Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 3561316" data-attributes="member: 1210">The Twisted HermitOtis bows respectfully to the strange half-elven hermit. “Our situation,” he says gravely, “is complicated... but it is gratifying to find a rational, living person. Tell us, how is it that you have survived here? This forest does not seem... safe.”The hermit gives Otis a sharp look. “Well, you didn’t answer my question,” he notes. “You need to answer our questions!” Sir Fwaigo snaps. “How are you surviving out here? Who are you? Whose side are you on?”“Have you theen,” Lord Cedric interjects, “any other people, traveling? Perhapth with a beholder- that ith, a thtrange ball of eyeth that floatth through the-”“You should mind your familiar,” the hermit snaps at Otis, ignoring the others. He glares at the bird-form of Dahlia, who was trying to sneak into the hermit’s hut.Dahlia mentally shrugs. She could play the familiar, and try to trick this weird hermit; but she sort of relates to him, as she is a crazy hermit herself. So she changes back to her normal form and nods to the hermit. “I am no familiar,” she announces.The hermit frowns darkly. “Well, you stay out of my hut unless I invite you in! Don’t you think that it’s rude to go into someone’s home uninvited? Punks.”“Look, we mean you no harm,” Goer says, growing exasperated. “We’re trying to catch some criminals from our time that are headed to your capitol.”“My capitol?” the hermit asks archly. “What makes you think that I have a capitol?”“The capitol of Palantia,” Lord Cedric throws in. “Perhaps you could help us pass through this, ah, lovely forest of yours,” Kyle hints. “Then we’d be out of your hair right away.”“I don’t,” the hermit retorts flatly, “have much hair.”“Well, figuratively speaking-”“And what makes you think that this is my forest?”“Well, you’re living here,” Kyle answers lamely. “Look, how are you surviving out here?” Goer demands.“Have you theen thith thymbol?” Cedric queries, producing Harth’s ancestral ring. His symbol- a rose wrapped round a sword- is etched upon the face of it. “Wait, wait...” The hermit holds up a hand. Everyone goes quiet after a moment, Goer fuming. “You’re all talking too fast. Start over. Who are you, and what do you want?”Dahlia speaks up. “We’re sorry to bother you- I know you probably just want to be left alone- but we are pursuing a criminal and his beholder ally and his cult. He is trying to capture powerful weapons to take back to our homeland, and we’re trying to stop him. But there’s a big canyon full of demons that we can’t pass through, so we are trying to go around it. This weird, warped wood that we are in seems really dangerous, but you’re doing all right here. We were hoping that you could lead us to a path, or give us directions, or something, so that we can get around the canyon and back out of the woods.”“You don’t have to talk so loudly,” the hermit complains.“Sorry,” Dahlia sighs. The hermit rubs his chin. He seems lost in thought.“Please,” Otis asks, “if you have any knowledge that would help us-”“Knowledge? That would help you? Wait here.” The hermit moves back inside his little hut, slamming the door behind him. About five minutes pass before he returns, bearing a book (which he hands to Otis). “This should have some helpful knowledge in it. It’s about art history. Do you know anything about art history?”“Not much,” admits Otis. “Thank you.” He glances at the book, but cannot understand the script on the cover. A great treasure, he thinks to himself. Knowledge- any knowledge- from this period may prove invaluable.“Really, I can’t imagine what they teach you kids these days,” the hermit says sourly. “You kids don’t seem to ‘get it’, if you know what I mean.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, yes, I can lead you to a path that will get you out of here, and without you encountering the gibbering heap. I can- I could.” “The what?” Goer exclaims.“Do you know anything about those metal skeleton things we keep seeing?” asks Jorgen. “Have you theen thith thymbol?” repeats Cedric.“And what do you eat out here?” wonders Dahlia. “Would you like a berry? They’re quite fulfilling.”He peers at her proffered berry suspiciously. “No,” he snaps. With a shrug, Dahlia eats the goodberry herself. The hermit frowns, glancing from person to person. “Wait, wait, wait!” he barks. “You’re talking too fast! Slow down, you’re confusing me!”Our heroes collectively grit their teeth. Getting information from this frustrating old hermit is like pulling teeth from a wild steer! “Thith thymbol,” Lord Cedric repeats.“And there is no need to shout!” yells the hermit. And then he adds, “That looks like some kind of symbol of love.”“It is the heraldry of our foe, Sir Harth,” Jorgen informs him.“What is your name?” Dahlia asks.“Me!” pipes up Me.“I am called Randall,” the half-elf sniffs. “Has this forest always been like this?” the druid asks again.“Like this? Of course not!” Randall exclaims. “This happened during the war.”“The war?” asks Sir Colder.Randall sighs. “I cannot believe how ignorant you are! Where have you been while the world fell apart?”Dahlia replies, “We are from... another time.”“Oh, so you’re finally going to answer my first question,” Randall snorts disdainfully.“From the future,” the druid goes on. “We are ignorant. In our time, all of this is forgotten. The world is a primitive place, with nowhere near the magical powers you seem to have in this time. All the elves are gone. Please- anything you can tell us would be very helpful. Who was the war with? What was it about?”Randall nods. “Your story is unbelievable.”Dahlia shrugs eloquently. “But then, so is everything else these days,” the strange hermit mutters. He sighs. Goer opens his mouth to talk again, but Randall jabs a finger at him and hushes him. “The war was with the elves, of course. It was all because the stupid humans-” he glares at the party- “thought that the elves knew the secret of immortality, and wouldn’t share it.”“But isn’t that just because of the way elves are?” Dahlia inquires.“Yes, but the humans didn’t believe it. They figured it must be some kind of magical potion or ointment given to elven babies. Fools! They understood nothing. Bah, that’s why I am here- no one ever understands me.”“I can relate to that,” Dahlia muses. “I live alone, away from the townsfolk, in my time. They’re always calling me a witch and they think I’m to blame for whatever misfortune they have.”“Yes!” Randall shouts. “Three-eyed calves, poisoned wells, ill weather- oh, it must be Randall. Bah!” “Better to be alone,” nods Dahlia. The two hermits eye each other. It seems as though Dahlia’s words have struck a common chord in Randall. Suddenly he becomes much more helpful, and- although mixed with invective and bitterness- information begins to flow out of the twisted hermit. He tells them that the metal skeleton constructs are called, quite simply, war machines. They are agents of the Palantian military, sent out roving to destroy the elven invaders. Sir Colder wonders why the war machines attacked the (mostly human) party. Randall replies that Palantian citizens are marked magically when they are born; that is how many magical effects know where to propagate, or where not to propagate. He shows Dahlia his secret garden of weird, fleshy plants with fruits that strongly resemble organs.”But how can you live on this?” she wonders. “Is it harmful?”“To others, yes. But not to me,” Randall replies smugly, “I’m a twisted hermit.” He scrutinizes her. “I could teach you,” he offers. She considers the offer as she continues to draw out more information from him. Sheriff Jorgen is relieved to hear that the Warped Wood (as Randall refers to it) is not home to any vampires. Simultaneously, meanwhile, Goer tries to teach Me to play rock paper scissors, with hilarious but unsuccessful results. “Would you like some apple seeds?” Dahlia offers.Randall almost chokes up at the offer. It seems to be the deciding factor for him, as he offers to lead our heroes around the ‘gibbering forest’, whatever that is. Soon the party is moving through the weird, meaty forest. Suspect fluids spatter down from above; odd smells drift through the air. After a few hours, they hear a faint gibbering in the distance, but with Randall’s help they circumvent it. “This wood was once home to many elves,” Randall tells the party. “It weeps for their murders. This was murder, not war. That’s what the fluid is, at least some of it- the blood of the elves.”Whatever it is, it makes our heroes queasy. Dahlia tries to talk to the woods, and they seem to almost sing a sad dirge to the elves; and then, about five hours after Randall begins to lead them away, he stops. “Just keep going straight along this path,” he directs the group. “It will lead you out. I am going home.”“Why?” asks Jorgen. “Maybe you should come with us. It might be safer-”“My home is safe enough,” Randall retorts, “for me.”The sheriff shrugs. “Very well, then; thank you.”An hour later, they exit the strange wood.Next Time: A piece of normal! Another village! And signs of Sir Harth’s group!!</blockquote>

Verification