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.

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.

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...

Edwin Starr Wars

 

Not Small, Far Away!

Despite all the warnings, Fortu is less than impressed when the ‘monstrous’ War beast breaks through the foliage in the distance. Sure, it's big by wolf standards but he’s fought many wolves in the arena before and always emerged victorious. 

But then, when the ex-gladiator and the wirey-bristled beast lock eyes and it rumbles to a charge, Fortu’s nerve falters a little. 

Ignoring the multiple arrows raining down upon upon it from his archer companions, the creature accelerates to a terrifying speed and as it gets closer, it gets bigger. Much bigger! Fortu realises too late that his perception of the creature's size had been a terrible under-estimate! 

His preconceived ideas of wolf and boar sizes had tricked him into doubting his own eyes and as the hybrid animal bears down on him, it’s more comparable to a fully grown bull with outsized tusks lending yards to its reach!

With nowhere to run, Fortu has no option but to brace his heavy shield and prepare to swing his bastard sword in retaliation.
...

The crushing impact is devastating, despite his recently acquired magical armour, and Fortu feels several ribs instantly crack beneath the black steel chest plate and tastes the familiar salty flavour of his own blood in his mouth.

Even as his vision dims, he thrusts his long blade directly towards the War's toothy maw. His years of training and drill muscled arms guiding his aim true but just as the blade's about to drive through flesh, the beast twists its mightily muscled neck and deflects the sword with one of its powerful tusks. Slicing across the beast's shoulder, it's still a fine blow but just not a fatal one.

In the moments before the world fades to black, the heavily armoured warrior catches sight of his bardic companion; Rifkin, quavering behind a nearby tree. There’s a look of concern on his beautiful face and the desire to run out to help but Fortu’s last thought is the sad realisation that not all men can overcome their own cowardice.

This Means War!

 

Range Rover

 

After watching Rifkin scribbling down notes by the light of several lanterns for a while, the flaxen-haired Arowe nimbly rolls to his feet and peers over the demi-elf's shoulder.
The Bard looks up nervously.
"I've been trying to make sense of this map I found of the War's hunting and foraging grounds. The Three-Quarterling was pretty thorough in his research of it over time. I suppose he had to be, as this creature was his first line of defence against interlopers such as ourselves."
The long locked archer shrugs in response. He regretted the death of the half-halfling but it was too late to save him now.
Catching his other team-mates attention, Fortu, still wearing his dark, octopus adorned armour, heaves himself to his feet but is easily beaten to the table by the smaller and much more acrobatic Liga Bur.
With everyone listening, Rifkin continues with his warning.
"Initially, the War constrained itself to the zone marked nearest the secret garden path entrance but, over time, as it got bigger, it started to roam farther afield. The dates adjacent to each additional zone show that the War's about eight-years old and that its grown to nearly the size of a ferociously tusked horse!"
The battle-scarred Fortu tenses at the description. Wolves are one of nature's apex predators at regular size and, from their earlier run in, wild boars are no easy mark either. A combination of both, allowed to grow that large...
Unaware of his human companion's unspoken response, Rifkin carries on talking.
"In a way, we were lucky. The War's ranging zone has become so wide that it can't cover the entire area in one day. Unfortunately, although we inadvertently entered its territory via the shortest route, the 'Lightning tree' takes us pretty much the longest way out."
Looking up and around at the three adventurer's faces, Rifkin points back to the map.
"It's about twenty-five miles back the way we came but almost double that before we reach 'safety' if we travel North toward the tree. Our horses, despite their loads can travel about forty miles in a day but Mir Hundur here can only manage about thirty. If we travel South-ish, we can be out of the zone before nightfall. If we ride North, we'll probably have to camp amongst this ruined forest. Either way we're at risk encountering the War but we've no idea where the beast currently is and South probably halves the risk."
The stern faced Halfling; Liga Bur bites his tongue. Should he let the others know that, as they've been comfortably holed up here over a day, the monstrous creature's almost certainly caught their scent by now and is probably already, as they speak, tracking them down?

War Zone

Sitting cross-legged on the floor and reading by the warm light of the lit fireplace and several oil-lamps, the four adventures spend several more hours eating snacks prepared by Rifkin and studying the murdered Three-Quarterling's notes and journals.

These notes reveal several answers to some previously confusing issues...

The first being; why was the hidden garden so poorly defended? The Howl seemed frightening but only survived Arowe's initial onslaught due to magical bolstering and fell soon after anyway. The tiny Scorcion seemed more like a squeaky, mentally challenged cheerleader and the Three-Quartering himself, despite his defiance, hardly put up a fight at all!

The answer was luck. Pure dumb luck!

A plan of the hidden garden, shows all the rooms (including secret room) of the underground but cosy cavern complex, the layout of the garden and magical pool, the long winding mountain path entrance and the denuded woodland area immediately surrounding them.

There are several colour shaded in areas, each expanding outward in rough circles, covering larger and larger territories. They are all labelled 'War zones' but with the dates advancing along with the zones increasing size.

These zones appear to be the ever expanding, ranging territory of the 'War'. A hybrid Wolf/Boar. A voracious, omnivorous, apex predator.

Due to it's large physical size and even larger appetite, it has driven off all the natural animals and consumed the majority of edible vegetation.

Liga Bur had noticed some of the damage on the way in but dismissed it as probably the work of a regular passel of wild boars. The Halfling shakes his dreadlocks. He'll make sure to pay much closer attention next time.

This discovery solved two of the Three-Quarterling's problems; The War naturally deters nearby animals from wandering within the magical pools calling sphere of influence and, as hybrid animals are averse to attacking other hybrid animals, this gives any new-born hybids a greater chance of early survival.

The Party must have fortunately missed the War's irregular patrol.

Some connected notes also explain why the Three-Quarterling was keeping the terrifying Beer in the cells. It was a standby replacement just in case the War was killed.

The zone has become quite large over time and there is no avoiding travelling through it, regardless of whichever way you decide to head.

Fortu and Arowe look to Liga Bur... Will they be so lucky again?