Scarp Burrow

Examining the overgrown, long unmaintained and slightly listing ‘Wayside shrine’, Liga Bur tries to dredge up some trace of a memory. Barbella had referred to them as ‘Thumb-shrines’ due to their diminutive two-foot height, upper-half arch-like recesses and rounded stone tops. Apparently there were dozens of them, dotted about in the surrounding area. All long abandoned now, but with different carvings and implied offerings. This one’s shallow alcove still contained the broken remnants of a tiny pottery vase and the engraved image of a daisy-like flower below the ‘window’ supported that assumption. 

The town itself is built on several central hillocks but the surrounding, smaller mounds, still display evidence of unused Halfling defences. Forgotten and settled, perfectly round boulders, once ready to set thundering down the slopes, now lie half-buried in the soil, their wooden chocks and short iron levers, rotted away or rusted to uselessness.

Once back through… Scarborough’s ten-foot-tall outer palisade wall, Liga Bur allows the others to bluff their way to O’Maley’s lockbox treasure and is unbothered by the separation of Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman. If he’s learnt anything about these three men, it’s that they’re all natural born survivors. 

Now, that his attitude has been altered and his inner ‘third’ eye has been opened by his mentor; Thornberg, he notices all the clues he missed during his first visit here, many months ago. The complicated underground tunnels and, low-ceilinged storage system and the occasional, architecturally mismatched, cellar doorway.

Perhaps he just didn’t want to see the obvious signs last time? Perhaps he deliberately avoided contact with the travelling Halfling acrobat troop, out of some misplaced sense of shame? What did he know of Halfling culture beyond secretly studying and learning the language as a child?

But now, he could no longer ignore or deny the truth. The Lightning Tree had been right; this used to be a Halfling settlement. A peaceful farming community, attacked and overrun about twenty to thirty years ago by an ambitious and uncaring Sir Briefadel! 

Desecrated by the mercenaries under his command. Human mercenaries probably. Immoral sell-swords just like Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman!

Banaal's Diary : Entry #430

 Another entry from Banaal's secret diary exposed ... 

Well, that was an absolute whirlwind. Turns out these guys are amazing, even if they do hang-out  with ex-henchmen of Briafedel.  Happening upon them at the Lightning Tree was lucky, but Murmel was luckier still. He would have been gone if it wasn't for the quick-thinking big man Fortu, that is for sure!

Then before you know it, we are ambushed by the strangest cats I've ever seen. These fey woods are a lot more dangerous than I could have believed. Moradin struck his faithful hammer to guide my hand and we were victorious.

Mule or Fuel?

The strange group of fleshy creatures had long departed with a few of its root-retrieved trinkets, but the Lightning tree still finds itself mulling over their last baffling encounter.

The heavily armoured Human had been gone for considerably longer than the sentient tree had initially anticipated but Fortu had finally returned to keep his word.

The concept of time is relative though, especially to one as long lived as the Lightning tree. One week, one month, one year; what does it matter, as long as the promise was eventually fulfilled?

Fortu’s timing had been extremely fortuitous though. Arriving with a considerable amount of ‘gift meat’ just when it’d been arguing with a Dwarf about the very definition of food and that ‘meat wasn’t murder’ unless the animal could speak.

The Dwarf; Banaal had vehemently disagreed, claiming that his mule wasn’t food but actually his trusted steed and companion. This made little sense though as the Halfling, Liga Bur had previously gone to great lengths to explain the difference during their previous meeting. 

‘Intelligent meaty creatures are not food but, simple minded, grazing animals and scavengers were. If it can talk, it’s not food but instead a potential friend or ally.’

This would make the braying creature, that it had scooped up in its branches, definitely fall into the category of ‘morally edible’, so why did the Dwarf object so fiercely?

Perhaps because the Mule had been taught a few tricks and was being used to carry Banaal’s equipment?

Ultimately, it didn’t really matter though. Fortu had honoured his promise to return with meat and so consuming the mule had become unnecessary. The four deer carcasses, now interred deeply beneath it, would rot slowly and provide sustenance for months to come. 

Alone again, the Lightning tree begins to absorb the slowly releasing nutrients through its tendril-like roots and considers the conundrum.

Perhaps it’s simply that unintelligent creatures, like the Dwarf’s mule; Murmul or the Halfling’s hound; Mir Hundur, are not to be considered to be merely food, if they’d been given an actual name?

Risk free Goodies

Considering you got nothing from the six Displacer beast pack, it only seems fair that I was generous in other areas.

From Rifkin’s satchel:

Mir Hundur got a collar (medallion) of Natural attack +3

Liga Bur got a scroll of Heat metal  

From the Lightning tree:

Murmul goat a full set of Horseshoes of speed.

Fortu got a pair of Gauntlets of Ogre power +2

From Magritte:

Potions of 

4 x Cure Light Wounds 1d8+1 

2 x Cure Medium Wounds 2d8+3

1 x Cure Serious Wounds 3d8+5

2 x Delay Poison

2 x Barkskin +2AC (10 minutes)

1 x Bear’s Endurance +4 con (1 minute)

1 x Bull’s Strength +4 str (1 minute)

1 x Cat’s Grace +4 Dex (1 minute)

2 x Lesser Restoration 

(Although we’ve suddenly got a situation where two of the three characters can cast these spells themselves, we can argue who takes what potion next session, but up until then, Rifkin puts them in his satchel for safe keeping.

Update your character sheets and Scott, take this opportunity to un-disable poor Liga Bur and fix Dijonn.

The (Apparent) Allies

Rifkin: 

Born and raised in the backwards, sister-wife village of Loretto by his Human Mother. Rifkin’s Quarter-Elf, travelling minstrel Father was killed by his Mother’s close-minded, inbred relatives while she was still pregnant with him. Loathed by the villagers for being different, the teenage Rifkin took his Father’s mandolin and left the moment his Mother died. Though cowed by the constant beatings of his youth and timorous by nature, Rifkin still sought adventure and used his good looks, natural charm and musical skills to earn a living.

Estrid:

A powerful, magical and long lived Fey creature, beautiful but righteous, Estrid, as ‘goddess’ of the pool, guards the magical glade, deep in the Feylands. She protects both her people and the mysterious portal beneath the life extending properties of the crystal clear waters themselves. She granted the outlander adventurers ’Champion’ status and her protection within the Feylands in exchange for their help. Now though, Estrid’s concern and priorities have changed with the return of the adventurers and their alarming news.

Thornberg:

A haystack of a man and powerful member of the ‘Circle of the Scale’ Druidic order. Thornberg (and his gigantic bear; Bamse) has recently spent a year of his life in a bubble in time, teaching the Halfling outrider; Liga Bur, the secrets of the ‘Green’. He has grown fond of Liga Bur over those twelve months and wants to keep him close but still respects the scarred Halfling’s desire for both justice and independence.

Tsigan:

The Centaur Prince, initially an enemy, has become a powerful ally to the Party, alongside his noble Father and the rest of his semi-savage herd. Despite his rescuing of Rifkin, under the Calcientan suns, he still feels indebted to Fortu, Arowe and Liga Bur.

Magritte: 

The dashing but pragmatic Satyr has formed a liking and an admiration for the adventurer, especially Fortu. A nimble, talented warrior and potion keeper, he also has the ear of (the occasionally suspicious and often ferocious) Estrid.

Henshaw:

A mercenary from a family of mercenaries, Henshaw is lean, tall, surprisingly intelligent and, perhaps as a consequence of that intelligence, overly cautious. Although a self-professed ‘Bad-guy’, his recent association with Fortu, Liga Bur, Arowe and Rifkin has caused him to re-evaluate some of his previous life choices.

Barbella:

Lifelong friend of Henshaw, Barbella is a thief of the lowest order. A goatee sporting, gold-toothed mugger and backstabber, he is however surprisingly skillful in several useful areas and loyal, at least to Henshaw.

Doberman:

As dumb as he is fat, Doberman is almost too stupid to be considered merely ‘retarded’. Treated as an imbecilic but tolerated pet by Henshaw and Barbella, he is strong, round and relentless in a fight. 

Dijonn:

A small but psychopathic fire elemental, left behind in the desert oasis when the Party was forced to travel through the water filled passageways between dimensions. It has, however, sworn a ‘life debt’ to Liga Bur when he was rescued from a hundred years trapped on a meagre wick in the ‘Singing tower’.

Lightning Tree:

Though a monstrous, flesh eating tree, it possesses a fine mind and a surprising store of knowledge. It also, weirdly, considers Fortu its friend for sparing its life and still waits patiently in the Fey forests for his return with that promised meat.

Shananaghan:

One of the two remaining ‘summoning’ charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the tiny but foul-tempered, gossamer-winged Pixie has decidedly mixed feelings about the Party. Non-Fey creatures, especially Humans, are the hated enemy but the goddess; Estrid has ordered him to assist the Party to the best of his ability when summoned and, although begrudgingly, he’ll do it for her.

Lorellie.

The second and last of the two remaining magical charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the flirtatious, small, green-skinned and fin-toed Nixie is more Fey-curious about the outsiders than antagonistic. Physically weak but a powerful swimmer and natural water breather, she may yet prove vital in an aquatic environment.

Why Should You Care?

Assif asked the question after the last session; 

“Why should we care about Sir Briefadel?”

It’s simultaneously a fair and unfair question.

As a Party, you were sponsored by Sir Briefadel to find Estrid’s magical pool/portal. You were doing that for the sake of adventure and promised coin. (Coin that he was never going to pay.)

At the moment of your success however, Sir Briefadel betrayed you and magically transported (with the aid of Madame Morgana) himself, his lackey Egrow and about thirty soldiers to your position. After which, you fought a bloody battle, where you swapped sides and found yourselves fighting back-to-back with Magritte the Satyr and the other Fey creatures against Sir Briefadel’s troops. 

You won the battle and captured the ‘Wizard’ Egrow but Sir Briefadel and his phenomenally intelligent Hawk; Sephony, managed to get to the pool and escape through the dimensional portal. 

It was at that point that Estrid, the goddess of the pool pleaded for your help to pursue Sir Briefadel and stop him doing whatever he was attempting and to prevent him, at all costs, from returning back through her pool.

It should be obvious by now, that beyond just being an evil dick, Sir Briefadel is consorting with actual demonic creatures and is attempting to raise an army of the damned to destroy his father; Lord Urderal, along with a huge chunk of the continent.

Individually, it’s a slightly more difficult question. Why should a Halfling, a Human and an Elf risk their lives and chase a whinging, vengeful Aristocrat through the void between worlds?

Arowe’s introductory story, painted him as a flamboyant, drama seeking Elf, desperate for fame and glory.

Fortu’s was about brutal death, a lack of autonomy and the anguish of not knowing his own past.

Liga Bur’s dealt with the mystery of his Orcish upbringing and the loss, of not just one family, but his unknown Halfling one too!

It’s my ‘job’ as the DM, to try to tie these three backstories into the thread if the overarching adventure story but it’s also your responsibility to actively engage in it.

Is travelling into the Fey realm, battling living trees and werewolves before passing through multi-world dimensions, not enough of an adventure for the drama hungry Arowe?

Is the recognition that Liga Bur felt, as he saw the Hag’s eyes flash ‘demonic’ red like the ‘Red-eyed’ Orc clan that slaughtered his Orc tribe, not enough to drive his urge for revenge, or at least, his curiosity to find a link between these two events?

Is Fortu’s heart not filled with a desire to learn more about the magical, indestructible, seemingly symbolic sword he now possesses? An enigma, that’s perhaps more solvable than the frustrating mystery of his own personal history?

I’ve tried pretty hard to create an enticing world for you three to explore and a hopefully exciting adventure. Ultimately though, it’s down to you as the Players to choose to engage in the story. All I can do is offer, hopefully fun/interesting plot hooks; it’s up to you three to bite. 

Should you continue to chase Sir Briefadel into Hell itself? The only reason you caught him the first time, was because he (overconfidently) waited around for several days, just in an attempt to recruit you. Perhaps you should return to Fissa to warn Estrid or even Lord Urdurel that his son is raising a fiendish army for vengeance and conquest? Or you could disentangle yourselves from this responsibility and look for another cause or adventure.

Ultimately, you can decide that you’ve seen enough of the world(s), that adventuring isn’t for you after all and just retire. You’re all certainly rich enough now. It’s entirely up to you.

Does Human Life Hold Greater Value than Another?

Sensing his rising ire, the empathic Rifkin places a calming arm around Fortu's shoulder.

"Don't be offended by Estrid's brusque manner. The Fey don't like interlopers at the best of times and they're currently losing acres of land monthly to the expansionist Humans. They're facing a potential war to defend their lands... Their homes!"

Fortu grimaces.

"She said that the only difference between Orcs and Humans was that 'Orcs shit where they eat but Human's shit where everyone else eats'. What does that even mean?"

The mixed-race Bard looks momentarily confused before responding.

"It's just a metaphor. She's saying that Humans bring problems for everybody, not just themselves. You're right though, she's obviously more than a little xenophobic. Even the order in which she addressed us was telling. Elf, Half-elf, Halfling and then finally; Human. In fairness, she's a Queen fighting for her people and Sir Briefadel just brought a Human legion of death to her glade and, aware of it or not, we inadvertently helped him. We're at least partially responsible for all this destruction." 

The armoured Fortu doesn't look convinced, so Rifkin continues.

"Take it from me; the Fey are on the side of 'good', even if they can be a 'little' imperious but Sir Briefadel's an outright fiend who crushed the helpless Three-Quarterling while he was literally a fish out of water! And those Human soldiers weren't any better. Captain Hall was as racist as Estrid. Probably even more so but you've got an opportunity to prove to her wrong. To prove that not all Humans are evil."

Maintaining his position, the Human Fortu presses his point.

"And Sergeant Philco and the others that surrendered... Did they deserve to die?"

The slightly-elf frowns.

"I can't be sure but, before they surrendered, weren't those men actively trying to kill the Fey Dryads and Sprites? Did any of them actually manage it? Could one of them be the one who killed the Dryad guardian? And ultimately what would you have had her do? Just let them go with the knowledge of the secret, magical glade if they 'pinky-promised' not to tell? Cut off their hands and feet or perhaps just burn out their eyes and let them blindly wander to their deaths?"

The Bard pauses for a moment, trying to organise his thoughts.

"I know you've seen a lot of violence and you know me. I'm a lover, not a fighter but the harsh reality we live in doesn't often allow for compassion. When you first met me in the bandit camp, was Arowe a 'demon' for shooting those fleeing men in their backs? Knowing that he was a good man cursed against his will, should we not have slaughtered the captured Kane while he was bound and helpless? I've seen your kindness. Experienced it first hand. It was you who chose to spare the living Lightning tree but it was just yesterday when I saw you throw the stick-finger-wand into the fire after it pricked you with its thorn. I saw it desperately try to wriggle away from the deadly heat. Perhaps only a nascent sentient life but after you saw it struggling to survive, did you really have to kick it back into the flames? Why did its life mean so little to you?"

Keeping an Eye Out.

Dirty and still angry from his seemingly wasted expedition, Sir Briefadel throws himself down onto the chair opposite Madame Megarna.
Her black cat hisses at him but he simply rolls his eyes at her.

"Have you been tracking them as I instructed? Have they managed to stumble onto anything?"

The old fortune teller gazes at the still armoured man. His pale face reminds her of both his Father and Mother.

"As you requested my Lord. Thanks to the 'Location charm' Egrow slipped into one of the horses saddlebags, in conjunction with my crystal ball, it's been easy to scry upon them. They found the Lightning tree they were searching for and, after trying to drain them of their life essence, it gave them something that's been leading them in a specific direction... It could be the pool that you seek."

Sir Briefadel's eyes darken as he leans forward.

"Do you really think so?"

The old fortune teller also leans forward until their faces are almost touching the mystic orb between them.

"I want to free your Mother just as much as you do and finding this pool and the gate hidden beneath is the best chance we have."

Experience of Water, Wood, Wolves and Women!

From the Nixie river crossing, the Lightning tree and Kane's wolf pack to the Dryad trap and the season Finale at the Pool of Temporary Immortality, you've certainly earned this level. 

Fortu: 15,967xp (Up to 6th!)

Arowe: 16,042xp (Up to 6th!)

Liga Bur: 15,875xp (Up to 6th!)

Rifkin: 10,191xp (Up to 5th!)

Level five was a bit flat but sixth is a great one! New Feats all round and, as you're all Fighter classes, an extra attack each round! 

Personally, I think that Sixth level is the beginning of being a mid-level character. Good bye Rats and City guards, hello truly terrifying monsters of the void!

Congratulations!

Where the Were-Goodies?

The definitely dead wolfman's body, hangs limp under Fortu's spiked palisade. Dark blood, still dripping from the near surgical slit across his throat, pools on the stony ground beneath him.

Despite the drawn out battle, only Liga Bur's magical, silver kukri had proved effective against the cursed creature and it was fitting that it also delivered the death stroke.  

Kane, is what he'd called himself. His repeated scratch-mark 'Ks', just a desperate attempt for some form of recognition and remembrance. A lonely man and with his wolf-pack all dead, the only legacy he'd really left behind were the two dark-metaled, magical short-swords and the creepy, mummified hand. A ring sits on its second finger but, so far, no-one's dared to even try to remove it. Although inert now, Fortu could have sworn that he saw the hand twitch independently when Kane was shouting up the hill at them.

Taking an interest in the swords, Arowe notices that the well forged metal of the blades is very similar to that of his magical rapier. The rapier he'd recently acquired from the cells behind the terrifying Beer monster, back in the hidden garden of animal attraction. The magical rapier that had thrummed a warning when facing the unseen creatures of the stream.

Rifkin eventually overcomes his reticence and examines the sparse collection of items. Gingerly picking up the shrivelled disembodied hand, a look of recognition spreads over his face...

"I think I know what this is!"

Treasure

Two Magical Cold-iron Short-swords +1 (No glow)

Hand of Glory (Enables the use of three magical rings simultaneously and can cast 'See invisibility' and 'Light' once per day)

Ring of Evasion (Rifkin thinks.)

He also possessed a small purse containing Seven assorted Gem stones. They all look valuable but Rifkin's unable to accurately assess their true worth.

No arrows I'm afraid.

Extra Info

Scott and Assif: Calculate how many arrows your characters have got left... 

I know Arowe's almost, if not totally out but Liga Bur gained twenty magical flaming arrows from the Three-Quarterling's den to supplement his original supply. As Scott had also forgotten that he'd given Liga Bur the 'Multi-shot' feat, he's been firing off arrows at approximately half the rate of Assif's elf and so I'm guessing that, despite using them on the War, the Lightning tree and the werewolf Kane, he still has a few of the flaming ones and the majority of his normal ones left. (Shame that they're too small to share with Arowe.)

Also, Scott's computer was right about the damage of his Magical +3 Silver Kukri...

Silver weapons are apparently not as sharp/tough as steel ones and therefore do -1 damage. 

So Although its still a +3 magical weapon to hit, it only does +2 damage. 

Therefore, as a small Kukri, it only does 1d3+2 damage plus Liga Bur's (if he has any?) strength bonus.

Tying up the Story

Battered, bloody and reverted back to his human form again, Kane's body hangs hog-tied beneath the main beam of one of the spiked palisades. In spite of the multiple arrows and sword blows, the wolf-man just refused to die. It was only the purity of Liga Bur's small, silver kukri that seemed able to cause the supernatural creature any serious harm.

All four members of the party, mostly healed and back on their feet, stand around their unconscious assailant and discuss what to do with him. Regardless of the obvious danger in keeping Kane alive, Fortu spots an opportunity to redeem a previous mistake. In their haste to escape the Lightning tree, they'd not asked any real questions, despite the monstrous plant bragging of all the secrets it knew. Surely the wild-forest-living Kane would possess useful information about the mystical Dryad pool?

They watch him for a moment, face downward, each gasping breath causing his barrel chest to swell and the ropes to tauten, even as his hot blood drips from multiple wounds onto the cold earth beneath him. After a short debate, Rifkin heals Kane just enough to rouse him.

Stifling a guttural moan, the brutish looking man's eyelids blink open and, realising his predicament, he thrashes and strains against the tightly secured ropes. It's pointless though, in his human form he's simply not strong enough to break the tough bindings. Instead he twists his head to look across at Liga Bur with a resigned 'Well what?' expression.

His captors take turns asking questions, each one paying carefully attention to Kane's answers.

Fortu leans in first and asks their most pressing question.

"Why were you tracking us?"

Craning his neck, Kane appears momentarily nonplussed.

"Why? So I could prevent you from finding the Goddess of the Pool. I'd accidentally discovered your tracks leading from the War carcass and was merely hungry but when I'd realised that the wretched Lightning tree had given you the means to actually find her, I doubled my efforts."

Arowe arches one of his elegant elven eyebrows and asks the second question.

"And why would a monster such as yourself, care about that?"

Kane smiles bitterly.

"Whatever you may think of me, I was a good man once. I had a life full of optimism with friends and family. That was all before I was afflicted by this curse though. Now I'm little more than a feral beast, living just to stalk and devour its prey. Despite being this 'monster', I still remember my old friends and, although I'd probably try to eat them if I saw them, I've not forgotten my loyalty to them."

Schooled in the lore of fables and legends, Rifkin's eyes shine with tears and empathy.

"Poor beast; that's tragic. And this 'Goddess of the Pool', she was one of your friends?"

Surprised by the Bards' unexpected and heartfelt sympathy, Kane's eyes momentarily well up in response before anger flares in them again.

"Many years ago, Estrid and I were... more than just friends. I loved her and despite everything I've become, I'll see you all dead before you get within another mile of her!"

Roaring with rage, Kane's body spasms wildly and, even as his human form begins to swell and transform, his rope bindings threaten to snap. Fortunately for his three companions, the ever vigilant Liga Bur's focus never wavered from his task. As soon as he spots his prisoner's blood suddenly, unnaturally congeal, the Halfling darts forward and drags his silver blade cleanly across Kane's exposed throat.

After a few moments of impotent writhing, the look of gurgling surprise is frozen on the dead werewolf's face. His decades old curse is finally broken.

Stranger Ranger Danger!

Now, as prepared as they are, all thoughts of escape are gone and the roaring campfire blazes unhidden. Liga Bur had warned them all to expect the vespertine wolf pack to attack soon after sunset, so it's a surprise to all of them when they're interrupted several hours before nightfall.

Casually setting off Rifkin's shrieking alarm stones and making no attempt at stealth, a hooded, broad-shouldered man strides into the clearing below them. He stops a good thirty feet downhill and well before Fortu's wicked looking barriers. A huge, iron grey wolf stands panting, close at his side.

Liga Bur's eyes narrow; So, not just a random wolf pack but rather a well trained team. But why has this Ranger been tracking them?

The stranger's eyes are hidden in shadow beneath a tattered cloak but he stands barefooted and his leather armour is torn and barely held together with multiple, clumsy stitching attempts. Despite his obvious confidence and vigour, his greying beard betrays his advancing years. He also has two serious looking short-swords sheathed across his back, but what catches your attention most, is the mummified hand hanging from a leather cord around his neck.

While his friends stare down at the interloper, Liga Bur scans the treeline for the other wolves he knows are surely hiding there. He spots a couple slinking up behind the fallen trees and spies a few more lurking in the shadows.

Suddenly, the mysterious man throws back his hood and growls up the slope at the halfling. His voice is like dry gravel.

"I know what you're thinking little scout; Did you spot six more wolves in the undergrowth or was it only five? Well, as the most dangerous pack predators in these here woods, you've got to ask yourself one question... Do you feel lucky?"

As always, the flaxen haired Arowe is the quickest to respond and has already nocked an arrow before the armoured Fortu shouts their shared response over his spiked barricades.

"What do you want?"

A smile flits across the older mans face as he uses his tongue to shift the long, black splinter of lightning wood clenched between his teeth,

"The pack hungers. Give me your three horses and I promise I'll shall spare your lives."

It's a blatant lie...

The Mark of Kane

While leaning casually against the burnt and battered Lightning tree with his left hand, the raggedly dressed Ranger drags a long, claw-like fingernail down the tough bark with his right. After gouging out a long, slender, blackened splinter, he uses it to pick at something trapped between his yellowing teeth.

"I swear; I told them nothing about you!", the Lightning tree whispers.

Kane looks both surprised and a little disappointed, "Really? Nothing? Nothing at all? Weren't they curious about the symbol I'd carved so deeply into your bark? The symbol that I've carved all over the bigger trees in these forests, these last few decades?"

Mouthlessly, the massive black tree continues, "No, nothing. All they wanted to know was how to get to the Dryad pool."

Kane's heavy brow furrows deeper and spittle foams at the corners of his mouth...

"And you told them?! What do they want with Estrid? Who are they? What are their strengths and weaknesses? If you hope to keep on existing, you'd better tell me EVERYTHING you know about them right now!" 

Lightning Tree Strikes

 

Tree of Knowledge

After finishing his two hour shift and leaving Rifkin to continue the night watch without him, Fortu sheds his heavy armour and snuggles down under his thick blanket. In the moments before sleep fully takes him, Fortu wonders about the mysterious Dryad pool and what secrets it really holds? 

In their eagerness to get away from the twisted carnivorous tree, they'd completely neglected to squeeze it for information. It had implied that it 'knew things' but aside from it telling them that the pool held more than one secret, they hadn't actually asked it anything.  

Not about the guardians and defences of the pool or how far away it was? Not about any nearby wildlife dangers. Not even about the three-scratch-mark symbol deeply carved into it's stone-like bark and other, seemingly random, trees for miles around!

Fortu's last thought, as his mind fades into darkness, is whether it'd be worth heading back but then he remembers the wolfpack closing the gap between them...

Survivor's Guilt

After padding along behind his new group of two-legged friends for a while now, he's suffered through a whole gamut of emotions.

They've shown him nothing but kindness; the little one especially. Back in the hidden valley he'd eaten nothing other than fruit and vegetables but the little two-legs had given him hot meat!

He'd been nervous at first, despite the encouragement of the big dog and little fox. He'd always been told that eating other animals was wrong but those skinned and flamed rabbits had smelled so good and when he licked at them... The hot, sweet, greasy taste! His stomach growled in the memory and his muzzle instantly dripped with saliva.

Although already greying around his feathered eyebrows and jowls, he'd never travelled far beyond the secret valley path. Maybe a half-days trek with his master. Now though, he's weeks away from that security. He'd seen and smelt wonderous, terrifying things. The monstrous wolf-boar guardian, whom he'd only seen before from a safe distance and exciting/terrifying new creatures such as the giggling fish-women and whispering, life-sucking tree!

Still, he was alive and fitter than ever...

If only he knew what happened to his slightly-smaller-than-a-man master and his friends the tiny red bug-man and the owl-horse? Once, when given the chance, he'd asked the little-two legs about it but he'd just replied that he knew nothing about it.

Perhaps they'd just got lost and couldn't find their way home? 

Without fully understanding why, the Dork cranes his feathery neck skywards and screeches a melancholy cry to the heavens.

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.

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."