"While they get slaughtered," Doral asks, a bit surprised. He owed these people nothing, but had thought Kraken would want to be more protective of his own.
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Spoiler:
Player of Doral Kinsman the Beguiler in Who Wants to Be a Wayfinder IC
"Course we'd let the boss fellas decide if they want to take the risk. I was thinking more that they could kick up a rumpus and run away, eh? Reckon they might think doing something is better than sitting around waiting for a deadfella to rip yer arms off, eh?"
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"It couldn't hurt to talk to the local tribes and see what can be arranged," Whisper muses as she strolls up to look at the slumbering native. "I'd be surprised if they agreed to that specific plan, but at the very least we could agree not to quarrel between ourselves in the face of a much more dangerous mutual foe."
"For now, lets wake him up. I want to know more about these signal fires he saw."
The man comes around quickly from Whispers slap. His eyes open wide at the sight of so many strange faces standing in a circle around him. He sits up and looks around, clearly looking for some line of escape. Seeing nothing, his eyes dull slightly and he takes on a resigned look. He speaks in poor common, "You must kill me, I not be slave for you. Make fair fight 'less you scared." He points towards his fishing spear in Kraken's hand.
Having circled several times overhead and satisfied himself there is no other threat nearby, Midian angles down toward the others, his seagull form molting away into his human self once again. I high, quick whistle calls Garuk to his side as he observes the native.
"We don't want to fight--or enslave--anyone," Midian says. "If you've been watching us for any length of time, you'd see we're fighting the beasts the other outsiders are calling forth."
"I see you fight no beasts. I watch this camp for four days, you are new, you came from the woods. You must be pirates from the deep jungle past the slopes. The camp called you to them."
Kraken squats down on his haunches on front of the man, but he hangs on to the spear.
"Maybe you know me," he says. "Maybe you know my village around the shore. They call me Kraken there. And if you know me or my village, you know we ain't allied to the deadfellas in the Big Green. These people," he gestures with his free hand to the rest of the group, "were sent by the Storm Spirits to help us fight the deadfellas. We're all on the same side here."
He stands and holds out his hand to help the man up.
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Doral cleans off some dirt from his pant legs. "Besides, I'm not all that interested in a life at sea without proper accomadations and having to drink grog all the time instead of a decent wine. I'd make a poor pirate, don't you think?"
The man stares at Kraken's hand dubiously for a moment before taking hold of it and pulling himself back up on his feet. "I hear your name once from our shaman, he say you are Kraken Driftwood as you came from the sea. Long time we have good trade with your people." He looks around at the rest of the group taking not of your varied garb and appearance. "You come to stop the dead ones? Whose bones are stone and teeth are diamonds? No one goes to the slopes and comes back. Three fine hunters go out and none come back, we all hear the dead howling. Now we must fish and hunt the shores as none go to the green."
You notice that many of the sailors and mercs at the camp have stopped working to watch your group talk to the native. They all seem curious as to what is going on since the camp is just out of earshot.
"Driftwood, yeah, that's me," he says with a chuckle. "My tribe's lost a few good men too, eh? These deadfellas, they're not just walking dead, they're wulgaru*. Bad magic involved, and these folks from the sea," he gestures to his companions, "they're right clever people, they know a bit of magic of their own, eh? We've been all the way into the Big Green to the camp of the deadfellas, and lived to tell the tale though we fought a few of them on the way in and back. Now we're going to go back and finish the job."
*Local word for a terrible devil spirit.
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The man accepts the fishing spear and says, "The shaman say they are dark spirits. Calling one to the world is evil. They are cursed men. May the depths hunger for their lives. May you be strong. I ask the shaman to make many sacrifice to the sea for your victory. I not warrior, I pull fish from the sea, but help in small way if can."
"Tell us about the signal fires you saw," Whisper says at his offer of help. "How many? Did you see any features we could use to recognize the men who lit them?"
"The fire they make is how we know ship landed. Far down shore, away from ship, early in day as sun rises. Young boys catching reefclaw crabs see them. They come back to village and tell us. Two men who wear leather and carry steel blades. Dark of hair and beard. I am sent and follow tracks along shore and see camp. I return, tell village, come back to watch. See some who could be fire starters, but many here and on ship. Many are dark haired, wear leather, and carry blades."
"The fire they make is how we know ship landed. Far down shore, away from ship, early in day as sun rises. Young boys catching reefclaw crabs see them. They come back to village and tell us. Two men who wear leather and carry steel blades. Dark of hair and beard. I am sent and follow tracks along shore and see camp. I return, tell village, come back to watch. See some who could be fire starters, but many here and on ship. Many are dark haired, wear leather, and carry blades."
The druid sighs. "Right enough. I don't suppose there's any way of getting one of those boys here to either give us more details or point out the culprits?"
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