Azurewraith
Explorer
"I do believe, we where heading out to Nan's house in the woods."
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D&D 5E Witcher: Mother of Monsters
- Thread starter Quickleaf
- Start date
Azurewraith
Explorer
Tamaran smiles sheepishly as he heads out of the door. Once outside he heads to the outskirts of settlement and calls for his wolf, then awaits his companions before heading to the hut.
Queenie
Queen of Everything
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Elora joined Odvara to gather their packs up. "This will be much better for everyone, with us all together. I just don't like leaving you behind in this strange little town. Do not fear, we have kept you safe this long, we will continue to keep you safe further still." She gave the girl barely younger than herself a reassuring smile. "Let's be off."
They met the others downstairs, then followed them back to Nan's Hut, where Elora sheepishly tried not to touch anything.
Quickleaf
Legend
[SECTION]
The villagers of Lower Posada call it Old Nan's House, though it's little more than an overgrown hut. There are signs of the combat from last night, even black blood stains from the drowners that Fergus' strange eyes picks out, but no sign of the drowners' corpses, nor sign of some large predator dragging away. They've simply vanished.
A large gnarled oak grows from the center of the ruins, though no ravens perch in its sprawling limbs. Instead, small sparrows dart back and forth, in and out of the ruins by the dawn's light. The oak is festooned with charms – prayer beads, carved wooden reliquaries, rune-scribed bone totems – which dangle in place of leaves. An old table is imbedded in the side of the tree, as if it was overgrown with time, and a crude mortar and pestle rest on its surface – the same mortar and pestle that Elora touched last night and that Talashia perceived to radiate abjuration and transmutation magic.
Careful steps, here. And not just because it is the occasional dwelling place for a visiting "hag." Caltrops still cover the floor, their blackened four-bladed shapes faintly glinting in the light of day. Enough to deter a peasant, but not a hardened dwarf, nor the elves of the wild, neither sorceresses nor keen-eyed witchers.
There too lie the remnants of the western wall which Talashia toppled with a burst of thunder and fury.[/SECTION]
[video=youtube;ZMaHX57KGP8]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMaHX57KGP8[/video]
The villagers of Lower Posada call it Old Nan's House, though it's little more than an overgrown hut. There are signs of the combat from last night, even black blood stains from the drowners that Fergus' strange eyes picks out, but no sign of the drowners' corpses, nor sign of some large predator dragging away. They've simply vanished. A large gnarled oak grows from the center of the ruins, though no ravens perch in its sprawling limbs. Instead, small sparrows dart back and forth, in and out of the ruins by the dawn's light. The oak is festooned with charms – prayer beads, carved wooden reliquaries, rune-scribed bone totems – which dangle in place of leaves. An old table is imbedded in the side of the tree, as if it was overgrown with time, and a crude mortar and pestle rest on its surface – the same mortar and pestle that Elora touched last night and that Talashia perceived to radiate abjuration and transmutation magic.
Careful steps, here. And not just because it is the occasional dwelling place for a visiting "hag." Caltrops still cover the floor, their blackened four-bladed shapes faintly glinting in the light of day. Enough to deter a peasant, but not a hardened dwarf, nor the elves of the wild, neither sorceresses nor keen-eyed witchers.
There too lie the remnants of the western wall which Talashia toppled with a burst of thunder and fury.[/SECTION]
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[video=youtube;ZMaHX57KGP8]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMaHX57KGP8[/video]
Last edited:
Azurewraith
Explorer
Tamaran pokes around the abode checking inside and outside the hut inspecting the tree, not only looking for signs of the hag but for where the corpses of the drowners got to. He mentally commands his wolf to do the same.
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Quickleaf
Legend
[SECTION]Tamaran surveys the ruined hut with keen elvish eyes. While these lands are new to him, he has roamed neighboring Dol Blathanna and the Blue Mountains for many years. The same pastel blue-white chicory flowers, cinquerel in the Elvish tongue, grow in the shade here as in the Blue Mountains. There was clearly a fight here, the one the others have alluded to most likely, and the toppled western wall was recent, for moss hasn't yet blanketed it like the rest of the ruins.
What does one look for when seeking a hag? The peasants might say a broom or cloven hooves for feet. While Tamaran is no Witcher, he at least is wise enough not to put much stock in such fables. The ground has recently been stirred by winds, likely during the night, and scattered leaves in autumnal hues of copper and orange conceal black caltrops. What few tracks are visible within the ruins indicate the story told by the others – they approached from the town and the drowners approached from the river. Distinguishing much more than that is impossible.
The whine of Tamaran's wolf sniffing at the rotted southern doorway, however, draws Tamaran's attention. In his mind, the wolf spirit speaks: An old smell...something from the spirit world... Studying the wooden arch, Tamaran spots four uneven marks as if a razor-sharp claw or set of iron knives were imbedded in the doorway. Not raked across it, but clutching it. His tracking instincts kick in, and he can feel the posture of whoever came to the threshold of the ruined hut; the person paused, leaning against the doorway either for support or perhaps reeling from some discovery within.
A closer study of the ground around the archway, however, only reveals a few distinguishable tracks. The spacing of the feet indicates a woman's hips, and a hefty woman at that. The tracks don't enter the hut nor do they leave it, simply seem to mill around the doorway. Vanished, like the drowners. A mystery.[/SECTION]
Tamaran surveys the ruined hut with keen elvish eyes. While these lands are new to him, he has roamed neighboring Dol Blathanna and the Blue Mountains for many years. The same pastel blue-white chicory flowers, cinquerel in the Elvish tongue, grow in the shade here as in the Blue Mountains. There was clearly a fight here, the one the others have alluded to most likely, and the toppled western wall was recent, for moss hasn't yet blanketed it like the rest of the ruins.What does one look for when seeking a hag? The peasants might say a broom or cloven hooves for feet. While Tamaran is no Witcher, he at least is wise enough not to put much stock in such fables. The ground has recently been stirred by winds, likely during the night, and scattered leaves in autumnal hues of copper and orange conceal black caltrops. What few tracks are visible within the ruins indicate the story told by the others – they approached from the town and the drowners approached from the river. Distinguishing much more than that is impossible.
The whine of Tamaran's wolf sniffing at the rotted southern doorway, however, draws Tamaran's attention. In his mind, the wolf spirit speaks: An old smell...something from the spirit world... Studying the wooden arch, Tamaran spots four uneven marks as if a razor-sharp claw or set of iron knives were imbedded in the doorway. Not raked across it, but clutching it. His tracking instincts kick in, and he can feel the posture of whoever came to the threshold of the ruined hut; the person paused, leaning against the doorway either for support or perhaps reeling from some discovery within.
A closer study of the ground around the archway, however, only reveals a few distinguishable tracks. The spacing of the feet indicates a woman's hips, and a hefty woman at that. The tracks don't enter the hut nor do they leave it, simply seem to mill around the doorway. Vanished, like the drowners. A mystery.[/SECTION]
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