Any chance of getting this campaign marked inactive since we aren't continuing?
Search Posts
Fern, sorry to hear you have to stop the game, but totally understand that RL comes first. Hope all works out for you and thanks for running the game. And thanks to all of you for letting me jump in partway through, it's been fun.
Khalil follows Demalyn's story with a knowing nod. His face serious, but clearly not shocked by fey justice. The stories of Willow and Karley leave him a bit slack jawed or blushing furiously, often both at the same time. When his turn rolls around he starts to shake his head, but eventually relents after a gentle nudge from the dryad. "Ahem...well...as I said. I've nothing to compare with imps, Archfey, and obscene wondering statues." He says with a mild smile. Running his fingers through his hair, he leans back in his chair pondering the far wall for a few moments. "But I suppose, I could tell the tale of Guthrim the Foresters Apprentice." "I'd first met Guthrim a few years ago when Gorm purchased several wagon loads of wood. All the signs were pointing to a particularly hard winter. The squirrels were fat as could be. We watched flock after flock of honking geese fly overhead weeks before they normally would. Verity heard the winds whispering of snow and ice. Even Old Toad was putting an extra layer of mud over his house to keep the winter king's fingers from reaching inside." He pauses, blinks for a few minutes. "Where was I...oh yes, Guthrim." "Guthrim was a handsome young man, a few years older than myself. Golden hair, a heroes chiseled chin, shoulders grown broad from working axe and saw all day long. It was those fine features that had nearly every lass for leagues all at-witter at dances and festivals." "I suppose it was those fine features that eventually caught the naiad's attention." A pause as the druid sips his tea. "Esme's Well is a dark and foreboding place. Tucked deep in the Featherstone Hills whose shoulders dip down into the fertile lowlands where Briarpatch and many other farms earn a good living tending the land. The lowlands are fine and fair and you'll not meet better fey folk in all the Queen's realms. But you get back into the deeps woods and hills..." A shiver runs through his wiry frame as his shakes his head. "Well, lets just say, where light seldom shines, dark things grow." "That old pond is shrouded in twisted, moss draped trees. Sentinels veiling their mistresses like an old crone's bed. The air is often warm because Esme's anger constantly bubbles to the surface of the pond, filling the air with steam and mist. The damp and warmth offer the perfect home for the white and yellow Heartsfell Orchid. Dozens of the odd, beautiful, and poisonous flowers grow along the shores of that dark pond, blooming only once a year under the silvery light of the midsommer moon." "Despite the hollow's dark and foreboding nature that any wise denizen of fey lands would know better than to encroach upon, Guthrim thought the place quite nice and the perfect place for his many assignations with more than a few of the young ladies of the valley." "He told me of the place one day and to my defense I tried mightily to warn him off. I'd heard many a tale of poor Esme, her broken heart, and her descent into madness. I suppose that is a tale for another day." Khalil says thoughtfully. A quick shrug and he continues. "All Guthrim did was laugh in my face. Called me a fool for believing such nonsense. Said if there really was a naiad living in the pond he'd woo her like any of the others. Named me nothing but silly boy, who was just jealous as the girls all swarmed to he and cared nothing for a simple farmer's servant whose soul was bid to the Pumpkin King." "So it was all that spring he would bring his latest desire up to that lonely place and under the light of the moon they would dance and frolic naked upon the soft mossy shores and the warm moist air next to the old pond." His voice dips, grows almost whisper quiet. For a moment his eyes close and he swallows. "And so it was upon that midsummer night when the orchids bloomed that he brought young Lilliana Meyerson to his preferred place of seduction." "The night began so many that came before. Guthrim speaking words of beauty and love and most of all desire to the maid. He'd grown quite good and sure of himself by this time. Knew exactly what to say to make a girl think he loved her, would marry her, would be a good and honest soul to match her own through years of mortal life and hardship together. But he meant know of it. All of this Esme, from the depth's of her well, had listened to, been witness to, thrice already upon the previous bright nights of the full moon. Each time her anger at the young man who broke hearts as if they were nothing more than cheap two copper pottery grew." "By the time the shortest night was upon us, that dark naiad had made a vow to put and end to the young mortal's escapades upon her quiet shores." "While Guthrim whispered sweet meaningless words in young Lilly's ear, the usually calm surface of the pond began to churn and boil. Before either young man or woman realized what was happening the dripping sultry form of the dark haired water spirit rose from the waters. Long, void-black locks of hair swirled and twirled and reached out to the shore. There they slowly wrapped themselves around Guthrim's naked body, him thinking it was just Lilly returning his amorous ardor. By the time he realized such was not the case, it was much too late. For he was caught like a fish in a net. No manner of struggle or plea for mercy and aide could free him from the water spirits deathly grasp." "'You wish to foul the shores of my home with your lies and betrayals. Come inside and whisper in my ear. Come inside and share your warmth and your mortal desire with one less innocent than these flighty young fools who dance and spin to you beck and call.' The aethereal voice of the naiad whispered in their ears, like the death's night wind drifting through the trees. Lilly's screams were quickly silenced by a stray strand of that black web of death, even as Guthrim's own cries echoed off the hills, until Esme finally dragged him into the dark depths of that pond. His hand still clutching a bright orchid stem." "Gorm had me working late that night, trying to keep the pixies out of the twinkleberry fields. So it was that I can still here Guthrim's dying screams drifting down out of the hills upon the midnight breeze." "We found poor Lilliana three days later. Starving, cold, her golden hair turned pure white. A madness filled her mind for months. Until finally, with Verity's help, I was able to develop a herbal tonic that took away her nightmares and for the first time she slept a full night through. A few weeks later, she was able to relate the events of that night. The last I heard she had gone off to Baldur's Gate to one of the temples there. I hope she finds peace. As for Guthrim, well, I can only guess his bones still sit at the bottom of Esme's Well, wooing the naiad beneath the light of the full moon." Having finished his tale, Khalil sits back in his chair quietly, thoughtfully sipping the last of his tea.
Although he'd never played the game before, Khalil was quick enough to touch his blushing nose. His shoulders give a little shrug turning to Demalyn, his brows furrowing as he attempts to explain. A task made more difficult by his own inexperience in such worldly things. "I think most would say it is when someone has pushed the limits or overindulged in some sort of....ummm...sensual pleasure." He say quietly, pausing to clear his throat. "Not exactly something one has the opportunity to do growing up on an isolated farm in the Feywild." Another embarrassed pause as he tries to think back. Eventually a weak grin crosses his face. "Although there were a few Midsummer celebrations where the twinkleberry wine flowed free and the local satyrs, sprites, and pixies cavorted and reveled beneath the light of the full moon. Then again...when aren't satyrs, sprites and pixies cavorting beneath a full moon." "I'm sure it was nothing compared to stories of the inns and taverns or festivals of the wide mortal realms encountered by the carnival and what others here may have witnessed or been part of."
While Khalil had enjoyed the inn, having a less mobile location to safely rest for a night felt like a substantial boon. And so hearing the Lady Adela's offer, the druid smiles and offers another bow. "Such an offer is most welcome." He says. "I'd be happy to continue helping fix things up in return for a bit of warmth and a dry spot to sleep for the evening."
"Begging your pardon my lady, but I'm not familiar Melegar." Khalil says having never spent much time traveling the broad expanses of the Feywild outside of the few areas who purchased food or stock from the farm. "Is Melegar here in Hither, or is it located in some other part of the Feywild? If it is beyond Hither's boundary, I'm afraid your return will have to wait anyway, since the hag's magic blocks all travel out of the realm."
"What? Why's that..." Khalil says with a start to Vashrin when the half-elf stops him from slicing into the cake. It isn't until he looks gets a bit closer with the knife that he notices the cake begin to quiver and slightly pull away from the simple utensil. Just to be certain his eyes are playing tricks he moves the knife close again only to have the cake slide backward a second time. Turning a bit pale and green in the cheeks, the druid finally nods his understanding and steps back over to Demalyn's side. "Best to follow Vashrin's advice about the cake." He whispers to the dryad. To ease his growing hunger the druid once again conjures another handful of berries sharing them with Demalyn and anyone else who might be feeling a bit peckish while the duchess changes into a new set of clothes.
Khalil turns to Nuruk. He shrugs his shoulders a bit bashfully at the dragonborn before shifting his gaze to watch Willow and Vashrin help the confused duchess change into some better clothes. "To be honest, I am as surprised as any." He smiles at Demalyn. "What I said, it really was nothing more than the truth." He spots the magnificent cake sitting on the table and gives a low whistle. "My goodness, did Vashrin and Willow just whip this up?" He says surprised once again. "And here I thought Karley was the one who took a real interest in the culinary arts." He steps toward the cake, stomach grumbling after the hard work of clearing out the pool, not too mention the long hike through swamp mud that got them here. "Is it angel food, chocolate, carrot? Did they say?"
Khalil formally bows to the lady. If he'd heard correctly, she was a Duchess in the Feywild, and thus there were protocals he was cautious to set aside despite the circumstances. "It is no dream, my lady, but as my friend says." He rises from the bow still smiling. "It is a most wonderful party you have thrown, and the unfortunate curse placed upon you appears to be broken."
Seeing that Nuruk and Karley seemed to have worked things out without getting drenched by the water weird, Khalil repacks his cloak turns back to join Willow, Vashrin, and the pixies. His arm still held by Demalyn, the druid wears one of the biggest smiles any had ever seen on the man. His eyes sparkle and his feet practically float across the ground as he walks. The two walk up in time to hear the pixies share what they know about the witch's curse upon the ogre woman. "Well, I can honestly and wholeheartedly say..." The druid says his smitten eyes snatching a quick glance at Demalyn before he goes on. "That this is by any measure the most wonderful and magnificent party I've ever attended. I really can't imagine another happening anywhere in the Feywild, that would be better."
Khalil and Demalyn just round the corner hand in hand, when Nuruk's roaring voice rumbles across the courtyard. Both are speechless as Karley's flaming hands bounce past, the halfling dangling in the firm grip of the big dragonborn. In the moment offered, Khalil reacts on instinct and quickly imposes himself between Demalyn and the fiery pair of torches that are Karley's hands. "Uh...Nuruk..." Khalil says a bit belatedly when he realizes the knight is headed for the pool. "You might want to be careful of the...." But he is too late, Nuruk is already pouring out his canteen and ready to dunk the halfling's hands in the pool before either druid or dryad can intervene and warn of the water weird. With a soft sigh and shrug of his shoulders, he gives Demalyn a knowing look and pulls his makeshift towel-cloak back out of his pack.
*crack* Somewhere in the multiverse a witch’s finger breaks. For such things happen when two hearts, mortal and fey, find such happiness as that shared by Khalil and Demalyn in that moment by a sparkling pool. For Khalil, it is his first true kiss. Certainly, he had been kissed before. Chaste kisses that said ‘thank you’ or ‘aren’t you a nice, sweet boy’ or ‘gotcha, ya silly mortal’ like so many fey folk are prone to do. None were even remotely like this singular moment of his life. This was a true first kiss. Given freely, filled with hopes, happiness, tenderness, and love. It was something that mattered in the grand scheme of things. And although neither of them really knew what love truly meant and felt like, for neither had experienced it before, others did. The gods knew. The stars shining above knew. Even the evil things dwelling deep in their shadow drenched lairs knew. Some who know laugh and celebrate such things while others curse and stomp in wild, hate filled madness. For Khalil, his initial heartbeat of surprise dissipates quick as frost in a noonday sun. Demalyn’s lips lightly and gently pressed against his release all of the feelings swirling in his own mind. Feelings that words so often inadequately express. He returns the kiss. Letting his growing love flow in the energy already swirling and dancing between them. A strand of her flower covered hair reaches out, nuzzles his cheek. His hand, calloused from years of working the land, brushes her neck, caresses her ear. Another leafy strand of hair curls gently around the back of his neck. The scent of summer brings dreams of loamy forests and playful breezes as her arms wrap around him. His own arms hold her tight, but with the gentleness of one hugging a precious rose. His knees weaken, but do not buckle. Never that. For he is stronger and more certain than he has ever felt before. None of the usual worries, questions, or self doubts can stand before the flood tide of joy crashing across his soul. Yet, fall he does. His heart falls into hers. His mind and spirit dive into uncharted depths of caring, passion, and love. Always and forever, he vows to himself gazing into Demalyn’s beautiful eyes, this is a moment that will not be stolen, sold, or given away. Having lived all of his known life among the fey, he knows many will try to do so. For such a memory would be rich coin indeed to many such creatures. But this is a moment so indelibly intertwined with who he was, who he is and who he will be, that nothing, perhaps not even the black abyss of death itself, will be able to wrest it from his soul’s grasp. Finally, slowly, reluctantly their lip’s part. Still holding her in his arms, his mind inches upward to breach the surface of that roiling emotional sea and regains some semblance of thought. Time ticks forward. He remembers to breathe. With that first chasing breath, they each remember where they are. Standing amidst a fetid swamp cursed by a great evil. Despite every desire to never leave this place, this moment, there are friends and others counting on the both of them. Counting on them to help free Hither from a hag’s evil rule. Lips part to speak. To say something, but for the moment no more words come. None are really necessary. Their bodies, their hearts have said it all. All that is needed is his hand holding hers, knowing she is there as they slowly make their way back to the front of the ramshackle cabin.
For just a moment Khalil looks into Demalyn’s joyful eyes and sees his own happiness reflected in their lovely gaze. His heart pounds like the drums of a midsummer festival, his cheeks grow rosy once again. And yet he finds his mind and spirit becoming surprisingly calm. He isn’t sure exactly what is happening within his mind and heart, but just like when he takes the form of a spider or the stars themselves, it all just feels…right. His eyes turn upward, peering into the fog shrouded sky. Although he cannot see them, he feels the stars in the heavens. Their twinkling smiles shining down upon their wayward ward. He turns his eyes back to Demalyn. ”A few days ago, I did not really know happiness beyond a few simple pleasures. A good harvest. Cooking a meal from food grown with my own labor. Seeing the plants and animals in my charge were safe and well taken care of for another night. Helping another in need.” He says softly, gently taking Demalyn’s hand in his own. ”I believed true happiness only really happened in the fairy stories told around the fires during a stormy winter’s night. Princes and princesses defeating evil with love and friendship and kindness.” He sighs softly. ”I did not think such things were meant for a lost boy like myself. I could only dream of such things, make them up in stories of my own. Stories I shared with the stars as I fell asleep alone each night.” He looks around toward the front of the hut, where he can barely hear Nuruk’s rumbling voice along with that of Willow and Vashrin. ”I thought I had discovered happiness in finding old friends and connections to a past lost long ago. And indeed, it has been a wonderful surprise and I am glad fate drew us all together again. For it brought me not only friendship, but to you." He looks back at Demalyn, his own eyes overflowing with joy. Slowly, gently he reaches a hand up and barely brushing a finger against her cheek to catch a lingering drop of water. Within the drop, a single mote of the pool’s magic still sparkles like starlight upon on his fingertip. He smiles. ”It isn’t until now, working side by side, hearing your laughter, looking into your eyes, seeing you smile while our hands hold each other with kind tenderness...” He pauses, breathes deep of her sweet wildflower perfume. ”Only now, with you, does true happiness pour itself into my heart to warm and nourish my soul.”
It all happens much too fast. Khalil's request on the dryad's behalf and her subsequent drenching by the water weird. The druid tries to throw himself in the line of fire, but only blocks a tiny fraction of the spray. He is about to deal the fey water creature an angry rebuke when Demalyn breaks out in laughter. Seeing that she isn't hurt or anrgy, Khalil breathes a big sigh of relief and then breaks into his own easy laugh. Taking Demalyn's hands he guides her away from the pool and hopefully out of range before rummaging through his pack for his best bit of cloth. "Are you alright? I suppose I should have expected some trickery." He says a bit chagrined at not being more specific with his request of the tricky water fey. He hands Demalyn the makeshift towel. It is his soft summer weight cloak of deep green with simple vines of lighter green and yellow stitched along the edges. "I guess our part here is finished, we should get back and check on the others." He says after Demalyn has a chance to dry herself.
Admiring the pond, its beauty and that of the one standing next to him, Khalil simply enjoys the moment. This time his hand stays clasped in Demalyn's and the druid even begins to relax. Her question draws him out of his quiet reverie and with a smile he readily agrees. "Hello -esse i nende." He calls out politely in Sylvan. "Emme were wondering if emme could request a ince boon? Mime írima friends sapling na- a bit parca. Could emme have a ince amount -o your poica nen ana anne- -yes ar aist- sina happime lú?" He relays his words to Demalyn and then stands with her to wait for the water weirds response. Sylvan: "Hello in the pool." He calls out politely in Sylvan. "We were wondering if we could request a small boon? My lovely friends sapling is a bit dry. Could we have a small amount of your clean water to give it and bless this happy occasion?"
Khalil ignores the stench of the muck and filth as he works steadily to clean the water. It was after all, not much different from mucking out the animals stalls back home. Especially if the cows got into the lush, fresh spring grasses. Now there was a mess. Demalyn's smiles as she works are infectious and soon enough Khalil is smiling and humming some random tune while he drags gunk from the pool. "Ha ha! We did it." He exclaims joyfully when all is finished. Without thinking he turns and wraps Demalyn up in a big hug still laughing with delight at the water weird's antics and the sparkling magical motes slowly drifting up from the clean water. The sparkles reflect in his eyes as he belatedly realizes how and who he's holding in his arms. Face burning red, but still smiling, slowly lowers his arms and takes a step back. "Err...ahem...uhhh...it is just always so nice to undo one of the hag's ill magics." He says growing shy and tongue tied once again. "I couldn't have done it without your help. Those stockings really did the trick." He looks over at the filth coated, ruined bits of silk. "I hope they weren't her only pair." He adds with a quiet snicker, his earlier giddiness returning as he stands near Demalyn watching the motes of light dance and sparkle upon the pool.
"I think those will work splendidly." Khalil says with a wide grin at the dryad. After cutting a length of thick vine from the many available, the druid takes the thick, worn stockings from Demalyn's hand and crafts a workable net at the end of his quarterstaff. Once satisfied with his makeshift construction, he makes another with another length of branch and vine for Demalyn. Handing her the finished net, he grins again. "Welcome to the glory and grandeur of the adventuring life." He says with a chuckle and turns to speak to the water once again. "Okay, we're going to begin scooping the debris and muck from the water." He says in both languages to the ailing weird. "We'll go slow so you've time to move away if one of us starts to accidentally catch you up." He says. Then with a nod to Demalyn, they begin the methodic task of clearing the mucky pool water.
Khalil steps back with a start, but observes the creature closely. When it doesn't attack, but instead simply slips back into the filthy water he gives a little nod of his head. "It appears to be a water weird." He says to Demalyn, covering her hand with his own. "Usually they can be a bit of trouble. Playing tricks or trying to drown those who cross them in some way. But this one seems too sick to be much trouble." He turns back to the pool. "Maybe if we offer to help, it'll help us." He says. "Greetings. And my apologies for disturbing you. We are here to clean this foul water in your pool. May we work with you to clean up this mess? He says sending his voice out over the water. After a moment he repeats his words in Sylvan just in case the creature understands that better being a denizen of the Feywild. He then starts searching the area for any sign of nets, hoses, buckets, and anything else that could be used to filter the dirty pool water.
Hey all, we're having a bit of wind here and it's knocked out my power. Will post something once I have solid internet again.
"Another poor soul cursed by the hag." Khalil whispers to the others before they all split up to their various 'assigned' tasks. "What should we do?" Demalyn's question drifts among the draped mosses and scraggly vines for a few heartbeats before Khalil shakes his head, his eyes breaking away from the dryad's. God's was I staring?! Please tell me I wasn't staring. Ach, bloody woolbrained fool. Focus boy or you'll get the both of you killed. His mind chastises Khalil for being momentarily more interested in how that one particular crimson, trumpet blossom perfectly curled over the dryad's left ear. "Uhhhh..." Was his initial, highly thought through response. He tries to adjust his hat, only to remember it was now safely ensconced within Demalyn's hair, so instead just runs his fingers roughly through his hair in a weak attempt to gather his thoughts and composure. Finally... "Ahem...Well, it seems our poor hostess is under one of the hag's curses. I can only guess that she's doomed to keep preparing for a party that will never happen." He looks over the filthy pool. "But perhaps if we could succeed in actually doing what was needed and then acted as party guests, we could break the curse." "So we need a way to clear out all this nasty water and replace it with something fresh and clean. I only hope nothing has decided to take up residence in all that mud and muck. Let's see..." He says the last taking up his staff. Quickly imbuing the hardwood with a bit of natural energy he steps closer to the pools' edge. Making sure Demalyn is back a few steps, he begins tapping and swirling the staff in the water.
Completely befuddled for the moment, Khalil opens his mouth and then just closes it again with a shrug of his shoulders. For the time being something told him to not question the ogre's orders. Instead he could use her assumption that they were part of the catering crew to take a further look around.
Khalil gratefully accepts Demalyn's hand and aid in traversing the clinging, thick swamp mud. Her magic is a wondrous sight and certainly easing the path will leave him and the others better able to deal with any confrontation that lies ahead. But there is something more important that he draws from dryad and his friends. Here in the dying swamp, surrounded by skeletal remains of what was once a thriving, wild, and so very much living place, he finds his heart growing heavy. His spirit, shadowed and turning to gloom. It is a slow poison. The hag's magic and influence working its doom, not directly, but by forcing him to pass through a land more devastated than any he has ever witnessed. Even after a summer fire rages across the woods, he always found signs of new life, sometimes within short weeks of the flames passage. Tiny grasses, wildflowers, trees scorched but still wearing green crowns. Not here. Not in this wasteland of witch's poison and hate for all living things. But Demalyn's touch. The life so evident with her vary existence, drives off the gloom and dark mood the dead swamp draped across his soul. Seeing Willow practice with Agdon's fiery brand while Nuruk stoutly clears a slim path with his magical boots gives the druid strength to strive ahead through shadow and muck filled twilight. Karley's search for berries, Vashrin's confidence in the small sorceress' ability to wipe the dismal swamp from their clothes in not their hearts brings a smile to his sad face. As so his hand in Demalyns, Khalil forges onward through the muck. Resolute in his desire and will to reverse, or at least stop, the spread of the hag's evil across this land. Seeing the massive ogress preparing her table pulls Khalil out of his thoughts. Stepping a bit closer to Nuruk, he looks for any signs of who might be the guests at whatever feast the big creature was preparing.
Not being the fiercest or most intimidating, Khalil mostly observes as the bandit's release is negotiated and finally allowed. The druid stays alert for any signs the harengon are lying or hedging as they make promises to leave and cease their evil ways. As far as Khalil can tell, the prisoners plan to stay true to their word. After gathering up any spare food or other items that could be useful during their continued journey through the swamp, Khalil joins his companions, both new and old, at the small raft. Soon enough he takes up his familiar position helping push the little boat through the dense swampy waterways. What is unfamiliar, is Demalyn's presence. The druid finds himself constantly drawn into her every word. Or finds himself simply admiring the way the colorful blossoms frame her face or how stray petals drop to the water and slowly drift past leaving a trail of beauty upon the dark, murky waters. This is all a terrible distraction, and more than once, one of the others has to direct Khalil back on course or point out the fact that they were passing the same exact moss coated trees as they did not so long ago.
Khalil's entire starry being turns blushing red when the dryad engulfs him in her arms. Moments later the light, along with his concentration and link to the heavens above slips away leaving him with rosy, blushed cheeks. He watches in amazement as Demalyn's hair wraps up hat, soil, and sapling into an elaborate towering hairstyle fit for a forest empress. Briefly he reaches for his hat, but then Nuruk is spinning her about. With a shrug Khalil just runs his fingers through his tangled hair and smiles. Perhaps Downfall has a good haberdashery? He thinks making his way back up to free the other bandits and send them on their way.
Emotions fly across Khalil's starlit features like a meteors flashing across a night sky. Worry for Demalyn's safety, excitement for her continued presence, belief in her abilities, and of course, a deeper thrill, hope, and pleasure at her willingness to visit his home.
Ultimately, he sees within Demalyn's own worried look, that the dryad is in many ways like those who have rescued her. The Defenders have lost their homes, loved ones, or aspects of themselves to the hags evil. Their friendship and support of each other has allowed them to forge through the darkness and beat back the witch's evil where it has crossed their path. Now, looking into Demalyn's beautiful eyes, Khalil sees the dryad's own need for stouthearted friends at her side. Those who will help her fend off fear, darkness and despair to encourage hope, healing and growth. Help her recover from all she has gone through and perhaps strike a blow against they very evil that caused her such loss. Khalil could not, would not under any circumstances deny her that. Shoving all of his worries aside, a twinkling hand reaches out to take the dryad's as he offers another smile. "I've no doubt of your abilities or your desire to aide in our quest. I only worried for your safety and that of your young tree after such horrible ordeals. But if you wish it, I will be proud and my heart happy to have you standing with us against the hag's evil." He says nodding at Nuruk.
It is only a row of small twinkling stars, but Khalil's smile is obvious as he hands Damelyn the sapling held safely in his battered hat. When tears form in her eyes, the white illumination of his starry form turns a pale pink. Roughly clearing his throat, the druid, who so recently helped talk a dragon into leaving, finds himself at a loss for words. "Well...ummm...we are all happy to help you Damelyn." He says quietly. Her question about where to go swirls in his mind. Certainly it wouldn't be safe for the dryad to follow them into the hag's lair in Downfall. He thinks of the many places they've visited so far, and several ideas flood into his mind. "There may be a few places we've recently visited that would be safe place the hag has been dealt with." He says, diving into the problem and definitely not getting engrossed in the beautiful display of flower blooms glimmering in the starlight with each movement of her head. "A rather nice ettercap named Elmer lives in a tower south of here, he's got a lovely garden that hasn't succumbed to the swamp waters. Or there's a cottage once owned by a couple of beekeepers. They were kind people well loved by their tiny charges. Although they have passed beyond the world, the cottage is still there. Finally, there was another dryad staying at the walking inn. She also carries her tree with her and she seemed lonely for her sisters. She might benefit from your lovely presence and wisdom. Plus, folk at the inn were no friends of the hags, so I think you'd be safe there." Khalil's star eyes gleam at Damelyn, "Of course, once the hags have been defeated and we can go home. Uh...ahem...you'd be most welcome to come to the farm. It's a lovely, sunny place with plenty of rich soil and plenty of spots where your tree would thrive."
"Hmmm? Oh, yes." Khalil breaks out of his thoughtful study of the tiny tree and blinks starry eyes at Willow. He puffs out a breath and shakes his head looking at the sickly sapling. "There's nothing for it except to move it from here." He says, drawing his dagger from his belt. "It'll simply take much too long for the acids and poisons accumulated in the waters and soil from the dragon's presence to dissipate. Perhaps in five maybe ten years something healthy could grow here, but not now. And I've not the time or the necessary skills to purify everything more quickly." He jabs the blade into the mucky soil and begins slowly cutting a wide circle around the small tree. Moving a plant was a process he was certainly familiar with. He'd done it enough on the farm. Moving rows of twinkle berries, replanting the sage and lavender when Gorm wanted to add a new bed of lemongrass. Work made easier with a shovel, but he could make do with the knife blade. "It simply can't survive here. The only thing to do is move it." He says as he works. After cutting another wider ring, starry hands carefully scoop out the sickly dirt creating a thin moat around the tree. Further digging one side away, he's able to work his way deeper under the small plant making sure he doesn't damage the main root. Fortunately, the tree is still quite young and the ground soft. The sapling pops free easily as Khalil gently lifts it from the whole. The foul stench of the mucky, acidic soil causing his eyes to water as he cups the tree in his hands like a delicate egg. Setting the tree aside his pulls his kerchief from his pocket and wraps the little root ball up in the thin cloth. He looks around the chamber for a bowl, pot, chalice, or any other suitable container. Finding none, or at least not anything that Ixjharatar wasn't likely to consider part of his horde, the druid sighs and removes his hat. It wasn't the first time the poor, battered hat had been put to an alternative use. He'd gathered eggs with it. He nursed a young bird fallen from its nest in it. Now it would keep Damelyn's tree safe until he could find a suitable pot and some better soil. And so he carefully sets the soaked, wrapped sapling into the center of the small constellation of stars that was his wide brimmed hat. "This'll do for now." Nodding to the others, he gathers the makeshift hat-pot up in his glittering arms and starts back up the stairs.
Khalil nods grimly as the dragon agrees and makes his final demand regarding Agdon. All of the bandit's past schemes, mayhem, murder and harm caused had finally caught up to him. In the end it would not be a shining sword of righteousness or justice that would bring the harengon's sorry existence to an end. Instead it would be the betraying tooth and claw of a former mistreated ally. Evil destroying evil. One could say it was a harsh punishment. Agdon certainly thought so. But the world is a harsh place and his aid to and alliance with Balvorna had caused so much more misery and sadness and death. The druid would not shed tears for the bandit. Nor would he turn away. The dragon would meet out his revenge. It was as Willow said, Khalil had other needs to attend in this dark chamber. He had assumed Ixjharatar's presence was the poison at the heart of the tree, but perhaps there was something more. Khalil strides over to the little seeding. Sits protectively beside it and does his best to determine what else, if anything, was afflicting the tree's heart. As he does so he gifts the tiny tree with a bit of his own vitality and spiritual essence. The stars that make of Khalil's hands begin to glow brighter until small flares burst forth releasing the star's energy. Cupping his hands, Khalil funnels the life giving light into the tree, weaving it into the tiny roots, leaves, and limbs of the sapling. As he works the minor healing, he tries to trace the source of the sapling's distress.
"Heh heh. Family. Right?" Khalil works to shrug off his apparent misunderstanding of draconic parenting practices. "But I hear you, my friend. My own father sold me at a fae carnival where I lost my memories and ended up working on a farm with an old codger who gave me little more than a dark room and a single meal a day." He looks around the chamber once again. Flicks his starlight gaze deliberately between the dragon, Agdon, and the dragon again. "Guess we have a bit more in common than I realized." "My friends here have the right of it. You want to be able to take on your mother or any other of your kith and kin, you've got to get yourself out from under this long-earred, scarf tangled, loser's thumb. Get yourself a nice place. At bit more upscale. Something that can attract some cultist's, not just frogs and fungi. Get out there, put a little fear into some peasant's. Get the bard's singing tales of your deeds in the pubs. You know, make a name for yourself. You're a dragon for goodness sake." "We can help you pack. Agdon certainly won't be needing any of this. What do you say?"
"Worm? Guard his treasure. He did refer to it as his up above." Khalil says blinking his eyes in mock confusion. A sad shake of his head. "Ixjharatar, surely you're not letting this rabbit who is literally trapped in his own scarf treat you like some simple guard dog to be ordered and kicked around per his whim? Doesn't sound like much of a partnership to me. Tsk...tsk...tsk." Another shake of his head. "Surely the world has gone topsy-turvy if a dragon's partnering with an overgrown rabbit." The druid steps forward a few paces. Lowering his bow and arrow in a gesture of peace and offer to parley with the others. He looks around the chamber, frowning at the dank darkness. The smell of stagnant water. The pale algae and fungal growth lining the walls. "What kind of a dragon lair is this? Your feet soaked in water day in day out. How long's it been since you've had a decent lamb or pork chop meal? Probably ages by the look of things. Stunting your growth living like this." He crosses his arm. Runs his hands along his beard thoughtfully as he gives Ixjharatar a contemplative look. "You should be set up near a nice mountain village somewhere. Maybe in an old abandoned well with a nice dry side tunnel to sleep in and count your hoard where it can't get all tarnished or sink in the mud and muck. We could make an arrangement with the local farmers to have a good sheep or pig delivered regularly. Put some meat on your bones." He slaps his hands together. "Oh, and a few cultists. You'd like some cultists wouldn't you? And I mean real cultists, not some hippety-hoppity bandits more interested in scoring with the local cottontails than doing your bidding. Why I bet your mother had a whole pack of cultists, I bet she did." "How long's it been since you've talked to your mother?" Khalil's smile drops along with his voice. He shakes his head sadly, the starlight flickering in the darkness. "Why, I'll bet its been ages what with you all cooped up down here working for this fellow. Not even a day off for Midsummer or Solstice I bet. Seems like the kind of guy whose partnership would put you on some sort of horrible point system. That's too bad. After all that effort she put into seeing you all grown up and everything. Not even time to drop her a letter or something?" He glances at the young dragon. "What do you say? How about you go off and see your mum. Just drop in for no reason. She'll love that. Have a nice long visit. Let us finish our business here in Hither and then we'll see about getting you set up nice and comfortable somewhere. Hmmmm...what do you think about that?"
"Indeed Agdon, it is as you said." Khalil chimes while nocking a radiant arrow to his bow of starlight. "There does seem to be a bit of gold and treasure down here, but it appears to have been claimed by another. I don't understand why you'd tell us it was yours to give away when clearly it belongs to young Ixjharatar there. Were you trying to get us to steal it for you?" He adds in as innocent a voice as he can muster. "I had a feeling you were lying, which is why we brought you down here with us to see who it really belongs to." "Ixjharatar!" He hollers across the chamber. "We've no real quarrel with you except that this place belongs to another and your presence would kill her. If you would pack up your treasure and leave here in peace, there would be no need for further bloodshed." He looks at the harengon and offers a quick shrug. "Well, except for whatever you wish to do with Agdon after he tried to give away your mighty hoard."
Khalil gives Damelyn and encouraging smile, but his concern for her and her tree grows as they continue delving deeper into the depths. He presses a finger against a section of rotting, water soaked wood. His extended digit easily sinks into the sickly-sweet scented, spongy wood. Starlight twinkles with agitation. As his own starlight reveals the large chamber, his senses are tingling and alert for whatever danger lurks in the darkness.
Even though he couldn't read the rabbitkin's features, Khalil spotted the harengon's eagerness to lead them down below. He couldn't help but smile at the grim banter between Nuruk and Vashrin, but something still bothered him about the situation. But as Agdon reiterates his cooperation, Khalil hesitantly stays quiet and continues to follow the others. Still, he'd briefly felt the darkness or taint that was lurking at the trees heart. It frightened Damelyn. It was killing this massive tree once blessed by the fae queen herself. Whatever it was, it was dangerous. Walking down the stairs, Khalil begins to glow as his form once again takes on that of a celestial constellation. The starlight softly illuminating the darkness as they descend into the arboreal depths. A radiant arrow nocked in his bow of glimmering starlight.
"Your...treasure." Khalil slowly shakes his head. "What you've stolen over the years you mean." The druid contemplates what could be stored down there. What this petty thief could have found or stolen and then casually tossed aside because it seemed to have little immediate value. He sighs. Given this is the Feywild, it could be anything. The thought made his stomach churn with worry and a growing sense of urgency. Urgency that only grows as he glances toward Damelyn. He couldn't let anything more happen to the dryad, she'd already suffered plenty. Whatever was down there, he see it dealt with or die in the trying. It was a vow he made to himself even as he offered the dryad an encouraging smile. Turning back to the harengon whom he didn't trust as far as he could throw the creature. Khalil nods at both Willow and Vashrin and then back to the bound bandit. "He has no choice but to accept. He'll lead the way down." Khalil says with a thin smile. "That way whether he wants to or not, he'll see we are warned about any traps."
Khalil blinks and rubs his eyes, but to no avail. The harengon was still nothing more than an odd shaped cloud of glitter and fae light. Looking at the others, he could only assume that they could all see him just fine. Perhaps it was something to do with the wound he'd received from the bandit's brand? Regardless, Khalil added his own question into the barrage from Willow and Vashrin. "What did the hag put or do to the center of this tree? Or was it you who planted or caused some malevolent force to take root near it's heart?"
Khalil kicks the hot brand away from Agdon and helps Willow tie him up. He doesn't say anything as he winds the rope around the bandit's feet so that it is nice and snug. Satisfied the quick moving bandit won't be getting away, he stands back and lets the more intimidating members of his band ask the questions.
Spider-Khalil hisses with pain as the brand sears his furry flesh. The burning blow is enough to snap Khalil back into his normal form clutching the burn scar still hissing angrily in his stomach. Unable to see the bandit, the druid scrambles backward and tosses another batch of fairy dust and pollen into the air in the area where Nuruk seems to be fighting something.
Khalil drops down from the ceiling in an attempt to both bite and startle the bandit leader. Unfortunately, the druid has yet to master the death from above ability and ends up missing the harengon entirely.
Khalil-spider nods knowing it'll be more difficult to try and cocoon the harengon while he's awake, but at the very least, it'll provide a good distraction. As soon as all are ready, he slips through the door and moves along the ceiling.
While Willow investigates the big book, Khalil-spider creeps into the room following Vashrin's spell and wraps up the sleeping harengon just like the previous bunch. Feeling better once the two are safely cocooned, he scuttles back toward the bunkroom and whatever lay beyond the other door.
Khalil shrugs four of his eight shoulders and then bobs his head up and down in agreement with Willow's suggestion. But this time spider-Khalil keeps to the back of the group not wanting to frighten the harengon and send them running for help.
Binding the harengon was delicate, careful work. Having finished the task, Khalil takes a moment to let the tension ease from his many legged joints. Seeing that Damelyn had followed everyone into the room, he lifts his hat to the dryad and then scuttles toward the door to listen with Vashrin and Willow.
Hey all, just a quick note to let you know we're hosting a small family gathering for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I likely won't be online much until Friday. Hope all those celebrating have a great Thanksgiving.
Nodding as all are in position, Khalil takes a deep breath and once again imagines himself as a spider. It is easier now. The additional legs, the bulky abdomen, the multifaceted eyesight. As the druid dreams himself into another form, he slips quietly into the hall. A few steps beyond the doorway and a giant wolf spider, floppy hat akimbo atop its arachnid head, creeps down the corridor. He crawls forward. Patient, quiet. Up the wall, through the door. Onto the ceiling. A hunter stalking prey guided by Willow's magic and his own. There is a moment, looking upon the sleeping harengon that the spider nature tries to exert itself upon his mind. Prey. Feed. Survive. It whispers those natural imperatives in his mind. It is strong enough to give him pause. Sparkling spider eyes watch the soft rise and fall of a hundred harengon chests as it dreams whatever dreams come to such folk. Spider-Khalil cannot help but hear Damelyn's tale. Feel the soft tremor of the dying tree beneath feet that can sense a fly dancing on a string of silk. The dryad, frozen, petrified fills his mind. Prey. Feed. Survive. The spider mind whispers. A drop of poison slips down a knife like fang. Spider-Khalil shudders. Turns away the spider voice. Turns away a need to act as judge and executioner upon these bandits. There is another way, else he become as wicked as the Bavlorna and her sisters. And so he begins to spin spider silk. Wrapping the first bandit in the soft, sticky webbing with the care and gentleness of a mother swaddling a babe until it is encased in a thick cocoon with just enough passage for air to slip in and out.
With a final smile toward Damelyn, Khalil turns and joins the others whispering near the exits. He has no love for the harengon, certainly not after learning all the pain and trouble they've caused. But he couldn't know how much of that was just because of Agdon and his influence over the others. Could some be redeemed? Or were they all simply a lost cause? What were a few dead rabbitkin to restoring Hither? To restoring and saving Damelyn? The questions swirl in his mind, but he has few answers. Yet, the thoughts are not all wasted for an idea does sprout from the fertile soil. "I might be able to slip in and subdue the sleeping ones without spilling blood." He whispers. "In my spider shape I can quietly slip along the ceiling, then wrap and bind them in webbing so they can neither move or cry out. If all goes well, I could get all four. If not, at least one or two should be out of the fight. What do you say?" As he speaks he attunes himself once again to the natural world. But this time instead of slipping completely down into the primordial web he merely dips into the upper reaches just enough to call forth a bit of energy and pour it onto his own limbs. As he does, his feet and hands tingle. His movements become more graceful, his reflexes a bit quicker to react as he calls upon the natural abilities of the stealthy, graceful wild hunting cats.
Khalil has never felt anything like it. Having grown up on an isolated farm in the Summer Country with no one but cranky old Gorm and the whimsical, elusive fox-fae Verity for companionship, Khalil has little experience with women and kisses. His eyes close as Damelyn's lips brush his own. With the dryad's magic washing through his inner self, the druid's face flushes red enough to warn any sailor drifting upon the high seas. "I...I...my...a most treasured gift...that I will cherish always." He stammers in a shy whisper, his face still sunset red. Khalil's eyes don't leave the dryad's as she steps away. He stands frozen in mind and time even as his heart flutters and somersaults in his chest. Eventually, Karley walks by and taps his mouth shut leaving a set of dusty chalk stains upon his bearded chin. The move is enough to jar him back to reality, but not nearly enough to clear the silly smile that takes up residence on his face. A smile made all the more ridiculous by the rainbow chalk fingerprint highlighting.
Hearing Damelyn's tale of the haregon, Khalil's attitude toward the creatures changes further. Combined with Vashrin's own experience at the inn, the druid was developing an unforgiving stance toward this Agdon and his band. "These harengon are no mere victims of the hags evil doing." He says. His voice has turned hard. Filled with determination and anger at those who would support such evil and cause harm to those like Jingle Jangle, Diana Cloppington, those poor beekeepers, and of course Damelyn. "It sounds like their brand of chaos, theft, and gratuitous evil was established even before her arrival. The hag merely freed them from their rightful punishment. The hour has arrived to rectify that wrong and rid this ancient tree of whatever lurks below seeking to bring more harm and death to Hither." The thump of his staff tapping hard against the floor punctuates his words. But just as quickly he turns back to Damelyn and bows his head. Then closing his eyes and begins to hum softly. There is no real rhythm to the song. It is something akin to the sounds of a forest on a bright spring day, or a golden grain field just before harvest. The chant fills the room for a few moments. The druid runs a hand along the ancient interior of the stump. Briefly his fingers slip just beneath the surface of the hardwood. Connected the the swamps true life force through the roots of Damelyn's tree, he drops his consciousness down and into the vast interwoven life energies of the natural world. Within this silvery green sparkling web of life, he spies a nearby pool of warm glowing energy. One of hundreds...thousands of pools that gather the life essence of the natural world like puddles in a field. Scooping a small amount of the golden liquid into his 'hands,' Khalil climbs back up the web and into the stump of the dryad's tree. His other hand gathers some of the inner stump wood and gently draws it outward like a potter pulling clay. As the one hand pulls, his other dribbles the golden light over the liquid wood. Out stretches a thin, bright green limb glowing with golden life. In a matter of moments, flowers bloom, leaves bud and grow, and then ten plump, red berries dangle from the small branch. Nodding with satisfaction, Khalil turns to Damelyn. "Please take these." He says handing her the berries and his waterskin. "Hopefully both will help you recover and gain a bit of strength while we deal with the bandits and whatever troubles your tree's heart."
Khalil closes his eyes, his smile fading as the hags name is spoken. Even Demalyn's beautiful voice cannot make that creatures name sound pleasant. Even before the dryad spoke, Khalil guessed Bavlorna was responsible for Demalyn's fate. But hearing it directly from the dryad made it that much more painful. That much more infuriating. Still, they had undone the hag's evil. Demalyn lived. Another wrong put right. Except...worry fills Khalil's features as he looks at Demalyn and the curved wall of the stump they're standing in. "I...I'm glad we were able to release you from such a fate and strike another blow against the hag's evil." He says quietly. His voice grows gentle. Worry lingers within his words. "But your tree still suffers. A drowning stump. If it doesn't survive..." He swallows. Cannot say the remaining words out loud. If the tree dies, so will she. "Surely driving out the hag and her dark magics is what needs to be done. And we are pledged to do that very thing. But is there time? Is there anything that can be done to save you...your tree...right now? Without defeating the hag."
Awe fills Khalil's gaze as he watches the dryad slowly return to her true form. Awe that quickly flashes to surprise as she nearly falls, grabbing his shoulder. Instinctively his own arms wrap her in an embrace to keep her from tumbling to the floor. Surprise is overcome by shy embarrassment as her lips brush his cheek and he is astutely aware of his arm still wrapped around her waist and her intoxicating scent of spring flowers and newborn leaves. Seeing she is safely clear of the lotion, he reluctantly draws his arms away and nervously clears his throat. "Ahem...I...I am Khalil." He stammers before trying to regain some bit of composure. "To see you well and free from such a terrible state is repayment enough for me." He add dipping his head and trying to remove the goofy smile that has for some reason parked itself upon his face.
Sign in to create or edit a product review. |