Thanks, Horacio! I suspect your prolific posting keeps more than one storyhour writer going!
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Book III, Part 13
By the sunset of the day of their battle against the hydra they reached the first destination in their journey, the bubbling and extensive tar pits that marked the end of the natives’ trail. Matriarch J’kal had told them that the Inselfolk sometimes gathered the tar to use as a sealant for their homes and boats, although the danger of the journey made such trips infrequent. The warriors who had escorted them here each filled several hollow gourds they’d brought with them with tar, and prepared for the return journey back to Tanaroa while the rest of the company prepared to head onward.
“Viel Glück,” one of warriors said, and while the companions did not understand the language, they could see by the man’s expression that he and his comrades were glad that they were not going further.
J’kal had not been able to give them much detail about the route that would lead them to the central plateau and the “black mountain” she had spoken of in her divination. She had said that the lands north of the tar pits were rugged hills, with dense jungle beyond all the way to the central mountain range that bisected the island, but was unable to give more details than that. Luckily the mountains formed a clear marker ahead of them, making their ultimate destination, at least, immediately visible.
Of course, that left many, many miles of long travel ahead of them.
After spending an uneventful evening in the vicinity of the tar pits, they took their leave of the warriors and set out again with the coming of the new day. The hills soon swallowed them up, as they charted a course that led them more or less straight to the north. Soon the foul stench of the tar was far behind them, and they made good time despite the constant rise and fall of the land beneath them. The day passed quickly, without mishap, and soon they had set up another camp amidst a cluster of ancient boulders atop the summit of one of the hundreds of identical low hills they’d been traveling over. The mountains seemed no nearer than they had in the morning, but they knew that it would take time, perhaps a tenday yet, for them to reach those dark pillars that loomed along the horizon.
Dana had utilized her knowledge of nature and herbalism to collect some edible roots and vegetables over the course of the day’s march, and they made a warm soup over a small, shielded fire to supplement their stores of foodstuffs. With Ruath in their company it was unlikely that they would ever starve, but none of them were willing to take anything for granted in this strange and hostile place. As night fell over their campsite, each of the companions could sense eyes watching them from the darkness, but nothing emerged to challenge them.
“Maybe word got out about what happened to the hydra,” Benzan ventured, when someone commented on it.
For a long moment they just sat there in silence, each deep in his or her own thoughts. “This place has a certain beauty to it,” Delem finally said, as he stared up at the massive canopy of the night sky above, the thousands of unfamiliar stars twinkling brightly in that black firmament. The moon was dark this night, so only the soft star-shine illuminated the mysterious world around them.
“It’s frightening, this whole place,” Elly, one of Horath’s sailors, replied. The young half-elven woman hugged her knees, pulling her cloak close around her despite the warmth of the night. “I just want to get back home, back to Faerûn.”
“Well, with luck and a little teamwork, we’ll be able to do just that,” Cal offered. He unslung his magical lute, and played a soft but soothing melody upon it. “Is there a prayer to Tymora for this sort of occasion, priestess?” he said to Ruath.
“I don’t know if she’d hear it,” the still-subdued halfling responded, and before any of them could respond, she rolled herself up in her cloak and laid down a short distance away.
Cal sighed. “All right, Benzan and I’ll take first watch,” he said, and he put his instrument away as the others tried to get what sleep they could before the next day’s long march ahead.
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The next morning dawned much like the one before it, clear and warm, rapidly escalating to hot before the sun had even managed to climb fully into the morning sky. With the heat they were drinking a lot of water, and they had not found any yet in their march through the hills, so Dana began the day with an orison that filled their empty flasks and waterskins. Grateful for the fact that they had not merely one but three clerics in their company, the group offered morning prayers to their respective gods and then loaded up their gear for another day’s march.
The hills seemed to continue unabated, with each hard-won summit offering an identical landscape ahead. Staying in the dells between the hills was not an easier option, however, as the lows were choked with dry, clinging brush that soon had all of them picking out thorns and briars from their cloaks and leggings.
“Place has a ‘certain beauty to it’, huh?” Benzan said sarcastically to Delem as they made their way down yet another uneven slope. The sun had risen almost to its peak in the sky, and it was approaching time for their midday break.
The sorcerer opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sound that reverberated off the hills around them. It was a tapping or clicking noise, the sound of metal striking metal, that resonated for a few instants more and then faded.
“What was that?” Dana asked.
“A signal, I’d guess,” Horath suggested.
“Let’s press on to the next summit, get a look around,” Cal suggested. “Everybody keep your eyes open.”
None of them saw anything as they reached the base of their current hill and started up the next, and the sounds were not repeated. As they neared the summit of the second hill Benzan and Horath pressed on ahead to see if they could see anything from the hilltop, but as they reached the summit they suddenly froze.
“What is it?” Cal yelled up after them, huffing slightly as his shorter legs worked to keep up with his taller companions.
“You’d better come up here,” was the tiefling’s only reply.
The clear edge in Benzan’s voice urged them to hurry, and after only a few moments they had joined him and Horath… and they could see what had alerted them.
The top of the hill was a broad, flat clearing, broken up by large clusters of boulders that could have served as thrones for giants or titans. The vantage point offered by the summit showed the same endless vista of hills ahead, but marked with one obvious change. An encampment of sorts was visible in a clearing below, a collection of simple thatch huts and more elaborate pavilions fashioned of gaily-colored cloth. Their examination of the camp, however, was cut short by the much more obvious sight of the tall figure who stood a few yards away on the far edge of the hilltop, watching them intently.
The stranger was roughly man-shaped, but there all comparison with any of them ended. He stood just under seven feet in height, and every inch of his lean and muscular frame was covered with soft amber fur. His features were feline, with the sharp eyes and powerful jaws of a predator, but there was a clear glimmer of intelligence in his eyes, as he watched the companions intently. He wore a simple garment of colorful cloth and dyed leather around his hips, and wore what looked like metal claws over his fists.
“He hasn’t said or done anything since we saw him, just stood there, watching us,” Benzan related to them.
Once they had all gathered at the edge of the hilltop, the cat-man crossed his arms in a sudden blur of motion, clacking the metal claws together. The noise was identical to that which they’d heard earlier, and the result, this time, was immediate.
From all around the hill, even from the route they’d just covered, silent figures identical to the first rose up out of the surrounding hillside, slipping out of concealment among the rocks and brush like ascending spirits. Their garments were more plain, the better to allow them to blend with the scenery, and their coloration varied, from golden brown like the one before them to a range of grays, dark browns the color of freshly tilled earth, and lighter shades of brown that approached yellow. They all wore the same metal claws as the first, and together there were well over a dozen of them, approaching from all sides.
“Nice, kitties,” Benzan said under his breath, as the ring quickly closed around them
“Don’t make any threatening gestures,” Cal said.
They turned back to the one at the far side of the hilltop, and watched as another pair, similarly festooned with more elaborate dress, slipped out of the rocks to join the first. To make matters worse, the three cat-men were joined by a trio of massive tigers, huge beasts that were remarkable both for their size and for the incredible oversized fangs that darted down from their jaws like twin sabers.
For a moment the two groups faced each other in silence, and then the first cat-man spoke.
“Mrrrrr… qui ose la violation sur les terres héréditaires des rakastas?” His voice was scratchy and deep-pitched, but the strange words that flowed from his feline jaws were smooth and easily distinguished.
“Um, Dana?” Benzan asked, but the cleric was already casting her spell.
“Votre sorte ne sont pas bienvenue en ces collines,” the cat-man continued, the statement punctuated by a low growl that seemed to rumble in its chest. The sabre-toothed tiger at his feet echoed the sound with a growl of its own that sounded like rocks tumbling down a steep slope.
“Dana?”
The priestess ignored him, intent on forcing the power of her spell through the difficult barrier between worlds. Finally, her face cleared, and she nodded.
Cal stepped forward, and made a small bow to the lead creature. “We come in peace,” he said. “We are just traveling through—we mean no harm.” Even though he was ridiculously small in comparison to the massive cat-man, he kept his voice level, his tone soothing yet assured. Behind him, his companions eyed the ring of implacable warriors, their hands resting close to weapon hilts.
“Mrrrr… vous avez enfreint sur nos terres héréditaires,” the cat-man said. “Vous devez relever le défi.”
“He says that we’ve trespassed,” Dana translated. “We have to meet some kind of… challenge.”
“Um, we meant no trespass,” Cal began, but it was clear that the situation was about to progress rapidly. The spokesman—er, spokescat—abruptly strode closer, and the whole ring suddenly collapsed on them. The cat-men did not attack, however, but they were clearly tensed, close enough for a single bound to reach them with those jagged metal claws.
“Choisissez un pour rencontrer l'essai de la force. Si vous échouez, vous serez détruits,” the leader said, gesturing at all of them with a sweeping claw. At his words, the whole ring clashed their claws together, the sound echoing out across the surrounding hills.
“He says we must choose one to meet a test of strength,” Dana said. “If we fail, we will be destroyed.”
Cal made a gesture, raising first one finger and then pointing first to his companions and then to the leader. The cat-man nodded, and grinned, revealing a jaw full of rather nasty-looking white teeth.
“Well, this one’s a no brainer,” Benzan said. “Either we take on this guy one-on-one, or fight the whole lot of them with their pet fangy-tigers. I wonder which we should choose?”
None of them were surprised when Lok stepped forward. “If there is no other option, then I will fight this cat-man,” he declared. The cats let out a collective hiss that they took to be a sign of appreciation, and the leader nodded, sizing up his prospective adversary with an approving stare.
Cal gestured again, trying to clarify the “rules” of the contest. Apparently the cat-men already had a clear idea of what they wanted, however, as they formed a tight ring around the hilltop, enclosing the two combatants and the other companions. The leader stepped forward into the indicated battleground, and clashed its claws together. It pointed to Lok’s axe and shield, and growled something.
“Open hands,” Dana translated. “No weapons.”
“Now, wait,” Benzan protested. “It has those metal claw-thingies.” When the cat-man snarled at Benzan, the tiefling pointed to its own fists to indicate his meaning.
“Si vous enlèverez votre peau en métal, j'abandonnerai mes griffes de combat.”
“He says that if you take off your armor, he’ll remove the claws,” Dana said.
“Let it keep them,” Cal suggested. “You’re giving up more of an edge without your armor.”
The cat-man growled impatiently, eager apparently for the contest to begin. He gestured for the others to back off, to leave only him and Lok in the center of the ring.
Before she retreated, Dana touched Lok on the shoulder. “Good luck,” she said, and with her touch came a gift of power, the vitality of her divine magic flowing into his body. Lok handed her his axe and shield, and turned to face his adversary directly.
Just in time to face the sudden charge of the cat-man, his claws extended toward Lok’s face.
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Coming soon: an epic clash (the cat's a Ranger6)
Ed note: Ok, I just have to say I don't speak French, so I hope the translations aren't too ridiculous, but I thought it went well with what I did earlier with the Tanaroans...
