THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
It wasn’t hard to find the spot marked on the map. The lone tree was the only one they’d seen in a two-mile radius of the lonely hill. It looked to have been struck by lightning, and its bare branches reached up towards the clouds like a burned and deformed claw. Stevhan knelt by its roots, and quickly discovered a spot where the earth had been disturbed…not recently, but still plain to the ranger. He didn’t have to dig too far before he found a leather-wrapped bundle. The ‘trove’ didn’t amount to much…a well-made dagger, a slim, iron wand, and a water-logged spellbook with most of the pages ruined and illegible. Still, it was just one more mystery that the Stolen Lands unwillingly gave up, and only served to remind the companions that many more, deeper secrets were yet to be discovered…
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The hills of the Kamelands began to level off as the ground sloped once more down towards the dark forest of the Narlmarches. As the six travelers passed a particularly rocky crag, Stevhan’s sharp eyes spied a narrow crack in its face.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Most likely another bear cave, though I don’t smell any musk. Let’s take a look.”
The crack gave onto a sizeable cave, empty and with no signs of occupation, but the far wall sparkled in the light that seeped in from the outside.
“Hmm,” Stevhan mused, “I wonder what that might be? Looks metallic.”
“It’s gold,” Tungdill said flatly.
“What??” Mox asked, her eyes alight. “How can you be sure?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” the druid snorted, “I’m a dwarf. You can take the dwarf out of the mountains, but apparently you can’t take the mountains out of the dwarf.”
He turned in disgust and left the cave.
“He’s not exactly…comfortable with his heritage,” Stevhan explained.
“Whatever,” Mox waved him off. “We’ve found a gold mine! I think this little venture may prove more profitable than I’d imagined!
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The Narlmarches again. During another day slogging through the dense forest, the explorers came across another deadfall, this one, apparently, natural. The branches of the dead trees had formed a sort of cave, and as they drew near to it, an strong animal scent wafted out to them. The horses began to shy away just as a guttural snort and a high-pitched squeal came from the cave opening. Then, a boar roughly the size of a horse itself barreled out into the daylight, its yellow tusks and piggy eyes flashing. The horses reared and neighed in terror, their eyes rolling. Stevhan leaped from the saddle and quickly rolled to his feet, his bowstring already drawn back. He loosed, and the shaft struck Tuskgutter directly between the shoulders, which only seemed to enrage the boar more. Mox slid from her horse as well, but the deftness and skill with which she did it looked as if she’d been born to the saddle. Landing on her feet, she calmly spoke her spell and flung a volley of arcane missiles at the charging beast. It veered away from Davrim at the last minute, and the half-orc swung his sword down with both hands, cleanly decapitating Tuskgutter. His body continued to run for several more yards before it realized it was dead.
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East of the Skunk River, where the ground began to slump away into a soggy mire, a pair of ruined stone buildings jutted from the muddy ground. The companions stood on high ground overlooking the mire as Stevhan scanned the area for signs of life.
“Looks clear,” the ranger said quietly. “Still, let’s try and move in quietly.”
That plan lasted all of six seconds, right up until Davrim stumbled over a protruding stump and sent a torrent of rubble tumbling down the slope. A loud, barking roar sounded from the larger of the two buildings, as a large, slime-covered toad-like creature with walrus-like tusks loped out of it. From the second building came another creature that superficially looked human, but on closer inspection also closely resembled a frog.
“It’s a boggard!” Tungdill shouted. “Evil, cannibalistic bastards!”
The dwarf raised his cudgel and began charging down the hill.
“Truce! Truce!” the boggard croaked in Common, dropping its own weapon into the mud.
“Tungdill, wait!” Velox shouted as he ran down the dwarf. “Wait! He’s surrendering!”
“Me Garrum!” the boggard barked. “Go!”
Tungdill stopped several feet from the frog-man, his face beet-red.
“His kind EAT people!” he screamed into the oracle’s face, spit flying from his lips. “Just look at his bloody hand! They even eat their own kind!”
The boggard’s left hand did, indeed, end in a mangled mass.
“Hungry,” the boggard croaked, shrugging its bony shoulders.
“See??” Tungdill growled.
“What I see is a creature that is asking us for a truce. I want to at least hear him out. Still, if it will ease your mind…Davrim? Do you mind?”
The inquisitor nodded and gripped the symbol of Iomedae that he wore around his neck, closing his eyes as he did so. A moment later, he opened them again.
“I sense no evidence of evil intent,” he pronounced.
Garrum shrugged again and motioned inside the ruined building. “Hungry?”
The food that Garrum had to offer was less than appetizing, but everyone, with the notable exception of Tungdill, graciously took what was offered. In return, they gave the boggard some of the meat they’d harvested from Tuskgutter. When Garrum saw the boar’s head, his goggle-eyes went even wider.
“Die!” he barked. “Hungry!”
“Yes!” Velox nodded. “Very hungry!”
Unfortunately, as Garrum had pretty much exhausted all the Common that he knew, and none of the companions spoke Boggard, the conversation did not go much further. They ate in silence, and after they were done, Garrum burped loudly, stood and pronounced,
“Go!”
The group packed their gear and set out again, not quite sure what they’d just been a part of, but hopeful (except for Tungdill) that’d perhaps they’d found another ally.
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That night, after fending off a couple of carnivorous frogs from a nearby pond, the group settled down for an uncomfortable night’s rest in the middle of the bog. Velox and Tungdill stood first watch, as was usual. The night was anything but quiet, what with all the swamp creatures calling in the darkness, but Velox sensed nothing amiss…right up until the floating, glowing skull appeared out of nowhere right beside him. Before he could react, a sharp pulse of light from the apparition drifted across his skin, and he felt a jolt of electricity course through his entire body. His shout of surprise and pain woke the others from their sleep with a jolt. Davrim sat up, his sword in his hand, but when he saw what Velox was dealing with, his eyes went wide with fear.
“Velox!” he cried. “Run! Now! It’s a will-o-the-wisp! It feeds off fear! Run!”
The inquisitor seized his horse by the bridle and swung into the saddle. The floating skull turned towards him, sensing his panic, and flew towards him. He spurred his mount into the night, and behind him, his companions wasted little time doing the same. The last thing Davrim saw before the darkness of the swamp swallowed him, was a pair of blue, glowing eyes racing through the night after him.
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The following day was spent recuperating from the harrowing night. The encounter with the ‘wisp was a hard reminder to the companions that the Stolen Lands were a true wilderness, and not everything they encountered would take kindly to their presence. Still, later that day, the companions made a discovery that lifted their spirits. It was a statue of a stag-headed man, partially overgrown at the base, but towering above the surrounding shrubbery. It was another forgotten shrine to Erastil. Stevhan took the time to clear the debris from its base, and Tungdill silently lent a hand. When they’d finished, the ranger knelt in prayer before his patron.
Later that evening, as the group paused to make camp, each of them who possessed a blade found its edge honed to an unnaturally keen edge.
“Old Dead Eye smiles on our efforts,” Stevhan smiled knowingly.
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The stink of moldering plants and a strange quiet in the sound of birdlife surrounded a somewhat sunken clearing in the forest that the companions came upon the following day. At the center of the clearing, the soggy ground became an insect-infested, stagnant, swamp-like pond, and sprawled at its edge was what appeared, from a distance, to be a dead horse. As the companions approached cautiously, Selena gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
“It…it’s a unicorn!” she gasped.
The once-beautiful creature’s horn had been broken off at its brow, yet its body was strangely untouched by insects. The stink of rot did not come from the corpse, but from the fouled waters of the pond itself. Now, Selena was no woodland nymph. Her mother had taught her the practical, and sometimes brutal, magics of nature, but she did not believe in senseless slaughter, especially of a creature that was such a pure representation of the natural world. She knelt beside the dead creature, and noted that its eyes were milky. The unicorn had been blind at the time of its death. How could that be in a creature that was immune to the ravages of disease? She could also see that its horn had been removed after its death, and there was no sign of obvious wounds attributable to its death.
“I think powerful necromancy was used here,” she said quietly. “This is far beyond anything I’m experienced with. I’d not care to meet whomever, or whatever was responsible for it.”
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As the group wound their way through the Narlmarches back towards the Kamelands, they came to another ford across the Skunk River. Several sandy islets created the crossing, and made for a natural choke point across the river, but the thick piles of rubble, branches, leaves and dead bodies that partially blocked the river’s flow were anything but natural. Even though he knew something was wrong, Davrim was no-less surprised when the monster leaped out of the debris at him. Yellow eyes flickered from their recessed sockets in the large reptile’s skull. It was as green as the surrounding foliage, and at least six-feet in length. Its head was dragon-like and filled with sharp teeth. Its two arms ended in grasping claws, and a cloud of greenish vapor wafted from its gaping maw. It leaped at the half-orc like a cat, its jaws clamping down on his sword arm while its forelegs raked savagely at his belly. Stevhan leaped to the aid of his companion, slashing with his sword, but at that moment, a second creature emerged from the dam. Davrim threw the first beast away from him, chopping down on its head with his blade as he did so. It hit the ground and rolled quickly back upright, preparing to spring again. Before it could, however, Mox let loose with a barrage of magic bolts, and the miniature dragon fell where it lay. Meanwhile, the second creature lunged towards Selena, ripping her from her horse and snapping through the bones of one arm. She screamed in agony, but then Stevhan and Davrim were there, hacking and stabbing until the monster stopped moving and released its grip.
Tungdill and Velox quickly knelt beside Selena and laid their hands upon her. Healing magic flowed from the oracle and the druid, and gradually, the witch’s breathing slowed.
“Looks like we found out what a tatzylwyrm is,” she whispered. “By all means, let’s make sure one of their heads decorates the wall above Oleg’s bar.”
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The Kamelands once more spread wide before the company. Its rolling, tranquil hills gave a false sense of peace that they were coming to know all too well. In a long, thin valley between two low hills, the companions came upon a dense patch of thorns from which sprouted large, raspberry-like berries…the fabled fangberries the hermit Bokken had sent them after. Much of the thorny thicket was draped in the white gossamer of spider webs. It looked, of course, as if the best of the berries were located in the center of the patch.
“Why are these things never easy,” Tungdill sighed.
“Looks like there’s nothing for it,” Velox shrugged.
Slowly, the six began picking their way among the thorns, inevitably suffering several pricks and scrapes despite their caution. The going was slow, and the minutes passed like hours. They were well into the thicket, hot and bloodied, when the first of the spiders appeared. They were easily the size of a man’s thumb, with large, serrated fangs. They didn’t approach singly or in small groups, but in a massive swarm of writhing legs and chewing mandibles.
Immediately, Davrim, and Velox drew their swords, while Tungdill pulled his cudgel, and began beating all about them, crushing dozens with every blow.
“No!” Stevhan shouted. “That’s no good! Burn them! If you can’t, then run for your lives!”
The ranger heeded his own advice and began pushing through the brambles, the inch-long thorns tearing into his flesh as he ran. Velox sheathed his blade and reluctantly followed, Tungdill right behind him, the druid pushing through the thicket as if it were made of blades of grass. It was almost as if the plants just moved aside for him as he passed. The others made to follow, but Mox was too slow. She began to scream and scream as the spiders swarmed over her, biting and ripping with their fangs. The pain was immeasurable, and her stomach rebelled and heaved as she struggled to remain conscious. A moment later, however, flames exploded around her as Davrim hurled a flask of alchemical fire at her feet, and the spiders began to scatter. Mox staggered away, still nauseated, and beating at the few spiders that still clung to her robes. Another, larger gout of fire bloomed behind her, this time from Selena’s outstretched hands. The last of the arachnids curled into charred, smoking husks.
Understandably, Mox deferred from gathering any more of the berries, as did everyone else except Tungdill and Stevhan. The pair made quick work of the rest of the chore, and before long, they had enough to satisfy Bokken’s request.
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Later that night, the moors of the Kamelands were lit with the full glow of the last night of the full moon. Stevhan and Mox stood watch, jokingly recalling the harrowing events of the day, Mox still nursing several nasty-looking welts. Suddenly, the still night air was broken by the sound of a lone wolf’s howl in the distance. Stevhan rose to his feet, surveying the landscape. It wasn’t the first time they’d heard wolf calls, but this one sound closer and somehow…different. Then, atop the next hill, he saw the wolf. It seemed to almost be staring directly at them, and then, it began to lope towards them. As it came, its form began to shift and change, until it ran on two legs, a gleaming sword clenched in one hand-like forepaw.
“Awake! Awake!” the ranger cried to his sleeping companions as he drew his own blade and charged out to meet the werewolf. He struck first, his blade raking across the beast’s belly, but if felt as if he’d struck a stone wall, and the wound was only superficial. The lycanthrope bared its stained, yellow teeth and leaped at Stevhan, its sword stabbing into his thigh as its jaws clamped down on his shoulder. At that moment, the ravening creature was struck by twin blasts of magic from Selena and Mox, a combination of fire and arcane energy. The werewolf collapsed under the barrage, howling as it burned to death. As it fell to the ground, its body shifted again until a naked, feral-looking man lay there.
Tungdill knelt quickly beside his friend to examine his wound. He pulled a clump of herbs from his pouch and pressed it to the bite.
“Wolfsbane, mixed with belladonna,” he said. “Don’t know if it’ll work, boy. Only the next full-moon will tell…”
