Mystery for Swans
Off into the Mythwood you ride, and while the chilling and turbulent wind seems to follow the wagon that you ride in, the whole affair becomes much more comfortable when the wagon reaches the safety of the trees in the Mythwood forest. However, that doesn't change the rather serious and analytical expression of the ebon-skinned woman (seemingly of elven heritage on account of her pointed ears and graceful features) who you ride with inside of the wagon, her red eyes settling on all of the members of the party.
"Some of you, I have spoken to--but the others, I have not. I am called Luco'lann, and I am a handmaiden in service to Lady Fionnuala, the daughter of the Baroness and Baron of the Pale Plume, whose lands we are entering. The Baron and Baroness are currently in a deep slumber from which they do not wake, and the Lady serves as the regent in the meantime."
She casts a gaze out of the window on the wagon for a moment before she returns her attention to the party. The winter gradually fades away into unseasonably warm and beautiful greenery. "In other words, these lands are not yours. While the Lady is fond of mortals, I ask you maintain your decorum around her. I do not want a reason to use my blade." And indeed, that's a rapier that hangs from a belt on her hip. Apparently, Lady Fionnuala's idea of a handmaiden is a bit different from others.
Slixvah, the beribboned eglarin woman is relaxing with her legs crossed in the wagon, wings wrapped around her like a heavy blanket as she hums softly to herself in a shapeless tune. There's a glance outside the window as things progress from cold to pleasant, a feathered brow quirking. "Yessum, Lady Luco'lann, totally understood!" she chirps. "Anything specific we should know decorum wise? Customs and what not? I can't kiss a hand, but I'll do m'best if I gotta!"
Rocky sits awkwardly, favoring to travel with his own feet, but understanding the limitations of such. He listens attentively, perhaps not grasping the full nuance of the situation, but understanding the larger strokes.
"I'm Razen." The half-orc introduces himself to the handmaiden with a flash of his pointed teeth, as well as those among the group that don't know him. He seems perhaps... overly interested in her 'offer' to fight anyone that doesn't 'maintain decorum', but he doesn't seem like he intends anything untoward so there's that. "I'll be on my best behavior then." He offers with a grin.
Dirk rides along with the others, his thunderbelcher resting across his lap. Lulu perches on his shoulder, her head twisting left and right as her wide golden eyes take in the passing surroundings. As their wagon passes into the unusual springtime of the Mythwood, she flutters her wings and blink-blinks. "Hoo!" Dirk nods his head, his own eyes wide as he idly lifts a hand to brush aa fingertip over the little owl's head. "Aye, it -is- remarkable, innit?" He turns his attention back to the handmaiden, nodding his head. "Aye, missus. We're here tae help. We've no want tae be offendin' anyone." Slix gets a grateful nod. "Aye, please, if there's any sort o' custom or decorum we need tae be observin, we'd be grateful fer a lesson. Dinnae think many of us here are much good wi' highborn manners. At least -I'm- surely not."
"The Lady need not fear transgression while we walk among her lands." Patch says her cloak pulled tight as a bag rests at her feet as the wagon plods along, seeming to take inventory of what she's brought to help with whatever this task is. She said she'd look for the call, and she did. "Most would of not taken the job if they had wished disrespect." she tries to assure, a glance rising to look over some new with names, and many familiar faces she already knew. Her glance ending on Slixvah with a grin. "Great questions."
Eztli sits off to one side of the wagon, watching out the side until winter suddenly turned to a complete lack thereof. Her attention turned instead to their guide and the others. "Well, everyone else has the right of it, not much left for me to add." The small makari laughs. "Let us know how to act with respect and what to expect, so we don't cause any further troubles. Goodness knows you have enough on your plate at the moment, after all."
Luco'lann's red eyes settle on Slixvah as she asks the questions and others back them up. "Simply do not insult my Lady, and I will not have to act," she says. "The task that she has requested aid for this time has worn heavily on her heart. One of her siblings has not responded to a request for aid--her sister, the Lady Melyn'stri, lives elsewhere in these lands, due to a falling out between herself and the Baroness many years ago. Were it up to me, I would not have sought out mortals from your city of men for this task of family bonds... but my Lady is a gentle soul."
There's a curiously soft note as she adds, "That is what is so admirable about her." Then her voice goes back to the serious and dark tone as the wagon draws to a stop. "We are here. Come."
Luco'lann departs the wagon. The doors, when opened, reveal a large lake that is largely shrouded by fog on the other side, the deep-blue waters and greenery a stark contrast to the cold and wind of Alexandria as of late. The handmaiden with a blade walks to the shore of the lake, where a swan swims out of the fog to meet her--
And transforms into a woman with a long cascade of wavy-white hair and deep brown eyes, filled with a sort of melancholy that lifts quite suddenly to joy as she casts her gaze on the adventuring party. She smiles as softly as she speaks. "Hello--and hello again," she adds brightly to Slixvah and Dirk in particular. "I am so happy to see all of you again. But I wish it was under better circumstances. Has Luco'lann told you of my task already?"
A short, snorting laughter escapes Slixvah. "I don't think I could insult tha' nice Lady. She's reall' sweet." Though, further mention of the purpose of their visit gets that yammering beak to clack shut and listen closely. An idle motion of her hand finishes with brushing against Patch's arm, and despite the wagon, a faint breeze brushes past.
The egalrin leaves the wagon, her taloned feet thudding into the ground. A soft whistle leaves her. "Mmm. Wow. Gorgeous-" Blink. A swan just- OH! "Lady Fionnuala!" she gives a little cursety. "It is well ta see ya once mo', and in good health. Yes, she has!"
Razen is, under the best of circumstances gregarious, but not politic in his dealings with others. He is however good at keeping his mouth shut when he's not sure. So he keeps his thoughts to himself until they reach the lake and the moment that the beautiful swan becomes a woman his jaw hits the ground, and his weapon is being reached for as he avidly searches the surroundings for an enemy. "Shaman!" He hissses to the person next to him - who happens to be Dirk. "Someone trapped her as a swan!"
He's not even hearing the greeting, so certain of the fact that this woman had been trapped by _someone_ as a swan is he. He finally pipes up to the woman though, "Is your sister cursed too?" Razen means no insult of course, but... well he's never seen someone turn into a woman after being a bird unless they were bespelled that way.
Rocky stretches in the welcome warmth, peering around at the landscape before focusing his attention on the swan lady, dipping his muzzle respectfully. "Lady Melyn'stri, not responded, find why. What can you tell of lands to be investigated? What paths are known? What guardians familiar?"
Dirk nods his head to Luco'lann with a warm smile. "Well, respectful's easy enough, innit? It takes forty-two muscles in yer face tae frown, but only thirteen tae smile. 'course, it dunnae take any tae sit there wi' a dumb look on yer gob, which is my usual speed. Hah!" As the wagon arrives, he hops down with a grunt, lifting his thunderbelcher to rest over his shoulder. But then, that swanmay appears, and the light-bulb clicks on. "Lady Nuala!" he gasps, his eyes brightening and his expression becoming a broad, beaming smile. He lifts his tricorne off his head and sweeps a low bow. "Oh, it's so good tae see ye well an' in good health, milady!" he says.
He pauses when he hears Razen. Slooooowly he turns to regard the half-oruch. Blink. Blink blink. "Laddie, she's a -swan maiden-. She's nae -cursed-!" he says. Lulu twists her head to peer at Razen as well. She draws herself up tall and skinny, her eyes narrowed as she click-clacks her beak. Ruffling his beard, Dirk straightens, turning his attention back to the Lady as he sets his tricorne back atop his head. "It's an honor tae serve ye once again, milady. Please, how can we help ye?"
Patch takes an odd breath, the touch from Slixvah seemingly unnoticed until after the words of Lady Fionnauala. She suddenly snaps out of her thoughts, giving a courtesy of her own, and flushing with a glance to Slixvah. "This gets complicated already. We have walked into a feud of sorts I feel, one where there are secrets and rumors that swirl. But not of our friends here, but the sister. Lady Melyn'stri." her respects ended with a curd nod towards Lady Fionnaula. "Apologies. Lady Fionnaula. I mean you no disrespect. Just that your sister is somewhat mired in a duality of help and death."
GAME: Eztli rolls sense motive: (14)+1: 15 GAME: Dirk rolls Sense Motive: (4)+3: 7
Eztli hops out of the wagon with the rest of them, an action that takes just a fraction of a moment longer as the sith-makar floats the last few inches to the ground. "It sounds like you care about the lady a lot, Luco'lann. Have you told her you like that about her?" The small makari asks, before turning to watch the arrival of their contact. "Well, given the change in weather, I think that things are going to be a bit different here. I'm sorry to hear about the problems with your family, both those asleep, and those who are unaccounted for." Eztli offers with a curtsey. "You need our help with this? What do you want us to do?"
Luco'lann's look of ire is turned onto Razen with his outburst, but before she can put her hand to the hilt of her blade, the surprised look on Lady Nuala's face turns into a rather quiet, girlish giggle and a wide smile. This causes Luco'lann to visibly relax, and there's the the bare hint of a smile on her face as she watches Lady Nuala laugh.
"No, my friend," Lady Nuala says as she wipes a tear of laughter from her dark brown eyes. "I am not cursed. The swan is who I am. I am also the form you see now. My sister is not cursed, either. Just... someone who has not come home in some time."
Luco'lann gives Eztli a /look/ that is followed by the shuffling of feet and the clearing of her throat. "The Lady Melyn'stri had a falling out with the Baron and Baroness years ago over a mortal man that she was taken with from one of the cities of men on the edge of the woods," she explains. "She wished to bring him to these lands and to make him her consort. They said no, because they knew of the heartache it would bring her when the mortal passed away. She intended to run away with him--but when she encountered him next, he was a corpse with an arrow in his back from a hunting accident, as he was a hunter. In her grief and rage, she blamed it on the Baron and Baroness, and has not interacted with our court since."
Lady Nuala nods soberly, her deep brown eyes full of melancholy again. "I... do not wish to believe that she has anything to do with my parents' slumber, but I cannot rule it out. I am told that the area where she dwells in the forest is dangerous and full of traps she has raised. You will have to be careful in your approach. Luco'lann can provide you a map to your destination."
Slixvah side eyes Patch, her bobbing her head slowly and taking in that information as best she can. But Razen gets a blink. Then a snort. "Hah!" Eztli's insight is missed as she was the first one out, but she listens quietly to the situation.
Her brows furrow. The logic side of her was annoyed, but in such a land, logic must be tossed out the window. "I see. Lady Nuala, I appreciate the information and insight. Was Lady Melyn'stri fond of any particular sort of magics? Enchantments? Turning into other avians? Things of the sort? Just so we're prepared fo' what kinds of traps may lay ahead."
"What is a swan-maiden?" Asks Razen of Dirk, and seems more confused by the laughter and the explanation of the fact that a swan is 'what she is' than he had been with the idea that Nuala had been cursed. His eyes flicker to Luco'lann, but she doesn't draw her weapon so... He doesn't either. "I suppose we keep an eye out for swans _and_ ladies then."
Slixvah's words make the oruch pale considerably, and he's suddenly touching his belt made of spiked chain for comfort. "Ah... She doesn't really turn folks into birds... Does she?" He sounds suddenly uncertain of this whole prospect.
Dirk listens to Lady Nuala, his expression turning to one of quiet, sorrowful sympathy. "Och, what a sad story that is," he says. "I can relate, a wee bit. I loved a human lass, once, in me younger days. It was... I mean, we both knew what it'd mean, fer the pair of us. But that dinnae make watchin' 'er grow old an' fade away any easier." He puffs up his burly chest, planting his hand on his hip. "Not tae fret, milady. I know a thing or two 'bout avoidin' traps. We'll find Lady Melyn'stri, an' get tae the bottom o' this. -Hopefully- wi'out havin' throw any thunder." He pauses, his cheeks pinking up under the snowy white of his beard. "But... if it turns out that she -is- the cause fer the Lord an' Lady's sleep... well... what -should- we do? I dinnae much care fer the notion of harmin' 'er, if we can avoid it."
A grin finds Patch's face, the words spoken from the Lady listened to with a subtle twitch of ear. She's fallen quiet as a hand hand rises to touch her chin, a sudden shake of her head coming as she quickly takes up her things to follow after the others. "She's fond of children, which says much, but the other rumors shows she trust not anyone whom has lost their innocence of youth. We'd all be wary of her." she says of Lady Melyn'stri. "It implies little trust or faith in adults, or parents."
Rocky follows the conversation, listening, nodding as various details come clear. "A map is most welcome. Is there some token or phrase by which we can prove ourselves as well meaning messengers, and not invaders? Lady Melyn'stri might not expect friendly visitors."
There was a sad twinge to the small-makar's features, and Eztli sighs quietly. "That is, it's never easy to deal with something like that. It could have caused resentment, but any thoughts I have now would just be assumptions." She admits. "Ideally, we're going there to talk, at least, I hope that we are. If she had nothing to do with what happened, maybe she will return, if not to help your parents, at least to help her sister in their absence. Did you two have a good relationship, Lady Nuala? If you could provide us with some way to let her know we come on your behalf, that may help ease any talks."
Though she does stop afterwards to grin at Luco'lann.
"I wish that such things existed," Lady Nuala says with a somber tone to Rocky's question. "It is likely that if my sister sees that you approach, she will try to enchant all of you and then lure you to your swift deaths. It may be best to open that you are messengers on my behalf, but I truthfully do not know whether that would be enough to stay her magic, and... we were not close when she left, as I was a cygnet then, and she was already grown. Beware that she is fond of enchantment and her blade, as most of our kind are."
Then she looks a little bashful. "I assure you all that I am not given to either," she says. "I have never wanted to make anyone do anything that they did not want to do of their own accord."
Luco'lann gives a little smirk. "I prefer my blade to enchantments," she says. "Save for against enemies of the Court, then I will use every weapon that I can. But the rumors that have been said about Lady Nuala's sister are somewhat true. She will not harm children. Perhaps if you disguise yourselves as children--if you are capable--or if you lure her out of hiding with the sound of children... That may prove to your advantage."
Lady Nuala looks like she might burst into tears for a moment, but she manages to say, "I would prefer that you not kill my sister," she says, "but if she refuses to go and she is intent on your deaths, then that is how the tapestry will be woven. The world is not kind, no matter how much I wish it were."
The Lady's handmaiden is already retrieving a scarlet handkerchief from a pocket in the dark leathers that she is dressed in, drying the tears that fall from Lady Nuala's eyes. "I stand always at your side through the dark and through the light, my Lady," Luco'lann reminds her in a soft tone. Then she offers the group another look that is not so soft. "If there are no more questions, I will provide you the map and you may take your leave."
Rocky nods respectfully, and takes a step back. Not actually ready to leave just yet, is still the matter of the map. But the conversation is clearly at an end.
Razen isn't sure what to do about the crying, but the lady's handmaiden is already drying her tears so he keeps his paws to himself. His concerns are a small thing beside her grief and he nods. There's no way that he's going to be able to hide himself as a child. He's much too large to be anything other than what he is. Which is an oruch fully-grown and young, but not young enough to count as a kid.
Slixvah can't help but snicker at Razen. "Eh, if we do get turned inta swans, it'll be a >honk<!" It is supplied with an actual goose honk. She is a bird, after all. She listens to Patch, her beak grinding idly in thought. Hmm. Lot of good info there, best to keep that noted for later. Literally, she's got a journal in hand, writing it down.
"Huh. Yeah, I can look like a kid if I gotta. Can be one fo' a bit too," she mentions. But a brisk hand is help up. "No no! Ain't gonna try and slay her! If-" The Tapestry. Slix blinks. Then slowly nods. "... yes. If that is how the Tapestry weaves it, then that is what it is woven..." she reluctantly yet reverently intones.
A glance is shared between the handmaiden and the Lady. Her face is neutral but its clear she's yelling something in her head. "Right. Let's get it on."
Dirk's expression turns sympathetic as Lady Nuala begins to cry. "Oh milady, please..." He fidgets from foot to foot, clearly wanting to do something to soothe her sorrow. But Luco'lann beats him to the punch. "Well... I'm a wee bit long in the tooth tae pull of an effective child. But... hopefully a kindly heart will help set 'er at ease." He lifts his thunderbelcher, sliding it into his back holster with a nod. "Aye, let's have the map, Missus Luco'lann, an' we'll away."
"I am ready to be on the trail. When one calls the bard that marches, she will go." Patch muses, looking between the group she finds herself with, winking at Slixvah in that glance. The crying doesn't seem to bother her, the emotions there watched, but not commented on. Others have it. "I believe we can all assure the Lady that we mean to talk with her sibling. The tales and rumors may sound dangerous, but with some of the truth, an accident and mistrust can poison the mind. I think she acts not out of malice, but hurt. If that makes a difference to anyone." a curtsey and tug of cloak offered before she turns to follow Slixvah's lead. The Handmaiden's words? She simply nods to the woman.
"Hey just, we have no desire to hurt her, that's not why we're going." The small makari attempts to console. "If something happens, we'll do our best to leave and let them be, once we know what part they have in this."
"So, if we pretend to be children? I don't want to deceive her, but if it gets us close enough to talk, I think it's worth a try." Eztli notes as they step away, leaving the two behind. "Yeah, I know Slix, but that's not the problem we're here to fix, much as I may want to help." They laugh. "Depending on what she knows about sith-makar, I could probably pass for a child if she doesn't realize that the horns mean at least a hundred years. Rocky here can even pretend to be a father!" She laughs, gesturing to the much larger lizard.
GAME: Slixvah rolls alertness: aliased to perception+2: (18)+13+2: 33 GAME: Slixvah used a Wand of Mage Armor. GAME: Rocky rolls perception: (9)+13: 22 GAME: Patch rolls perception: (2)+19: 21 GAME: Razen rolls Perception: (6)+11: 17 GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (15)+5: 20 GAME: Slixvah rolls profession/guide: (2)+11: 13 GAME: Dirk rolls Perception+4: (14)+16+4: 34
Rocky is no ranger, but is comfortable in the wilds, moving smoothly along the path. Until he suddenly stops, unmoving for a few moments... a highly effective barrier to any behind him. "Wait. The air has changed. Winter again."
Slixvah hums along as they go, her not too familiar with these woods and what not, since this isn't her usual roaming grounds. But she stops along with Rocky, and she peers up at the trees. "... yo yeah, good point, this is supposed to be her sisters home, yeah? Why's the trees got ice on 'em?"
She also flicks a wand against her beak, ruffling her robes and feathers with the effect.
Dirk trundles along with the others. The map makes the job of navigation quite a bit easier. But as they venture deeper into the Mythwood, his gaze gets drawn to the trees. He pauses, reaching up to snap an icicle off a branch. He draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly, watching his breath puff steam. "Aye, it -is- gettin' cold again, innit?" he says. "Nae quite as cold as it is back in Alex, but... certianly enough fer ice tae freeze."
Patch nods to Rocky's words, drawing her cloak tight about her. "It's indeed colder, Rocky." her glance flicking to the larger Makari. "I don't know what it is with fae, but cold goes with depressed and mistrust." she says with a sigh. "The tale she is painting is sad, just... too sad." her words lowering. "I think it'll only get tougher from here. I'm hoping perhaps we can thaw some things between the siblings." grinning to herself about something.
Razen is deep in thought, his face furrowed in an expression that says that he is not best pleased by whatever those thoughts are. He steps around - wide around - something he sees on the ground and gives it a little glare. Then stops and stares at the ground for a moment. Shakes his head and moves on since everyone else is. "Can you track swans?" He inquires of Dirk cautiously.
Eztli wanders along with the rest of them, a bit disappointed they weren't pretending to be something they weren't, if only because it didn't mean free piggyback rides for the journey from Rocky. But they had a job to do, and there was no time to dwell on that. "That breeze definitely wasn't warm, which if that's the case, it must be pretty chilly, right?" The small makari notes. "Something has changed with the forests here. Either it's getting us lost and sent back to Alexandria, or something is changing the landscape, here."
The origin of the ice on the trees and the slight chill becomes perfectly clear as the party draws closer. Footsteps fall onto the beginnings of ice on the ground, dustings of snow falling onto the leaves on trees that are a perfectly vibrant green in an odd clash of seasons. Curiously, the party also comes across several traps that appear to have been disarmed, the tooth-bearing traps tossed off to the side of the path, and disguises over small pitfalls torn out and thrown off as well. Then the woods emerge into a clearing that shows in total what's happening:
There's a makeshift treehouse in a large tree that stands in the middle of the clearing. And it's covered in dark blood. The two figures that stand tall, impressively tall, at the root of the tree, converse quietly as one holds the limp form of a blond, pale-skinned woman, her dress torn and covered in the dark blood that decorated her home. The one who is not holding the woman rides on a similarly skeletal horse.
The figures turn their almost skeletal faces to the party, the antlers jutting out from their helmets making them look even taller. Frost clings to their forms, the chill of the air clearly coming from their presence. One of them gives a laugh. "I should have known this wouldn't have been easy," it says in a dark tone. "But I didn't expect mortals to get involved."
The woman's body is dropped to the ground, and both draw their glaives of ice.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (2)+12: 14
The unmounted cold rider strides forward first, and while his glaive is already drawn, he swings down and... while it makes contact, Rocky is made of sturdy stuff. "Mortals are less fragile than I remember," it laments.
GAME: Eztli rolls heal: (8)+1: 9 GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+7+1: (9)+7+1: 17 GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+7+1: (15)+7+1: 23 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+5: (12)+5: 17 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+5: (18)+5: 23 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (4)+12: 16
The other figure rides forward on his skeletal steed, laughing darkly as he brings his glaive down to bear onto Razen. But the icy weapon misses its mark... Too close and too cold for comfort.
Eztli wasn't sure what to expect going forward, but it certainly wasn't what they found. The small makari growls at the sight of the scene, and quickly stepped off to one side, snapping their fingers and conjuring a pair of fiery lances.
"Incinerate!" the sorceress barks, sending the lances directly at the mounted knight and searing it badly. "Fire seems to be working well!" She shouts to the others. "I don't know what state the lady is in, but if she's still alive, she's going to need healing, and soon." <Draconic>
GAME: Razen rolls Heal: (11)+0: 11 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (4)+12: 16 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (11)+12: 23 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d10+6: (1)+6: 7 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+6: (4)+6: 10 GAME: Patch casts Haste. Caster Level: 8 DC: 17
Razen can't see the woman, but if she's bleeding out while they fight... He can't tell if she's already dead or not either. The oruch shakes his head as he narrowly dodges a blow from the figure on its skeletal horse, and quickly rushes past the pair. One of them manages to tag him with a blow that freezes his arm nearly to uselessness. He ignores the blood and pain however and moves to the woman as quickly as he can manage. "Please be alive." He murmurs under his breath.
GAME: Rocky rolls weapon9+1: (18)+12+1: 31 GAME: Rocky rolls weapon9+1: (3)+12+1: 16 GAME: Rocky rolls weapon9+1-5: (10)+12+1+-5: 18 GAME: Rocky rolls damage9+2: aliased to 1d10+5+2: (4)+5+2: 11 GAME: Eztli casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17 GAME: Patch casts Gallant Inspiration. Caster Level: 8 DC: 16 GAME: Patch rolls 2d4: (4): 4 GAME: Rocky rolls damage9+2: aliased to 1d10+5+2: (10)+5+2: 17
Rocky's greenish shield easily turns aside the icy glave. "This One has seen his death. It does not travel with you. But This One thinks your death is close." Stepping forward, the warrior's massive blade rises, the cold iron dull in the clearing's light. The heavy blade slashes with magical haste, clanging into the armors of both riders, drawing blood from each.
GAME: Slixvah rolls knowledge/nature: (3)+9: 12 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (12)+12: 24 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+4: (9)+4: 13 GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot+5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5: (7)+14+1+-3+5: 24 GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot+5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5: (4)+14+1+-3+5: 21 GAME: Dirk rolls Shoot+5-5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5-5: (6)+14+1+-3+5+-5: 18 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2d6: (3)+1+6+(6): 16 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2d6: (10)+1+6+(12): 29 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2d6: (10)+1+6+(12): 29
Dirk's eyes get wide and his face turns pale as he sees the terrible scene laid out before them. Spying the riders, his eyes get even wider, then narrow as his beard bristles. He bares his teeth in a furious snarl, drawing himself up to his full height as he reaches over his shoulder and swings his thunderbelcher down into his hands. As he does, he flicks one of the loops on the bandolier slung across his chest. The softly twinkling gems studding each loop flicker from soft amber to cold blue, and he racks the slide. "Foul monsters! You dare poison this holy wood wi' yer filth?! By Dana an' Gilead, be -gone- wi' you!" he roars.
Blessings from his comrades coalesce about his person, lending speed and deftness to his aim. As he clicks back the hammer with his thumb, brilliant golden light races along the filigree of curling ivy that's been worked into the polished wooden stock. Dwarven runes light up along the length of the barrel, glowing with pure, clean light. CHK-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The weapon kicks three times as he fires off shots in rapid succession. His target staggers as the bullets slam into its form, boosted by the Green Word's holy magic and his friends' blessings.
The rider topples off its skeletal horse, and Dirk snorts a steaming breath through his nose. "I am Dirk Stormgrip, an' I champion the ruler o' these woods!" He swings his weapon to cover the other cold rider. "If you want tae poison the Kindly Fae o' -this- wood, then ye'll do it over -my rottin' corpse-, ye cold-hearted shit!"
"Hmph," is the only thing that the remaining cold rider has to say to Dirk's rage, and the skeletal figure brings its glaive down to bear onto Rocky, but both strikes don't find purchase in Rocky's hide and shield. The rider follows them up by lowering his helmet and attempting to gore Rocky with the antlers, but he misses.
GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+8: (3)+8: 11 GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+8: (9)+8: 17
Slixvah's eyes widen as things pop off, her ducking down and reaching into her robes. "OoooooOOOH baby, let's get this shit started!" she grins. A knife cuts out, and stabs towards Dirk. Dozens of threads appear, stopping the blade in the air. "Og og og! Ouy otg htsi! Akem ay arkm!" The threads rewrap around it.
Massive wings unfurl, Patch's magic envigorating her. "One, two, three, let's jam!" BOOM! She rockets over the battle, twisting in the air only to land with a thud opposite of Razen. Feathers flow all around her against the wind. "I'm here!"
GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+5: (14)+5: 19 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+5: (13)+5: 18
The skeletal steed that remains of one of the cold riders gives a strange half-whinny, half-scream cry as it retreats from combat and strides off into the woods.
GAME: Dirk rolls shoot+5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5: (12)+14+1+-3+5: 29 GAME: Dirk rolls shoot+5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5: (7)+14+1+-3+5: 24
"One down, keep it up!" The small makari cheers from the sidelines, where she returned closer to the altercation. "You will regret coming to harm the people of this land. You will _burn_ for your crimes. " <draconic> The sorceress follows up with a low growl, conjuring another pair of flaming lances that sear into the rider's body, nudged slightly on course by the latent magic in the air.
GAME: Dirk rolls shoot+5-5: aliased to Ranged+1-3+5-5: (17)+14+1+-3+5+-5: 29 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2+2d6: (6)+1+6+2+(6): 21 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2+2d6: (11)+1+6+2+(8): 28 GAME: Dirk rolls dmg+2+2d6: aliased to 1d12+1+6+2+2d6: (6)+1+6+2+(9): 24
Dirk's eyes flash with rage as the second cold rider simply cannot take a hint. He stomps his foot down and clicks back the hammer of his thunderbelcher once again. CHK-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The muzzle flares with light as bright as the sun as he fires three more blessed bullets into the wicked fae being. The hail of gunfire sends the rider toppling to the snowy forest floor. "How's -that- fer mortal, ye sheepfucker?" he snarls as he racks the slide, ejecting shell casings still faintly hissing and glowing with residual holy magics. He looks up and around, his rifle still held at the ready. "ANYONE ELSE WANT SOME O' THIS? EH? -BRING IT-!!" he roars at the top of his lungs.
GAME: Razen rolls Heal: (7)+0: 7 GAME: Razen rolls 1d8+1: (1)+1: 2
Razen can't tell even this close if the woman is alive or dead. Can't worry about how his allies are fairing, though from Dirk's yelling he assumes well. Instead he pulls a crystal bottle. Steam rises from it as he uncorks it, and he touches the woman's face. Cold. He frowns, praying to Angoron that she's not dead. "Not yet Master of Battle. She's not a warrior. Let her waken." He tilts the bottle to her mouth…
As Razen administers the potion, however, he can feel the cold begin to fade into... warmth? And then the liquid pours into her mouth...
And then the woman comes to, coughing hard. "Hot!" she complains. "HOT! What--"
Her golden eyes flicker open, and then she stares at Razen, wide eyes peering up at him. "Darling--darling, is that you? Oh, it's been too..."
And then she coughs again, wincing. It's a bunch of coughing, really. Once she recovers, she mutters, "If you were really Haraman, you wouldn't have made it so spicy." Then, more firmly, "Let go of me. I take it you're not with my assailants."
It's at that point that the group can notice two other suits of armor like the cold riders wore, slowly turning into puddles of water that are freezing over, and a rapier that is in the ground.
It appears that not all of the blood on Lady Melyn'stri's dress... Was hers.
Rocky eyes the fallen frost bodies a moment before moving past, taking a defensive position a little ways away from the recovering lady. There's still a horse out there, and maybe more. He's not great for chatting anyway.
Slixvah was ready to keep the fight going, her reaching up to her beak and-
Blink blink. Oh. Shit. Damn. "Yo! Nice shootin' Ez and Dirk! Gawd damn!" she shouts over towards them. Her attention shifts down to Razen and his potion- sniff. Why was it so-
Ah! "Greetings!" she coos. "Would you like some mo' healin'? Ya did a number on 'em!"
Her eyes drift over towards Patch, a wink and thumbs up shot across the way. The animated feathers coil around to give a rough thumbs up as well.
Dirk looks around for a moment, steam fairly roiling off his burly figure as he waits for his challenge to be answered. When none is forthcoming, he cuffs one final steamy breath through his beard before holstering his thunderbelcher. He trundles over to where Razen is assisting Melyn'stri. "Milady?" he says, reaching up to doff his tricorne. He goes down to one knee--the old snowbeard is nothing if not humble. "We come on behalf o' yer sister, Lady Fionnuala." He casts a hairy eyeball towards the melting armor. "An' no, milady. Good riddance tae -that- sort o' rubbish."
He looks back to the swanmay as he rises back to his feet. "The Lord an' Lady o' the Pale Plume are in peril, milady," he says. "Yer sister asked us tae find ye an' see if there was aught ye knew 'bout the enchantment that keeps them locked in eternal slumber." He spreads his hands wide. "We wish nae enmity wi' you an' yers, milady. We only seek tae help the wood." Despite his lofty speech, he can't help but blush and puff up a bit at Slixvah's praise. He's only -sort- of humble, perhaps.
The half-orc lets out a sigh of relief as the woman awakens. His good arm pushes him into an upright position as he stands, letting go of the woman. He actually flushes somewhat with embarrassment. "I am not Haraman. Razen. My name is Razen." He seems to be a little uncertain to do with being mistaken for someone else. It's clearly not something that happens to him very often. He chuckles and bashfully runs his hand over his braided hair. "I am not one to attack someone unless they're looking for a good row you know? Those two who did attack you seemed like they were looking for murder not a fair fight."
This steals the smile from his face, and he looks at the woman, offering her a hand up. Letting the others talk now, explaining the details. They're better at the talking thing than he is.
Patch cheers at Dirk and Eztli, the flurry of shots and spells bringing this battle to close quickly. "Yeah, that was great teamwork!" she calls as she scurries to catch up with the others as her song comes to an end.
Patch smiles at the woman's revival, looking to the others before answering the words she hears. "Yes, we're a mortal delegation from your sister, Lady Melyn'stri. We came only to find things as they are now." she fills in a bit as others greet and speak their tale. "It was fortunate." believing in those words. Mostly. Turning to wink between Dirk and Slixvah, Patch comments softly with a grin. "Perhaps our best showing yet."
Eztli watches where the horse took off, and sighs, before she jogs over into the clearing, where the others were situated. "She's okay? That's wonderful!" The small makari beams. "Your sister was really worried about you, lady Melyn'stri, she'll be glad to know you're well. And, well, it's good we got here when we did."
Lady Melyn'stri's golden eyes narrow at the mention of her sister. "My cygnet sister? She truly hasn't come into her own if she is sending people into the woods after me, instead of standing before me with her own blade and asking it of me," she grumbles as she allows Razen to pull her up to her feet. She holds onto his hand perhaps a little longer than she ought to have held it, letting go and stiffly, slowly, making her way back to the rapier in the ground, which she pulls out.
"I hadn't heard of my parents' slumber," she explains. "If my cygnet sister is brash enough to send mortals--"
And then she looks at the adventuring group. "No. If she is wise enough to build ties with mortals, despite the heartbreak they can bring, then that is already an acknowledgment of what mortalkind can do that my parents never acknowledged. I will go with you. Not for my parents, but for my sister."
She stays close to Razen when the group departs. "You, and I--when I am fully healed, you will spar with me." That sounds less like a request and more like an order.
When the group arrives at Lady Nuala's lake, Lady Melyn'stri turns into a swan, much like her younger sister, and dips into the water, where she is met by several other swans that follow her into the fog. Luco'lann, who was waiting by the shores, offers the whole group a nod. "The Lady Fionnuala is overjoyed for your efforts," she states. "Now, I will ride with you back to Alexandria."
The ride back is... Well, it's back into the cold again, but there's, at least, the warmth of having done a good deed. Luco'lann's expression is dark, however, as the ride wears on. There are still questions to answer.
-End