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So it seems they do want to interact. Sighing, Sam follows the others into their potential doom.
Shrugging at the stranger's silence, Khalil follows along. Looking at the state of the cabin, he can't help but think that these folk might be like Elmer. Cursed by the hag and her foul magics. Their lives twisted and transformed into some hideous pantomime of their former existence.
Hearing Sammy's sigh and seeing the concern written across his face, Khalil flashes a wide smile and a thumbs up. "Don't worry Sammy, I'm sure nothing bad will happen." He says brimming with mock overconfidence before scratching at yet another bug bite at the base of his neck.
As you follow the beekeepers, you pass by a half dozen large beehives, all up on stilts to avoid the waters of the swamp, all abuzz with activity.
As the door to the cabin creaks open and you follow the keepers inside, you are met with the strong smell of honey and mildew. Inside the cabin is a modest home with a cast-iron stove next to a countertop, a long table with 6 chairs, a rocking chair, and various cooking equipment hanging from the walls and shelves. A door leads into a bedroom. Everything up to five feet seems to be water damaged from the floods.
The buzzing of the bees has been incessant since you arrived, a constant background drone. As you reach the doorway, expecting the sound to be muffled within, you make a realization that sets the hairs on the back of your neck to tingling.
The buzzing sound is coming from the beekeeper suits, as well.
When Willow realizes the suits are buzzing, she glances at the Defenders around her and looks a tad nervous. "Can, uh, any of you talk to bees? I'm pretty sure there are bees in those suits."
Nuruk looks back at his concerned friend and gives him a nod before signing to him quickly with his free hand.
"We got this. I breathe fire." Nuruk followed it with a thumbs up before they entered into the the ruined cabin. The house was modest and homely before the floods ruined it with much and disrepair. The paladin looked over the destruction with a sad look before he noticed that the buzzing had not stopped. It radiated onwards, bringing a chill down his spine.
"What horror..." Nuruk thought as he regarded the two beekeepers in their suits. Did they wear them because it reminded them of who they were before being cursed? Were they cursed? Were they just really industrious and socialist-minded bees? One could never tell in the Feywild.
"Friends, we...uh...we've noticed that you're...buzzing. And you don't touch the ground really. Did you...make a deal with the hag?" Nuruk asked cautiously, not one to beat around the proverbial hive for long.
Karley logic went into overdrive, with Snook providing the premise and conclusion "BeEs In 'dA SuIts, PeOpLe iN 'dA HiVe?", the sorcerer's little mouth forming a physically impossible yet mathematically perfect 'O' before gulping loudly.
Willow looks alarmed at the thought, staring out at the hives. "They looked like normal bees?" Suddenly, she isn't so sure. It is the Feywild...
Khalil nods sadly at Karley's suggestion. "Or something along those very lines. My guess is the bees are real enough, but much like poor Diana back at the carnival, these folks probably asked to save their hives, or learn how to make them more productive, or something." He says, shaking his head. "The hag, with her twisted sense of humor and magics, instead turned them into bees. Or something similar bound within these suits."
Turning back to the hovering, buzzing creatures, he holds out in hands in friendship.
"Is there anything we can do to help?"
The suits do not respond in any way to your words. They make welcoming gestures, and go to a nearby shelf, grabbing dishes and cutlery to set the table with a place for each of you, bidding you with arm motions to take a seat.
There is no question about the buzzing, once you're inside. Still, the beekeeper suits make no threatening motions, and seem to be preparing to show you some hospitality with a meal.
"Remember the rules, I guess!" Willow sits down at the table and nods politely to the beekeeper suits. "Thank you kindly!"
Sam suddenly wonders what to do if the beesuits give him honey. Would eating it be considered something similar to cannibalism?
Vash raises an eyebrow at Karley's interpretive dance.
"I don't think I'll be doing that..." he says quietly to no one in particular.
Willow glances at Vashrin and nods. "Sometimes it's just best to let her do what she wants. At least this is harmless." She turns her attention back to the beekeepers, on alert for any suspicious behavior...or at least, what would seem suspicious in this odd context.
Nuruk watches as his little friend dances an interpretive dance. What it was interpreting, he wasn't sure, but it looked nice at least. The man would sit down at the table there, watching the strange bee-folk go through the motions.
"We have faith in the rules and do our best to figure out what is happening here." Nuruk whispers to his comrades, smiling wide at their buzzing hosts.
The beekeepers had set each place setting with plates, bowls, cups, and utensils. They came around as you sat and began serving dinner.
Honey.
Honey in the drinking glass.
Honey on the plate, forming a big pool.
Scoops of honey into the bowl.
And a piece of honeycomb on the side.
Each of you was looking at a pint or more of honey in front of you, and the beekeepers waited, expectantly, for you to dine.
"Alright, once we've reached this point..."
Sammy speaks a word for thanks so they can read his lips - assuming they can do that. Then he picks one of the servings and tastes it a bit, trying to make it look like it's delicious. If nothing stops him, he finishes the ration.
Willow glances at Nuruk, eyebrow raised, and just says, "Faith in the rules, I guess?" and starts to drink the honey.
Words are unable to describe Khalil's thoughts as he watches Karley's odd interpretive dance. So he says nothing and instead pops a bit of honeycomb into his mouth and slowly lets it melt.
After a few minutes, he gives their hosts a pleasant nod. "Many thanks for sharing your sweet bounty." He says politely. Tasting the honey in the glass, he notices a hint of flavors he'd not encountered before. He holds the glass with its golden liquid up to the best light he can find.
"Have you ever considered fermenting some of this?" He asks. "A good meade is also welcome in the Summer Court and your honey has some subtle and unique flavor to it. What flowers tend to provide your nectar?" He asks, his brewer's heart genuinely curious.
The suits don't respond to Khalil's question. You have seen no indication that they understand the languages you have spoken thus far. Their collective buzzing occasionally seems reminiscent of language, but one you've not heard before.
Nuruk looks at the positively sweet meal placed before him. It was a whole lot of honey. A whole lot of honey. Nuruk smiles enthusiastically as he lifts the glass to his lips. A younger version of him would be ecstatic to have this much honey. Older him was not as excited.
Slowly but surely though, he would spoon the honey in and savor the taste. He would drink down the glass slowly, mixing a bit of water in to help loosen its gooey texture. The honeycomb was his desert, a bit of texture to compliment the overwhelming sweetness.
"That was...deliciously sweet." Nuruk said, smiling as best as he could even though his stomach hurt from all the sweetness. "Do...do you have any paper you can write on? I would love to converse with our hosts if you have a way."
"Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick..." Willow moans, leaning back in her chair after finishing off an inappropriate amount of honey.
At Nuruk's question, she digs into her backpack and produces a small piece of kohl. "I...usually use this as eyeliner, but if nobody else has anything..." She trails off and then shrugs, offering it to the dragonborn.
Looking a little green himself after consuming so much sugar, Vash does his best to politely nod in thanks to the party's hosts.
Understanding that there might be a bit of a language barrier, Khalil tries offering thanks in both Sylvan and the more gutteral goblin the only other languages he had any real familiarity with besides the special nature's cant Verity had taught him.
The beekeeper suits seem pleased as you choke down the honey, and take the plates away to be washed once it's clear you cannot handle another drop. One points at the door to the bedroom, and the other gestures with both arms for you to feel free to enter. You get the sense they are offering you a place to rest for the night.
Willow pockets her kohl, able to hand it back to Nuruk should he so desire it, and stands up slowly, looking around at the group. "We may as well take a look," she says, nodding politely to the beekeeper suits and heading into the room.
With the language barrier seemingly insurmountable for the moment, Khalil shrugs, thanks their hosts for the meal and follows Willow into the next room.
Smiling at the bee-people, Nuruk cautiously follows Willow into the next room. He ducks his head at the doorframe, conscious of his height as he steps into where they directed and she and Khalil had gone.
Vashrin nods toward the animate beekeeper outfits and follows the others into the room. "So...gifts for gifts, right? What do you give a collective of bees in exchange for food and lodging?"
In the bedroom, you find two corpses, decayed to bones.
They are arranged on the bed as though holding one another. The bodies are old enough there is no smell, at this point. A rocking chair sit near a fireplace, and a dresser contains moldy old clothing. You see a portrait of an older elven couple, with the names Folwin and Lyrei written on the back. The room itself is in rough shape, showing signs of water damage as high as six feet up.
Willow looks shocked as she enters and tentatively steps forward into the room to try to figure out what might have happened to this couple...
"Oh, wow...I see water damage, but...I wonder what happened?"
As she approaches the dead couple, she finds herself suddenly overcome with fear about being so close to dead bodies, especially ones that have been dead for so long. She backs away from them quickly, accidentally bumping into Nuruk in the process. What if they suddenly stood up and started talking? Willow mutters an apology to Nuruk and fidgets with her tail nervously, getting a little caught up in her own imagination.
Seemingly unphased by the corpses - perhaps because he had seen his sister's so often, Vashrin inspects the water damage and looks back to the corpses. "Do you think our two beekeeper friends are in some way tied to the souls of these two?"
Immediately jumping to conclusions he adds, "...And if they are, do you think they drowned in a flash flood?" he asks gesturing to the notable water damage. "Maybe they just want to be laid to rest?"
Turning back to the room where the beekeepers are, he asks the suits. "Folwin? Lyrei?"
"What is it? Oh." Khalil steps forward with Vashrin as Willow lurches backward. With a sad sigh, he nods at Vashrin's supposition about the connection between the sad scene before them and their buzzing hosts in the other room.
"It is difficult to say how they died. Although I'm not certain about the flood." He says circling the room with a puzzled look. "There's no signs of struggle or attempt to escape. And everything seems in its proper place, even if a bit damp and moldy. Perhaps our hosts have rearranged things. Maybe they did drown, but while under the influence of a magical sleep. Thus the hags creeping waters simply, slowly took them unaware."
He shakes his head and shrugs. "Or being bees of the feywild, it could be that the former charges of Folwin and Lyrei were so saddened by their passing, that the hives took on their aspects. Who can say except the two spirits we can't communicate with. But surely finding some way to put them to a final, peaceful rest would ease the sorrow that seems to suffuse this place."
Khalil's eyes watch the two suited spirits to see how or even if they react to the question posed by Vashrin.
The suits do their strange hover-walk into the room and one stands at the foot of the bed, hanging their head as if sad.
The other takes a thin, worn, leather-bound book from out of the dresser. It seems to be written in Sylvan. The back few pages are water-damaged and unreadable. The title names the book The Tale of Baba Yaga. The beekeeper suit holds it out towards you all.
"Thank you." Vash says, taking the book and begins to translate it into the common tongue and read aloud.
Disclaimer: Borrowed and edited, I did not write this.
Once upon a time an old man, a widower, lived alone in a hut with his daughter Natasha. Very merry the two of them were together, and they used to smile at each other over a table piled with bread and jam, and play peek-a-boo. Everything went well, until the old man took it into his head to marry again.
Thus, the little girl gained a stepmother. After that everything changed. No more bread and jam on the table, no more playing peek-a-boo as the girl sat with her father at tea. It was even worse than that, because she was never allowed to sit at tea at all anymore. The stepmother said that little girls shouldn’t have tea, much less eat bread with jam. She would throw the girl a crust of bread and tell her to get out of the hut and go find someplace to eat it. Then the stepmother would sit with her husband and tell him that everything that went wrong was the girl’s fault. And the old man believed his new wife.
Therefore, poor Natasha would go by herself into the shed in the yard, wet the dry crust with her tears, and eat it all by herself. Then she would hear the stepmother yelling at her to come in and wash up the tea things, and tidy the house, and brush the floor, and clean everybody’s muddy boots.
One day the stepmother decided she could not bear the sight of Natasha one minute longer. But how could she get rid of her for good? Then she remembered her sister, the terrible witch Baba Yaga, the bony-legged one, who lived in the forest. And a wicked plan began to form in her head.
The very next morning, the man went off to pay a visit to some friends of his in the next village. As soon as the man was out of sight, the wicked stepmother called for Natasha.
"You are to go today to my sister, your dear little aunt, who lives in the forest," said she, "and ask her for a needle and thread to mend a shirt."
"But here is a needle and thread," said Natasha, trembling, for she knew that her aunt was Baba Yaga, the witch, and that any child who came near her was never seen again.
"Hold your tongue," snapped the stepmother, and she gnashed her teeth, which made a noise like clattering tongs. "Didn’t I tell you that you are to go to your dear little aunt in the forest to ask for a needle and thread to mend a shirt?"
"Well, then," said Natasha, trembling, "how shall I find her?" She had heard that Baba Yaga chased her victims through the air in a giant mortar and pestle, and that she had iron teeth with which she ate children.
The stepmother took hold of the little girl’s nose and pinched it.
"That is your nose," she said. "Can you feel it?"
"Yes," whispered the poor girl.
"You must go along the road into the forest till you come to a fallen tree," said the stepmother, "then you must turn to your left, and follow your nose and you will find your auntie. Now off with you, lazy one!" She shoved a kerchief in the girl’s hand, into which she had packed a few morsels of stale bread and cheese and some scraps of meat.
Natasha looked back. There stood the stepmother at the door with her arms crossed, glaring at her. So she could do nothing but to go straight on.
She walked along the road through the forest till she came to the fallen tree. Then she turned to the left. Her nose was still hurting where the stepmother had pinched it, so she knew she had to go on straight ahead.
Finally she came to the hut of Baba Yaga, the bony-legged one, the witch. Around the hut was a high fence. When she pushed the gates open they squeaked miserably, as if it hurt them to move. Natasha noticed a rusty oil can on the ground.
"How lucky," she said, noticing that there was some oil left in the can. And she poured the remaining drops of oil into the hinges of the gates.
Inside the gates was Baba Yaga’s hut. It wasn’t like any other hut she had ever seen, for it stood on giant hen’s legs and walked about the yard. As Natasha approached, the house turned around to face her and it seemed that its front windows were eyes and its front door a mouth. A servant of Baba Yaga’s was standing in the yard. She was crying bitterly because of the tasks Baba Yaga had set her to do, and was wiping her eyes on her petticoat.
"How lucky," said Natasha, "that I have a handkerchief." She untied her kerchief, shook it clean, and carefully put the morsels of food in her pockets. She gave the handkerchief to Baba Yaga’s servant, who wiped her eyes on it and smiled through her tears.
By the hut was a huge dog, very thin, gnawing an old bone.
"How lucky," said the little girl, "that I have some bread and meat." Reaching into her pocket for her scraps of bread and meat, Natasha said to the dog, "I’m afraid it’s rather stale, but it’s better than nothing, I’m sure." And the dog gobbled it up at once and licked his lips.
Natasha reached the door to the hut. Trembling, she tapped on the door.
"Come in," squeaked the wicked voice of Baba Yaga.
The little girl stepped in. There sat Baba Yaga, the bony-legged one, the witch, sitting weaving at a loom. In a corner of the hut was a thin black cat watching a mouse-hole.
"Good day to you, auntie," said Natasha, trying to sound not at all afraid.
"Good day to you, niece," said Baba Yaga.
"My stepmother has sent me to you to ask for a needle and thread to mend a shirt."
"Has she now?" smiled Baba Yaga, flashing her iron teeth, for she knew how much her sister hated her stepdaughter. "You sit down here at the loom, and go on with my weaving, while I go and fetch you the needle and thread."
The little girl sat down at the loom and began to weave.
Baba Yaga whispered to her servant, "Listen to me! Make the bath very hot and scrub my niece. Scrub her clean. I’ll make a dainty meal of her, I will."
The servant came in for the jug to gather the bathwater. Natasha said, "I beg you, please be not too quick in making the fire, and please carry the water for the bath in a sieve with holes, so that the water will run through." The servant said nothing. But indeed, she took a very long time about getting the bath ready.
Baba Yaga came to the window and said in her sweetest voice, "Are you weaving, little niece? Are you weaving, my pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said Natasha.
When Baba Yaga went away from the window, the little girl spoke to the thin black cat who was watching the mouse hole.
"What are you doing?"
"Watching for a mouse," said the thin black cat. "I haven’t had any dinner in three days."
"How lucky," said Natasha, "that I have some cheese left!" And she gave her cheese to the thin black cat, who gobbled it up. Said the cat, "Little girl, do you want to get out of here?"
"Oh, Catkin dear," said Natasha, "how I want to get out of here! For I fear that Baba Yaga will try to eat me with her iron teeth."
"That is exactly what she intends to do," said the cat. "But I know how to help you..."
The remainder of the pages are illegible.
As Vash reaches the end of the tale, the beekeeper suit lean forward hopefully, as if they understand, though they hadn't previously responded to common OR sylvan in your attempts to communicate. They seem to want to know the ending...
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Being a purveyor of stories from a young age, Vashrin had heard numerous versions of this tale before, looking up from the water damaged pages he continued:
Just then Baba Yaga came to the window.
"Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked. "Are you weaving, my pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said Natasha, working away, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.
Baba Yaga went out again.
The thin black cat was whispered to Natasha: "There is a comb on the stool and there is a towel brought for your bath. You must take them both, and run for it while Baba Yaga is still in the bath-house. Baba Yaga will chase after you. When she does, you must throw the towel behind you, and it will turn into a big, wide river. It will take her a little time to get over that. When she gets over the river, you must throw the comb behind you. The comb will sprout up into such a forest that she will never get through it at all."
"But she’ll hear the loom stop," said Natasha, "and she’ll know I have gone."
"Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that," said the thin black cat.
The cat took Natasha’s place at the loom.
Clickety clack, clickety clack; the loom never stopped for a moment.
Natasha looked to see that Baba Yaga was still in the bath-house, and then she jumped out of the hut.
The big dog leapt up to tear her to pieces. Just as he was going to spring on her he saw who she was.
"Why, this is the little girl who gave me the bread and meat," said the dog. "A good journey to you, little girl," and he lay down with his head between his paws. She petted his head and scratched his ears.
When she came to the gates they opened quietly, quietly, without making any noise at all, because of the oil she had poured into their hinges before.
Then — how she did run!
Meanwhile the thin black cat sat at the loom. Clickety clack, clickety clack, sang the loom; but you never saw such a tangle of yarn as the tangle made by that thin black cat.
Presently Baba Yaga came to the window.
"Are you weaving, little niece?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. "Are you weaving, my pretty?"
"I am weaving, auntie," said the thin black cat, tangling and tangling the yarn, while the loom went clickety clack, clickety clack.
"That’s not the voice of my little dinner," said Baba Yaga, and she jumped into the hut, gnashing her iron teeth. There at the loom was no little girl, but only the thin black cat, tangling and tangling the threads!
"Grrr!" said Baba Yaga, and she jumped at the cat. "Why didn’t you scratch the little girl’s eyes out?"
The cat curled up its tail and arched its back. "In all the years that I have served you, you have given me only water and made me hunt for my dinner. The girl gave me real cheese."
Baba Yaga was enraged. She grabbed the cat and shook her. Turning to the servant girl and gripping her by her collar, she croaked, "Why did you take so long to prepare the bath?"
"Ah!" trembled the servant, "in all the years that I’ve served you, you have never so much as given me even a rag, but the girl gave me a pretty kerchief."
Baba Yaga cursed her and dashed out into the yard.
Seeing the gates wide open, she shrieked, "Gates! Why didn’t you squeak when she opened you?"
"Ah!" said the gates, "in all the years that we’ve served you, you never so much as sprinkled a drop of oil on us, and we could hardly stand the sound of our own creaking. But the girl oiled us and we can now swing back and forth without a sound."
Baba Yaga slammed the gates closed. Spinning around, she pointed her long finger at the dog. "You!" she hollered, "why didn’t you tear her to pieces when she ran out of the house?"
"Ah!" said the dog, "in all the years that I’ve served you, you never threw me anything but an old bone crusts, but the girl gave me real meat and bread."
Baba Yaga rushed about the yard, cursing and hitting them all, while screaming at the top of her voice.
Then she jumped into her giant mortar. Beating the mortar with a giant pestle to make it go faster, she flew into the air and quickly closed in on the fleeing Natasha.
For there, on the ground far ahead, she soon spied the girl running through the trees, stumbling, and fearfully looking over her shoulder.
"You’ll never escape me!" Baba Yaga laughed a terrible laugh and steered her flying mortar straight downward toward the girl.
Natasha was running faster than she had ever run before. Soon she could hear Baba Yaga’s mortar bumping on the ground behind her. Desperately, she remembered the thin black cat’s words and threw the towel behind her on the ground. The towel grew bigger and bigger, and wetter and wetter, and soon a deep, broad river stood between the little girl and Baba Yaga.
Natasha turned and ran on. Oh, how she ran! When Baba Yaga reached the edge of the river, she screamed louder than ever and threw her pestle on the ground, as she knew she couldn’t fly over an enchanted river. In a rage, she flew back to her hut on hen’s legs. There she gathered all her cows and drove them to the river.
"Drink, drink!" she screamed at them, and the cows drank up all the river to the last drop. Then Baba Yaga hopped into her giant mortar and flew over the dry bed of the river to pursue her prey.
Natasha had run on quite a distance ahead, and in fact, she thought she might, at last, be free of the terrible Baba Yaga. But her heart froze in terror when she saw the dark figure in the sky speeding toward her again.
"This is the end for me!" she despaired. Then she suddenly remembered what the cat had said about the comb.
Natasha threw the comb behind her, and the comb grew bigger and bigger, and its teeth sprouted up into a thick forest, so thick that not even Baba Yaga could force her way through. And Baba Yaga the witch, the bony-legged one, gnashing her teeth and screaming with rage and disappointment, finally turned round and drove away back to her little hut on hen’s legs.
The tired, tired, girl finally arrived back home. She was afraid to go inside and see her mean stepmother, so instead she waited outside in the shed.
When she saw her father pass by, she ran out to him.
"Where have you been?" cried her father. "And why is your face so red?"
The stepmother turned yellow when she saw the girl, and her eyes glowed, and her teeth ground together until they broke.
But Natasha was not afraid, and she went to her father and climbed on his knee and told him everything just as it had happened. When the old man learned that the stepmother had sent his daughter to be eaten by Baba Yaga, the witch, he was so angry that he drove her out of the hut and never let her return.
From then on, he took good care of his daughter himself and never again let a stranger come between them. Over a table piled high with bread and jam, father and daughter would again play peek-a-boo back and forth from behind the samovar, and the two of them lived happily ever after.
"Or at least that's the most pleasant version of the story I've heard." Vashrin comments, closing the book. "There are certainly others. Some pleasant, some horrific, but that's the one I like best anyway."
"I much prefer that version to the one I've heard before," Willow says, gesturing appreciatively at Vashrin. "Are there pictures in it?" Willow moves to peek over his shoulder. "Should we add some to match up with your ending?"
"Oh? How did the version you heard go?" Vash asks, genuinely interested. "Could always be a version I haven't heard before, and you know I've always loved stories."
"It's on the more horrific side. Natasha ends up being eaten, but by her stepmother instead...some kind of trickery on the part of the cat." Willow looks thoughtful. "I don't actually remember many of the details."
The bees seemed content as Vash finished the tale, and they suddenly began pouring from the suits in a streaming swarm that flew over your shoulders and out the exit, leaving the suits to sort of deflate within the room.
"Well that was unexpected... Vash comments as the bees come pouring out of the beekeeper suits.
"Maybe they didn't like the ending?" Willow shrugs, bending over to peek inside one of the bee suits, looking to see if they left anything in there.
Nuruk had taken in the scene before him quietly, keeping out of the way as much as his brutish figure could. The story was important, its lessons useful even if it was a tale for children to learn from. As the bees fled their suits, disappearing over their shoulders, a smile crept across his face.
"I think you're right Karley...my apologies...Snook." Nuruk says with a smile. "They were treated kind and, perhaps wished to treat their caretakers well one last time."
"The tale was important, one we should be very aware of. The kindness we sow will come back to us. We treat these people fairly, kindly, and try to undo the harm the hags have done. Not even Baba Yaga can stop it." A true lesson in the power of the Light. "I will look for a shovel for these ones. Give them a proper rest if I can."
Willow backs out of the room and follows Nuruk, still a little uneasy around the bodies. "I'll help you find a shovel. Going to inspire another beautiful garden in the Feywild? She asks, a little teasingly, but good-naturedly.
Sam touches Willow's shoulder just before she goes away. He points at her, then joins both of his palms as if praying. Then he pretends to use a shove, and prays again, and finally points at Willow again.