yes, I suppose. It would be safer if you had done the job you were hired to do!” The Landlord says as Katala begins patching up the group. “And I am the Landlord, mister, you cannot order me, although…” the voice trails off for a moment… “well, I can be convinced. If the price is right. And the price right now is…twenty. Yes, twenty. And you need to take care of the wasps. And the spiders. They did not sign a contract and they do not pay on time!”
Pandir giggles again. "Why would spiders and wasps pay money to live here? That's like paying to drink water, or breathe air."
Katala looks around, trying to figure out where, or what the voice is. "Hired? Who are you and when did you hire us to do anything?"
“Well, you find that funny because you are a plant and you don’t understand humans as well as I do. But don’t worry, keep trying. If you ever come to live in my house, I can teach you.”
The Landlord sighs in exasperation at Katala’s questions.
“You are really not good at this, are you? Look, here. It is your contract. I signed it for you. It says you are here to remove pests because that is your job.” Suddenly, a crumpled and dirty sheet of paper is pushed out from beneath a rock close to Grog’s left foot.
Random scrabbles vaguely resembling words zigzag around the page. The only recognisable symbol is a red X at the bottom right of the page.
Pandit takes the crumpled up sheet and reads it over.
"Everything seems in order, here. I expect our payment will be on time, then." Humans always demand shiny worthless coins for some reason. Maybe the landlord will play along.
"You'z know Seirah Badem?" Grog ventured. "We'z 'ere to 'elp 'er. Dis ain't 'er 'ouse?"
The Landlord makes a suspicious “hmmmm” at Pandir’s reading of the documents, but seems satisfied.
“Yes, stick with me and you’ll learn a lot about humans, plant person. You have potential. And, yes, your payment will be provided by the current tenant. When they come back.
“And, yes, of course I know Seirah Badem, she is the tenant. I am the lord of the land, of course, but she can stay here as long as she pays her rent. Are you also here to pay rent?”
"No," Grog grunts, withdrawing and letting Katala's more dexterous fingers handle the wasp suit along with Finch's guidance. "But we'z 'ere to clear da wasps. We'z makin' a beez suit."
In the meantime, as Katala handles the crafting, his wounds are treated by Ceija.
Once the suit is ready and his wounds treated, Grog wears it, and carries two thick, wet, tree branches, and sets them on fire. The smoke is heavy, and he nods at his companions silently, before going in.
The group leaves the Landlord to their own devices and go on a quick shopping spree, buying a few bolts of thick clothing and haphazardly mounting and sewing everything on top of Grog. They do miss a few spots and a few needles might have found their way into the orc’s thick hide, but, all things considered, the suit feels sturdy enough to weather more than a couple stings.
They find the mill as they left it when they return. The wasps are minding their own mildly murderous business when Grog steps inside, armed with two smoking branches.
Grothog the Exiled never saw this day coming.
Sure, orcs live an action-packed life on average. Many of them fought and died against one another, dwarves, monsters, elves, and humans (though mostly against one another).
Grog did not expect he would spend his exile this way. Behind a stuffy mask, carrying two brands belching smoke, and egged on by his rather ragtag party of a foulmouthed halfling, a clueless plant, a human cat, a rather absent-minded witch--and himself, the most unheroic figure imagineable.
But a job is a job. He didn't get to be the only orc in the island with stable employment by being picky.
Grog brandishes the smoky brands, standing several feet away from the wasp nest. Waving the fiery brand, he slowly approaches as the smoke reaches the ceiling.
While he medicated on his life choices, Grog the Exiled slowly filled the mill with smoke, a lot of cinders and ash, and even a few sneaky embers that luckily didn’t ignite any of the remnants of grain. Whatever wood he used had less than an immediate effect on the wasps, but it still did its job, eventually. Most of the swarm trickled out of the house until only a few harmless stragglers remained behind.
“I just love what you did to the place,” he hears the Landlord’s muffled voice coming…from below? “But don’t forget the spiders. They’re outside.”
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Watching the wasps slowly clearing out of the house Katala considered firing some electric arcs at them, but decides that she really didn't want to turn their success into more painful stings....
With the job complete she hears the Voice again. Having given up trying to figure out where/what the voice was coming from she just calls out, "Where outside? And is this another big nest, or big spiders?"
"Yay! Now they can leave us. Bye bye wasps!" Pandir waves.
"Extermination completed. Oh, are there spiders? I thought these city folk hated spiders?" Pandir moves into the house once the coast is clear.
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Just as soon as Grog is done chasing out the last of the wasps, Finch sprints into the house, clambering up the half-orc's back and up to the empty nest. She cuts it off the timbers with glee, and then runs back out to toss it in the river, to the sounds of manic laughter. "F*ck off, you pissy pests!"
The clown returns slightly more composed, though still giggling under her breath. "Heh. Uh, what's this about spiders?"
Grog coughs, his loud wheezes from his forge-billow lungs announcing the departure of the evil wasps.
As the place was clear, he extinguishes the brands in the water outside, and removes his improvised bee-helmet. As Finch's gleeful vindictive shouts ring outside, he moves to the inside of the Hawfton Mill, investigating.
Or at least he thought he was doing investigation. This is not the first time he felt he was out of his depth.
Pandir looks around for some clues. Miss Finch didn't have to expel the wasp nest...
Surprised at Finch's apparent anger at the wasps, Katala was still satisfied with the splash that it made. "Now they can't move back in so easily!"
“Well, yes, we city people hate spiders and wasps, but that little woman who brought these here…well, she didn’t really look like city people,” says the Landlord. “And, yes, huge, big spiders. Two. Or was it one? We city people hate counting too, plant person.”
Though Grog and Pandir fail to find anything that seemed out of place — mess of ash and crumbs of wasp nest aside —they exchange a look, having suddenly realised that, despite its loud voice, the Landlord seems to be an ant-sized person crawling on the ground in front of Katala.
"Oh? Little woman..." Pandir shudders in thought before pulling out a symbol of Gozreh. She then drops to the floor, right in front of the Landlord. "Tell me Landlord. Was she wearing this? Surrounded by mice? Wore an old cloak?"
"We met her before. She was NOT friendly."
The Landlord crosses their arms and shakes their head.
“Nuh-uh. You first go take care of the spiders outside. And I expect payment for my information. I’d say about seven. Yes, seven payment. And have you heard of something called privacy, plant person?”
"Let's just kill the damn spiders," mutters Finch, visibly struggling to suppress her urge to step on the Landlord.
"Seven... payment. For two spiders. Of course." Pandir stands back up and smiles, ever so confident. "Confidentiality is a middle name, I've heard."
"We shall deal with the spiders... once we find them."
The Landlord nods in agreement.
“I’m generous today. If halfling is the one paying, make it five payment. From one foot,” the little humanoid creature approaches Finch, completely unaware of just how much danger they are exposing themself to. “Anyway, you can find the spiders outside.”
The Landlord might be a duende, an old spirit born of the very land the group is stepping on. These fey creatures have partially adapted to contemporary society, having developed a certain (and always distorted) understanding of its inner workings.
Duendes are said to have a puzzling obsession with nail filings and value them above all else.
Letting the Landlord alone for a moment, the Wayward Wonders open the door leading to the garden. It is a simple and small open space boasting an impressive collection of tomatoes and summer herbs—whoever tended to this bit of greenery was clearly an accomplished farmer or gardener. A few stray wasps flit nearby.
Thick spider webs cover some of the herbs here.
Pandir makes a mental note of the Landlord and smiles.
Once they are out into the garden, Pandir chuckles. [smaller]"The Landlord- now I understand. They were born from the land itself and adapted to this town life... mostly."
Pandir points at the spider webs covering the herbs, emphasizing their thickness. She pulls out a dart and prepares.
The Landlord nods in agreement.
“I’m generous today. If halfling is the one paying, make it five payment. From one foot,” the little humanoid creature approaches Finch, completely unaware of just how much danger they are exposing themself to.
Finch stares down at the Landlord with an expression that is a unique mix of world-weary disgust and child-like wonder, recalling some folk tales heard a lifetime ago back in the slave quarters in Cheliax. "Wow. This... this might genuinely be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."
Pandir points at the spider webs covering the herbs, emphasizing their thickness. She pulls out a dart and prepares.
Following Pandir's gesture, Finch peers into the bushes and spots the webs.
"Wanna bet these buggers are venomous, too?" she mutters to no one in particular, drawing her throwing knives.
Katala stays to the back of the group, wanting to be in range for her magic but not wanting a spider in her face....
Finch remembers one additional bit of lore: it’s said that happy duende’s bring good luck and prosperity to those who live in its land. Perhaps there’s some truth to it, judging by how rich the people running the mill seem to be.
There’s a brief moment of silence and then two dog-sized balls of prickly fur and legs jump from beneath some of the prized tomatoes and herbs.
One arachnid tries to bite Grog’s ankles twice, but the orc shoves it away without too much effort.
The other propels thick strands of web before advancing and trying to digs its fangs on Pandir, but the little leshy is agile enough to avoid both attacks.
1. Spiders
2. Finch
3. Pandir
4. Grog
5. Katala
"I see... two spiders. Maybe we will get 14 payment!" Pandir thought it was funny.
But now there is a spider in her face. She drops her arms, sways to and fro and then begins swinging.
Staying out of the conversation, the orc couldn't help but crack a tiny grin at Finch's curiosity. As Pandir described the tiny creature, Grog had little to say. His life was a rollercoaster before. This is just one other step. But the garden was...nice. It was a garden to spend time in herbalism or weeding or harvesting. The fruit and vegetables swayed in the warm breeze, and a nice scent was in the air.
This is nice, he thought, before the rustling and Pandir's call-out woke him from his stupor, as a giant spider charged at him, trying to close its thick pincers on his leg.
Shoving the spider off, Grog follows up with several quietly efficient heavy swings at the small spiders with his pick.
Something felt off fighting in the garden. That was not nice. He growled, pacing himself in attacks like an efficient chopping machine.
Katala quickly intones the words to her Electric Arc cantrip, causing a line of electricity to jump between the two spiders.
Finch keeps her distance for now and throws her knives at the spider nibbling on Grog.
Finch quickly moves out of direct danger—so quickly, indeed, that she barely has any time to aim before throwing her knives. This distracts Pandir, already traumatised by her previous encounters with poisonous creatures, and her quick strikes fail to hurt the huge spider in front of her.
Grog, despite his misgiving about potentially destroying the garden, lands a solid blow against the arachnid trying to bite his ankles. The creature’s bad luck is made a tad worse by Katala’s bolt singeing both it and its companion.
The two spiders continue desperately trying to bite both Grog and Pandir, but with little success: their strikes are either harmless scratches or miss their target completely.
2. Spider (green) -2HP
3. Finch
4. Pandir
5. Grog
6. Katala
At this point closer to a woodchopper chopping wood, Grog felt no emotion as he coldly and efficiently put his pick to flesh.
It is like a dance. Brother Cinnamon enjoyed getting spicy with predators. Stick a leg in, pull a claw away, lower your head, tumble to the side.
Oh well, this thing doesn't want to play. Just kick it a few times.
While she hated casting a spell while almost in the face of a creature, there really wasn't any way to change that. Besides, the spiders were focused on her friends so they just needed to die! And, did a spider really have a face?
Drawing her dirks mid-spin, Finch leaps and tumbles back into the fray.
Perhaps the spiders were nocturnal animals, or just really, really unlucky–be that as it may, the brief confrontation ends with Grog and Pandir crushing their attackers almost simultaneously. The group can only hope that arachnid entrails are good fertiliser.
“Finally! It was about time!” The Landlord thin, raspy voice comes from inside the house.
"I am sorry, spiders. But you did not dance correctly." Pandir rubs her appendages against the dirt to clean them of spider goo.
"Now then. The fourteen payment you owe. Is there anything else we need to exterminate? Or perhaps we can exchange the payment for information? Do you know what happened to the tenants here? Did the awful woman use rats or use this pendant?" Pandir scans the ground for the landlord.
One last pick-strike, Grog thinks. Spider entrails and remains filled the garden before him--and as the spider took a moment to rear its front legs, but Grog took the opportunity and crushed the creature with his heavy boot.
This was definitely not nice, he thought, before taking off his stuffy swarm kit.
"Wez shuld sell diz."
The Landlord shakes his diminutive head.
“Information has price. Price is 5 payment from the halfling. I can collect it, I have my clippers here.
“And you need to collect your payment from the current tenants. It’s their responsibility, it’s in the contract. You talk to them, tell them I sent you.”
The moment Grog presents the swarm suit and suggests the groups sells it, two small chunks of fabric fall to the ground. Ten seconds later, a third follows. It would be a hard sell.
Duendes are not exactly skilled in using nail clippers. Or any sort of tools, to be honest. There’s probably some risk in letting one collect its own payment.