Grog dodges the grapple, and the punch causes a low thud to sound in the air, like a gong. He looks at the human, curls his lip in amusement, and returns the blow.
Grog moves to flank Jaleen with Pandir (if possible) to take advantage of flanking her.
Jaleen and Grog continue exchanging blows at a fairly equal pace: the orc gets two heavy punches right on the human’s face; Jaleen reciprocates with a knee to Grog’s stomach and a backhanded strike on the orc’s temple.
“Haha! Yes! Yes!” He screams and spits blood. Possibly a tooth too, but it’s unclear at the moment.
Upon hearing this, Elizia sighs in relief and hugs Ceija in an unexpected display of affection.
“Oh, thank you! I was so worried! I wouldn’t know what to do without Mr. Tickles. Especially after…” she interrupts herself and takes a step back in silence. Myron was very dear to her and would often jokingly say she was his adoptive daughter.
As for the tracks, all Ceija can say for the moment is that they lead outside, but once there become lost in the vegetation.
Jaleen, Rhovo: rage, 31 total HP, 13AC
"Eliza, where would Mr. Tickles have picked up Goblin Pox? Have you been around anyone else who's sick?"
Turning to Finch, she says, "Finch, what the hell is going on around here? We've all worked long and hard to get this circus launched. And the only snake I've seen has been Mr. Tickles who is more likely to hug you to death than anything else. "
Although, for Finch, that might be a fate worse than being poisoned by vipers
"Do you think it's one of us who's trying to sabotage everything?"
"Aha! Ruffian Rhovo, I see now! This is a showcase of strength and bravado. You perform and express yourself using violent acts."
The backhand lands squarely on Grog's temple, pushing the orc back a bit. He growls, and then shoots forward with a heavy punch to the gut. He follows up with a kick to the legs--and (if the enemy trips) he ends with a brutal uppercut to knock the ruffian out cold.
After a quick examination, Ceija thinks Mr. Tickles has come down with Goblin Pox, a mild disease that causes some discomfort and lethargy but goes away on its own. She does what she can to alleviate the symptoms and make the serpent more comfortable, but the disease should go away on its own in a few days.
Upon hearing this, Elizia sighs in relief and hugs Ceija in an unexpected display of affection.
“Oh, thank you! I was so worried! I wouldn’t know what to do without Mr. Tickles. Especially after…” she interrupts herself and takes a step back in silence. Myron was very dear to her and would often jokingly say she was his adoptive daughter.
"Eliza, where would Mr. Tickles have picked up Goblin Pox? Have you been around anyone else who's sick?"
Turning to Finch, she says, "Finch, what the hell is going on around here? We've all worked long and hard to get this circus launched. And the only snake I've seen has been Mr. Tickles who is more likely to hug you to death than anything else. "
Although, for Finch, that might be a fate worse than being poisoned by vipers
"Do you think it's one of us who's trying to sabotage everything?"
Finch—who is usually quite fond of reptiles—looks on with poorly concealed worry as Ceija inspects Mr. Tickles. As the Varisian makes her diagnosis, she goes over and pats the constrictor's flank with uncharacteristic gentleness. "There, there. I'll find you somethin' bigger than a rat, once you're feelin' better."
"Looks pretty clear-cut to me," the clown huffs in reply to Ceija's query, polishing the pommels of her dirks with her thumbs. "'Mistress' Dusklight hired some backwoods hedge-magician to piss in our pickles. This reeks of druidcraft. I don't see a reason to doubt our troupe's loyalty—not yet, at least. Whoever it was that offed Myron, they might've used snakes to frame Elizia, but didn't realise she and the boss were close. That'd point to Dusklight as well, since the ol' browbeater would've known about us havin' a snake charmer, without bein' in on all the mushy interpersonal stuff. Anyone here would've known."
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“Yeah, that’s it little—“ is all Rhovo can say before Pandir trips him up and knocks him on the back of the head. When the man reaches the ground, he’s already unconscious.
Grog, seeing Pandir is finished with her opponent, brings his match to a close as well. His uppercut propels Jaleen a few centimetres in the air and he falls on his partner with a soft thud.
Some in the crowd screams, others curse their own luck; either way, they all slowly disperse.
Lily approaches, grinning and holding a small pouch.
“Got some extra coin from these idiots. They seriously thought those drunkards had a chance.” The halfling barker hands 15 CP to Grog and Pandir. “Here, your share. Oh, some idiot bet a stupid berry. You can have that too.” She frowns then shrugs.
The victorious wrestlers and the barker reach the backstage just in time to see Ceija handing Mr. Tickles to Elizia.
“No, I haven’t…my other snakes are fine too. Or were. I really hope they are all fine,” the young woman says.
And just like that, all is done. Abbertonians slowly trickle out of the tent and make their way to their homes. However good or bad the show was, it more than served its purpose of keeping the townsfolk’s minds off the bitter difficulties of life in a decaying little piece of land. For some of the Wayward Wonders that is more than enough.
Or it would be. The metaphorical curtain has fallen, but Myron Stendhal is still dead.
As Katala, Pandir, and Grog come through the backstage curtains, Ceija frowns. The bruises are beginning to show, and the various cuts are still bleeding.
"Pandir, sweetie, your petals look torn, and you seem to be missing some leaves. Let me see what I can do."
Turning to Grog, she slowly shakes her head. "Cap'n, you're in rough shape. What was going on out there?"
She frowns. well, that didn't help.
"I think I'm going to need some stronger tinctures and maybe some hot water."
"Ruffian Rhovo, you have much to learn. But maybe for another day." Pandir waves to the crowd as Grog finishes off the other brawler.
"Do not worry, they are merely sleeping. Speaking of which, all of us should prepare for a good night's rest. Thank you all for coming to the Circus of Wayward Wonders!"
Pandir looks up to Grog. "Do not worry, Mister Grog. They think this is part of the show. Congratulations on your victorious, unscheduled performance." She holds onto her part of the shiny coins but pays extra attention to the berry.
Pandir returns to the tent, confident but secretly tired. She's an early worm, not a night owl. Pandir's rose petals around her neck are torn, and her vacant, bulbous head is crumpled. Some leaves missing from her mid section, too. She's all to happy to get some attention from Ceija.
"Sister Kudzu has a technique to healing injuries. I took many, many notes. But your healing kit lacks the proper ingredients. Maybe in more time I will learn to adjust and then I can assist you."
"Now then... Oh! Mister Tickles! What has happened?"
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“Got some extra coin from these idiots. They seriously thought those drunkards had a chance. Here, your share. Oh, some idiot bet a stupid berry. You can have that too.”
Grog reaches for the coins, slipping them into his shirt pouch--before they clattered on the floor and slipping through the ripped pocket. He gathered them up again, and followed into the tent, clutching his coin in a huge fist. He begins counting on the way.
Grog enters the backstage, and sees the gathered performers. The wind is taken out of his sails, and once the euphoria of a hard-won brawl fades, he remembers that his boss is dead.
Turning to Grog, she slowly shakes her head. "Cap'n, you're in rough shape. What was going on out there?"
He grunts as she handles his wounds. She says something about hot water, which Grog thinks might be a nice drink to reflect upon--whatever tinkture is, it must make a good cuppa.
Skilled as Ceija is in medicine, she is no match for an orc who doesn't know what she is doing and begins picking at scabs and pressing bruises to see how the color shifts once she looks away. He occasionally looks to where Myron was found. He then speaks up, asking, "Find someth'n?"
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"Nothing so far, Grog. We've got starving wolves, vipers under the seats where no viper would want to be, rats gnawing nets, Mr. Cuddles ill with goblin pox, and Myron dead because of way too many snakes biting him." As Ceija talks, she emphatically ticks off each event with her fingers. "Finch thinks it might be some malevolent druid."
Then turning to Pandir, she says, "Pangloss I mean, Pandir, those snakes you thought were 'cute' are probably the cause of Myron's death. They're dangerous, not amusing. I love your optimism, but this is not the best of all possible worlds right now."
Turning back to Grog, she says, "By the way, earlier you asked me if Myron was a bad man. Did you notice something or did someone say something that made you think that?"
Looking down at the body at her feet, she quietly says, "Professor, can you arrange to have Myron's body removed to the Abberton burial ground? I think tonight we could all spend some time with a little memorial event where we remember how hard he worked to bring us together and celebrate the success of his endeavors."
The Professor clears his throat to call the group’s attention, then discreetly leads them towards a quieter area.
“Thank you. This night was chaos, was…terrible, but we pulled it through largely thanks to you. Here,” he offers a small pouch, “we had a full house and I separated a bit of extra gold to you. Grog, you look like you spent the last hours rolling down the stairs; I put some medicine there too.”
“Finch, you said you wanted people to stay inside until you had a chance to look for tracks in the camp. Perhaps it’s best you do that now — I’m not sure Lily is going to be able to keep everyone inside for long.”
To Ceija’s suggestion for the memorial, he nods.
“That is a good idea…Tahala had ideas for how to handle Myron’s—“ he chokes a bit—“Myron’s remains. A Shoanti tradition, I think. But let’s gather around the fire once you’re done looking around.”
"Turning to Grog, she slowly shakes her head. "Cap'n, you're in rough shape. What was going on out there?""
Katala glances at the bindings on Grog. "The bindings look right. But it's mostly bruising and such. Hard to bind. He'll heal fairly quickly."
Finch snickers at Grog and Pandir, patting the former on the thigh approvingly. She collects her share of the profits, flatly ignoring any talk of ceremony or remembrance. Vengeance is the only thing which can satisfy the restless soul of a murder victim—that much she knows by experience. "Well, better go check out the trail afore one of these babes soils their swaddles. Yours truly has a few ideas, but she'd much prefer some actual clues..."
"You can be dangerous AND amuse-" Pandir closes her mouth and squats, spinning to her side to break eye contact and all communication with Ceija. Swallow it, gulp. Breathe.
Mother's warning rings in her head. Mortality is no joke. One death
leads to another life. Or maybe more. But something did agitate those snakes, to an unnatural degree. Myron wouldn't risk multiple snake bites on such an important night.
Pandir takes a few short breaths to calm herself and slowly stands back up. "We must bury Ringmaster Myron. Then we must find whatever agitated these cute, yet deadly, snakes."
Turning back to Grog, she says, "By the way, earlier you asked me if Myron was a bad man. Did you notice something or did someone say something that made you think that?"
Grog looks down, and says in a low voice, "Iz nuffin'."
"The bindings look right. But it's mostly bruising and such. Hard to bind. He'll heal fairly quickly."
"Ya should 'ave seen 'da otha git," he grunts, as Finch pats his thigh. He also takes his share of the spoils, and looks at the medicine.
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Pandir tilts her head, curiously. "Mister Grog, do you need some kind of protection? And perhaps some means to defend yourself? Who knows what kind of dangers await us in this investigation."
Grog tosses the medical mixture into his gullet, pouch, cork, thin glass, and all.
The Professor taps Grog on the shoulder.
“Uh, big guy, next time try not munching on the crystal vial. You’d be looking better if the potion didn’t have to patch…whatever’s happening inside your stomach.”
The air outside the tent is thick, with the summer day’s heat lingering everywhere and providing little relief for a troupe tired from a tense night of murder and spectacle. The air outside is also still and silent, with only Finch’s cursing breaking the chirping of crickets and the occasional owl hooting.
The halfling’s efforts stop short of providing any clues, as she loses the rat tracks only a few metres after they leave the big top.
Katala, however, having perhaps some innate affinity with following rodents in the dark, quickly latches on to a number of softer prints that seem to go all over the camp. With Flicker’s help in doing a brief reconnaissance flight, she discovers these seem most numerous around Myron’s and Bardolph’s wagons.
"Bardolph the Bear? He is still injured, yes? We must check him first and see if he is alright."
Pandir keeps her eyes open for danger. Besides, what if Bardolph the Bear was under attack?
"Pandir! Don't run off like that! There's a killer on the loose! We need to stick together."
Ceija looks vexed as she sees the little rosebud scamper toward Bardolph's wagon.
"We really need to see if there's anything in Myron's wagon that would explain why he was attacked. Perhaps there's a letter or note that he received.
"Katala, perhaps Flicker can hover over Myron's wagon to keep watch and see if anyone else goes in or out? Can they understand you enough to do that? I know they are more than a pet, but I'm not sure how close your connection is.
"We can check on Bardolph, and then search Myron's place."
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First she's worried about dangerous but cute things killing.
Now she wants to check for clues about the dead guy and ignore the living creature.
Pandir simply turns to Ceija, looks up and waits for her contradictions to finish killing each other.
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Grog hulks ahead, before he looks on the floor with sudden interest. He stops, and those behind him bump into the giant figure. He leans forward, before stooping to look closer.
"Ye--da floor iz made of floor."
Bardolph’s wagon is large and decorated with faded paintings that depict the old grizzly bear dancing, balancing on a ball, and menacing his late handler, the Great Fortunato. Despite what the last painting might lead an outsider to believe, Bardolph is possibly the tamest animal in the whole circus and his wagon’s large door is almost never locked; indeed, Myron even attached a length of rope on either side of the handle so Bardolph can come and go as he wants.
About a week ago, Bardolph suffered a minor paw injury and has been left out of tonight’s performance. Although there are rat tracks all around his wagon, Pandir doesn’t see any indications that the bear has recently left his “den.”
Pandir shakes her torso. "Bardolph the Bear, it seems like you did not notice anything extra ordinary. Good!"
She turns to the group. "Now, we should look for Ringmaster Myron's wagon. Thank you for satisfying my curiosity."
Katala thinks about Ceija's suggestion, but shakes her head. "I'll stay here with her above. She's smarter than a normal bird, but not quite to taking detailed instructions like that. Soon though...."
Pulling her whip from its holster, Ceija strides after Pandir.
Content with the fact Bardolph had not been walking around whilst wounded and not wanting to enter the wagon, the group moves on.
Myron’s personal wagon is parked very near the pond, right in front of the meeting fire. A colourful banner on each side of the wagon advertises the Circus of Wayward Wonders in large capital letters, surrounded by images that depict some of the most famous acts in the show.
Three steps affixed to the wagon’s rear lead up to a red door with a golden knob. The group soon finds out the door is locked; curiously, the key wasn’t on Myron’s body — something Finch had vaguely noted when she was investigating, but assumed it just meant the wagon had been left open.
"Finch, can you open this? I can't imagine who would have locked up the wagon and not mentioned that they had taken the key."
Finch digs around in her breast pocket and draws out a small leather bundle. She unrolls it, revealing a variety of lockpicks, files, keys, and wrenches nested within, along with a delicate backsaw. She takes a moment to pick her tools based on the particular type of lock, setting the others aside.
Unfortunately, as the halfling begins to work, one of her picks breaks off almost immediately. There is a loud snap as it lodges itself in the keyhole, followed by an even louder bout of profanity. "Well, b*llocks! I knew I should've gotten that replaced..."
"Whoops!
"On to Plan B. Do we have a Plan B?"
”Plan B: we uze ma’ ‘ead.” Grog says confidently, pushing the others from his path. “ I kna 'actly 'a ta open dis Dorothy Lamour..”
He stands before the door, narrowing his eyes as if examining a puzzle. He then uses his head. Literally.
”I resp’etfully cede da field to better ‘eads,” he says with an air of dignity, with a line of dark red blood sliding from his forehead.
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The moment the lock gives in under Grog’s mighty forehead and the door opens, the air is dominated by a sweet and heady smell. Inside Myron’s wagon there are four pinkish green plants that look roughly like water pitchers. At regular intervals a flap at their top lets loose a thick cloud of sparkly golden pollen.
Grog takes a deep breath as he recovers from the minor exertion and suddenly the colours of the world seem brighter, the edges between things become blurred — is that song he hears? No, it’s a wild animal! The whole world around him has become wild animals ready to attack him.
Grog barely has time to finish inhaling the pollen that had been locked up inside the wagon when each one of the plants spouts a new cloud of pollen.
Both the orc and Finch, the ones who were closest to the wagon, fall to the ground, intoxicated and blissfully unaware they are choking to death.
"Ah..." The sweet smell of... something fumes forth from the cabin. "Please help Mister Grog and Miss Finch!" Pandir knows their time is short if she doesn't try something.
Okay, too much pollen in a confined space. Pollen plants are agitated. Must calm them down.
Step one: stop intakeing air from up top. Inhale from low to the ground.
Crawl close and gently coax the pollen lids shut.
Now keep going until they stop. Whoops, hand slipped.
Grog stands corrected, as the door swings open.
He, however, staggered dazedly as the spores are released. The animals—there was a small one with facepaint, a smaller one with flowers, another with cat ears—oh my!
The animal with clown facepaint seemed helpless and hated by the other animals, and the animal assault was relentless! What is a single orc to do??
Ceija steps back as the sparkly pollen drifts out of the wagon door. As Grog carries the limp body of Finch into the cleaner air, she begins to speak slowly and softly to her, the words in startling contrast to the soothing cadence of her voice.
"Finch, you little creep, don't you die on us! We haven't got time for this. Wake up!"
1. Step back
2, 3. Caste Soothe
"Someone needs to find Elizia. She may have healing potions for her animals that we can use to revive Finch."
The bright world surrounding him was dazzling—even in nighttime! Grog’s wide (and red) eyes examined the world around him with great interest. A tall birdwoman with a strange Varisian accent was speaking to his clown-pet. He growls at her, and then scratches his hair—why are there so many birds on his head?
He begins biting the air.
Amidst the thick mental fog covering his mind, Grog roars, grabs the bundle of coloured rags that is Finch and drags himself away from the plants. Some mental clarity slowly comes back to him, though everything is still bathed in pretty colours.
Finch is brought out of her reverie by Ceija softly calling her a little creep, gently cradled like a sack of potatoes hanging off Grog’s shoulder.
Meanwhile, Pandir steps forward and gently closes the flaps of two of the plants. She feels the pods tremble slightly as they fall into something not unlike sleep and immediately stop releasing pollen.
Not sure how dangerous the pollen might still be Katala keeps her distance. "Grog, Keep moving. Everyone careful. The pollen might still float out. Maybe wash it off with some water?"
"I'll go for Eliza." She runs off looking for Eliza and any healing potions.
Katala, seeing the seriousness of the situation, rushes to the big top in search of Elizia.
Meanwhile, the remaining open pods release gusts of pollen towards Pandir. Having known in advance what to expect, she simply holds her breath long enough for the sparkly dust to become thinner and less harmful.
“Ceija sent…for me? I…I only have a bit of antivenom…does that help?” She offers a small flask. “Do you want me to go there with you?”
The pollen is sweet and sticky, but that's how it works. Too many flies go for the sweet nectar only to fall in and never leave. Pandir wonders if she's stuck in an unavoidable trap.
Nah. "Someone planted you here. Poor sunlight and low humidity- a terrible option. I will move you somewhere safe, afterwards."
With the pollen plants pacified, Pandir emerges from Myron's wagon. "I have subdued the plants!"
Finch sits up, looking around her in a drugged daze. "Huh? What's it... it's so bright out here..."
Pandir coaxes the remaining pods to close, the plants slowly settling down, apparently eager to rest after producing so much pollen. Judging by how they react to her touch, the leshy thinks that these probably grew very quickly, though she cannot say whether such growth was natural or somehow forced.
Shortly after, and with help from a gust of wind, the entrance to Myron's small wagon overcrowded with paraphernalia is free and mostly safe.
Pandir is eager to get these plants away from Ringmaster Myron's wagon. So many questions abound.
"Who put these plants here?" Pandir begins searching through the cabin.
Finch wriggles herself free of Grog. The clown wobbles to her feet and walks back towards the wagon. She then starts picking up her scattered tools and points inside, looking to Ceija with blood-shot eyes. "Ugh. First critters, and now plants—I told you it's some flea-ridden bastard of a druid..."
"Pandir, can you please remove those plants quickly? If they wake up again, we could all die, including you.
'I think we should destroy them now. There's no place safe to put them where they can't harm anyone. I think we should burn them to make sure they don't try to kill any other members of the circus." She hands Pandir a sturdy leather pouch with several symbols painted on the sides. "Put them in here and cinch the drawstrings very tight. If they do burst open again, they at least won't choke us all to death."
Ceija begins a thorough search of Myron's papers, looking for any disputes or disagreements, especially of a romantic or financial nature.
Burning... plants. But they did hurt her friends.
But they're asleep. But if they wake up someone else could get hurt.
Pandir keeps quiet and does as she's told, putting the plants inside the pouch.
