Constantine wants to argue with Roger, but now doesn't seem like the appropriate time. The wolves had come straight for him when they could have run past. But he wasn't one to understand the mind of an animal. Very few creatures, living or dead, behaved in so-called "logical" manners.
Majara’s bomb burns the intended target and sets the creatures next to it ablaze. The tree also ignites, but it probably won’t spread too far; what with all the damp from the rain.
The burnt tick follows its original course of action: to leap down onto Emma. But in its haste, it burns and bleeds out as it falls uselessly onto its back with its legs twitching and flailing.
The other three descend from the tree and attempt to latch onto Emma! With their numbers, they’re able to overwhelm Emma’s swordwork, but not before she has an opportunity to get her licks in.
The paladin's blade tears through chitinous flesh, but all three remain living enough to feast upon the living.
Heavy and strong though her armor may be, one of the three insects is able to find its mandibles on exposed flesh and begins to tear its way in to drain Emma of blood.
Meanwhile just down the road, the remaining unconscious wolf continues to have its blood drained by the other large bloodsuckers. It still seems to have blood left as they haven't left it behind.
Majara tuts to to see a tick latching on to Emma.
"Hrmn. Dispatch it quickly before it drinks too much of your blood. They carry diseases," she advises, ever so helpfully. Majara scrutinizes the massed ticks, takes a wary few steps closer, and hurls another incendiary to the ticks not next to Emma.
Majara's fiery missile finds its target but in response the ticks in the tree drop down on Emma, all legs bloated bodies. Hannelia winces a little, knowing the paladin really doesn't like bugs. Targeting the one Emma slashed at, she lines up a shot at the nearest tick and from such close range skewers it straight through.
"Very helpful Majara!" Emma grumbles over her shoulder.
Emma winces as the ticks fall near her - especially when one of them latches onto her, sending a sensation of weakness flooding through her body. And here I just bought new armor, she finds herself thinking, even as the pain swells from the insect's assault.
"Off!" she growls, taking a swing.
Perhaps it's due to the fact that she's surrounded by the insects, and that one has latched on to her, but as she makes the swing, she doesn't feel confident about it.
Hearing the shouting coming from the other side of the tree, Constantine looks back at Roger, blood still trickling down his face. "Come on." He begins moving around the tree. He'd try to stay out of Majara's line of fire, but he fully intended to box these vermin in and cut them down if there was anything left to cut by the time he got there.
"Ay lad, no need to be hasty though." Roger takes some time to examine his path, and cuts along the edge of the tree canopy, to see if he can't strike at the beasties from the high ground with his glaive.
Majara's bomb incapacitates yet another bug! The two ticks attached to the wolf continue to drain the last drops of lifeblood from the poor animal. Thankfully, the explosion had done enough to put it out of its misery.
The other detaches and scurries toward the nearest warm body it can find. Emma.
[/ooc]Miss. Finally. I'm getting a little scared I'm going to kill you before the adventure starts.[/ooc]
Emma can hear her own blood rushing through her ears and out her sides as the ticks pile on and drain her blood. Her movements are restricted and she finds it impossible to get away at this point. Her extremities start to feel cold and prickly from the blood loss.
Majara sucks disapprovingly on her teeth to see the young paladin taking the brunt of so much of the tick's assault.
"This is going to singe you," she announces. "Unfortunately, an extermination process must be thorough to be effective. Hang on."
Despite Majara's bombs and her arrows felling a few of them, Hannelia grits her teeth as the ticks just keep coming, swarming Emma and attaching themselves to her. "Let's see if we can share some better luck with our friend," she mutters to herself. "I'm sorry to have to ask, but if you can stay as still as possible for a second please Emma - I don't want to hit you." Glad of the additional practice firing into challenging situations, she wipes the sweat starting to bead on her forehead with her sleeve, before picking her target. Her arrow flies true again, landing with a squelch in the fatted flank of one of the ticks.
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"If that lass can stay still what while she's being eaten alive by insects and lit aflame, that'd be a miracle!" Roger shakes his head, only to be proven wrong by a canny shot from Hannelia. "Well, suppose miracles are what she's about." He says before stepping in to add to the insect repellers' efforts.
Seeing Roger cut through the brush and more indications of worry for Emma, Constantine takes off charging through the tree line until he can see one of the ticks. He lets out a roar, looking perhaps a bit like one of the ancient Isgeri Kellids as he charges out, sword raised, covered in blood. If only ticks could appreciate history. Or irony.
Majara immolates the tick to Emma’s right, scorching her and the other ticks in the process. The tick dies screeching and unburrows from Emma’s side.
Hannelia’s luck continues and she’s able to kill another of the ticks attacking Emma.
Roger cuts down the last of the three with his long blade.
Constantine leaps down and skewers the last weakened Tick with his sword.
All of the wild animals dead or dying, the traveling companions have several moments before being sure no more are incoming and can lick their wounds. Some time to breathe, heal up, and make camp should be in order.
With the ticks dispatched, Majara brushes her hands off then hurries to Emma, looking her over critically.
"You look half exsanguinated. Don't try and move too quickly, you'll be lightheaded," she instructs. "Drink this to start with. I'm not sure I can do anything for your blood loss."
After some rooting through the vials on her person Majara simply shrugs. "Yes. Can't fix your blood loss. Excuse me."
The gnome turns on her heel and proceeds to the ticks, drawing a wee dagger and starting to industriously harvest antennae, bits of chitin, and some of Emma's blood the ichor that oozes from the cracked and blasted tick carapaces. A wolf paw is also severed without ceremony, wrapped in a bit of cloth, and tucked away on Majara's person.
A feeling of relief at the end of the battle floods through Hannelia, though adrenaline is still busy working away in the background. While she has become accustomed to this feeling, it's the first time since they have been back on the road and she tries to adjust to the strange dichotomy of nervous energy and calmness that combat brings. In the end they had made short work of the ticks, with Majara's missiles proving particularly effective in targeting multiple of the oversized bugs. Unfortunately Emma had taken something of a beating and looked pale and somewhat dazed from blood loss.
Majara has already bounded over to the paladin and offered her some advice and a curative, while Hannelia quickly sorts through the various neatly packaged vials in her own pack. Finding the one she was looking for, she pulls it out and removes the fabric padding from the glass. The contents appear cream-coloured and fairly viscous, with a slight shimmering in the light. Making her way over to her friend, she offers an arm and guides Emma to the floor to sit for a minute and recuperate. "Here, take this," she says, offering her the potion.
While their gnome companion is busy removing body parts for whatever concoctions she needs them for, Hannelia sits next to Emma and tries not to feel too grossed out by the deflated blood sacks littering the ground. She suppresses a shudder at the idea of them attaching and sucking her blood as they had to Emma. "I know a priest of Gozreh would tell us this is just the natural order of things - prey, predators, scavengers - but do they really have to be so disgusting? This increasingly marshy land has been unenjoyable enough with the incessant clouds of insects but to be actively dangerous too? I know we're not quite there yet but why wouldn't you choose to live somewhere a bit more hospitable?"
Well, Emma thinks to herself, wiping the sweat from her brow. That could have gone worse I suppose. I mean, it could have gone much, much better, but...
Her talk with Hannelia from a few days prior surfaces in her mind; though Emma was trying to not worry as much about how much she was contributing or how effective she was being in any particular situation, it was hard not to feel disheartened after this latest bout.
Most of her time had been spent trying to fend off the ticks, and being unsuccessful at doing so; if it hadn't been for Majara and Hannelia, she could've easily been overwhelmed. The blood that had been drained from her left her feeling dizzy and weak.
On the other hand, she had to remind herself that she actually had accomplished what she'd set out to do. Her main goal had been to keep the ticks at bay and prevent them from swarming Majara and the others. Yeah, she'd taken more hits than she would've cared to, and she'd done a poor job at hitting them back - but in the end, she'd kept them at bay long enough for the others to take care of them.
That was something, at least - right?
"You look half exsanguinated. Don't try and move too quickly, you'll be lightheaded," she instructs. "Drink this to start with. I'm not sure I can do anything for your blood loss."
After some rooting through the vials on her person Majara simply shrugs. "Yes. Can't fix your blood loss. Excuse me."
Emma nods - she can attest to the lightheadedness. Still, the healing is appreciated; perhaps Majara can't help with the blood she's already lost, but at least she won't be losing any more in the near future.
"Thanks," Emma says to Majara's retreating form. She takes a steadying breath. "Damn. That wasn't fun."
Making her way over to her friend, she offers an arm and guides Emma to the floor to sit for a minute and recuperate. "Here, take this," she says, offering her the potion.
While their gnome companion is busy removing body parts for whatever concoctions she needs them for, Hannelia sits next to Emma and tries not to feel too grossed out by the deflated blood sacks littering the ground. She suppresses a shudder at the idea of them attaching and sucking her blood as they had to Emma. "I know a priest of Gozreh would tell us this is just the natural order of things - prey, predators, scavengers - but do they really have to be so disgusting? This increasingly marshy land has been unenjoyable enough with the incessant clouds of insects but to be actively dangerous too? I know we're not quite there yet but why wouldn't you choose to live somewhere a bit more hospitable?"
Hannelia's potion helps considerably - already she feels some of her strength and vitality returning. She puts a hand on Hannelia's shoulder and gives a friendly squeeze. "First and most importantly, thank you for that potion - that helped a lot." She rolls her neck, glad for the lack of dizziness from the movement. [b]"And as much as I'd like to say something profound about how people are able to adapt to rough situations - I'm just going to agree instead. At this point, it almost feels as though fate itself is taunting me with deadly insects. Maybe it's even a test from Iomedae, for whatever reason. Either way, I'll be happy if we never come across another nest of ticks like that again."
She takes a moment after she's spoken to call upon the holy energies of Iomedae to heal some of her remaining wounds - she'd taken a fair amount of damage from that, so the quicker she can get herself back up to strength, the better.
"Glad we've got so many with healer's hands on hand." Roger comments on the healing.
Constantine is in a foul mood as the swift, brutal melee winds down. Majara's vermin repellent had been working, but the small insects had still found his exposed skin and left tiny welts in the regions where his armor chafed. And now he had some larger canid bites to join those, which were already itching even as. He gives a few more hacks to the giant tick to vent his frustration before burying his sword half in the stump of a nearby felled tree. He leaves his blade there, wringing his hands through his hair.
Breathe.
Emma had been hurt much worse than he had. He was mostly irritated. She was the one who should be upset.
Breathe. In. Out.
A test from Iomedae? Don't be snarky. She and Milani are like sisters.
"Natural order, fate, god's test, or whatever you want to view it as, it was unpleasant. But aside from my folly in misjudging an animal's survival instincts, it would appear that our teamwork remains intact." Constantine retrieves a cloth from his bag and begins wiping the blood and grime from his face so that he looks less mad. "And Ms. Pricknettle: you clearly make a fine addition to our party. That would have been a much more dire trial without your munitions." He says this just as she removes a wolf paw, at which he blanches slightly. Hmm. Interesting.
He considers asking Emma how she's doing, but it seems like an unnecessary platitude. As Hannelia and Majara are ministering to her wounds, Constantine retrieves his sword from its resting place. His sword arm begins to prickle, the hairs standing on end and gooseflesh rippling up and down as his blood cools. He winces slightly, and then lifts the blade up to the light to check the edges.
Sorry about that.
It was nothing that a bit of time with a whetstone and an oiled cloth wouldn't fix, though. Constantine sheathes his blade and walks over to Roger. He digs the toe of his boot in the dirt and hefts one arm up behind his head. "How do you always seem to maintain your demeanor in even the harshest circumstances, Roger?"
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"... Aren't the harshest, lad. They're right close, a shade or two less, no lie, but not the worst. Mauled by a beast is bad, aye, but we all rightly know where Emma'd be bound even if they did get her. When Hannah lent her eyes out though? No telling how that was gonna go down, that had me heart in me stomach and my boots aquakin'! Soul's'n magic an' bargains, those can have a real price to be paid." Roger ponders for a moment before shaking his head.
The younger man snorts lightly. As was often the case with Roger, he had answered the question without answering the question. Or perhaps he had answered the question he wanted to answer. Who knew with Roger?
But there was the answer: Roger had limits. He didn't always keep his hat on. Constantine felt guilty, almost, for losing his temper over something so small. Was this Roger's way of telling him that it was okay? Or chiding him for reading too much into...
"You're right," he says, leaving it at that.
Hannelia's potion helps considerably - already she feels some of her strength and vitality returning. She puts a hand on Hannelia's shoulder and gives a friendly squeeze. "First and most importantly, thank you for that potion - that helped a lot." She rolls her neck, glad for the lack of dizziness from the movement. "And as much as I'd like to say something profound about how people are able to adapt to rough situations - I'm just going to agree instead. At this point, it almost feels as though fate itself is taunting me with deadly insects. Maybe it's even a test from Iomedae, for whatever reason. Either way, I'll be happy if we never come across another nest of ticks like that again."
”Any time,” Hannelia says in turn. ”We’re a team. And you showed remarkable courage to get up close with them in spite of previous challenges with insects. That takes real personal strength to do that in the face of any potential - and eminently understandable - misgivings.” She stretches an arm above her head, trying to keep any tightness out of her muscles. ”And myself and Majara wouldn’t have been able to get shots away nearly as well had we been swarmed so thank you for your boldness - it’s always appreciated. I’m sorry that you got so hurt in the process.”
You're aware that the bite of the giant tick often results in a disease known as Red Ache, which saps the strength of the victim. Fortunately or unfortunately, the onset can take a few days, so its too soon to tell.
_____
As you patch up Emma and dust yourselves off, you can hear the call of carrion birds punctuating your conversation. When you round the bend to leave behind the bloody corpses, you almost immediately spot the owners of the birdcalls descend upon the veritable feast you've left behind. Thankfully, not upon you.
Nothing else to note chances its way to you on this evening. Hiding in a tent from the mosquitos with some bug repellent would likely be a good way to get a good night's rest though.
______________________
Day 14
By midmorning the next day, Emma's condition has improved. The air, though still humid, is a bit cooler from a westerly breeze. Your good fortune turns further up as you come across a sign which says: "Fresh Berries - Pick your own" in haphazardly hand-painted letters.
The road turns out to the north. Though you can see the field in the distance, it will likely be a 30 minute walk off the path.
You may be in some hurry to find out the fate of Elias Kyle, but you'll still probably arrive by tomorrow or so if you decide to stop and smell the roses, as it were.
***
After harvesting a few choice bits of creature, Majara wanders down to the stream to cleanse her hands, then seems eager to return to the road.
The next day she takes Emma's pulse with her thin, small fingers, and tests the much taller woman's temperature as well, necessitating the finding of a stump to balance on. "Hrmnn."
Inconclusive? Perhaps.
The sign earns a rare, open smile from Majara, white teeth flashing suddenly bright in her gnomish face. "Berries! That's worth detouring," she informs more than asks the others. Without a pause for group consultation, Pricknettle urges Blue off the main path and towards the field that can be seen a bit off.
"I could make an excellent cordial. Or finish dying Blue's mane," she remarks to nobody in particular, either assuming the others are following or, perhaps, not at all caring if they're not.
By the morning, Constantine's sword arm is feeling less angry with him, and the gouges from the wolf's savaging are scabbing over. He offers to spar with Roger and Emma if either are feeling up for it, just to keep sharp. It's clear that sleep did him well, and his bitterness at the prior day's events has mostly faded from obvious view.
---
Fresh berries? Constantine looks for additional information--a collection box, perhaps, from some enterprising cultivator--while Majara heedlessly turns towards the patch.
"Why not?" he says. It might be nice to have a break from the (relative) monotony of the road. And even if there were a few more insects around, attracted to the sweetness of the berries, they would at least hopefully be less likely to bother the Friends.
We really do need to decide on a better name.
"Tell me if you start feeling aches in your bones or a fever," Majara says to Emma in a crisp way.
At Constantine's compliment, she arches both blue-tinged brows at him, then inclines her head. In the Gnomish tongue they've been practicing, she remarks, "I've found few things in life can't be simplified by direct application of heat and pressure. It's convenient when it also aligns with the interests of others."
The idea of something fresh and tasty is appealing after the slog of the journey so Hannelia answers Constantine's possibly rhetorical question with a "Why not indeed? And if there's someone about we could do a lot worse than try to find out more about the village, even if information our missing friend is probably a long shot."
As you approach the fields of thorny bushes, you notice the scarecrow posted in the field looks somewhat familiar. A great effigy made from sticks and straw, a gourd for a head, and most notably, patchwork wings reminiscent of butterfly wings. A staff hangs at one side, the end whittled to a point like a spear. The patchwork visage hangs in a bit of a menacing manner, but it is meant to scare after all.
Though the berry field has several types of berries from the local region, you come away with more elderberries than anything else. The thorns, while prickly and annoying, don't leave any serious harm.
It doesn't look exactly right, but the scarecrow's wings suggest the farmer may be a Desna worshipper of some stripe. It's a little spooky, but its bound to be that way as a scarecrow in such a remote part of the country.
Your spirits are otherwise moored by the sweet bounty of the fields.
___________
Day 15
According to your maps and calculations, you should be arriving in Ravenmoor by about late midday.
You hadn't slept well. The middle of the night was interrupted by an unnatural howling roar that sounded similar to a wolf, but clearly a lower register and from a creature much, much larger.
That sounds like the call of a creature known as a Bunyip.
Despite the charming name, The bunyip is a fierce and avid hunter, possessing a primal ruthlessness that seems almost evil in its rapacity. It appears as a sea lion with the jaws and serrated maw of a shark, with some differences varying by region. Some hunt on the open sea while others live in freshwater inlets such as this. They have a terrible roar which can send all but the most fearless warriors shrieking in panic.
As you travel down the path, it splits away from the river for an indeterminate distance, but you can see a path turning right back toward the river. It's not well-trodden, but it seems to be the way to Ravenmoor.
As you suspect, you can see a small village in the distance past a low hill covered in tall grass and muddy peat. Your objective is in sight.
You hear the sound of a young boy's voice calling, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPLESAUCE! Here boy! C'meer boy!" followed by some whistling, as if a child were looking for a lost puppy. This comes from the tall grass growing to the left of the road.
Berries do a lot to enliven Constantine's spirits, though nothing for his focus. He notes the weird scarecrow as he starts dreaming about a pie made with the berries. He's still thinking about that pie the next day on the way to Ravenmoor.
Scarecrows? Gods? Nah. Berries. Majara's focus is single-minded, but she comes away from the berry patch with blue stains on fingers and lips and a satisfied, cat-like smile.
In the night, Majara sits up, her eyes gazing into the gloom as if she could see well in the dark-- perhaps she can, better than human at least, though not on par with a dwarf or her deep kindred.
She listens to the deep howl, tilts her head to the side, then pronounces, "Bunyip," to no-one in particular before lying immediately back down again.
In the morning she elaborates as they break their fast over a small campfire. "The howl in the night-- that was a bunyip. They're aquatic, and nasty pieces of produce. If there's one in the nearby river inlet, I would suggest we give it a wide berth, to use the appropriate nautical terminology. Extremely vicious hunters, combining the traits of shark and sea lion, aggressive well beyond most natural creatures. No reason to encroach on its hunting grounds unless we must."
She pauses around a mouthful of jerky, chews, and swallows, then adds, "Though if it's terrorizing the town, timely termination may tally us token thanks...."
Later, she waves a small hand in the direction of the small collection of roofs that can just be seen in the distance. "Our destination, no? --what's that--?"
Majara's head swivels to the left, her pointed ears pricking.
"Hello there! You've a lost dog running about? We're visitors. Is your dog friendly, child?"
There's the lightest edge to Majara's tone that speaks to past encounters with unfriendly dogs, perhaps.
In the field the berries from whatever kindly soul made them available do their job of lifting Hannelia’s spirits. As they pick the choicest fruits from the tangles of brambles, her eye is drawn to the scarecrow overseeing his domain. Squinting at it, she feels like it is supposed to convey something that she can’t place. None of the others seem to have any more idea than she does. Shrugging, she turns back to the physical task of berry gathering.
Hannelia too hears the low howl in the night and shivers into her blankets. ”Yes, that’s what I thought,” she says to Majara’s pronouncement of the call being that of a bunyip. ”We have nothing to fear right now as it’s an aquatic creature I believe, but I’m not sure that noise is particularly conducive to sleep.”
Her prediction is unfortunately on the nose and Hannelia does not feel as well rested as she would have liked. The others look equally groggy, the toils of the road and the fearsome cry of the beast having taken their toll on everyone.
Finally, however, the journey seems to be coming to an end as their destination is near. As they approach Ravenmoor, a cry comes up from somewhere in the grasses of the road. Echoing Majara, Hannelia calls out, ”Hello? Are you ok?”
Constantine had heard nothing, but accepts Majara's and Hannelia's pronouncements regarding the bunyip, and then later their concern over a child. Looking for a dog? The erstwhile-Fioritura now-Sarini cranes his neck and thinks he might need to clean out his ears. The grime of the road and the sheen of chemicals had probably worked up some sort of blockage. But it would take too much effort to take off his gloves at this point, so he just tilts his head from one side to the other, giving a light thunk on both temples to dislodge anything that might be loose.
Majara was right--helping the town out might be a good way to ingratiate themselves. Slaying a bunyip. Finding a puppy. Best not to charge in armed either way. Constantine keeps his sword sheathed and waits to see if the child responds.
Roger seems out of his element in what to make with berries. Perhaps he's used to more tropical fare, or simply likes savory dishes too much, nonetheless, he's nary a recipe to share for these.
In the day after their encounter with the ticks, Emma is all too happy to spar with Constantine. It helps her loosen her muscles and ensures she's back up to strength for any future encounters. Her shoulder and back are a bit stiff at first, but by the end of their bout, she's no worse for the wear.
------------------
Emma watches with some amusement as Majara emerges from the field of berries with a satisfied look on her face.
Though Emma's curious about the field and it's somewhat ominous looking scarecrow, she can't recall anything specific that might help explain it's purpose. Perhaps it's simply a scarecrow, or perhaps it holds religious significance that escapes her. She'll have to brush up on it when she can.
She joins Hannelia in picking some of the berries. When they leave the area, Emma gives a respectful nod in the direction of the scarecrow.
--------------
Emma nods with a slight frown as Majara describes the Bunyip. "I'm all for avoiding it if we can, though if it's hurting the townsfolk then I'm keen to get rid of it regardless of social clout - though admittedly, I won't complain if that's an end result." Emma thinks about it a moment and then sighs wistfully. "At this rate we really are going to become known for being exterminators..."
Emma hears the boys cries for something or someone named Applesauce as they approach the town. Majara and Hannelia both engage the boy in conversation, though Emma takes note that the boy never specified if it was a dog or not. Either way, she puts on a friendly smile and steps up beside the other two.
"Hello there! We're just arrived to this area, but if we can help at all in tracking down this Applesauce, please let us know," she says.
Yesterday
There aren't very many good recipes that Roger can think of at the moment. One could be sure a jam or a cobbler could be made from it, though the process may elude our elder adventuring companion.
No one really has anything more to say on the winged scarecrow, but Emma treats it with some amount of reverence as she leaves.
________
Now
The tall grass makes it difficult initially locate the owner of the high-pitched voice. In response to your calls, the tall grass tears down in front of you to reveal a small boy covered in dirt and mud. He is breathing heavily and too-quickly as he says in a feverish panic, "H-he's muh-my, pet! He flown away this way a'cuz I let him off his leash. I known I shouldn'a done it, Pa tol' me not to. Ohhh Applesauce! He could be done lost halfway to the Chit'wood by now. If it ain't too much trouble none, would ya help me find him?"
"Aaaaaaaplesauce! C'meeeeeere boy!" he cries.
Just then you hear a flapping whirring sound like batwings. Something that sounds a bit alien to your ears.
A creature with four bat-like wings descends upon you from beyond the tall grass. It has a long sharp proboscis and insectoid limbs and compound eyes. It zips to Constantine, making a disturbing keening noise as it does.
"Applesauce!" the boy calls out in relief. He looks at Roger's massive blade and his eyes widen, "Wait, don' hurt him!"
Stirges are vicious, blood-drinking swamp pests that prey on wild animals, livestock, and unwary travelers. While weak individually, swarms of the creatures are capable of draining a man dry in minutes, leaving only a desiccated husk in their wake.
Closer to mammals than insects, stirges carry their bodies through the air on four fleshy wings, searching out warm-blooded prey. They are fond of hiding near watering holes and waiting for travelers to drop their guard, then swooping out to attach and drink their fill by thrusting their long feeding tubes into unprotected veins. After feeding they flap heavily off into the mud and reeds to lay their eggs and rest until hunger drives them to hunt again.
Like the ticks before, Stirges tend to carry diseases, but not always.
Roger looked at the boy like he was mad, and perhaps he was. He readied said blade. "If ye can keep control of it, I won't kill it!"
The creature attempts to light on Constantine and sink its needlenosed proboscis in him. But just as swiftly and with much more force, Roger shoves it away. It sails through the air like a rag doll. It floats up higher, and tilts its head several times, as if quizzically.
Majara looks at the stirge.... looks at the child.... looks at the stirge.... looks at the child.....
The gnome's expression somewhat succinctly conveys she is less than pleased by the situation. She pinches at the bridge of her nose as a free action. Then clears her throat several times in a convoluted way, coughs a spark briefly, then starts to hum in a rather strained, high-pitched way.
"B--zzb-- bzzbllbe-- nmmmmm--"
Hannelia doesn't recognise the insectoid creature but it's certainly not a dog. And the panicked note in the boy's voice tells them that this is indeed his pet. It's certainly not cute and the noise it is emitting is unpleasant, but perhaps it has some redeeming qualities that she is unaware of ? She shrugs internally - to each their own.
She doesn't draw her bow - in her mind she sees a bag of flour, albeit one with four wings and a slender proboscis - but approaches the boy with palms out to show that her hands are empty. Squatting down so they are more of a height, she asks gently. "Hello, I'm Hannelia. What's your name?" As the creature zooms in towards them, Roger bats it away. "Can you call him off? Is it Applesauce, did you say?"
She hopes the boy is able to calm it down, and it seems like Majara has some sort of magic that allows her to communicate with it. Hannelia certainly doesn't want to upset the child and, she thinks, killing his pet isn't exactly the best first impression to make.
A pet...stirge?
Constantine blinks several times in shock and then wheels out of the way as Roger swings his weapon near his face and knocks the stirge away. "Thanks," he breathes.
Well, it hadn't been as effective with the wolves yesterday, but Constantine hopes that stirges might be more affected. His armor glows slightly green in the light, and it almost seems as though some of the green lines from the metal extend into the occultist's skin.
Then he moves a bit further down the road, not drawing his weapon, but hoping that if the stirge was going to come after anyone it would be him.
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When the vicious looking creature appears, Emma feels a momentary surge of pride at having guessed correctly - Applesauce was indeed not a dog. Then, as she looks at the nasty looking creature, she winces.
"Kinda wish I hadn't been right about that one, actually," she mutters to herself.
She instinctively draws her sword and readies herself to face off against...whatever the hell this thing is. Roger has already batted it away from them once. But a moment later, Majara begins to speak in a strange way, clearly trying to communicate with it. Hannelia tries to communicate with the boy again - so for now, she holds herself back. Ready to step in and shield her allies if needed, but also not willing to step out and attack.
She'd rather not be responsible for killing the boy's pet, regardless of how bizarre of a choice for a pet it is. But neither will she simply let it attack them or pose a threat to others.
"Indeed," Emma says, nodding towards the boy, giving him a smile despite her combat ready stance. "Any help in defusing this situation would be most appreciated."
Majara's spell works. Sort of.
The keening becomes somewhat intelligible to the gnome's ears. But there seems to be some words lost in translation. Like some alien intellect. But the instinct is easy enough to interpret.
"[WHO/WHAT] ARE YOU? HOW [COMMUNICATE]? [THEY/WE/I] HUNGER. [PLEADING] ... ---- AlLoW Me. [WILL/CAN] YoU SPeAk TO [YOUNGLING/MASTER]? I [ReQUIRE/DESIRE] SUSTENANCE."
Its head tilts several times around in an impossible loop as it flaps its two pairs of wings.
_______
The boy responds to Hanellia and Emma, "Oh sure." He doesn't look half as confident as his words suggest. "I think so. Yeap, definitely."
He whistles at Applesauce and pats his thighs, ”C’meer boy! Don’t be a-scairt. Ya hungry boy? We can getcha sum’nta eat at home! I think Pa mighta caught a juicy rat for ya!
That seems to do the trick, and the stirge peacefully perches on the boy’s shoulder. He fastens the harness and leash to the stirge with a practiced ease as he beams up at the 5 of you (or 6 if you count Blue).
”Oh dog- I mean oh dagnabbit. I forgot my manners. Pa says to always introduce yourself to nice strangers and say yer pleases and thank yous. I’m Ornigaard Khorza. I’m eight years old! Thanks for helpin’ me out there. Do you have any cool stories! Do ya kill monsters with those? Didja come to town for the festival? C’mon I’ll take ya to my house, Pa can tell ya all about it! ”
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"Lime and lickspittle! All the seas I've sailed, I've naught once met someone what wanted to make a pet of a mosquito..." Roger shakes his head.
"Not quite a mosquito," Constantine corrects, glad to see that the situation has been defused before getting out of hand. Killing a young boy's pet would have been a poor way to make introductions to town. "They're more like mammals than insects. Like a bat. Applesauce is a stirge if I'm not mistaken--is that right, Ornigaard?"
Constantine tries to keep his reactive revulsion from showing on his face, though he doesn't fully relax. He reaches his hand out to the boy with the odd pet, shifting his manner of speech to be a bit more child-friendly. "Your Pa raised you right! I'm Constantine Sarini--" still getting used to that "--and these are my friends. We've got lots of stories. What kinds of stories do you like?"
A festival? Constantine tries to remember if he knew anything about holidays around this day, especially if they're local.
With a little bit of coaxing, the boy responds to Hannelia and Emma and successfully calls the creature off. Pleased that there was no need for bloodshed, especially as it does indeed appear to be his pet, she cocks an eyebrow as he swiftly ties a lead around it. Roger has the right of it, she thinks, though the lad's actions and manner suggests that he at least finds nothing strange about it.
"Hello Ornigaard," says Hannelia, "it's very nice to meet you. And you, Applesauce," she adds, addressing the now settled critter. For a brief second she considers reaching out to pet it, before deciding that would be a step too far. The creature's long slender nose glistens and she represses a shudder. "Yes, that's right," she replies in response to the boy's question about the festival, figuring it to be a safe answer. "Why don't you tell us about the festival? I'm sure you know lots about it." She smiles at him.
"And I suppose we do kill monsters, when we have to. Weapons are not toys though, and it's a dangerous world out there," she says seriously, before giving him what she suspects he really wants to hear: tales of heroics rather than a lecture. "But I guess we have some good stories," and she launches into a heavily abridged tale of the their escapades in Saringallow, focusing particularly on the battles against goblins, bugbears and demons. Can't blame him for that, I was the same at his age. And I'm still a sucker for a good yarn, she smiles ruefully to herself. It's just a bit different to be inside a story.
"Your-- master has food for you," Majara tries to buzz, her face screwed up with the effort of the language, but fortunately the boy is able to bring his pet to heel well before she has to try and deploy her rusty social skills. Relieved, Majara says crisply to the child:
"You're right, your friend there is hungry. I have some dried meat but I assume he prefers... juicier fare."
With that, she turns on her heel to see to Blue, who is ill-at-ease with the stirge flapping about. She's more than content than to let Hannelia and Constantine's easy manners win the boy over, and concentrates on keeping a firm hand on Blue's rein as they settle into following the child to his home.
Ornigaard gives the old seadog a worried look, but returns to his cheerful self when Constantine makes his correction. ”Yeah! That’s right Mr. Sarini. Least, that’s what my Pa says.”
"I'm just glad he didn't get a taste of y'all. Pa says 'once they get a taste, there ain't no goin back.' That means if they drink people blood, we gotta put 'em down." His eyes cast down as he says so.
"So thanks for saving Applesauce mister! he says to Roger
The boy’s eyes glitter as you tell him the tales of your exploits. ”Waaaow. Y’all fought goblins? Didja fight in the war too? My Pa says there was one ‘afore I was born.
As it’s late autumn and nearly winter, Constantine isn’t sure about any festivals at the moment. Perhaps it's an obscure custom? It could be some sort of harvest festival, but by most standards this would be rather late.
______
"IZZSSZ THAT SO?" Then the spell seems to stop working as an ululating buzzing erupts from the creature. But then you realize it's laughing.
"[OFFERING THANKS]. COME ALONG, YES? THE HOST PREPARES. AN ANCESTOR IS TO BE CELEBRATED." Applesauce says.
Ornigaard stands about a head taller than Majara and when he speaks he giggles. ”You talk kinda funny. How old are you? Is that your papa?” he says pointing at Roger.
Majara purses her lips up at the mirthful child. "I was speaking with your Applesauce, earlier. I am a hundred and twelve years old." She looks from the boy to Roger, her brows knitting slightly, then back to the child.
"--We don't have even the slightest resemblance. There's nothing blue about him."
Majara is not the best with children.
She does mention to the others, in a bit of a mutter, "The stirge mentioned there's to be some sort of celebration. Of an ancestor. I-- think. I only understood part of its speech.
"Ornigaard, what are you celebrating with your festival?"
Feeling a little like they are bombarding the poor boy with information from multiple sources in reply to his already-scattergun questioning, Hannelia tries to restrict things to a more straightforward dialogue. She shoots Constantine a glance at the question about the Goblinblood Wars and intervenes to try and shut it down "There was a war," she says, not unkindly but firmly, "but it was a long time ago. I was a lot younger than you are now when it happened." Hoping for that to be the end of that discussion, she echoes Majara's question. "Yes, we're very excited to hear more about the festival, what can you tell us about it?"
Ornigaard just giggles again as he skips along. He seems fairly amused by Majara's stature, and seems to have very little knowledge of gnomes.
He strains his face thoughtfully in reply, "Hmm... y'know, now that I think of it, I ain't too sure. Its called the Founders' Festival... but sometimes they call it the Founders' Feast. Ionno. Pa can tell you more about it. Ope, we're here!" He says as you arrive back at the river on this seldom-trod trail.
Two ramshackle shacks flank the River Keld here, sheds to house a flat-bottom ferry. Tightly drawn ropes cross the river, part of a cranked pulley system that draws the barge across the black water. A crooked-backed, thin-haired, wild-eyed and elderly man pokes out from one of the sheds.
He murmurs and points at each of you in turn, counting your number.
"Y'all planning on comin inta Ravenmoor? It'll be five shields an'a sail on account'a yer donkey. I ain't chargin' for the Korzha boy. You bein' good, boy? Don't be talkin' too much to strangers or your Pa'll get worried."
Ornigaard answers bashfully, "I been good Mr. Cardzi. Applesauce and me just bump into these good folks comin' for the festival, is all." He sneaks a glance at the lot of you.
Cardzi looks suspiciously at the boy but then tilts an eye to the adventurers about to hop on his boat. "Skender Cardzi." He grunts. "I'm the ferryman. Y'all best be careful round these parts. If ya fall in the water, the Wolf in the Water'll getcha! I seent him only once, but I was lucky." He points to a strange skull nailed to the shack on this side of the river.
"Most times, he luuuuvs eatin' childrens' guts. 'Specially bad ones that don't listen to they elders!" He laughs. Ornigaard blanches at this. "But he don' discriminate. Wolf in the Water'll turnt your guts to mash too if y'ain't careful."
The skull belonged to a misshapen ox calf.