"Oh, you can leave them here, I'll send someone to deliver them," answers Svetlana. Oleg, who is back outside and stomping about the yard, mutters "'bout time one of these bandits made themselves useful. If they don't run off, that is."
The rest of the day is spent unpacking, caring for the horses and resting. Oleg gets to work setting up more tables and benches in the courtyard, helped by one of the four bandits who had attacked the trading post a little over a week ago. The fellow seems to be handy with hammer and saw, and between them they finish the work quickly, so by dinner time there is now sufficient room for everyone to sit down and enjoy Svetlana's stew.
Linzi and Valerie are chatting with Kesten Garess, asking of news from Restov of what else the mercenary captain has seen on his journey here. Kressle seems genuinely touched by Svetlana's apparent forgiveness, and helps bring out the heavy stew cauldron so that the pregnant woman doesn't strain herself. It is surely only incidental that this makes the muscles bulge on her bare arms. Amiri cannot help but give Kressle an appreciative once-over, which starts several rounds of merciless teasing from Morn, the aspiring hunter former-bandit.
After putting his gear somewhere it won't be a bother, Nidintu spends the first part of the day searching the hill around the trading post for a few herbs and spices he knows to grow wild in the area.
About an hour later, he returns with a small basket full of plants he's managed to gather - he's only managed to find a few kinds of plants, but he has a fair few of each. As Oleg and the former bandit set up the tables for dinner, he jury-rigs a simple cutting board and basic drying rack - he initially tries to work inside, but after hitting his head twice and getting his horns stuck in a cross-beam once, he commandeers a small section of one of the tables to work in the open air, grumbling about tiny buildings. He listens to Linzi and Valerie chatting with Kesten for a while, a concerned look on his face, but he waits to speak until a lull in the conversation. "Any news from Mendev, friend? A few years ago, I met a trader from Hajoth Hakados who said that they'd called another crusade - Kenabres still safe, I hope? My youngest girl is stationed there, and I haven't heard from her in years."
When he notices Kressle moving the heavy stew cauldron out to the yard - or more accurately, sees Amiri noticing Kressle move the heavy stew cauldron - he shakes his head and gets back to his work, smirking, though he does not join Morn in his teasing. As Svetlana starts working on the stew, he approaches, a few bundles of herbs in his hands. "If you'd like some help, Svetlana, I'm a good cook - either way, I've got some herbs here for the meal. Some ramson, chive, and cicely - some southwood, too, but that's a bit too bitter for radishes, I think. Anyway, you're welcome to them."
The small Root leshy just smiles, gives a thumbs up, and he follows Nidintu out into the forest. The Druid doesn't say anything. He just seems like he enjoys the time without any distractions.
He does sneak the roots, spices, plants that the Elf tries to gather into his bag.
Eskra surveys the assembled company before heading over to Kressle and Amiri. Linzi and Valerie were a bit too goody-goody and stick-up-the-rear, respectively, for Eskra's taste, but the two warrior women felt more in line with Eskra's outlook and preferred company.
They have a slim smile as they approach the two of them, "So, ladies, what does a wandering con artist turned aspiring monarch like myself need to do to get a stiff drink around here?"
Kesten Garess looks at Nidintu-Bel, startled. "Mendev? No, things have been quiet after the end of the last crusade, three years ago, when they defeated the Storm King. I hear that Kenabres had some damage, but the city still stands." He glances at Amiri. "There's stirrings in Numeria though, among the tribes."
The herbs brought to Svetlana are graciously accepted, and she selects the chives and some roots to add to the stew. "No, no, I'm alright here, you go sit down with the others and enjoy your rest." She smiles up at the towering warrior.
As Eskra approaches Amiri and Kressle, the latter grins and reaches into her pack to bring out a clay bottle. "This was meant for the Stag Lord. Herbal liquor, burns like Moloch's farts goin' down." She offers the bottle to Eskra, but Amiri intercepts it, uncapping it and sniffing the contents. "Phooeeei! This could double as that stuff used to clean wounds! And your Stag Lord drinks this?" Kressle nods. "Aye, three to four bottles a day." Amiri takes an experimental swig, her face contorting at the taste. "Pwafh!" Kressle takes the bottle from her and passes it to Eskra. "Heard your pals talk 'bout goin' after the fort next. It won't be easy, I tell ya that. Might be good to put some more meat on yer bones afore you take on the Stag Lord."
Three to four bottles a day? Xavin overhears. My, my, feels like we should make a delivery of these with some fun additions to it, right before we assault.
The very fae like elf crouches down and traces a rough map of the Stolen Lands, Maybe we finish exploring this region, make some more allies if you feel we are not up to attacking the Stag Lord? Then again we might give up the element of surprise.
Eskra takes a long swig, surprisingly long even given their slim frame, ”Eh, weaker than the hooch my pops made. As for meat on my bones, don’t need it. Carageorn’s the muscle of our little operation, I’m the charm.”
They get an odd look on their face, "Speaking of him, damn, he's getting antsy. Give me a minute."
The vinelike birthmark on their arm glows with a greenish light and Carageorn appears beside them.
The fey warrior steps out from the strange in-between place he waits when not called forth with a triumphant shout, "Hark! The thorn of the flowering vine comes forth from his slumber, to the land of those who live but once! Good day, friends of friends. Thy liquor I shall drink and thy songs I shall sing, and together, shall we be merry!"
He reaches down with a long, gangly arm and retrieves the jug from Eskra, taking a mighty pull from it.
"And with that, hast I some squires to attend to! Be well and be mirthful!"
He strides off looking for Dalan and Ikke, intent on teaching them the meaning of fey chivalry.
Eskra shrugs as he walks off, "He'll tire himself out eventually."
Roots-Sink-Deep seems to perk up at the words burns like Moloch's farts goin' down .
The Root leshy begins searching for a glass.
It would be for the catapillars.
"There's stirrings in Numeria though, among the tribes."
Nidintu nods vehemently. "I'll say! They've got a new Black Sovereign these days - some kid named Kevoth-Kul. He's supposed to be some great metalworker or some such. I still remember the fellow before him, who ruled from the great walled city of Aaramor - Traskind Elf-Eye, he was called, account of how he could put an arrow through the eye of one of those Numerian metal-beasts at a thousand paces. One thing's for sure, when there's a Black Sovereign seated on the throne of Numeria, the wise take heed. Just or cruel, they're born leaders - have to be, to get the job in the first place."
He shrugs. "Still, stirrings in Numeria aren't necessarily a bad thing. I met a few Kellid priests, back when I was a Gorumite, of the sort that run the tribes in Numeria, and they were good sorts - sure, they might fight you if you get in their way, but they were forthright. You always knew where you stood with old Battlemaster Volod-Gar - not like these weaklings in Taldor and Brevoy where a word means the opposite of what's said and there's a knife in the back more often than a fist in the face. To be honest, a Tiger Lord on the throne in New Stetven might do wonders for the place."
As Carageorn passes by, Nidintu waves to the fey warrior. "Afternoon, Carageorn! Thought I saw your squires in the mercenary camp, if they're who you're looking for - playing dice with one of the soldiers, it looked like." He glances at Kesten, giving one of his nightmarish grins at the expression on the mercenary leader's face. "We get all sorts here in the River Kingdoms, friend - plant folk, half-demons, fey, wanderers of all stripes. In a place where the local government can change three times before lunch, most people don't bother with laws and all that - it's a land where spirits can be free."
The rest of the day passes in relative peace. Kressle and the other survivor of the bandit camp run into the four former bandits that were with Happs, and the sight of all of them together seemingly puts both Oleg and Kesten Garess on edge. Carageorn dragging Ikke and Dalan away for a session of training eases the tension somewhat, then Oleg calls the other two to help Svetlana with dinner.
The next day, the Wildwood band sets out again, heading west from Oleg's tradepost to take a circuitous route towards the Stag Lord's fort. After about a half day's riding from the trading post, they veer southwest and into the Old Forest.
Soon after entering the forest, odd things begin to happen. Nidintu's horns tangle in a branch and he emerges wearing streamers of creeping vines; a falling acorn bonks Kressle on the head; the noise of a charging boar makes everyone tense, but there's nothing there; and as the evening begins to fall, strange lights flicker through the trees ahead, dancing for a moment before disappearing, only to reappear somewhere else.
Xavin cocks their head at a strange angle, thoughtfully considering what's happening.
Nidintu lets out a cry of "Thrice-tenth!" as his horns get tangled in the branch, but after a moment, he shrugs off his accident as he tries to clean himself of the clinging vines. "I should watch my head more, it seems. You think this is bad, you should see me during songbird mating season!" The massive warrior shudders at the unpleasant and frequently messy memories. "Sure, songbirds seem all serene and beautiful when they're singing up in the trees, but they're mean animals, and when half a dozen of them have decided to have a little war on your head because they think your horns are a good place to build nests, I can guarantee you won't think them so pretty!" Nidintu scowls as he yanks futilely at the vines. "These things are really tangled - like knots, they are!"
The excited leshy grants her hand, leading her out to forage!
Xavin can't tell if these strange occurrences are the doing of fey or perhaps have other causes.
Kressle allows herself to be dragged by the excitable leshy. "Alright, kid, but only if I get to eat the pie, an' if you don't put any worms in it! Or caterpillars!" Despite her protestations, she seems to enjoy foraging.
Xavin shrugs and sends their own dancing lights out to chase the ones that are flickering around them, swinging them this way and that. If nothing comes of it they will say Let us move on from these amusing frivolities
Roots absolutely beams up at the former bandit. The Root leshy takes her hand, leading her out to forage.
Absolutely! Have I ever tell you the story of the one time way back in the day (2 months ago) when a gang of caterpillars were bullying a moth? Something about the moth just leaving his cocoons all about the house.
Nidintu scowls as he yanks at the reticent vines, finally giving up and sawing at the tangled creepers with his knife. "Thrice-tenth! These things are really stuck!" After a moment's work, his horns are free, and he glares down at the offending vines.
"Wait a minute... these are knots! Someone around here's playing tricks on us!"
Eskra takes a look at the strange happenings and shrugs, "Eh, no idea. The woods do odd things sometimes, no point dwelling on it."
The Root Leshy's blue eyes manifest a little bit of good fun, as he considers the possibility of Fey Influence occurring.
Carageorn looks around, "Eskra, Eskra, my steadfast friend, think of the lessons I taught you as a child, that we learned together from the wood! Strange things do happen, for reasons hard to understand. Consider well those many oddities, and do thou more than pay them no heed."
It is becoming clear that perhaps mischievous fey are playing pranks on the Wildwood Band, pranks that become increasingly elaborate as the day advances. And though he never lowered himself by participating in such customs, Carageorn can recall that some fey can be bribed into leaving someone alone - but keep in mind that fey generally consider any offerings as gifts, eschewing the ugly word "bribe". Those wishing to make such gifts can offer shiny bits of jewelry, alcohol or sugary foods, and avoid anything containing cold iron, as that is a hated and hateful thing for fey.
Ah of course. Xavin sighs. My own experience is with the more stately of the fey who have other amusements. Now. I do feel like we should give a gift as a token of our goodwill.
"Huh. So all those times we found our horses' tails braided together an' frogs in our boots it was because of the blasted fey?" Kressle barks a short, sharp laugh. "If it were me, I'd give the little buggers a taste of me axe, but suit yourselves."
That evening, a small bowl of offerings is left out for the fey; the next morning it is empty, and no-one's bootlaces are tangled, nor anyone's bedroll is filled with crickets.
The Wildwood Band sets out again, keeping their southwesterly heading. Soon after midday, the forest gradually becomes wilder and more tangled, with thick briars often blocking the path. The trees are thicker and their canopies intertwine, giving a gloomy air as they block the light almost completely.
About mid-afternoon, a thick tangle of brambles gives way to a large clearing in the woods, its border partially defined by ruined stone pillars stained green with lichen. The western face of the clearing is dominated by a looming mass of rock, nearly 300 feet across and rising to a moss-topped height of 100 feet at the center. The side of the towering escarpment facing the clearing has been carved in the likeness of an immense elk, its antlers drooping down from its weathered face to frame a 50-foot-wide cave entrance. A flight of stone steps leads up to this entrance from the forest clearing, cracked and chipped in places and with clumps of grasses, weeds and even small saplings growing wild between the weather-beaten stones. A 50-foot-long oval pool in the middle of the clearing contains water thick with algae.
Meanwhile traipsing through the woods, holding Kressel's hand,
the excited leshy grants her his nature expertise!
Those blueberries are delicious! Those raspberries are delicious! Those...are those caterpillars looking at us?
The small leshy simply shares his favorite fresh picked berries with the fey folk about the area! His placing each berry on silver coins (worth 5sp)he found in Nidintu's pack while the elf was snoring like a lumber mill last night was quite coincidental....
About mid-afternoon, a thick tangle of brambles gives way to a large clearing in the woods, its border partially defined by ruined stone pillars stained green with lichen. The western face of the clearing is dominated by a looming mass of rock, nearly 300 feet across and rising to a moss-topped height of 100 feet at the center. The side of the towering escarpment facing the clearing has been carved in the likeness of an immense elk, its antlers drooping down from its weathered face to frame a 50-foot-wide cave entrance. A flight of stone steps leads up to this entrance from the forest clearing, cracked and chipped in places and with clumps of grasses, weeds and even small saplings growing wild between the weather-beaten stones. A 50-foot-long oval pool in the middle of the clearing contains water thick with algae.
Roots' blue eyes positively shine with awe, wonder, amazement, giddiness, joy, excitement, and a bit of sorrow.
This place is beautiful! The water! The foliage! The carving of an Elk? Who carved an Elk out of a big boulder?
The small Root leshy begins to peer up, up, up into the thick, dark canopy.
Blessed Erastil, Nidintu. That person must be even taller than you!
The Storm druid begins to enter the glade. He begins to summon wind in the form of Gale Blast to begin clearing and cleaning away the debris. He whistles while he works....
Nidintu glares up into the trees as he stacks a pile of stones in a crude cairn, then sets a bottle of cheap whiskey at its base. "Now look here, this is a truce, understand? If I wake up next morning with my tail tied to a tree, I will find you lot and give you a smack upside the head, got it?" As Kressle speaks, he glances over towards the former bandit. "Yes, but we're to make lives for ourselves in these lands - killing folk because they annoy us isn't neighborly. Erastil doesn't approve - besides, someday, we may need their help, and if we put up with their stupidity today, they may put up with ours tomorrow." The massive warrior scowls at the canopy again, calling out to the unseen fey. "Thumpings aren't out of the question, though, so don't you lot get any ideas!"
Nidintu looks up at the massive statue in awe, his aureate eyes taking in its towering frame. "This is really something, it is - must have taken dozens of folk months to make all this." He moves towards the immense carving of the elk, trying to pull away some of the choking vines that obscure its form.
The fey pranks cease after the offerings were made, although Nidintu notices that his was spurned and the bottle of whiskey sits untouched where he placed it.
As Roots-Sink-Deep and Nidintu-Bel begin to advance into the clearing, talking and exclaiming at the once-majestic structure, a young human man rushes out from behind a pillar, waving his arms and repeatedly setting one finger over his lips to request silence.
He approaches cautiously, glancing frequently towards the cave opening at the top of the stairs. He seems light on his feet, which is no wonder given his slim build. As he comes closer, they can see that he has a fair complexion and white-blond hair. He wears a gold-trimmed, white open robe over green traveling clothes, and a leather satchel over one shoulder.
"Please, be very quiet. You do not want to attract the attention of the guardian."
He motions that they should move back into the forest.
Eskra gives him a slightly concerned look, ”A guardian? What kind?”
Roots just looks questionably at the young human man rushes out from behind a pillar, waving his arms and repeatedly setting one finger over his lips to request silence.
Did he just say we get to meet a guardian!? What kind of guardian? Did he carve the cool picture of the elk? Does Erastil know that his likeness is being infringed? I am not a lawyer, but....
Nidintu clamps his hand over Roots's mouth before the little leshy can say anything more. "Now's not the time, Roots - back towards the forest, like the man says." Dragging Roots with him, he backs slowly towards the forest, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
Once he reaches the forest, the massive warrior turns to the stranger, one eyebrow raised. "Right, young man, what's all this about a guardian? What is this place? We were just passing through, but when we saw this place, we thought we'd visit. If we're not welcome here, we can leave."
Close up, the young man is extraordinarily beautiful. A holy symbol in the shape of a winged woman crowned with a sunburst hangs from his belt, marking him as a priest of Sarenrae.
"I am so glad I got to you in time. My name is Tristian, I am a humble servant of the Everlight. This used to be a temple dedicated to Erastil. There is a... creature inside that cave, a twisted bear that has been somehow corrupted by a magic I do not fully understand." He looks at everyone entreatingly. "I cannot fault you if you would rather not face this, but in truth I am hoping that you can help me help this afflicted guardian. I have to warn you that he is very dangerous."
"Oh yes, verily very danger-stranger, manifold exchanger of sharply-clawed anger."
Hovering about ten feet in the air on dragonfly wings, a tiny fey with the torso of a green-skinned woman and the lower body of a cricket is watching them. Near her, a tiny dragon with butterfly wings and iridescent blue scales is hanging by his tail from a branch, upside-down.
"What Tyg means is that the not-bear is very, um, territorial." The tiny dragon flaps his wings, letting go of the branch and flying up to perch on it. "Your gifts were very nice and tasty and shiny, so you may ask a boon of us. I am Perlivash, and my rhyme-mad friend is Tyg-Titter-Tut."
The small Root leshy twists and turns, bends and bangs, flounders and flattens himself on the ground! The pouty vine faced leshy crosses his arms across his....
Then the fey fairy and fey fairy dragon show up!
Roots-Sink-Deep explodes in excitement! The Storm druid jumps up!
Look Nidintu! It is a shrine to Erastil too! Let's go meet this guardian fellow. He may just be lonely. Remember when we were lonely before meeting our Fea Pack?
Nidintu listens intently as Tristan speaks, his face darkening as he hears about the magic that twisted the Erastilan temple. "Whatever mage wove this spell has desecrated a temple of my god. I'll help you face this guardian - I'll try to save him, if I can, but when I find who is responsible for this, I'll not be so lenient."
As Tyg-Titter-Tut and Perlivash appear, Nidintu looks at them with curiosity. He raises his eyebrows at the cricket-bodied fey's bizarre rhymes. "You should talk to Carageorn here, little one. He's a strange one, much like you - sorry, I mean 'his verbiage is singularly sesquipedalian.'" He smirks, acknowledging his joke.
When the little dragon mentions the gifts that the Wildwood Band had left the previous evening, however, the glance becomes a glare. "So you're the lot who've been playing tricks on us, yes?" After a moment, he sighs. "Look, I can't stay mad at most folk for long - just... don't pull on my horns, okay? They're giant levers attached to my skull - it hurts when people tug on them, it does!"
At Roots's temper tantrum and subsequent outpouring of words, Nidintu looks down at the little leshy, scowling. "Speak for yourself, Roots - I was having a great life before! That said, I've no complaints about how it's gone since then, but still, I'm nowhere near as unhappy as you think!"
A boon, fairly given, it's a gift indeed. Perhaps make the bear more susceptible to our attacks?
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Carageorn takes a look at the two fey before looking askance at Nidintu, "Speak not for myself! I am steadfast and dignified, no matter the times. I would never stoop to speaking in rhymes."
He is, seemingly, entirely oblivious to his rhyming.
Figuring there's enough fey nonsense going on, Eskra gives the two fey a nod. Not their farm, not their donkeys. Or something like that.
Tristian smiles a soft, tired smile. "So it was you two who... well, not what is important now. My friends, I am glad that you will help. I will do my best to support you, as I am not a warrior."
The fey dragon who had introduced themselves as Perlivash does a loop in the air before alighting on one of Nidintu's horns. "Ehhh, sorry about that. We get carried away sometimes. Like when we dropped a whole b-" Whatever he was about to say is cut off as Tyg-Titter-Tut goes into a bomber dive and bowls into him.
"Hush Perlivash, no need to gush about what we turned to mush, no rush to crush their spirits thus."
"Alright, alright! And yes, we can help you bigguns with the very big bear. You just need to do the mouth-flapping like you were before, and it will come charging out of its cave." The blue faerie dragon zooms through the air demonstratively.
Ah time to prepare as well! Marvelous. Does anyone have any objection to starting the festivities? If not let me prepare the ground a little.
Roots just grins knowingly at his horned friend. The Storm druid does perk up at the exchange of tactics being offered by the fey and friends.
Oh. I can cause the ground to become muddy.
The small Root Leshy grins.
I can also Summon a buddy to perhaps keep him there too.
Roots-Sink-Deep smiles.
Nidintu nods, drawing his axe. "I don't need much in the way of preparations. Let me know when you wish to confront the guardian, and I'll go bring him out."
The massive warrior strides out into the clearing, hefting his weapon.
Although the party takes great care to move silently, the guardian seems to smell them before he hears them, and comes barreling out of the cave. As he does so, Tyg-Titter-Tut sends a mote of light that explodes into dazzling silent fireworks right under the creature's nose.
In the light of day, the guardian is an enormous bear , yet its flesh and fur have partially transformed into thick tangles of diseased vegetation and dragging roots.
It rears on its back legs, then drops to all fours again with a thud that reverberates across the clearing before it struggles to the other side of the muddy area and then begins to gallop down the stairs towards the group. It skids to a halt before Carageorn and Nidintu, its powerful jaws clamping down on the fey warrior's arm.
As the guardian appears, Nidintu drinks from the vial he prepared earlier that day. He takes a deep breath as he feels the flesh and muscles of his arm loosen and stretch, the fibers of his very being reaching out to encompass the haft of his greataxe, the weapon becoming almost an extension of his body. Grinning, he unleashes a powerful blow at the guardian, striking it firmly with the flat of his blade.
Roots begins giggling....errr...casting Summon Plant or Fungus!
Yellow Musk Thrall
Rising slowly out of the ground 25' from Da Bear! a pouty faced Yellow Musk Thrall makes an appearance! His droopy blue eyes look forlornly at Roots (who seems to have been hit hard by Hideous Laughter), sighs, and Strides slowly (one may say as to a funeral) to stand next to the Da Bear!
Hi.
Roots roars
Xavin's setup plans go awry and they curse inwardly. They backpedal so their longbow won't be at a disadvantage and then cast Ill Omens on the bear as their blue feathers flare out.
A dark glow settles on the twisted guardian's paws and muzzle as Xavin's curse takes root.
Eskra begins to spin a tale of Carageorn’s heroics, magic coursing through the air as they inspire his heroics and ward him against danger, ”And lo, as he rambled the green woods wild, did the great bear of the Seething Thicket assail him, jealous of his whimsy and fire!”
Carageorn bellows with violent glee as he tries to lay into the great tree-bear.
The corrupted ursine shrugs off Caragaeorn's blows. Being hit by Nidintu, however, causes it to moan mournfully as if it had been a mortal blow. The tendrils snap under the strain of trying to hold the massive body, but at the last moment knot themselves back together, holding the bear fast.
Perlivash swoops down to breathe in the guardian's face, but the bear shakes its massive head, apparently unaffected.
Tristian cries out "Noble warrior! You cannot fall!" A subtle glow envelops the cleric, and Carageorn feels warmth suffuse him as all his wounds knit.