"Go," Chicken Bone says, that little smile slithering across his face, "with the blessings of the Lord of the Dead. Save the Land. For him."
As you all gather outside, the oppressive heat makes itself felt again. The rank stench of the undead shuffling around fills the air, mingled with a chemical stink coming from the ruins of the big machine and the more organic smells rising from the swamp.
Only for Vincent:
VIEW CONTENT:
One Wisdom check, please. DC15.
The question becomes: whereto now? And more than that: How? The swamp's water level may have sunk, but it is still a swamp. The sludgy surface lies still, with small plants growing on its surface, but you have no trouble picturing how you would sink into the filthy stuff.
Welcome to my webcomic, Sarcantasy.
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Ail wrote:"Well... to the swamp, then. I must look for the Maiden, although it's been so many years... I have forgotten."
"So you don't know where we can find the Maiden?" he asks surprised
With two fingers he rubs his closed eyes as if trying to put everything together and he turns around to Lucien. He opens his eyes and sees the rat in his hands. He wants to say something, but doesn't know whether to be disgusted or to laugh.
Ken of Ghastria wrote:"Charming," he says finally - a feeble attempt at humor, but it's all he can muster at the moment.
Vincent nods in agreement.
Vincent holds out a finger to ask for a brief moment of attention "If I understand correctly, we are off into the swamp ..... again ..... to a place we don't know where it is." his hand gesturing and accentuating what he is saying "To seek a Maiden, who might help us. Then finally trudge back to meet the shade of death itself." he pauses
"And on a sidenote there is a giant woman standing outside" he points to the door "who happens to come just during a battle where help is appreciated.... I think I understand what we are doing in the middle of this extremely hot and, funny enough humid, heat. But does anyone know what she is doing in the middle of the swamp?" he asks "I haven't asked her yet, but maybe you have?" he looks at Lucien and Zumba.
He is silent for a moment.
"Let's go then"
Tresspassers will be shot......
Survivors will be shot again.
While Zumba's attempt to make a raft is a sad shambles that soon falls apart, it is Orda who manages to lash some fallen logs into a serviceable conveyance through the swamp. While it is not even as smooth as the one you came this far on, it will clearly serve, and there are plenty of long branches to help move the thing through the bog.
And that is, of course, a bad sign: the abundance of fallen wood indicates the Land is suffering from the drought... Doctor Ayschluss' terrible prediction, that soon plants and animals would become extinct and the delicate system that upholds life in Souragne will be irreparably damaged, occurs to those who heard it as you set off into the swamp.
Welcome to my webcomic, Sarcantasy.
You can read it here:
Goren is very quiet, looking around. Much has happened in such a short time. There is much to think about. For now, he will not dwell too much on his present situation for now. When he has more time to himself, he will need to meditate and pray properly to the morninglord, Lathander.
"Excusez me. Si someone besoin not feel the heat, I having enchantement pour that. I, sorry, amis. I not comfortable with mort vivants help me. I not liking. At All. He stresses this. Moi very simple. My but... um goal help people. I devotion this. This place, Souragne, it need helps. So far, I pensez moi do okay, oui? I, I go fin maiden of the marais."
Goren sighs, looking at the murky water.
"Moi comprendre then we trouvez this messieur. Seigneur of the mort vivants? I um, I no liking this idea. At all. But, Man Chicken Bone, though impressionant and powerful, but not like me, suggestion and tell us go see him to help this land. I agree, we help this land. One hundred percent. However. He Lord of Dead. S'il Vous Plait. I not like at all go there. Soon, moi must meditation and pray to mon dieu Lathander. Your Morninglord. Moi needing guidance from my dieu."
Goren looks down at this hands, wringing them.
"Oh, this Frost Giant woman I speak to her. She good person. You peut trust her, ok?"
As the group leaves Chicken Bone's odd residence, Lucien hangs back, as though preoccupied with something he just noticed. During the minutes that it takes to build the raft, Lucien is - a bit surprisingly - of no use whatsoever. He stands off to the side, his back to the rest of the group, muttering ... possibly to himself, possibly to the bizarre entity he calls Claude. Nevertheless, as the raft is finally constructed and a moment of silence follows, some of those in the group think that they hear Lucien ... sobbing.
Once they are ready to be on their way, Lucien rejoins them, a solemn, cold determination on his face. "We will succeed, my friends. We have to. Too much has happened, too many curses have fallen upon this land -- and those fools who walk through it -- for us to accept failure."
As the strange half-elf offers some guidance on how best to navigate the swamp, the rest of the group notices that his left hand -- the hand that had wielded the undead-controlling bone wand -- is now frighteningly gray and withered... much like the hand of a zombie.
____________________
Lucien successfully does an Aid Another check to boost someone else's Survival roll.
"There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."
--W. Somerset Maugham
Ken of Ghastria wrote:some of those in the group think that they hear Lucien ... sobbing.
Hearing sobbing, Vincent does not turn or react....just remembers.
Ken of Ghastria wrote: "We will succeed, my friends. We have to. Too much has happened, too many curses have fallen upon this land -- and those fools who walk through it -- for us to accept failure."
Vincent raises an eyebrow at this remark. A bit surprised.
Ken of Ghastria wrote:As the strange half-elf offers some guidance on how best to navigate the swamp, the rest of the group notices that his left hand -- the hand that had wielded the undead-controlling bone wand -- is now frighteningly gray and withered... much like the hand of a zombie.
"Ahum, Lucien? What is going on with your hand?" he asks, with a slightly guarded tone, looking straight in his eyes as if looking for an answer there.
tarlyn wrote:I not liking. At All. He stresses this. Moi very simple. My but... um goal help people. I devotion this. This place, Souragne, it need helps. So far, I pensez moi do okay, oui? I, I go fin maiden of the marais."
"How much faith do you have in your own representative in this world Goren? You do not like this, we got that. Are you forbidden to communicate with the walking dead? Or leave them roaming? Are you forbidden to seek out 'death' and ask its help? Does your religion forbid it?"
Tresspassers will be shot......
Survivors will be shot again.
Orda with some help from the others pieces together a raft from the debris old logs and other pieces of the unhealthy trees it seems to go easy enough. She is not exactly sure on where to go, but when Zumba helps her push with the other stick, and Lucien aids in direction she uses it to choose the direction and guide her course.
When Goren speaks she listens but her attention is mostly on the swamp. Still his comment of trusting her is good to hear even if she does not see the blush on his face. "Thank you Goren..." She continues to be attentive to every possible danger in the swamp as she guides them through.
She also pays attention to all that is going on, and the fact is that it seems that another of the group has become somewhat odd. Lucien's hand has changed as if rotted or zombified and the others are disturbed by this quite a bit and yet she only catches a glance and is bothered by it noticeably. Of course if the crying and then stoic cold with a strange amount of anger toward the natives of the land, with which he speaks is more disturbing to her. Even if she is used to anger herself it puts her on edge to hear it so generally spread about.
Still, she says little about it for now. Vincent seems to be saying all she would want to hear anyways so she just pays attention.
"There is only one true answer to any and every question. The rest are just vagaries and obfuscations."
Zumba tries his best to remember the direction to the Maiden's redoubt, helping Orda with the directions. He acknowledges her at last, with a nod and brief words of welcome. If he feels any disgust at her difference and tone of colour he conceals it for himself.
He understands difference and prejudice, and does not want to impose it on others. But that does not make him necessarily feel comfortable by this woman.
But soon he has more to think than about that. Lucien sounds strange. He looks back at the elf as he raises his hand and sees what everyone else couldn't fail to notice: his desiccated hand.
Strings of old myths and tales parade in front of his vacant eyes as he loses his sight in the horizon, a spring of sadness welling up inside him. He barely hears Vincent asking his questions, then he says with a tone of compassion:
"'Tis the work of the Lord of the Dead, Lucien. He has started to claim us already. First you, then surely it will come to us. It is a bond, I am sure, that we do not fail him... "
His eyes drift towards the wand that lays at the bottom of th raft.
"It's that accursed wand, it's his token, and it will make us fulfill our promise, whether we wish it or not."
Shaking his head, he looks to the front of the raft again. He feels the little mouse twitching inside his pocket, and he abhors its touch, removing his hand automatically. Instinctively, without checking he tells Orda "that way", pointing in a direction he thinks is just the opposite of the way pointed by the mouse. There is fear in his eyes, but also a somewhat subdued sign of defiance.
Guzrath wrote:
"How much faith do you have in your own representative in this world Goren? You do not like this, we got that. Are you forbidden to communicate with the walking dead? Or leave them roaming? Are you forbidden to seek out 'death' and ask its help? Does your religion forbid it?"
Goren thinks a moment before replying "You comprendre one thing, Vincent. I never, and meaning never, talk or help undead. Undead to me evil. I not talk about this anymore. As for my dieu, I faith in any agent of Lathander no matter where I is. You all talk to Anton Misroi, I not want anything to do with him. I helping this land, not some undead master or zombies or whatever."
Goren turns away and sits on the raft, sitting cross-legged to meditate.
Lucien acknowledges the comments with a resigned, slow nod of his head. "Yes, Zumba, I have no doubt that my use of the wand... affected me," he says finally. "But at the time, there seemed to be no choice. If I hadn't used it, we would have been overrun and slain... if we were lucky. Lucky... heh." He looks down at his hand. "I have no intention of using it again, but... well, things are as they are. Let us continue on our way and put this horrific affair behind us. I'll deal with the after-effects later -- assuming we live."
"There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."
--W. Somerset Maugham
"I understand, Goren. I like it as much as you. But Souragne... is another land. The walking dead are as part of its nature as crocodiles. Please, at least help us, as well as you can."
The dense fog that rose around Chicken Bone's house seems to be trailing you like an overly affectionate hound, now dogging your heels, now creeping ahead to obscure the withering swamp in front of you.
More than once, you are forced to make sharp stops to prevent yourselves from crashing into small islets or the roots of banyan trees that abruptly loom out of the fog.
A stench of corruption hangs in the air, the reek of the Land dying as its water is steadily taken away from it.
Zumba, please make another Wisdom check.
It is when the fog surrounds you once more, that you start to hear the distant sound of splashing.
It is a familiar sound -- you are making it yourselves right now! Someone else is pushing along a raft out here, but you are having trouble determining the source...
OOC: Listen check all around, please!
DC10
VIEW CONTENT:
There is a raft a fair distance behind you. All you need to do to meet up with its unknown pilot... is to stop moving forward.
DC15
VIEW CONTENT:
There is another raft ahead of you, sailing through the low-hanging branches of a thicket of weeping willows you can dimly see through the fog. If you put in a bit more speed, you could probably catch up.
Welcome to my webcomic, Sarcantasy.
You can read it here:
Goren's nods at Zumba but says nothing, trying to concentrate on his meditation. Then he does open his eyes, upon hearing the raft behind them. "Pardonnez, I hearing raft behind. If we stopping, we meet. If no stop, we no meet, les amis. I accepting either. And yes Zumba I help to my abilities best, oui." He says this in a whisper so as not to be overheard by the approaching raft.
Orda having also heard the sound behind, noticed something ahead as well. Noticing Goren's whispering, she also speaks up just loud enough to be heard by the others.
"I hear that too... But I also hear what might be a raft moving away ahead of us! If we do not follow it will be gone soon. I say we go for those ahead. If those behind follow us then we will meet them soon enough. Just keep an eye open behind."
After this Orda waits to see which the others will pick. She seems to tense as if eager to act but still keeps a steady rhythm so as to keep moving normally until they decide trying not to distance them too far from either option. Even if there is combat or not, her impulse is to always move forward, she knows that rushing ahead is not always others tactic of choice.
"There is only one true answer to any and every question. The rest are just vagaries and obfuscations."
