With a bit of both shock and pride on his leshy face, Roots claps at his minions huzpah!
The Storm druid then Casts Guidance on both Marvin and Nidintu before Commanding Marvin to go to town!
When the thrall strikes a creature, that creature is exposed to yellow musk creeper pollen, as Spray Pollen (DC 14). The creature is fascinated by the yellow musk creeper that spawned the thrall, not by the thrall itself.
And, Marvin will smile.
Grasping tendrils extend out from the thrall. When the thrall ends its movement next to a creature, or a creature ends its turn next to the thrall, that creature must succeed at a DC 14 Reflex save or be grabbed by the tendrils.
The guardian doesn't even seem to notice Marvin's efforts to strike it, but the vines keep it firmly entangled still.
As he recovers from his first powerful swing, Nidintu thrusts the haft of his axe forward and into the guardian's face, then brings his axe around in another massive overhead sweep that lands firmly on the guardian's head. The bone-jarring power of his strike almost twists the weapon out of Nidintu's hand as it slams down on the bear's skull.
With a sharp 'CRACK', the bear's skull splits down the middle, the axe head now deeply buried into its skull. With an almost relieved sigh, it collapses at the same time as the corrupted vegetation growing from it begins to wither and fall away. The bear's body shrivels and shifts, turning into an incredibly old human ma with a look of peaceful resignation on his face before crumbling into a pile of dust.
The ominous pall hanging over the shrine lifts. The lush grass sprouts sudden wildflowers in vibrant blues, reds, yellows and purples. Where the clearing was silent before, first one, then two, then more birds begin to chirp and sing, timidly at first. The buzz of insects and the sawing of crickets returns, and the water in the pool becomes crystal clear and shimmers invitingly.
Tristian falls to his knees next to the pile of dust, bowing his head reverently. "Rest in peace, guardian. I will find out how this curse came to be in the first place, I owe you that much." Lifting his head, his shining eyes alight on the party. "Thank you so much for putting him to rest. And look there! The water in the pool bears the blessing of Erastil, if I'm not mistaken. For a short time, it has gained restorative powers that I am sure will be helpful."
As the bear's claws rake into Carageorn, the very same wounds appear on Eskra, wounds rent by phantasmal force. They stumble, clearly badly injured, but they hang on by a thread.
Tristian's healing patches up the worst of the damage, however.
They motion to Carageorn and then to the pool, and the fey warrior beelines over to it.
The blessed water takes care of the rest, and Eskra takes a deep breath, "Damn that was close. Big bastard nearly had us down. Good on you for showing him what's what Nidintu."
Xavin relaxes as the foe falls. A human trapped in there. Truly odd. And three new people as well. Tristian, Perlivash, and Tyg-Titter-Tut was it?
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Roots waves good-bye to Marvin, as the fungi melts back into the soil.
Marvin is really great at parties.
Roots walks over to the new people.
So, that was fun! Folks come here often? To a forgotten, hidden, guarded by a mad bear beast here I mean.
"It was pretty fun, wasn't it?" Perlivash alternates between swooping and hovering, restless like a dragonfly. The faerie dragon bobs in the air in front of Xavin. "Yes, I am Perlivash. This is my fr- where did she go now? You must excuse Tyg, she's not as social." Someone with keen eyes can spot the grig comfortably nestled on the shoulder of Roots-Sink-Deep.
Tristian bows to Xavin, his movements fluid and elegant. "I am Tristian, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If I may, what brings you this way? You seem like an organized group..." He glances at Nidintu's horns. "Are you perhaps associated with this local figure I keep hearing about, the Stag Lord?"
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We plan to be associated with said local figure soon enough, though it will probably not end well for either us or him. Xavin explains. We are tasked with calming the region and it seems like this Stag Lord is the main cause of a lot of instability and unnecessary cruelty here.
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With the guardian's fall, Nidintu relaxes as the forest shrine seems to revive, cleansing itself of the malign magic that had twisted its purpose, and after wiping down his axe blade and returning it to its sheath on his back, he bows his horned head and closes his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer as Tristian completes his own worship.
As Tristian and Xavin exchange pleasantries, Nidintu wanders the ruined temple, nodding approvingly as he examines its workmanship. At the young cleric's words, however, he makes his way over to the impromptu group. "Stag Lord, no - Stag God, yes. Little Roots here and I are both servants of Erastil - thought we'd stop by, do obeisance and all that." He extends his callused hand hand in greeting, giving one of his uncannily wide grins. "Name's Nidintu-Bel - blacksmith, coppersmith, tinsmith, bladesmith, farrier, stonemason, cook, and all-around craftsman, at your service. Used to be a bandit, too, but working with my hands is more fun." At the sight of Tristian's holy symbol, his eyebrows raise. "Haven't seen a Sarenite priest around these parts in decades! You know, my wife Vaniya worshiped the Dawnflower - she's a good goddess, she is."
Roots seems especially proud to have Tyg nesting on him. The small Root leshy positively beams. The Storm druid can be overheard teaching the tiny grig how best not be comfortable around centipedes....
Eskra smirks, "Yeah, we plan on associating our blades with his neck."
Carageorn reaches down to give Eskra a quick high give before they continue, "Name's Eskra. Big horned fellow beside me is Carageorn. As far as profession goes, hell, I've never really had one. Didn't really need one, long as there were rubes out there willing to part with coin."
The mention of Nidintu-Bel having been a bandit in his past does not seem to elicit any judgment from Tristian - which is not surprising, considering the focus that Sarenrae places on redemption. The young priest nods and smiles, clasping hands as they are offered. "That is joyful to hear, my friends, and yours is a worthy endeavour. I hope that I am not being too forward, but would you perhaps allow me to accompany you? There are fearsome warriors in your ranks and your diminutive friends seem handy with spell, but I feel that my divine magic could be very helpful to you. Besides, there is safety in numbers, and traveling with you will help me reach more of the people of this region and help them." His luminous eyes rest on each face, seeking their reactions.
I have no objection to this. What says everyone else?
Roots turns a vine thumbs up at Tristan still seriously discussing proper distance whenever confronted by a gang of centipedes.
Nidintu's grin widens. "Of course - I'd certainly be happy to have another friendly face with us against the Stag Lord." His aureate gaze is drawn by Roots lecturing Tyg-Titter-Tut on the dangers of centipedes, and he leans in to whisper to Tristian. "Word of advice? I think Carageorn's lost it, and I don't think Roots ever had it - whatever you do, just don't get him started on caterpillars."
Eskra shrugs, "Sure, just don't go trying to preach to me. I'm quite happy with my lack of gods or masters."
Tristian smiles in relief. "Wonderful, thank you. And no preaching, I promise." He turns to regard the ruined temple pensively. "I would like to study the nature of the curse that befell the guardian, but that can wait. I am ready to travel when you are."
The two diminutive fey wave at the Wildwood Band. "We'll return to our nest now, it was fun meeting you! Don't be strangers, come by any time you like!" Perlivash does an aerial loop and a barrel roll to punctuate the invitation.
Xavin waves at the two fae and then turns to the rest. Well do we explore further, or perhaps, Tristian you might have some insight on some peoples in the region we could make contact with? We have established friendly relations with a number of locals thus far and I feel like we should continue to do so.
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Roots sadly waves good-bye to both Perlivash and his new protege Tyg-Titter-Tut.
Remember, remember the 5th of November. The caterpillars descended. Fear was their member.
The small Root leshy gathers his things, smiles at his friends and presents forward....
Tristian looks pensive at Xavin's question. "I heard of a hamlet deep in the forest. I don't know the name, the people there seem to be quite reclusive. Perhaps we will come across it if we venture farther into the woods."
After making their farewells, the group continues their travels, heading southeastwards towards the Stag Lord's fort. That evening, they make camp in a small glade, the stars glittering overhead through gaps in the dense canopy.
The next day, they continue through the forest, coming across an area littered with small bones in the late afternoon. It does not take long for those skilled in tracking to identify that a particularly large boar has made its lair in the area. Oleg mentioned a creature nicknamed Tuskgutter by the locals, a grizzled monster that has vexed and avoided hunters for years. Wild tales are told of this ill-tempered beast, and a few would likely be willing to pay for its head as a trophy.
Roots-Sink-Deep seems determined to get Kressel's attention by bringing the former bandit gifts of rarely found flowers.
Influence: 1/8
Discovery: Perception, Bandit Lore, Society
Influence skills: Bandit Lore, Craft, Deception (to spin a tall tale), Diplomacy, Intimidation, Performance (to tell a story), Survival
Weakness: Kressle loves a good story. Anyone succeeding at a DC 15 Performance or Deception check to spin a tale has a +2 bonus on subsequent attempts to influence her.
Resistance: Kressle can't stand moralizing goody two-shoes. Lawful Good PCs or those who judge her for her past have a -4 penalty at attempts to influence her.
The druid smiles.
The next morning there seems to be dozens of bouquets of wild flowers surrounding the camp!
Seen yawning while sipping on his 4th cup of coffee, Roots just offers everyone a simple cheers of his cup as they question him.
While meandering about the forest and coming across an area littered with small bones in the late afternoon, the small Root leshy frowns.
Big boisterous boar betcha.
The druid begins to attempt to Track it.
We could use a mascot.
As Roots forages for flowers to get Kressle's notice, Nidintu speaks to the group's newest member. "So tell me, Tristian, where are you from? I thought the Dawnflower's worship was mostly centered in Qadira, but you don't seem like most Qadirans I've met. We get all sorts here in the River Kingdoms, you know - plenty of folk from Iobaria, Cheliax, the Padishah Empire to the east, all over Avistan, and even beyond."
Nidintu grins as Roots identifies the tracks of the massive boar. "Didn't Oleg mention something about a boar in these parts? Tuskgutter or something? It'll be a worthy foe, for certain." Hefting his axe, he follows Roots, on the lookout for the massive boar.
"We could use a mascot."
Nidintu raises his eyebrows. "Could use a good dinner, too. Any of you lot plant-eaters? If so, I'll bet you a silver piece that I can change your minds, soon as I get my hands on that pig's trotters. I've got a few spices with me - could probably whip up some fire jokbal."
Kressle very possibly has never, ever received flowers in her life, so the sudden abundance of floral arrangements has the hard-boiled former bandit laugh in delight. "Ye're such a scamp! Does this mean ye're courtin' me now? I'll have ye know I'm what they call 'high maint'nance'."
Tristian inclines his head at Nidintu's question. "I am from Qadira, in fact. I was raised in an orphanage run by Sarenites. And yes, I am aware that I do not look like a typical Qadiran, it is a topic of some consternation to myself."
With some tracking and attentive observation, Roots-Sink-Deep and Nidintu-Bel track Tuskgutter to his lair, a hollow beneath a large fallen pine tree whose branches create a natural shelter. The boar seems to be at home by the faint snores emanating from within.
How does a Qadiran Sarenite end up investigating a degraded temple of Erastil in the middle of the Stolen Lands? Truly there is a story here. Xavin says to Tristian. These lands are truly a magnet for those with stories, but also those who do not want to relay them so if you do not want to dwell on the past then that is all well and good.
Roots just stares up, up, up, up at Nidintu.
Plant eater? Gross! I find my nutrients in the soil! So, we going hunting!
Roots runs into the cave with his shield raised!
At Tristian's words, Nidintu raises his eyebrows. "Don't look like a Qadiran? Young man, I'm not aware of a single person in these parts who gives a f*** about looks." He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "...That may or may not have something to do with the fact that they said it to the seven-foot pitborn who could break them in half. Actually, though, what I meant is that you don't carry yourself like one - at least, not the ones I've met. Only Qadirans I've met in these parts are slaves, seeking a better life in these lands where slavery is gone, and slavers, seeking to subvert our way of life. You don't seem like either - you're not distrustful, but you're not cruel, either. Did you really come all this way just to spread the word of your goddess?" He shrugs, turning back to his meal. "Must be some goddess, I'll say that."
Nidintu grins as he hears the sounds of snores emanating from within the tree's tangle of roots. "Right, when I give the signal - that'll be me smashing its skull in - we..." Just then, Roots charges past him and into the cave, and the massive warrior's face falls as he rushes in after his foolhardy friend. "Roots, you fool!"