Vinroot the Drunken Treant

Phyliassargeth's page

3 posts. Alias of Prosperum.


RSS


"Tuunbaq?" the gatekeeper repeats in a low voice, suddenly wary. He glances at the woman on the sled, then up at the canopy above him, sniffing the air.

With his mysterious inquiry finished, he fixes his gaze upon those assembled.

"Yes, I smell it. The tuunbaq is near, lurking. He is waiting for the girl, to take her riding on the wind." He points a clawed hand at Okoteck. "You say the virloga are gone? This is troubling news."

"The Green King knows much of what happens in his forests, but the tundra, the sea, and the lands beyond them are mysteries to him."

He gazes about at the haggard faces of the party, huddled against the cold. "You seek sanctuary." He sniffs heavily, breathes out--sending a small cloud of pollen floating on the breeze--and after a pregnant pause, says, "Then you shall have it."

The Green Man hands each of you a flower plucked from his beard--in Kork's case slapping him awake as he does so--and waves you toward the trees. “Do not stray from the path,” he warns, voice a low guttural hiss. “You will forfeit safe passage if you do.”


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Rolls:
Will, Kork: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22 vs DC 25; Failure

The Green Man stares at Kork, the two of them cutting a comical scene as the fey being shakes gently back and forth under the slight pressure the goblin is placing on his knees.

"A goblin, eh?" he says grumpily. "I see why Makilka banished your kind from our realm all those centuries ago."

As Kork continues his gentle pushing, the verdant gatekeeper loses patience. "Would you stop that?" he barks, releasing a cloud of spores from his beard that settle on Kork. The goblin sneezes once, eyes suddenly heavy, then slides down to the ground and rolls backward. By the time his head comes to rest on a pillow of mushrooms, he is already snoring loudly.

The Green Man turns to regard the party. "Again, and for the last time, I ask: what business have you in the Land Beyond?"


With the sound of rustling leaves and creaking wood, he holds out a hand and says in a low, whistling voice, “Halt! Who goes there? I am Phyliassargeth, and you shall state your business.”