Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe] — Legacy Forums

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#121

"Didn't you mention tripping over a corpse earlier? Maybe thats him."

Thorgir picked up one of the swords but felt no need to test the blade. He had quite enough of feeling their inhuman sharpness.

Recovering the sheath he stowed it, and then made his way over to the leader he fell, searching him as well.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#122

"Yes, there was a corpse in the jungle; liquefying. The only thing it had on it was this wooden pendant. It was probably not her mates corpse, and if it was, i have no desire to seek it out again. " Somnak indicated the pendant on his neck.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#123

Rasmus clasped the woman on the shoulder, doing his best to keep his eyes on her.. eyes.

"I do not know your words, but you have my sympathies for your loss. May Khaum comfort your, uh, heart."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#124

translated Melior.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#125

Rasmus looked to Melior.

"If she is from the village, perhaps she knows something of the cult which has taken root there? The one which I have sworn to destroy! Ask her if she knows aught of the Watching Egg."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#126

"She's from another island, priest. But, even so..." Melior said, slightly exasperated. He was a wizard, d*** it! Translating for these fools was beneath his dignity!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#127

translated Melior.

"If she is from the village, perhaps she knows something of the cult which has taken root there? The one which I have sworn to destroy! Ask her if she knows aught of the Watching Egg."

“Yes, the Watching Egg is what we call him--A’ambah-Joh—or sometimes, Manju-Loh-kahr, the Man-Eating—how do you say in Common--Melon? Doguz called him that,” she smiled wistfully, “but not within earshot of the Watching Egg. Also, the elders call him Urin-chi-rot, He-Who-Came. He has many names; we know not the real one.

“He came ten years ago”, she continued melodramatically, “He came from the sky. A silver and purple pyramid landed one day upon our flat mountain. From it, emerged the Watching Egg. Our people were scared and confused. But soon the Watching Egg explained that he was a god from another place and time, and that he had come to find his ‘chosen worshippers’. Needless to say, we were that tribe.”

“He saved us from the vicious Tribes of the Qu’qu’lan and those leaf-skinned demons, the Tribes of Kech. He had us build the wall for our village. He showed us how to mine the earth of the Tepui for the clear shiny stones, and he gave us law and order where chaos reigned before. He asked for nothing in return for his guidance, except for utter fealty and worship. To speak truthfully, I did not think our life was so bad. The Watching Egg came and became our god, and we followed its laws. It only rarely punished anyone. But Doguz, my lover had other ideas. He claimed the Watching Egg was a false god, and convinced me to leave the village with him...and now Doguz is dead, and I--”

She cried some more.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#128

Melior's eyes flickered with avarice at this additional information, but only momentarily; superior being such as himself did not have their rational, logical side swallowed by some petty emotion of greed!

"Well," he said dryly, "You all should be happy. Her tribe mines diamonds. Apparently, someone came, pretending to be a god, this 'Watching Egg,' and is exploiting and tricking her people for cheap labor."

Glancing at Rasmus, Melior continued. "Some fools will do anything for religion. Anyway, apparently the 'Watching Egg' says that if they get him enough diamonds, he'll take them to a sort of utopia. Of course, that utopia is probably the sort you get when you see your head priest sailing away with a ship-load full of stones you worked hard to pull out of the ground, waving goodbye as your left picking up the broken pieces."

Melior paused for a moment, letting his words of death and greed and manipulation sink into his audience. "Now we have two choices in front of us, gentlemen. Shall we let this state of being go on? And do any of you have anything left to say to Dzila here?"

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#129

Brin

The tunnel seemed to alternate between dark, shadowy, pitch black, and aglow in equal measures. Aglow, Brin observed, from the numerous patches of cave fungus attached to the limestone. They seemed to be pulsing and emanating their false warmth freely. Several hundred steps after her salt casting, the tunnel sloped downward quite suddenly, and at some points she had to lean against the slimy walls, just to keep from slipping forward.

Blip, droop, bloop, drip…

These sounds accompanied her progress as she seethed. This was her test, she reminded herself. Her god was testing her and naturally she would not fail.

Eventually the tunnel turned flat once more, and then began angling up anew.

Then something interesting caught her eye--a small patch of Cave-thistle of a particular species known to her, growing in a crack along one of the tunnel walls. A rare plant for obvious reasons (it was only found in warm, damp caves), it also had a peculiar trait. Dried and powdered, this plant could be used as an opiate, one such as those favored by the narcotic addicts of Baetoom’s sprawling slums. In heavier doses, say two tablespoons worth, the powder when mixed into a liquid, would cause a quick but agonizing death to most human-sized mammals.

Ripping the fistful of cave-thistle from the wall, she proceeded on, until she came to a widening cave entrance. At least this was a change from the narrow tunnel monotony.

Hear she could hear a new sound, amidst all the other sounds of dripping water. This new sound was a low faraway-thunder-like echo somewhere overhead but in an unidentifiable direction.

She paused to consider. And that is when she spotted what looked like three perfectly smooth egg-like stones, each the size of her head, clumped together in what looked like a nest of haphazardly mashed-together rocks and mud.

And now yet another new noise! From somewhere came a gentle but persistent clacking. *Clack* *Clack**Clack* it went…

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#130

Brin

The tunnel seemed to alternate between dark, shadowy, pitch black, and aglow in equal measures. Aglow, Brin observed, from the numerous patches of cave fungus attached to the limestone. They seemed to be pulsing and emanating their false warmth freely. Several hundred steps after her salt casting, the tunnel sloped downward quite suddenly, and at some points she had to lean against the slimy walls, just to keep from slipping forward.

Blip, droop, bloop, drip…

These sounds accompanied her progress as she seethed. This was her test, she reminded herself. Her god was testing her and naturally she would not fail.

Eventually the tunnel turned flat once more, and then began angling up anew.

Then something interesting caught her eye--a small patch of Cave-thistle of a particular species known to her, growing in a crack along one of the tunnel walls. A rare plant for obvious reasons (it was only found in warm, damp caves), it also had a peculiar trait. Dried and powdered, this plant could be used as an opiate, one such as those favored by the narcotic addicts of Baetoom’s sprawling slums. In heavier doses, say two tablespoons worth, the powder when mixed into a liquid, would cause a quick but agonizing death to most human-sized mammals.

Ripping the fistful of cave-thistle from the wall, she proceeded on, until she came to a widening cave entrance. At least this was a change from the narrow tunnel monotony.

Hear she could hear a new sound, amidst all the other sounds of dripping water. This new sound was a low faraway-thunder-like echo somewhere overhead but in an unidentifiable direction.

She paused to consider. And that is when she spotted what looked like three perfectly smooth egg-like stones, clumped together in what looked like a nest of haphazardly mashed-together stone.

And now yet another new noise! From somewhere came a gentle but persistent clacking. *Clack* *Clack**Clack* it went…

Slowly, slowly was the name of the game as Brin advanced, taking in the hatred and anger that surrounded her. Up above. Far above. Likely above ground - This horror, it seemed, was too simple to hate. Too simple and stupid to serve her Lord and Master. Even less regret at its destruction, then. Three pebbles found their way into her hands, as if brought by fate or the will of the gods. Whispering a word over them, she let her own frustration and anger infuse them, steeping them throughout. They would have their use.

At the tunnel's mouth into the cavern, she dipped once more into the apparently infinite well of malignancy that dwelt within her heart and soul, and poured it out into the air once more, a horrible lurking malignancy of shadow taking wing. It would wait for nearly half a day if it was needed, but by the sounds of things, it would not be nearly so long.

Her lips barely moving, Brin mouthed the words of her final prayer to her lord as she heard that clack, clack, clack sound, enveloping herself in a sphere of complete silence. It would be injurious to her, she knew, to give up a sense. But far, far more important to harm the most powerful sense her foe would have. The stench of her sweat in the heavy leather of her armor would be overwhelming, and easily fill the cavern - it would alert the beast to her presence, perhaps, but be of little use in this concealed space for pinpointing her. That would have to come from sight and sound, and now, they were both deaf to her.

Dipping her hands into her pouch, she came up with a single pebble, and, standing at the mouth of her tunnel, near the lurking malice of her own, she cast it across the cavern, well forth from the sphere of silence, and immediately began to fall back, down the tunnel some ten or so feet. She did not care if it hit the beast - it wasn't the point. It was hardly a silent thing, though. Outside of her little sphere of silence, it would be a sharp, cracking sound, loud and echoing, not entirely unlike an alchemist's firecracker...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#131

"I have nothing to say to the woman," Somnak snorted at the weeping girl, then eyed over the skin he'd just stolen from the Qullan - it would suffice for his purposes, with a bit of work tonight. "But these diamonds sound interesting. I grow weary of the demons of this island" the half-orc indicated to the slain individual he had just dissected, "Turns out they are not as fearsome as first I thought. I say we seek out this egg... thing - these Diamonds sound enticing - if we are to be stuck on this island for some time, I would like to at least make it worth my while. We should get some distance from this graveyard and rest up before we go much further, though. Perhaps we can make a camp upstream to tend our wounds."

With that, Somnak slung the leg-haunch over his shoulder, collected his belongings and began peering up and downstream along the river for a good direction to go.

"On second thoughts... Ask the woman if she knows a safe place to collect ourselves."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#132

Through Melior she answered Somnak's query in a roundabout way,

"Upstream is safer. Downstream the river heads into a lagoon where crocodiles dwell. Back upstream," she points, "is where Doguz and I came from. Upstream leads to the Crying Mountain, where we dwell. There are few places that are safe in the jungle to rest overnight but i know of one place. Beneath the leaves of the Fou-Fou tree. It is an hour walk upstream, and the safest place to spend the night. Another day from there is our Crying Mountain. I can show you the place where to camp. Unless... you are strong enough to row upstream in the boats we used?" she concluded pointing at the reed canoes.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#133

Brin

It did not take the mother long to return to her nest. The clacking became louder as a weird creature, a vulture-headed, bipedal, anthropomorphic cockroach, came lumbering into Brin’s view. The nine foot tall horror’s worst feature however were its two stone-like arms, each ending in huge, vicious-looking hooks in lieu of appendages.

The creature immediately sniffed in the direction of its rocky nest, then moved in a gangly fashion toward the very spot Brin’s pebble had landed. The creature paused to sniff the tiny stone, then rose again, and turned its clacking carapace to and fro, its vulture head trying to smell or hear any intruder.

After a few moments it lumbered back toward its nest, though it still sniffed the air and clacked angrily…

It examined the oval-shaped, head-sized rocks, and then her entire carapace began to softly clack in waves. She was purring.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#134

Carefully backing away now, some twenty feet from where the tunnel opened into the mouth of the cavern, Brin threw one more of her fire-cracker pebbles, now banking it from the wall just inside the tunnel. Inside the range of the lurking cloud of anger. Drawing forth the final pebble, she forced herself to wait patiently, drawing a deep and silent breath. There would, likely, be only a single chance, and then unwanted chaos take them both.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#135

Brin

The Hook Horror ceased her purring immediately upon hearing the popping sound of pebble slamming rock. She rose and made her way toward the tunnel, sticking her yellow-eyed vulture head inside the passage and letting out a horrible, alien sound; a half roar half whistle. The clacking intensified and it charged headlong into the tunnel, having finally caught the scent of a definite intruder.

Before it could sink its dreadful hooks into any living thing however, the creature had to lunge through a smoky haze, a weird draconian shadow seemingly protecting the priest of Atarkhul from attack. But lo! The Hook Horror's vapid mind did not even register the holy arcana, as it pierced the veil! (ooc: Minion: Murometz rolls 1d20 and gets 20.) It now had a beeline on Brin...

(ooc: Brin wins initiative as per our chat rolling)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#136

Even as the beast charged forth, before it could enter her sphere of silence, and entered the hazy influence of her malice, Brin threw her final stone, not at the beast itself, but at the tunnel above its head and began to fall back, tightening her grip on her flail. With luck, the concussion of noise and its echos would confuse, or even stun the beast. Only luck would tell. There were options of prayer, a few remaining. And she selected one from her thoughts, prepared should it break past the noise. Her shield was up and ready, her body close to the walls of the tunnel. Perhaps she could avoid its flailing for the moment...

(23:07:10) Minion: Siren_no_Orakio rolls 1d20 and gets 17.

The tiny pebble arced upwards, slamming into the tunnel ceiling directly above the hook horror. The sound, though Brin could not hear it, was deafening, enough to stun the hook-horror into insensibility for a moment, enough for the hazy fog of hatred to whip back around and attack once more... and this time, effectively. The malice sank deep into the body and soul of the hook-horror, tearing into what little it called a mind, rending it for the moment from stem to cerebellum, with paralyzing effect. And as it shuddered and shivered under this mental assault, Brin darted forth from her position, her flail swinging once, twice, three times. The first, a sweep across the gangly creature's legs, felling it to the ground. The second and the third, wicked strikes and re-strikes upon the beast's head. Enough to slay it in its fallen position. And then, only then, did she permit herself a deep, shuddering breath, as the sphere of silence began to fail.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#137

Brin

The Hook Horror mother shrieked from the sudden assault on its audible senses, and instinctively fell back a few feet in disarray, whereupon the Waiting Wyvern wrapped her in its ebon shroud once more. As the creature was about to lunge forward again, this time with intent to impale the obsidian-skinned priestess, it froze, its clacking stopping a few moments after it had...

And then it died, under the unrelenting assault of the priestess of Hate.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#138

As the sound returned the space about her, Brin took that deep breath, stoking the frenzy of her heart once more. From her belt she took a slim knife, and she fell upon the fallen beast, carving its bizarrely shaped and ichorous heart from within, then spoke aloud at last, her rich timbre echoing faintly inside the tiny cavern. "My Lord, I give this victory to you!" The heart, then, she anointed with oils, and set ablaze, before calling out, "Atarkhul, To You Who Dwells Within All, I give this heart unto you! May you feed upon the hatred that lead to it's death!"

The smoking heart she left upon the ground, then, as an idea struck her, clearly either mad, or divinely inspired. With some care, she pared back the carapace from the beast, and severed and cleaned the vile hooks, adding them to the treasures she could take from its little hoard. She had no use for them, but it appeared to her that her Lord wanted another to have them.

Her rituals completed, she gathered herself once more, and departed the scene of her battle, praying quietly so that she might pass without trace. Let it for the old man to discover the beast's death on his own, if he dared. It would be good for her to leave this place, and to pay particular care in doing so. It had left eggs, and that meant there was a potential mate in the vicinity - and she didn't know how likely it was to be vengeful. Her own well of favor had waned substantially, until dusk permitted her to re-establish her connection to her lord.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#139

Thorgir looked at the boat and winced. "Yes, I can row. "

He was getting tired of rowing and swimming, but he didn't want to stick around here either.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#140

Thorgir and Somnak did not lack the strength to row against the current and an hour or so later, the group came upon the Fou-Fou Tree, where they camped beneath its enormous leaves...

----

They travelled with Dzila.

Delving through the merciless jungle was somewhat easier with her in tow. She knew the edibles from the poisonous for instance, and now they needed not starve. Needless to say, no one partook of Somnak’s Qullan haunch except Somnak.

A whole day they traversed the primal forest, where in places the twisting roots of the trees rose over their heads and had to be climbed. At one point Dzila stopped and hacked at a yellowish vine. Once punctured the plant oozed a golden sap, which she rubbed on herself, urging them to do the same, explaining how it repelled insects, once on the skin.

It seemed to Rasmus, he could be wrong he considered but probably not, that Dzila had taken a liking to him. She always had a smile for him whenever she caught him ogling her. He had never seen anything like it before, a half naked human body of the female persuasion that is, and so endowed with Khaum’s gifts! Something inside the Willow had awakened. Khaum be praised!

Lumori stalked the jungle silently. His companions had all witnessed his *other* side during the battle with the Qullan, that of the single-minded, ferocious destroyer, but no one spoke of it. He was back to being the unassuming thief now, and blended amidst his companions in the background, the same way the color green blended in with the jungle.

Somnak checked his new drum-skins often, making sure the leather stayed supple. Humanoid skin after all was more fragile than those of beasts, he knew.

Melior dreamed of power and magic and fire and diamonds, in that order. To entertain himself while he travelled he recited from memory everything he knew about everything. At one point Somnak growled at him to shut up, but it did little to dissuade the egotistical elf.

Thorgir remained quiet. The barbarian was still recovering from his gruesome injuries, the types of injuries that would have felled most men. At least he had added to his weapon arsenal, with the Qullan sword, the others going to Somnak and Lumori respectively, the fourth left unclaimed, as were the Qullan paint-dyes.

They spent the night beneath a mighty tree, another Fou-Fou, protected by its roots, as if by walls. The chemical this tree’s gigantic leaves emitted, Dzila explained, was anathema to most non-humanoid creatures of the jungle. That still left the Qullan, Thorgir suggested, so they took turns guarding, but nothing happened that night.

The following morning after more hiking, they began making their way up a steep upward incline; until by midday they finally came upon the base of a great waterfall, plunging more than three hundred down from the cliff-side of a massive, overgrown tepui before them.

“Through there is the quickest way” she said pointing directly at the waterfall, “Through the water, and under the mountain and up. Otherwise you would have to climb”, she said looking up, “Or fly. As for me I will go no further. The Watching Egg and his Seneschal do not take kindly to those who escape the village only to return.”

[img width=400 height=266]http://www.formyhour.com/img/travel/angel_highest_waterfall/highest_waterfall.jpg

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#141

During the trip, before he got too absorbed with demonstrating his superior to he fellows, Melior quietly told Somnak the extraneous details and powers of his necklace, explaining that he did not know whether they orc felt comfortable with the others knowing, and that such power is one's own decision to share.

Upon arrival to the base of the waterfall, Melior thanked Dzila for guiding them this far, and wished her well in her further journey and life.

Turning to the others, he said "Well? I have not come across a spell for flying in my travels, so I presume we must venture into the depths of the caverns within the rock."

So saying, and using hjs dagger, he cut a particularly large leaf to serve as an umbrella for going through the waterfall. Though he did not mind the water himself, his books and spell-books might get ruined with contact with the liquid.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#142

Somnak licked his fangs as he examined the "wooden" ball hanging off his neck in a new light. One fear all orcs (and half-orcs) hesitantly shared was the fear of mind-magic. Specifically, mind magic used against them. Somnak grinned to himself, happy now to possess the bauble, though he still glanced at Melior as a potential meal down the road.

The others soon followed the demonstrative and bold Melior towards the falls. As Thorgir splashed ahead, he made note of the fact that the water here only reached to his thigh. An emergency leap from the top of the Tepui, three hundred feet above, into this roiling pool beside the waterfall would most likely result in death, not salvation.

As they neared the falls, the misty spray drenched them, though it mattered little, since moments later they were diving beneath the falls, and emerging on the other side. Except for Melior, who used his leaf-umbrella to skirt around the falls as best he could, avoiding a quick swim and thus preventing his precious spell-books from getting wet.

Behind them now, was a wall of water, directly ahead, the Tepui cliff-side, and a cave opening. On each side of the cave, Lumori noted grimly, stood bamboo poles, each sporting a "cluster" of rope-entwined humanoid skulls. A warning perhaps, as if reminding the companions that they were indeed on a savage jungle island.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#143

Brin

An hour of spelunking later she found the “exit” and the source of the earlier thunder. Peeking her head up through an opening in the low ceiling of an otherwise dead-end tunnel, Brin spied another tunnel. This one extended about thirty feet and then opened up into thin air and a roaring wall of water, plunging downwards with torrential force, approximately five feet from the cave opening. A waterfall.

The salt casting had not failed her, she grimaced; this was indeed an exit of sorts.

To complicate matters, it seemed that the earlier Hook Horror’s mate was here fishing for dinner. The creature’s back was to Brin thankfully. It stood perilously close to the edge of the opening, and swung its hooks through the raging water outside, attempting to spear falling fish!

With the sound of the falls cloaking his usually excellent hearing, and the misty spray numbing his normally powerful sense of smell, it somehow did not sense the priestess who glanced upon him now.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#144

Meanwhile...in a nameless village, atop a lush tepui, on some nameless jungle island

“I hear your name at night and sweat
When I wake up I’m soaking wet.
When I dream I can still hear you say,
‘Dzimu, won’t you please just go away’
But ,
Meleana Meleana Meleana I still scream
Come swing with me on the liana in dream!
We’ll climb with the gibbons, and swim with the fish
And naked in the water, we’ll do what I wish!
The lizards will smile at our love so deep,
Off Lover’s Rock, we’ll surely leap!
In the lush jungle, I’ll coo and you’ll swoon,
And then we’ll make love, beneath the lust moon!
The sloths will dance, and the birds will sing
When I hand you this-- bamboo ring—“

Dzimu paused, fumbled for something in his loin-cloth, and removed a bamboo band---

“And then maybe after, you’ll be my—wife.”

A heavy sigh interrupted young Dzimu.

“Is that it?” Came a languid, mellifluous voice

“Uhh-no, there is a bit more.”

Dzimu resumed…

"Meleana Meleana Meleana I cry
Won't you but favor me, at least with one eye."

He cleared his throat...

“You may outlive me, but I don’t care, I am entangled forever in your druidic snare”

Pause

“That is it.” He concluded and looked at her nervously.

At that moment another paramour walked up, much to the chagrin of Dzimu. This one said:

“Meleana! Strangers come! Come look! They near the village palisade.”

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#145

It took a long time, but with Dzila's instructions on how to navigate from the bottom of the tepui to the top safely via the inside of the mountain, along with some blind luck, the improbable companions, Lumori, Rasmus, Somnak, Melior and Thorgir eventually reached its summit.

Emerging from the darkness, they were all at this point covered in layers of dust and mud, but none the worse for wear otherwise.

The top of the tepui they observed, belied the size it appeared to be from below. The tepui surface was immense. The vegetation here was considerably sparser, and jagged rock dominated the scenery. Up ahead several hundred yards away, they could spy a man-made wooden palisade encircling what had to be some sort of village or other community.

Hopefully it was not the Qullan village...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#146

The world was upside down. Meleana rolled over in bed and turned it right once more.
Strangers? Here? After a look at the hopeful Dzimu, she decided the effort of getting up from her cot might actually be worth it for once.
She despised that clueless oaf, maybe she ought to drop a hint among some of the bigger, stronger, suitors that she didn't wish to see him in her hut no more. She sighed and gathered up the coils of her large boa constrictor as she sensually crawled off the bed, gliding rather than walking, she sashayed out to the opening of her hut, where she clapped her hands, and was subsequently picked up and carried by Umtola and Tesram, two burly and swarthy young men.
Together their arms formed an impromptu chair, and at her bidding they carried her down to the gathering busy gawking at the new arrivals, the rest of her suitors followed in tow.

She made quite a sight, a bare breasted elf towering above the rest of the village like a carnival float. No doubt the elders would be displeased by the display, but she hardly cared. It wasn't like she put herself forward, she had simply come to watch. She smiled and looked around for the elders or one of their runners that would no doubt greet the strangers.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#147

A flash of irritation burst through Brins' mind, but she knew at once that it had none of the taste of a truly passionate hatred. It was too thin to come from her lord, and not from within. And so, she turned back, and returned, passing through the lair once more without trace, before taking the other fork in the road. Perhaps this one would be more fruitful.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#148

Thorgir looked down on the palisade. A twinge - perhaps a reminder of home.

"Sounds like they may have seen us. What should we expect? How do you normally greet strangers?" He hoped, without arrows.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#149

"Well, historically, you greet strangers by slaughtering their male-folk and raping their newly-widowed wives." Melior smiled at his own superior wit. "But in this case, by being as friendly as possible. Put all weapons away- within reach though, if they initiate violence. New contact is a dangerous thing. Be friendly, open, and smiling. Remember, our lives may depend on how nice you all seem. I'll try and talk them away from killing us all, you all smile."

He glanced at them all, pleased at the effect of his words. Melior had never considered the fact that he would make an excellently charismatic general before- maybe he should join the ranks of his brethren when he got back home? No, someone would steal all his beautifully shiny diamonds from is estate when he was gone. Thrice-cursed peasants and their grubby criminal ways.

"Though we may have both better skill or better equipment, as well as myself, they far out weight us in both knowledge of terrain, numbers, and tenacity born of defending their home. They can kill us easily if they so chose. Keep that fact in the forefront of your minds, and we shall go far."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#150

Earlier...

Somnak, his belly full, set to work on his freshly harvested Qullan-Skin. Making good use of the giant's own blade, the Half-Orc shaved back what little body hair there was on his piece. Ignoring the disgusted glances by more than one of his companions, He then scraped the skin from the back with the blade, removing fleshy pieces, flaws and uneven patches of skin, to create one smooth, uniform strip. With the aid of a tree branch and his body weight, he stretched the skin, before allowing it hang and dry while the party rested.

During this time, Somnak studied the wound on his chest as best he could - the bleeding had stopped, and it was too large a gash to bandage properly with what he had anyway. Finally, he collected the large Qullan Leg-bone he saved from his meal - he had de-boned the meat first - and scraped it down as well, before scrubbing away at what flesh remained with some rough bark he collected from a nearby fallen tree.
Satisfied, Somnak set the bone aside - he would have to remove the marrow at some stage to prevent bad odour, but the bone was sturdy. He set to his third task: carefully unstringing the and removing the goats hide from his drum, which he folded and stored in his pack.

Some time later when the Qullan skin was sufficiently dried, Somak pulled the Rawhide down from the branch. He sliced two strips from the patch and tidied the edges of the rest. With some grunt-work he pulled the hide over his drum and secured it into place. The skin was thinner than the goat hide; the remnants of the Qullan's dye creating a swirling, chaotic pattern which ached the brain just to look at.

Somnak's final task was to collect the two strips of leather. The first, he wrapped around the bottom end of the bone he had saved, and the second he used to strap a sturdy rock the size of his fist around the top end, securing it in place and make a rough, yet effective bone club. He would have liked to work some stone into an axe head and wedge it into the bone, but for now, the club will do.

A lesson well taught from his Orcish father was that sometimes you needed to hack and slash, but other times you needed to crush; plus it was always wise to have a fall-back weapon in case one failed you. Now, Somnak had two.

Presently...

Somnak laughed heartily at Melior's joke - that was exactly how the half-orc's clan would have approached the situation, back in the day.
"What's that, Elf? We skulk up to them like cowards? What do we do next, turn our rears to them and present ourselves for submission!? Perhaps that is how YOU would like to introduce yourself...!" Somnak purposefuly chose his Qullan-Bone club and held it down to his side, allowing also the fresh skin of his drum to point forth, the warped Qullan dye strongly suggesting as to the original owner of the hide. "The woman clearly feared these 'Qu'qu'lan' beasts and surely her folk do as well - let us enter this town as conquerors, not as simpering cowards!"
Somnak pushed forth and began walking towards the village, courage in his step and the demon's-dance pounding in his head - he refused to let this cursed island best him!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#151

Thorgir grinned. He liked the half-orc, cannibalistic tenancies aside. His injuries were getting the better of him, and that needed to stop now.

"I like Somnak's plan, Elf. Lets go."

Thorgir joing Somnak, his captured blade clearly visible, though not brandished.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#152

As the companions approached the wall of logs, a gate opened and from it emerged the welcoming committee.

First came the shock troops in loincloths, carrying wide-bladed spears. Sixteen warriors ran forward and paused in triangular formation, fifty feet from the palisade. Next came a walking procession of elders, escorted by a mob of handlers, and a smattering of onlookers, tossing handfuls of golden-yellow petals into the air in their wake.

Then came some lusty half-nude jungle queen held aloft by twin strongmen, hovering over the crowd. A raven-haired elf with her own retinue of admirers in tow.

The village ambassadors stopped and studied the unusual visitors.

One of the elders, no doubt the suthcundsman, raised a hand and waved, as he descended from his palanquin.

“Well met, travelers! What brings you to our village?” he intoned in Common, “We do not see many travelers here, not even those shipwrecked on our shores, so few make it through the jungle. Fewer still make it up the Crying Mountain. I am Dzarij, the Headman. Do you come to pay homage to the Watching Egg?”

At the sight of Somnak and Thorgir marching forward, their Qullan “remains” and possessions held aloft, Dzarij’s eye widened.

“You have encountered the tribe of painted-devils and survived?” He asked with near-awe, examining Thorgir's blade, and Somnak's hides.

The companions could spy one more figure some distance away, standing beside the palisade and eyeing the adventurers…eyeing them with a single, purposeful, malevolent, and grotesque eye, centered in its oval-like misshapen head. The one-eyed head sat atop an equally grotesque body, hunchbacked with arms and legs of seemingly different sizes, though fortunately covered in bone-white flowing robes. The figure, at least as tall as a Qullan, was leaning on a staff of some sort, topped by what looked like a head-sized, oval shiny mirror, which gleamed brightly amidst the sun's rays.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#153

Brin

For an entire day and night she traversed the cursed Tepui's dark and dank insides, until at last she emerged into the sun once more.

She looked around. The surface of the Tepui was its own little world, a miniature rock-strewn jungle, with birds soaring far overhead. It was however the pyramid which jutted half-way from the earth that jarred her as she surfaced.

The alien-looking structure seemed to be made of silver, while the capstone resembled a giant amethyst. The entire pyramid must have been two hundred feet high, though at least half of it was buried in the ground.

From her vantage point sixty feet away or so, she could spy loin-clothed, spear-wielding savages patrolling the buried base of the pyramid, as if guarding its entrance.

Bizarre, even to a priestess of Atarkhul, who was not so easily surprised.

In the other direction, she could make out the outline of a wooden palisade wall of some village.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#154

Her first glimpse of the adventurers boded well. She involuntarily touched her left temple at the sight of the quallan artifacts held by the strangers, mighty indeed, though one of them was hideous, she'd never seen such an ugly human.

But her heart almost stopped as she saw the elf with them, there weren't that many elves left on the island and they had lost or forgotten most of their original culture throughout the generations. But an elf from the mainland, such possibillities! She tried to catch his gaze, maybe if she leaned back a little...

Her quandaries were cut short as she saw the seneschal studying them. She sighed, maybe these strangers wouldn't be so long-lived, outsiders seeing a cyclops for the first time tended to react either with violence or fear. Such a shame.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#155

Melior all but sighed at his companions. There are times, however few, where humbleness is the best approach. It did seem, though, that this scheme of theirs was proving successful. No one was trying to kill them yet.

He glanced at the elf, and their gazes caught for a moment. An elf, living on this godsforsaken spit of land? Perhaps some god was merciful and had forgiven him for the, ah, incident in that temple when he was a young lad.

Listening to this human speak- Dzarij! Remember his name! Don't forget his name like you did that... Thief. Um... Human thief.... Lumalla? Lily? Elizabeth? Something with an L...

"Thank you for your kind words, headman Dzarij," Melior said politely. Not even a trace of sarcasm. "Alas, it is not out of anything but Madam Fortune that brings me here to this village- not even a desire to see the beautiful elf I see standing over there! Indeed, it was, for most of us, shipwreck that laid us here at the foot of the jungle and the Painted Devils, as you so called them. As you can so clearly see for yourselves. Indeed, I have a gift for you: one of their specially sharp blades, taken off the loathsome beast itself! Alas, I have no worthier gift for one such as yourself."

The elven wizard, raised among the wealthier, more noble circles, knew the proper thing to do was bow and kneel while presenting the blade; this he did, with one hand cradling the blade and the other the hilt. Before he knelt his head as well, he made sure that the sun's light gleamed off the blade. Showmanship in this game was everything.

There were five swords. Thus, one for each of us. I'm giving him my share of the loot. If any of you have a problem with this, I'll edit my post.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#156

(ooc: Melior aces his "butter-up-the-headman" initial reaction roll with flying colors.)

"A gift?" The wizened headsman was taken aback by this gesture from a total stranger. Elves, he thought to himself, truly nature's most civilized folk.

Dzarij accepted the blade, and held it as one would a newborn child. He then turned back toward the villagers, and raised the blade over his head, a wide grin on his face. The villagers cheered and hailed the slayers of the Qu'qu'lan.

"Beautiful elf, yes." he then turned back to Melior. "Yes that is Meleana, one of your kind. She is much loved in our village as you can plainly see", he motioned towards Meleana's human palanquin, "especially by our young men." he smiled.

Dzarij then eyed Thorgir, Lumori, and Somnak. Which tribe does this hairy, fanged one belong to? the old man wondered.

"You are all welcome to visit our village and stay as honored guests. We shall light the bonfires this night and feast in your honor. We shall listen to your tales of distant lands, and you will tell us how you slew the Painted Devils. And we shall dance as the drummers pound their beats to A'Aombah'Joh! And may the Watching Egg smile upon us all!"

With that he leapt into his palanquin and motioned for a general return to the village. "Prepare the fires! Tonight we welcome The Four Gift-Givers, the Four Slayers of the Qu'qu'lan!"

It was obvious that this village did not receive many visitors if Dzarij's exuberance was any clue.

The gates were opened once more and the companions were now free to enter and do whatever they wished, until the evening feast. Or so they thought...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#157

Emerging from the ground for the first time in entirely too long, Brin turned her dark face to the sun, drinking it in in a rare moment of simple satisfaction. As she looked to the temple, a surge of anger coursed through her soul - that was what her Lord wanted. But the tactics of the deal. A single woman, even one like herself, would have ... difficulty with a guarded area. And so she cast a jaundiced eye towards the village. If she could incite some of them against their false god...

A wicked gleam stood in her eyes for just a moment. She slung the bone hook openly over her shoulder, then, as she started off towards the village, keeping her eyes out for a way to wash up. She would be more impressive and imposing if she arrived relatively clean.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#158

Smiling to himself at how effective the none-show off route worked versus the other's more barbaric methods, Melior said to his companions "I shall be over here; if you need my prodigious talents before the feast, well, come see me. Try not to get too drunk before we have to tell our tale at that feast." Before he worked his way over to this Meleana, glancing at her as he did so. Quite beautiful, and she did have quite nice b... That is, Melior corrected himself, eyes. Quite nice violet eyes. No sense in getting excited so soon.

"It is nice to see another elf on this island, especially one so ravishing as you." Melior said in greeting. "And with such a beautiful name of Meleana! You must tell me how you survive with but humans."

If the game of courtship makes you uncomfortable, than I apologize and will do otherwise Gossamer. Feel free to request that Melior not try and, to use a phrase, "make a move" on Meleana

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#159

To Meleana's great surprise none of them seemed to notice the giant cyclops watching them, perhaps they weren't such an uncommon sight wherever they came from, either that or the seneschal was using one of his tricks. But this was all well and good though, she had caught the eyes of the elf, and he obviously complimented her, yes that was definitely a compliment, drawing the ire of every single one of her suitors, even if most didn't speak common, his intentions were clear. She basked in the added attention this brought from the village, smiling benevolently.

Later on, when they were let into the village, she knew she had hooked her fish when he came to talk to her, but she had made a grave miscalculation. He addressed her in common, a language she didn't have a very strong grasp of. Did he just ask her if she survived on a diet of humans? No, no, that couldn't be right, she was sure she would have remembered if her ancestors had been cannibals.
She hid her confusion behind a warm smile, gestured to him and bade him. "Come." She was positive that was the right word. Yes, it seemed to have worked.

She was carried back by her sulking strongmen, tailed by the elf and the rest of her suitors. Once back in her hut, she sent away most of her suitors, opting to keep Umtola and Tesram by her side, they wouldn't understand what was being said anyways, and some chaperons would help keep up appearances. Besides, she didn't know this elf well enough yet. She sent some of the others out to fetch two shells of tepache.

Now, she didn't want to speak common, she would come of bumbling and barbaric, and she didn't wish to start off swinging at such a disadvantage. So that left one other option, elven. She could only hope that the language spoken on the mainland hadn't moved too far away from hers over the centuries. She studied him for a while, letting the silence build, while she distractedly fondled her snake. She then composed herself and began in her languid tone.

< "Greetings kin of myne kin. Myne apologies for ye humble welcome, nae doubt one as garbed as thee art nae stranger tae the finer thyngs yn lifve. Thy did'st nae mention thine name, forsooth?" >

That didn't seem to have the desired effect. She grimaced. In resignation she spoke to him in her native tongue instead.
< "I don't suppose you understand me when I talk like this?" >

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#160

Thorgir was grateful for the warmth of the greeting, regardless of the bravado of their approach. He also had to admit that the elf's gift did well for them, and apparently it seemed, very well for the elf in particular. Thorgir sighed - a bit too little meat on the bones for his taste.

Meat. A good feast would do him good. Speed along the knitting of sheared flesh. Perhaps their shaman - if they had one - could help.

What was that one-eyed thing, Thorgir wondered and hoped that was not the shaman.