Our mission be to find allies Queshem sighs. That can give us a lay of the land, tell us what, by the hells, Beachcomber might be doin', and help us take the fight to 'em. What ye suggest is we go alone under the sea caves and pop up in Beachcomber assaulting blind. But we're one ship, goin' after a faction that be gaining increasing hold over the island. It may work but it be poor odds even with the element o' surprise. And what if the Norborgerites push innocent townsfolk at us? I no be willing to cut through 'em to get at the leaders. Queshem shakes her head. We also be too tall to infiltrate the damn place. Somethin' about this horror show don't make sense. Did all these people wander in here despite the show of death? Were the bodies brought here after bein' killed elsewhere?
Qushem looks up. I'll climb up, see if I can see somethin' from the top of the trees that'll help me make the decision.
.
Queshem finds a tall mahogany tree, shooting straight toward the sun. The sea captain climbs up, and although the Monkey Fish spell has worn off, the knobby bark, and frequent branches make it an easy climb. In a short time Queshem punches out of the gloom below into bright sunlight.
This high above the canopy, there is a fresh breeze that drives away the clinging humidity. She looks around.
To her back she can see the sea, brilliantly blue under a clear sky. She can't quite make out her ship at this distance, but she can make out the cove they landed in.
Ahead, where the tracks (and traps?) lead, she sees nothing but tightly ingrown jungle, a bright green ceiling, dotted here and there with a jungle tree pushing above. She can see nothing of the forest floor below. Far in the distance, past the map markings, she can see distant mountains of the interior.
To the south, on the edge of sight, she can see a black mass and smoke. Beachcomber. Without detail and yet still ominous.
Queshem finds a comfortable purchase on the tree and sits for a few moments above the green canopy. Despite the ominous smoke coming from Beachcomber it is still... peaceful. For a few seconds at least Queshem allows herself to be free of worry and puts off the hard decisions that she will have to make when she climbs back down to the ground and back to reality.
She does so.
She takes a deep breath.
No new knowing to be had up there. Down here we only have one set o tracks. If these folks she nods at the macabre display of bodies nearby Have any survivin' family or friends then they be trapped in whatever horror did this to their fellows.
Queshem shakes her head I would have liked to find the people of the murdered ones first. Try and find out what be happenin' but... don't seem like that'll happen without findin' whatever did this to 'em. Thaha, Draflo, I want ye two to figure out what manner of magic be keepin these two perserved. Then... then we'll follow the only tracks we have, right deeper in. Pray to yer gods as we go. I know I'll be praying to mine.
Thasha and Draflo examine the bodies but find little defined. Draflo does note though, that without such preservation magic, the bodies would be little more then piles of rotted flesh by now. The hot humidity of the jungle destroys flesh quickly.
Thasha says, "Anyone who wants to a send message would need to treat the bodies."
For a few hours they follow the tracks inward, deeper into the jungle. They care careful but do not detect any more traps or, thankfully, find anymore dead bodies.
They all breath a little easier as the disturbing trees are put behind them, out of sight. Setting up camp is a somber affair, with everyone reflecting on the horrors of earlier. Queshem spares no effort to make the campsite safe, including Alarm spells and other affairs.
The night passes slowly and no one sleeps well. Images of dead bodies, streams of blood and grinning skulls haunt them. But nothing attacks them, be it beast or man. the only real scourge are the biting insects which seems to re-double.
Morning comes bright and hot, a shimmering heat. Queshem is sweating even before she stands up, to face another grueling day of travel. They form up, wary and tired, and press onward.
The ground becomes more broken, filled with small ravines, rocks and other obstructions. All of this is cloaked in thick greenery, slowing their progress. Not only is it slow-going it cuts visibility to nearly nothing, putting Queshem on edge.
The sun is reaching noon overhead, slicing through the green canopy above, when they reach a slightly wider area, free of vines. Queshem leans down to examine the trail. It is still leading inward and has grown thicker, reaching almost to a path. Many have passes to and fro this way.
Without warning, out of the gloom shrouded trees, half a dozen arrows rain down on her group. Draflo and Polos curse as arrows stick in them, the rest falling harmlessly.
A ragged group of men and halflings appear, howling war cries and waving weapons. All of them wear the same green armbands she saw earlier, on the dead. With a run they rush toward Queshem's crew, seemingly intent on violence.
Hold! We mean ye no harm! Queshem calls out loudly holding her hands up.
Draflo, Thasha, Freeze 'em with magic if they keep rushin'. Rabbis up ahead and start knocking 'em senseless, Polos the same fer the ones that get past Rabbis. Nothin' lethal yet. she whispers orders in case her attempt at diplomacy doesn't work.
For herself.. if her words don't work she'll cast Calm Emotions to try and get as many of them in a 20 foot burst as she can.
Queshem's words combined with a pulse of calming divine influence stops the attacks up short. Her group tightens up, magic and fists at the ready, waiting.
A tense moment passes and then one of the attackers, a battered, tired and hungry looking human says, 'Who in the Pit are you?" The voice is hard, suspicious, but there is a trace of despair there.
Outsiders Queshem says simply. New to the island. Don't got anything to do with whatever problems ye've been having. But I'm looking fer help and mebbe we can help each other, eh? Maybe we can sit and talk fer a spell. In a place that's safe? We got some supplies that we'd be willin' to share as well as some skill with healin'.
The attackers look unconvinced, although they look like a starving, needy group to her.
"You have food?" The one asks, eyeing them carefully. 'How much?"
Another breaks in, 'Why are you here? Looking for help you said? Help doing what, dying?"
Not too much on us, but we'll share what we have. Ye got any injured ye want us to look at or are we all that's left of yer people? Queshem asks. As she does so she moves to Drafo and Polos to cast Cure Light Wounds on them to heal the damage from the arrows. What I want can come after that's taken care of.
The group wavers as they ponder free food. The 'leader' or at least the speaker doesn't break though and says, 'Drop all your weapons and gear. Then maybe we can talk about taking you somewhere."
Polos frowns at this and mutters, 'Queshem, I don't like this. We have no idea who they are."
Queshem agrees with Polos. Nah that ain't going to be what we will be doing. We seen your friends back from where we came and we won't be leaving ourselves defenceless in the face o that horror. So what'll it be?
When Queshem mentions the others, she sees eyes tighten, skin pale, hands shake. Whatever did that behind them, is apparently an on-going concern.
Still, her mentioning it doesn't seem to calm them down. The tension grows as the rough looking leader says, 'And we if we kill you and then take the food?"
Another says, loudly, 'Who are you fighting for?"
Then ye'll get a few days of food and end up in the same damn desperate place ye're at now Queshem retorts to the leader, ignoring the underling. It was time to stop playing nice. And kill us? Do ye really think the lot of ye could cause even one of us alone trouble? Queshem nods at the crew behind her back, the people she would trust her life with. I can have a bolt in two of yer damn fool throats before any of ye have a chance to blink. And I aren't the strongest or most magic talented of me crew. Now you lot be really testin' my patience here so I suggest ye stand down before ye make things any worse fer yerself. Do I make myself clear?
The attackers pause, and Queshem thinks the broken and beaten men might just break for the trees in full on retreat. This group is on the ragged edge and Queshem is pushing them.
Finally though the leader slumps, shoulders rounding. He lowers the sword and mutters something to the one standing next to him.
Queshem can't make out what it is, but the other nods and then melts into the trees.
'We wait until the others arrive. Until then, no one moves." The leader says, voice wavering.
Rabbis laughs and then sits on a rotten log, rubbing a bit at his ankle. Polos shrugs and mutters in Queshem's ear, 'How long do we wait?"
Queshem nods. I'm a fair woman. Long as ye don't push me. How long'll it be? she asks. To Polos she whispers back We were lookin' fer people, we found 'em. We got some time to spare fore we decide what we're actually goin' to do. We keep our guard up though. Pass the word. She sits herself down on Rabbis' log as well pointedly keeping her crossbow in her hand. Now it's time fer our lunch I think, ye lot want to join us or no?
'I don't think so..." But as soon As Queshem draws out the food, discipline collapses. Even though it is simple trail rations, little more then hardtack and bricks of jerky, the men salivate over it as if it were a king's feast.
They rush in, circling around Queshema nd hw crew, weapons forgotten, mouths watering. The stern leader throws up his hands and says, "May we all get taken then." and joins the growing and fractious line. Already they are jostling each other to get to the front.
Queshem sighs. She remembered starving herself as the tattered remnants of her people fled the vicious pirate raid that had destroyed their village. Surviving on what they could scrounge up or catch with improvised fishing implements. Charity was the reason they weren't all dead.
Line up. Line up. Enough for everyone today. Polos, Rabbis, control 'em, gentle now she says using the log to keep from being completely surrounded. As soon as the line has even a little semblance of order she passes out the rations she's been carrying one at a time and nudging the person to get out of the way so the next person in line can get theirs.
Once the starving people are tearing into the rations she retreats and sets up an informal boundary line so their own crew can eat in peace a little distance from the natives.
Rabbis are ye still hurt? Xiakon, do ye think it's just malnourishment they be sufferin' from? Physically anyhow.
Queshem takes her time, and with Polos's and Rabbi's not so subtle help, they manage to feed everyone. Soon the little area under the trees is full of sitting men, eating to their fill. They form little groups, but there are no conversations, no banter or jokes. Only the ragged little leader says, 'Thanks" before tearing into his food.
Now apart, Queshem asks Xaikon his opinion. Before the tengu can speak, Thasha unexpectedly speaks up. Her normally happy, cherry voice is somber as she says, "They are broken men. They have been pushed to the brink then shoved off. Something horrible is stalking them and they see no escape."
Xaikon nods, and Polos puts in, "I wonder how long they have been out here? Weeks, looks like."
A few hours pass, and just as Queshem begins to wonder what will happen next, there is movement from the edge of the vision. Suddenly, into the clearing steps the runner and a new figure. A weathered old halfling with bright green eyes.
Jilcup, the jungle guide who helped Queshem find the starmetal.
As he steps into sight, the other men instantly come to attention, standing up,, shoulders square. What little morale is left to these men is tied directly to the old druid, and he holds the last spark of hope.
He walks among them for a few moments, speaking quietly then locking eyes with Queshem.
He doesn't smile, and merely holds her eyes for a few moments. "Is it really you?" he asks, then adds, 'Prove it."
Jilcup? What the bloody hell happened? Queshem retrieves her trophy pouch containing a grain of starmetal and tosses it to the druid.
Jilcup catches the pouch with a wrinkled, gnarled hand. Whatever happened to them, his reflexes as still sharp. He grunts softly in satisfaction, and tosses it back.
'What happened? We are trying to survive the malestorm you caused. Not all of us have been vacationing in Quent since Raffles was taken." His voice sounds old, cracked, bitter. The whimsical edge she detected a month ago seems to have been buried by hard times.
I'll take that blame. Abadar knows I'll be judged for it Queshem replies But later. For now I need to know everything.
'Everything?" Jilcup shakes his head, 'I wouldn't burden you with such tales."
Then he eyes the rest of her crew, 'And also, I don't trust your men. Do you know if all of them are who they say they are?"
Seeing Queshem's confused look, he adds, 'Have any of them left your sight while on the island?"
The druid sets his hands on his hips and stares at them, one by one, 'Before we speak or do anything else, we need to test them. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt....much." There is no cruelty or malice in his voice but a sort of weary sternness.
Do we be dealin' with shapechangers? I'll submit to the testin' first, then the rest of us one by one. Queshem nods at Jilcup and then at her crew. One by one
Jilcup seems a bit taken aback at Queshem's willingness but then nods. 'Very well."
The halfling turns slightly, staring into the jungle. His eyes seem to cut through the densely packed greenery, seeking something out of sight. After a moment he relax and nods, as if pleased.
Enough time passes that Queshem wonders if her old guide has gone slightly mad, before there is a rustle above. Out of the massive jungle tree above them, comes a sliding, sinuous shape. A giant anaconda slowly slithers toward them, muscles rippling. The great reptile is thicken then Queshem's shoulders, a mass of green scales over fifty feet long.
With grace it winds down the tree, huge head weaving back and forth. A tiny red tongue tastes the air as it ventures toward Queshem and her crew. Behind her she can hear Xaikon swallow a shriek and take a hasty step back. Only Rabbi's strong arm on the tengu's shoulder prevents him from bolting.
The snake pauses by Jilpcup and the druid mutters something, and the beast cocks a head, as if listening. After a moment it surges forward, pushing through the leaf litter like a nightmare.
It approaches Queshem, tasting the air. It slides past her, and then, without stop, winds around everyone, circling all of them at least once. On Xaikon it circles a few times, tasting more, staring at him with flat, reptile eyes. The cleric nearly passes out but Jilcup says something harsh to the snake which seems to shrug and then disappears back into the jungle.
'Well, you are what you appear to be." Jilcup says, visibly relaxing. 'I'm sorry about that, but it is the best way to tell the truth. Whatever the thing is, animals can't stand it."
He looks at Queshem, 'So you have come to rescue us, then? I wish you had come sooner. We are a shadow of how we started."
One of the other says, 'Don't talk like that. You saved hundreds of us from starving out here. We'd all be dead by now, if it wasn't for you."
Queshem moves over to pat the young tengu on the back. S'alright, you did well. before considering what Jilcup says. Had no idea things were this bad. There's no way Gnarea weren't planning this for a while. He must've taken advantage of my foolishness to jumpstart his terror. So, what happened. Last I know fer sure, before I was tossed off me own ship to drown, Raffles home was burned and the Beachcombers took 'im.
After she asks her question, Queshem considers what the druid has said. She gives a whistle to call Key to her, hoping the eagle has been shadowing the group closely.
Key floats down, quiet as a shadow. She lands on Queshem's shoulder, long talon digging into the weathered sea-leathers. Jilcup's eyes widen as he regards the creature.
'I don't remember the bird. A new pet?" The druid asks, adding, "We could have skipped the snake."
Then he sighs going on, 'I can explain everything once we go back to camp, get the rest and head to your ship. I will much better once we are away from here."
Queshem grimaces but nods. She'd been hoping to find a secret weapon to unleash on Beachcomber, not a band of starving refugees whose movement would be obvious. But she couldn't leave desperate people behind. Fine, but quickly, but I need to know what be stalking ye in case it attacks again, and who set those bloody traps?
Jilcup says, 'I'm not sure what it is. It isn't anything of the wild, I can tell you that. No animal is so cunning, so cruel."
"It is something the Norgerberites set loose, when they went north with most of their troops and ships. Even before then we had been dwindling, but I think they disliked any rebels still existed in the woods. So they set this...thing among us. To hunt us."
The battered old druid goes on, 'Sorry I was so short, Queshem. It has been a long month. I have done my best but..."
Queshem shakes her head. No explanations necessary. Let's get a move on. Describe it as we go too. Maybe it'll jog a memory in me or someone else.
Also, what's in the North. Thorsson ye get any ideas? And what of Slipcove?
Jilcup begins leading them toward his camp, to get the others. After a few moments of realization, Queshem and Thorrson realize the druid is leading them to the very same point they were heading to, the place on the map that offered the chance of caves.
When they say this Jilcup stops and says, 'What is important about our campsite?"
Apparenly Bag Island be having a network of underground caverns. When we were comin' back I wanted to find a spot on the island that could lead underground. Thorsson here be a prospector who'd worked here before and he identified three spots near Beachcomber that could lead underground. That's what I were searchin for when I found your people, Praise Abadar fer that fortune.
Jilcup nods, letting them wend between the trees. He seems confident in his ability, but Queshem keeps a weather eye on things even so. She would not risk another one of her crew being caught like Rabbis. It might not end so well next time.
'Yes, there are caves there." Jilcup says, 'One of the reason we are camping there, they provide good natural shelters from the rainstorms."
"As for Slipcove...last I heard it still stands." Jilcup says, 'But it has been a week since we've had news. Last we heard, the Greenbarrows were holding the walls, still holding out. The rest of the island has fallen to the Norgerbites, whom still claim rulership under Raffles. Not that anyone has seen him since the fire."
Queshem sighs. It seems more and more obvious that Gnarea had accelerated already existing plans when he had found first Magner as a willing conspirator and then Queshem as an unwitting patsy. Still the only way she would feel better about her role in the evil cleric's dark play was to help end it as swiftly as possible. I think... I think... the Norbogerites think they be in the phase of mopping up the last bits of resistance, that do give us a bit of an advantage, but we cannot afford to waste time. Alright, first, how far off do animals sense the wrongness from the thing hunting ye? Second, the reason why were headin' for yer caves was we belive that they be connected to other cave openings around Beachcomber. They'll let us move around undetected and maybe even right into the town itself. That's what Thorsson be helping us out with. Lastly. Have ye heard of any half orcs on Bag Island Jilcup? I heard that there used to be a good number but then haven't been seen.
Jilcup nods his head, "I'm not overly shocked. It has been an increasingly open secret that the cult in Beachomber dreamed of bigger things. They were just waiting for an opening..."
He sighs heavily, 'Raffles hadn't built a very sea-worthy ship, it seems. But you often never know until the storm comes."
Rabbis nods at this, a knowing look on his face. How many shoddy, half-wrecked ships had he endured as a slave, lashed to an oar?
As she asks her questions the druid answers, weaving through the trees. Queshem finds the going much easier as the halfling seems to have a sixth sense to avoid the worst tangles of vines and branches.
'A good distance. I have a better sense then most and since I have started learning the local animals, we haven't been ambushed..yet. That is why it starting resorting to traps. Whatever it is, it isn't some mindless monster."
"As for caves, I have no idea. They seem extensive but we only sleep and live in the openings."
Thorsson grins, 'We'll explore them soon enough."
Jilcup frowns, 'You are still going through with this?" He looks surprised and worried.
We be one ship and a community of refugees. Queshem explains We only have one shot at surprising Beachcomber so we need to make it count. Underground travel be a good way of doing that... and if we find new allies... Do ye really not know of any half orcs on the Island Jilcup?
Queshem has a thought and makes sure it's only her crew and Jilcup when she speaks Another issue we be having is this murderer. I don't think it'll let us travel in peace. Might even tell on us to its masters. Now.. it knows ye know how to track it, and it be real slippery and cautious. We might have a hard time finding it even with Key and yer snake friend and yerself sensing it. Queshem explains her thought process before explaining her plan So we're going to kill it. And we ain't going to do it by hunting it. We're going to do it by letting it hunt us. Queshem jerks her head behind to indicate the corpses they've left behind It be predictable ye see. It checks on its traps. We'll find one of 'em, I'll trip it , and when it comes to slit my throat, we'll kill it. Now to make this work Jilcup the rest of ye'll have to be REAL well hidden close by or ye'll have to be at the limit of yer sensing of the trap and rush in when ye feel it come to me. So, how far off can ye and yer snake sense it Jilcup? And can you hide well enough in the forest to fool the monster?
There is a moment of silence that greets her words. Xaikon whistles lowly, Rabbis leans against a tree and Polos actually trips slightly.
Jilcup turns on her, voice a combination of awe and confusion. 'Did I hear that right? You hear about a creature that has been hunting rebels for weeks, kills them in a horrible fashion, obviously enjoying it. Moves without a trace, is so evil animals are afraid of it and you want to ambush this thing?"
Polos smiles, 'That's the Captian."
After another moment Jilcup smiles slightly, the first time she has seen that so far. 'Sounds like a plan."
The druid does frown, 'It is hard to say. I haven't had a chance to fully experiment, obviously. We always just flee if we ever see signs of it."
Queshem sighs I don't want to. But if that thing's gone then we'll have space to breathe and won't have to worry about our backs. Then we can counterattack.
To Queshem's slight surprise everyone nods (except Thorsson, but the dwarf is no fighter).
'Makes sense. The last thing we want is this thing following us down into the tunnels." Polos says fervently. Xaikon agrees loudly and also adds, 'Also, we would gain the favor of Adabar by ridding this island of such evil."
Yer snake friend is probably the best to be close to me when I'm in the trap Queshem says as they go. Snakes in the forest ain't remarkable after all and the animal sense is the best detector we've got. I'll take off any magic stuff on me too. Don't want the hunter to think there's somethin' odd about its latest prey. I'll just have my crossbow, some alchemical fire, and my faith to arm me. Draflo, Thasha, Xiakon, we'll need magic to make it visible and hamper movement. This thing seems to be stealthy and fast and I want all its advantages neutered.
Everyone considers this as they march inland, moving much faster.
'We plan on doing this tomorrow?" Draflo asks, 'That way I can prepare the proper spells."
Xaikon suddenly pauses and says, "Do you intend to actually be caught in the trap?"
Soon, Jilcup leads them through a very thick patch of jungle, which creates nearly a solid wall of tree trunks and interwoven branches. It is like pushing through a man-made object, and it clutches at them.
Then it passes, and suddenly Queshem and her group are in the middle of a small clearing, open to the tropical sky. The ground is covered in dead leaves and mud, strewn about. The area is dominated by a number of large boulders, the size of small houses. Around them,t here are a number of caves, some small, some large. Thorrson nods at this and says, 'Exactly what we hoped to find. This is the right type of structure I was looking for. Karst caves. Excellent."
Queshem is instead drawn to the pathetic tents and shelters strung up in the lee-ward sides of the stones and in the cave entrances. She sees perhaps another two dozen people, all looking hungry and dirty. Small cookfires are spaced out, fed by scavenged wood. Queshem seems precious little food, a few captured lizards, an odd bird or two, and some roots and berries. Everyone looks weary and depressed, and gaze at her with glassy eyes.
Jilcup sighs sadly and mutters, 'They are a far gone lot. It has been a hard month."
The other rebels who were with them break off, going to greet friends and family.
Key flies down and lands on Queshem's shoulder, squeezing tightly. She screams, a loud, shrill note and everyone is startled out of apathy, staring at Queshem. There is a moment of anticipation in the air.
Of course I'll have triggered the trap and be hangin' upside down. This thing be intelligent. We want it to think it's got another victim just like its others. If the bait's off we might spook it.
Queshem clears her throat I be Queshem. Friend of Jilcup. Those of you from Slipcove might recognize me. If not then in some ways I be a part of the reason why ye all be in these dire stratis. Queshem sighs I were a fool fer trusting the blackhearts of Beachcomber. I know that now. I almost died because of it. But I didn't. And I've come back to try and put right what went wrong. We've come with supplies and we'll be sharing them with ye to help ye get on their feet. Then I'll be workin' with Jilcup to take care of the danger that ye're facin' and then get ye to a safer place.
Queshem stops talking. What these people needed was food and the hope that someone, anyone, would be trying to help them. Not words. She supervises the handing out of enough rations for one good meal.
The crowd takes in Queshem's words stonily. There is no obvious reaction, no cries of rage or calls for her head. No one rushes forward to lay hands on her and string her up for causing this disaster. She almost wishes they did.
Instead they file into disconsolate lines and receive food. Even the joy of having full stomachs seems to do little to dispel the despair of the camp. However, Thasha is soon lost among them. The bard doesn't laugh or tell jokes, but inside seems to simply be...listening. Lending a kind ear to their troubles, offering quiet words of comfort. Queshem has a feeling the friendly teifling will build up to tales later.
Xaikon, without orders, sets up a crude first aid station and starts examining the rebels for wounds or pains. They have been without healing for many weeks, and the jungle is a cruel place for an open wound.
Watching this Jilcup comes over, 'You have a good crew. Even better then when I left you." He lets this compliment hang and then, "So, say you win. We defeat the Norgerbites and win back Bag Island. What then? Put Raffles back in charge? Take over yourself?"
It's not going to be me. That's fer sure Queshem sighs. I still suspect that Raffles were being addled by magic, and I were hours away from figuring out if that were true. If he's still alive and sane and that is what happened and he recognizes how deeply his lack of leadership ruined Bag Island then maybe he's the best option. That's a long list of ifs though. Heck ye tell me between him and the Greenbarrows and Gnarea who would ye prefer? This be a harsh region and not having leadership ain't an option either as that'll jus' mean that Rampore will invade when they realize they'll have no resistance.
Queshem grimaces Ideally the people of Bag Island should decide what to do after all of this mess is over an' done with. I only came to the Island 'cause I had a hold full of freed slaves and wanted to make a friend of an anti-slaver Pirate Lord. I didn't plan on any o' this Abadar knows.
Jilcup takes that questions and sighs heavily, 'Obviously the Greenbarrows. They might be greedy and crooked, but at least they weren't evil. Not ever at their worst would they hire this...thing to hunt people."
'Assuming the Greenbarrows are still alive and Slipcove is holding out. It may have fallen by now."
'Whatever choice you make will ripple through the Shackles, Queshem." Jilcup says, glancing toward her, "I guess you have bigger plans then Bag island. Keep in mind what those in Quent or Port Peril will think of whatever actions you take." Then he chuckles grimly, "At least you aren't going to take over like a warlord. Most would. That goes a long way to righting the mistakes you made."