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I can't be sure, but that's what it looks like to me.
My best guess, since it hasn't attacked already, is that it's waiting until we try to take something. We should wait until we're ready to leave, then I can use my Mage Hand once we're all outside. Perhaps that way it won't notice, and if it does, at least we'll have a head start, and won't be stuck in close quarters with it.
Chillel joins the search for the "pickled rat tail" and uses detect magic to try to determine what the cauldron may represent.
At least we have a cozy spot with a family atmosphere to wait out the storm.
With Chillel's comment, the half-orc stares at her before his face splits into a grin and then finally into a laugh. Not a simple chuckle but an full, hearty laugh that seems to break the serious demeanor.
"Sorry, sorry, I don't know why I found that so funny. I think...I think it just may have been what I needed. Thank you, Chillel."
Baradim grows quiet once more but his smile persists, his demeanor more relaxed as he settles down for the moment and enjoys the sounds of the storm alongside the mountain lion who purrs in content.
Taking a moment to draw his blade and settle it across his shoulders, Goruck exhales sharply. "That, Baradim, is the tongue spoke by those who've died yet still walk."
The swordsman snickers for a moment at Chillel's words, before returning to a blank expression with a cough. "Truly, magic never ceases to amaze. First illusions of entire squads, and now life infused cauldrons."
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The swordsman snickers for a moment at Chillel's words, before returning to a blank expression with a cough. "Truly, magic never ceases to amaze. First illusions of entire squads, and now life infused cauldrons."
Oh, I suspect you'll see more wonders of magic than that by the time we get out of here.
"The tongue of the undead?" Baradim says with surprise and a bit of disgust in his voice. "How did you come to learn such a language?"
The undead were awful things, unnatural in the world and out of the order of things. Even the fey, as alien as they are, were part of the world still. The undead, the aberrations of the world, they did not belong here in this world.
Illiam's comment made him chuckle, his eyes returning towards that cauldron once more before he nodded. There were many kinds of magic and just between their group, they had strange measures. Kairon called upon prayers from his Goddess, Baradim heard the whispers of the land and knew how to conjure blessings from nature itself. The others seemed to call upon the arcane, either through will or from knowledge. An eclectic group for sure.
Goruck's voice is low and quiet as he replies, "Through pain and death friend. None of the tongues I can snarl in belong to the kind." Patting Baradim's back, he adds, "After all, the tongue of your enemy gives the greatest weapon of all, knowledge."
Shifting his mind from the subject, the swordsman cracks his meaty knuckles at Illiam's words. "Already I have learned far beyond that of even the Boulders of my order can say. Truly, I see why magic must be defended." Giving a mild grin, he adds, "Though try not to get eaten by an angry kettle. T'would be quite the ignoble end for such a magister as yourself."
"Snarl? No, I believe you speak eloquently, my friend." Baradim says with a small grin, chuckling and shaking his head. "By the Nine Hells, we both do. What a disappointing pair of half-orcs we must be?" Baradim's toothy grin is wide, nodding a little bit before he nods at the clap at his back. The warrior's were quite wise, after all.
"Perhaps you can teach me and I'll share the tongue of the Fey." At Illiam's comment, he looks at the man and his grin turns into a smirk. "After all, they make the best eating."
With Chillel's comment, the half-orc stares at her before his face splits into a grin and then finally into a laugh. Not a simple chuckle but an full, hearty laugh that seems to break the serious demeanor.
"Sorry, sorry, I don't know why I found that so funny. I think...I think it just may have been what I needed. Thank you, Chillel."
I am an orphan. It is kind of grim humour.
Patting Baradim's back, he adds, "After all, the tongue of your enemy gives the greatest weapon of all, knowledge."
Interesting. I actually learned Orcish from Dwarves. I grew up in a mostly Dwarven village. Good folks for the most part, at least in my experience. Though I have come to realise that their hatred of Orcs, or at least half Orcs, is misplaced.
"By Orc standards we have failed miserably my friend, but that's not our world. Besides, " the swordsman gestures towards the broken door, "I doubt many would find the bravado to say it to our faces." A savage grin splits his maw. "Even orcs respect raw strength, even if that respect is little more than fear." Shaking his head, Goruck changes the subject in a bass rumble, "If you wish, but I feel the tongue of the otherworldly evil, Aklo, as the foul fey call it, would serve you better. Most dead don't share too much in the way of info."
Turning to Illiam, Goruck chuckles. "To the orc of my former tribe, that was just as well. They never did appreciate the finer qualities of speech unlike myself."
At Chillel's mentioning of his former people's blood foe, Goruck shrugs. "They're not wrong to hate true orcs. Though I'm surprised you didn't react aggressively when you first saw me, if you grew up surrounded by the stout folk." The mountain of a fighter winces. "Raids are...unfortunate to say the least."
Illiam, focusing on the disgusting shrunken head that called out its warning, determines it is a somewhat rare magical item known as a Soulspeaker.
Goruck and Chillel as they search with only their eyes, touching nothing, both notice a stoneware jug, about the size usually used to contain flour, on the highest shelf, on the western-most wall that has letters etched right into the stone. Unfortunately the jug is turned mostly toward the wall so the only letters that are visible, are "ckled" above "il root." Since the jug is stoneware and on the highest shelf it would have to be taken down to determine if it does indeed say "pickled rat-tail root," and if there is even anything in it. However, after doing a thorough scan, it appears that that jug is the only thing in the entire hut that might house the ingredient the envoy needs.
Outside the storm rages, the cacophonous explosions of thunder shake the ground at least every minute, sometimes more, and the thatch of the hut's roof shakes with the violence of the gusting wind, but, for all that, the envoy remains dry and protected. It seems whatever gods are watching over this mission even planned the heaviest part of the storm to coincide with the envoy reaching shelter. It seems the best course of action now is to do as Illiam said, wait out the center of the storm, and then gather the stone jug through his use of magic, preparing the battlefield in the manner of their choosing, in case the cauldron should spring to life. If only someone had some dice or cards to help pass the time.
Chillel, who seems totally unaffected by the cold, moves a few things around in her backpack so she can sit on it without destroying anything then sits. She then replies to Goruck:-
I was wary of Baradim when I first saw him. But he was well regarded by people I trust in town and never did anything sinister, so I decided he was trustworthy. You were sent with those intended to assist my town in its time of need, mistrust seemed... foolish even.
Lunarinus nods his assent of Illiam's assertions about the cauldron and his plan. That sounds as good an idea as any Illiam. As soon as the worst of the storm passes I think we should do as you say. Then he turns to look at Baradim, then Goruck, and finally Chillel and says, No individual should be judged by the history of their race, or the actions of one of their predecessors. Each man can only be judged by their own life. For those who are evil, justice awaits. For those who seek a life of good, there will always be good people to help take up their cause. With that he closes his eyes, and leans his head back, thinking prayers to Sarenrae for her blessings on all that they still have to accomplish.
Baradim nods in agreement with his larger companion, those that arrived within Falcon's Hollow tended to either become lumberjacks and work in the camps or fell in with Payday's thugs and brutes. A few had tried to muscle in on his small hut on the outskirts of town but his own impressive physique and Kanga's warning growls were enough to scare them off away from him.
"If I could find one who knew it, I would learn what I could. Alas, very few are interested in speaking with the darker side of the Fey and their kind are not inclined to share it with us." Baradim listens carefully to Goruck when he mentions that he came from a tribe, his head twisting for a bit. Yet, the man did not seem to talk about it. Perhaps once this whole trip was done, they could talk more in detail. They both came from such different origins, Baradim wasn't raised with any half-orcs in his life. Hell, his mother helped him learn Orcish just so he wouldn't appear too strange as he grew up.
Chillel's suspicion didn't seem to bother Baradim, as his hand idly slipped through the big cat's wet fur. The storm outside whipped up into a frenzy, the booms of lightning and thunder making the ground shake and even waking Kanga for a moment. Baradim smiled at Chillel, nodding for a moment.
"I am glad that this trip has helped ease any...worries. I truly just want to help the Darkwood, find some level of peace between the Consortium and the Fey, a measure of respect and understanding. Yet it is like mixing oil and water, sadly." The dream revisited his mind, the miles of ruined tree trunks and the loss of this great, beautiful place. Such quiet, seemingly holy places left ruined and destroyed. He would not let that pass, he would even fight if it came to it.
As Lunarinus speaks, Baradim smiles and nods. The half-orc followed the oldest ways, older than the belief in the Gods and the forming of their churches, but he believed in them as well. How could he not, not when he saw the power that Kairon called upon and the righteousness that Lunarinus moved with.
"You know, I saw a few paladins come to Falcon's Hollow. I never had the chance to speak to one or to travel with one." Baradim says, his gaze fixated upon the warrior of light. "What brought you to such a path, a path that so few travel?"
There's a restaurant back in Almas that serves a most delicious salad dressing, made of oil and vinegar. Sometimes the mixture can be... worthwhile. As to my path to becoming a paladin? I will gladly share the story with you, Baradim, over a pint of honey-mead at Jak'a'napes after this is all over. As for now, I do believe the worst of the storm seems to be moving beyond us. Shall we enact Illiam's plan?
Chuckling at the small wizard's obsession with food, Goruck takes a moment to clear up Baradim. "They are quite possessive, but I do have knowledge of it all the same. Simply ask me if you decide you wish to know."
Glancing at the size of some of his companions, Goruck strides out to test the wind against his bulk.
Kairon hoists "Lucky" back into his pack, trying to disturb the small creature as little as possible. He then makes sure his spear is in hand, and confirms his shield and scimitar are in easy reach. Someone point me to a spot to cover our trickster in case that cauldron does get uppity. I like the plan -- and I like the idea of leaving this unfortunate place even more. Human teeth for decoration?! Hard for me to hold kind regard for someone who calls that a "chair".
"Cinnamon"? Thought it was th'other way 'round . . . . Right?
I agree Kairon, whoever is responsible for the decor in here has committed a dreadful crime.
Chillel then turns her attention to getting Athena back into her backpack. The owl, in contrast to everyone else, had been enjoying the relative freedom in the hut and moving around happily, and is obviously unhappy at returning to the backpack, hooting in complaint.
It is either that or the storm Athena deer.
Baradim's ears perk up as the cacophony of rain and lightning seems to have passed. Standing up and brushing himself off, he looks towards Lunarinus and gives a stout nod. It was time to put the plan into action for certain and see what it would hold. As the others begin to gather themselves up, he pulls out a two gold pieces and slips them into the cauldron.
"I hope that is enough..." He murmurs, taking his guisarme and stepping out into the downpour. Kanga follows his master, standing beside his master as Baradim prepares for the worst case.
Having tested the storm to his liking, Goruck shimmies back into position.
Drawing his nodachi carefully as to avoid harming his close allies, the half orc grabs the mid section of his blade to turn it into a far more accurate implement of death. "Attempt whatever you wish, Illiam. My blade is ready."
Chillel follows Baradim in placing two gold in the cauldron, giving Illiam a mock stern look, saying:-
Be good.
I don't think we can buy off a miserly cauldron, but it is worth trying and seems the right thing to do.
Chillel then moves outside the hut, Athena now being inside her backpack.
Lunarinus steps into a position where he can strike with his lucerne hammer, if the cauldron does exit the hut to attack them. We're ready Illiam. Do your conjuring thing.
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Illiam speaks words of a strange, arcane tongue. The others may recognize them as the same words he spoke when trying to remove Grung from the tree, and to stop the wolves charging on the shore of the river. Both instances now seem so long ago.
He spreads his hands, and a pool of slick grease appears, covering the ground around the door. As soon as this happens, he begins speaking different arcane words, and stretches out his hand toward the jar on the shelf. It raises up to the ceiling of the small hut, and floats toward Illiam's waiting arms.
Hearing Illiam's strange words, and noting the appearance of the greasy coating in the hut's entrance, Kairon settles into a crouch, spear held at middle guard.
Can this day get any stranger?
Baradim sets himself up, giving a whistle to Kanga. The mountain lion's hackles seem to rise as he waits for danger, trusting in his master's command despite the heavy winds and rain.
The storm has indeed subsided quite a bit. The lightning is now very sporadic, and the wind, while still occasionally gusting, is far less angry. So, judging it high time to get a move on, and with a plan of action ready to go, the brave adventurers begin to gather themselves for leaving.
When Baradim and Chillel lift the lid to throw gold coins into the cauldron their olfactory senses are assaulted by the overwhelming stench of rotten death. In throwing in their coins they see a not so insubstantial pile of bones and rotting flesh in the bottom of the cauldron. Wafting the stench thickly into the immediate area forces everyone outside just to get a bit of fresh air. Once outside the dry warmth of the hut is immediately replaced again by wind and rain, though, thankfully the rain is nowhere near as drenching as it was before, just a steady pitter-patter of droplets falling through the canopy. Likewise, as they surmised, the wind has died down considerably, thought it doesn't appear that the rain will let up anytime soon, the center of the storm seems to have passed on to make war with the Five Kings of the mountains.
Once everyone is in position, Illiam lays a thick layer of slippery magical grease down in the hut's doorway and surrounding area, then begins to mentally, magically move the jar that everyone hopes is pickled rat-tail root towards himself. Just as soon as the jar clears the shelf, the cauldron does, exactly as Illiam feared, springs to life, or a close approximation thereof. Its four feet propel it up and its movements are accompanied by a squeaking, creaking, grating sound of metal on metal. It opens and shuts the lid like a hungry mouth and moves immediately toward the hut's door.
The shifty cauldron tries to follow the floating jar out of the hut, but its little iron legs can't gain any purchase on Illiam's grease and it falls, landing on its side.
Illiam magically pulls the jar to his deft halfling fingers and is very relieved to clearly read the words "pickled rat-tail root" inscribed in the stoneware. Two ingredients down, only one to go.
Lunarinus swings his Lucerne hammer at the fallen iron cauldron twice in quick succession.
The cauldron rises up and begins to move out of the hut angrily, chasing after the floating the jar and seeking its revenge. Yet the greased floor causes it to spill and topple over onto the ground. First he struck as it drew closer, the sharp edge smashing into the cauldron. Then he struck again as it tried to rise, all while Kanga snapped his powerful jaws and tried to knock it down again.
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Having enacted Illiam's plan puts the animated cauldron at a ridiculous disadvantage. Lunarinus, Kairon and Baradim's weapons all connect solidly with the rusty iron cauldron. Though their weapons don't do as much damage as they would against flesh, they successfully chip away some sizable chunks of rusty iron from the cauldron's round belly.
Baradim gives another hard strike, trying to put the beast down. Kanga launches a flurry of attacks against it, though a majority of them would likely prove rather ineffective.
Baradim will direct Kanga to move forward in ambush, leaving the cauldron to have to emerge out of the hut and enter into the destructive path that was Goruck's swing.
[dice=What *is* the boiling point of pre-"Renaissance" steel?]1d8+4[/dice]
I'll refer back to my post:
With a booming roar Goruck leaps over the magical grease to land near Kanga with the tinny rings of his armor jostling about, and savagely thrusts his weapon downwards, and should the blade finds purchase the swordsman kicks the blade further in before yanking it free."Ancient iron is no match for bloodstain steel!"
Gorucks nodachi strikes true and deep, and the helpless hunk of animated rusty iron splits right in twain, spilling out the rotting flesh, bones, and golden coins that rested inside it. This was Ulizmilla's guardian? It fell quickly and easily, perhaps the witch is not as pernicious as some of the locals believe. Having cleared the hut of all threats, there is now nothing stopping a thorough search of the premises. It might be that there are more exotic ingredients among her stores, maybe even something that Sharvaros Vade would pay good money for? Not to mention there is a relatively valuable magical item sitting on the shelf across the way.