The party ventures down the stairway, noting that it gets noticeably colder, with some hoarfrost creeping up the steps and walls (the steps, though, have clear hoofprints and bootprints in the frost, already frozen over).
Further down the stairwell, grumbling in the dark, is a frost giant crawling on its hands and knees. Whatever magic allows Gurra-Gurra to traverse The Maiden freely was clearly not bestowed upon this invader. (maybe because he didn't sign the ledger?)
He stops muttering for a second and you can see the flash of his darksighted blue eyes in the dark...but despite his wariness, he hasn't heard or seen you--yet.
Gurra-Gurra pauses in her sniffles. "You'd talk to Jadrenka?" She brightens.
"Ok, so we can tell Jadrenka also that bad people came in with Caigreal and to be careful, and then some...um..." says Lefty.
"Who are you all again? Can um you sign the Register?" says Righty.
The piggie trots over to an enormous book that looks about a thousand years old, illuminated by two eternal candles, and oinks helpfully.
"And um...where is Jadrenka..." says Lefty.
"She wanders," says Righty.
"She um, sets her own schedule, I guess." says Lefty.
"And she wears different faces. You know, Maiden, Mother, Crone..." says Righty.
"That's secret!" says Lefty.
"It is not! It's in the name!" says Righty.
"The name of what!" says Lefty.
"The name of the towers, the name of the poem, the name of the--"
"Oh, fine," says Lefty. "Just tell them everything."
"So there are many not nice people in The Maiden; you'll have to be careful. Also the corridors change. Also there are glowing pebbles you can use for light. And the pictures of the maidens and sunflowers are very pretty. Also I need to stay here. But maybe you'll come back and we can share some muffins?" says Righty, the last bit directed to Dez.
"y-you promise?" says the ettin (you figured out it's an ettin, and for an ettin, a rather decent looking womanly one) from one head. The other just blows her nose and nods to the other head.
"His name is Bekkin," she says, and lets the pig climb into one meaty hand.
"I'm Gurra," says the left head.
"And I'm Gurra," says the right head. They peer at Dez a little nearsightedly. "You are a pretty man."
"Gurra, tell him about Jadrenka and Caigreal," says the left head.
"But they are intruders!" whines Gurra on the right.
"Listen, do you know anything about Caigreal? She's mean, and she let in some centaurs and giants. They weren't nice either, but she said it was official business. But I don't think it was official business!" concludes Gurra on the left somewhat breathlessly.
"Do you know anything about being nice? Your sword stung, but you look nice. Are you nice?" says Gurra to the right.
"Gurra," says the left head.
"And pretty?" says the right head.
"Oink," says Bekkin.
"Oh!" says Gurra on the right. "Caigreal is Jadrenka's mother. But Jadrenka is a human-kin and Caigreal is a nasty yucky hag."
The giantess howls in impotent fury as another hex settles over her, making her easier to hit. "You are a very bad witch, and also mean!" says one head. "Those are the same thing!" says the second head to the first, grumpily.
She pulls out a wand, and begins to wave it...
and her spell is broken before it begins. Another arrow lodges in her leg.
"You are being extremely unfair!" bawls the first head. "And also unjust, and biased!" adds the second. Reluctantly, the giant-witch pulls out giant sickles, one in each hand.
Catkins rain down on you as you pass under the witch tree arch. You pass from cold windy sunlight into warmer, still darkness, with the chuckles of the witch willow echoing as you enter the depths of Artrosa. It's apparent to you that something happens as you pass into the dark corridor...the light and sound from outside fade in a way that doesn't seem quite natural.
DC 31 Perception or Arcana:
Some sort of stepped planar or teleportation effect has moved you to an unknown location, perhaps deep within the Maiden's statue. If you look to where you came, it's a dead end of solid rock.
The passageway is hewn basalt and granite, perhaps thirty feet high. A faint glow permeates the place--witchlight. It's orange-yellow in hue.
After some shuffling in a completely nondescript passage of rock, you find an already open door, also made of rock. it leads to a long and twisting flight of stone stairs carved into a cramped passage of cold black basalt. The steps are made for something just slightly larger than human, causing you to descend carefully.
"This is essentially a centaur's nightmare," says Erdija, her voice quiet in the back. "Well, if it were flooding, even better." You can hear her swish her tail in agitation.
Ancient wall carvings on both sides of the passage depict wide fields filled with wildflowers and springing deer. It's not really reassuring.
You count steps, and count and count, and after a final turn, the stairs end some 500 feet below in
a large, rectangular chamber.
You can hear two rough voices arguing around the corner of the stairs, unseen.
"Gurra, she had the right to pass, you blithering ninny."
"Nonsense, Gurra, the rule is always check with Jadrenka. You blithe fool."
"Squirrel-faced ninny."
"Hen's-toothed fool."
You can see from around the corner that this chamber is also dark basal. The walls have been chiseled into an incredibly intricate display of thousands of wildflowers. You can't quite see the rest of the chamber, but two people are in here and the carvings continue.
The willow bristles. "Treerazer is scum. I'd gladly spear him in the toe. And I am not an abomination. If you truly serve Grandmother, then you'll need to answer this:"
Midnight, Morning, Bright Sun—
Spoke thee with but one.
Accursed now you be,
For he befell the wrath
Of two times seven.
Oh tell me, who is he?
"And, I'll have you know, yes, others came this way. A foursome of terrible, smelly centaurs and a retinue of half a dozen frost giants." The willow shakes itself in an eerily satisfied way. "Only three centaurs entered Artrosa. The fourth lies with me and shall slake my thirst."
The tree appears to check its nails, if it had fingers. "Not very loyal to each other, those centaurs. Not like this one. I see you as a wood chopper, yes, but one who loves the woods, not like those disgusting, frost blasted, lice-infested brutes." It 'makes eyes' at Erdija. "You wouldn't take an axe to me, would you, dearie? ...because I'd like for you to try. All of you may try."
The willow seems to grow in size, and it appears as if the sunny day is suddenly darker, as the witch tree sucks the light from the grove. You feel a chill deep in your spines, in the marrow of your bones.
Then it relinquishes, and the day springs back into full sunlight, and you all feel the weight of doom lifted from your joints and vertebrae.
"...or you can answer the riddle, my pets, if you truly work for Mistress Baba Yaga."
You are slightly annoyed to realize that this is a witch tree. No one knows how they were created, but they do somewhat resemble a woman in shape...very vaguely. (you are reminded of sailors thinking sea cows were mermaids.) They like living flesh and have charms at their command to lure people close. And Dez is right--they are not nice at all.
"Hmph. 'Lady Tree.' 'Honored Tree'. Well, aren't you all so incredibly polite. Should you seek to enter Artrosa, though, you'll need to present me with a sacrifice, something warm and bloody. Yes, that's it...or something else."
The tree appears to wink at Dez, but then crosses its 'arms' as if it has said a little too much with the 'something else' bit. Those charming tieflings!
"Pilgrims of what? whom?" The tree looks sharply at Orik, or seems to look sharply. It certainly has sharp bits.
You now notice there are plenty of gleaming things beneath the tree--some with the gleam of metal, and some with the yellowed gleam of bone. The roots of the willow have grown over them with the caress of a loving octopus.
If the willow had feet, it would be tapping them with impatience, although, at the same time, it is a tree, and you'd think it would be blessed with the patience of centuries. Perhaps not. Perhaps it's just always hungry.
Dez can see, through the first arch, a strange liminal space that looks like the same mesa, but younger somehow, with less weathering on the second (but same) arch, and a mighty willow tree whose trunk resembles a maiden, but with additional branches that splay out like many arms...or pincers. Impaled on some of the lower branches is a centaur, its blood and hide gone black with decay. The tree looks truly enormous, perhaps thirty feet in height. It is placed in a ring of small spherical stones, and the path to the arch diverges in a circle around it...it's clearly a guardian. It hasn't seen you, as far as you can tell (trees don't usually have eyes)
All, this is a good spot to level to vaunted Level 8.
The wisps, completely confounded by your rapid ascent, cry out in shrill fury and retreat to their cliffside lair. Combat Avoided!
You continue up the Maiden's side, and finally land, like a bunch of annoying insects, on the broad mesa of her head. It's hundreds of feet wide, with the slight curving slope of...well, a giant head.
Vertiginous cliffs leading to the near side of the Crevasse surround the mesa top on all sides, with more black slick rock and clinging ice rising another thousand feet above the Three, though a rock wall backing the top of the figure’s head (like a headdress? a halo?) rises above the plateau, creating some cover from the cold winds blowing down the cliff sides and across the mesa. It isn't much. Although the 'edge' of the mesa is far from you, it's hard not to feel like a good strong gust could push you off the side.
From every direction the view is dizzying, offering a clear panorama of miles and miles of Iobarian wilderness. The Crevasse is a grey jagged rip through the northern ice fields, and the Hoofwood a glimmer of green clearly fed by moraines and cirque of snowmelt from the higher ice.
A small copse of bare, weathered trees stands in the shelter of the rock wall, their knotted roots clinging desperately to the cold, hard stone. Stubborn green needles show that these trees yet live. Dozens of bones litter the ground before the grove, some so ancient that the trees’ roots appear to grow right through them. What kind of bones last hundreds of years without succumbing to the elements? You don't really want to know. Behind the trees, a shadowy arched opening in the wall leads deep inside the rock. The lip of the arch gleams faintly, and when you turn to look behind you, you realize it is somehow communing with the pale gibbous moon, just barely visible in the stark afternoon daylight.
Elbrynn the Roc squawks and flees. 120' Withdraw action
Dez Knowledge:
You realize you can simply outrun the wisps if you withdraw and flee. They can't fly as fast, and their attacks are touch attacks.
The invisible will-o-wisp can be vaguely heard shrieking in anger above the wind of the cliffs; it had not thought to get close enough to tag Elbrynn with a parting attack as the roc flaps ever skyward.
The other blue wisp hurtles fruitlessly at Dez, not getting too close.
Dez:
The wisp can't reach you without double moving and getting no attack. These creatures are cowardly and weren't expecting powerful flying opponents.
Erdija nods. "The Tsolniva. Some of them must be working with frost giants, which is very disturbing. They are usually enemies. But the frost giants, the andrazkus, and these hoof-traitors may well all stem from the same source...that deathless coward of a half-god, whose name I will not mention." She spits at the blood rune and stamps it into so many hoofprints.
She rubs her chin. "Also, I wonder if someone helped them ascend and descend. An artifact...or a magic-caster." She snorts and stamps. "You will excuse me, but I find that unnatural, centaurs flying up and down regularly."
She flaps her arms to demonstrate, shakes her head, and then crosses her clearly inadequate-for-flight arms. "I will make at least five or six exceptions for our flying from ground to Maiden to Mother to Crone and then to ground again. And then I may kiss the ground."
The rider clutches at its antlered head in screeching pain, and is then knocked to the ground by Elbrynn-Roc. It lands in a heap, clearly broken. Whatever semblance of life animated it has moved on to the river of souls. The giant elk stamps and bolts in fear, running to near the rocks at the shoreline of the river to shiver and cower, like a much smaller animal.
As you gaze at the rider, its glaive and armor begin to visibly melt.
The humanoid rears up its elk steed and gallops, pell mell, past Dez. The summoned hailstones pose no problem for the sturdy elk and its supernatural rider.
It swings its fearsome glaive, glittering with blue ice and foul magicks...
...and misses by a fair margin.
Womp womp. Live by the dice...
Orik, you can see that the rider is already healing from the damage you dealt it! Filigree of new ice fills in the blasted pockmarks left by the holy radiance.
Erdija pulls out two arrows, and one thunks into the rider's thigh.
Vazhevga grins, showing her many teeth again. "'Relative' comfort is exactly how we like it, dromaarin. We know of your god. Estrig the Hunter, consort of our Fandarra. We like that much civilization--" she brings together fingers thick as bread-loaves "...as a little treat."
The giant sits down with care, into a cross legged position, and pulls a small (for a giant) chunk of aromatic resin. She peers at it and sets it down. "Ah...I need to cut it smaller." She carefully trims it to regular-humanoid-size, perhaps the size of an apple, from the larger hunk.
"Wrap that in something to mask its smell while you travel. When you emerge from Artrosa--I will not say if--burn this. It will create a very visible and unique scent and smoke. We'll come within a day."
She smiles at Yrja. "Ah, but I can sense that you are] great warriors. We taiga giants sense the ancestors and spirits that everyone leaves in their wake. Yours swirl with it. And do not fret about strength--stubbornness and persistence is the way to victory in many cases. Including in a headlock! Well...ok, also about strength." The other giants laugh and two look like they are actually ready to wrestle until a third one points and mimes that any wrestling done in this area would probably result in smooshed humanoids.
She offers the pale-grey larch resin on a platter sized hand to the tiefling, holding it delicately like a treat for a puppy.
Vazhevga nods, her head practically in the mist above Dez. "Normally, we taiga giants do not stay in one place. We like to roam. However, about five hundred years ago...the White Dragon Sjohvor, he attacked a conclave of elders. Seven of them died, putting an end to many lineages of knowledge only they held." Her dark face darkens further with layers of wrath. "The Wyrmtooth Tribe formed after that attack. We drove him from one lair, then the next, and then he sheltered here. For seventy years, we have tried to drive him from his hiding-hole. My sister Drugezna is our chieftain; she has recently learned that those cowards, the Tsolniva..."
At that word, Jivaan and Erdija scowl.
"...have allied with Sjohvor. So...first we will wipe out the Tsolniva...maybe we'll bring you the colts, Hoofwooders, if you like," she says to the centaurs with a nod, "...and then, yes, Dezső, we would compensate you well if you would like to help us deal with Sjohvor." She squints at you. "Mmm, a geas. Well, let's see how it pulls at you when you emerge from the Three Who Watch."
Erdija looks stern. "The Tsolniva are savages. They bring raids upon the Hoofwood. We won't mourn them. If there are colts, we will take them in and see if their minds are yet unspoiled."
She frowns and looks at the two-legs. "You remember I mentioned--some Tsolniva...worshipping Kos--no, I will not say His name here, not in the Deeprun Crevasse." She spits and makes a warding sign against evil. "It is abomination."
As the occupants of the trimaran freeze in place, except for the crew struggling to slip past it, the drake scans you, but does not move.
You are soon at a hauling out point marked with many scrapings from other trimarans, and at least one wreck of an abandoned ship with a number of faded flags and withered flowers decorating its main mast. A mile or so away, the first of the waterfalls covers everything with a light mist and a distant roar; you can see a zig-zagging path of switchbacks climbing up the scree on the left hand side. It does not look enjoyable, but you have also seen worse. Jikaan blows a pattern of blasts on a willow whistle while the crew unload their barrels.
After a short while, you can see a number of taiga giants trudging down from a previously hidden camp higher up in the Crevasse, on the Hoofwood side of the river. They are enormous dark skinned giants, muscled and handsome, with protruding lower tusks like a half-orc. Their features and skin, and elaborately braided hair, almost remind you of Mwangi people. Several of their number are women, including their leader, who looks young, with a fey gleam in her eye. They reach you in a matter of minutes from perhaps a half mile away, as they are, once they reach the hauling-out, perhaps twenty feet tall, dwarfing even the centaurs.
Jivaan and the leader exchange a rumbling words in Jotunspeak while her squad crack open a barrel or two to inspect. You note they are quite efficient and refined, despite their penchant for scarification and tattoos. Other, clearly unintentional scars, mar several of them.
The taiga giants mainly ignore you, but the leader speaks with Jivaan and Erdija a bit more and then turns to you. "I am Vazhevga," she says, in rather good Taldane. "These hoofers here tell me you are some of those tough Littles; the kind that hurl magicks and kill colossi". She grins, showing many teeth. "If you are strong enough to survive Artrosa, might we be able to buy you?"
Erdija says something quickly in Jotun.
"Ah," says Vazhvevga. "Might we be able to hire you? We have a dragon to kill."
"That I can tell you," says Erdija. She clears her throat theatrically and hums, then sings in a passable alto.
The harvest reaped,
The seeds are sown,
Turn to the Three,
Maiden, Mother and Crone.
They stand their guard,
With strength of stone,
To watch the Slave,
Maiden, Mother and Crone...
She shakes her head and chuckles. "Old song, mainly to give thanks but also to stay the Hells away from Artrosa. Don't ask me for deeper meaning, and none of us know who 'The Slave' is or was, but we're all fairly sure that that Crone is Baba Yaga. Maiden and Mother might be her as well, although it must be many years since she was a mother or a maiden. Legend says certain things stay away from the statues...the taiga giants, they don't come near, and neither does that dragon, the white one we've mentioned.
However, where there is the Grandmother, there are fey. We try to stay away from them...some are powerful, and centaurs don't really like riddles. As for undead, I've seen draugr, and these louts have seen lacedon. Skeletons." She shrugs. "Things get drained of their life energy frequently in Iobaria, as you know, so it's not like undead are uncommon."
feel free to ask more questions on your trip upstream
You continue upstream, the team of centaurs pushing hard, stopping at evening to camp. "One more day, then you're at the lower falls and we say farewell," says Jikaan, his crew bringing up buckets of fish, mussels, and tule rush tubers to start a delicious stew in a pot that could probably fit Yrja in it comfortably. "Those taiga giants will be happy to see us. Barrels of the best forest honey, turkey fan mushrooms, and pickled salamanders. So many pickled salamanders. Whew! Not to my liking, but they eat them like candy," he says with a booming laugh.
The centaur crew still near the shore hiss excitedly and point at the opposite shore, a hundred gallops across. Three large shaggy beasts have emerged from somewhere in the cliffs, Ulshui knows how or from where, and stand quietly at the bank. One snorts and waggles its ears, then lowers down to drink while the other two watch.
Kn Nature DC20:
Wooly rhinoceroses! You can see their double horns. A rare animal to see this far South...although you aren't sure how far South you are. There's no way they'd cross the river, and you'd be a fool to try to challenge three of them, although they are rumored to be tasty. Just some local wildlife. There must be a pass through the Crevasse to the plains beyond, as these creatures do not climb at all .
You notice that the crew keep one member on the boat itself, and triple tie the boat to land-anchors, with another member near the ropes, while the rest of you are comfortably near a fire and away from the river's chill. The one on the boat sings a song quietly, bumping a pole on the wide deck to keep a rhythm.
"It's a song about doing something unmentionable to a lacedon's mother," says Erdija. "I'm not sure if it's to drive them away or dare them to come out," she says, smirking, finding a mussel in her stew and sucking the meat out expertly.
Orik visits another merchant, then another, in rapid succession, obtaining 5 oils of Bless Weapon, a handy haversack, and an anytool. Coins are exchanged between dromaar and centaur, and all is well.
Erdija clops over from near the cliff. "Flag-talkers tell me there's a good boat ready to go in half an hour."
You descend down a wide, sturdy cut in the cliff, and note that there's another cut for ascending--the centaurs don't like something so wide that something large could come up from below, or some other strategic reason. The cut-trail in the rock zig-zags down the cliff in steady straight strokes of perhaps 100 yards at a time, finally depositing you at a large, blocky wharf that stretches for a furlong, hugging the Crevasse and stretching out into the river, which flows gently at this point.
The captain, a rippling and doughty centaur by the name of Jikaan, greets you all with rock hard, callused handshakes and claps on the back all around. His crew is equally muscled, both men and women-taurs, and wear hardly anything on their bodies despite the slight chill of the river. He speaks in fairly good Ulfen, grinning: "Aye, we can pole up about thirty miles--we have a haul out to the Wyrmtooth for trade. After that, it's a climb. There are maybe three waterfalls to the ledge at Artrosa--"
"Four, you alewife," interjects Erija.
"Four, you forest pig," he agrees with a laugh. "Then you're back with this stubborn war mare. We'll try not to piss off the giant eagles along the way, and watch for lacedons. They're the worst!" He laughs. "They're all plague victims who died on the river--two legs like you! Well, more like two fins now." His crew laughs with him, and a mare-woman speaks up, her hair shaved on the sides to make a raven crest on her head. "Usually a bop with the pole or the oar and we toss them a cow flank and they leave us alone. They know better than to mess with us."
The crew take turns flexing and scowling, then laugh uproariously again and resume loading their cargo on their ship, which looks like a giant square at first. As you approach it, you realize it's a trimaran with a big flat deck that can handle the weight of these musclebound, heavy hoofed, river rats.
"Well, we can take a boat up the Crevasse a bit, or cut across the forest. Boat is faster, probably safer. They can take us to the Ice Knife Shoal...after that, too many rocks and bad currents, and we walk the rest of the way in the Crevasse. Maybe 30 silvers a person; they'll have to row against the current, but I can probably talk them down a bit as you all weigh less than us..." She pats her (upper) abdomen and winks. "...I think I still have a slender enough figure, probably 1100 pounds," she concludes. "Don't ask me to do any tree climbing, though," she concludes with a boisterous giggle.
Yrja and Dez lead the group, with Erdija clopping beside them, extremely amused, and exchanging various cheerful greetings to other clan members.
A centaur woman with a shaggy coat and a Mitzenki catfolk boast an impressive number of alchemical items, potions, and also fun items: kaleidoscopes, flowing vases of volcanic glass, gently glowing moss, and various shrine items for prayer and contemplation. Their wares fill several tables.
Dez finds potions of: heroism, barkskin, spider climb, remove disease, and remove poison.. "Disease is a big thing for you two legs," growls the Mitzenki ominously. The woman-taur arches an eyebrow at the bipedal catfolk, and he shrugs and gets down on his hand and knees. "Better?" She guffaws. "We do have plenty of evil eyes--ward off a hex? Ah." The centaur-lady puts down the very obviously not magical evil eye and goes mum at the sight of Yrja.
The groups also finds a dwarf, of all two-legs, with an enormous amount of plate mail, polearms (popular among centaurs, who can wield them one handed at times), and...a few gleaming mithral shirts. The white-bearded fellow goes by the name of Gallek Zolzala; his own dented ebon armor and bald, scarred pate gives clear evidence that he is doing just fine handling the Iobarian wilds.
Yrja gets through a throng of dancers and jugglers and--not sure who they are, but those man-taurs had their head hair braided to their manes with some sinews of Aroden-knows-what keeping them together, and doing some sort of twisting, singing chant (along with drinking horns of what was certainly kvass and kumiss)...and finds some incredibly tasty Hoofwood fare. Unidentifiable game meats simmered in delicate green sauces, 'earcakes' that do rather look like a fey ear, with snowberry and lingonberry fillings, and mussels and sturgeon from the river far below, dried and diced or garlicked and steamed, or breaded and fried...it's rather dizzying.
It's a reasonably pleasant trek of about twelve miles to Vurnirn. "We call it the Centaur's Cliff," says Erdija as you walk. She doesn't seem to mind the slow pace. As you walk, she points out edible berries, and the fresh green new pine needles. "Good for a snack," she says.
"If we had left earlier, I could have shown you the names of our constellations...they are probably different than yours. Most of them are centaurs," she says with an easy laugh.
By late afternoon, you've traversed the Hoofpaths to Vurnirn, gradually running into more and more centaurs along the trail. To a one they are surprised to see you, and a few can be heard to mutter questions about plagues and two-legs, but Erdija is known to many of them, even to other tribes, and they nod to her respectfully.
Most of the centaurs have knots in their hair ringed with metal and bone. "Clan Phelor," Erdija explains. "They supervise Vurnirn."
Finally, after miles of wood, Vurnirn itself appears--a dramatic city with colorful pennants and even what looks like sails on buildings, catching the updraft from the Deeprun Crevasse far below. Centaurs of every clan canter past, chatting and laughing, and the sounds of traders rings from every street. As with the Hoofpaths, the way is mercifully clear of dung...centaurs don't like to foul their own roads like mere horses. Bright red, white, and golden paint decorates many a building. The city ends abruptly at the cliff, as do the trees, but in the distance you can see some centaurs carrying unusual looking watercraft--centaur canoes?--above their heads, disappearing beyond the cliff's edge on what must be truly frightening paths down to the roaring river a good two thousand feet below. Bloodhawks and eagles alight on the tops of buildings, having flown from the other side of the Crevasse, which is sheer, dense forest.
You get the sense that this is not so much a city but a constant, changing gathering place for the nomadic centaurs; the changing of the seasons and the variability of food sources doesn't keep any visitors here for too long. As such, it appears to be a place of a great deal of carousing. You can smell the malt of many types of fermented ales and of course, kvass, permeating the air, and unfortunately, the faint odor of people who have subsequently lost the contents of their multiple stomachs.
Lisi walks a pace with Guba and then turns around, with a pleading look. "Uh...that's not what I meant and whatever I meant please don't tell Narine I said that. In fact, I didn't say anything. I am as quiet as dew on moss. As sunset on rocks. I am as silent as the moon in a hayfield..." He turns around, listing other very silent things not so silently.
HP 22/22 | AC 18(20) | F+7 R+4 W+7 | Perc +5 | Speed 25'
Grolugh, who is definitely on the ground, peers at the fungi. "So, you know, there are these mushrooms that shriek, I think, and I heard of some that release deadly spores...but I don't see a much of little animal bits around them..."
Secret Recall Knowledge Nature roll to identify the mushrooms.
"Oh, and then there are those tasty ironbloom mushrooms. Iron-ically, I first had them at a dwarven party, and they didn't even try to kill us. Later, my dam said we don't eat those much in my clan, and I protested quite loudly about that...and then she explained they don't grow easily in Garund..." He shakes his head. "And then she loaded up my plate with monkey kola fruit and gingered baobab and I ended my protestations." He pats his mailed abdomen. "When is lunchtime, again?"
I had a vision of centaurs frantically hammering at their hooves to put their shoes on and help you :P
It's my feeling that centaurs would go 'barefoot', and perhaps, inside buildings, use a 'hipposandal'. Horses apparently come from arid environments. In colder and wetter places, their hooves crack more often. Perhaps centaurs dry their hooves near a fire a lot, whereas they are fine in Qadira and the Isle of Kortos. (Isle of Kortos centaur supremacy makes sense now)
They're cool, and I feel like they are not utilised enough. Like, at all. I don't think I saw anyone use them in any of the games I'm in on the boards.
Maybe MORTA would know more of them, instead of Jorell. And if not her, I would also try with the Ekujae. Yes, Yasami is desperate enough to talk to Morta about this.
Lisi watches the fire and observes the flecks of ash and curls of smoke dissipating into the air. How different people are in the way we mourn, and say goodbye. Knowing what we know now, Dario's spirit has been somewhere in the River of Souls for some time now. Perhaps it's already where it needs to be, growing and learning into something else. His eyes flick down to the fire. Then why am I sad? And where is Joran? He always seemed to be there for us. For me. Gods above and below, I think he's the one I knew the best among all of us.
His eyes move to Caiten. He and Sulee complement each other. I couldn't imagine him losing Sulee, or me to lose Guba. And yet, loss is the way of the world, of all worlds...ah, save for things that are eternal. No, Lisi, even those. Even gods die. That's the reason why you chose druidry. To seek calm, to be like a tree, quiet, learning breathing from the slowest of things, to feel glacial granite pushing you to hold you up just as your weight rests upon it. But even rocks wear away into sand. Nothing is eternal.
When Lisi turns to Jorsk, his eyes are full of sudden tears. "Dario was a friend," he says simply. "Thank you for helping us and giving him a proper farewell."
He seeks out Nketiah and Narine, his hand unconsciously slipping into Narine's calloused grip. "Nketiah...that song was lovely. Perhaps you could teach it to the aiuvarin here. We live so close to elf-gates; perhaps we should bring a little more Elvish into our lives around here."
Erdija chuckles and bends, looking something like an Ustalavian sausage with legs, all the way to brush her own tail. "We are big, but we are flexible. However, it is customary among my people to braid each other's hair." She wiggles her fingers towards Yrja's own raven mane, should she accept mutual beautification.
Orik comes in a little later than the rest, tired from healing a few foals lamed from stonefoot and one with a nasty cut on a fetlock. Erdija nods soberly at his question.
"We Rashalka and other tribes are immune...two-legs, not so much. It's not a good disease, to get the Dvezda Plague. However...it's very rare indeed. You have only an extremely slim chance of getting it. Only if you were to stay here a year would there be much of a chance, and even then it's rare. Did you know--it not only killed off the two-legs, but it also killed off the dragons? It also killed off many centaur clans," she concludes darkly. "We paid for our resistance to this plague dearly."
She brightens for a moment. "Oh, of course there is one dragon, to the north, a real rivok. He's too stubborn to die. But I heard that the big two-legs--taiga giants, are thinking of moving against him. We heard the dragon is talking to the Tsolniva centaurs, and they're a bunch of rivok as well." She waves a hand. "All those things--angry centaurs, giants, and that jerk of a dragon--they are north of us and north of Artrosa. Cold places. We don't have to go there and I don't plan to," she says with a laugh.
"Ha! No-Wings!" A young buck laughs uproariously, having clearly imbibed a bit of kvass already, and perhaps other things, and swings to clap Elbrynn on the back, fortunately missing. Several centaurs try flapping their arms to no avail and laugh as well. "Like hippogriff!" says one, this comment releasing more guffaws.
Erdija holds a quiet chat with Yrja, Dez occasionally listening in. "I haven't been inside--none of us have. Centaurs, you know--we don't like stairs, and close quarters." She chuckles and waves to some friends who pass by, then returns with a serious stare at the two tieflings. "However, I will guide you, and follow even, for as far as you'll let me." She looks towards Korak Kaag. "It's in our best interests to understand threats here, and Artrosa is a threat."
She listens with great intent to your tales of Taldor and the winter portal of Irrisen. It's clear that she is taking unwritten notes on all the threats you list...including a few queries about your own abilities.
Orik is busily engaged in a rather tipsy game of shooting arrows at distant targets with one eye covered when Dez rides by, or rather, passes in front of the archers, carried around by one of the mare-women in a muscly embrace. Orik's archer companions complain loudly, but Dez and his companion are soon out of sight.
Erdija gives more information to Yrja: The Voaldyn are the first line of defense among the Rashalka for the Tsolnyva centaurs to the North. They had also heard of Baba Yaga's Irriseni curse, and didn't like the idea of an already cold Iobaria becoming another place of eternal winter. She tells of how there are four clans in the Rashalka: Phelor to the south, and in the more difficult north, Voaldyn, Tsurvom, and Kraask. Interestingly, Korak Kaag shares power with Aglaya Kurdst, a mare-woman chieftain. She rules over part of the clan still in their city, Vurnirn, a former Cyclopes ruin that is a bustling centaur settlement. While the city dwellers can stay in one place, scarce resources mean that the centaurs rotate throughout the Hoofwood nomadically, via the Hoofpaths.
Eventually she shouts at Farrok, who drags Dez' abductor back to the main fire and makes her drop Dez'. A brief chastisement in Sylvan follows.
The centaurs give a murmur almost of horror when the devilish looking tiefling extends his arms--then race to follow him, shouting and cheering as he lights a number of fires about the camp, banking the logs and setting them with the greatest of ease. At the end of it all, they carry him back to the main fire, cheering loudly.
Elbrynn gains a following of centaurs, astounded as he speaks with the birds, who bring him berries and even chunks of honeycomb, dripping with golden goodness.
By the time the heroes have regathered, there's no need for Gelgas, Shal, or Farrok to report anything to Korak Kaag. He has long since watched the merry bands of centaurs following the two-legs about, transforming the camp in what seemed like a blink of an eye--although, to be fair, it was actually a few hours of sweaty work.
He shakes his head, a very equine and human motion at the same time, grins, and clears his throat.
Speaking in crude Taldan, he issues a loud proclamation. "TWO LEGS...PROVE...WORTHY! VOALDYN SZYENTAURS...WE EAT FEAST! KVASS!"
The centaurs raise up on two legs, rearing like the hugest destriers you have ever seen, howling and hooting. A few stay up on two legs, balancing for as long as they can, pretending to be each of you, casting spells or making long arms or talking to birds, to great uproarious laughter. The young man-taur who imitates Yrja well gets some of the biggest laughs as he totters from tent to tent, pretending to sew with a mock-shy face.
Korak turns back to all of you, who by now have large drinking horns of kvass in your hands.
"Is witchcraft, yes, but good witchcraft that you do. You may stay here, and I have a guide for you. Erdija, come." A tall and muscled mare-woman clops up, already with two drinking horns, shoving an eager man-taur out of her way effortlessly, and stands at attention.
"I come to realize," says Korak thoughtfully, "That not knowing enough about Ar-tross-sah is a liability for my hoof clan. Therefore, Erdija, an excellent ranger, will guide you, and will return stories to me about what you find. She and her family know the place better than most, and she is good in a fight. Don't get on her backside," he says with a chuckle. (you take this to mean 'bad side'...or any other connotations...)
Erdija salutes you with both drinking horns with a serious look, then gives a smile as one sloshes a bit on to her arm. "Unlike this giant side of beef, I speak Taldane," she says in Iobarian accented, but clear Common. "I look forward to working with you, two-legs."
Feel free to role play up the night as you wish. You have befriended Korak Kaag and will spend the night with the Voaldyn as their honored guests.
A crowd starts to gather to watch Orik make his snares, commenting rapidly in Sylvan. Some appreciation and of course, joking back and forth, with a few guffaws and shoves, the kind that would probably break even a half-orc's ribs, among the onlookers.
They are further impressed as Orik brings in clusters of oyster mushrooms and morels and snowberries, dripping with snowmelt and glittering even in the dull grey of the day.
Yrja adds some excellent finery to the centaurs' tents and other items to be mended, causing the foals to buck around with delight, with a few sharp words from the mare-women, who comment and clearly complain to their mates about the general lack of filigree and beading on their garments.
I'll give Dez and Elbrynn a chance to weigh in and move on after that.
Korag frowns. "Words are worth little, as you know." His eyes dart towards the fire.
"Go and make yourselves useful in the camp. Come back to me for afternoon-feeding."
He steps outside the tent and ushers you out with sweeps of his muscled arms.
He speaks quickly in Sylvan, in an accent that makes it harder for Elbrynn to follow, but the gist is "These two legs want to prove themselves. They say they mean no harm. They are not as strong as centaurs, but give them tasks a foal can do. Cleaning latrines, sweeping, gathering logs, and so forth. Farrok, Shal, Gelgas, you will report." Two sturdy centaur women and an elder centaur male (Gelgas, you reckon) nod immediately.
The three centaurs lead you to a pile of tools--large flat shovels, axes, rakes and the like.
"Magic is allowed as well, witch," says Gelgas to Yrja, somewhere in the realm between hissing and kindness. It's a bit hard to tell as Gelgas has a few broken teeth.
You can choose from the following tasks:
Latrine Duty
Wood gathering
Fetch Water
Lay down Pine Needles over mud
Fire tending (not main fire)
Making Snares
Foraging for Berries/Mushrooms etc
Tent Mending
You can use Athletics, Survival, Kn Nature, Crafting, and Fort Saves, and/or magical abilities if appropriate. Make two rolls--they can be of the same skill or different.
"Ar-trohhh-sah. Yes, we know of it." The burly centaur scowls. "It's cursed, filled with dungeons and traps. And there are lights on the hills that will lead you astray, near each of the statues. If statues they can be told--they are as big as a titan," he says with a growl.
"I am one of the clan leaders of Rashalka--we are Voaldyn. Unlike some, we do not kill two legs on sight," he says with a laugh, then sobers. "To be honest, the soil is poor here. We barely farm. The two-legs all died of plague save for hunters and explorers, but there are ruins of the Koloran, one eyed giants who predated all of us. We make a circuit--" he traces a boundary in a rough blob--"along the Hoofroads." He chuckles. "We use 'hoof' in a lot of our words," he says with levity, then frowns again.
"Yrja, we like you. I am sure you understand--we need a little more convincing. We don't want to be stabbed in the back by two legs tonight. If you convince me, all is well, we drink kvass, I help you. If not..." He makes a little 'run along now' motion with two fingers.
"We were here to watch for agents of Baba Yaga...and you sort of seem like those...but I don't think her agents would be so..." The head scout gestures with an expansive shrug. "Ahem, you seem to mean no harm. We'll bring you to our chieftain to decide."
As a formality, the centaurs dab each of your weapons and after a moment, Yrja's wrists, with sweet smelling unguent.
Sylvan:
"As a sign of peace," offers the centaur.
You trudge through the thick forest with the smell of horse and man, but also neither, preceding you faintly, and a few centaurs behind you besides. You can hear the scouts making short quips to each other in Iobarian and Sylvan, and occasionally one will grab some pine needles and even a green cone in a callused hand, and amazingly, chomp them down with gusto.
You walk for a good half a mile perhaps...ahead in the distance, a thin plume of smoke drifts above
the trees. Soon enough, a large clearing containing a sizable encampment appears through the trees. Broad, circular tent-huts made from hides stretched over wooden frames form a crescent around a large campfire. The muddy ground is churned with numerous hoofprints.
Throughout the camp, centaurs mill about, performing mundane tasks such as carrying firewood, filling water buckets, or roasting spitted pheasants over a pit of glowing coals. As you enter the camp, these activities stop as the centaurs shift their attention to the tieflings, half-elf, and half-orc in their midst. Soldier centaurs frown, and young foals openly gawk at you, pulling at their elder's hands.
The scouts reach the largest tent, with very obvious guards armed with pikes and curved swords. After a brief interchange, you are brought into the tent.
This tent is much larger and of finer construction than the others, and stands in the
middle of the crescent of tents, with the backside absorbing heat from the communal fire.
A powerful centaur with broad shoulders, a full beard and long mustaches, and a dark bay coat, turns to face you, having been in conference with several older centaurs.
Sylvan:
"I am Korak Kaag, leader of the Rashalka Hoof. We're on the lookout for frost giants and Baba Yaga's agents. To be honest, we were not expecting them to attack each other, but anything is possible. Traditionally, Grandmother Crone is our enemy, but I will be honest with you, the frost giants are worse. They are cannibals," He says, spitting out the word. "Now, I have told you my name and my purpose here. Do the same and let us see where we stand."
He crosses his arms in cool expectation. You are almost certain he alone could kill you all in seconds, and that the guards outside are almost perfunctory, so great is the power that radiates off of him.
Yrja throws up a misty cloud to obscure the frost giants' vision, and Orik then allows you all to see through it. You begin to creep out of the Hut, practically quaking in your boots at the prospect of taking on a hen's brace of giant, blue skinned warriors, but once you step off the porch, the Hut raises up to its full height, towering over the giants. By your estimate, the giants are enormous--perhaps fifteen feet tall, and broadly built, both male and female alike. However, the Hut is at least twenty five feet of building, not counting its cruelly taloned avian legs.
Said legs work rapidly; one crushes the giant sentry into the snow, leaving a stain of blood, gore, and bile in various colors. Another scratches into the white ground, exposing dark earth in furrows. The bill of the house squawks a challenge, and then the Hut thunders towards the main group of giants. In short order, one is seized in its beak and tossed bodily, screaming above the trees and out of sight, a distant thump echoing perhaps a half a league a way. Another peck of the Hut, and a warrior is simply scissored in half. Another is crushed by the relentless talons.
At this point, the morale of the frost giants, never having gone from 'surprise' to 'attack' nor 'defend', simply descends into 'flee', as the remaining huge turquoise humanoids scream and run pell-mell from the clearing.
After that, the Hut daintily grooms its feet with its bill and vice versa, wiping away gobbets of unrecognizable giant parts from its carriage, and then settles back down on its haunches, the porch touching the snow once again, after wiggling its rear slightly to settle. A contented stream of smoke begins to pipe merrily from its slightly askew wood-and-plaster chimney.
Ok, so the deal is that this @#$^^ giant encounter is supposed to scare you and then the Hut kicks their butts and drives them off. Like sensible players, you got worried and were trying to figure out a way to deal with a super high CR rating. Instead, I'm gonna post right through this because I think the way the AP set it up is kinda dumb. Then we move on!!
Also, sorry to just deflate like a lead balloon for a while there. I just couldn't deal.
"You collect rainwater from the sky, you toy-cobbler," says Lisi with a laugh. "As for the heat, we'll obviously chain Dahak up to a series of tubes to run his frustrated flames through."
"Oh, you bunch of cowards! Go out there and fight a giant or two. The Hut will take care of the rest. What are you, a bunch of mice? Go out there and be like the bogatyrs that came before you! Dobrynya didn't falter when facing the three headed dragon! Evpaty fought the entire Batu Khan's army and was victorious! Shoo! shoo!"
She aims her tiny broom at Yrja and Dez, sweeping dust at them, then shakes a diminutive fist at Orik.
"I am bound to defend, not attack, and I cannot leave the Hut...but...the Hut itself can attack."
He addresses the various implements in the room.
"Hear me now, Windows and Mirrors,
And let us see our surroundings clearer."
Immediately a hodge-podge of small windows and frames, and various mirrors hop out of shelves--you're certain one of those mirrors is for application of makeup, although Zon-Kuthon knows when Baba Yaga would use it--and arrange themselves around Ratibor.
He looks a little embarrassed. "The rhyme is better in Iobarian."
The windows become as silvery as the mirrors, and then show various viewpoints from the outside. You count as many as a dozen frost giants standing in the clearing around the Hut, with the axe-wielding sentry as the closest to the front door.
He whistles and sucks at his teeth. "That's a lot of them. Someone is very very keen to bother Grandmother."
