As the sun sets, the hunters return. They've collected a small bear and a half dozen wolves, but they no longer care about declaring a winner. In addition to the animals, the hunters carry the bodies of Brougha and Onog. The men were taken from behind by a large wolf. The men drop the animals off near the centre of the village. Yahigig, one of the older men in the hunting party, walks to the river and speaks at length with Olaghig. After a time, he returns, collects the others, and they construct two new pyres in the darkness. Brougha and Onog are laid out. The men return to the village and go to sleep. Olaghig continues to keep guard over the bodies.

Night passes.

The camp rises before the sun does. Brougha and his son Varthurg attend the cookpot. Breakfast is bear and carrot stew. The villagers take a quick breakfast and filter down toward the pyres at the river.

The injured are up and walking, although not quickly. Many use stout branches as a crutch, cane, or walking stick. The injured children are carried by their elders. The injured elders are carried by their children.

A drum, softly at first, then growing in power and urgency, beats through the forest. The drum plays Aldridge a song in three parts. The first is a quiet, almost playful, beat about innocence, joy and play. But the first movement ends early, interrupted by the second, a bombastic and violent affair. But as quickly as the violence begins, it ends. The drum's third movement quells the violence and bespeaks sadness, grief, and mourning. But even as the third ends, it returns with a reprise from the first: innocence and joy. The song ends as it began. (Inspiring Leader: +9 thp for the party.)

Borgakha returns from the forest near the camp. A tiny chickadee sits on her hand, chirping cheerfully at her. Borgakha chirps back at the bird and the two converse until she arrives back at the camp. The druid walks directly to the party and speaks gravely. “[Language unknown: Noaial ure sawhut fo ourlo.]”

Without waiting for a reply, Borgakha walks down toward the river and pyres.

(The party is now level 5. Please level your characters. Alwanzatar and Westra's penalty to max hp is reduced by 5. Airdsgainne regains 5 points of dexterity. Flutterwing regains all three points of dexterity. Ethic regains 6 points of deterity. Ryudo loses one level of exhaustion.)
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:11, Wed 29 July 2015.

"Borgakha just said the funeral is at dawn," Westra translates for the group. "We should make our way over there soon." She rises and stretches, pointedly ignoring Aldridge, even if his dirge was a cathartic balm to her sorrow over what had happened. He's still an ass, she thinks to herself, who cares about nothing but his own agenda.

Aldridge returns from relieving himself just as Westra gives instruction to the group. Without a word, he finishes tying Saphira back up and readies himself to head down to the river.  If it makes the druid feel better about herself, he was fine with her feeling in charge so long as death wasn't on the line.

He gives the bird an odd look.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Thu 30 July 2015.

Ryudo hops down from the tree and heads over to the pyres.  He offers his staff to one of the injured using a branch.

Alwan also moves toward the pyres in somber silence.

Ethic stands in towering silence at the back of the group near the pyre.

Just before dawn, the Terrorclaw gather with the party at the pyres. The sky is clear and caught between night and day, lit with no observable source. The only sounds are the chirping of the birds and the occasional crack of a twig as the Terrorclaw shift in place.

Borgakha stands on a rock near the river and begins the ritual. To the party's surprise, each person understands Borgakha perfectly.

“We stand here to bear witness to the land and to the people. I speak now so that every spirit of land, water, beast and sky may understand. These are our people! We give them now to you.”

Borgakha walks to the first pyre. “This is Shagar Yahigig. She is a mother to many and a very fine warrior. Perhaps she will now guard our berry bushes from blight.

“This is her daughter, Durgat Yahigig. Durgat is but eleven summers on the land and still one of the finest bow-hunters of the tribe. Our cookfire will mourn the loss of her kills. The spirit of Durgat is not done with her bear hunting.

“This is her blood-mother and namesake of her daughter, Durgat Yahigig the Elder. We will miss her songs, a light in the darkness that so often surrounds us. Durgat, teach now the birds their songs. When we hear the cheerful voice of the robin, we will think of you.”

Borgakha turns to the Terrorclaw before her and says, “Yahigig, Kirþ, Winug and little Orbul. You have given much. Be at peace.”

She walks to the second pyre. “This is Homraz Buomaugh. She knows every flower by name, purpose, and scent. The pixies of the meadow will find no truer friend than she. Spirits of the field, set Homraz about the task of painting flowers in the spring. We will know her work and think of her fondly.

“This is Buomaugh Buomaugh, name of his family and husband to Homraz. Buomaugh is a fearless hunter. Many nights we have eaten meat brought by his staff, the weapon he favoured. He will surely guard us in the night, driving the wolves from our tents.

“And this is Kegigoth Buomaugh. A boy of only seven summers, not yet ripe for the hunt. We already miss his cheerful chuckle. Let the spirit of Kegigoth stay with us, whispering jokes in our ears and songs in our hearts.”

She turns once more to the family nearby. “Lurbuk Lurbuk, name of your family. Care for Mazoga, Ragash, and Ugor. You have given much. Be at peace.”

She walks to the third pyre. “This is Yotul Duma, seedkeeper. To her are given the secrets of the wild rice. Whisper those secrets in the dreams of your daughter Mor. She will need your wisdom as she inherits your seeds.

“This is her eldest daughter, Burub. Burub is a mighty skulker. She once stole a full nest of raptor eggs while their mother sat nearby keeping a watchful eye. We will see her in the twilight, halfway between the day and night.”

And to the family, she says, “Duma Duma, Duma Duma the Elder, Mor, Aughan, and little Opeghat. You have given much. Be at peace.”

She walks to the fourth pyre. “This Bogdub Nofhug. Only thirteen summers on land, she is our clan's finest stoneworker. Our sharpest spears are tipped with the fruits of her knapping. Bogdub, pick the choicest stones and lay them out for us to find.”

To Bogdub's family she says, “Shagar, Nofhug, Burul, Vagan, Rulfim, Xugagug, and little Dubok. You have given much. Be at peace.”

She walks to the fifth pyre. “This is Onog Onog, name of his family. He will surely guard Bulfim, his wife and carrier of his child. Onog is a great hunter, a master with the bow and axe. Onog will guard us and protect us now as he ever has.

“Take comfort, Onog. You have no heir, but your family will now belong to Inkathurg. He will guard it well.” Inkathurg has a surprised look on his face, but says nothing. “Durz has long been a good friend of Bulfim and will make a fine sister-wife.”

She turns to Bulfim and her sons, “Bulfim, little Zarfu and little Krugorim. You have given much. Be at peace.”

She walks to the sixth and penultimate pyre. “This is Grat Brougha. May her gentle spirit always season our fire. She is a marvellous cook and a devoted mother.

“This is her husband Brougha Brougha. It is a mercy that neither knew the loss of the other. Brougha is a skilled bowmaker. Perhaps his spirit will guide our bows and make our arrows true.”

She turns to their children. “Varthurg Brougha—”

“Varthurg Varthurg!” the boy interrupts. Borgakha raises her eyebrows and looks the boy up and down. He is tall and strong, but of only four summers. Borgakha lets out a wry smile at the boy and turns back to the pyre, “Spirits lend us aid, but you have raised a mighty boy. Few children would run toward danger with the alacrity that he did, and to save Burul, his infant brother.”

To Varthurg, she says, “Varthurg Varthurg, name of your family, Sham Varthurg and little Burul Varthurg. You have given much. Be at peace.

“Drutha Drutha, watch over Varthurg Varthurg and teach him as a brother.”

She walks to the final pyre, which holds only the shards of the shattered flameskull. “This is Lyðor Lyðor, name of his family, last of his family. Lyðor is a mighty spiritspeaker. And although he, at the end of his natural time on the land chose to speak with terrible spirits, he is an important member of our clan. His spirit is now cleansed and free from the terrible spirits he fell in with. We remember him and smile, knowing that he will drive drought away and bring rains when they are needful.”

Borgakha steps back up to the rock and shouts, “Spirits of the land, water, beast and sky, hear us! Take our clansmen to their new work.”

And with that, the druid shoots flames from her fingers and lights each pyre on fire. The Terrorclaw stand in silence for an hour while bodies burn.

When it is finished, the clan returns to the village and begins to go about their daily tasks.

After the funeral, Aldridge walks back to the village, saddling up alongside Flutterwing. "How are you handling all this?" he asks quietly. "Being... Well, here, and all." He nods in the direction of the clan members.

“If you're referring the the fact that these people killed mine, it's complex. Does one wolf hate another because each must kill to stay alive? No, I'll leave hate to others. This tribe is full of people, just as mine was. They are stronger and survived. That's one thing Stormcaller taught me.”

"That was another thing I was wondering about," Aldridge continues. "I don't believe that the bear is dead. Which probably served us well, none of us would have survived Mama's wrath. But, how is your grief concerning your mentor?"

“Stormcaller is dead whether the bear is or no. I wish I knew why the bear attacked, but I am glad that we retrieved his journal.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:35, Thu 30 July 2015.

"And that's yet another thing I wanted to ask you," Aldridge says. "I know you said that you couldn't read the tablets either, but I attempted to read them under the effects of a comprehension spell, and they were still mere gibberish to me. Do you know if he wrote them himself, or where he obtained them?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:51, Thu 30 July 2015.

“He wrote them himself. I saw him do it.”

"Curious and curiouser," Aldridge murmurs. "Perhaps the divine has its own fields that it does not share with the threads of the arcane. Well, they rightfully belong to you, so I will return them to your possession. But I won't deny that my curiosity of what they stand for is very high."

Ethic follows the party. "What on earth is going on here. Where did that bear come from and why were you hunting it?"

Westra stands beside the pyres for a while longer, asking the fallen for forgiveness for what she had taken part in, however unknowingly. "I am sorry I couldn't save all of you," she says softly into the breeze rushes past her, pushing the smoke from the embers away from camp.

Slowly, she returns to the place where the party had been staying near the camp. She hears Ethic's question as she walks up.

"What I told you before was not the entire truth," she says, pinching Aldridge's ear before he has a chance to speak. "But I was not sure if any of the tribe could understand us. In reality, it was Aldridge's idea that we let the bear attack the village instead of us. We did not mean to disturb it in the beginning, and as far as I know, none of us realized his plan until it was too late. However, I accept responsibility for hiding us from the bear. I should have realized where we were and what would happen."

"To answer the questions that you asked," Aldridge says, rubbing his ear, "We don't really know. To either question, really. We were hunting generic predators, but we got its attention."

Aldridge ties up the rest of his supplies. "Speaking of 'we,' I'm not sure what you all plan on doing, but I intend to find the tribe I was looking to trade with before we came here. I wouldn't object to a companion or two, but... Well, I'm sure we all have our own goals and means to accomplish them." He waggles his eyebrows with minimal amusement at the druids.

Westra turns to Airdsgainne, "[Language unknown: Orema usicfo nd ilare sskor atelespre les iees romut n notbe tewete i roca tha. Utwh n sa inreut? Cawe anythison mo e is ouurce.]"

Ethic laughs heartily. "You don't really look like fearsome hunters. You will need me to come with you if you wish to keep hunting game like that. I will come. I will keep you safe while you 'hunt.' You will help me learn from those we meet so I can return to my clan in triumph."

"Excellent, the Bear warrior is in," Aldridge says, pointing to Ethic. "I'm ready to go. Follow if you're coming, stay if you're not." He leads Saphira away from the group, not looking back.

Borgakha joins the party as they ready their things. She addresses Westra and Airdsgainne, “[Language unknown: Ou llus p na le llonie il men na laecur. Romratsom icho ekear ut pa p ichce lo ceent hepe riles etnihe m his i ate wheounest el elllmo. Po undectsom, tinlatson wh poieom towil nteiontic.]” She hands Westra a pendant, a dried heart pierced by a thorn. “[Language unknown: Be pr po Papoar ho laas Ticonewhe. Of rowa na illlno, u icat evheat ontra wa icsa beprho hebeus u usma ulet u n hateenhis.]”

She hands Airsgainnea small knot of wood, small enough to clasp a hand around. “[Language unknown: Lind m niit omusen t n Ereoulday Tree, sitapr iousi la wasureandwit as to thefortic. Ivinho k hi ichbe n trasa ecpoto olstntno ineiol. N ss st nc moal k som.]

“[Language unknown: Ilec itfor Si loven ic calat she andresrut. Rom whplhe k p acwaec chenat taro. Sa n arent ive olhiss th ich I a sead ingresmen oun wa tedvirhis anol urrent ort ch al on atar etpa lin nde un ove ast. Et ic oer taesar un foroutnte isieol eauomethaoutoun niweho lefiie ndutce il miec-eeeliswa.]

“[Language unknown: N ul she attiof di enclarson u witeenoneshe enteenwertravir, sswi K u hi ulio ble ver ca fitr beisro iswer omson pessta. Llec ughmo nc ul sear tin u ca linthacomartere. Te whe antac, M ngce e a thlero daywasfor t elwer ssse ameineith, houn ionamehou meme bengreca. Ti vir korie eses ec dayticrea lar eenhishis ce witsomenc adbeof. E tho hasrutman hou, reawhence rut staioname alreiv atfo ec ni thondeati e vorha entingcom.]”



(The party should decide where they are heading next.)