"Please, I appeal to you all. Let us turn back to town. It's not far, just a few hours. If we go that way and perish, and there is a threat to the town, they will never know it is coming. I have family and friends there. We can come right back out as soon as the sheriff knows. I swear."
Tarka inches in Sona's direction and sidles up next to her, hoping others will be swayed. Perhaps the Sheriff has some information on this cave?
".... We can come right back out as soon as the sheriff knows. I swear."
Stopping near the tracks, Tribim Raises an eyebrow at Sona's insitance to protect her friends and family. 'The homeless girl sitting in filth outside a tavern begging, is worried about her friends and family? She is better kin than they.' His curiosity unsated, "Meuwster Sona is right, important to protect family. Meow has family in Sandpoint as well. Returning to town now with stories of 'undead footprints' is little better than rumors and innuendos."
He points towards the cave, "Meow think if sheriff had information he would have told meuwsters instead of telling meuwsters to search out Walthus Purrrrroudfur. Meuwsters should scout out cave and undead to get information to report instead of rumor." He shrugs his shoulders. "If infestation is purrrrchance small, meuwsters deal with it. If not then return to town and report witnessed Purrrroof." He then returns to following the tracks, hoping it will influence the decisions.
"I don't want to have to come all the way back here again after leaving for no good reason. It's a day's walk back to Sandpoint, and then another day to get back to where we're standing right now. If we go back now, I won't be coming back at all. I have better things to do with my time."
Vinexa considered what they had found and knew that she would really like to get back to town. Still, if there are undead this close to Sandpoint they could quickly become a problem if they didn't at least investigate them first. After considering she said, "Much as I would like to return to town I think we should at least look into this cave. If it seems too dangerous we can always return to town for help."
While the other teammate's responses seem mild to encourage her to go, sort of working, Vigny's response stings.
"Some people only care about themselves and their priorities. I suppose we'll possibly be alright..." the mage thinks to herself with a furrowed brow and a disappointed tuck of her lips. In a relenting gesture, she frustratedly waves Vigny in particular to the path to continue on, since she was so unmovable, but Sona says nothing to the Ulfen.
Pushing aside the fallen wooden walls of the Licktoad village, the party gets a clearer view of the bony footprints as they stalk deeper into the marsh, crossing a fairly wide channel. The channel is shallow enough in places to cross, but it's hardly a pleasant experience as the rushing cold water laps around the group's legs (or torso, in Tribim's case--assuming nobody carries the brave palico).
The sky darkens as the group follows the bony footprints further, crossing another channel as they go, but before too long the tracks cross what appears to be a dirt path--one that's meant for people to travel upon. The footprints continue to the west, along the path.
Okay, but if we lose even one ear on this extra journey, it come out of your cut of pay! the ronso bellows as he wades through the water.
As they go along he starts to focus on the path beneath his feet.
Odd. No living thing has taken this path for at least... six months now.
Raising an eyebrow as Tarka comments about 'loosing an ear' Tribim pats his bandolier making sure the ears he had collected were safe. Following the bony footprints, Tribim pauses at the dirt path. Scratching his head he points down the path, "Meuwsters, the purrrrints head down the 'witch's Walk' an old road that leads towards Old Megus' house, she's called she Witch of the marsh" He looks back towards Tarka, pointing at the tall grass. "Meuwster Tarka is correct, the overgrowth purrrroves it."
Shrugging his shoulders, his curiosity drowning out anything his good sense might offer, Tribim continues follow the undead prints. Voicing aloud "Wonder why undead headed to witches house."
Vigny follows behind Tarka and Tribim, letting the trackers track.
Wow, such a lazy, incurious, and uptight group.
She rolls her eyes to herself.
"I am not sure," she answers Tribim. "I've heard the rumors of this 'Witch'. Rumors are rumors, however. If these are indeed belonging to her, perhaps she has been dabbling a bit in necromancy. If so, the question we need to ask is are her deeds worthy of punishment? After all, she just kind of did our job for us and helped save the city. Maybe she's trying to help by using unsavory means? We should do what we can to find out her intentions. I'm not sure she is subject to our justice, but if she is just crazy and attacking things, it should be dealt with...What do you all think?"
The practice of necromancy is almost universally viewed as an unsettling one at best in Varisia. That being said, so long as the dead one raises for them do no harm to others and their bodies were freely given, no one will make too much of a fuss.
As they move along the overgrown trail, Tribim listens to Sona's suppositions about Old Megus. Shrugging his shoulder in a very human gestures, he responds. "Meuwster Sona may purrrchance be right that Witch meow be dabbling in necromancy. But how will meuwsters determine her intentions? Witches seem purrrposefully purrrredisposed to purrrotecting their Purrrposes."
Tarka scratches at the base of his horn sub-consciously, before bellowing out further musings on the situation.
We need only know if her intentions involve Sandpoint. If she only wishes to make a game of chess out in the swamp with undead pieces, so be it. It might even be fun to watch! One can never assume it's so innocent though when it comes to necromancy.
Vigny is willing to withhold judgement regarding the witch until there's more to go on.
"Maybe this witch is just misunderstood. You kinda have to stick to paths in swamps, so it may just be this is the path you take if you want to go this direction, a coincidence."
"That is true, Tarka. Even I am very reserved when it comes to the magical arts surrounding that field. Necromancy has its uses, that is clear, but it can be tempting to those who seek power and wish to use it to control. The same can also be said of some other forms of magic though."
Her mind thinking to that of enchantment and divination in particular, but even transmutation and other schools can be used for evil. In any case, she continues on down the path until they come to where the tracks lead.
The party turns to follow the overgrown trail, the bony footprints leaving mud-drenched tracks through the foliage.
---------------------
By the time the party reaches the end of the trail, the sun has fully set and the moon's pale light shines down through the overhanging branches. The wind blowing through the swamp has died down somewhat, bringing an end to the intermittent rustling of leaves...
At the trail's end sits a sagging one-story shack, its walls dingy with age and encrusted with lichen and fungus. A partially collapsed shed sits just to the northeast, while small pouches, twisted knots of feathers, and dangling wind chimes made of bones hang from branches and roof edge alike.
Strewn about the shack's front yard are several splintered bones--along with a couple of broken, rusted scimitars. The bones appear to have been scattered very recently.
As the party approaches, a sharp *BUZZ* pierces the still air as a bright green light suddenly coalesces into being within the shack! "OI! That's close enough! If you be more skeletons, I'll warn ya only once--yer kin had no respect for an old woman's property an' paid the PRICE!" An old woman's voice shouts from within the shack, gravelly and thick with a mixture of contempt and fear.
Vigny tries talking the old woman down and maybe making her a little more receptive to a conversation.
"Hello! Very fleshy and not boney out here thank you! We're following the skeletons' trail, trying to track them down! Could you help us a bit? We'd like to know anything you can tell us about them?"
Tarka frowns, one eyebrow cocked in a confused expression. He bellows back at the shack.
Eh? No. We are not skeletons, we are much more than bones. You've been having undead trouble lately? Maybe come out and tell us about it! Like she says, maybe they are the same ones we are tracking!
"Eh?"
The green light dims considerably. "Live ones?"
There's a shuffling of feet from within the shack before the voice's owner emerges. Leaning on a gnarled staff of black wood and dressed in surprisingly well-kept green robes is an old woman with a wild mane of blue-grey hair. Deep blue veins line her wrinkled face and her long arms end in wicked-looking claws.
"Well, can't say I've been expecting visitors. Especially not ones followin' skeletons. Ya do know it's past bedtime, right? Whatcha be doin' out here so late, eh?"
Sona is not set for exploration, be it through the swamps or a muddy trail through this land. Her sandals are not worn down, but are very basic. A pair of boots would be far more efficient, and if it becomes too muddy, she just takes off her footwear before they break. If possible, she sticks to walking on foliage or drier portions of the path.
"As I wondered!" she cheers quietly to herself, thankful that the witch is not responsible for the undead.
"Yes! Live ones!" she calls out. "And in fact, some of us are fellow spellcasters of the arcane and divine arts if that appeals to you," the mage states given that the rumors against her are concerning magic and she had just displayed some. Sometimes just knowing others are open-minded to similar thoughts can be comforting when dealing with strangers. "And yes, some of us are warriors and rangers, tracking as it has started to grow darker. Would you accept visitors? We could certainly use your insight into this region and what lies ahead."
When the witch emerges, Tarka squints and focuses on her to get a better look.
Hmm, no warts! And her nose isn't crooked like the witches in stories. She does live in a swamp alone though, so the stories are not all myth!.
Yeah, and if it's too late, maybe we all rest and talk in the morning?
He trails off with an expectant look to see how she feels about their meeting.
Always surprised at how quickly night comes in the swamp, Tribim is pleased that the witch is home and not the cause of the undead. He vigorously nods his head in agreement with the others, answering the witches question. "Mewusters were hunting Goblins, now hunting undead skeletons."
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"Yeah. We came for the goblins. We stayed for the skeletons" Signy adds in case a translation is needed.
Vinexa found the swamp distasteful but she was keeping her thoughts to herself. Truthfully she was rather sure the others weren't happy about the place either but if they wanted to find the skeletons they would need to just deal with it. When they reached the witch's hut and the old woman came out Vinexa was kind of surprised to see someone like her living alone out here. Of course as a witch she was probably better capable than most people.
"No, I am most definitely not a skeleton," Vinexa said, and then glanced to Sona briefly and then back to the old woman, "and most definitely a spellcaster of a sort too."
The old, wild-haired woman grunts and nods. "Alrighty, alrighty, I suppose I can understand why you're here."
"Eh, the old place isn't much--and hasn't seen guests in a long time--but I reckon you can settle in." She turns and hobbles back indoors. "Mind the steps--they love to jump up and strike at your tender bits."
Oh! Thank you! How many beds? Head to toe?
He looks at Tribim when he says the last part. He turns to stomp through the door and make himself at home.
We have so much to speak of in the morning!
Sona's eyes go wide at the "threat" of the steps striking at her tender bits and subconsciously moves her hands down protectively over her belt as she inches forward to just see what might be snapping at her.
"Perhaps she's just kidding?"
As she approaches and sees the gear of the fallen skeletons, she begins to gather their rusted blades for magical cleaning and repair. To her, they can bring in a wealth of funds with just a little bit of extra work.
If she can, she will attempt to avoid this dangerous threat to enter the house.
The interior of the old witch's home is quite cramped, with a few rooms within making it clear that the shack was designed with only one person in mind. However, with some work, the party can find enough room for themselves to settle in.
Pleased that the witchy woman was letting them stay in her abode, Tribim hopped over the loose step and leaned the goblin spear against the wall on the porch. As he moved into the small home on all fours on his way to the fireplace, he brushed against the witch's leg, purring. Dropping his pack near the fireplace, he pulled out his bedroll, fluffing into a small bed in front of the fire. Curling up in a ball in front of the fire, he began to lick his paws.
"Oh, watch out here...and here..." she directs her companions, and in particularly kindness, Vigny, to show there isn't any lingering anger between her and the fighter from her snap earlier. Her family barely hangs on, separated from her fate of living on the road because of her efforts to provide. It has made her a bit snippy when it comes to protecting them. That doesn't mean she wishes the woman any harm and makes sure to communicate that as they get up top.
Eventually, she will carefully set down the rusty blades on some of the wood of the floor.
"You are very kind to host us. Might we know your name?"
After their conversation, she will clean and mend the ancient blades of the dead. Perhaps their unique, antique look will even have a greater appeal in the market!
Vinexa entered the house and saw the kind of place it was. It was small but for a single woman living alone it was the right size. She nodded politely and aid, "Thank you for letting us stay." She moved to a corner and Vinexa removed her pack and placed it on the floor. She stretched and sat while they began to talk with the lady.
"Name's Megusanilia." The old witch says. "But most folk call me Old Megus."
She gives Tribim a little smile and a scratch behind her ears with a clawed finger.
"Now, evening, all o' ya." She shuffles behind an elaborate, starry curtain.
--------------------
Wealday, 25th of Desnus, 4711 AR
The next morning, a light mist blankets the Brinestump Marsh.
Old Megus emerges from behind the starry curtain. "Now, I remember you were chasing after some skeletons, last night?"
When Vinexa woke the next morning she was cutely curled up like a cat in her bedroll and she felt like absolute garbage! This was a regular thing for Vinexa to deal with , her very nature made her like this, and she was going to be miserable until she could sate her need. It was perhaps made worse by the fact she had ended the day so well fed, she didn't normally have that much energy taken in a day and the sudden fall off when it was all gone made her feel far worse than normal. She stretched her whole body in one languorous arch and then sat there ass eh began to lick her hands and use them to smooth out her hair and groom herself like a cat while her gaze kept getting drawn to Vigny hungrily.
Waking in front of the dying embers of the fire, Tribim stood giving a long stretch before he began to pack up his bedroll. Pulling some dried meat from his rucksack before shouldering it, he began eating the meat. Watching Vinexa behavior he nods approvingly before he turns and answers the nice lady who had let him sleep in front of her fireplace. "Meuwsters were hired to remove goblin purrrroblem. Meuwster and meow noticed signs of fight and tracks of bones leading away. Curious meow followed."
It was interesting to her to wake in a witch's hut. She could almost experience what Old Megus did every day. It wasn't an illusion to find refuge here, and their host was far kinder than people gave her credit for.
"Yes," she adds to Tribim's words (giving the cat a few pets if he wishes while she speaks). "we intend to ensure that whoever, or whatever summoned them, is not going to bring this force to bear against the city. Can I ask...," she gestures to the now-pristine-scimitars. "Did they attack you or did you attack them first?"
Tarka probably does not fit in whatever typical humanoid bed he has bee given. It fits the top half of his body and his legs rest on the floor over the lower edge of the bed.
He sleepily trudges toward the fireplace to join the others, waiting for answers to the questions asked so far.
Old Megus nods. "Yeah, I saw them a few nights ago. Stalkin' through the swamp--not shamblin' or rattlin' about, but stridin' as if they were on a mission. Had a skeleton in fancy armour and a big ol' helmet leadin' them--pointed a curved sword like he was some kinda army leader."
"Some of them passed by my shack, carrying a couple of elaborately carved treasure chests with them. The rest crossed into my yard and attacked me." She grins. "They didn't get very far."
"Never had undead wandering in this swamp before..."
"I cannot see why a skeleton commander would take down part of a goblin encampment. It does not make sense to me. However, the fact that they attacked you without provocation speaks volumes about their intent. If we find the source of this problem and manage to end it, we will touch base with you in time to show we're alright. Also, to inform you of what is going on in the swamp around you. I would ask a favor though, as you have already been kind enough to let us into your home, if you do not hear from us in several days time, would you please contact the sheriff in the city, or have someone on the road do it for you?"
Old Megus listens before nodding at Sona. "Is lil' Balor Hemlock still the sheriff?"
She chuckles. "I remember back when he was just a lad of twelve summers--he looked so precious in that chain shirt. It was a few sizes too big for him, ya know!"
"But, yes, I'll be sure to let him know."
Tarka scratches the back of his head as he tries to summon more questions.
Um... did you happen to notice where they were stalking from, or perhaps to?
Purring as Sona patted his head, Tribim gestures towards his growing pack for the sweet girl to add her newly cleaned scimitars in with the other loot he was carrying. Finishing his breakfast as the longshanks talked, he couldn't resist a chuckle at Old Megus calling the sheriff 'lil' Balor.'
As the conversation winds down Tribim moves to the door, opening it, breathing in the morning's fresh air. Stepping out onto the stoop he retrieves the cleaned goblin spear he'd left there. Turning back, looking into the small cottage, waiting for the tall folk to be ready.
Vigny snaps her fingers loudly.
"The chests! They were carrying two chests with them, and we found one in the goblin village. They were after the chests and that's why they attacked the goblins!"
"Um... did you happen to notice where they were stalking from, or perhaps to?"
"Strangest thing--some came from the west, others came from the southwest."
"The chests! They were carrying two chests with them, and we found one in the goblin village. They were after the chests and that's why they attacked the goblins!"
Old Megus tilts her head at Vigny. "Ya reckon so?"
Vigny leans back, takes out a comb and starts working it though her hair.
"Well, let's look at the reasons we can think of" she replies to the witch.
"The skeletons might have been created by a necromancer. But if so, why would a necromancer care about goblins? Somebody who could create undead would either try to use the goblins for their own purposes, or not care about them. I doubt they'd be a threat. And necromancers are a pretty nasty lot."
"Such a person might want something the goblins have though, like some chests that hold something valuable or useful"
"On the other hand, maybe the skeletons were created by a curse or something, with no person involved. Why would skeletons care about goblins? They aren't exactly geniuses and would need to be ordered to do stuff. They don't seem to be wondering about trying to kill absolutely everything, goblins, possums, snakes, alligators... They went right to a place, the village, did a thing, kill the goblins, and went back. That sounds directed to me. Maybe that skeleton leader is in charge, or maybe someone orders the skeleton leader about. Either way, they had a purpose in mind. They had chests, the village had a chest.That's what they have in common."
Vigny gestures with her hands in a 'ta da!' sort of way as she finishes laying out her airtight analysis.
"That's a lot of assumption...," she comments, "...but I do like your thinking. It could be that because the goblin chieftain had holed himself into the throneroom and we started our assault that these skeletons retreated. Either way, I agree that they are purpose-driven. So coming from the southwest and the west, hmm? Do you know of anything that lies in either of those directions where skeletons could amass away from view?" she asks the others, and in particular Old Megus.
Rolling his eyes, the inpatient cat stands on the porch tapping his paw. Eventually, he steps back into the cottage shutting the door behinds him, mumbling to himself. "Meow assumption Meuwsters were leaving soon apurrrrrently incorrect."
"Well, there's a couple of old ships that wrecked here some years ago." The witch nods. "Saw one to the west--not sure where the other one ended up."
"There's an old waterfall cave on the southwest edge of the marsh. Never looked inside it myself--the nettles behind the water saw to that."
Tarka winces as he hear's Tribim's sideways remarks and becomes self-conscious for the group's stay extending much longer. He plods further into the room with heavy footsteps, moving to the side of the fire and leaning on the hearth. He has to duck his head several times to avoid the horn catching on ceiling beams.
Hmm, Southwest and West might indicate a broader area that they came from. Or maybe it is both of the ships! I wonder if the two chests were originally treasure from those ships. They might just be trying to reclaim what is theirs.
He looks around the group to see who else is getting antsy.
Either way, that marsh cave sounds like it's in the same direction as the missing ship could be! We could kill two moogles with one stone that way!
Tarka belly-laughs at his own joke. He struggles to cut it short so he can continue.
Well, Ms. Megus, you've been very helpful and hospital, but I believe we have enough to go on now. Any chance you want to accompany us to increase personal safety in larger groupings?
The ronso heads over by the door, joining Tribim.
"With my old knees?" Old Megus shakes her head. "I doubt you'd want an old lady slowing you down."