Hamish's smile slowly turns into a frown and then sadness as he listens to the travails shared by the caravan master and he sees the wounded, shattered folk pass by. He slaps his hat against his leg in frustration. The Tradeway is supposed to be patrolled. His mind fumes.
Before they depart he catches up to the leader and offers a quick greeting. "It is a harsh hand you and yours have been dealt friend. If you plan to stay in Bard's Gate, my sister Maggie Macrae works for the Orphans of War Society." His eyes take in a man, bandages covering his shoulder and part of his head. "They mostly focus on youngins following the Huun invasion and more recent troubles, but she should be able to help find other aide or support for those who might need it."
Having felt like he at least did a little to help, he picks up Snowbells reins and catches up with the others to try and figure out the next move.
"Does anyone know what a Stirge is?"
Don't know what a Stirge is for sure. But the Starving Stirge had a painting of a flying bug as its' sign.
Elgrin watches the caravan as it limps away and somberly thinks Not every adventure ends happily. The open road has its own set of dangers.
Different than those of the city streets, but dangers nonetheless
Gubble doesn't take his eyes off the retreating group as Naomi questions his exaggeration. "A stretch, yes. But one meant to hopefully deflect a predator... and not one warranted." his voice is sad, his eyes never leaving them. "Does anyone have any help they can offer?"
Visibly relaxing as the caravan no longer poses a threat, he looks over at the halfling a moment before cutting his attention back to the passing caravan. "I do not..., sir," he responds, sounding as if he's disappointed in the fact. Which may leave one to conclude that this guy actually possesses some form of humanity in him after all. Maybe.
Guthlag smiles brightly as the caravan passes by. "The gods smile upon us, and not one of us shall die here." He continues working at the animal tendon he has been chewing. "Alas that we have little help to give, but look how many of them there are. They will help each other." It was just as Fangor said. People were social creatures, whose natural way was to do things in groups that they could not together.
The man nods at Hamish - ”Thank you, I will look for her. Some aid will definitely be welcome” - he pauses for a second, then turns back - ”I am not sure who you really are, but here is some of what we discovered at our own expense - they call it the Stirge Wood, but the damned blood suckers are not the only thing in those trees… Spiders, big ones, and a lot of them. Damned things came at us in the dark of night. Their poison… It saps your very soul…” - he pats his horse close to the animal’s wounds - ”And there was something else - something or someone. Smarter than spiders… Put out our fires… Just be careful” - with another nod and a grimace, he moves to rejoin the caravan.
The forest itself extends northward and westward into the Stoneheart Valley where it crosses the Tradeway. Its reaches here are less thick and wild than those of its southern extent, but are known to be infested by stirges, wolves, and apparently spiders…
There should be at least one Waystation along the Stoneheart Forest (a.k.a. Stirge Wood) portion of The Tradeway - these are large stockades made of logs and with large gates, in which merchants can corral their caravans, then rest and recover for a night or two before continuing on with the rigors of their journey.
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 stealthily 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.
Stirges are usually 1 foot long, with a wingspan of twice that, and weigh just under a pound. Their coloration is rust-red or reddish-brown with a dirty yellow underbelly, though stirges that have not fed in some time are often pale pink, their color deepening as they gorge.
They can pose a danger not only because of their disgusting feeding habits, but also because they are harbingers of disease, due to the stagnant swamps in which they live and their contact with the blood of numerous creatures.
"Thanks for the warning friend. By Tykee's Grace, may the rest of your passage to the City be uneventful and safe." Hamish says and then hurries to catch up with the others.
"Don't know if you all heard." He says follow Naomi's description of the wood. "The caravan master said it isn't just the flying bugs we've got to watch for. Says they were attacked by giant spiders as well as some other menace that was able to douse their fires. And that smells of sorcery or witchcraft my friends." He says rubbing a finger alongside his nose.
Walking along, the former riverguard shakes his head and grunts in frustration. "What I don't understand, is where are the Duke's men? Waymark usually maintains a pretty solid series of patrols along this stretch of The Tradeway. Sure, if you wander off the main road more than a mile or two you're asking for trouble, but I doubt those poor folk were poking their noses far off the beat path."
"Still, maybe we'll learn a bit more as we go along. If I recall correctly there should be a Waystation or two as we travel along the main road. We maintained a few similar outposts along the Armin. Although the forest stations will have a good stockade with a gate and such for stock and wagons rather than a small secured cove or harbor for river craft."
He continues to chatter on about various bits of rumor or fact about the forest and how it might compare to the just as dangerous waters of the Armin River. Tales of elves living in the woods and Longhunters thinning the wolf packs roaming beneath the dense southern canopy. It is all partly a way to pass the long marching hours and partly a way to take his mind from the battered caravan and the haunted looks engraved upon those downtrodden faces.
"Something that doused their fires? Could it be...a vampire?" Guthlag sounds frightened. "The old grey shaman in my village told tales of vampires that would follow giant spiders so they could rob the webs." Guthlag hefts his pack once again, tossing the last hard nob of tendon to Cann. "Perhaps we might pass through the forest in one day? I do not cherish the thought of a night under those woods."
Gubble ignores the comments on truth stretching vs lying since one could debate an eternity on the subject without ever swaying the mind of another. "Stirges are more mammal than insect, though that is unimportant. What is important is that a swarm of them can drain an adult human dry of blood in less as little as 58 seconds. And carry an abundance of diseases."
"I don't believe there is an alternative route..." he thinks on his own statement.
Wish we had some horses to make our way through the forest faster. But at least we've got two guard-wolves. Can't imagine it'll be easy for anything to sneak up on us with those two around.
Listening to the conversation as he constantly remains on the lookout, "Stirges, spiders, and sorcery... oh my," he mutters flatly.
'More mammal than a bug, huh, who'd have thought.' Looking from Gubble to Hamish then Guthlag as they all share valuable information. She can't resist smiling when Elgrin points out there were two wolves, which should make them hard to sneak up on. She actually laughs at Jalros' statement, smiling, "And don't forget the vampires that follow spiders and put out fires.'
Jalros looks over at Naomi, giving a nod with a 'relaxed' look? Possibly the closest thing to a smile the man possesses.
"Tykee's favor, a boon indeed." Hamish says to Naomi. "And I'm glad there was no need for bloodshed. Still, there is nothing wrong with a bit of caution." The wiry ex-rivergaurd says. His eyes search the immediate road ahead.
"Ah. Now that looks a bit promising." He says pointing out an approaching stream with several deep pools not far off the path. "If we're getting ready to stop for the night, perhaps I'll try my luck at landing us some fresh trout for dinner. If our luck holds, we'll have something to cook over those multiple fires."
It doesn't take him long to tie his fishing hook to his folding pole. A bit of quick digging uncovers one or two wiggly worms that make the ultimate sacrifice upon the sharp little curved skewer. Whistling quietly, the Arkanji tosses hook and line into the cool waters of the stream and patiently weights for nibble.
Hamish does indeed manage to find a nice camping spot under the bows of a sturdy oak tree - it will provide shelter from the increasingly overcast weather, and some cover if it starts raining.
Even though he is no master outdoorsman, the ex-Riverguard also manages to catch two large, fat trouts while the others set up camp - salt and lemon will make these just perfect over a strong fire! If Thistle and/or Cann don't get a hold of them first, that is.
Guthlag lays out his bedroll and blanket, setting his pack down next to them. Cann quickly disappears, off hunting.
"For multiple fires, we will need lots of wood. We should gather it now, so as not to stray in the dark." Fangor had a saying about gathering firewood for the night. "Gather as much as you think you need in a pile. Then make five of those piles." Guthlag surveys their site a bit more. "Gubble, are you a wizard with the power to dry someone who is wet? Or is such magic beyond your power?" Having spent many a cold night in the wilds, Guthlag is concerned about the possibility of rain. We should make a small shelter, just in case. A Y shaped stick in the ground, a log, and a few more sticks could quickly make a frame which Guthlag would cover with his rain poncho. He had made sure to get a specially big one for that purpose.
Cann eagerly dashes into the surrounding underbrush, looking for his dinner.
The smell of fried fish still lingers in the air as Hamish scrubs the pan and his utensils in the cool waters of the stream. Using a handful of sand to scour the pan and washes away the remaining fat and bits of cooked fishskin that linger in the iron skillet.
"I'm happy to slot in wherever makes the most sense." He says when the talk turns to the nightly watch. "I can go earlier to let those who may need a bit more time for study or meditation to renew themselves prior to any watch they may stand."
I'm happy to take mid-watch. Or any other watch. I've no spells to prepare.
"Hmm, one fire and two people. Better than two fires and one person," Guthlag agrees with Naomi.
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Guthlag attempts a smile back at Nomi, his lips curling awkwardly. "My say is that Elgrin should stay with Gubble." The half-orc sizes up the paladin for a moment. "He may need a companion with such sturdy armor."
Gubble is rolling out his small bedroll with his flag pole at one end and his poncho draped over it like a lean-to. "Yes, Guthlag, I know that particular spell. It is a time-consuming process to dry an entire set of clothing, so I would not rely on it to save us in case of a flash flood followed by a flash freeze." he looks at his nest with a satisfied smile "If you fear rain in our future I could cast a spell to keep water from beading on us in the first place. Once there is a problem, there is not enough magic for the number of people needing it." he looks up at his friend and shrugs "In the end, we will probably just get wet."
He listens to the suggestions to the watches, then lets his eyes drift off to look at something too far for the others to see. "I would be glad to watch with our young friend."
"You misunderstood, Naomi. Gulag's proposal is for him and Elgrin to shift, not him and me. Otherwise, that would be silly, since his eyes are best for the dead of night and I need a continuous stretch of sleep for my spells. A weakness of the wizardly schools of magic, but nice for the bags under one's eyes." Gubble gives Naomi a smile, a nod, and then a good night.
Guthlag hrmms at Gubble's explanation. He had always wondered why druids did not teach magic that would have such an important survival application. "I don't want to get wet," he says quietly, and busies himself preparing his sleeping spot.
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"Not so Gubble, my say is that you and Elgrin should watch together, morning or night. I may take the deep night with Jalros, while the two of you keep watch as the sun rises."
Gubble pauses before slipping into his cozzy hole "I shall happily watch for danger and sunrises with whoever I have the honor of doing so with. Thank you Guthlag and Naomi, for organizing. good night" the wizard then burrows.
Once a watch has been determined, "On watch with Guthlag. Very well. Wake me at the appointed time, please." Jalros then unfolds his bedroll, straightens it out uniformly, and lays down in a position as if that is how he's supposed to be placed upon it. Trusting fully in his team, it is not long before the brawler is asleep. Although, it may be hard to tell because he cannot even be heard breathing.
After some back and forth, the companions settle down for the night.
With the fire burning strong in spite of the damp night air and the watches well defined, you get a good night's sleep, disturbed by nothing more than the occasional nightingale, or nocturnal creepy crawler.
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Today: Solsdag, 20th of Mithrond. Overcast with random drizzles.
The dawn had brought an eerie mist which made Cann and Thistle's fur glow - as you made preparations to depart, you spotted a few more travelers passing by toward Bard's Gate - a caravan here, a couple of riders there, and a Waymarch Patrol at some point.
Returning to your trip, the day was mostly uneventful, though you did notice a difference in the amount of traffic on the road - as you moved away from the metropolis there were less and less people on The Tradeway. That combined with the occasional drizzle and cold breeze coming from the northern hills and the Stoneheart Mountains beyond, made the trip less pleasant and adventurous than you would probably have wished for.
As night begins approaching on your second day of travel, you engage in the routine of finding and adequate camping spot.
You cannot be 100% certain but.... Was that a scream in the distance? Coming from the road ahead?
Hamish listens to the back and forth debate regarding watches and the relative merits of this and that. Suddenly he found himself smiling and tipped a brief salute to the spirit of old Sergeant Rook. Ole Rook would've just barked a set of orders and we all hopped to it. No questions, no debates. And Rook was just following orders barked at him. He mused while taking up his perch opposite Naomi, his back to the firelight. Whole system worked pretty good. Well, until some spoiled spawn of nobility and money jumped into the mix. Then the system just gets a lot of people killed. Or gone missing.
Fortunately all was finally decided and much to Hamish's delight, the night passes without trouble or challenge. But as is ever so typical on journey's such as this, the weather turns poorly as soon as they've truly left civilization and the hope of an inn behind.
Flapping his hat around to remove the latest batch of moisture he sighs and quietly curses the constant drizzle. He's about to mutter yet another complaint when he catches the sound piercing the gray veil beyond the trees and road just ahead.
Looking around to see if anyone else noticed he sees Guthlag suddenly grow more alert.
"Did you hear it as well?" He says to the half-orc. "Can't be certain, but it sure sounded like someone screaming to me. I think in distress." He points up ahead in the general direction of the noise.
"While we cannot ignore the potential of a trap, we also cannot ignore the potential that it isn't, and we could have saved someone." Gubble says, looking at the darkening sky with concern. "Should we move quickly but carefully as a group or send a scout first with the rest of us an acceptable pace behind?"
"If it were a trap, it wouldn't be so faint that only two of us heard it." Guthlag calls Cann close to his side, looking at Hamish in acknowledgment. He had heard it too.
Guthlag has no answers for Gubble, but he does feel his walking stick grow hot in his hands.
Looking in the direction Hamish is pointing, "I would highly advise as a group, sir," he simply responds. "But whatever is decided upon, the plan will be executed to its fullest."
There is another scream, this time you all hear it.
"That cuts it." Hamish says upon hearing the second scream. "Can't question that."
He hurries forward, drawing his blade as he goes and looking for any sign of ambush. Though the mist, late day cloud shaded light, and underbrush all conspire to hide whatever is ahead, he rushes on regardless.
Hamish dashes on ahead looking for the source of the screams, but keeping an eye on his surroundings - he notices nothing out of the ordinary though. So far.
It may be a trap, but it may also be someone that needs our help. Lets go! Maybe the wolves can scout ahead and find the source. And let's do this smart. Stay together!
If the group is moving ahead together, Elgrin will move with them. If people are not moving ahead Elgrin will delay and try to encourage everyone to move towards the scream together as a team.
"And so we go..." Gubble says as the others take off, a soft smile on his lips. "Lem, go see what you can see and then come back, please." he tells his little bird in halfling "No heroics." the halfling reminds him before the bird chirps and flies off.
The wizard follows as best as he can, with such smaller legs, keeping an eye out for danger.
One after the other you all move forward, Lem taking flight in a straight line in the direction from where the screams were heard.
Moving along the road you can see there is a left turn up ahead, which obscures your vision somehow - through the tress and brushes you can all spot there is movement and loud voices up ahead after the turn.
Elgrin begins running around the bend
"Sounds... Of fighting... Ahead " Gubble announce as he runs after Elgrin