Another Alive Tree?!

Life of the Party

In all his hundred and something years, Arowe had never felt so terrifyingly close to death. Closer than when he was struck by Tsigane's arrow. Closer even when he was impaled on the War's giant tusk. That accursed Lightning tree had sucked the very life from him and would have surely killed him if he'd been alone. Despite his weakened and vulnerable condition though, he was proud he'd stood with his teammates.

Regardless of his current struggle to even string his magical bow, he's uncomfortably aware, that his ongoing enfeeblement was costing the party time trying to cosset him. Still, Sir Briefadel's instructions had been rather vague...

'Find the pool if you can and get back to me. You'll be handsomely rewarded if you're successful.'

'Handsomely rewarded'?

In their excitement of discovering the Three-Quarterling's magical loot, they hadn't really considered what Sir Briefadel had actually intended... Gold? Magic? Land? A title?

Ultimately they were searching for the 'Dryad pool' for the sake of adventure rather than reward and were therefore under no real time constraints.

Then Liga Bur heard the wolves and suddenly Arowe felt the desire to move. A sizable wolf pack is no joke and they've been known to take out many an unwary elf in his childhood back in Glendorne.

Arowe tries to remember how much land wolves can travel in a day and to calculate how much time they have? If they stay camped, the wolves will be on them in about two days. If they ride at a gentle enough pace for him to recover a little, they'd stay ahead for a couple of days more. If they ride hard though, they might even double that but he'll not get any chance to recover any more of his strength back.

Whatever his friends decide, however weakened he is, Arowe knows that he'll stand with them 'til the last.

Rifkin: Master Lockpick!

 

Be prepared..

Although he has not noticed himself, Fortu is trusting of the skills and talents of his small friend, Liga Bur. It seems that a pack of wolves has scented their trail, unsure of when they may catch up, Fortu starts to plan for when they do.

"Steaks! that's what we need" announced Fortu, "but you've only just had breakfast!?" answers Arowe casually flexing his impressive bow - still not able to fully draw it but no longer struggling.

"steaks, long sharp pointy things to surround the camp at nights" explains Fortu easily pulling up a small sapling and beginning to strip and sharpen it.

"oh, stakes..." says everyone.

Fortu spends most of the day, pulling up easy to reach saplings or breaking off suitable branches from trees they pass. He realises that it would take too long to gather enough 'STAKES' to surround their camps but they could place some to protect flanks or narrow approaches.

There was a moment, that Fortu hopes nobody saw, when a breeze took the sapling he was reaching for. Several times he grabbed for it but it remained elusive, "are you another alive tree?" he whispered. It seemed that life away from the fighting pits was full of strange encounters, yet he felt secure with the small group he was travelling with and more optimistic of their ability to survive any future battles. 

(hopefully not famous last words)

Something wicked this way comes

It's been six days since they'd left the frightening, Lightning tree behind them but Liga Bur feels his concerns continue to mount.

It was late afternoon by the time they'd left the living tree behind and, weakened as they were, they'd only managed to travel a few miles before being forced to make camp again.

Despite his obvious cowardice, Rifkin had yet again proven his value. Fortu's ugly purple bruises vanished under the bard's melodic remedies and even the desiccated and burned horse, rallied a little under his gentle ministrations. 

Feeling as safe as they were going to be in these wild woods, they maintained their camp for two more days. With water from the nearby stream, dried food from the Three-Quarterling's stores and plentiful fresh meat that Liga Bur had caught from the surrounding area, everyone affected by the leech-like root tendrils began to slowly recover. 

During Liga Bur's early hours guard duty, he imagines he hears something far, far away. Wolves perhaps? Looking across to his sleeping hound, the battle scarred halfling shakes his head. He was probably just daydreaming nostalgically about the wolf-like worgs kept by his old tribe...

Still, the feeling of unease lingers even as they break camp later that morning. The elven archer, Arowe and Barry the horse are still struggling though and they're only able to travel on for another half day before stopping to rest for the remainder of the day.

The Lightning tree's stick-finger wand seems to be leading them in a specific direction but Gruumsh only knows if it's the right direction?

This night though, Liga Bur is certain he hears wolves baying from far behind them.

Sharing his concerns with his teammates, they press on for another half day before being forced again to rest.

Despite the ravaged Arowe's hopes, his magical pendant hasn't seemed to help much, if at all, but thanks to their restricted travel and long breaks, his strength is slowly returning. Though no longer as weak as a kitten, his arms still shake under the pressure of his enchanted bow. Barry the horse, although still not strong enough to carry a rider yet, has recovered enough to haul some of the supplies.

That night, Mir Hundur stirs at the distant howling of the wolves and the sensitive, elven eared Rifkin and Arowe think that they can hear it too. Unfortunately, it just confirms what Liga Bur had already suspected. Though still many miles away, a wolf-pack has caught their scent and is eating up the distance between them!

Everyone who had their strength drained has recovered 5 points.

Meat is Murder

Having gotten used to standing first watch with Rifkin, Fortu gazes out into the darkness. The campfire still burns brightly behind him but he's careful to avoid looking back at it as he doesn't share the half-elf's sharp night vision and doesn't want to risk what little night sensitivity he has.

It's been several days since he'd walked away from that wretched living tree. Without remorse, it had tried to kill them all and drag their bodies under the ground to feed off their meaty carcasses.

And yet...

All it wanted to do was live. Hadn't that been the driving motive of all the gladiator slaves who were forced to fight in the arena? Live or die? Kill or be killed?!

Perhaps it was that realisation that had driven his decision to spare its existence? He'd even given it the, still substantial, remains of the War haunch. 

Still, he had also, half-heartedly, promised to return with more. He hadn't meant it when he said it but now was beginning to feel a little rueful about it.

If only the damned tree hadn't called him 'friend' as they'd parted ways...

Pointing the Way

The bizarre but terrifying battle ends as abruptly as it began.

Liga Bur stands balanced atop his prostrate hound while both are dragged toward the living tree by its, apparently last remaining, exposed tendril-like root. The halfling though, rather than target the writhing appendage to free Mir Hundur, instead holds one of his few remaining flaming arrows nocked and ready to fly.

The physically enfeebled Arowe also chooses his teammates over personal safety and instead of fleeing, lobs a flask of oil at the immobile, yet mobile lightning tree. Weakened as he is, he's just strong enough for the glass to shatter on impact and splash its sticky black contents all over the living tree's vulnerable roots.

It's the mighty, downward, two-handed chop from Fortu's bastard-sword though, that signals the end. The last visible plant tentacle is cleaved cleanly in two, with the truncated side swiftly retreating to the relative safety beneath the dusty earth.

Already aflame in several areas, thanks to Liga Bur's magical arrows, the Lightning tree can somehow see the halfling ready to finish the job. Sensing no way to avoid being set fully alight by oil and flaming arrow and with apparently no way to strike back, the magical tree instead pleads for mercy!

With a whispering voice, alien but understandable, it shrieks,

"Spare me! Spare me! I meant no harm, I just hunger so!"

Fortu, who'd been the only one during the battle to fearlessly advance toward the tree itself, is the one to negotiate and surprisingly chooses compassion over cruelty.

The Lightning tree offers a small gold casket and information in exchange for its continued existence.

"What can you possibly know?" asks the sceptical Gladiator.

The Lightning tree however, is much more informed than you'd have expected and soon offers to lead the Party to the 'Dryad pool'.

"And how can a tree lead us anywhere?" Fortu asks, doubtful once more.

The massive tree twists and contorts until it's able to proffer an arm-like branch. At the end of that arm, stretches out a hand-like collection of stalks and at the end of those stalks, it extends a finger-like twig.

...

"Pull my finger!"

Hesitantly, Fortu reaches up and grabs the offered digit and it snaps off easily, resembling nothing less or more than a kind of wizard wand. The type used by Rifkin for healing and Egrow for fire starting.

"Trust in it. Trust in me. It'll lead you directly to the magical pool but I warn you... That water hides more than just one secret!"

With a half-intended promise to return some time with meat, Fortu is the last to clear the large circle of dead earth.

The burnt and hacked Lightning tree seems to wave as it whispers...

"goodbye...  friend."

Fissa is Coming...