Othniel's Ironfang Invasion II

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg thanked Juniper as he entered the strange community. Crystalhurst was far larger than Torg had expected, yet it seemed strangely... empty. He began to wonder whether many of the druids had gone off into the forest to protect it... or perhaps to flee the Ironfang entirely.

The wild animals roaming the streets was a unique experience as well. The community seemed to Torg like a strange utopian dream... peaceful and enlightened, and yet utterly cut off from the outside world. Such was the nature of his faith in many ways. He made his way to the council's cabin, an important looking structure on the northwestern side of the central lake.

There, he eventually was allowed audience with the arch druid Aspen Zora. Torg greeted the young woman in Druidic, bowing to show deference to his superior; though she was doubtless half a century younger than him or more, age began to mean little and less to druids, especially the more experienced ones. Torg was beginning to understand why: his own body was increasingly an inconsistent thing, feeling more and more like a temporary habitation for his enlightened will.

"Aspen Zora, I am humbled that you would grant one such as me an audience. I am Torg Stone, a mere novice druid of the Fangwood Circle not two or three months ago. War and hardship have been my tutors as of late, and I find myself much closer to understanding the Green Truth than before. I have seen the depredations of the Ironfang Legion's assault on the forest firsthand, and done what I could to protect those under my aegis. I come to you in haste, for I have duties to attend to elsewhere, but it has been too long since I heard the council of others of the faith.
What word travels between the Circles? How fares the forest and its creatures in these times of trouble? And what should I be doing about it, as a druid?"

[Othniel]

Crystalhurst

When Torg entered the Council's Cabin, it was empty save for Archdruid Aspen Zora who was sitting on an elevated chair, which was in turn surrounded by a semicircle of shorter council seats. He knew her immediately, for her youth was apparent - she couldn't have seen more than twenty-five winters - and the fact that she held an intricately-carved and painted wooden club, perhaps a rod, denoting her status as head of the council. She wore a green robe, neatly trimmed in autumn reds, golds, and browns; and entwined in her hair was a flame-red chrysanthemum, one of those few late-season flowers that heartily resist the encroaching cold season. In spite of her youth, she seemed to radiate an inner serenity the much older druid would have expected in one thrice her age or older, and her eyes gazed upon the dwarf with an intensity so strong, she may as well have been staring into his soul. Sky-blue tattoos decorated her face and arms in intricate patterns, some of which Torg recognized as the signs of beasts or plants, while others were wholly strange to him and evoked a sense of something fey-related.

When she spoke, her voice seemed to resonate with a calmness that was felt as much as it was heard. "I welcome another brother of the Green to Crystalhurst. All druids of the Fangwood may petition the Council. It is your right as one of our number, though this be your first visit to our town." Aspen Zora inclined her head in greeting to Torg, and a warm smile briefly graced her lips before serenity once more claimed her features. "Our hearts go out to the good people of Phaendar and the surrounding villages. Know that many who reside here are with you in heart and spirit, if not in body. The druids of Crystalhurst are allies of the people of Nirmathas in their struggle against Molthune - for Molthune would use the Fangwood for fuel or simply see it razed to ferret out every last Nirmathi - and we deem these Ironfang Legionaries to act alike."

Aspen Zora sighed quietly as Torg asked his questions. "The Fangwood does not fair well, brother. Would that we were greater in numbers. You no doubt noted the absence of many of our folk from their homes here - the reason is more than simply hobgoblin invaders. They are a threat, to be sure, but your brothers and sisters fight one the Council has deemed greater: a Darkblight has taken root in the north of our forest and spreads as a cancer. Already it has claimed the northernmost circles, killing or corrupting plant, animal, fey, and person alike into foul servants of the Prince of the Blasted Heath. Many unwittingly, of course, but servants no less. Thither many of our folk have gone in attempt to stem the tide and heal the sickness, but there are places even our more experienced druids cannot penetrate. Were not matters to the south also dire, I would beg you to stay and help, but alas, we must fight two wars at once."

"You must decide what you think is right, but if you would take my counsel, I should say to continue aiding the Nirmathi in their resistance against the Ironfang Legion. And then, if and when you think the time is right, come to our aid."

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg's bushy brow furrowed deeply, his frown visible through his tangled beard.
"The news is even more dire than I feared. You've the right of it, of course, Archdruid. I fear a major offensive is in the works, and the Nirmathi will need my help if they're to hold off the Ironfang. If you know of Fort Trevalay, you can send animal messengers there if there's any pressing news. When the time comes, you can count on my aid, of course. My companions in battle could likewise lend a hand. They are young, and their spirits roil with anger at losing their home and loved ones. They do not follow the Green Way, but they're doughty fighters.

I shan't waste any more of your valuable time, Archdruid, but I have one last question for you. I encountered an enemy druid amongst the Ironfang, a hobgoblin female. She was slain by my companions in battle, but I did not have the chance to speak with her. She was training animals for combat, and I spoke with one of them who mentioned that this druid was only cooperating with the Ironfang reluctantly. I have the power to reincarnate her. She's a follower of the druidic teachings, though we may be foes politically.
Would it be folly to attempt such a thing? If her spirit were willing to return, she would still be a druid, a servant of nature. Surely she wouldn't turn her back on something as horrific as a Darkblight? It just felt... wrong, to let a druid die so callously, especially if she were forced into aiding our foes against her will.
But this talk of blight and fell names on the wind gives me pause... I believe this druid had an interest in fungus. I thought little of it at the time, for fungi are part of the natural world.
I suppose it's all moot if she's not willing to return to a new body. But I'd like your thoughts on the matter, Archdruid, before I attempt something brash."

He produced the lock of the hobgoblin's hair he had cut off, holding it in his palm as he contemplated his dilemma.

[Othniel]

Crystalhurst

Archdruid Aspen Zora was silent for a long moment. When she finally replied, her words were slow. "When someone dies here in Crystalhurst, we always offer the choice of reincarnation. Such is our law. Some tell friends or loved ones in life not to attempt the spell. Others make the decision to refuse once the call is made. You ask me to judge one I have never met and who - to my knowledge - has never set foot within our town. It is a difficult task, and I do not think it right for me to make the decision. I shall leave it in your hands, and you shall receive no judgment from the Council as to your actions in this regard. Furthermore, I shall give you something that may aid you should you choose to show mercy to this wayward druid." The Archdruid rose and reached for a pouch at her belt and withdrew a small, wooden box. It was rectangular and shorter than it was wide, and held shut by leather wrappings. Aspen Zora took a step down toward Torg and handed the box to him. "This is one application of a magical ointment made from the same oils used in the ritual of reincarnation. It has a virtue of allowing the recipient some small choice in the form of their return if it is applied during the New Moon. You will have to decide within the next few days if you wish to bestow this additional blessing."

"Feel free to peruse the shops as well," the Archdruid added. "We have a few things you will not find elsewhere. Now, is there anything else I can help you with, brother?"

Spoiler: Torg

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You have received one Salve of the Second Chance.

Fort Trevalay

The day after two sets of Rangers had been sent on a long-range exploration circuit across the Hollow Hills, another Ranger scouting not too far from Fort Trevalay returned to report the presence of a large band of humanoids in the woods. Ranger Wintheris reported counting some twenty-three in total, and finding the group non-threatening, Wintheris cautiously approached. She spoke to their leader, a man named Naspen Jarth, and asked a few probing questions. As it turned out, Jarth's survivalist group had been born similar to that of the Poisonwood Irregulars, save that they had been far less successful in their enterprises, having suffered an appalling near-fifty percent casualty rate.

Several among the band were from Phaendar, while the rest had been gathered from the smaller towns and villages that dotted the plains west of Phaendar or were tucked close to the eaves of the Fangwood. Most were a mix of humans, half-elves, dwarves, and halflings, though a curious quartet of Elves - two girl children, one boy child, and a rather youthful adult female Elf - were included in the bunch as well. They had fled the Elven community at Cavlinor, a small outpost south of Phaendar where a small number of Elves had begun tending a grove of trees that would one day become living Elven structures. The Ironfang had apparently attacked the outpost even before targeting Phaendar.

Wintheris reported that all had seemed on the verge of starvation and most appeared to be afflicted with some sort of ailment as well, though what it was she could not say beyond reporting the common symptoms as stomach pain, fatigue, and anemia. Naspen Jarth had asked Wintheris if she would report their position to anyone who could help them, as most of the group was now too weak to go on much further. They'd been traveling in the area and smelled smoke, but had halted in their present location to deliberate and wait to see if any of their number improved.

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg bowed graciously to the senior druid before excusing himself. For a while, he wandered the strange streets of Crystalhurst. He felt strangely disappointed. Crystalhurst seemed extremely insular; the dwarf had been hoping for council reflecting the druidic circles of the Fangwood area as a whole. Even if Crystalhurst was a nexus for their faith, it seemed Torg was largely on his own.

But then, the druidic faith was a strange one, as he well knew. Like the wild animals they revered, they were often left to their own devices, to live or die on the merits of their own strengths or weaknesses. Even folly, it seemed, was left to his own judgement.

That evening, Torg left the immediate borders of the town, to be more at one with impartial nature herself. In a secluded grove, as the last of the fall crickets sang their slowing song, the dwarf placed the lock of Jang's hair on a pile of fallen leaves, and began spreading the special oils he had acquired in Crystalhurst in specific patterns of natural significance.

Over the course of ten minutes he chanted and prayed, making a crescent motion with his holly and mistletoe at each of the cardinal directions. He would know if Jang's soul was willing to return, for a new body would begin to grow at the conclusion of the ritual, formed from the natural elements on hand.

Spoiler: OOC

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Torg will spend 1000 gp of his own funds to trade for the special oils needed for the reincarnate spell and attempt to bring Jang back. It takes 10 minutes, afterwards the new body takes 1 hour to form if she's willing.

[Othniel]

Forest Outside Crystalhurst

For a moment, it almost seemed as if Torg's labors would be in vain, for there was no immediate reaction. And then, slowly, the sample Torg had kept disintegrated into ash which blew away on a gentle breeze. The forest around the dwarf seemed to sigh, then suddenly the pattern Torg had made with the oils flared a brilliant green for a brief moment and then dimmed. A faint glow began to shine from the ground as tiny motes of light - green, red, orange, brown, and all the other colors of the forest - started drifting out of the ground, the rocks, the trees all around him. One by one, the motes started to gather on the ground where the sample had been, and as they did so, the shape of a humanoid body began to form.

The figure seemed to be of wood, and grew like wood. It was like watching years of growth compressed into minutes, and the body was so lifelike that it almost had the appearance of a sleeping dryad, yet lifeless...for the moment. As Torg watched over the course of the next hour, the body slowly grew until it resembled the full figure of an adult human woman in the prime of her life. When the process was complete, the symbols flared once more and the body began to soften to the appearance of flesh. Curled wooden hair almost melted into the silky dark brown of a real live person, and hazel eyes stared uncertainly up at the trees. She blinked, and a pair of tears streaked down the side of her face as she whispered one word, "Ruanni..."

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg squatted nearby as the reincarnated druid came to. Resembling a moss-covered boulder, he spoke softly from the dusky shadows in the secret Druidic tongue.
"Do you know me, sister? If you did, I wonder if you would have returned..."
He paused a moment before continuing.
"Do you recall that enormous vulture on the roof of the tower? That was me. Not long afterwards that dragon sent me fleeing, and by the time I came to my senses most of the fighting was over, and you were dead.
I spoke with the mountain lion in the courtyard, and they seemed to think you served the Ironfang with reluctance. I doubt they'd accept you now in your new form. Freedom is yours now, if you'd take it.
My name is Torg. You don't owe me anything; I may have cast the spell, but it were the forest what gave you a new body and a new life.
We're just outside a town called Crystalhurst, a secret place only for druids such as ourselves. You'll find sanctuary here, away from the eyes of civilization and the Ironfang. But there's dark times on the horizon, something about a Darkblight on the rise. The Fangwood will have need of every last druid soon enough, methinks."

[Othniel]

Forest Outside Crystalhurst

As Torg began to speak, the now-human Jang started looking around for the source of his voice. Her eyes flashed with pain and anger, and she let out a low growl. Then she flexed and quickly took the form of a cougar. Jang rose onto all fours and crouched low, listening to the dwarf speak, but prepared to leap away if necessary. By the time Torg was finished, she seemed to have relaxed slightly, and she stared silently at him for a long moment. Then she spoke. "A Darkblight. So that is what the dragon is obsessed with." Jang glanced northward for a moment, and then back at Torg. "It is strange to find succor from an enemy, but it is not unwelcome. I will think on what you have said, but I must go." With that, Jang sprang away into the forest and took off at a fast sprint.

[TheDarkDM]

Aidan

Having returned to the fort mere days earlier, Aidan was still in the process of reclaiming the fungal workshop for his own when word came of invalids in the forest. Reclining back in the most comfortable chair he could requisition from the fort, Aidan shot a glance to where Oreld was organizing their assorted glassware.

"Vane, I hate to leave you to finish the work but those poor wretches might require my assistance. Start categorizing the local fauna while I'm away."

Standing and cracking his spine, Aidan took a few moments to strap his armor into place and collect his tools. Emerging into the light of the courtyard, he strode towards the newly-returned scouts.

"Fine work, rangers. Alert Commander Veric that I require his assistance - we shall tend to our fellow refugees. But double the watch during our absence. The Ironfang has proven a crafty foe, and I would not be surprised if this proved some new stratagem."

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg had returned to Fort Trevalay after his mysterious absence. The dwarf seemed slightly more withdrawn than normal, the weight of some new burden furrowing his brow. Upon hearing of the group of sick refugees, Torg prayed for suitable magic to help ease the progress of disease.

"I'll go with you, Aidan. I'll set up a quarantine area outside the fort; should be comfortable enough for them, but we shouldn't let anyone through the walls until we're sure they're not contagious."

Spoiler: OOC

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Before leaving the fort, Torg casts the Rite of Bodily Purity on himself, which lasts for 24 hours and gives him some bonuses against disease and stuff.

[Othniel]

Fort Trevalay

Oreld Vane waved Aidan off cheerfully (for Vane), simply glad to finally have a real structure over his head that was not simply some dank cave. Out in the courtyard, Ranger Wintheris saluted Aidan and went to do as he had bidden. Veric was summoned, and Ulva had decided to join them as well. Only Septimus remained behind, busy in his tower room. Minutes later, the quartet of Fangbreakers (and Rollo) set off. It didn't take long to reach the refugee camp, and once they had, they saw all twenty-three refugees, including their leader Naspen Jarth, most sitting or lying upon the ground. Many seemed too weak to stand.

[CockroachTeaParty]

Before the group got any closer, Torg cast a simple protective spell on his companions, including Rollo.
"That ought to help. Better see what's wrong with them, Aidan. I'll set up the quarantine area."

The druid began to chant; ten minutes later, a clean, comfortable grove of trees would emerge, complete with a fountain of clear water and edible fruit.

Spoiler: OOC

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Torg casts Remove Sickness on everyone but himself, giving them a +4 morale bonus on saves vs. disease. Torg will then take 10 minutes to cast Grove of Respite, which will last for 16 hours. It creates a comfortable area with clean water and some food (Torg has even more food where that came from), and it has a mental alarm ability that alerts Torg should someone enter the grove.

[TheDarkDM]

Aidan

Opening the bag containing his healer's kit, Aidan squatted down next to Naspen Jarth.

"You all certainly seem like you've had a time of it. Let's see if we can't identify the cause of your fatigue."

Probing the man's abdomen, Aidan's fingers eventually brushed against an irregularity. Pulling a magnifying glass and a probe from the bag, he pressed harder, and hissed. A rapid examination of the man's eyes and extremities confirmed the diagnosis. Without another word to him, Aidan rose and returned to the party. Leaning in, he whispered to Veric and Torg.

"We're going to need glossleaf, as much as you can find. The leader is in the last stages of gestation for wolf-in-sheeps-clothing eggs. He has maybe two days before they hatch and put him out of his misery. If he's infected, the entire group could be exposed, and we can't afford to have a small legion of horrors infesting our home ground."

Aidan remained long enough to ensure Torg and Veric understood the situation, then turned back to the refugees. Moving methodically from person to person, he confirmed the diagnosis.

Spoiler: Nature

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To start, Aidan quaffs an extract of Channel Vigor, putting it into Mind. Aidan then rolls Nature in place of Heal. If this result is pants, he'll try again taking 10.

Nature: (1d20+20)[35]

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg had been expecting a disease; he had not been expecting a foul infection from an alien monster. He had been prepared to take the sickness into himself, and his resolve did not waver, but the prospect seemed far more unsettling to him now.

With Aidan's help, the druid was guided to the four weakest individuals, who seemed on the doorstep of death. With a grimace, Torg cast a spell on each of them, transferring the eggs into his own body via magic. Free of the infestation, he then cast a spell to restore some of their depleted strength.

"Ulva, take these four back to the fort; they're healed. They'll be needing rest, and clean food and water. Now, I suppose Veric and I should head out looking for glossleaf."

The druid went off into the forest, trying to ignore the fact that a clutch of parasitic eggs was festering in his body.

Spoiler: OOC

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Torg casts Accept Affliction on the four worst off folks, followed by a Lesser Restoration to cure them of 1d4 ability damage.

Torg now has the parasite infestation! YAY!

Survival check to find some gloss leaf?
(1d20+12)[21]

[Othniel]

Forest Clearing

As the Fangbreakers moved among the refugees, and Naspen Jarth told the group's story. The majority of his little band of survivalists were drawn from villages, hamlets, and thorpes spread between the Marideth River, the Hollow Hills, and the western eaves of the Fangwood. They'd suffered a horrendous fifty-percent casualty rate since banding together: many had been lost to wild animals, bad food, or other dangers, and they'd even stumbled into an Ironfang patrol that had butchered a number of their people before Jarth had organized a counterattack. The past few weeks they had been subsisting on meager rations and wondering what they'd do with winter not far off when they'd encountered a wounded dear and slain it for food. Jarth was reasonably sure that the meat had been tainted and caused the group's current illness.

A few of the group were from Phaendar, including the two remaining Habernashy Boys. The eldest had died in the front yard of the Phaendar Trading Company, but these two had somehow managed to elude the hobgoblins by fleeing south, and eventually lashing together some wood to make a serviceable raft with which to cross the river. Perhaps the most interesting of the number were four Elves that had escaped from the ruin of Cavlinor: three children (two girls and a boy) and the adult sister of the other three. Cavlinor was a small Elven colony that was devoted to growing trees into living dwellings. The Elves of Cavlinor occasionally traded for goods with Phaendar, though relations between the two settlements were cool, and the Elves kept mostly to themselves.

The Ironfang had hit the Elven settlement even before Phaendar, and the children would speak nothing of the night they had somehow survived. Their adult sister, Istril, introduced her siblings as Estelwen and Oreldis, and Linnion; and explained how they'd been away picking berries a ways south of the settlement when the attack came. She'd kept them hidden until nightfall and braved a perilous crossing the Marideth River by night in a small, but trusty boat her people kept hidden for emergencies. The three children looked to be several years younger than Septimus, though Elves matured far slower than humans and were likely several years older. They clung tightly to Istril, who seemed on the verge of tears as she stared pleadingly at the four from Fort Trevalay who they did what they could for the group.

[PepperP.]

Veric

Veric returned with a successful large lot of glossleaf and gave it to Aidan. He listened to the refugees sad but not unfamiliar tale sympathetically, they had all been struggling to find security since the Ironfang Invasion. He suddenly felt much more thankful of their own situation.

"I'll get more." He tried to make his tone reassuring, but he couldn't completely hide the worry from his face.

Spoiler: ooc actions

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Veric gathers Glossleaf again. Survival +17 (Favorite Terrain)
[roll[1d20+17[/roll]

[CockroachTeaParty]

Torg stayed with the refugees in the conjured grove that night; the interior of the grove was pleasant and tranquil, and the dwarf used his skills with herbalism and traditional healing to help make the infested folk comfortable. The doses of medicine Aidan brewed helped many of them, but there wasn't enough to go around for them all.

The dwarf slept fitfully, as the hideous eggs gestated in his stomach, but his rock-hard constitution prevented any meaningful progress. A dose of foul-tasting antiplague further enhanced his already impressive immune system, such that he mostly attended to the ills of the others, ignoring his own discomfort.

The next morning, he prayed for a new allotment of spells, renewing the duration of the quarantine grove. Once more, he took four more parasites into his own body, curing those who looked closest to the brink of death. Now carrying eight of the eggs within himself, he attempted to rid himself of the infestation with his magic, using a vial of antiplague to lend extra potency to the spell.

Spoiler: OOC

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On the next day, Torg re-casts Grove of Respite, then hits four more victims with Accept Affliction.

He will then use an anti plague vial as a power component for Remove Disease on himself, for a +2 CL bonus.
CL check: (1d20+10)[25]

[Tychris1]

Having spent almost the entire day working to find berries, Ulva returned with much less than she had anticipated, and set to work making up for lost time at her forge. Though she was slightly more talkative out in the woods with her ranger companion (Occasionally gushing about her admiration for the Chernasardo Rangers) she had entered an entirely silent mindset upon being amongst the refugees. It was just nothing but her and the metal before her. Though she interacted with an inanimate object, she had felt herself in a conversation of sorts. A giving and taking of ideas, a debate on not only ideal but form, and a swelling of the spirit that she had read to be similar to a moral victory.

An hour had passed as she awoke from a form of unconscious procession of monotonous motion, her hands holding over a solid black breastplate with emblazoned green heart, and upon softly thumbing said anatomically incorrect image she looked out of her tent. Sighing, she undid her hair with practiced elegance, donned her rudimentary farming clothes, and left her tent. Moving quickly, Ulva stared at the starry sky as her breathe polluted the air with translucent vapors. She arrived at her destination, a lonely tree on the outskirts of the camp. Taking out a cigar, she produced her flint and steel, and steadily puffed on it for a few minutes. Her sole eye scanned the entirety of the small camp. A single semi glowing sphere leering from behind the shadows of the tree. Extinguishing the nascent flame, Ulva resolved herself, and walked back down to the bulk of the refugee camp. Entering into the tent of the Habernashy brothers, she held her hands up to hush their stirring outcries, and looked sternly at the two of them. Her eye bulged with a simmering rage, yet nothing came of it, and she simply sat down on the dirt amidst them.

"What happened to your brothers was ****ed. I never liked you guys in Phaender... but nobody deserves that. I won't stop till he's avenged. Till everyone is. You have my word." She didn't stare at either of them as she said this, merely kept her head at a stiff angle pointed to the ground as sculpted elbows rested on knees. Standing suddenly, she left the tent and returned just as suddenly. A large bundle was wrapped carefully in her hands, her arms quickly gave way, and with a catlike tug she unloaded the whole thing before them in a clean roll-out. Her expertly crafted iron axe with menacing carvings upon its back, her black and green kite shield chipping at the edges, and a long spear with its head displaced slightly on the tip.

"If you want some. Get some."

[CockroachTeaParty]

[The following day]

Torg went to sleep that night without any parasitic eggs in his guts, and was thankful for it. Aidan's medicine, brewed from the glossleaf the others had gathered, had been largely effective, but as the next day broke there were still five infected refugees. Once again, Torg absorbed them into his body, but this time his own magic failed to kill the eggs.

Fortunately, there were a handful of unused doses of the medicine that the dwarf gulped down, in a last-ditch effort to avoid surgery. After asking Aidan to inspect him for any remaining signs of the infestation, he was given a clean bill of health. Many of the refugees were still weakened, but they were in no more danger of giving birth to aberrant horrors.

The druid made sure that the new refugees had enough to eat; the logistics of finding space for them in the increasingly cramped fort he left to the others.

[Othniel]

Fort Trevalay Area

With the deadly infestation gone, the refugees almost en masse gave up on Naspen Jarth as their leader and begged the Poisonwood Irregulars to accept them. Even the elves, after they'd revived some, seemed far more talkative and the children chased each other about while their sister Istril, whose tears had been replaced with a reserved smile, thanked Torg personally. She had nothing to offer by way of payment, but hugged the dwarf to show her thanks.

The Habernashy brothers, confronted by Ulva's offer of weapons, accepted her offer. They seemed to have changed since she'd seen them last, having taken on more sombre attitudes. They quietly thanked her for the weapons and vowed to serve as best they could if allowed to stay.

Spoiler: OOC

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This brings us roughly halfway through your 15 days of downtime. What're y'all doing now? (Aside from Septimus who, I think, is still busy crafting)

[CockroachTeaParty]

[day 10 of downtime]

Torg returned to the patch of forest where he planted the leshy, only to find that no spirit had come to answer the call. Dejected, Torg returned to Fort Trevalay in a foul mood.

[day 15 of downtime]

With the group preparing for a trip to Longshadow, Torg left the fort to make preparations of his own. With a basic spell, he called out to the forest, seeking the mightiest of the forest's great cats.

Spoiler: OOC

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Torg casts Extended Call Animal, giving the nearest dire tiger 16 hours to reach Torg (no save). Should one arrive, he'll try to get it to help out via Wild Empathy and other spells he has prepared.

[Othniel]

Fangwood Forest

Torg's spell was successfully cast, and it seemed as if his quarry was remarkably close, for in just two short hours' time he was rewarded. A light rustle in the bushes was the only sound that heralded the approach of the great cat the dwarf had called, and then it was before him in all its monstrous feline glory. Large incisors as long as a dagger hung from the creature's mouth, and while it eyed Torg with curiousity, the dwarf knew that he was in no danger here, at least while his spell lasted.

[CockroachTeaParty]

When Torg was a novice druid, even a scant few months ago, there was a trepidation when he interacted with wild animals, even with his repertoire of magic. But now, after all of his struggles, he felt more confident, and closer to the beating heart of wild nature than ever before.

Fearless, he spent several moments studying the great cat's body language, establishing himself as a friend. A single 'chuff' informed him of his success. He transformed himself into a mighty sabertooth, so that he might speak with the proud beast in its own tongue.

"Hail, proud hunter. I am a friend, and a friend of all the forest. A guardian of the green, and all that grows within. I seek the aid of the forest's mightiest fighters, one such as yourself. Have you seen the gray-skinned two-legs that march through the trees, burning and despoiling? I hunt these creatures. My companions and I oppose them, and seek to send them fleeing our borders with their tails between their legs. Will you join me? We journey south soon, to a great town of the native two-legs. There will be good hunting there, I can promise, for I believe the invaders will descend on this place like vultures to a corpse."

[Othniel]

Fangwood Forest

"There are some like what you describe," the great cat answered in her own tongue. "A pack has settled half a day's walk toward the setting sun. They hunt other two-legs and have eaten some. I did not like the look of them."

[CockroachTeaParty]

With a few days to spare before the group was ready to leave, Torg introduced his companions (and Rollo) to the mighty dire tiger he had befriended.
"This great huntress has told me that a group of humanoids has been attacking and eating people a half-day's journey to the west of us. I'm not sure if hobbos are cannibals, but we shouldn't leave such a threat this close to the fort and the refugees. Who wants to join me on the hunt?"

[Othniel]

Fangwood Forest

It was after the Fangbreakers had made it some four miles from Fort Trevalay that Aidan, Torg, and Veric began to notice interesting signs in the forest: some sort of very large creature had clearly marked the area as its territory. Trees bore sizeable claw and tooth marks, and upon many of them the bark had been entirely pulled away up to ten or even fifteen feet up the tree. Rollo whined quietly and gave Veric an expressively wolf-like look of alarm.

Spoiler: Aidan, Torg, and Veric

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Based on the markings, you're pretty sure you've entered the territory of a dire bear, and a big one at that.

[CockroachTeaParty]

Dire tiger-Torg and his new dire tiger friend stalked ahead in the vanguard of the group, powerful muscles moving their lithe frames through the woods with disconcerting silence and precision. As the signs of the dire bear became evident, smilodon-Torg turned to the group, his huge fangs giving his voice an odd inflection, not quite a lisp.

"Hm. A dire bear. This could be another useful ally. At the very least, I should let the beast know of our presence nearby; we wouldn't want it killing our hunters accidentally."

Torg cast a few spells on himself, thickening his hide even further. He then informed the tigress of his intention to track the bear, suggesting they only use violence to defend themselves if need be. He then addressed his companions again.
"I've a spell that could very well bend the bear to my will. Even so, I may be able to parlay with the creature. I ask that you all hang back a bit, and only attack should negotiations fail. This bear isn't the man-eater that we seek, according to the tigress. I've got the scent; Veric, you and Rollo can make doubly sure we don't lose the trail. I'll forge ahead with the tigress. And Septimus... could you spare one of those armor spells?"

Spoiler: OOC

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Torg will cast Barkskin on himself, and ask Sept for a Mage Armor.

Survival check to follow the scent trail: (1d20+13)[19]

[Nefarion Xid]

Septimus obliged the dwarf. He didn't look enthusiastic about postponing their journey forward to deal with more problems in the forest. Wasn't that what the ranger squads were for? He didn't complain further, choosing instead to take out his grimoire and pass his signet ring over the Web spell in case he needed to restrain the bear.

[Othniel]

Fangwood Forest

With the scent of a tiger to guide him combined with the dwarf's natural skill at tracking, Torg was able to quickly determine the direction of the dire bear's movement and began to follow. The creature turned out to be far closer than what would be considered comfortable...for a non-druid, and Torg found that the trail ended at a clearing roughly thirty-feet in diameter and the mouth of a cave that opened into darkness. From inside the cave came the low rumble of the bear and...four similar, but higher-pitched sounds.

[CockroachTeaParty]

Tiger-Torg turned to the tigress, telling her to wait behind (maintaining roughly 80 ft. of distance).

Casting a spell so that he might speak the bear-tongue, Torg prowled up near the mouth of the cave. To an observer, they would have seen a smilodon roar like a bear, but it was nevertheless intelligible to any ursine dwellers within.
"Great bears! Hear me! I mean you no harm! I come with news of the forest!"