Rennick would like to use the trails or paths, saying:
"The trails are really much more reliable than going off the paths. If you get to a patch of dense underwood or brushes, then you may spend half an hour or more to get through."

Rennick changed his mind:
I've changed my mind. I've had a look at the map and I see that it's much faster to go cross country and to cross the river. However, to cross it we will need a raft and we can build it ourselves, but it might take a while and a few attempts. So, has anyone of you experience with building a raft or something else which is sturdy enough to carry us over the river? Or do you have another idea about crossing the river?"

Nomerendal uncorked his waterskin and took a long pull. It was toilsome work to keep up with these long-legged companions, save for the dwarf who was shorter of stride like himself and weighed down by much heavier gear. The little gnome had to admit that though he'd rather be fishing - or plucking a lute and waiting for adventure to find him - he was quite enjoying the outing to this point.

"I'll relate to you a story of two young knuckle-heads who tried to construct a raft many years ago..." After whetting his lips, the bard slipped into his well-practiced role of storyteller. "They started by gathering driftwood, vines and whatever other refuse they could find along the riverbanks, including a worn pair of pants strangely enough. Between them, they were able to scrounge a few bits of twine, a piece of rusty wire, and several bent and corroded nails. For a hammer they used water-worn river stones, several of which shattered in the process. Lashings were made, logs were added and two long push-poles were discovered in a nearby bosque. Finally, the two lads stood proudly admiring their day's handiwork. Several back-pattings were exchanged as they built up their courage to try it out."

"It was springtime, and the water level had raised according to the brown frothy runoff of the season. The low bank were the two had constructed their rather... creative raft was on a gentle bend in the river. With final boasts of bravery, they used their poles to push themselves out into the water!"

"The sailors didn't get far. It turns out their bend in the river generated a very gentle eddy of a dozen cart-lengths or so. The first challenge they faced was navigating out of that eddy and out into the actual current. It should also be noted that upon boarding, the raft was not as bouyant as they'd hoped. It didn't sink... but it was only partially out of the water. The icy cold water nipped from their ankles to their knees. After considerable effort, they were able to gain the main current and were once again seaward bound!"

Nomerendal took another drink as he put on a thoughtful face, long practiced in the commonroom of Jak'a'napes as a device to draw in the patrons to his telling. "With cheers of triumph, they scrambled to their pre-chosen places at starboard and port, their long poles at the ready in case a large rock or other debris in the turbulent and muddy water should near itself too closely to them. One of the lads had the foresight to now look downstream to scout for possible hazards..."

"And a hazard he saw! The river made a sharp turn, smashing headlong into a stone cliff before it turned hard to their port direction. A huge whirlpool sucked locks and spat foam... and they were headed right for it! They were committed, there was no place to go, and a quick exchange of looks passed between them, each too frightened to say anything. Whether to attempt to say aboard and risk going down with the ship, or to abandon and risk icy undertow... that was the immediate dilemma!"

"The best of friends, the lads tried their best to push away from the cliffside. The raft strained, and lashings popped! Just as it seemed they might make it, the front of the raft raised high into the air as the aft sunk into the center of the hungry whirlpool! One of the lads was tossed to the side near the cliff, the other raised his hands in a futile attempt to keep the raft from pushing him beneath the surface. The raft finished its ascent and then capsized over! The river seemed to roar hungrily as the gaping maw of the whirlpool swallowed the raft!"

"Moments passed..."

"One of the lads clutched desperately to the side of the cliff, his feet fortuitously finding a huge sunken boulder for purchase. He glanced up in time to see his friend being pushed beneath the raft as it was sucked under the water! After several agonizing moments, the first saw his friend surface again, gasping and sputtering, but on the far side of the whirlpool! He as floundering and when the circular motion brought him near, friends stretched their arms in an attempt to rescue! But the river had other intentions..."

"Hands passed, fingertips touched, but the older lad was sucked under again! Another time passed as the youth clinging to the rocks looked desperately for a branch or something which he could extend to his drowning friend. Miraculously, he saw one of the push-poles just beneath the surface! As he grabbed it with one shaking hand, he heard his friend surface again with a gasp! But he was on the far side of the whirlpool once more!"

"The pole was extended... but the other was sucked down once more! This time, the moments slipped away, longer than before... too long. The young man on the rock debated frantically if he should dive back into the swirling, icy vortex to save his friend, but somehow knew to do so was death..."

Nomerendal's voice cracked, whether through true emotion or clever stage-craft, no one would ever really know.

"Suddenly a hand shot up from beneath the surface! The rock-hugging lad drove his rescue-pole toward it like a lance! This time the grasp was successful! The fight between a young man and a spring-swollen river was joined in earnest!"

"The raft was never seen again, nor any part of it... To this day, neither the logs, nor the twine, nor the handful of rusty nails used in its construction, have ever washed up on any of the banks of the river, neither have they been found stuck against the rocks."

"But what of the lads you're all wondering? Well, the rescue was successful! As they both lay on the bank of the river after making a daring effort to pass along the cliff to safety, their bodies shook and shivered from the exertion. How close they had come to a watery grave would not sink into their minds for some time after they'd made it home to warm up, but it was certainly a story the twain would tell each time their families were gathered around a fire."

Nomerendal smiled and theatrically winked as he nodded his head in conclusion of the tale.

"So then friends, shall we build ourselves a raft?"

Rennick answers: "Yes, of course we shall construct a raft! What a beautiful story, it really motivates me to try for ourselves!
This is the real stuff of legend, if you get to test your strength and stamina to survive in a fight with a mighty river."

Rennick thought for a moment about the whirlpool and what had happened.
"I think that before setting our raft into the river, we should first check for any whirlpools in the river. We don't want to risk
our lives too soon. Better look for a nice calm place, where the river is going in a straight line. You know what I mean, right?"

Rennick's backpack is quite heavy, for he has stuffed a lot of materials for constructing a raft into it.

As the goal or purpose of the mission is not exactly clear to Rennick, he asks Tarack:
"What are we looking for, Tarack, once we get to Ulzmilla's cottage? I heard something about Ratstail, but is that all? Will we need to look for signs of the criminals who did this, when we visit the witch? Might she be the one? Or can we ignore her?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:43, Sat 14 Oct 2017.

Tarack rubs his chin "I have only the basic understanding of how to make something like that and we have animals with us. We need to make sure its good enough and does not brake up in the middle of the stream.

But, most of us have been around lumber long enough to have seen it done. Lets get started."

OOC: What rolls need to be made and by whom? Lets get beyond this stage folks.

It takes a few hours of walking to reach the woods edge. But the niceness of the fall day makes climbing the gentle rise and fall of the hillocks between the woods and the town seem like a picnic. Its hard to believe that the group assembled is on a mission to save lives. The forest grows closer and closer...the tall trees a variety of Pine, Fir, Ash, even a few Oak, and of course The Darkwood that the Vale is named for; rise above the floor of the vale high above the parties head. Shrubbery at the edge of the woods is sparse but gets thicker further in.

As the party gets near the forests edge the first thing they notice is hundreds of tree stumps..signs there was a logging camp here at one time...now the loggers prey on another section of the woods.

As they near the forests edge, things begin to get quieter...no birds chirping...no buzz of insects...no animal noses in the distance...As they breech the edge and things begin to get shadowy the stench of death becomes apparent.

and not long after they see something that appalls them Hanging from particularly broad Ash Tree, its white bark stained purple by drying blood, are the lifeless bodies of three Fey. The Bodies spiked to the tree with Iron Spikes. 3 spikes were used on each to be presented in a manner to hold each arm straight to the side and one driven through their stomach. Terror was on each of the sprite like feys faces. This was a brand of horror none of the party had ever seen.....

Rennick is shocked by the three murdered fey, though he doesn't like fey particularly.
He says: "This is disgusting, however much one may dislike fey creatures. We're not always on friendly terms, but that's no reason to start killing them. They're intelligent creatures like us, and humanity can get into big trouble if it's fighting a war against fey."

Arell looks up at the ash tree with an oddly puzzled expression.

"Most of the time I'd agree with you, Rennick." he says after a moment, "But...I don't exactly carry iron spikes around with me just in case I should come across a random fae being uppity."

He looks back towards the hunter, "This--whatever this was--was calculated.  Deliberate.  Persons or persons unknown decided that these three needed to die gruesomely.  And so said persons deliberately hunted these three down and pinned them up here.  I ain't saying they were right to do so...but the kind of anger that drives people to acts like this doesn't come from nowhere."

He thinks a moment, "If we weren't in a hurry, I'd say we take 'em down bury them or something.  Earn "Brownie points" or whatever.  But time marches and we ought to also.  Anyone know of any reason we should stop anyway?"

He looks at the rest of the group.  Rendal knew the stories, Lorn knew burial customs, Tarrack knew trees and shit, and the elf probably knew more than all of them combined.

Somebody around here ought to know if this disgusting display could wait a few days.

"I'd hate to overburden Helga over much. If it becomes strictly necessary for haste then perhaps. But for now I advice caution."

---

The mortician followed the group on their path to the hut. Not knowing the terrain half as well as the others. Even though he'd lived in the region for quite some time, he'd never wander much out of the beaten path. There was never any need, since even the most rural farm had a dirt road to follow.

Upon seeing the fey, he looked at them curiously. He had seen death in many forms, and read and studied the rest. Seeing fey for the first time in his life however was something new. "Can anyone tell me what kind of fey they are? They come in various forms, correct? Or so the bards say." sitting atop his horse he looked towards Nomerendal.

The little gnome had been prattling on to whomever would listen, or were pretending to listen, and so was last to come upon the scene. "...and so it was that the huge barbarian struck out at the terrible Godling, wounding... Oh! By the Bones!" His voice cracked as his feet froze in their tracks!

It took a moment for him to compose himself after seeing the fey creatures tacked to the trees. "I think we should take them down and cover them in moss and flowers... not because we might win some sort of favor with the denizens of the woods... but because it's the right thing to do." Nomerendal's normal, care-free demeanor seemed especially affected by the scene. "It won't take us long..."

The little fellow dropped his pack and began to gather armloads of moss and undergrowth. "The forest will reclaim them quickly... I don't think there's much danger of predators..."

Nom glanced around carefully to see if there might be anyone who could tell him more about the gruesome act...


Knowledge(Nature): Take 10 for a total of 15 to identify fey critters.
Perception: Take 10 for a total of 15, looking for animals to converse with. If found, will cast Speak with Animals.

"I agree, we should bury them, even if it's only a shallow grave or a mound. It'll help their way to Pharasma's embrace that will lead them on to their final destination." Lorn says. Pushing his horse forward a bit to get closer before dismounting.

The Gnome examines the bodies briefly and it's too difficult given their current state of identifying which small Get they could be.

He glanced around and can see indications of animals and can see a few curious squirrels watching from up in the trees

Rennick starts removing the iron pins which are pinning the fey against the trees.

OOC: strength check?

Rennick quickly unpins the fey from the tree, the iron stakes coming loose easily with a few jerks back and forth. He lowers the dead bodies to the ground

Rennick then says: "let's bury them quickly"
He starts ploughing a shallow but rectangular hole into the ground with his warhammer.
He then deposits the fey bodies into the hole.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:35, Tue 17 Oct 2017.

Lorn walks over to Rennick and helps him as he can to get the bodies down then kneels down to the first fey to investigate it's death.


22:32, Today: Lorn rolled 17 using 1d20+8.  heal; checking out wounds; cause of death.

Lorn can tell the fey were tortured. Slices cross their tiny frames.

"This bodes ill. These poor creatures were tortured before left to hang in the trees. I haven't seen this kind of evil in many years." he says. Looking over their small mangled bodies. He also checks if there are any tattoos or identifiable tokens of some sort.

What does the clothing look like?
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Tue 17 Oct 2017.

Arell reaches back for his trench shovel...only to discover it not in its loop.

The hells did he do with it? (And Abadar smite him for not knowing where it was...please...quickly).

Did he lend it to someone?  Agh...doesn't matter now, he still didn't have it.

He picks up one of the discarded spikes...maybe he could find a descent branch and make a sort of garden hoe with the thick end.

Barring the stupid thing be cursed by some fairy hating godling...

He paused.

Was the spike marked by some fairy hating godling?


15:45, Today: Arell Kirkwood rolled 8 using 1d20+2.  Perception on Spike; anything important?

Well on the positive side, that was a bad roll wasted on something minor

They only have their 'small clothes' (underwear) on and nothing identifiable

Nomerendal paused a moment and glanced at the curious squirrels. Drawing upon his innate magic, a magic he shared somehow through ancient ancestry with these tortured and murdered fey, he pitched his voice very high and chatty-like in the nature of the small creatures...

Cast Speak with Animals

[In Squirrelish] "Well hello little friends! I'm called the Fisher. There is much to see isn't there? Many tall-folk walking about and making a fuss, some of them digging, and strange fey that no longer laugh nor play... What has happened here? Surely from the tree-tops you seen or heard something... will you share it with me little friends?"

Nomerendal produced some crumbs from one of the rolls he'd stolen from the kitchen of Jak'a'napes on his way out, and scattered them about at the base of a tree where the squirrels might take them from relative safety.

The squirrels ventured down the bark of the tree in jerky quick motions until the could hear and communicate

[In squirrelish]
hello the fisher. i am big teeth and my friend is stuffed cheeks. some two legs tall ones came upon the little friendlies. The two legs smelled of rotten tubers. They stopped them playing then hurt them. It was mean.

Nomerendal dropped to a knee and  absently scattered a few more crumbs.

[In Squirrelish] "I'm delighted to meet you Big Teeth and Stuffed Cheeks! I'm sorry to hear about the little ones, and you're both certainly right! How very mean!" He chattered with the squirrels a moment about the atrocity and the foulness of rotten tubers and the wonderment of why the mean two-legs might wish to consume such nasty victuals when the forest had so many tasty nuts and berries and seeds and flowertops and tender barks and ...

[In Squirrelish] "See my two-leg friends over there? They would very much like to find the rotten-tuber-smelling meanies you saw and scold them! Can you tell me which way they went? And what of the weather little ones? Do you suppose water will fall from the sky soon? A warm nest is good when the water falls from the sky. Do you know where the mean two-legs have their nest?"

The two squirrels conferred briefly then stuffed cheeks said. they went towards sunrising. they of the two legs who take away the homes

The bard now held two final pieces of bread before him, just on the tips of his fingers, in a friendly final offering.

[In Squirrelish] "You are both quite wonderful to chat with!" Nom complimented. "We're going to give the little ones back to the earth now. I'll tell my two-leg companions how delightful you've been and then one day they will scold the meanies. For now though, go and look and eat and play and chat, until we meet again my little friends! Thank you!"

Nomerendal could feel the magical connection beginning to fade away as he stood up slowly and walked back over to where the others were interring the dead fey.

"It was drunken loggers." Nomerendal reported solemnly. "It must not be enough that they should do their work, but have time to become sotten and malicious. I told those squirrels that we'd scold the meanie... erm... those loggers when we found them... will you all help me do that? I'm afraid I might need a bit of backup when I go picking fights with those much, much larger than myself!"

When the burial was complete, the gnome sang a bit of rhyme in a fae key. When Arell rolled his eyes, Nom shrugged defensively, "What? It was the right thing to do! Don't be so dour all the time! Say, have I ever told you the story of the three little..."