Ditto. Take care of things in RL first, the worry about running games.
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Thrym's done, I'm going with Ancestors spirit to begin with, and will switch when something else seems appropriate - at least this way, the spirit can speak and can be interacted with... although I'm not having it learn Common - it would be the spirit of an animal companion of some ancient Ulfen spellcaster, so why would it know any human language but the one that mattered when it was among the living?
Sickened and Shaken are worse conditions, but Fatigued will likely last the longest... I'd go for either of the first two, but who can tell what will be needed most ;^)
Thrym is just about updated... need to think which spirit type I'll go to begin with - Thrym can swap that every morning, but need to start with something. I guess I'll be mostly using Ancestors, Heavens or Lore spirits.
How did the wealth increase work again? Do we just reset things to new wealth level (minus the few drops like the monkey belt) or should we go the route of selling for 1/2 price the stuff we have if we want something else in its place?
I'm game, particularly if we get another post-adventure level-up, since my archetype starts getting interesting at 3rd level ;^)
Thrym found it increasingly hard to hide his amusement at Luk Luk's struggles to master his clan's language behind a serious frown. The elven mystic was doing better than she expected, yet her frequent slips in grammar or word selection led to a kind of literary chaos that threatened to make the Ulfen grin despite himself. Some of the ancestral spirits were much more open with their appreciation of the unintended humor, knowing their merriment would remain unnoticed by everyone except their living kin. At the mention of "fireworks" Thrym's frown became all to genuine. What were those things, and how did you set them off? Vard seemed to recognize the word, and greeted the prospect with some enthusiasm. And his helpful comment about setting things ablaze at least pointed Thrym's thoughts in the right direction. Surely these were the kind of pyrotechnics he had heard about, launched at the height of high festivities to set the sky ablaze in light and color. "I wouldn't mind seeing a firework," he mused aloud, curiosity getting the better of him.
"They were left as if offerings, and here instead of the foot of the statue, so it'd seem they were intended for us," Thrym agreed, curious at the gesture. Gratitude for clearing the shrine of the two creatures who had made it their home? Perhaps.
"I doubt you grow a tail, tis probably the belt. Any takers or do ye think the Pathfinders would want it?" "Gods don't just hand out gifts without compensation. Do you think it'd be wise to accept this one, when we do not know what the deity expects from us in return?" Thrym grunted, his tone making certain what he believed should be the answer. The shaman lowered his hands from where he had been touching the statue and inspected his handiwork. The invocation had smoothed out some scars from the statue's surface, but it would take long hours of matching pieces from the piles to the effect complete repairs, and Thrym had neither the time nor the patience for such a task. "First the monkeys help us by leveling the playing field against those two creatures, and now such a powerful relic is just waiting for us to claim? Hardly coincidences, either of those things."
Thrym examined the statue of the monkey-featured deity, taking notes of the heaps of filth and clutter on the floor next to it. The belt on the statue's waist stood out, of course, but the shaman gave it a wide berth - it could not have been an accident it had ended up there. No, it was likely an offering to the deity, and unless some believer had made a pilgrimage to these ruins recently, it had to be enchanted, or protected by some lingering power of the statue itself not to have rotted away into nothing in this hot, humid hell. The shaman frowned in thought. The minions of the deity had aided them - intruders themselves - in the battle. He had to wonder, for what purpose. Had the presence of those two strange creatures they had vanquished been so vile to the deity that it had decided to use any opportunity it had to rid its holy place of them? Or did the spirit have something else in mind for them, and this help had been a form of advance payment for services rendered? He could not say, but it was clear this Ragdya had aided them. Thus, some form of repayment was due. Taking care not to break any more pieces off the fragile statue, Thrym got close enough to touch it, murmuring a quick invocation to his ancestors, to call forth their power to repair some of the damage to the statue.
Oh, I got the shot... but either this virus hadn't got the memo that it wasn't supposed to go around this year, or this is a MILD version of the plague, thanks to the shot... in which case I really do pity the anti-vaccine people who get this particular bug and get to experience it in its full fell glory.
Urgh. Got hit by the plague (well, the Doc calls it influenza, but I know better)... will try to post when something major happens, but today it takes efforts just to stay awake.
Finally, the remaining creature decided to come down within an arm's reach. Thanking the spirits for this lucky turn of fate, the shaman readied his axe and waded into the battle, striking the thorny foe a mighty blow.
With a dagger in hand, Thrym tried to move to get a clear line of fire but Vard kept getting in his way. Growling in irritation, he did his best but came closer to hitting the short paladin than the two enemies.
"Fegisar! Kom hit och slåss som män!" Thrym growled at the two strange creatures that, even bereft of their ranged weapons, didn't do the honorable thing and challenge them on level ground. The sudden rush of innumerable monkeys had left he shaman shaken - against such numbers of individually feeble enemies, there would had been no defending against. Not if the creatures had intended to flow over, rather than around, the party. As to why they had directed their efforts against the two creatures who had been lurking in the temple's ruins for who knew how long instead of against the more recent interlopers, he could offer no explanation. But the screeching tide could return at any moment, for all they knew, so the two openly hostile foes had to be dealt with. Lacking a proper ranged weapon or the willingness to try and follow Vard's example Thrym did the best he could and drew one of his daggers, moving closer for a clearer line of fire. Skald: "Cowards! Come down here and fight like men!"
"Akta sig! Något kommer!" Thrym shouted, seeing the trees sway as if an army of giants rushed under their canopy, towards the ruins and the party. He had no idea what it could be - the screech a moment before the signs of movement did resemble the noises the monkeys who had raided their camp had made when someone had tried to scare them away, but surely those ridiculous little beasts couldn't cause the whole forest to heave like so... unless they approached in their thousands. But monkeys or not, surely what approached couldn't be good for them. Skald:
"Beware! Something comes!"
"Spirit! Städa våra armar och hjärtan! Fara närma sig, och vi skulle få din välsignelse!" the shaman intoned, beseeching the ancestral spirits to fill them with courage. Skald: "Spirits! Steady our arms and hearts! Danger approaches, and we would have your blessing!"
"You go ahead, then - I carry too much steel to fool no ears," Thrym grunted, gesturing the others to get on with it, as trying to follow closely would only undo the efforts of his companions.
”A squirrel might manage this and live, but I for sure cannot,” Thrym grunted as he peered over the second balcony. ”If one of you can take this route while the rest of us approach, loudly, via the other, that sounds like good tactics. But we need to move – there is one way to proceed, and we are not accomplishing anything by sitting on our hands here.”
Seeing that some routes were obviously cut off, she asks, "Which way?" "We have little choise in the matter, unless we have shovels and lots of time," Thrym shrugged, eyeing the route Fain had scouted out past the rubble-blocked path. "We might want to keep a lookout, though, as we venture forth. Those three gave up the chance for more riches awfully easily - I wouldn't put it past them to follow at a safe distance, just in case we manage to defeat some lurking guardian while getting weakened enough that they can finish us off and add more items to their haul."
"I see and hear the spirits of my ancestors, but that doesn’t translate to seeing other spirits,” *Thrym grunted, keeping his axe and shield ready as they ventured further. ”I suppose if there truly are resident haunts, we shall find them and defeat them the hard way. But as you said, the warning was vague enough there could be anything out there, including those people’s own fears. Abandoned holy place of a lost tribe, jungle with all its strange sights and sounds and scents, rumors of ancient rituals and curses… enough to make anyone see monsters in a moving shadow.”
”T'be honest, you lot don't look much like historians." ’And we do?’ Thrym thought, amused despite himself as he considered the two groups. True, they had been charged by the Society to secure artifacts from the ruins, but the shaman didn’t see how they had any greater right to the items than these three did. And since they were looting out in the open, they likely hadn’t been here long enough to venture further inside. Thus, there was likely artifacts left for both parties, and the Pathfinders would likely be just as happy with purely historical finds than with gold and jewels. Still, could be these three would not be in the mood to share. Thrym kept his eyes open, a slight smile of anticipation on his lips.
And there was the old temple. Luk-Luk looked down at Fain, "Never doubted thine abilities for a second friend. Do you suppose this place has the booby traps?" "In areas open to the forest? Unlikely - no doubt any number of wild beasts would have stumbled into them in the years and decades this ruin has stood empty and triggered them. Inside, behind closed doors? Who knows?" Thrym rumbled, voicing his thoughts.
At Falroun's offer, Luk-Luk turns to Thrym, "Have you any skill with navigating wilderness? Not to belittle Fain's skill as a navigator but I feel that like weapons it is always good to have a backup." "Ask me again when we are in spruce woods, or on open tundra plains, woman," the Ulfen shaman said, shaking his head. ”In this emerald nightmare… I can barely see the sun to tell the time of the day, let alone directions.”
"Can you heal yourself? If not someone needs to wrap that up quickly!" "Aye, I can," Thrym grunted, baring his teeth in pain. He dropped his axe to free a hand, spat on his palm and touched the edge of his wound, muttering a prayer to his ever-present ancestors. Harsh light flashed, enveloping his leg and the shaman gasped as the gift of healing seared his flesh. A moment later the red gashes had diminished to scabs, scars and healthy pink skin.
"It's dead. Falroun probably dead. Shouldn't have split. Stalked them, then stalked us." She shrugs her enlarged shoulders, "Or not. Should go to lodge. I'll take body." Thrym gave the medicine woman's newly grown teeth and claws an appraising look and nodded his head in grim approval. She was taking to her half-blooded friend, then, and the Ulfen wholeheartedly approved the vicious skill she had shown in combat. Alenka daughter of Farkasova, you have my thanks," he said, nodding his head. "The beast almost got the best of me. And I agree - we should go see that the others at the lodge are safe. These hell-beasts are cunning enough that it might have stalked us unseen for a time and picked the young Count's voice from the other group to use as a lure, since he spent more time talking to us than the porters. But these beasts have also been known to emulate the voices of those they have killed. But be that as it may, the tiger can wait, unless it chooses this night to die of old age."
Thrym roared in pain as the hellbeast tore into his leg, pulling him down on the ground. Staring up into the beast's black eyes, the Ulfen spat his defiance into its face and tried to bash its teeth in with his shield, but his awkward position prevented him from hitting anything but air.
Blinking his eyes in the sudden brilliance of the twin sources of light that now illuminated the scene, Thrym took a closer look at the beast he had just struck. The beast’s coloration didn't really match what Fain had told them about tigers, and there was something… a spark of malevolent intelligence in its eyes as it turned to face the man who had just struck it… this was no mere animal, and now that the beast had made its attack, Thrym noted the young Count they had hurried to rescue hadn't said a word more… ’Could it be…?’ Thrym thought, suddenly suspicious as stories told around campfires came back to him. Of hounds of the Winter fey who had once warred with the Ulden clans day and night, beasts bestowed with malign will and the skill to imitate voices to cause confusion and lure unwary warriors into ambushes. ”Djävul! Du kommer inte lura mig längre!” Thrym growled. ”Den unga valpen var aldrig här!” he shouted to his companions. ”Det var detta djur hela tiden, talar med sin röst för att locka oss in i natten!” Skald: ”Fiend! You will fool me no longer! The young pup was never here! It was this beast all along, speaking with his voice to lure us into the night!”
His axe drawn, Thrym moved to engage the beast, his face twisted in a savage grin of joy. It had been long since the last proper battle, and the Ulfen shaman welcomed the challenge. 'So, this is a tiger... a worthy foe,' he thought, roaring a wordless challenge as his axe sunk deep into the creature's flank, drawing blood that looked almost black in the silvery moonlight.
'So much for the Count being safe... but why head here in the darkness? If he decided to prove his courage hunting the best, his timing is ill indeed,' Thrym thought, then muttered a curse as the Baron surged for the ladder. 'Guess the elder is fond of the boy after all, or at least responsible enough to want to keep him safe,' he thought, then shouldered his loaned crossbow before challenging the ladder himself. It would be dangerous to brave the dark forest, so close to the tiger's kill no less, but allowing the elder to venture forth himself while Thrym stayed up in the relative safety of the hunting platforms would be pure cowardice. "Not alone, you won't," Thrym rumbled to the Baron. "The tiger could be out there, considering, and going out alone would be to court certain danger."
The shaman almost fulfilled his own prophecy on the way down as his foot slipped from the unstable ladder, but he managed to lower himself the rest of the way using his arms alone - in his moment of blind panic he felt he would just tangle his legs on the rungs if he tried to regain his footing. Once back on blessedly solid ground, he wasted no time in preparing his axe and shield.
"I'll have one," Thrym replied to the offer of a ranged weapon. He could ask for his ancestors for a weapon if needed, but he doubted the tiger would stay still long enough to complete even that quick a ritual.
"It's a big cat - don't they all know how to climb?" Thrym grunted, gladly accepting the paladin's assistance. "And up there will be safe up to the moment we need to get back down - I suggest you let me be the first one on the ladder when that time comes, for you'd much rather not have me slip and fall down on any of you," the shaman predicted glumly. Even without the armor, he wasn't much of a climber but with its weight added to his troubles....
After several slips that threatened to send him tumbling down mid-climb Thrym managed to scale the rope ladder Fain had secured. Up there, he found himself disagreeing with the Baron's claim the little platform could hold more than one person with anything approaching what he'd call comfort. At least from the crow's nest on a ship one might conceivably fail to hit the deck if one's foot slipped. Here, though, if one made a single false move he'd find himself kissing the ground in a great hurry. And they were supposed to hide here however long, and shoot arrows at the beast if it made an appearance? Madness. Eventually, his initial aversion faded away, although he made sure to keep at the centre of the platform and avoid moving overmuch, still doubtful if the anchoring mechanisms would work as well as advertised. The high perch did offer a nice view over the clearing and a clear line of fire, assuming the tiger elder would return to its kill as the Baron assured them. Well, the old man was an experienced hunter and had been here before, knowledgeable in the ways of the local beasts.
"Is it safe to split up, if we are in the tiger's territory?" Thrym asked the Baron. "The beast didn't shy away from attacking your camp when it was younger... if it's gotten more cunning with age, it might be aware of us already, the intruders on its hunting ground, and we are about to take most of the weapons with us, yes? What if it recognizes us as the threat and attacks the lodge instead, looking for easier prey?"
"Good Thrym? Are your abilities able to heal the mahout? If nay, I believe I've a healing potion as an alternative." "We shall see," the shaman said, moving to assist Alenka in dealing with the wounded. "I offer the healing touch of my ancestors to those who need it. But be warned, the spirits are not kind with their healing, and pain is the price for failure to protect oneself."
Thrym kept on swinging, determined not to let the dangerous beast get away, but all his strikes accomplished were to force it close to the other attackers' blades.
Swedish for Skald... I can speak it, but it's still foreign enough for me... writing fiction in Finnish just ends up sounding silly to me... guess it's because I started reading novels in English in junior high and never again went for translated works.
Thrym raised his shield to protect his face from the fiery flash of Luk Luk's spell. The flames died out as quickly as they had appeared, however, and he was pleased to see the two smaller snakes smoking and unmoving. Poison was a coward's weapon, and the shaman liked facing animals armed with it just as little as humans who coated their blades with it. Seeing only one more foe alive, this one a true beast of its kind, he moved to circle the creature while it was still focused on the two halflings - prey small enough for it to handle, perhaps.
The snake's swift movements caught the Ulfen by surprise, however, and his swing came nowhere close to hitting its mark.
Merry Christmas everyone!
'Spirits below, it is struggling to break free!' Thrym thought as the tentacle-faced beast began screaming and stomping the ground. Had something happened to the binder? But then he saw movement among the underbrush, heard one of the porters cry out and clutch his leg in pain and horror. Snakes. 'So... it's not breaking its chains... was it trying to warn us instead?' the shaman mused as he readied his weapons, giving the frantic demon plenty of room as he headed for the snakes. Well, no matter the motivation that had spurred the otherworldly beast into action - they had to deal with the snakes before more of them got bit - for if the spiders hadn't been a cause for worry despite their gigantic size, perhaps these snakes were of a more deadly variety.
Just don't let Thrym know about that alpha monkey bit :-)
So, these were the rumored monkeys... quite a letdown after the horrible visage of the elephant - Thrym was still keeping one eye on the eldritch beast just in case it was slipping free from its bindings. But these little long-armed furred pests... he could not figure out why some local tribes would have venerated them. And while he recalled Fain's words from before they had set sail, how the creatures were alike enough to men to be seen as mirrors of humanity... he just couldn't see it. Surely, to be chosen as holy animal, the animal needed to be... more. Bigger. Fiercer. More awe-inspiring. Quite unlike these mewling little horrors. the shaman thought as he idly kicked away one specimen that tried to tug free a dagger from his belt. Perhaps the monkeys were like ravens in that way - drawn to anything that gleamed and glittered. He was of a mind to find out how a monkey tasted, but the way the local porters were gifting the things with food suggested they might take any such attempt badly. Instead, Thrym took a silver coin from a pocket, whistled to catch the creatures' attention, then threw the shiny bauble as far into the jungle as he could. "Catch!"
"Well, i'wasn't me really. The conditions were jus'ideal. I'm used to small game hunting to supplement my diet ... no'really a trophy hunter. I'm no'sayin it was a lucky shot, only that I'm a good shot when the wind is down an'there's no real cover is all. "Do not sell yourself short, Fain son of Grassbottom," Thrym chuckled, slapping the halfling on the back. "If ever there was a shot worth boasting about, that was it!" The shaman looked at the short hunter with newfound respect in his gaze.
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