(BFRPG/DCC) Halls of the Minotaur

[timbuktu]

You and your companions come to a halt in the center of
the forest clearing. Half a day earlier, the old crone had warned of the
dangers of Thornswild Wood, but standing before the
dark, foreboding forest you felt that her tale fell short
of the truth.

The trees are all overgrown with ropey, thorn-encrusted
vines. Three skulls hang half a dozen feet off the ground
– the vines have wormed their way through the vacant
eye sockets to hoist them from the moist, rotting soil.
Those same vines edge toward you, thirsting for fresh
blood.

Somewhere within this fell wood is Sir Galwaith and the
minotaur he swore to kill. Steeling your courage, you grip
your weapons tighter and wonder if you'll ever see
the light of day again.

A raven flaps overhead, wheeling toward the towering
cliffs at the heart of the forest. From a distance you
can make out ancient ruins high atop the cliffs of the strange rock spire that juts out atop the treetops.

The crow caws from the distance, beckoning you into the
wicked wood.


[sblock=Earlier That Day].....You arrived at the small isolated hamlet of Petra that very morning. While travelling from Rugalov west to the city of Specularum, you had sought shelter there from an thunderous storm that drove you from the Eastern Road.

The villagers of Petra were friendly but reserved, gave you food and drink and then firmly but kindly directed to their village elder.

Gomjol the Elder had waved you toward her fire, her white
eyes staring blindly out into the flames.
"For months our village has been at the mercy of a minotaur named Toth-Rar." she explained. "Children have been stolen, men killed."

"Then a week ago a knight-Sir Galwaith arrived, wielding a golden blade astride a white horse. He vowed to destroy the beast." She shook her head sadly. "But our hamlet's savior has vanished into the Thornswild."

"The runes have chosen you to rescue him. See? The
runes declare you to be heroes." Her crooked finger
pointed at sigil marked animals bones cast around the floor, then to each of you in turn. The old crone then cast a handful
of herbs into the fire, sending up a shower of embers.

"And the runes never lie."

"Blessings on you," the toothless hag
had whispered, her smile touched with a trace of sadness, "for you will need it. The Thornswild was a place of Beastmen and Fey magic and since the time of my grandfathers none from our village who have entered have returned. "

You and your companions could gain little else from Gomjol as the villagers surged forward. Hailing you as heroes and ignoring your protests, the two dozen men and women herded you toward the old north trail and set you on the path that led to the edge of the Thornswild.[/sblock]

 

[Mark Chance]

"Damned pushy villagers. Cursed chicken scratches on bones. 'And the runes never lie.' Stupid runes didn't mention no skull-totin' thorn bushes." Kronk's constant grumbling shifts to a louder, more jovial tone. "Well, like I always say, In for a copper, in for a platinum! Ha ha!"

The dwarf plants his feet wide, turns his shield flank toward danger, and tightens his grip on his battleaxe.

"I get one of the skulls for a keepsake."

[sblock=Kronk's Dice Rolls]Kronk's initiative, attack roll, and damage roll. (1d6+1=3, 1d20+2=10, 1d8+1=4)
[/sblock]

 

[Guest 11456]

The elven maiden slings a bullet toward the creeping vines. She nods to her companions and smirks. "Creeping vines? What will they think of next?"

[sblock=Nameelass' Dice Rolls]Nameelass' initiative, attack roll, and damage roll. (1d6-1=2, 1d20-1=6, 1d4=1) [/sblock]

 

[Bialaska]

"This is all your fault, Kronk! If you didn't complain about everything, those plants might have ignored us, but nooo." Kira says, her mouth upturned showing that it's just a joke. "Oh well, let's get down to business, no need to whine about lost profits or whatever it is you're complaining about today..."

With that said, the human thief raises her shortbow and lets an arrow fly towards the nearest vine.

[SBLOCK=Dice rolls]Kira's Initiative, Attack Roll, Damage Roll (1d6 2=3, 1d20 2=9, 1d6=5)[/SBLOCK]

 

[Mark Chance]

"Ha ha!" Kronk laughs at Kira's joke. "If gripin' makes things happen, then I'm goin' to start gripin' about gold pieces fallin' out of the sky!"

 

[Malvoisin]

Brother Barton had looked on with disdain as the ancient hag spoke her piece about prophetic runes and wild woods. He had no need for the signs and portents of lesser powers. The Lord of the Morning directed his steps and always would. The knowledge that there was a foul evil in the Thornswild was enough. The man-beast Toth-Rar would know the light of purifying flame, its evil would be cleansed from the world. Sir Galwaith would be rescued...or avenged.

Even now, as the foul vines creep toward Barton and his companions, he takes no part in the jests and jokes of his comrades. Grimly, he hefts his mace and charges forward with a cry. "Devil plants, you shall wither before the light of the Father of the Dawn!" His robes fly about him madly as he enters the fray with abandon.

[sblock=Die Rolls]Brother Barton rolls for Initiative, Attack, Damage (1d6-1=2, 1d20+1=7, 1d8+1=9) [/sblock]

 

[timbuktu]

The vines at the forest's edge are no match for the party's attack, and in short order are hacked, flattened, pierced and impaled. Although their movement was so slow as to reckoned in hours not minutes, the vines near the skulls now remain still.

Ahead of Kronk, behind the now dead vines and beneath some light undergrowth, the dwarf spies a narrow path about five feet wide extending north into the wood. Dead leaves cover the floor of the path, and it is dark. The trees arch over high above, giving the path a tunnel-like aspect.Kronk can only see to the extent of his dark vision before the path disappears out of sight.

However, unlike the rest of the aptly-named Thornswild, the path is free of the slow creeping vines that choke the trees. Here, movement would not be a laborious and perhaps dangerous endeavor.

Above, the crow caws again, as if trumpeting the dwarf's discovery.

 

[Malvoisin]

"Where the Morninglord's light does not shine freely, we must make our own," proclaims Brother Barton solemnly. He rummages in his pack for a few moments and produces a torch and flint. He sets the end of the torch alight, and hoists the flaming brand over his head in his left hand. With his right hand still firmly holding his mace, he gestures firmly for the others to proceed. "Into the Thornswild we go. Light willing, we all come back out."

 

[Mark Chance]

Kronk scoops up one of the skulls and hangs it from the left-hand horn of his helmet. He then rests the haft of his battle axe against his right shoulder and turns down the path he discovered, the grin on his face betraying how obviously pleased he is with himself.

 

[Bialaska]

"I am starting to wonder if this quest was really such a good idea," the human thief mutters mostly to herself, as she follows after Kronk, not staying more than a couple of feet behind him. "Oh well, if we're lucky Sir Gally is dead and we can claim his equipment as loot. A golden blade..." Kira says nothing more and almost looks like she's about to drool at the thought of a blade made of pure gold.