Lazybones
Adventurer
I will put Lariel and Gorath's stats in the Rogues' Gallery thread today or tomorrow.
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 15
“It would appear that our interests coincide, at least for the time being,” Lariel said.
The six huddled close under the sheltering limbs of a thick oak tree that leaned out over the road. The adjacent forest closed in quickly beyond that narrow corridor of packed earth, thick underbrush forming a wall to either side. The forest seemed brooding, dark, that impression reinforced by the fact that the clouds had thickened overhead once again, and a slightly drizzle that promised more to come had begun. The site of the caravan ambush and their battle with the giant beetles was only a short distance away, still visible as vague ruined mounds littering the road where the forest gave way to the plains beyond.
Cal nodded in response to the slender elf’s comment. Their conversation had been brief, each side relating at least some of what they knew about the ills confronting the region. The Harper agents readily admitted that they were here to investigate the same rumblings of dread coming from the Reaching Wood. They had already scouted along the fringes of the forest, having come across the ruin of the caravan earlier that day, and had found a trail leading deeper into the wood when they’d heard the sounds of battle and come to find the companions hard-pressed by the swarm of giant vermin.
But for all that it was evident that the pair was keeping something back, as well. The four were familiar with the Harpers from personal experience; they’d traveled for a time with a halfling cleric of Tymora named Ruath. She had kept her secrets close indeed; they’d only found out about her affiliation after her death, when they’d found her Harper pin on her body. But Cal knew that whatever the unusual pair was hiding, their help would be useful in what they were about here.
Benzan, however, wasn’t willing to let it go so easily, it seemed. “There’s a saying common in the West,” he said. “Be wary of a Harper offering a gift. When you reach out to take it, you find a cord attached to your wrist.”
Gorath snorted, his eyes as sharp as his axes, but Lariel only narrowed his eyes slightly. “There’s another saying, ‘Only a fool refuses help offered at a time of need.’”
Benzan opened his mouth to respond, but Dana overrode him. “This is useless,” she said. “It’s clear that we’re on the same side here, and from what we have seen,” she nodded harshly back down the road, toward the wagons, “we’re going to need all the help we can get. There’s still enough daylight left to cover a goodly distance on this trail, and we’d best be about it before the rain makes it that much harder.”
The others readily agreed, and without further discussion they prepared to set out again. Their horses—those that were left; Benzan’s had been slain in the beetle attack, and Cal’s had broken free of its halter and fled—they had to leave behind; even the little they’d seen of the forest was enough to tell them that going mounted would be more difficulty than it was worth. Dana and Lok unloaded the saddlebags from their mounts and removed saddles and bridles before walking them to the edge of the forest and slapping them into a run. The horses needed little encouragement; they were quite happy to leave the site of the ambush.
The gloom that had hung over the road deepened further as they moved into the wood, until they were walking through a world of perpetual twilight. Once they were back from the road the undergrowth thinned enough for them to make faster progress, although there was still enough brush and tangled thickets to potentially conceal a thousand lurking foes. Gorath’s eyes darted around without cease, and his battleaxe hung waiting in his hand. Lariel held an arrow to his bowstring with one hand, and he walked lightly, as if he might have to spring into action at the slightest warning. Lok, Cal, Benzan, and Dana were experienced enough to recognize their wariness, and share it.
Gorath was able to find the trail again without much difficulty. It wasn’t hard to mark it; at least two dozen creatures had come and gone this way. The ranger showed them a track left clear in a muddy patch of ground; it was a big, clawed print, easily twice the size of even Gorath’s booted print beside it.
“Big,” Benzan said. “Lizardfolk?”
“Perhaps,” the half-orc rumbled, but it was clear in his voice that he didn’t quite believe it.
“There are other signs as well,” Lariel told them. “They took captives, took them with them into the forest.”
“We’d heard of slaving raids along the eastern edge of the wood, farther north,” Cal said. “Sigils of Bane were found at some of the sites.”
“Yes, we’d heard that as well. But the druids should not have allowed raiders to find sanctuary within the wood. I fear a dark shadow has fallen over this place.”
With that gloomy statement, they pressed on. The day was advancing rapidly, and soon they would have to make camp, a necessity none of them seemed comfortable with.
They moved through the forest in silence, walking single-file with Gorath blazing the trail at their lead. The six of them were like shadows themselves, their dark garments blending smoothly with the backdrop of the wood. Gorath himself moved like a hunting cat, and sometimes disappeared from view even when he was just a few dozen paces ahead of them.
They had walked for perhaps an hour before they saw that the half-orc had paused, staring out into the dark wood ahead. The others approached warily, hands drifting to weapon hilts or pouches containing spell components.
“What is it?” Lok whispered, even that sound too loud in the stillness of the forest around them. A tiny patter of raindrops filtering down from the canopy above only enhanced the quiet, forming a muted backdrop that swallowed up the sounds of their movement.
“I feel eyes,” the half-orc replied. They all started out into the gloom, but even those with darkvision could not make out anything more than shadows. Then Benzan moved toward the side, perpendicular to the trail they’d been following.
“I think I see something,” he told the others, creeping quietly forward, his booted feet crunching as softly as a whisper on the carpet of damp leaves underfoot. The others followed him, eyes sweeping back and forth as they scanned for any sign of danger.
All of them—save perhaps Dana, whose lack of either low-light or darkvision had already led to a fair number of stumbles on her part—could see that he was leading them toward a cluster of a half-dozen trees that formed a tight circle, their branches intertwined and their trunks splayed outward slightly as they rose into the sky.
“Wait,” Cal said, and they halted. “An odor of death, from ahead.”
Gorath nodded. “I smell it. Someone or something met their end here, not long past, a day perhaps.”
“Stay here, I’ll check it out,” Benzan said. Suddenly the shadows seemed to swallow him up, and he vanished from sight. Cal glanced over at Lariel and Gorath; they were not surprised, even though they could not know about his ring of shadows.
“Be careful,” Cal said.
Benzan was already moving quickly ahead, toward what he’d glimpsed earlier. His nose wasn’t as sensitive as Cal and Gorath’s, but their words had already confirmed his suspicion. There, a lump lying at the base of one of the trees; it might have been just a protruding root, covered with dirt and leaves, or a moss-covered stone. Except for the splayed hand that jutted from the heap, barely visible through a gap in the trunks. He was still too far to identify the corpse, and he scanned the area warily as he silently crept closer, all but invisible in the poor light.
He was almost to the ring of trunks before he could identify the body. He sucked in a breath as he recognized the scaled texture of its mottled skin, the thin lines of claws jutting from its fingertips. He turned to retreat to where the others were waiting...
He sensed rather than saw the movement from above, and reflex took over as he twisted and dodged aside. Something hard glanced off his shoulder, adding impetus to his dive, but he quickly rolled to his feet and started running back toward his companions. Only he’d barely planted his first step when something thick snapped heavily around his neck, drawing him roughly backward. He managed only a single strangled cry before it jerked him off his feet, dragging him up into the air.
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 15
“It would appear that our interests coincide, at least for the time being,” Lariel said.
The six huddled close under the sheltering limbs of a thick oak tree that leaned out over the road. The adjacent forest closed in quickly beyond that narrow corridor of packed earth, thick underbrush forming a wall to either side. The forest seemed brooding, dark, that impression reinforced by the fact that the clouds had thickened overhead once again, and a slightly drizzle that promised more to come had begun. The site of the caravan ambush and their battle with the giant beetles was only a short distance away, still visible as vague ruined mounds littering the road where the forest gave way to the plains beyond.
Cal nodded in response to the slender elf’s comment. Their conversation had been brief, each side relating at least some of what they knew about the ills confronting the region. The Harper agents readily admitted that they were here to investigate the same rumblings of dread coming from the Reaching Wood. They had already scouted along the fringes of the forest, having come across the ruin of the caravan earlier that day, and had found a trail leading deeper into the wood when they’d heard the sounds of battle and come to find the companions hard-pressed by the swarm of giant vermin.
But for all that it was evident that the pair was keeping something back, as well. The four were familiar with the Harpers from personal experience; they’d traveled for a time with a halfling cleric of Tymora named Ruath. She had kept her secrets close indeed; they’d only found out about her affiliation after her death, when they’d found her Harper pin on her body. But Cal knew that whatever the unusual pair was hiding, their help would be useful in what they were about here.
Benzan, however, wasn’t willing to let it go so easily, it seemed. “There’s a saying common in the West,” he said. “Be wary of a Harper offering a gift. When you reach out to take it, you find a cord attached to your wrist.”
Gorath snorted, his eyes as sharp as his axes, but Lariel only narrowed his eyes slightly. “There’s another saying, ‘Only a fool refuses help offered at a time of need.’”
Benzan opened his mouth to respond, but Dana overrode him. “This is useless,” she said. “It’s clear that we’re on the same side here, and from what we have seen,” she nodded harshly back down the road, toward the wagons, “we’re going to need all the help we can get. There’s still enough daylight left to cover a goodly distance on this trail, and we’d best be about it before the rain makes it that much harder.”
The others readily agreed, and without further discussion they prepared to set out again. Their horses—those that were left; Benzan’s had been slain in the beetle attack, and Cal’s had broken free of its halter and fled—they had to leave behind; even the little they’d seen of the forest was enough to tell them that going mounted would be more difficulty than it was worth. Dana and Lok unloaded the saddlebags from their mounts and removed saddles and bridles before walking them to the edge of the forest and slapping them into a run. The horses needed little encouragement; they were quite happy to leave the site of the ambush.
The gloom that had hung over the road deepened further as they moved into the wood, until they were walking through a world of perpetual twilight. Once they were back from the road the undergrowth thinned enough for them to make faster progress, although there was still enough brush and tangled thickets to potentially conceal a thousand lurking foes. Gorath’s eyes darted around without cease, and his battleaxe hung waiting in his hand. Lariel held an arrow to his bowstring with one hand, and he walked lightly, as if he might have to spring into action at the slightest warning. Lok, Cal, Benzan, and Dana were experienced enough to recognize their wariness, and share it.
Gorath was able to find the trail again without much difficulty. It wasn’t hard to mark it; at least two dozen creatures had come and gone this way. The ranger showed them a track left clear in a muddy patch of ground; it was a big, clawed print, easily twice the size of even Gorath’s booted print beside it.
“Big,” Benzan said. “Lizardfolk?”
“Perhaps,” the half-orc rumbled, but it was clear in his voice that he didn’t quite believe it.
“There are other signs as well,” Lariel told them. “They took captives, took them with them into the forest.”
“We’d heard of slaving raids along the eastern edge of the wood, farther north,” Cal said. “Sigils of Bane were found at some of the sites.”
“Yes, we’d heard that as well. But the druids should not have allowed raiders to find sanctuary within the wood. I fear a dark shadow has fallen over this place.”
With that gloomy statement, they pressed on. The day was advancing rapidly, and soon they would have to make camp, a necessity none of them seemed comfortable with.
They moved through the forest in silence, walking single-file with Gorath blazing the trail at their lead. The six of them were like shadows themselves, their dark garments blending smoothly with the backdrop of the wood. Gorath himself moved like a hunting cat, and sometimes disappeared from view even when he was just a few dozen paces ahead of them.
They had walked for perhaps an hour before they saw that the half-orc had paused, staring out into the dark wood ahead. The others approached warily, hands drifting to weapon hilts or pouches containing spell components.
“What is it?” Lok whispered, even that sound too loud in the stillness of the forest around them. A tiny patter of raindrops filtering down from the canopy above only enhanced the quiet, forming a muted backdrop that swallowed up the sounds of their movement.
“I feel eyes,” the half-orc replied. They all started out into the gloom, but even those with darkvision could not make out anything more than shadows. Then Benzan moved toward the side, perpendicular to the trail they’d been following.
“I think I see something,” he told the others, creeping quietly forward, his booted feet crunching as softly as a whisper on the carpet of damp leaves underfoot. The others followed him, eyes sweeping back and forth as they scanned for any sign of danger.
All of them—save perhaps Dana, whose lack of either low-light or darkvision had already led to a fair number of stumbles on her part—could see that he was leading them toward a cluster of a half-dozen trees that formed a tight circle, their branches intertwined and their trunks splayed outward slightly as they rose into the sky.
“Wait,” Cal said, and they halted. “An odor of death, from ahead.”
Gorath nodded. “I smell it. Someone or something met their end here, not long past, a day perhaps.”
“Stay here, I’ll check it out,” Benzan said. Suddenly the shadows seemed to swallow him up, and he vanished from sight. Cal glanced over at Lariel and Gorath; they were not surprised, even though they could not know about his ring of shadows.
“Be careful,” Cal said.
Benzan was already moving quickly ahead, toward what he’d glimpsed earlier. His nose wasn’t as sensitive as Cal and Gorath’s, but their words had already confirmed his suspicion. There, a lump lying at the base of one of the trees; it might have been just a protruding root, covered with dirt and leaves, or a moss-covered stone. Except for the splayed hand that jutted from the heap, barely visible through a gap in the trunks. He was still too far to identify the corpse, and he scanned the area warily as he silently crept closer, all but invisible in the poor light.
He was almost to the ring of trunks before he could identify the body. He sucked in a breath as he recognized the scaled texture of its mottled skin, the thin lines of claws jutting from its fingertips. He turned to retreat to where the others were waiting...
He sensed rather than saw the movement from above, and reflex took over as he twisted and dodged aside. Something hard glanced off his shoulder, adding impetus to his dive, but he quickly rolled to his feet and started running back toward his companions. Only he’d barely planted his first step when something thick snapped heavily around his neck, drawing him roughly backward. He managed only a single strangled cry before it jerked him off his feet, dragging him up into the air.
And for some reason I couldn't get into NWN.
