The mites shriek as the (mostly) tall invaders burst into the room, dropping their implements and reaching for weapons. Between Nidintu's axe and Carageorn's fey magic, two are killed outright and three more badly wounded as they are too surprised and confused to get out of the way of the falling log.
Mikmek shouts in triumph, brandishing the short sword over their head.
The surviving mitflits scramble to defend themselves with blades and darts.
Roots-Sink-Deep rushes behind the tall folk to stike a pose!
Play my entrancemusic, Nidintu!
Smiling the Storm Druid begins pointing at the two damaged mites!
He then casts Shield.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"Play my entrancemusic, Nidintu!"
Nidintu's brow furrows at his leshy friend's strange outburst. "Music? That's right, music! Thrice-tenth, how did that song go?" After a moment's thought, he continues carving a bloody path through the mites, cheerfully belting out part of an old marching song he heard from crusaders bound for the Worldwound. "So onward, and onward, with swords pointing skyward; tomorrow, Pharasma to face! Our banners will fly, and our foes, they will die at the end of the sword and the mace!"
The marching song bellowed by Nidintu-Bel is the last thing that the mitflits hear before perishing, and its echoes die amidst the sudden silence in the cavern. The smell of blood and roasted flesh is thick in the air.
As the final mite drops, the Druid begins gathering mud and leaves.
Stand still, Nidintu. This will barely hurt a lot.
The Root leshy seems to have found a few worms too.
Roots frowns at his work.
You must have squirmed too much...
Nidintu grins as the last of the mites falls, only for his face to resolve into a grimace in concern as Roots rounds on him again with a somehow even more foul-smelling poultice than before. "What are you doing, my friend? Those little fools barely scratched me!" After a moment, however, he acquiesces to Roots' treatment, albeit with a good deal of grumbling about the smell, and dusts the dirt of the cramped caverns off of his hands as he prepares to continue. He glances around the cramped caverns and clears his throat before, as Linzi might say, 'succinctly summarizing his opinion of their environs.' "Right, this place smells like someone's been sick in it, and I can't go three steps without my horns bouncing off the roof. It's high time we left."
The last space inside the caverns is a large room, its wet-looking floor crisscrossed by several shallow trenches, each containing trickles of putrid fluid. Six mounds of compost and dung lie heaped about the room, each studded with small spherical eggs. The western exit leads back to the tunnel entrance under the roots of the sycamore.
What is this place.. the fluid here could only be harmful to the tree above us.
Root's blue eyes just stare in horror into the septic tank chamber from behind Nidintu.
Not going in there!
Xavin can't figure out what the eggs are, but this seems like a hatchery of sorts. The fluid is noxious, but does not seem unnatural.
Eskra, too, examines the eggs but doesn't parse much more than Xavin.
Nidintu grimaces at the smell of the putrid fluid in the chamber. At Xavin's statement, however, he shrugs. "They're eggs, so they're probably something living. Bugs lay eggs, right? Probably some big spider or some such. Still, they aren't hurting us, and this tree can't get much more dead. Like I said earlier, all things die eventually - the Old Sycamore's certainly been around for as long as I can remember, and probably centuries before that."
He gives a curious glance at Xavin. "You seem unusually concerned about this tree. You spent long in these lands, friend? Any connection to this tree in particular, or just trees generally?"
Trees generally, and I am sad to have not seen this magnificent creature alive. In any case, In any case we can always come back if we need to with someone who would know more of what we have found here. Or someone who speaks the dragon tongue so we can find more from our survivor here. Let us go back to Linzi, she's much more of a scholar.
As the group emerges from under the sycamore tree, they find Amiri triumphantly standing over the bodies of three slain mitflits. "Hunting party returning, they attacked us," is the explanation she offers as she cleans the blood off her oversized blade.
Linzi is excited to meet Mikmek, but shakes her head regretfully when asked whether she speaks the kobold language. "I am afraid that I don't, but I would like to learn it if our new friend here agrees to teach me!"
For his part, Mikmek is holding onto the statuette tightly with one hand and pointing southwest with the other. Then he tugs on Nidintu's trousers and points south west again.
Eskra gives Amiri a broad smile, "My, my, all by yourself? Well done."
I need to rest before we move on. I am not used to the rigors of casting spells I feel. Xavin sits cross legged on the ground, rubbing his head.
Eskra nods, ”Sure, why not? Carageorn and I wouldn’t mind taking a load off.”
They spend the 20 minutes playing cards with Carageorn, though the game seems to consist mostly of bickering, magical tricks, and accusations of cheating. Only a few hands of cards actually get played.
Roots spends that time rubbing earthworm guts, maple sap and dried leaves onto Nidintu's injuries.
The Root leshy glances at the demonstrative Mikmek.
What's he going on about?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Nidintu stretches gratefully as he emerges from the cramped tunnels. "Those tunnels are tiny, they are! It's good to be out in the open again - breathe real air, not that stuffy cave air!" He greets Amiri and Linzi with a nod and a friendly grin. "It's good to see you're doing well, Amiri. I would have liked to see those little fools attacking you - would have been like seeing ants throwing themselves at a mountain, it would! And you, Linzi, I'd like you to meet our new friend. This is Mikmek. Mostly, I figure he's a scholar or some such - certainly talks enough for two, he does." At Xavin's words, he nods. "Take whatever time you need."
He glances down at Mikmek as the little lizard tugs at his pant leg. "Look, I know you want to go that way, but you've been tortured, little friend! Rest now - I promise we'll take you where you want to go soon enough!" He shrugs, addressing the other members of the party. "Our new friend's home is probably that way. We should see him on his way - these are dangerous lands, for sure, and I don't like his chances alone."
The massive warrior sits down with his back against the tree, his lambent yellow eyes looking with concern at whatever filth Roots is rubbing into his puncture wounds. "L-look, Roots, I know it's bad that you can see tree bark through my wounds, but isn't dirt and all that going to make it worse? Sickness and all that?"
As the group rests, Nidintu begins to hum to himself, eventually breaking out into an old drinking song from his days as a bandit. "Hey! Ho! to the bottle I go, to heal my heart and drown my woe. Rain may fall and wind may blow, and many miles be still to go, but under a tall tree I will lie, and let the clouds go sailing by!"
To say that his singing is entirely off-key would be inaccurate - he does in fact hit a correct note twice, if entirely by accident, and his singing could be considered quite pleasant... if you happened to be tone-deaf. And underwater. With earplugs in. After about a minute of ear-splitting din, he stops his assault on the bass clef, leaving a tangled wreckage of notes in his wake. While Xavin rests and Eskra and Carageorn play their game, he sees to the maintenance of his equipment, patching the holes in his shirt as best he can, cleaning and sharpening his axe, and polishing the lenses of his goggles. Eventually, he looks up at where Carageorn and his companion play cards, smirking. "You know, that reminds me of a story from back in the day. The night watch was playing cards, see..."
"...and finally, it gets around to Two-Shot Elbers's turn. He lays out his cards on the ground, see, and says to us, all proud-like, 'Read 'em and weep - not even you can beat five of a kind!'" The massive warrior laughs at the memory. "'Course, then we all took him out back and beat twelve kinds of s*** out of him for cheating." At this, his mood seems to dampen, and he sighs. "That was the night before he died, it was, and everyone was pretty mad at him for the stunt he pulled. Looking back on it, I just wish I could have said something nice to him - something so we wouldn't have parted ways mad at each other, you know?"
He glances back up at the squabbling pair. "There's a lesson in that for you two. Tomorrow could be our last day of life, so we should try to make today worth living - 'set aside petty quarrels and live as siblings in steel,' is how Saint Clydwell put it; he was some important Arodenite holy man or something, I think, but he wrote a lot of the books in the hermitage where I grew up." After a moment's silence, he smirks, tapping the side of his head knowingly. "You thought I was going to tell you another story without a point, didn't you? I'm not as stupid as I look, I'm not!"
Roots just smiles at his friend.
After a bit of rest, the Wildwood Band makes their way southwest, accompanied by Mikmek and the former bandits. The kobold leads them around a line of rocky hills, and they stop for the night in the lee of a craggy tor. The next morning they continue on until the Shrike river is visible in the distance, glittering under the noon sun. The dried grasses and shrubs of the hills start mixing here with more lush vegetation bolstered by the presence of water nearby. Early spring flowers peek out here and there, bright spots of colour among the browns and greys.
Here the hills curve to the west, and the party follows their line as it runs parallel to the river. After a couple more hours, Mikmek grows excited, and soon the kobold is pointing out subtle markers in the surroundings that must mean something to them, but to anyone but the most perceptive person they would be just part of the landscape.
An outcropping of large boulders emerges from the weathered face of a nearby hillock, and that is apparently Mikmek's destination. A narrow opening in the rock leads into darkness, and a fallen sign leans against the side of the cave entrance, with a cage made of branches and sticks on the other side. The wood of the sign is grey with age, and bears a few faded words in Taldane, Oaktop Silver Mine.
As they approach, a lone kobold stands up from behind a large rock, chirping in surprise. They seem to recognize Mikmek, and the two begin chattering away in rapid-fire Draconic as Mikmek points to the rest of the group and then to the cave opening. They seem to reach an agreement after a few moments, and the kobold on guard comes forward.
"I Nakpik. Welcome to Sootscale Tribe. Thank you to be helping Mikmek and to be return holy statue to we. Please, please, come inside. Chief of we meet you."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Roots chatters with Mikmek while the band meanders about the Beautiful countryside. The Root leshy explaining to the Kobold the fundamentals of Nature and how to listen for Erastil's voice.
....then after you get the proper dirt, you listen to it....once the rains begins listen to it landing on the leaves....never listen to caterpillars because everyone knows they lie....
At the apparent abode of the Kobold clan, the Storm Druid brushes his leaves and vines to meet their queen.
I'm just so nervous. How's my hair?
Eskra gives a smile and a nod to Nakpik, "Well, good day Nakpik. I am Eskra, that there is Carageorn. The two of us, and the rest of this gaggle of misfits, are the Wildwood Band."
Xavin nods. we would be honoured to meet your Chief.
Nidintu nods to the kobold guard, extending a massive hand in greeting and giving one of his enormous grins. "Nice to meet you, Nakpik! We found Mikmek here being tortured by those little fools under the Old Sycamore - took care of them, we did, and brought back your statue too." His face falls before he continues. "Afraid all the others we found were all dead, though. We'll help gather the bodies for burial or burning or whatever your way is, though."
At Nakpik's offer, his grin returns in force. "We'd be glad to meet your chief. We're here to make a home of sorts, just like you lot - set up someplace where folk like me and Eskra... well, probably mostly folk like Eskra can live out here, where the air is fresh and souls are free. If we're to live next to your people, we'd best speak with your leader, make sure we can help each other."
Nakpik hisses at the mention of torture and slain kobolds as they take Nidintu's hands in both of theirs. Then begins to guide the Wildwood Band and Friends into the kobold lair, pointing out three pit traps lined with sharp stakes so that they can avoid stepping in them.
Beyond the traps, the entrance tunnel veers to the right and narrows, forcing everyone to travel single file. A pair of shadowed alcoves flank the passage, kobold scouts posted within. They nod at Nakpik as they pass and cheer at the sight of Mikmek. Past the narrow corridor, several openings on the left lead to spaces farther in the caves. There do not seem to be many kobolds around, and when Nakpik finally leads everyone in front of their chieftain, his entourage numbers only six kobolds.
The space in which the chief holds court is a high-ceilinged cavern with irregular walls and punctuated by two large rock pillars. Numerous beds of furs lie scattered through the room amidst smoldering cook fires, while to the south, a ten-foot wide alcove contains a large mound of furs framed by dozens of sticks mounted with the ash-smeared skulls of many birds and small animals. Chief Sootscale reclines on the mound, but jumps to their feet in alarm as the big folk begin to file into the cavern. A hurried explanation from both Mikmek and Nakpik, both stumbling over each other and gesticulating, seems to assuage the chieftain however.
Drawing themselves up and assuming what they must consider a regal posture, Chief Sootscale addresses their guests. "It appears that you have done us a number of great favours, strangers. You have freed our warrior Mikmek from captivity and torture, you have slain our sworn enemies and, most importantly, you have recovered our sacred idol. We are very grateful, but I must ask that you return that statue and give it to me."
As Nakpik leads the Wildwood Band through the lair, Nidintu follows, stepping around the pit traps and avoiding the kobolds' defensive fortifications. He seems in a far better mood than he was in the mite caverns, likely due to the kobold lair's size - the massive pitborn has to duck only slightly so his horns don't hit the support beams. "Old Forgemaster Thrargrig told me about some of the Holtaksen fortresses in the Five Kings Mountains - this place kind of reminds me of those stories. You'd need an army to get in here, you would!" He grins at Nakpik. "Smart folk, your builders. Keeping their people safe, and all that."
As the group enters the presence of Chief Sootscale, Nidintu nods to the kobold king, and at the mention of the statue, he begins to rummage in his backpack. "Happy to help, Chief. I had it somewhere around here... There it is!" He pulls out the statue, wrapped in one of his old shirts to protect it from damage. The towering warrior quickly unwraps the horned statue, rubbing at a dried bit of mite blood on the base, and presents it to the kobold leader, beaming proudly.
Can you tell us of your faith, and also the conflict of yours that we stumbled onto? we are glad to have helped save MikMek but would like to know what sort of enemies we have made in this land. Xavin asks.
"Yes, yes, later," Chief Sootscale absentmindedly answers Xavin as they take the statuette from Nidintu-Bel, staring fixedly at it with a strange expression for a long moment, as if they are making a particularly difficult decision.
Then, with a yell, they raise the idol high above their head and smash it against the rock floor!
"Ahahahahaha! The curse! The curse is broken! Come! Come with me! Today I take my tribe back!"
Mikmek, Nakpik and the other six kobolds seem frozen in absolute shock, looking bewildered as Chief Sootscale strides with grim determination towards the main access corridor.
Oh this should be good, Please do translate to Common, Chief, would hate to miss what is happening due to our terrible deficiency in Draconic.
Xavin seems almost giddy. They turn to the others. The capricious politicking is almost like like I'm back in the Fae realms! they explain.
As the chief smashes the hard-won idol, Nidintu's grin freezes on his face. After a moment, however, his mind connects the dots and his axe leaps into his hand as he starts after the kobold chief. "A curse from your god, yes? No worries, Chief - we'll help you kick the teeth out of your traitor priests and any who stand with them."
What the f~%% now...
Those following Chief Sootscale manage to keep pace with the kobold's hurried strides, as if they are afraid their resolve might flag if they don't do this right away - whatever 'this' is. The chieftain marches into the corridor, then into a strange space where rickety wooden frames formed by clean-cut branches lashed together with gut and twine run the perimeter of the cavern. Upon the frame, banners cut from two-foot wide strips of old blankets and horsehide hang from floor to ceiling, covering much of the walls. The sloppily painted banners bear dozens of eerie icons and mystic symbols. A great iron cauldron filled with bubbling red liquid simmers in the center of the room, waves of steam spilling over its lip.
A strange-looking kobold with purple scales is mumbling over the cauldron, passing their hands in dramatic gestures and pausing every now and then to shake a short stick that rattles with the dozens of bits of bone and wood tied to it. Chief Sootscale marches right up to this kobold, brandishing their club of office, much to the bewilderment of the purple-scaled one and their two acolytes flanking them.
"Your reign of terror is over, Tartuk! I have broken the curse! You are exiled from the Sootscale tribe, leave now and don't ever set foot in our lands again or your life is forfeit!"
The priestly kobold looks shocked, but seems to recover quickly. "You fool! The curse is not broken! You are calling Old Sharptooth's wrath upon us! You shall be sacrificed to appease him!"
The two acolytes ready their spears, menacing the chief.
Ah, who is Sharptooth? Xavin asks, very very intrigued, while also drawing their bow.
Roots follows along to throng to see what the what's is about....
Viewing the (sweet!) Purple-scaled Kobold performing some ritual, the Storm Druid follows the chief to boldly stand next to him!
Yeah, Tartuk! Your reign of terror is at an end!
The Root leshy whispers to an acolyte.
Who's Old Sharptooth? Sounds important.
Nidintu follows close at Chief Sootscale's heels, glancing around the massive cavern and the occult symbols adorning its walls. At the talk of sacrifices, his gaze fixes on the purple-scaled kobold, and he scowls, hefting his axe menacingly. "There'll be no sacrifices here today. Didn't you hear the Chief, or are you deaf and stupid? You're exiled, so get out of here while you still have legs to walk on." He nudges Chief Sootscale with the butt of his axe to get the kobold king's attention. "Don't worry, friend - the others and I stand with you. We'll drive out this little fool one way or the other."
Locked in their tense power struggle, the chieftain and the priest ignore the questions. However, Nakpik pipes up from behind the group, where the kobold has followed once they recovered from their shock. "Old Sharptooth is our god, and it was his idol that the chief smashed. Ohhh, ohhh, we are in big trouble now, aiiii."
The priest's acolytes are the first to react, springing with their spears at the chieftain. The first one manages two quick stabs before the chief recovers from their surprise to evade the attack of the second acolyte. Chief Sootscale retaliates, their own (considerably more ornate) spear striking the first acolyte squarely in their midsection.
"What are you waiting for! Get the traitors!"
Roots begins laughing!
We're gonna fight a dragon!
The Storm Druid seem a bit too excited.
Raising his Shield, Roots calls down the Lightning!
The magic of Erastil zaps the two acolytes, although the second one is quicker on their feet and avoids most of the hurt.
Xavin moves in and waves his hands to cause colours to swarm just behind the main combat and then forces the lights into an extreme display of distraction.
Despite Xavin's very impressive lights show, the two kobold targeted by it are only momentarily dazzled. Still, it means that they will have a much harder time causing harm.
Tartuk hisses as the bright lights flare in front of their face, trying to rally the other kobolds to their side. "See how Chief Sootscale betrays us! Bringing outsiders to strike against their own kin and cast foul magicks on your high priest! But see, Old Sharptooth protects me!" Showing consideration to the aforementioned outsiders, Tartuk shouts in both Draconic and Common. Several of the kobold onlookers exchange uneasy glances as they turn to look at the Wildwood Band.
The so-proclaimed high priest begins a low chant that increases in volume and pace as they gesticulate wildly, making passes with their hands over their body. A shimmering begins to take shape , and soon three identical images of Tartuk join the real one, swirling about and making it impossible to tell which is which.
The purple kobold then draws a wand, aiming it menacingly at Chief Sootscale.
Meanwhile, Nakpik shouts back, maintaining the bilingual aspect of the debate. "The tall folk saved my best friend Mikmek and killed many mites! I stand with them and Chief Sootscale!" In a lower voice, they hiss at one of the acolytes. "You idiot, all these cauldron fumes have rotted your brain if you try to harm the chief!"
With a well-placed blow with the shaft of their spear, Nakpik almost knocks out one of the acolytes. Mikmek follows suit, but doesn't manage to land a solid blow.
Eskra runs their hand along Carageorn's longer knife, "Alright, friend. Show them what we're made of."
As they speak the words, their hand pulses with magical energy that drains into the knife. The patterns of twisting thorny vines blaze to life with shifting green light.
Carageorn lets out a booming laugh before taking three great and lanky steps into the thick of battle.
He takes a swing the more injured of the two acolytes as he bellows, "Ensconced in the bones of the earth, I fight with glory! I am the bloody briar upon the rose, the thorn of the flowering vine, and thy blood spilled by my blade shall sing of our glories until the world's turning ends!
As the battle begins, Nidintu shoves his way through to reach Tartuk, aiming a pair of massive blows at where he believes the little kobold is. "Chief Sootscale strikes against his own kin? A priest who cuts his people to bits for sacrifices sounds more like a traitor than a chief who tries to free them! Your bloodthirsty god won't save you now, little fool!"
Knowing that he is more resilient than some of his allies, Nidintu continues to menace the kobold priest, trying to bait him into attacking the heavily armored warrior rather than the more vulnerable Chief Sootscale. "Eyes on me, little fool. Ignore the Chief and... whatever Carageorn said, I'm the real threat here!"
Carageorn's blade kills the closest acolyte, who collapses to the ground in a spray of blood. There is no song, however, or if there is it's one that only the fey warrior can hear.
Nidintu-Bel manages to guess correctly, and his axe bites into the real flesh of the purple kobold.
"Ah! You brute! You're not the captain here!" Tartuk yelps. "I will not let the likes of you scupper my brilliant plans!"
The remaining acolyte shifts their focus on the one who actually hurt their leader, stabbing at Nidintu with their spear.
Chief Sootscale attacks Tartuk, but the illusory images are confusing the kobold and all their attacks fall wide of the target.
"Yes! Remember your friends who were sacrificed! Now strike down the doom priest!"
Raising his Shield, Roots calls down the Lightning!
Channeling Erastil's displeasure, the magic that Roots-Sink-Deep wields scorches both antagonistic kobolds, sorely wounding the acolyte.
Xavin steps into a flank, casts Gravity Weapon and lashes at the flanked acolyte.
The blow from Xavin's flyssa is enough to finish off the second acolyte. Nakpik shakes their head regretfully. "I told you, stupid. Now you're both dead, and for why?"
Tartuk doesn't seem too broken-hearted over the deaths of his followers, instead snarling as he casts another spell. Nidintu feels a sharp pain course through his body, although no visible wound and no visible source can be discerned.
Nakpik and Mikmek converge on Tartuk, but they are so confused by the magical duplicates that none of their blows come even close to landing.