The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Six

[Jeovanna]

Jeovanna grimaced, yet conspicuously, said nothing. Had she heard Metea and Magaw? Perhaps, perhaps not. It was easy to get distracted by other things, such as the noise of dangerous creatures, out in the wild.

She had to admit; she'd tuned the sorcerer and warlock's little interactions out for the most part. They were just too... cute.

Instead, she'd lick her teeth and focus on Dain. Jeovanna clearly didn't much want to head towards a farmhouse, but the others did, so she'd relent. If they saw carrion birds... then they should pass it by. "Very well. A farm house. Let's go," she grunted in return.

Still... she still seemed out of sorts, and it wasn't the displeasure at a night spent mucking some stables for a meal. "The pack told stories about a twisted tree. Some of the pack traveled near there, long ago by their reckoning," but gnolls did not live particularly long, so it was not 'long ago' by their reckoning, likely.

She left the comment just hanging there, as if it spoke for itself, though it really didn't. Jeovanna did not think a strange gnoll pack would be a good thing to run into, especially if it were not 'her' pack.

 

[97mg]

“Ah, lovely!” Magaw mentions, as Metea’s ice carving floats off downstream. “I doubt I’m the only romantic in these parts though,” he notes as Otiroth moves in for a squeeze of the tiefling.

“Mage hand? I have heard of such a thing… a summoned body-part to do one’s bidding? Is this something you can perhaps teach me, as we toil through these long walking days? Mayhaps in thanks, I have a little something arcane to offer in return.”

There was more to this than just the opportunity to carry objects or properly touch the surrounding world. Hand movements, waves, gestures, painting strange symbols in the air with a finger… it would allow access to old spells, previous arts that required components of a somatic nature. Magaw smiled. This was an opportunity not to be missed!

Sniffing the air, the half-orc can be comfortable with the ranger’s choice of direction. The smell of recently baked food is not far off now, probably much closer that Dain’s farmhouse thankfully. If all goes well and Suru smiles upon you, there is a chance you can arrive there before nightfall, with proper shelter for the evening as a reward.

For Jeovanna, with every step northwards comes opportunity. Gnoll tribes once lingered at Viro’s south where a mix of plains and forests provide both protection and easily-hunted meals. She might wonder if later, closer to the mountains, there is a possibility that she might be able to locate the old pack, family and their territorial home. Though her furry kin might be considered devious and brutal, their ability to track, recall and share truths about the land is unquestioned. The tree most certainly would have existed. What meanings had the gnolls placed on the circular growth? This is perhaps, something for the barbarian to remember, as the group plods on through the undergrowth.

It takes the party a little while to find a way through the thick thorny weeds on the river’s edge, but eventually an old animal track makes itself known. Some time later you step out from the bushes and back into forest, leaving the sounds of running water and fish-tickling bears far behind. A mere half an hour later you stop.

The air becomes hazy from a smouldering campfire. Through the trees, you spot an old linen shadecloth stretched between two branches. Behind a fallen log there are two outstretched legs, the rest of the human currently concealed. At his feet, an old hound, shaggy and grey, appears to be sleeping peacefully. This is the source of the ad-hoc bakery aromas, you are sure of it, as you can almost make out a small assortment of cooking implements laying beside a slowly dying fire.

<Stealth checks for any attempting to move closer, unnoticed.>

 

[Metea]

"Sure thing, Magaw," Metea replied. She clearly saw no problem- he was on their side, right?

As they walked along, Metea falling a bit behind the rest of the group though still in front of Carthum, she'd demonstrate mage hand for Magaw on Otiroth's undefended backside. Although honestly, if Magaw acted on that particular demonstration, he'd probably be smashed into component skull bits... regardless.

Before too long they'd arrive at the camp site. Metea looked it over quickly- it looked like just a normal campsite, but if there was a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing around, she'd like to know...

<Investigation= 12>
<Spell casting-mage hand, cantrip>

 

[daindarkspring]

Dain continued on, the smell of the bread beginning to mix with that of a fire. Behind him, the conversation Magaw was having with Metea drifted through his thought.

He has a loose tongue for being a disembodied skull...I preferred Annit's company, she was quieter. And had nicer eyes...

His musing were cut short at the sight of the camp. And the hound. Sneaking up on a dog was almost impossible, and maybe sneaking wasn't the best course of action anyway.

Despite this, Dain attempted to approach the camp with some amount of quiet, if for nothing else than to be polite. The wilderness had its unwritten rules, after all.

He whistled quietly, to wake the dog in as non-threatening a manner as he could muster. Moving forward, he bent his knees and got down low, his right hand gesturing in a slowly turning manner that seemed to come to him from a half-remembered dreams. Muttered words followed, whispered under his breath. "We are all kith and kin, under the same stars."

A low whimper started in Dain's throat, and then it became a hushed howl of greeting for the hound. They came in peace, and were simply a pack that was moving through. Was there danger nearby?

<Spell: Communicate with animals>
<Stealth roll: 8>

 

[97mg]

Moving closer to the campsite, the occasional twig cracks under the ranger’s boots because his attention is elsewhere, as he works himself up for some canine dialogue.

The site is definitely temporary the party might assume as they linger a safe distance off behind Dain. A dying fire, some quickly erected shade-cloth, a few basic necessities laid out at the slumbering human’s side. A pot and pan, a few wineskins, a bedroll and a pack. A middle-aged man with long tangles of salt and pepper hair sleeps soundly beneath the cloth’s shade, several loaves of fresh flame-licked bread resting nearby on a small towel. He murmurs in his sleep and snorts, before rolling to his side, head resting against a small half-filled sack.

The old hound’s daydream of wild grasses under-paw, and the winking of a white cottontail as it darts down a burrow, are interrupted by a welcoming howl. It's eyes open, before the mangy head turns to look at Dain. A long yawn, rows of yellowed teeth and a few drops of slobber hit the earth, before it sits up on its front legs.

“We same. Pack. Move through. Soon people, long sleep, and much meat, maybe my own blanket. Your pack, smell strange! Master always walking, I keep him safe. Master calls me Masto. Masto kills ugly thing for Master, then we run.”

Masto gets up then, and the rest of the group watches as he circles Dain, gets a good sniff of a ranger-shaped bum, and then quietly barks a few times.

“I smell jerky. And fox. Fox annoying!”

It has been a while since you’ve seen the vixen, probably not since crossing the river.

 

[97mg]

Interlude: Cold Fingers

“Oooh, Pomth got tasties.”

A stubby thumb and index finger held a tiny stone up to the hazy daylight. The discovery was smaller than a pea, but semi-transparent, and quite beautiful to behold with it's blue across one hemisphere, shifting to orange at the other.

It rattled in a bucket as the gnome confidently tossed it a couple of yards, across to shore.

“What do you think, Redeye?”

Pomth’s companion arrived quickly, tiling his head to regard the little rock with curiosity. Redeye remained quiet, but tapped on the bucket once to signal approval.

“Tonight we bury the stash, you pass on the message, and the next morning we collect our reward,” the gnome decided. This was the way they worked. Pomth got his feet wet. Redeye did the messaging.

Turning back out across the river, Pomth contemplated where to try next. Where to submerge his bottomless iron mug, dig up some gravel, and then sift it out with an old pan that hung from his belt? Then something unusual caught his eye. A flash of white on the water’s surface, a reflected glimmer of sun. Something was bobbing along, riding the current downstream.

“Look, Redeye!” He pointed at the object, which was sliding over the top of a large water-covered rock, picking up steam as the rapid tugged at it.

Pomth made a run for it, trying to intersect the mysterious thing before it flew by out of reach. He ran as quickly as he could, but it was too late. Redeye was already there, and had scooped it up. In seconds, there was another tinkle emitted from the bucket of collectibles.

“What is it! What is it?” Pomth called out as he hurried back.

It had looked like a fish of some sort, when his friend had picked it up. And a fish it was in shape and form, but not in soul. The gnome was confused. He stared at it for a long moment, before looking to his friend and saying, “upstream, upstream! Go, go!”

With Redeye gone, Pomth held the ice-cold and glassy little fish up to the light, and studied it just as he had done with everything else the river had gifted him. It was wonderful. Impossible. It was a mystery he’d not leave unsolved.

Little did he know that before the hour was up, the treasure would be gone, the heat of the day returning it to water. Water in the bottom of a bucket, mixed with the salt of a little man's tears.

 

[Carthum One-Tusk]

Carthum watched the display- magic in action. There were so many different sorts of the mystical, and Dain's was very different from the flames and crackling pain energy of their other companions.

But for the moment- he would hang back, letting Dain work his diplomacy on the hound. There was, of course, a concern that if their unwitting host awoke, he'd be afraid they were bandits, and that held potential for danger.

 

[Metea]

"Aww," Metea fussed, though quietly. "What a cutie!"

She was definitely looking at the dog, not Dain's bum, but one could protest too much. Metea, in general, wasn't pro animal- especially not compared to Dain, she was sure. And she didn't fully get what he was doing, but could grasp the arcane nature of it- and watched with great interest. Any mystical ability was useful. Any was worth showing her master. Perhaps, with time and study, she could learn this from the ranger as well...

<Arcana check=22... but Metea does not have the invocation yet!>

 

[daindarkspring]

Dain listened to the refreshingly simple and uncluttered words of the hound. He gave a slight growl in his throat, and then twisted his head back and to the side, motioning towards where they had come from. He refrained from sniffing the animal's backside.

His answer to the hound sounded like a mixture of growls, whines, and sleepy howls. "My pack is going where you have come from, and we have been to the place where you will find meat and a blanket. It will be good." With that, Dain pulled a piece of goat jerky from his satchel and tossed it to the dog. "We are friends, Masto. Please wake your master." These final words were just shy of a bark.

Standing up, Dain looked back at the others briefly. "They might have come from the wastes, or at least from far enough north that they have encountered unnatural evils. The man may have more information."

What unknowable dangers lie before us? Will I travel far enough that I find myself at last?

 

[Otiroth]

Otiroth had watched the interaction between hound and man with as much interest in the others. It was very foreign indeed- but he had a strange method of communication to call on as well. The sorcerer nodded to Dain. "Then let us offer him dinner," he said. Presumably, there was enough snake-meat for all!

He set one hand into his pocket- gently- until his fingertips brushed Whisper. His delicate red stone- could she whisper in her own voice? Or only his? With his other hand, he pointed towards the sleeping man.

<"Awaken, friend!"> The voice whispered in his sleeping mind, <"a fair meal and interested company awaits!">

Since the man was still dreaming, perhaps he would think it a spoke voice, or a whisper from a dream nymph! Either way, Otiroth endeavored to make it as friendly a voice as possible to the sleeping man. Otherwise, Otiroth would wait, to introduce them!

<Cantrip: Message 1/day with Whisper!>