Hickory obliges Lilo by leaning against his shoulder and sobbing into his shirt. She offers a shaky, yet lovely song in memorial to the fallen.
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The colossal hawk feasts on crab meat for awhile, with a side order of Neisen guts. Once it finishes, it takes to the air again, and starts circling in a hunting pattern. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but if that is the creature that killed Neisen, and it's still hungry, should we really be standing here on the beach?"
"Now that that mess is dealt with," Hickory says after everybody gets their healing, "shall we resume heading south to look for our missing friends? I must say I fear for their safety even more now that another day has passed."
"You think the allips caused the villagers to kill each other? I suppose it's possible. On the other hand, allies are created when a person dies in a way that could cause a person to go insane at the moment of death. I could see being killedby your own family after you had killed some of them to cause someone to go a bit nutty."
Rommin's arrows fly through the allip without any obvious effect. Hickory continues to sing, granting +1 bonuses to attack and weapon damage rolls. Then, she moves up to (AT,-124) and casts a spell defensively.
"Magic weapons. Magic ones. Who took that magic bow we found in the cave?"
"Unless you have magical weapons or spells, don't bother. Those are allips. Mundane swords won't even touch them!"
"My, my, Lilo, something has you in quite the mood again today," Hickory says in her sing-song voice.
"I don't know about customs, but I believe it would be wise to stay within the centre of our group and not brandish your weapons in any threatening manner."
"Why, yes, Mr. Deepburrow, I think we should warn all the colonists about those vines. I saw them growing near the riverbank back at camp." Turning to Noche'Wa, "We found a powerful magical device and deactivated it. We believe that was what was cursing all the animals in the area. Hopefully, with the device off, animals will once again frequent the forests around the mouth of the river."
"Well, now, he's not as short as all that," Hickory says with a small smirk. "Where are you from Noche'Wa? Around these parts, maybe a nearby village? We do not mean to trespass."
Lashed with a leather cord. "Actually, I'd say it's more a warning to not proceed to where we just came from, if I had to guess." Hickory says.
"I must say, I was a bit too busy chasing zombies to take detailed notes of the topography," Hickory comments dryly. "Perhaps it would be wise, however, to see to it that pen and ink and parchment go with each group, so that at least crude sketches of terrain and geography can be made."
"This whole breathing thing tends to make me hungry," she adds with a giggle. "Finn, Varg, a pleasure to meet you. Lilo, I think I saw evidence of what Mr. Gray called 'blueberries' around the edge of that small lake we spotted to the north. What say we gather a few baskets together and make a forage expedition? I also wouldn't mind a bath..." Rorse watches the two of them leave with a scowl on his face. Niesen pats him on the shoulder, which only deepens his scowl.
"Well, we should definitely try to corral that poor rabbit and set it free outside. I think the poor thing has suffered enough trauma, don't you?"
"The remaining writing is instructions on how to use this device. This level adjusts the sensitivity - I think the further up you raise it, the more types of creatures this thing can attract, but the easier it is to resist the lure. I get the impression that whatever you put into the sarcophagus is what gets attracted to it. This lever seems to determine the radius of effect - wow, it's set to maximum at the moment. One should be able to remove the lever safely - that would let us be able to use this thing in the future, if the need should ever arise."
Hickory looks the sarcophagus over, casts a spell, and runs her hands over the runes. "'Sarcophagus of Sympathy'. And then underneath, it says, 'Faenyr'." She moves on to the set of levers, reading some of the runic labels. She puts her hand on one of the levers and asks, "We want to shut this thing off, do we not? That's why we're here?"
"Perhaps Mr. Maenir here could make some use of his energy bursts that were so very potent against the undead we've already faced down here?" Hickory suggests.
"Why, I believe, according to Mr. Gray's book, he has already named these 'blueberries'. Not particularly creative, though efficient, if you ask me."
"Unfortunately, as soon as we step into that room, that thing starts to grow, and when we leave, it plunks itself right back down on top of that glowing thing again!"
Hickory chuckles mirthlessly. "I haven't heard of anybody anyplace doing anything like this at all. There must be something more to this place than we've seen. We still have one more passage to examine."
With Rommin's help, Lilo quickly finds several more pieces of marble which look like they belong with the rest of the plaque. A little bit of trial and error gets the pieces arranged. Hickory becomes increasingly excited as more and more pieces are put in place. "This writing is Azlanti!" she exclaims. Once it is assembled, she practically shoves Rommin out of the way to get a closer look at the plaque. Running her fingers over the runic writings, she recites, "Danger! Undead Collection Area Number 2. Proceed no further."
Hickory shudders. "What a concept! But," she points at a trickling tree root with a dagger she didn't have in her hand a second ago, "at least it has running water."
Hickory chants a few notes and suddenly four faintly glowing balls appear in the air above your heads and follow you down.
Hickory gives Rorse a wicked grin. "Oh no, I just prefer my men well-equipped."
Hickory's eyes snap open instantly and before she's even sitting up, she has daggers in her hands. Niesen nods approvingly as he scrambles to his feet.
"I see...a game of dice, you say?" Hickory carries her halfling frame like someone of the nobility, though the glint in her eyes suggests that some gambling might be fun.
We could camp until morning here. Then scout up and down river some for a good crossing. The worst case scenario would be cutting down a tree to make a raft. "Camp? Here? Without a tent?" Hickory visibly pales in the light of the setting sun. "Surely we can return to the ship for the night. Then we can take our launch past the river mouth and explore the south side tomorrow."
"Exhilarating, actually," she replies, then pauses to watch Eriniyes. "Um, Eriniyes, are you okay? Not coming with us?"
"We should at least explore a little further to see if this absence of fauna is localized or spread out a bit. Perhaps the animals avoid this area because of this creature."
"I am afraid that Falcon Gray was unable to learn anything of worth concerning the burial customs of the Skraelings, but I would suggest that burial would be better than burning. If we later learn that they prefer cremation, it is a simple matter to dig them up and burn them, but if we do it the other way around, it's not such a simple matter."
The vials do not contain any labels. One vial contains a tiny amount of a greasy black liquid, three contain full doses of a bluish goo, 2 vials of a milky-white liquid, and 2 vials of a clear liquid. With a bit of running about like a headless chicken, you are able to locate Hickory, who hikes up her skirts and comes running down below. She comes up to examine the vials, but shakes her head. "I am sorry, Mr. Deepburrow, but I have no knowledge of poisons or other alchemical substances whatsoever. My areas of expertise are more in history, linguistics, and other forms of academic lore. But if we take these back topside for Falcon to examine, he might yet have the strength for a detect poison spell." You gather up the vials and begin hustling topside. Inside Falcon's cabin, you see the older man twisting and groaning in his bunk, his sheets twisted and sweat-soaked. He looks completely ashen and pale. His eyes flutter open as you enter. "Friends," he gasps. "What news have you?"
From across the deck, Hickory Coopersmith snorts. "That's all nonsense, Mr. Deepburrow. Prophecy works just fine; only people's abilities to interpret them have gone awry. The world had been relying on prophecy too much to do its thinking for it. Now, we have to rely on faith in the gods instead, as it was always intended to be, until Aroden returns." "That being said, the gods do still send prophecy and premonitions to its followers. Are you perhaps a follower of Desna, Rommin?"
Watching, Mr. Deepburrow? I declare I have no idea what you are talking about. I am truly sorry if I have somehow mislead you into thinking that I have been mis-representing myself. Unless some cabin in the stern has been vacated for some reason, I do not see my lodgings changing any time soon. As for my...talents, again, I have no idea what you are talking about. Perhaps you mean my magic; hardly a giant secret, but I have learned in my time in Absalom that people with magic in the rest of Avistan do not go about flagrantly showing it off like people do in Oppara. I have trained with some of Oppara's finest bardic masters; is that what you are referring to, or perhaps my...talent with knives? I am an initiate with the Pathfinder Society and attache to Falcon Gray, but I am also of Taldor and do not appreciate Chelish scum like this trying to block my path. She kicks the last boarder's corpse squarely between the legs while Titus loots the body. She grimaces fiercely for a flash, quickly resuming a look of supreme haughtiness. Now, if that is all, Mister Deepburrow, this man seems to have been wearing some sort of steel groin protection, and I have now hurt my toe. Hickory, her nose as high in the air as possible, limps to the ladder and down to the main deck, brushing or shaking off any hands of assistance. She practically growls a few notes, and with a flick of her hand, her last stray dagger dislodges itself from a privateer corpse and flies across the deck to her waiting, outstretched hand. The dagger disappears up her sleeve and she limps to the main ladder and down below.
Why, do we Mr. Deepburrow? Do we indeed? And what about, pray tell?
Oh, why thank you, Mr. Deepburrow, and please, call me Hickory. She chews her herbs with a grimace (they really are quite vile, save for the raw ginger root which burns the insides of your mouths).
Can we not simply purchase two more ships to put these people on? Hickory asks.
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