Fun Gal Farmer in the Dell Part 1

Log Info

• Title: Fun Gal Farmer in the Dell Part 1
• Emitter: Jinks
• Characters: Ravenstongue, Aryia, Seyardu, Venom, Paenitia
• Place: Western Alexandros
• Time: November 15th, 2021
• Summary: Once more under the wonderful(?) guidance under Eustangellabledine, the party seeks out the cause of infestation of Purple Pox coming from the western roads of Alexandros. Taking with them a recently recovered Zhag'un, an orc that had been cured of the disease, as well as a late Eusta, they set off in the downpour of rain, backtracking the orc's steps to find where the source could potentially be. Coming across an overturned wagon, the party prepares their antiplagues and approaches, observing stealthly at first while Eusta keeps an eye out for special ingredients, hopefully ones listed in the alamanac they recieved. After Paenitia flies in, Aryia warns the people at the wagon were heavily infected, and Paenitia gives the the hola. Fighting breaks out, fungal monsters baying from the rain slick forests and rush out at them as the Poxed folk draw blade and sling. Some blows are exchanged, yet the tide of battle has yet to be determined...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ravenstongue 1m      5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf     Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.
Aryia        0s      4'8"     110 Lb     Shadow Elf   Female    A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her.
Seyardu      3m      5'6"     150 Lb     Sith-Makar   Female    A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
Venom        5m      5'6"     130 Lb     Human        Female    A woman(?) about 5'6" in a ragged black veil and poncho.   
Paenitia     24s     3'0"     34 Lb      Halfling     Female    A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery.                             
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=      NPCs of Note      =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Eustangellabledine Kikniddledern         Gnome        Female    A slightly(?) insane gnomish woman, rival of Dana.
Zhag'un                                  Orc          Male      A recently recovered Purple Pox survivor. Helping out.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  As the GM  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Jinks        8s      3'4"     39 Lb      Gnome        Male      A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry.  
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

The rain coming down out of the mountains is bitter cold and driven by agitated winds. The whole world is grey between the clouds in the sky and the gloom brought ushered in by the downpour. It's the sort of day you spend inside by a fire, thanking Tarien that you're not one of the poor souls trapped out in Green Gaia's tantrum.

Well, you'd do that if you'd decided to be a baker or a school marm or a banker. The life of the mercenary adventurer is far less lackadaisical; no rest for the wicked!

You meet outside the Watch Constables, just inside the western walls of the city. The interior of the Phoenix Gates glows a hazy aether-blue in the rain. The clockwork and artifice mechanisms hum low, ready to snap the whole affair shut in a moment's notice. The small block smells strongly of ozone even without the intervention of lightning in today's storm.

A large oruch with reddish-brown skin waits, arms folded and trying not to look unsettled. He wears a simple wool cloak sized for his large frame and a second-hand breastplate that's a little too small. You can also see where a small army of dents have been beaten back out of it and some kind of badge or insignia has been pried off. The flail on his back looks more like a hinged staff, with the heavier section studded in stubby spikes. A donkey with a simple saddle waits nearby,the ass braying to announce its dissatisfaction with the weather. Its brand marks it as property of the Coming Dawn's temple.

A short Acanian man-- made to look all the smaller by proximity to the orc-- shivers and hugs tight a much-nicer cloak the color of red bricks. His pale skin, neat hair, and pince-nez mark him as some variety of functionary or academic.

"Snacks," Pothy complains, as he ever so often does, from the safety of Ravenstongue's shoulder. The bird doesn't mind getting wet, likely because ravens, regardless if they are magic or not, have waterproofed feathers, but Ravenstongue has her hood up and cast over her head because she lacks any of Pothy's natural protections despite her name.

"I'll get you snacks in a moment, Pothy, but we have to meet and talk with these people," the short half-elf says softly, trying to bribe Pothy into patience much like a harried mother might with a whiny child. She approaches the two men and nods, indicating she is, despite her short stature and somewhat gentle-seeming appearance, an adventurer.

Perhaps the pale raven on her shoulder sells it better, his blue eyes peering at them... Until he turns his head and looks at Ravenstongue again to whine, "Snaaaacks." Ravenstongue presses her lips together into a thin line in a manner highly suggestive of a leashed tongue.

Aryia is there, equally displeased with the weather. Hence, she's bundled up in a treated grey cloak, it pulled taut against, as well as a simple black half-face mask covering her nose and mouth to ward away the chill. A hood is pulled over her head, and torch-bright eyes glance between the two waiting folk.

A gloved hand juts out in a greeting from the cloak, then returns back to safety. She glances to Ravenstongue, her titling her head up in greeting, yet staying ducked to not get soaked. Idly she wonders if Pothy could be used as a half decent projectile...

Rain had a way of grinding most of the city to a halt. Which was always strange with how pleasant the rain was. Seyardu lingered at gate, offering a wave to the people she recognized, and another to those she did not. "Peace on your nests, we are here because there is work to be done, I believe?"

"Y-y-yuh-ye-yes," shivers the Acanian, his nasal voice is less enjoyable with teeth chattering staccato through the words. His shoulders hunch higher and chin tucks lower. You can already tell he's not meant to come with you... and that's probably for the best. "Thu-th-th-the or-r-ruch will t-tu-tu-take y-you there."

Zhag'un considers the three arrivals, shifting in his stance and slowly uncrossing his arms. The muscles in his neck and shoulders swell when he takes a deep breath and eyes Ravenstongue and her bird. The tusks of his lower jaw jut out in a subtle-- perhaps subconscious-- threat display. He relaxes somewhat at the sight of the sith and mul, exhaling and rolling his shoulders before giving a shallow nod. "Hel'lo," he grunts in his broken Trade.

The effete official has spent the time shifting under his cloak, turning and squirming while one hand makes sure to hold the front closed. He finally accomplishes whatever the awkward dance was meant to achieve and a little floppy-backed book with twined spine extends from the fold. "H-h-heh-heh-hu-here." He waits for someone to take it, looking around the trio of adventurers (and corvid accompaniment) as if expecting more. "Shuh-shuh-shuh-sh-she's l-late. Th-th-the-the n-n-nu-noe-gnome-m-m."

The commonly shrouded woman, Venom, stands close at hand to the masked Mul'niessa and Sith, sparing a slight glance behind the veils toward the insistant bird.

Either Ravenstongue doesn't feed him nearly enough...

Or it isn't possible to feed him enough...

The shrouds help her endure the weather with negligible noticable discomfort, but, she only affords a nod to the clients while her friends handle the people skills.

Ravenstongue looks a little bit intimidated by the slight threat display of the oruch man's tusks. Pothy, however, cares not. The bird merely pulls at the hood of her cloak, as though threatening to expose her to the rain if he doesn't get snacks right that instant.

However, the half-elf girl quickly recovers as she looks over at the official. "Do you think it's the weather, or should we be concerned for danger already?" she asks, her voice light and pleasant. And indeed, Ravenstongue hooks into the pocket of her cloak and brings out a slight palmful of dried berries. Pothy makes happy corvid croaks as he snaps them up into his beak.

Aryia glances to the others, the gaze lingering on Venom before giving a shrug and stepping forth, taking the book. She gives a nod towards Zhag'un. Good to see he was doing okay for the most part. Oh. Right. The gnome. Her.

"Ah, Zag'un! Peace on your nest, this one hopes you are feeling much better." Seyardu greets much more warmly. "Yes, this is about the creatures that are around the area then, I take it? Some form of sentient fungus I heard, and capable of causing severe illness in those exposed. Not immediately dangerous, the illness, and treatable, but it is best not allowed to spread."

Venom cocks her head as the Oruch flexes his choppers for Raven's benefit. A sigh ruffles her veils before there is a slight drift forward to the puffer face.

No threats.

No overt guestures or postures, but there is the definatelift of her hidden face to level with the plane of his eyes while Aryia retrieves the book, one with which Seyardu seems quite familiar.

The book is a simple wilderness primer with "Flora of the Alexandros Region" pressed in silver on the cover. There are a half-dozen red ribbons marking specific pages within. There are woodblock-stamped art of the plants and a brief description of their appearance, typical locations and conditions for growing, and some of their common uses. None of the information is particularly in-depth; it's the sort of thing a pupil might be provided for introductory coursework at one of the local colleges.

"No sick," Zhag'un agrees with Seyardu. He takes a deep breath and exhales, the leather straps of the breastplate squeeking in complaint as they're stretched to their limit. The oruch doesn't cough and the color of his lips today is subtly darker than they had been at the waystop. "Good... help," he thanks the cleric after fishing for the word.

The little human looks back and forth as people talk, a bit surprised that locals are familiar with the oruch. Ultimately, he shrugs (or was that another shiver?) and explains, "Shhhhh-shu-she's k-ku-k-coming-in-n-nig t-to help. Y-ya-ya-you-you-ya-yousta-yousta-y--" ... this might take awhile.

Aryia looks at the book, frowning some as it all seemed liked basic information. Yeah.... they were going to need her. She flashes a thumbs up to Zhag before stepping away from the group. To those that understand the gestures, she signs after stashing the book away. "I'll be right back, going to look for her." With that, the mute briskly sets off, lightly jogging along the way at a pace that should be a full sprint for others. <Handspeech>

It doesn't take long at all. A block east and around a corner Aryia espies a familiar, overlarge pony. It's not quite as engorged as previously observed but still remarkably fat. Its head is low in the rain.

The boisterous gnome kneels at the animal's posterior, eagerly collecting a prodigous pile of ploppers from the road. Her happy, offkey humming carries even through the rain while she's at her sloppy work; the standing water on the cobbles making it moreso.

Seyardu peers into the book, and nods. "This does not cover the more magical, sentient plants and fungus, though it may have some use." She notes, turning to Aryia. "I am not good with plant identification, and I do not want anyone being asphyxiated by unknown plants today. We may need her assistance."

Ravenstongue continues to feed Pothy some dried berries, patiently waiting for the official to finish his train of thought. She even smiles pleasantly at him. But she does look over at Seyardu. "I know things about nature," she says. "Kind of picked up on it while researching the fae over the years. Didn't, umm, ever think it'd come in handy until recently."

Aryia frowns behind her mask as she finds the gnome in question, the pugilist jogging up and whistling loudly at her. She beckons, brows furrowed in frustration as she holds up the book. "Come on, you're late, and we're fucking cold!" a gloved hand gestures quickly at her. <Handspeech>

Smothering from plants is... about as unpleasant as trying to breathe through mud, or drowning in one's own vomit.

She doesn't want to conclusively test the comparison, but she already has her baselines, ready.

Venom turns to regard the book, but reachines out to bump knuckles against Aryia's arm as the mute runs off to find their Gnomish... consultant(?)

Soothe syrup would have been a good idea.

Alas.

She rejoins the group proper and signs to the ladies, "We will need to protect the pages from the weather." <handspeech>

"I can take the book and put it in my bag," Ravenstongue signs back, with a tiny smile. Her motions are a little slow, indicative of someone who has recently learned, but it gets the job done. <Handspeech>

"Oh hello I know you sorry I'll be there in a minute Chubbychunkins just finished his latest batch!" The gnome has had more occasion to speak with people recently and she's getting better about pacing the words spilling out of his eccentric mouth. She still doesn't seem to pause for breath, though. She cinches the sack closed and tethers it to the saddlebags, taking off her gloves and climbing back onto the pony in short order. "Do you see Dana tries to thwart us today with the weather but she is no match!" She laughs, manic, and sets to following Aryia back to the group.

That's right! Eustangellabledine Kikniddledern smiles in the face of the weather! In fact, she quite literally stares up into the sky and shouts her challenge to her goddess rival. Dana may wreak her petty vengeance but the gnome will not be deterred!

The fungal farmer wears an oilcloth bonnet that holds her considerable copper-colored mane of chaotic curls in a colossal curved clutch behind her head. Between that and her overlarge glasses she almost looks a visitor from a neighboring plane. At least she doesn't talk oddly, too...

...

Moving on.

She rides a bloated (but looking slimmer since his last appearance) pony and occasionally feeds him bits of vegetation and fungus or strokes his neck. Even through the rain the air around the pony smells of busy cowfields at midday.

"I know you!" She shouts, pointing a finger at Venom, "and you but not you, you, you, you, or you!" She adds, indicating Aryia first and then the oruch, official, Ravenstongue, donkey, and pothy.

Zhag'un frowns at the boisterous little thing on the unfortunate-looking pony.

The little Acanian man shivers and stutters.

Pothy croaks as he's pointed at, puffing up his prodigious throat feathers in the process. "Merp!" He seems to just be happy /someone/ has spoken to him directly as he deserves.

"Mind your manners, Pothy," Ravenstongue shushes him. She steps forward and smiles pleasantly despite the mount of the gnome woman smelling rather the opposite of pleasant, pushing her glasses up her nose as though to distract herself from the smell. "I have a couple of names now--call me either Ravenstongue or, umm, Cor'lana. Still getting used to that one... Oh! And this is Apotheosis, or Pothy for short." She gestures to Pothy, who merps again as though to

Aryia returns with her hands hidden in her cloak, her annoyance with Eusta smoothed over as she remembers the little bump she got before leaving. She gives the pony a wide berth and rejoins the group, a gloved hand flashing out to nudge Venom on the arm. A brow is raised to Ravenstongue at the other alias, but she shrugs, mentally filing that piece of info away for later

"Ah, peace on your nest, Madam." Seyardu greets, taking a step forward. "We would greatly appreciate the help in determining the plants necessary for the temples, as well as, I believe you are specialized in the study of fungi? Yes, in taking proper precautions in dealing with creatures capable of causing purple rot with their spores."

Venom nods quietly to Raven as she notes the return signs and gives a thumbs-up.

She turns toward the hail from their resident expert in botany and equine scatastrophes, expression hidden by her veils.

A hand comes up in a quick, short wave as confirmation of being 'known', but doesn't break the silence. She nods to the return bump from Aryia, but is content to watch the others handle the noisy business.

"P-p-pu-p-pur-pl-le Pox fu-first. Muh-muh-muh-materials s-s-suh-sec-k-cond." The Acanian reminds folk now that all are in attendance. He shakes a little and then gives Zhag'un a meaningful nod before ducking into the watch house in a bit of a mad dash. The warm glow of the hearth and expulsion of heat is cruel torture for those who can't follow. At least the sound of his teeth chattering leaves with him.

"Yes hello I am Eustangellabledine Kikniddledern grandmistress of the wilds and rival to Dana who you see is trying to make our jobs harder today like the petty wench she is!" The big-eyed gnome laughs and raises a fist in boisterous challenge. "I'm excited to finally see this dealt with so much so that I won't even point out this wouldn't be a problem if my initial solution wasn't so foolishly aborted by the uninformed." She spares a quick, sideways glance at Aryia. "But we must be ready for the spore clouds of the myceloid or we will turn into bloated walking wombs only to burst and birth one of their kind into the world to make more spore clouds and infect others who will turn into bloated walking wombs only to burst and so on and so on and so on."

Zhag'un issues a grunt and continues to frown at Eusta, turning to look at Seyardu and Aryia as if to wonder what, exactly, the fuck is going on. He grabs up the back of his cloak in one hand and climbs up onto the waiting donkey. Maybe it's time to go?

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/Nature: (16)+8: 24 (+4 Circumstance, 28)

Aryia just raises a brow at the sidelong glance, her shrugging her shoulders and sighing. Well, this will certainly be interesting. Hopefully no more zombie spiders. She does cringe, however, at the mention of potential explosion deaths. Hopefully the rain will help with the spores. "... right. Let's get moving and you can fill us in more." <Handspeech>

"Umm, Madame Kiniddledern," Ravenstongue says, taking great pains to make sure she's pronounced the name correctly and doesn't trip over a single syllable, "the myceloid also enslave people who are infected with the Purple Pox, so we really, /really/ don't want to mess with them if we don't have to. They also are pretty hardy--you can slash them fine, but everything else is difficult. But cold, fire, and sonic-damaging spells also don't affect them as much. Wish I knew any electric-damaging spells, because they really don't like getting shocked."

Venom maintains her position, as everyone pools their resources and distributes their pertinent information. There is a nod, and, with folks saddling up, she makes her own preparations to travel, something under her poncho makes several quick clicks, then a hand reemerges to sign a question, "Are the plant creatures" because the hell if she's going to sign out the spelling of that word, "vulnerable to acid? Are they susceptible to intense light?" <handspeech>

The self-proclaimed grandmistress pauses in her rantings long enough to consider Ravenstongue carefully. She removes her gigantic glasses, cleans them with a cloth and puts them back on. Then she leans down in the pony's saddle to look at her. "You are a very clever girl would you like to worship me? I am going to dethrone Dana and become the rightful goddess of the wilds. I will feed your bird Apotheosis wonderful treats but you will have to give me all of his guano for my fields I can make wonderful plants with his excrement different things I would not plant with the fantastic manure that Chubbychunkins creates for me." She reaches into a thigh-strapped pouch and produces a clump of earth, fingering through it until she holds up a fat, squirmy grub. "What do you say Cor'lana and Pothy I have tasty wiggly worms enough for everyone and you could come in on the ground floor of a the greatest new faith on Ea."

Neither Zhag'un nor Eustangellabledine react directly to the complicated hand gestures-- except maybe to frown in the oruch's case-- but both are mounted and ready to red.

The rain continues to crash down from the heavens, blowing in sheets and turning almost horizontal when the wind kicks up. What people have to be out and about hustle through the streets with their heads covered or ducked low. Water splashes up when beasts of burden or folk find puddles collecting between and over the cobblestones.

As Ravenstongue prepares for the travel, she clarifies as she signs back to Venom, "Acid affects them as normally as most creatures, as does light... But the myceloid prefer being underground, so light might not be a bad idea." <Handspeech>

She turns back up to the longwinded woman. Ravenstongue smiles very, very politely. Almost in a very forced, customer-service sort of way. "Oh, thank you very kindly for the offer, but Pothy and I are sworn to Navos. Besides, Pothy doesn't poop."

"Navos!" Pothy says reverently, his eyes glowing for a split-second, before he returns to preening on Ravenstongue's shoulder. Apparently the only thing Pothy reveres in this world besides food is Navos.

GAME: Aryia rolls heal: (10)+4: 14
GAME: Venom rolls craft/alchemy: (7)+11: 18

Aryia arranges for her own manner of travel, her looking to Venom's motions briefly before- wait what?

The mute blinks owlishly at Ravenstongue, then an unseen grin reaches her glowing eyes. "Hey! You're getting the hang of it!" she gestures quickly from atop a horse after returning. <Handspeech>

Venom has a unique religion.

As well as a relationship with it.

Probably...

Though she doesn't remark as the little Gnome blusters about Usurping Dana's Godhead, if not commiting outright deicide if need be and looks to her more conventionally faithful comrades to guage their responses to the potential invitation for a smiting.

Collateral damage and all...

Her hand starts to sign anew as she's had time to consider some things and, oblivious, or indifferent, to ignorance in regards to the silent tongue, "Anti-plague should probably help. It may do to pick some up. Making it would take too long." <handspeech>

Seyardu looks to her bag and pulls out a single vial before stowing it back. "I have one dose of it. If someone else needs it I am more than happy to give it to them, as I can acquire another or go without it." She suggests. "And I would not speak so lightly about dethroning the natural world itself. You are attempting to supplant the will of Ea and it's wilds with order, which would stagnate over time."

"Yeah, I've been practicing! I'm a little slow, though," Ravenstongue signs back to Aryia. She beams proudly. At least it's easier to communicate with Raven now. <Handspeech>

Wait. Does this mean Pothy knows everything Aryia signs now, too? Only time will tell.

Eustangellabledine just laughs at the warnings, scoffing in the face of any theoretical reprisals from the divine. Gnomes have rivals. That's the nature of the world. Why ruin the opportunity by settling for something easy and banal like a mortal? "I have created great new things at my farm and only a few that have gone entirely out of control and tried to kill me. I have created the perfect fertilizer for my fields and produce vegetables the size of small children that don't spoil for weeks! And the vision dusts and mind juices I've concocted might as well pull you into the neighboring spheres with the experiences they provid (and you only end up unable to keep food down for a day occasionally now, too)...!"

Quite pleased with herself, the gnome laughs again and looks around, ranting on while others take a quick break to purchase their prepatory items. "Oh yes I thought that was obvious I'm sorry that's a good observation quite cleverly handled..." she admits when folks return with their alchemical purchases. And then she's falling into line with the rest and riding out of the city and into the cold, wet wilds.

Zhag'un grunts, unable to keep up with the rapid-fire gnome's speech or the arcane gestures of handspeech. The donkey is as loud as the pony smells. The oruch hustles it into the lead, bouncing in the cheap saddle and heading westwards back towards the waystop.

Aryia rolls her eyes under her hood as Eustangellabledine goes on and on. At least she's speaking slightly slow for others. Slightly.

The mute does trots along one of the flanks of their caravan, her offering a seat to the veiled enigma if they don't arrange a ride. But she's silent as she goes. Hopefully Pothy won't pick up any crude wing gestures. Or maybe he could. It'd be funny.

Now that things are underway, with a little last-minute pickup going on, Venom manages to coax her rental pony up to a suitable canter with the rest of the group.

The Gnome's query prompts a short huff of breath through her nose that ruffles the wet veils, and as she draws up alongside Aryia, she signs only the word, "Morbid" <handspeech>

Aryia huffs at the sign, giving a little nod in understanding to Venom. That simple gesture was all she needed to know about Venom's opinion on the matter.

After renting her own horse for the travel ahead, Ravenstongue keeps a careful eye on both her horse and the the surroundings as they travel. She listens halfway to the gnome's ramblings, occasionally interjecting so that no one else in the party has to bear the burden of conversation.

As time goes on, however, Pothy makes groaning noises that probably mirror Ravenstongue's hidden inner mind on the gnome's ranting. They can easily be chalked up to bird noises, but, well, Pothy is no ordinary bird.

Seyardu kept her mouth shut, as as much as she did not agree, the gnome was still necessary for the task ahead. She had acquired a swiftclaw from the usual stables, and was plodding along at a decent pace with everyone else. There was much polite nodding to go along.

The ride is miserable. There isn't really a great, polite way to put words to it; it's fucking miserable. The rain continues to fall and the ground has gone to mush. Some of the mounts (the bloated pony, the donkey) start to struggle and slow as their hooves squelch and slurp in and out of the muck. On the main roads you pass more than a couple wagons and carts that've gone stuck or lost a wheel entirely. It'd be the neighborly thing to stop and help-- but you're on a mission from the gods! Or at least the temples...

It's a nice excuse to not linger in the rain, anyway.

Traffic thins considerably once you leave the Kultari road a few miles past the waystation just west of the city. The oruch has to take his time, stopping frequently when the roads split to puzzle out the area. It wasn't raining when he and Nantuilith were skulking through the wilds. They were on foot and coming from the opposite direction.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (11)+4: 15
GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (19)+23: 42
GAME: Seyardu rolls sense motive: (18)+8: 26
GAME: Venom rolls perception: (19)+13: 32

Aryia reaches out to help Zhag'un, her tapping on his shoulder to point behind them and look. Did the sight look familiar? A strange tree? An odd building? Retrace those steps.

Though, she didn't like getting so close, her gagging silently from Chubby's... aura. Even the rain didn't help wash away those sins. And it didn't help regardless of how far away she got.

It takes some doing but you manage to navigate the small, less well-kept side roads in the driving rain. Zhag'un provides struggling descriptions and directions as best as he can, still learning Tradespeak, and Seyardu is able to decipher and extrapolate the information from his few words and vague gestures.

Ravenstongue-- Cor'lana-- notices the two trees shaped vaguely like hands, thin and grasping at the sky, with only a few sickly bundles of leaves near the 'fingertips' of the branches. From there Aryia and Venom find a whole host of tracks near what's little more than a path. Both note the shoe and bootprints of humanoids of various sizes. They comes and go from the grassy, wooded area south of the trail. Aryia realizes that odd, ovoid, almost bowl-shaped impressions are also tracks mingled in with that of the people.

Venom isn't convinced that the pony hasn't been permanantly mutated by his feed in some basic, fundamental way. That her undermask only allows her to breathe through her nose comes as a singular disappointment in her life choices, even though the wet tiers of her twin veils mitigates it to some minor extent.

With Aryia moving to help their guide retrace his steps, she nods the dark elf's way, then signs a few suggestions for Seyardu to translate should she wish for his benefit in effort to assist. Such as the passle of odd spoor she catches moments after Aryia apparantly does, pointing to the prints shod if iron or leather, oblivious to the odd third flavor of track comingling with them.

Once they draw close, Aryia squints and dismounts, shivering in the cold as the wind whips at them from sideways falling rain. She nods with Venom in her perception of the lay of the place, but she points to concave impressions on the ground. "What do you think this is? Some kind of... sack? Cauldron?" she throws out there. Feeling as if they were drawing close, the mute pops the cork off the warding concotion, and slams it down.

She coughs, almost gagging on it. "... for fuck's sake... why can't they put honey or something in this stuff...?" she complains. <Handspeech>

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls knowledge/nature: (13)+8: 21

Ravenstongue follows Aryia's move and downs her own vial of anti-plague. She sticks her tongue out afterwards and says, verbally on account of still holding the vial, "Oh, gross, you're not kidding, Aryia," right before a coughing fit.

Pothy whines at the vial of liquid. Ravenstongue looks down at him and says, "No, you don't want this. It's gross. Doesn't taste good--what am I saying, I've seen you eat roadkill before--but anyway, no, I drank it all. Sorry Pothy."

If ravens coud pout, Pothy would be pouting. Ravenstongue reassures him with a pat on the head. "At least those trees are just hibernating fruit trees and not ill omens," she says, remarking on the trees.

Seyardu was not a tracker, and she trusted the others to watch what she could not. Instead she turned her attention to guiding their oruch guide along, prodding directions he was unsure about and making sure he could sort out the main path. She translated where necessary, making sure the tracks wete noted. Though she does keep some distance, stopping to pull a painfully empty vial of peppermint oil out of her bag, which is returned to her healer's kit with a sigh.

With signs that the group is drawing near to the fungoid fugitive's stomping grounds, the shrouded one tucks in over her saddlehorn for a few moments, fidgetting with several straps and buckles under her veils before she uncorks a vial to bring to her lips and tip back, letting the rain matte the cloth to the topography, both natural and not, beneath the while.

She tucks the container somewhere under her poncho, then returns her accoutrements to their proper order.

The weather is harsh but the oruch doesn't seem to mind. He also seems to relax more once he and Seyardu have been working in tandem for some time. He's slow to trust, clearly, but the sith is making headway. By the time Ravenstongue has pointed out the two trees he'd described with his own hands he has his donkey plodding ahead at an awkward trot. He jumps off, skillfully, and lands heavily in the mud. He tosses the animals reins loosely about a nearby brush and his heavy flail is in a two-handed grip a moment later.

Fungal Farmer Kikniddledern takes a much more cautious approach, hanging towards the back of the group and turning her bug-eyed gaze over the flora they pass with a steady, inquisitive eye. She has no great weapon to hold but does check the various vials on her bandoliers. She keeps atop Chubbychunkins and quaffs her own vile vial before whistling sharply and tossing a second to the oruch.

Seyardu stops with the rest, and pulls out a vial from her satchel that is opened and quaffed quickly, before being stowed back. "Be wary, if we find any animals on the way, they may have been sickened by the creatures already." She warns. "Which may mean more foes to face if that is the case."

<OOC> Jinks says, "So the green bits are brush thick enough to provide soft cover and are difficult terrain. Trees are trees. Weather is poor enough that it'll impose penalties to Perception that I'll rock on the backend."
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (2)+23: 25
GAME: Venom rolls perception: (2)+13: 15
GAME: Seyardu rolls perception: (10)+5: 15
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (2)+5: 7

The rain is so heavy it's almost a fog in between the trees, sheets of it pulling visibly in the wind. Occasionally a branch snaps and falls to the ground, mollested to the point of collapse. Leaves and other small debris pull through.

Aryia, Seyardu, and Venom notice the wagon, large and upturned. The mul'niessa can also see the two figures fighting with the wagon, trying to get it flipped and back onto its wheels. One looks an adult male, bulky as if armored, and the other is small; child or halfling-sized.

Ravenstongue tries her hardest to look around and glean something from the environs, but is too firmly distracted by Pothy deciding to be a mean corvid. He tugs at her braid inside of her hood, causing Raven to yelp quietly and snap his beak way. "Stop, Pothy," she whispers. "Yes, I /was/ paying attention until you decided to try and be 'helpful'!"

As their guide dismounts, so does Aryia, her tying off the steed to a tree and squinting off into the rain. She looks back to the group. "I see people, that way," she indicates with a pointed finger before adding more, "Stick together. This rain is rough, and it'll be hard to hear or see words or signs." The elf would kill for a relaxing bath at the TarRaCe right now.<Handspeech>

Venom looks to her silent partner and nods, leading her pony to another tree to tie off to. She signs a quick, "Ambush and try to disable? Or do we observe to learn what we're dealing with, first?" to the understanding members of the group at large. <handspeech>

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+11: (7)+11: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+10: (2)+10: 12

The gnome remains oblivious, finally hopping down off of Chubbychunkins to pick at some moss. She's saying something quietly to herself but what, exactly, is lost to the sounds of the weather.

Zhag'un, though, notices the wagon as well. He grunts at the group and gestures towards the vehicle with the flail. The lifts a hand with fingers pointed up, rolling his wrist to put his palm towards the ground.

The dreary weather has been slowing the Red Knight and her Ivory Steed down. Rain waterlogs Ramirez's feathers, and he was obstinate about having a nice warm stable that by the time Paenitia walked from it to the Western Gates she had missed the entire meeting.

Everyone, Eustagine and the Oruch, had left. She got directions, clanked through the wet cobble streets to collect her mount. With the TarRaCe under new management and the Temple of Tarien suddenly sitting on a stick, her stabling options were less convenient. So this took a while.

As did convincing Ramirez to fly in the Rain.

"Hola!" Paenitia shouts, with a lot of forced cheerfulness, as the pair drop out of the sky to land beside the group. "We arrive."

It's now that their conference and posture registers, "Oh. You are sneaking up on some other group?" She saw nothing but rain as she came into landing. New mask.

Seyardu had dismounted her swiftclaw and tethered it nearby and away from the other mounts, and she took a moment to get her bearings. "But, we are after plants creatures, not people, yes?" Seyardu signs to the others, trying to get a view on what they were saying

The Red Knight watches the handsigns. There is no movement or indication from her, until she looks away. Her head turns, the wide brimmed hat that is part of the helm keeps the rain from running into her eye-holes.

"We can scout and fly, we can pranch march to give names, or Ramirez can help hide for the sneaking up." Paenitia says, "What the plan is?"

Ravenstongue quickly waves hi to Paenitia. "I think we're still figuring it out," Ravenstongue says. "I kind of want to observe them a bit more before we charge into action... Sneaking so we can hear what's going on a bit better is a good idea."

GAME: Aryia rolls stealth: (6)+17: 23
GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (2)+23: 25
GAME: Venom rolls stealth: (13)+13: 26
GAME: Venom rolls perception: (12)+13: 25

<Stealth Synergy from Paenitia>
GAME: Paenitia rolls stealth: (17)+11: 28
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+5: (16)+5: 21 (Rameriez Stealth, 22)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20-1: (11)+-1: 10 (16)
GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20: (15): 15 (17)
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Stealth: (3)+2: 5 (19)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+21: (3)+21: 24 (38)

Paenitia leans forward, almost laying against Ramirez's neck as she looks into the distance where Aryia disappeared. "Okay, it look like the fight maybe. I switch for that."

She places her heater shield on her arm, setting it in place, then draws her lance. With a glance to the others she says, "Okay, I go take the quiet look first. If we fight, I ask them fight me. Do not get in the way of the charging please."

'ruaaaah'. Ramirez quietly agrees.

"Follow." The little Knight advises, "Hide behind Ramirez, they will not see you because they will be looking at the giant peacock."

They creep into a better position southwest of the wagon.

Aryia slips forward, passing underbrush and pressing herself against the other side of the wagon. She strains her ears, listening for anything. As well as peeking out to see if she spots anything as well.

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (12)+4: 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3: (4)+3: 7

Venom creeps along with Aryia, stealthily as she can whilst the wind and rain have their way with her attire. One hand vanishes beneath the poncho, emerging with waxy canvas pouch she uses to stop runners...

Just in case.

Ravenstongue is grateful for Ramirez's bulk and great stealth prowess as she slinks alongside the beautiful bird, completely unpracticed in having to go unseen and unheard. She even visibly bites her lip to keep herself from making a sound, not that it helps much, but that noble pale steed smooths over her weaknesses like a coat of paint.

Getting closer is simple enough, the pair are too busy at their work to notice the creeping mercenaries. Make that a trio! Aryia and Venom observe a portly halfling in simple clothes on the far side of the wagon. He has a rope tied onto a wheel and helps to pull while a man who looks for all the world like an older caravan guard holds the top corner and uses his bodyweight to heave back and down. Lastly is an urchin, a half-Sil boy in soggy, sagging rags and barefeet slipping in the mud as he tries to push the wagon right. They don't speak as they work. They just struggle lamely with the task.

To (Aryia, Venom), Jinks pages: The halfling is bloated beyond any degree of normalcy, complete with a fat bruise of a goiter bulging his neck and cheek. All three are glassy-eyed and slack-jawed with patches of purple flecked with white on their naked skin.
Jinks pages: You totally recognize that half-Sil. He's not doing great.

Aryia peers around the corner with Venom behind her, a hand slipping under the other's poncho to steady herself. Her hands move slowly for V. "They're sick..."

She turns back, looking through the rain to spot someone in their group before she gestures some towards them, using the wagon as a shield to hide her movements. "Hey! They have the Pox! One of them is that half-elf from the way station a bit ago!" <Handspeech>

"They have the Pox? Shouldn't we avoid them instead, unless anyone has a way of treating them? I'd rather not get enslaved by myceloids," Ravenstongue signs back to Aryia, her brows furrowing with the new information. <Handspeech>

Seyardu was lucky enough to have something to provide some manner of cover for the silver sith-makar. "That is the one that Aryia chased off, the half elf." She whispers to the Lucht. "And they are sick. How badly, I do not know, but they may need treatment now. Leaving them would just cause more problems, and it would not be right."

Venom may be frowning behind the veils, but she nods to the appraisal of the dark elf. She signs, "We can try to stick two of them down with what I have on me. Or I can try to blind them." before offering the little bundle Aryia's way, her other hand dipping under the poncho for her second. <handspeech>

"Hmm." A thoughtful noise comes from behind the ever grinning mask of the Dark Lucht, "I go say Hola. I have the comforting, encouraging face, they will be relax. If not, we know the fight is on."

She checks for confirmation, "This the good idea?"

Seeing nods of approval, or at least, no one waving for her to stay, she clucks at Ramirez and steps out of their cover to move around the tree.

They approach, loud and obvious, Ramirez taking high steps with his forelegs and rattling his tail. His little mistress calls out a greeting. "Hola the Wagon!"

She continues, cheerfully, "I am Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Haranna, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien. You look to have need of the assistance. Is there the help wanted?"

The three humanoids turn to regard the paladina speechlessly and glassy-eyed. The fat Lucht abandons his rope and stumbles around the wagon to join the other two. He's the worst off, clearly, with a bulging goiter sagging from his cheek and neck; it's a deep purple with fuzzy white spots. The rain does little to clear the jelly collecting around the sprouting portion. One of his hands is nigh-useless, swollen to where his fingertips are little bumps with nails to mark them.

The half-Sil coughs but doesn't bother to cover his mouth, the violet phlegm joins the smeared runoff dripping from his chin in the rain. The caravan guard's right eye is swollen shut, half his face an unpleasant, spotted bruise.

All three sway subtly, their eyes fluttering. From further to the south comes the sound of alarm, the trumpeting squeel of something not-humanoid. Other trumpets answer of varying pitch. The woods awake...

GAME: Aryia spends ONE point of KI POOL. (Barkskin)

Aryia freezes as she hears the sounds from beyond the veil of rain. She gestures quickly to Venom while taking the offered tanglefoot bag. "Don't kill them, they can be saved," she motions quickly to the enigma, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder to the three unfortunate folks before taking whatever Venom handed her. There's a familiar draw of breath, and exhale, the pugilist's eyes squinting in concentration.

She cracks her neck.

Time to get serious. <Handspeech>

Something big is moving behind the trees. The ground shakes and brush rustles, trees splinter and crack. Water splashes and the mud squelches as the giant myceloid comes into view. It looks for all the world like the cross between a man and a mushroom, with a broad, white-spotted purple cap and jelly black eyes. A vertical slite down its trunk issues a deep, bellowing trumpet noise of answer as it lifts long arms that end in fungus-y claws.

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+5: (3)+5: 8
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25

Another, higher-pitched trumpeting sound answers the large creature and a smaller (much smaller!) fungal humanoid toddles into view. It's mouth is just a tiny hole and it's still smeared with chunks of gore across its form. Looks like this is a fresh birth!

The half-Sil produces a shank from within his rags, stumbling and awkwardly stabbing out at Ramirez. The magnificent griffon doesn't even have to hop to avoid the clumsy attack.

The bloated Lucht takes out a sling, setting a bullet into place and giving it a mighty twirl. It launches but bounces off of the mount's polished barding. The engorged halfling nearly falls over for the effort.

GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon3: (14)+11: 25
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon3-5: (5)+11+-5: 11
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+8: (16)+8: 24
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+8: (6)+8: 14
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+8: (2)+8: 10
GAME: Paenitia rolls damage3: aliased to 1d6+2: (3)+2: 5

'Ruaaah!' Ramirez backs away from the bloated half-sil stabbing at him.

"Yes my love, do not let it touch you. We fight." Paenitia cautions, kneeing him to turn and face the strange myconoid that is approaching. "Attack that!"

He does, snapping his beak, and ripping with his talons.

She thrusts! Twice! Well aimed poked with her enchanted lance.

All of their attacks fail to penetrate its strange hide. "Mushroom, you fight only me! Everyone! The lightly magic weapons do not work. Is this silver or cold iron to use?"

Time to keep up her tradition.

Ravenstongue casts Magic Missile.
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d4+1: (2)+1: 3
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d4+1: (1)+1: 2

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, okay, that's about what I expected," Ravenstongue says as the scene begins to erupt into chaos. She slings two small magic missiles into the mushroom and runs, Pothy croaking unhappily on her shoulder. She has no intention of getting the pox today.

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+5: (18)+5: 23

The caravan guard steps forward, drawing out a longsword with practiced ease. He turns his head to consider the white bird-horse from his one good eye and takes a swing. A good swing, too, but another attack that bounces off of the mount's armor.

GAME: Aryia rolls knowledge/local: (12)+2: 14
GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/local: (9)+11: 20
GAME: Venom rolls knowledge local+2: (1)+knowledge local+2: 3 (EPIC FAIL)
<OOC> Venom says, "i messed up the command but... the dice are keeping it real"

<OOC> Venom says, "alright, going to try and keep the mooks out of this for a few. going to free action (because of haversack) a flash powder and throw it at 9,9"

<OOC> Venom says, "then second attack, throw tanglefoot at the mini mushroom at 5,11"

<OOC> Venom says, "then 5' to 12,11"

<OOC> Jinks says, "OK. Gimme the attacks. I think grenades are range 10', yeah? So -2 for the first and -8 for the second."

GAME: Venom used a Flash Powder. GAME: Venom rolls ranged-2: (5)+10+-2: 13 (Flash powder on the humanoids) <OOC> Jinks says, "Boti, Guard, Lucht for Forts" GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20-1: (2)+-1: 1 (Failed) GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+1: (3)+1: 4 (Failed) GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20-2: (12)+-2: 10 (Failed) <OOC> Jinks says, "So you blind all three." GAME: Venom used a Tanglefoot Bag. GAME: Venom rolls ranged-8: (14)+10+-8: 16 GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3: (11)+3: 14 (Failed on mini mushroom on 5,11)

With Paenitia's helpful offer being met with open hostility, Venom is inclined into taking direct action. The reminder for humane treatment from Aryia is acknowledged with a nod, even as she sidles out from cover, a hand dipping under the pncho for the silent one's array of goodies.

That hand emerges with a fistful of a yellow pouch, which she sidearms toward the clutch of victims at the other end of the wagon, where it impacts into the ground with a brilliant flash that seemingly incapacitates the lot, at least for the moment.

Pivoting on her heel, she notes Paenitia perhaps about to get ganged up on and flips her waxy canvas pouch toward the smaller myceloid. It unfurls in flight, all atumble, and hits the creature with a sickening splurch as the alchemical loogie erupts in sticky tethers that bind the creature in place.

The next myceloid comes pushing through the brush, tearing up twigs and leaves without a care. It's not nearly as big as the monster standing over Ramirez and Paenitia but it's a match for the sith and heading Seyardu's way!

Seyardu casts Blessing of Fervor, targeting everyone except Eusta and Ravenstongue.

Seyardu squints when she sees the group at the cart, and the bad shape that many of them are in. "They are much more advanced than Zhag was, in the same amount of time." She shouts, before the source seems to enter the fray. "If they need to be subdued, I can tend to the worst afflicted then, but I only have limited uses."

She holds up her holy symbol, and offers a prayer that flows through the air, filling most of the group with divine strength.

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+19: (18)+19: 37 (Zhag attack)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d10+20: (5)+20: 25 (Zhag attack)

Zhag'un's growl startles Seyardu and Eustangellabledine when the caravan guard moves to attack the paladina and her steed. He bellows something in Yrch-speak and quits his cover. He practically trembles with unbridled power as his muscles bulge and dark, black veins stick out against his reddish-brown flesh. He takes a low grip on the heavy flail and cocks it back over his head, he rolls and uses his whole body to swing down.

<OOC> Aryia says, "LOG assign status effects and buffs"

To be continued...

Combatty

===================== Current Initiative Order - Round 1 =====================
 ---Init--Name------------AOO-Notes--------------------------------------------
     25   Aryia            6  
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     20   GiMy             1  
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     20   Boti             1  
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     18   YoMy             1  
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     17   Eusta            1  
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     15   Angler           1  
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  >> 14   Paenitia         1   <<
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     13   Ravenstongue     1  Flat-footed (0 rnds remaining)               
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     13   CaGuard             
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     11   Doggy               
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     10   Venom            1  
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     10   My                  
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     6    Seyardu          1  Flat-footed (0 rnds remaining)               
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     5    Zhag                
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 ==============================================================================

Map: https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=m8j7qpynoir

Current Buffs/Status Effects: