The bandit's eyes widen in fear as Carageorn's drawn sword and Nidintu-Bel's naked axe imply an imminent execution. He glances at Happs, shakes his head, then shuffles forward on his knees.
"Hold now! Sorry, Happs, but I don't want to die." Happs glares at him, grinding through clenched teeth. "You fool, when the Stag Lord hears of your betrayal you'll wish you were dead!" The other bandit shakes his head again. "Maybe so, but that's later." He calls to Nidintu "I'll do it! I'll swear!"
And then there was one. Xavin notes, before placing a hand on Niditiu's shoulder. Our conflict with this Stag Lord is now inevitable. He does not seem like the forgiving type and our actions in defending these good people has made a clash unavoidable. We cannot have a minion of his running around behind us while we have just begun building our strength to oppose him.
Xavin steps back. I am the first to have killed in the name of our mission, but that was in the heat of battle to protect a wounded friend. If you wish, I can keep the blood on my hands by carrying out this execution. Six came at us to extort honest people, that we kept four alive and turned them to a better cause is more mercy then can be any found in any place that I have been.
Eskra shrugs at Nidintu, ”Well, there is a difference between us and them. We haven’t showed up to the homes of any hard-working people looking to extort and bully them. Say what you will, but that seems clear cut to me. And no need, Xavin. Spare your conscience. Carageorn will do the work, from his tales it is not the first time he’s served as the proverbial executioner’s axe.”
Roots just pats his tall elf friend on his ankle.
Come help me prepare for our journey. We do have scouting battling and breakfast plans to draw up, my friend.
The solemn Root leshy nods his appreciation at Carageorn.
"Come help me prepare for our journey. We do have scouting battling and breakfast plans to draw up, my friend."
Nidintu shakes his head. "No - I had my doubts at first, but if this needs doing, I have a duty to do it." He moves up to the defiant bandit, hefting his weapon. "Your name was Happs, was it not? Speak what prayers you will, Happs - you should have the chance to make things right with Pharasma or Gorum or whoever you worship." The towering elf raises his axe. "I'm told that it's a painless way to die - though I suppose I'm unlikely to ever know for certain." The warrior pauses for a moment to see if the bandit wishes to make a final prayer, waiting until Happs finishes if he starts to speak, then brings his greataxe down, decapitating the unrepentant bandit.
Happs has no final words, only glowering at Nidintu, Xavin, Eskra, Halrod, Oleg and even his own men, some of whom return the look grimly while others look away. Svetlana looks away as well, burying her face into Oleg's chest as her husband puts an arm around her shoulders.
As the head falls, Oleg nods slowly. "Thank you for bearing this burden. Justice is never easy, and sometimes we have to dirty our hands and our souls pursuing it." He tightens the embrace around his wife, then releases it. "I will take care of the remains."
The surviving bandits shudder, mutter and shake their heads, some obviously relieved to have been spared this gruesome fate. All four swear to forsake banditry, and to work in the service of Oleg and Svetlana for three months with no pay, but only for bed and board.
"Well! He got that coming, I say," declares Amiri. Linzy looks a little shaken, and moves to comfort Svetlana - undoubtedly getting equal comfort herself. Valerie is silent, but gives Nidintu a nod.
Xavin unbinds the four remaining bandits. As he does so he says Now that we know more of the area, perhaps we move on Kressie while we still have some advantage. After any we take care of any healing that was needed of course.
Roots-Sink-Deep seems not to even think about the bandits, former or dead. The Root leshy seems to be singularly focused to depart for more justice to be carried out!
Erastil will prepare the fields with the blood or the beliefs of these bandits!
Aye," agrees Halrod. "We should move quickly to take this Kressle before she learns of what happened here and is prepared."
Oleg begins to drag the bloody corpse of Happs away, busying himself with that for the next hour or so. It turns out that what he had in mind for "taking care of it" is in fact nailing the dead body to the outside of the wall, by the gate, and mounting the head on a spike on top of the wall. Svetlana turns away from the gruesome sight, looking like she is about to retch. With a hand placed lightly on her stomach, she approaches the fae pack. "I know you have much more important things to do, and I hate to ask more of you, but..." She looks away for a moment, her cheeks colouring. "I am- I have a... delicate condition. There are some plants called moon radishes that grow south of here which make a delicious soup, very good for soothing the body and the mind. If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could bring back a basket of them?"
With Orlund and Valerie staying behind to help make sure that the former bandits behave, the Wildwood Band plus Amiri and Linzi set out southward. Away from the trading post there are no roads, only faint tracks here and there. The dark eaves of the Greenbelt, the Margreve, the Old Forest loom ahead, but it takes until after lunch to reach the shadow of the ancient oaks and ghostly birches.
As the bandit's head falls, Nidintu returns Valerie's nod. At Amiri's words, he glances at the Kellid warrior. "Deserved or not, he's dead now. Only the gods can return him to this world, so like as not, what's done is done." He shrugs. "I suppose I've done worse things in my time, but it's been over a hundred years since. Still, taking a life is no light matter. Those for whom it is do terrible things."
"I know you have much more important things to do, and I hate to ask more of you, but... I am- I have a... delicate condition. There are some plants called moon radishes that grow south of here which make a delicious soup, very good for soothing the body and the mind. If it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could bring back a basket of them?"
Nidintu nods. "We are already fetching fangberries for Bokken - it would be no great difficulty to find you moon radishes as well. I hope your health improves, Miss Svetlana." When he notices how Oleg 'took care of' Happs, he scowls. "Disgraceful. Bandit or no, the desecration of corpses is one of the greatest sins. I will... speak with Oleg when we return. His anger has blinded him, I think."
He seems in better spirits as the group sets off towards the Thorn River camp, and his eyes seem to gleam with excitement behind his spectacles as he talks animatedly with his friends. At lunch, he advocates for traveling in the shadow of the ancient trees, though he does defer to those skilled with spell rather than blade in such matters. ("I can't see any harm in riding through the forest, but there are some things that can't be faced with a stout axe, true enough. If the land doesn't like us, the mages can do what they wish, but there's not much plain folks like me can do but move on, is there?") Riding through the forest, he keeps an eye on the surroundings, using his expertise to look for possible points of danger. ("Back in the day, I'd have stood there, and Two-Shot Elbers would have stood up there in the tree. Of course, any bandits with half a brain would have a lookout there, in case the merchant caravans try to flee that way.")
As the fae pack crosses into the ancient forest, a strange feeling settles over them. It is as if they have crossed some sort of threshold; the light shifts, simultaneously dimming and making the colours starker. There is an eerie quiet, a watchful silence, and Nidintu-Bel's voice rings out overly loud into it as he tells his story.
Roots-Sink-Deep sets out to find what he can of the local wildlife and is rewarded with abundant tracks and marks that indicate a profusion of life in the forest - although at the moment they seem to be keeping themselves hidden. Aside from many bird nests, the leshy finds evidence of squirrels, badgers, foxes, deer, boars and other furred or feathered creatures.
For Xavin, the trees and the bushes, the vines and the moss, the birds and the beasts seem immediately and profoundly familiar, as if he is visiting a place that he used to know after a long time. There is a sense of the forest opening to him in a reserved welcome - a guest allowed in the outermost room of a house, while the inner spaces are still closed to them.
As the Wildwood Band ventures deeper into the forest, Nidintu becomes aware of the deathly quiet. His story trails off as his eyes scan the Old Forest, and those near him notice the sheen of nervous sweat on his cinereous skin. After a moment, he speaks. "We'll want to build the fire high tonight, friends. This forest is dangerous enough during the day, but at night... I would not want to be caught without light. They say that this forest is older than humanity - older than some of the gods, even - and it follows no laws we mortals can understand. When I was a boy at the hermitage, a man from Mendev came to visit Shepherd Ardeth, the priest who raised my brother and me. The visitor was one of those Iomedaean witch-hunters - even then, before the Third Crusade, they had such people in Mendev's temples. He had heard tales of demonic rituals at the Old Sycamore, and he wanted to investigate."
He scowls. "The witch-hunter was very cruel. When he saw Vanrith and me, realized the taint on our blood, he wanted to put us both to the sword, and Ardeth besides - said the Shepherd was summoning demons to feed on the blood of the righteous. Ardeth explained that we were his wards, but that witch-hunter had an 'Education' from the temples in Mendev, and he would hear none of it." The uncharacteristic contempt in his voice makes his distaste for the Iomedaean inquisitor clear. "He left immediately after - said he was going to burn the Old Sycamore to the ground. We went to stop him, but when we got to the tree, all we found was scraps of his armor in the undergrowth, bloodstains stretching to the highest branches, and his head, still frozen with a look of horror that could chill the bones of a dead man. The Old Forest is no mere forest - some say it has a mind of a sort, with patience to rival the oldest dragons, and more vengeful besides." The silence clearly unnerves Nidintu, and he seems to be talking to fill the space.
Calm Nidintu.. this place does not truly know us yet, but it will through our deeds, the more we preserve and protect, the more we will be a part of it, rather than just interlopers or even guests. Xavin says, oblivious to how the others are reacting to being in the true forest.
I will Scout to see what may be seen, they will not know where I have been, backwards... forwards.. in between.... they will not know they have been seen.
Roots meanders idly through the abundant foliage. The Druid seemingly enjoying the smell, feels and sights of traversing the old forest.
Look at those leaves. Smell those flowers there! Hear that! That's a whistle-freckled bobslededer!
He seems to be enjoying the scenery.
Travelling through the dense forest with no road but the game trails is considerably slower, so the fae pack does not reach the other side before night falls and they need to make camp. Amiri helps gather deadwood for the fire, stealing anxious glances at the shadows between the trees. It is strange to see the otherwise brave woman so nervous, but she is likely used to wide, open spaces, and the closeness of the forest must seem confining. Seated on a fallen log, Linzi makes sketches of the plants and bugs, exclaiming in wonder at a swarm of fireflies that briefly alight on Roots-Sink-Deep.
The next day, the journey through the forest continues. Mid-morning, the Wildwood Band comes upon an arrow-shaped clearing. In the middle of it there is a patch of the root vegetable that Svetlana described as moon radishes. However, it seems that the fae pack was beaten to the punch, as four kobolds lie sprawled on their backs in the center of the patch, their bellies full to bursting. Three overflowing baskets of radishes lie nearby.
Roots smiles at each of the fireflies, naming them as they land and alight.
Martha. Betty. Bruce. Penelope. William. Tomas....
Slowly entering the arrow-shaped clearing, the small Root leshy holds his vine-like arms high into the air.
We welcome those whom are mighty dragons to the magical patch of poisonous 'shrooms. How may we assist you in your final minutes oh mighty dragons?
The Root leshy seems contrite.
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Nidintu helps Amiri gather wood for the fire, then cooks a simple dinner for the fae pack. He notices the warrior's nervous glances into the forest and nods to her. "This is a hostile place. You see it too, my friend? Not evil, I think - but a bear can have no malice in its heart and still rip your head off your shoulders, yes?" He glances at Roots and Xavin, who both seem a good deal more comfortable with the forest than either Nidintu or Amiri. "The others don't see it. Their perception is clouded - they see the beauty, not the danger." He raises his voice, addressing both Amiri and the others by the campsite. "There's beauty in a good wildfire, true enough, bright and terrible like the setting sun, but it can still wither your flesh and char your bones. My father told of creatures like that - visitors of pure light, coiling through the skies in a dance so beautiful the trees themselves stretched forth their leaves and joined in, but so unnatural that to see it was death to the unprepared. This forest is the same way, and it's unwise to let our guard down just because we see the beauty rather than the danger."
The massive warrior notices Roots's antics with the fireflies and moves closer to where the little leshy plays, speaking to his young friend. His yellow eyes look almost like fireflies themselves, glowing in the reflected light of the dying embers. "You like fireflies, then, child?" He shudders. "I could never stand them myself - like hundreds of tiny eyes in the dark, they are. They remind me of some of the figures on my father's altar, and I can never shake the feeling that there's something hiding amongst them, watching us." He volunteers for watch duty again, but he spends most of his shift anxiously gazing into the forest itself, searching for any sign that whatever lurks within will act.
The next morning, the tiefling rises early and finds breakfast for the rest of the group. He sets aside half his own food, his eyes nervously scanning the trees, and as the group prepares to leave, he takes stones from the fire and stacks them in a small cairn, setting his uneaten food beside it as an offering to whatever watches from the trees.
Nidintu approaches the radish patch, looking down at the dazed kobolds and prodding at one of the baskets with his foot, nodding at the weight he feels within. "Fine day, isn't it, friends? We're just passing through, but one of our friends has the sickness, and we need a basket of these radishes for her medicine." He pulls out a coin pouch before continuing. "How much do you want for one of these baskets, friends? We can pay you in coin or in kind - there's more than enough radishes here for all of us."
The kobolds stir awake, groaning and rubbing their distended bellies. They stare with incomprehension at Roots-Sink-Deep and Nidintu-Bel, eyeing the latter's coin pouch. They don't seem to understand Common, and while they seem tense and guarded, they don't immediately attack.
Xavin makes motions to try and ease the Kobolds.
They might understand a trade of radishes for coin... I do not feel we want to cause bloodshet for something like this.
Halrod looks around, as if just realizing where he is. "I speak the tongue of dragons. I will speak to these little ones."
[color=red]<draconic>"Ho, little ones! Arise and speak, for we would have converse with you! Whose moon radishes are these?"</draconic>[/color]
Seeing that the kobolds do not seem to understand Taldane, Nidintu keeps trying, miming picking up a basket of radishes and leaving the coin purse on the ground as he tries the other languages he knows. "We wish to trade with you! Qāyipānūta epēšu? Will you act as merchants? Mancalë? Trade?" At Xavin's words, he nods. "Radishes aren't worth killing over. If they don't wish to sell, we can come back another time."
As Halrod speaks in the Draconic language, Nidintu raises an eyebrow, glancing at his fellow elf. "You know the dragon-speech, my friend? I confess, I had not thought that you were a scholar, to know such tongues."
The kobolds' eyes widen as Halrod speaks to them, and they elbow each other whispering "he speaks the tongue of the ancestors!".
One of them steps forward, clearing their throat at length before answering in Draconic.
"The radishes in the baskets are ours, we picked them. The ones not in the baskets..." They hesitate for a moment, then venture, a little unsure. "Also ours." They peer at Nidintu's gesticulation. "Your friend with the horns, he wishes to make trade? One basket we can spare."
The kobold holds out their clawed, scaly hands for the purse to be tossed.
Xavin, very broke as a result of some parting Fae gifts just shrugs. One gold piece perhaps?
Roots begins doing stretching and a bit of flexing....
Eskra, also flat broke, gives a look over at the rest of the party, shrugging as if to say, "Not me."
Nidintu hesitates for a moment before pulling out a gold piece from the pouch and offering it to the kobolds. "I'm afraid I'm not much good with money, my friends, so I don't actually have much to trade. Does anyone else have anything?" He addresses the kobolds next, gesticulating with his hands to try to get across the gist of his message. "How much, friends?"
The spokeskobold agrees that one shiny gold piece is enough for a basket of radishes, but then the other three kobolds argue intensely about being empty-handed, so three more copper pieces are required to placate them - one for each.
Roots frustratingly reaches into his pants pockets, produces 1 gold piece for each Kobold, slaps them into their hands and grabs 2 baskets.
Thank you for your compliance. It is rewarded.
The Root leshy walks away.
Talrod, please translate and let us continue.
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Nidintu nods approvingly as Roots makes the trade with the kobolds, but as the group sets off, he looks down at his little leshy friend struggling with the two full baskets. "Let me get those for you, Roots." Bending down, the massive warrior scoops up the two baskets, hanging them by their handles from the end of his axe helve, which he shifts over his shoulder. The head of the axe counterbalances the weight of the radishes well, and Nidintu has little difficulty carrying the moon radishes for Svetlana.
As the group makes their way through the forest, Nidintu seems in better spirits than he did the previous day. "It's not so silent as it was yesterday, is it, my friends? The forest just needed time to get used to us, it did. It's a fearsome thing when provoked, sure enough-" He grins before continuing. "-but the same could be said of all of us, couldn't it?"
After a few more hours of walking, Nidintu glances down at Linzi, who is trying to carefully draw a sketch of a dragonfly perched on the end of her pencil without disturbing it, and laughs. "You know, Linzi, you remind me very much of my oldest daughter Aliya. Always curious, she was, even as a child - every day for a year, she would come running up to me, proudly announcing she had found some ancient relic while playing in the hills. It was all garbage, of course - strangely shaped rocks, handles of broken tools - but I always told her stories about the 'relics' and the people who made them what they are. I remember when she found an old arrowhead from a local hunter, and I told her it was the iron scale of a terrible dragon, torn from its body when it was struck down by a great hero." He adjusts the axe over his shoulder, shifting his focus back to the path as he crosses a fallen log over a small stream. "Her mother Vaniya told stories better, but I still like to think she enjoyed hearing the 'fabled history' of what she found. She's getting an Education in Ustalav, these days - learning how to work magic and read the ancient runes and all that. I think you'd like her, though."
"How many children do you have, Nidintu?" asks Halrod, genuinely curious about his fellow elf. In his long life, Halrod had never had any children...had he? He tried hard to remember.
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"How many children do you have, Nidintu?"
Nidintu glances at Halrod. "Two - my oldest daughter Aliya, and her younger sister Elarsa. Aliya looks... well, she looks something like me, with the horns and the tail and all that, but Elarsa looks like any other aiuvarin, so long as you don't look at her eyes too closely - she wears thick glasses so nobody sees them, and I think she's a bit ashamed of having demon blood, especially after what happened in Thornkeep when she was younger. A young man she fancied wanted to see what color her eyes were, so he took off her glasses when she wasn't paying attention - nearly swallowed his tongue, he did, then took off screaming, and poor Elarsa spent hours crying afterwards."
Nidintu's eyes seem to drift away, focusing on an indistinct spot in the middle distance as they always do whenever he reminisces. "My wife Vaniya was one of those humans from Qadira I mentioned who came here seeking a better life - ended up becoming a cartographer, she did, and we were married for fifty-three years all told. I showed both the girls how to use a sword - pretty good at it, too, they were! - and she showed them how to talk to people so you don't have to use a sword." He digs in his pack for a moment before pulling out an old letter and reading through it. "Aliya always says she feels very welcome in Lepidstadt. They deal with strange things all the time, the Ustalav academia do - things 'with forms more eyes than teeth and names more apostrophes than consonants,' she said. Compared to that, nobody cares that their classmate has hooves."
The massive warrior sighs, a look of concern on his face. "Aliya writes often enough, but Elarsa rarely does, and I worry sometimes - she is an Iomedaean, but she is also in Kenabres, and I remember the tales of the Third Crusade. They used to burn you there, if they thought you had demon blood, and plenty of those who did the burning are still in charge, they say. I'm sure she's fine, but I still worry sometimes."
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"Humans can be blind that way," Halrod agrees. "But I doubt not that the crusaders value actions over appearances. It is not the demon's blood that will define her but yours, my friend."
Halrod walks on a little, trying to remember. "At Wyvernstone we had a... well that doesn't matter. When we have settled the bandit problem, we should look to create a place where your daughters -can- write to you. Perhaps this Oleg could hold letters for us. Or Svetlana. She seems to be more level-headed. It is a long way to Lepidstadt, but a letter could get to "
He look east as they stride across the rolling hills of the Kamelands towards the distant unseen Tors of Levenies. "I should like to write to this Maegar Varn and to the other settlements the Swordlords are sending into the Stolen Lands. We should keep abreast of the doings of our neighbors. We may have to call upon their aid some day."
He turns back to the west and the endless rolling hills looking at their other companions. "And what of each of you? Have you any children, wives or husbands you haven't mentioned?"
Striding easily through the foliage, the Storm Druid giggles at Halrod's question about having children.
My closest would be a caterpillar that I met once while sunn8ng. Does that count? I fed him.
The smiling Root leshy considers .
He also puked on me. The jalapeños didn't agree with him.
"Your daughter sounds delightful, I hope to meet her some day. And if you want me to tell you a story, you can just ask!" grins Linzi. "But maybe not right now, I can smell smoke."
Indeed, as evening falls over the forest, the faint glimmer of firelight can be seen through a break in the trees ahead. It seems that the Thorn River bandit camp is close by.
"Humans can be blind that way, but I doubt not that the crusaders value actions over appearances. It is not the demon's blood that will define her but yours, my friend."
Nidintu nods gratefully. "Thank you, my friend. The thought is comforting, and I'm sure Elarsa will do great things as a crusader - just as Aliya will as a scholar! If my daughters will still have a foolish old bandit for a father, I'd be glad to see them again - Erastil knows neither of them have done anything to make me ashamed of them, not once!"
As the talk turns to messages and postal systems, Nidintu grins. "I remember back in the day when they had carriages come up from the south to Restov - carried letters from all over Avistan, they did! These days, people mostly just give their letter to someone who looks like they're going in the right direction, but we could probably fix that after we drive out this Stag Lord." He thinks for a moment. "It would be good to speak with Lord Varn again - perhaps even see those 'Iron Wraith' soldiers in battle! Still, I suppose we would have to meet that fool Tartuccio again, and that farmer lady Jaethal."
"And what of each of you? Have you any children, wives or husbands you haven't mentioned?"
Nidintu smirks, though it fades quickly, and a touch of sorrow creeps into his voice as he speaks. "I might ask the same of you, my friend. You mentioned an elf-maid named Falathiel, yes? Ask her if she'll have you, sooner rather than later - I know more than most that time is precious with those you care for. You may have more time with her than I with Vaniya, but you may not - don't waste an instant of it, I say." As Roots interjects, Nidintu sighs and shakes his head. "It is not the same, Roots - you will understand when you're older."
When Linzi points out the fire in the clearing ahead, Nidintu stops, carefully taking the moon radish baskets off his axe helve and setting them on the ground. "It would seem the time has come for us to bloody our blades again. Be on the lookout for ambushes." His mind races as he calls to mind any of the forest traps he still remembers, trying to think of what the bandits might do in the upcoming battle.
Xavin shakes their head at Halrod I have just never been interested in that part of existence. There are nephews and nieces enough to carry on the family line so thankfully no duty falls on me there.
The underbrush will cloak me as I move, I will scout closer and report back.
Xavin shakes their head at Halrod I have just never been interested in that part of existence. There are nephews and nieces enough to carry on the family line so thankfully no duty falls on me there.
The underbrush will cloak me as I move, I will scout closer and report back.
When the sounds of the Thorn river begin to find their ears, Roots begins doing stretches. The small Root leshy seems prepared for a frontal assault.....
The Druid beg8ns roaming about when he watches Xavin scout ahead.
Nidintu-Bel would know that they would be very incompetent bandits not to post a few lookouts, preferably in a high place and hidden from view. Roots-Sink-Deep doesn't find much in the way of wildlife around, only small critters hiding in the underbrush - likely the presence of people and fire are keeping away the larger animals.
Xavin moves almost silently towards the firelight, and the camp comes into view. Five bandits are gathered around the banked campfire, sipping from tin mugs and poking at a leaf-wrapped bundle in the fire every now and then. One of them is a woman with two hatchets strapped to her back - no doubt this is the Kressle character that both Svetlana and Morn warned about.
Xavin holds up five fingers so the people behind them know what they see and then draws their bow and nocks an arrow.
Roots mouth moves as the Root leshy counts the fingers that Xavin holds up for them.
I got this!
The small Storm Druid looks ready to charge.....
Eskra readies themself and looks over at Carageorn, "Well then, friend, shall we show these bandits some stolen lands justice?"
Carageorn grins and nods, "Verily and veritably. My blades thirst, and can only be slaked when washed-red in righteous battle."
At Xavin's sign, Nidintu shakes his head, responding in a low hiss so as not to be heard. "They'll have lookouts, too, so add one or two to your count. Probably up high somewhere - they'd pick their best archers, so we should stay in the underbrush so we can approach with cover." He grins and hefts his axe. "Right, then. Let's knock some sense through their fool heads, yes? Keep your heads down and keep to the treeline, unless you want to find yourself with an arrow through your lung." As Carageorn speaks, the tiefling raises an eyebrow and glances at the fey noble-in-exile. "Thrice-tenth, we're about to go into battle - someone's likely to die, but there's no reason to make a fuss about it! It takes long enough to clean the blood off your blades - you shouldn't rush to stain it with more so quickly."
Carageorn raises his strong and exaggerate eyebrows, "Make a fuss? Friend, for thy kind, death is the end of all things. Death must be given all the import it deserves."
Everyone manages to sneak closer to the bandits, even though Eskra steps on a twig which causes one of the bandits by the campfire to raise his head sharply, but before he can give warning to the others the Wildwood Band are practically in his lap.
Xavin moves forward to get in 30 foot range of Kressle and then as if moving on automatic pilot his hand suddenly whips around to trace a primal rune in the air and he shouts a phrase that causes the forest ground around Kressle to burst into a rough jumble of rocks.
1 Act: Move South.
2 and 3 Act: Cast Scatter Scree At the square Kressle is on and one north.