"So you'd compare your manhood to plants in private then? Why am I not surprised?" Talon laughs, "Yea, let's get a move on."
"Ah, that's the stuff. My thanks, Arasmes and Rogar. It's nowhere near my birthday, but that was quite the tunnel of spanking."
Kanthuun brushes bits of vegetable matter and fluid off of his robes and shrugs his pack.
"Let's get out of this dungheap. I've had enough of farming the fertile fields of Abbadon."
"Well, if Arasmes does decide to compare his manhood to the vines in public, at least we know how to take care of those vines," Petrova says with a grin below her mask.
She slashes the air viciously with her scimitar before sheathing it with a flourish. She winks at the others.
"Would he really want to?" asks Kanthuun with a grin, feeling much better from the restorative spells. "After all, the vines exuded pus and tended to wrap themselves around the menfolk. I can personally attest to this."
Hanethes can barely suppress a grin.
"I'm not drunk enough to talk about comparing manhoods yet."
He waves his saber in the general direction in front of them.
"There might be some alcohol that way."
"It is Arasmes. I wouldn't put it past him."
Arasmes rolls his eyes and speaks seriously "For reference, I've never done anything of the kind, unlike some weaker souls" he gazes meaningfully at those making fun and his tone growing slightly more barbed "I am more than confident enough in my own...capabilities, to not need reassurances of any sort. Surely, knowing me, the lot of you don't doubt my self-confidence, of all things?" this last is said in a tone of sheer disbelief.
Drovya looks back at Arasmes, his face a calm mask. I would never doubt your self-confidence, just as you would never doubt my good intentions.
He smiles briefly, then continues with the rest of the group.
"Doubting your confidence is the last thing we'd do. Just having some fun to help counteract the fact that we almost got molested by a tentacled plant creature. No offense, Kanthuun."
"Anyways, let's go."
Hanethes keeps a wary eye on the ground and trees in front of them, uncertain what danger might strike at them next.
(+2 to spot traps)
The way ahead was clear of monsters, but not entirely of traps. Hanethes managed to pause the group and avoid several skillfully placed pitfalls.
The mosquitos never let up, but eventually the party reached what appeared to be a settlement placed into the foliage. It was nearly impossible to spot from the distance , but once the group got a bit closer, the petitioner's temporary sanctuary produced sounds akin to mortal life, and waifish figures could be seen moving to and fro from several structures that barely stood up straight.
There is a solitary figure hoisted on a pole in the center of the shantytown, feet dangling in the air.
Drovya is too busy swatting at mosquitos to notice any details.
Kanthuun hisses and points, miming someone hanging from a rope by their neck.
Talon is busy being distracted checking out Petrova to notice anything else.
Perception:
Petrova doesn't see anything, other than Talon checking out her butt. She bares a few inches of steel and something akin to a snarl, then turns to look for whatever Kanthuun is seeing.
Arasmes notices the sight in question and nods once at Kanthuun, he speaks softly, and in a light tone, as if joking "There appears to be a pole of some sort in the village, with a man hanging from it. I'd advise keeping an open mind in regards to what's going on. These are the souls of the dead, after all, but keeping a watch above ourselves might be wise."
"With my luck, the fellow is still wriggling and will breathe fire directly at me," mutters Kanthuun. "It could be anything from a warning, to an animated sentry, to festive decoration for these lovely parts."
"...I mean the locale, not those lovely parts," he continues, gesturing Petrovaward with a sideways glance to Talon. "I swear, this band of ruffians makes me look like a gentleman and a scholar...yes, what Arasmes said, 'ware the pole." He continues muttering to himself about melee weapons and how unwieldy they are, the possibility of drink in the village, and how he misses some easy, familiar jackalweres.
"Damn, you beat me to it, Kanthuun. Anyways, good advice Arasmes. In my experience its a warning to stay away. And of course we're doing the opposite. So just be careful, no getting grabbed by amorous plant life."
Hanethes notes the dangling whatever and nods his head in agreement to avoid it. He looks around the shantytown warily, then reloads his pistol.
Drovya furrows his brow and looks to the others. Should we send in scouts, or enter en masse? And, perhaps we should... cover our negotiation points before we enter.
"What is our cover, anyway? More refugees looking for a place to stay to hide from the daemons?"
"Or we could keep up the merchant idea."
"It seems to me that the merchant idea is probably best. I doubt we can convincingly impersonate the dead, and being emissaries of some Daemon might go over poorly. It also allows us to ask after interesting things to purchase...like our target. The potential disadvantage is if they don't like soul-merchants, but them disliking us is a risk with any plausible disguise we attempt."
"We're just looking for whatever liquid they ferment around here to drink...or would that be juice of corpse-worm? Aye, merchants we are, no scouting needed. If they try to sell us their ill will, we shall pay them with spell and sword."
Kanthuun waves a hand in front of his face at the clouds of insects and palpable air.
"Why they'd want to attract more flies to their area is beyond me. Perhaps they're frogs."
Merchants it is then, seeking souls to buy. Drovya squares his shoulders and sheaths Black Ivan. Let's go then, and perhaps we will find something to quench our thirst as well. He takes a sip from his waterskin.
The party ventured into the Shantytown, and almost immediately, the pressure felt by the building storm overhead vanished. However, nearly every petitioner stopped dead in their tracks when the group of obvious mortals stepped into the entrance square proper, their frail, sickly, waifish bodies reacting much like that of a human's. Fear was visible.
After a split second, a majority of the souls rushed into the weak shelter of their homes and businesses, leaving only three out of the street. One was a child, but the other two were a an elven man and a tiefling woman, respectively(albeit in petitioner form).
The elven man looked to have been strong in life. For his kind, he was built very sturdily, and his hair was matted and wild. Tattoos covered his naked torso, forming designs with scars already present. His brows were pierced so that their original shape was obscured.
The child had a vacant expression; a disturbing feature on a form that seemed about eight years of age. Wearing nothing but a filthy nightgown, the petitioner's left hand was glued to the ragged britches of the elf. Signs of starvation made all his exposed limbs almost skeletal.
The tiefling had a gaunt face and needle-like teeth that jutted out slightly. Her hair was short and curled, contrasted by a deep frown line on her forehead.
It was she who approached the group.
"What is your business here?!"
Drovya keeps his eyes open, looking about for any signs of aggression and keeping an eye on the tattooed elf petitioner and the emaciated child.
Strange to see an elf in Abbadon, and a child as well. The must have been truly wicked to end up here, then again, not everything is as it seems. Perhaps a different perspective will leave them bleeding their hearts blood upon my blades... Damn you Ivan, quiet yourself.
The half-elf chants words of power and sees the world in a different light.
Hanethes looks the three over, trying to determine if they should be considered a danger.
Kanthuun tries to recall what he knows of petitioners.
He puts on a pleasant demeanor and speaks to the tiefling as well. "Madam, as my compatriot says, we seek lodging and a respite from the weather. We are prepared to pay, or trade, as the situation befits."
"Well, merchants, if I were you I'd leave. There's nothing for you here." the tiefling grunted, looking only a little more relaxed after the party stated their circumstances. The frown was plastered in place.
The elf looked to his companion mutely and signed something with scarred hands while the child petitioner continued to stare mutely into space.
The tiefling looked irritated, but let out a resigned sigh.
"But if you must stay, go to Baema's place and make an agreement. Just know that if you step one toe out of line we'll string you up like Yaghen!"
Hanethes puts on a charming smile, and addresses the three.
"We have no intention to harm anyone, we are merely travelers, merchants as we have said. And you can rest assured, dear lady, that we will cause no difficulties while we are here."
Arasmes nods at Hanethes' words"Indeed. As my companion says, we want no trouble, nor to cause you any."
"Could you direct us to Baema's place? ...and...are we permitted to know the nature of Yaghen's offense? We will certainly honor your customs if we know them."
"Relax, we're not hear to cause any trouble. Like they said, we're just passing through."
Petrova is there, just hanging back and watching, letting the menfolk do the talking.
Drovya scowls at the tiefling, but says nothing as he idly scratches the raised lump on his arm.
"Yaghen was a bit too greedy for his own good, and tried a little too hard to get some merchandise from our number." With this, the tiefling made a dark smile and glanced in the direction of the township's morbid fetish.
The tiefling's eyes flashed, alighting on the itching Drovya briefly.
"It didn't end well."
Satisfied at this point that the adventuring party wasn't out to harm the community actively, the elf and his attached protegee wafted towards a leaning tower which was built into a giant dead tree. From the aft-view, the party could easily make out that the child's arm that the party had yet to see was green and elongated, monstrous and blackened near its joints.
What sort of merchandise was Yaghen after? Drovya asks sharply. And where is this Baema's place? We have a thirst to quench.
The woman's brows furrowed.
"What sort of merchandise do you think? We're stripped of our worldly possessions, but if you must know, he threatened to reveal our location if we didn't grant him the soul of Gant, one of the eldest here."
She shook her head and added "-and perhaps most resourceful, too."
As the party continued to converse, the other petitioners cautiously ventured back into the streets, shooting suspicious glances at both the party, and, noticeably, one another.
"If you're looking for the closest thing we have to an inn, Baema built the tower my associate just left to; guess he just wanted to do the exact same thing he did in life, that crotchety old badger. Can you believe that he worked in a tavern in Carrion Hill? Ustalavians! Apparantly, here isn't any worse than their own country!"
A flash of wild light filtered down through the canopy, and looking up, it was possible to witness steaming liquid running off of what seemed to be an invisible dome enclosing the settlement.
"Hmf. Guess Kryel was right, then. It's boiling this time. Even we can't go out in this."
Thank you for your advice. We'll be sure to keep to any agreements we make. Farewell, for now.
Without further ado, Drovya begins walking towards the tower the tiefling indicated. As he walks, he turns to Kanthuun and speaks very softly.
I think we should try to find somewhere private so we can further discuss our trading strategy.
"Oh, it's a little worse," says Kanthuun over his shoulder, following Drovya. "I nearly lived in Carrion Hill; seems like another lifetime now."
He increases his steps, struggling to keep up, one hand hovering near the concealed Wayfinder, and speaks a few words in Ustalav-accented Varisian.
[spoiler=Varisian]"Let's go talk with Brother Baema as well."
As Kanthuun trots after the magus, his thoughts wander again...How do the dead hang the living? And where did Yaghen's soul go? What else does that invisible wall of force block? Speech? Thoughts? Is that how this place hides from predation? Won't they all turn into daemons? Is there a time period after which they are exiled for fear of doing that? Can't be...this place would be even grimmer. Somewhat nice for being the souls of the wicked dead. I have had worse hospitality in Ustalav. Why, I recall the time on the streets of Thrushmoor...
Kanthuun hums an old Ustalavian boatman's tune as he huffs along.
Baema's shadow of a tavern was blocked off by a lopsided door that emitted an elongated creek when pushed open. The smell of incense made from the local fauna assaulted the nostrils; while initially unpleasant, it was possible to get used to.
The only light sources available were a few sickly-green burning candles, which was furthered by the effect of the broken mirrors adorning the walls, casting half-reflections punctuated by the partially-lit faces of some nearby petitioners (well, at least for those without lowlight or darkvision).
Most of the current 'patrons' of the cantina were the souls of Kellids, sallow-eyed and conversing in whispers.
A particularly pronounced candle revealed a bar made of salvaged, warped wood. illuminated in its pool of light was a gnarled hand that betrayed so much age it was almost skeletal. The appendage in question belonged to a bartender whose face was hardly visible behind a thick bushy beard that time and death had done next to nothing to effect.
Hanethes steps forward to the bar, a friendly place.
"What do you have to drink around here?" He asks, friendly. He decides to be social for the rest of their visit in the tavern. (everyonne gets +2 to diplomacy skill checks).
Arasmes nods at Hanethes words and speaks in a friendly tone [b]"Indeed. Traveling has given me, at least, a powerful thirst. I'm sure you have something unique and interesting in the way of libations here. Would anyone else like one? We're buying."[b] the last is directed to the bar's patrons as a whole.
Kanthuun smiles at the bartender. "Now this feels like Ardagh again; my Kellid brothers and Ustalavians all in one place. Are you Baema? My name is Kanthuun, a scion of Ardagh, and I share my friend Arasmes' desire for one--or--three good drinks."