Darkworld IC

[Zed's Dead]

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Here's the email roleplay from the last couple of days.

The Walkers are more than happy to give you food. One female carves off hunks of meat for each of you. This is a bit more done than last night's fare, and is even sprinkled with a wild dried herb, not unlike rosemary.

Kraalkar

Kraalkar eases himself to the ground near Elva and Arlen, and sets his chain shirt to the side. Shrugging the sword onto his lap, Kraalkar draws the heavy blade from its sheath and inspects it. The remnants of dried blood and wolf hair bear witness to the previous day's struggle. But today is a new day, with new decisions to be made. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a soft cloth.

Kraalkar looks up as Daar as she returns from the fire.

"It appears I may have missed a quite of bit of action last night. I am pleased we lost no more of our number. What happened?"

He returns his attention to cleaning the sword. "Your last attack mortally wounded the beast and it finally collapsed. We took its head off to be sure...but a strange thing happened. The beast...was one of them." He gestures to the surrounding Walkers, then glances at Arlen and Elva. "I have heard tales of creatures like that one, but I know nothing about them. Have any of you encountered them in your travels?"
The cloth moves across the blade, and where it passes metal gleams softly in the flickering light.


Arlen

As the group slowly settles down around the fire, Arlen finishes a last bit of study and begins putting his notes away. With any luck, we'll be somewhat better prepared for today. He picks up the meat he has been given and holds it closer to the fire for a moment to warm it. Then he begins eating slowly, pulling small strips off to feed to Sul every so often.

"Only in writing and hearsay. The creature is not a werewolf, but the spirit form of a wolf bound to a man. Among the more obvious results, it grants long life. Unless the one who cast the curse relents, it is only breakable by death. The witches, long-time enemies of these Walkers, do this to them. We must be careful - the creature may still rise under the will of its creator, headless and broken as it is."
The elf stares into the fire as he speaks, and it is difficult to read his face in the shadowy light. The owl on his shoulder gives a low hoot, and he absent-mindedly feeds her another strip of meat.

[Tura]

Elva

Elva approaches the three survivors and crouches near them smiling, with a hunk of meat in her hand which she smells with closed eyes before tasting it. She waits for their answer with little more than mild curiosity, content for the moment to be alive and safe.

"Your last attack mortally wounded the beast and it finally collapsed. We took its head off to be sure...but a strange thing happened. The beast...was one of them."

The smile vanishes from her face, and the meat falls to the ground. She looks down at her wounded belly, and whispers an almost inaudible "gods, no". She barely listens to the rest of Kraalkar's words. A shapechanger! She had been eluding them all her life, only to be bitten by one here, in God's teeth? But then Arlen begins to explain, and one sentence immediately catches her attention.

The creature is not a werewolf, but the spirit form of a wolf bound to a man.

She looks up again, and listens intently, absorbing everything the black elf has to say. He seems to know the subject well enough, so she asks straight away, still worried, but not as crushed as before.
"So.. that would mean that others cannot contract lycanthropy by the creature's bite... or not?"

The thought of a headless Walker Wolf coming back to life makes her shudder, and she stares into the fire trying to imagine it. A part of her finds it ridiculous. I suppose a funeral pyre would take care of that. The Walkers would know best, anyway.

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A knowledge check for the witches: (1d20)[13] (untrained with no modifiers, unless nature has something to do with it - in that case add +10 to the roll)
...aaand for the most improbable check so far, Knowledge (nature) about the rosemary-like herb: (1d20+10)[26].
What? We like herbs. And cooking with herbs.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

The herb has a strong but not unpleasant taste, and the weight of hot meat is welcome in his belly after their ordeal. He barely notices the taste as he confers with his companions, however. Initially puzzled by Elva's strong reaction to the news, Arlen quickly realizes the reason for her concern. "No, you are safe. The curse cannot be passed in the saliva as a lycanthrope's affliction can."

Finishing his meat, he begins carefully repacking his pack. Small sacks, neatly organized bound scrolls, an extra quiver of arrows with different-colored fletching all disappeared into the pack, which held a surprising amount with such careful packing. He used the activity to give his hands something to do while his mind flitted across his research from the night before.

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How far were we from Stone?
For the witches: Knowledge (geo) = (1d20+8)[11]
Knowledge (history) = (1d20+4)[19]

More later -gotta run

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar nods in agreement and takes another bite of venison. The herb rubbing does well to mask the slightly gamey flavor of the meat, but...there's no reason to keep eating that. He concentrates briefly, then takes another bite and grunts in approval.

No, you are safe. The curse cannot be passed in the saliva as a lycanthrope's affliction can.

"My people's experiences with these creatures are similar. It is said that some willingly bargain with Wulocha to receive this power." He shrugs heavy shoulders, and rubs away a bloodstain on his blade. "The Ravenous One always gets the best of that transaction." The blade is clean and gleams as though newly forged. Kraalkar sets it aside and picks up the chain shirt.

"From what I understand, these creatures no longer threaten Tor and his people. And while they have offered us a place at their hearth for a time, we would do well to consider the next step of our journey." He glances at the others. "What say you?" He absentmindedly rubs the cloth over the armor, and chain links gleam brightly in its wake.

[Zed's Dead]

The Walkers evidently sense that your conversation has become more than just idle chat. The women gather up the children and trudge out of the room. Only Gan remains. He is lying on his side with his back to you and is snoring softly.


Knowledge checks, leveling, and healing rituals:

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On Witches: You both have a general idea that there are witches reported to live in the woods of this area, but you thought they were further to the north. Arlen, this could be why he spoke of attacks while they were on their way to the summer lands.

On Stone (and its distance from here): You seem to remember something Cort said yesterday, just before the wolves cut him down--something about Stone being just an hour North of here.

On herbs: This rosemary-like plant is much more pungent than its cousin, and more bitter, but it actually is quite complementary. Your people call it "butterfly wing," because its flowers open like a pair of tiny wings. You're not sure what the Walkers call it.

On leveling: When (and if) you guys do the healing ritual, you will officially level up.

Also, I'll leave it to the healer to describe the healing ritual itself.

[Tura]

Elva

Elva smiles at the Walkers' discretion as they leave the room. There, learning to make tools out of metal has nothing to do with courtesy. She then turns to the others.

"Well, logically, we should find out which is the safest - and not necessarily the fastest - way to Stone, and get going. We're not far, I think, and it seems that wolves are not the worst danger one could face around these parts. Only, before we depart, we might want to take another look at everyone's wounds, some are.. pretty nasty. The Walkers were kind enough to patch us up, but a proper healing... "- she trails off for a moment, but continues - "...ritual would be better."

Back home, healing the wounded usually involved convincing them that the gods were taking care of them, and that anyone could do it if he prayed honestly enough - which was not exactly true. But now, it seemed fate had united her with people who had their own means, and didn't need an explanation. Fate.

"I'd be glad to perform it, but have in mind that it takes some time. I think Daar here needs one the most. And me, actually. Arlen, Kraalkar, I'm afraid I can't include both of you. Which one of you feels more... in need?"

Fate. Elva pets Gray absent-mindedly, and, somewhat incoherently, she asks:
"Do.. do you believe in fate? I honestly wonder if we ended up here by chance. Yesterday I saw something I'd never thought I'd see again, certainly not in God's Teeth."
She scatters some ash from the fire in front of her, and draws a sketch with her finger.



Lowering her voice, she explains: "This here was carved on the floor before the eastern passage, in the hall where Fenris fell. I can't tell if it was carved by the Walkers themselves, and I don't know what it is, exactly... But I was once told it has a special meaning.. for me."

Elva stares silently for a while at the rune she just drew, and then looks up again.
"I think I should see where that passage leads to."
And she seems surprised to hear her own voice saying that.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

Arlen speaks up immediately after Elva finishes. "Fate is far from necessary to explain our meeting." Softening his tone somewhat, he continues. "I know what lies down that path, Elva. And it will not be easy to investigate." He pauses, eyebrows knitting for a moment, then draws the strangely lumpy sack over from next to his pack. "Perhaps I should explain. Last night, I offered the chief some aid in protecting his clan against these beasts, and he allowed me to examine the body - an unsettling but informative hour. I removed carefully a few organs that the magic would have concentrated in, hoping to make it more difficult for the creature's limited curse of undeath to awaken. I do not know if it succeeded - some of the organs continued moving in my hands, even after being removed from a corpse that had been dead for hours. The chief took the creature's head somewhere safe, hoping distance would aid as well. He called it the 'holy place' - down the eastern passage." After letting it hang in the air for a moment, he continues, in case he wasn't clear. "Any tribe's holiest place is also likely the least accessible by outsiders. While I do not hold fate responsible, I feel for this chief's plight, and would teach him such protections against these creatures as I may be able to devise. If any of you have known of arcane curses, I would welcome your aid in this.*"

His thoughts drawn back to Fenris, he stares into the fire for a moment, stroking Sul as absently as Elva strokes Gray. After a moment, he rouses himself, remembering to respond "I agree that prudence is better than speed, but I would value arriving before nightfall above both of those, if it is possible. I appreciate the offer of healing, but I took no wounds yesterday, and my older injuries are mending apace. You who fight in melee need it more than I, though I shall watch the ritual with interest."

As if tired by such an uncharacteristically lengthy speech, he sinks into himself, staring at the coals. This is why it's easier to travel alone - no need to spend time explaining everything. Still...their companionship is welcome on this journey.

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He's basically asking for Aid Another checks when he does his official research, Spellcraft and Knowledge (arcana) checks to figure out what might protect against monsters like these in the future.

[Zimmia]

Daar

Daar sat and listened to the exchange although she also seemed to be a thousand miles away listening to some other, quieter conversation. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful with pauses between some of her words, almost as though listening to this distant voice even while speaking. "Our spirits too provide for help in healing in times of need. Between you and I," she says addressing Elva, "we should be able to mend the wounds of our group, and perhaps even one of those injured here as well."

"As for fate," (pause) "in Uruk, we have two different words which can both be considred fate. 'sripsh' the fate which has to do with predestination and the idea what what actions we do ultimately don't matter as our place in the universe is already set." Following this Daar makes an indelicate expression which makes clear her thoughts, followed by another pause. "There is another word, shintaa - this is the word we use when the spirits leave us hints to thinks we might uncover but ultimately it is up to us whether we choose to acknowledge these shintaa and perhaps travel that path. This..." Daar points to the rune and looking back to Elva, "May be a shintaa left for you. Only you can decide. If you choose to investigate, I will help you iny way I can. It may be a little... complicated since Arlen indicates this is likely a holy place for them, however the bond forged between our groups in bringing down that monstrosity might help convince them we mean no disrespect or harm."

"As for wardings," she says addressing Arlen, "My blessings from the Spirits do not lie in this direction, but if I can offer any assistance I certainly will. We've already lost daylight hours - and will lose more should we honor the ancestors and perform my healing ritual. It might be best for us to stay here today, recover more fully from our injuries and perhaps assist Elva should she choose to investigate her shintaa."

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

The cloth slows and then stops on the armor as Kraalkar listens intently to Elva. That symbol means nothing to me, but it seems to have significance for Elva. I'd feel the same way in her situation. But Stone is so close, and my quest... He stands as they talk, wincing as his thigh protests, and the chain shirt slides to the ground with the metallic whisper of shining links. He paces stiffly toward the fire and picks up a stick to stir the coals, listening to the ensuing conversation with half an ear.

Conflicted? the dry voice whispers, amused. And here I thought your choice would be obvious. Kraalkar feels Ssriss slide down his arm toward the fire. It's not like that. I want to help her. I'm going to help her, but we're so close to Stone, and... He jabs the stick into the fire and tosses it down in disgust. All these delays! Kraalkar feels his palm tickle as Ssriss basks in the heat. Aaaah, that feels good. You're wise, you know. Huh? Ssriss chuckles at Kraalkar's confusion. Despite my, ah, prodding, you're wise not to take all that I offer you. You lack control, and would soon be...consumed. The snake stops suddenly, as though it had said too much. Anyway, help her. Work on your control. Ssriss slithers back up his arm. And Kraalkar...this fire is no different from Meg's flames. The voice in Kraalkar's head goes silent.

Kraalkar stares at the fire and clenches a fist. No different from Meg's flames? But...how can that be? Hers were sheer power given form, and this tame thing... He thinks of all the forms of flame he's seen before, from the small ritual fire in Old Nashan's hut, to the hearth fires of his clan in the smoky longhut...the hunters' campfires in the winter...the crackling plains wildfire in the heat of the summer...the forest fire once caused by lightning... Fire is fire...all fire is fire... Could that mean...? His musing is interrupted.

This may be a shintaa left for you. Only you can decide. If you choose to investigate, I will help you in any way I can.

Kraalkar turns back to the group and waits for Daar to finish, and then nods. "I too will help you discover where your symbol may lead."

[Tura]

Elva

At the first mention of the Walkers' "holy place", Elva looks down, thoughtful. Following an unknown path is one thing, but breaking into a clan's sanctum is quite another.

Back home, forty-seven chieftains and thirty-one priests and priestesses lay in the consecrated ground under the dolmen's shadow, and Elva knew the names of each and every one of them by heart. No druid was buried there - in her parts, druids are buried wherever they breathe their last, for they know that every piece of land is equally holy, and eager to welcome them home. Be that as it may, she could imagine the clan's distress if some foreigner just barged in the dolmen uninvited.

The Walkers were her hosts, she had been offered food under their roof, and she would probably be dead if it weren't for them. Well, then. It seemed pretty straight forward. If she was to enter that passage, she would only do so with their consent.

This may be a shintaa left for you. Only you can decide. If you choose to investigate, I will help you in any way I can.

I too will help you discover where your symbol may lead.

Elva looks at Daar and Kraalkar, grateful. That was way more than she had bargained for.
"I thank you, both, from the bottom of my heart. I do not wish to put you in any danger, and neither do I want to offend our hosts. Since that place is sacred for the Walkers, I do not intend to enter unless I'm allowed to."

She then turns to Arlen. "I'll gladly share what little I know of wards that could help this tribe, as you agreed. There might be a ritual that needs to be performed on the beast's head. If that is so, I would appreciate the chance to be present, it would solve all our problems at once."

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

So. What a quartet we weave. They have such passion and fire in their quests - it's been a hundred years since I set out on a journey with such zeal. I travel for knowledge, now. I know few and need no one. These impetuous youths are like visions, premonitions from a different past. They are also some of the mightiest warriors I've ever met, in both blade and spells. He watches a small snake twist down Kraalkar's arm, which are not completely unfamiliar to me.

He sits near the fire, somewhat detached from the other three, and watches as the two Uruks unhesitatingly pledge their support of Elva's search. Such blissful enthusiasm is cooled only, and all too soon, by the cautious experience of age. There's no benefit from companionship and strength in numbers that is not more than balanced by difficulty in coordination and planning of a large, unwieldly, often-quarreling group. Cool caution is well and practical, but when was greatest victory ever won with calculating carefulness? What epic's hero matched his greatest challenge without companions or loved ones to cheer his cause? His mouth twitches wryly as he considers the effect these young travelers have already on his usual solitude. Perhaps companions would be pleasant on this journey, for a short while, at least. He whispers softly to Sul, "What say you, old friend? Have we spent enough hours in woodsy solitude?" She coos softly, and he smiles in response, then more broadly when he realizes it as his second in as many days. The energy of youth is infectious, as always. Better limber up my speaking voice - it won't be getting as much rest as usual for a while. He shifts, moving closer to the group.

"I, too, will aid your search in what ways I can, Elva, before our shrunken group continues to Stone. I would also venture that we have not lost too much time in getting there - even after your healing prayers, it will not be much more than a few hours after dawn.

As far as the matter of the curse, I thankfully accept what help and knowledge you all may have to offer. I think we may concentrate on two main courses in this matter. The first would be to devise what wardings we can against the curse, in the hope that fewer Walkers may be afflicted. The second would be to make defenses against these creatures, perhaps finding weaknesses that this tribe can exploit if they are forced to fight them again. Here is what I've been able to discover so far…" He draws the sack over and opens it.

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Ok, so I've just realized that Arlen's more than twice as old as all the other member's ages put together, and now I'm going to have to restrain myself from writing "Doggone kids..." every other post.

I figure stuff about the curses can go in the OOC.

Also, blech - this was half again as long and I liked it twice as much the first time I wrote it. :-/

[Tura]

Elva

"I, too, will aid your search in what ways I can, Elva, before our shrunken group continues to Stone.

"Thank you, Arlen, thank you all." Elva's eyes gleam in the dim light of the cave, and her mind races for a few seconds as the elf goes on to explain his findings.
I didn't even ask, and these people offered to help me just like that. No bloodline, no kinship, no oath, no debt, not even reward or personal gain had anything to do with it. May the gods grant them a long life. And gods forbid I betray their trust and put them in danger for something that, for all I know, may mean nothing at all, nothing but the babbling of an ignorant fortune-teller. For all I know, this isn't fate at all, just a meaningless coincidence.

Returning her attention to Arlen, she examines the findings, listens carefully to his conclusions and adds her own thoughts. Then she leaves him to devise a ward, as he is certainly the most qualified among them to do so, and calls to the others. "If you would like to sit down beside me... " With a guilty look on her face, she turns to Gan for a moment, who looks like he could use some healing himself, and sighs. I wish I could help you too. But you can rest for days and recover, and we have a journey to make. Sleep well.

"With this ritual, we ask Drymea, the goddess of the forest and spirit of nature, to grant us her healing touch and help us recover. It doesn't matter if you know her by another name, it doesn't even matter if you worship her at all. She is the all-mother and sustainer of life, and cares for all her children equally. She is Earth."

Elva sits down cross-legged and bows her head, places her palms open on the ground, and remains motionless for a while, with closed eyes, as if gathering strength from the earth underneath. A deep breath and she opens her eyes again, now placing her hands on Daar and Kraalkar. Her voice is now different, calmer and softer like a lullaby. "When the roots are strong, the broken bough regrows. Rain follows drought and no winter lasts forever." And with that, she begins a wordless chant, low in tone and lower in volume, inaudible to more than a few feet away. Her eyes are half-closed and she motions slowly back and forth, like a leaf under a soft breeze. She nods to Daar that she can begin performing her own ritual at the same time, and continues humming.

As time passes, her drone, though unchanged, sounds strange. It is the sound of a tree growing, juice running from the roots through the trunk to every single leaf. It is the sound of wine fermenting in a barrel - and a fragrant smell, improbably, lingers over them.

Back home, she would invoke the names of deities and heroes, and sprinkle dried herbs over the injured. But that was a show, essentially, for the eyes and ears of the simple people. There was no need now. All that was truly needed for a druidic healing ritual was touching the earth - cold stone or soft soil, it made no difference - and a druid willing to become a vessel for Nature's mild but irrefutable power.

The ritual lasts for about an hour, and during all that time Elva seems to be in a trance. Towards the end, the drone becomes softer and slower, until it fades completely. Elva stands still and opens her eyes, looking tired and invigorated at the same time. She smiles without saying a word.

Gray has fallen asleep behind her.

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Wow. That was.. longer than intended. Sorry...

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

((Many thanks to Geeklord and Tura for their contributions toward the flavor of their Aid Another checks!))

The ranger crouches carefully as he pulls the sack in front of him, close to the fire where its contents will be easily visible. Supporting the sack with one hand, he carefully folds the sack open, then back on itself so that the organs within rest exposed on the inside of the sack, while the clean outside is still the facedown surface. Heart, liver, four teeth and two vials of black liquid empty their stench into the air between the four adventurers. Pointing to each in turn, he explains what he knows so far. "The heart is powerfully enchanted, and preserves much of the power it has absorbed. It might be able to power a spell of some sort, properly manipulated, but the details of such an enchantment are not yet fully clear to me. The blood retains physical differences that make it suitable as a binding agent in a potion or mixture, and will be especially useful in a warding against these creatures, as it is of their flesh. The liver and teeth have less obvious properties, and most of what I have been able to determine of them is what is already visible." He looks up from the organs at his companions, hoping for advice from them. Tura, already bending as close to the liver as she dares, does not disappoint.

"This... we must be very careful with this. The liver purges the body of all impurities, by holding them inside. It is the seat of anger and bile. And if it's bloated like that, it's because it holds the curse itself inside. That makes it doubly dangerous. It also makes it a potential basis for a warding , if we knew how to process it safely....
Either that, or Fenris in his human form drank very often an enormous amount of really bad cider."

Kraalkar crouches next to the bag and looks at what Arlen has spread out before them. Ugh...organs that are neither fully wolf nor fully man... He frowns thoughtfully, left hand clutching his amulet, then gestures with his chin. "Those." The sharp teeth gleam wickedly. "It is said that the teeth of the Son of Wulocha will always find blood. They..." Kraalkar gropes for the right words. "Nothing, no material or armor or barrier, will provide defense against them. They are sometimes crafted into weapons and awarded to brave hunters." He rocks back on his heels. "But weapons of that sort...take more joy in warfare and the shedding of our blood."

And youths though they may be, they possess knowledge I have not yet seen, which makes us both the stronger. Arlen nods, mind already calculating the effects of these new data. "If the liver holds the agent of the curse, that agent was most likely some powder or herb, inhaled by the unfortunate Walker. Its essence may be the cause of this smell, rather than mere rot, in which case even the smell would be a potent ward against the witches, especially in combination with other agents. As another line of defense, using the teeth as weapons is a wise move as well - their shape seems best suited for...arrows, I think." He bows. "I think I am ready to brew a warding incense - I will have ample time during your healing rituals."

He lifts the organs carefully and moves to the other side of the fire. As he leaves, he hears Elva begin; Hmm, Drymea - I must remember to add that to the list of names I've heard for Oloriel. He draws a few miscellaneous clay pots and utensils of various sizes from his pack, and sets them out in front of him. Then he frowns, unsure of where to begin. With his gaze still fixed, on the organs, he reaches into his pack again without looking, withdrawing parchment and quill, then replacing them in favor of his wrapped sheaf of notes. Drawing a half-burned stick from the fire, he blows it cool and begins studying his notes. Every few moments, he leans forward from the notes and scratches another figure in the dirt. I'll need binding ingredients, herbs for confusion, extracts from the liver, and...hmm, something else, certainly. He browses his notes until he's written down the best prospects for ingredients, then begins calculating proportions based on the general properties of the herbs in question. At least twice, he winces in frustration and brushes the numbers away beginning over.

Though he had initially wanted to pay partial attention to the ritual, he becomes so absorbed that it passes him by nearly entirely, save for a few broad impressions and the background hum. Eventually, he arrives at a recipe that seems sufficient, and reaches into the carefully compartmentalized cloth bag that contains his raw materials. Drawing out minuscule pinches of herbs, he rolls a few of them together and sniffs them, nodding approval after the combination makes him sneeze violently. With several small piles of herbs and a tiny heap of orange dust sitting next to the organs, he settles into himself slightly with a sigh, coming to and watching the ritual for a moment before returning to work.

Opening his spell component pouch, he withdraws a small piece of bark and a leaf. Speaking the symbols for preparation, labor, and completion, he brushes the leaf suddenly away from him across the bark. It raises a tiny cloud of dust, which spreads out rapidly to form a silhouette, which just as rapidly collapses, leaving the tiny cloud with a formless hole in the center. Arlen replaces the leaf and bark into his pouch, then begins placing the utensils as near as possible to where they will be used - knife near the liver, spoon near a pot, and so forth. Looking fixedly at nothing for a moment, Arlen concentrates, and both liver and knife rise into the air, moving an inch to the side so as to hover over the pot. Another moment later, the knife moves slowly and deliberately, shaving a small sliver off the end of the liver, which drops into the pot. After watching for a moment, Arlen leaves the mincing to continue and turns to his more mundane items. Removing the second empty pot from the fire where it had been heating, he sets it in front of him. Picking up a vial, he holds it toward the liver. The knife slows, then stops and returns to the fabric of the sack. A moment later, the cork of the vial pops out and lays next to the knife, which continues its slicing. All ready; let's begin.

((Casting Unseen Servant))

First, a base of soft Spanish moss, a nearly universal binding ingredient. Next, pumice dust, both an irritant but more importantly, useful to combine disparate ingredients (that is, from both animal and herb) without dilution of efficacy. Then, the carefully dried and crushed eyes of a salamander, necessary for amplification of magical effects (though not necessary for more mundane poison mixtures). Lastly, slivers of yew bark, which will cause any solution to smoke copiously when burned. Stirring carefully, Arlen nods in satisfaction at the base mixture. Now, if only the important ingredients work correctly...

((Eye of newt and slips of yew / In th' boiling cauldron brew!!))

Setting the small pot down, Arlen turns to the more difficult ingredients. A little Breath of Madness ought to do the trick nicely. Picking up a large glass vial half full of blue dust, he held it as close as he could to the surface of the mixture, holding his breath as he tipped about half of it in. After corking the large but thin vial again, he breathes normally, but does not stir the mixture yet. Turning to the knife and liver, he glares at both for a moment until they stop - the end of the liver is now shredded into the larger of the two small pots. Tilting both pots toward each other, Arlen pours the mixture over the chopped liver. Immediately, an ugly crackling sound begins to grow. Swiftly, Arlen sets the pot down while the vial of blood, which had been hovering at the ready, tips its contents over the whole concoction. The crackling immediately quiets. I should've had the blood already over the liver so that the two main ingredients wouldn't have reacted so violently - I must remember that in the future.

The pot lifts over to the middle of the fire, and settles there a few inches above the coals. Arlen sighs, and begins tying up the bag of raw materials. At the same time, the smaller pot is lifted up, and the few remaining fragments within it are swept into the fire, disappearing. Arlen takes the pot from the air, putting it back into the pack, as the sack of organs similarly is lifted up, the ends unfolding so that it can be carried normally again. With everything else packed up, the last spoon hovers over the fire, stirring the pot methodically. Arlen picks up pack and sack and rejoins his companions, sitting near them as they complete their rituals. As he waits, he fiddles idly with a few broken fragments of arrow, fitting some together to see if they can be mended into a new arrow, and tossing smaller fragments into the fire. As he works, his mind returns to the enchantments on this creature, and the sheer power - and evil - inherent in binding an animal spirit to a man. On consideration though, there might be a way to scribe a modified version of the spell - a way to assume, temporarily, the more powerful aspects of certain creatures without permanent curse involved. Perhaps-- but he is interrupted by the pot, which leaves the fire and comes over, setting itself down next to Arlen. He reacts instantly to the smell, which is even worse now. One glare later, the pot hurriedly retreats a few feet. Then there is a small disturbance in the sack as the lid to the pot is withdrawn and moved to cover it.

((Best. Lab assistant. Ever!))

Some minutes later, as the ritual ends, there is another disturbance, this time in the organs sack, and a single tooth emerges. It settles on top of the clean outside of the sack. Arlen's gaze is drawn to it, and he stares fixedly at it before noticing that the other have completed the ritual.

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Hokay, that was way long. I don't have it in me to proofread it thoroughly, so someone just poke me if I made a rediculous spelling error in there anywhere.

The warding:

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-has a base of mundane herbs that do nothing by themselves, but absorb and bind other ingredients. (40%)
-has a single dose of Breath of Madness (20%; poison info copied here for ease of reference):

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Breath of Madness (Lichen Dust; inhaled; DC 15; 600 gp)
Description: This powderized lichen is popular in Arlanche, where many of the inhabitants carry it in snuffboxes and claim that minute pinches of it induce hallucinations and the most wondrous sensations. Arlen, who saw many of them sniff themselves into a nightmarish stupor, was unimpressed, but took a large glass vial of it, thinking that it might be useful as a weapon in concentration.
Effect: 1d4 Wis / 2d6 Wis
Upgrades: None
Modified from: Insanity mist

-has one ounce of Fenris' blood to bind the liver to the other ingredients (10%)
-has several ounces of minced Fenris liver to provide a primary olfactory ward against the Witches. (30%)

The potion created would be used as an incense - poured over a pot of coals, it is intended to provide a cloud of smoke that would severely hamper the Witches. The smell of the liver of their own creation should repulse them while the lichen dust confuses the senses and thoughts. This would hopefully be useable both defensively (to repel them) and offensively (to set up an ambush of tooth-tipped arrows, perhaps).

Modified spell coming sometime later. I is all writed out for now.

[Zed's Dead]

When you look into the sack, the heart squirms.

Once Elva's healing ritual has ended, it is quiet enough for you to hear faint Walker voices echoing down the passageway.

Daar pauses for a moment to regain her breath and center herself, and then silently begins her own healing ritual.

Time passes quickly, and before you realize it, she is finished. Elva, Daar, and Kraalkar feel much stronger. The trials of the past few days have been difficult, but you realize that you are survivors against seemingly impossible odds.

The rest and the healing rituals have also smoothed away lines of care that may have creased your brows as you were chased by the wolves. Truth be told, you may feel as if you are ready for anything.

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You recovered 20 hit points. Please make Listen checks.

[Zed's Dead]

DC 20 Listen Check:

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You hear a collective shout and hooting as if in celebration. The voices are definitely Walkers. It's not coming from the cave itself, but from outside the cave.

Gan moans and turns to lie flat on his back. It seems he still sleeps.

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar stands, refreshed as he hasn't been since the beginning of his journey. The bite on his thigh has disappeared, and he feels no pain when he stretches. I have toh'grul to Daar and Elva, but by Aynia it was worth it.

Gan moans and shifts in his sleep. Kraalkar looks at him for a moment, concerned by his restlessness. He is wounded in more than the flesh. We would do well to keep a watch over him. He turns toward the healers, debating in his mind whether to say something about it.

[Tura]

Elva

Elva thanks Daar for her help, her gratitude having only grown with the ritual, and looks up. "Sounds like the Walkers are celebrating something up there." She then gets up, stretches and sits down again, but not before opening her backpack and retrieving a knife. The hilt is black, unadorned and made of horn, but the blade looks sharp enough and has a rather odd sheen. In her village, some people said that black-hilted knives would protect you from evil spirits, and it was a common gift from a father to his child.

That particular knife, though, was a gift from Alsaz. "This does protect you from evil spirits, little one, albeit not all of them", he had said with his usual smile. That was, of course, way before she had managed to anger him. Elva stares at the knife for a moment and sighs. I hope to see your smile again, some day.

But first, there were things to be done. Best be prepared. Sitting on her knees, Elva lets her dress spread in front of her and stretches it on the ground with her hand. She then folds the end a few inches wide and holds it tight from the one side. With the knife, she begins to cut a ribbon out of the dress. Realizing that what she is doing must look completely ridiculous, she smiles and explains. "I had a sling with me, but I had to use it as a makeshift bandage a few weeks ago. A sling is a very handy thing, so I thought I should make another one while we're here."

She glances up to the elf. "Arlen, how did it go? Would you like to show us what you have come up with, and how it can be used?"

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1) I'm not finishing the description of the sling, because someone might interrupt.
2) It occurred to me that making a real torch (I actually looked that up ) requires something flammable like pitch or a cloth dipped in oil, and none of these are handy. So I'll just pick up a branch from the fire when we leave the room, which I suppose won't last as long, but otherwise should be enough to see in that cave. Zed, is that OK?

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

"Certainly. It is a potion, which can be burned s an incense by pouring it over a small pot of coals. After thinking on your words concerning the liver, Elva, I realized that such a smell might be especially repulsive to the witches, coming from one of their own creations. As well as the liver and other herbs, I used a poison I made some time ago - a dust that causes confusion and befuddlement when inhaled. Mixed with the rest, it should cause a mixture that will both confuse and repel the witches, possibly even allowing the Walkers to set up an ambush while they are confused. If my guess is correct, the mental confusion may also seriously impair their spellcrafting, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

Speaking of attack.." He looks at the tooth, which had placed itself on top of the sack. "I managed to complete the preparation without touching either liver or blood, with the aid of a simple conjuration." Here he nods to the pot containing the potion, which gravely nods back. "The teeth, however, are another matter. The spell is not sufficient for the fletching of so many arrows. However, I think the curse has lingered most strongly in the heart and liver, and the teeth should be safe.

I cannot be completely certain, so it will have to be left up to experiment. If I am incorrect...I trust you all to know the best course." Having spoken, he reaches out hesitantly to the tooth, picking it up carefully between two fingers.

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There's a moment or two of delay, enough if someone wishes to try to stop him.

Edit: Sorry - if anyone doesn't know why this is significant, it's the first time Arlen has actually touched (skin contact) with any of the Fenris organs, which may or may not release the curse on him. I think it's fair to say this was made clear enough that your character gets that.

[Zed's Dead]

Daar looks over at Gan. Pauses to think a moment, and crosses the room until she is standing over him. She carefully examines his wound.

There is infection here.

She looks over at you, her companions.

I must do something to help.
Daar lays her hands upon the wound, whispers a few words, and then closes her eyes. Gan moans, and then his breathing eases.

She returns and stands next to Elva.

Do you need any help with your sling?

[Tura]

Elva

Do you need any help with your sling?

"Oh, yes, thank you. Could you hold that?" Elva cuts the cloth with much more ease now that Daar holds it stretched, and proceeds to cut and tear both ends to three separate ribbons. Leaving the knife aside, she braids the three ribbons to a single cord, leaving only the middle intact, the part that holds the stone. Meanwhile, she listen to Arlen's narration.

I cannot be completely certain, so it will have to be left up to experiment. If I am incorrect...I trust you all to know the best course.

"Well, I would venture to assume that if the wolf's bite cannot pass the curse, neither can the tooth by itself. But if we want to be completely certain, it wouldn't hurt to touch the teeth with some leaves or a piece of cloth instead of bare hands."

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar stoops and picks up his chain shirt. He inspects it quickly for damage, then carefully dons it. He shrugs his broad shoulders to settle the links, and then slings the scabbarded sword across his back and tightens the straps. The hilt juts over his right shoulder.

"Sounds like the Walkers are celebrating something up there."

"You look as though you have everything well in hand. I'll see what they're excited about." He walks over to his furs and packs quickly. He slings his gear and the longbow over his left shoulder, then checks the draw on his greatsword to make sure it slides easily from its sheath. Kraalkar turns toward the cavern's entrance, absently checking that his other weapons are where they should be.

"I cannot be completely certain, so it will have to be left up to experiment. If I am incorrect...I trust you all to know the best course."

Kraalkar frowns. I don't remember the teeth being dangerous...in that way. However... He nods firmly at the elf. "Do what you need to do. I will watch."

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

"Well, that is the course I have been following, but if the Walkers have to handle many of these to make arrows with, it becomes impractical." Arlen picks up the tooth.

((Assuming nothing bad happens))

"Well, there it is. Shall we see what the Walkers are celebrating?"

[Zed's Dead]

Arlen:

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The serrated edge of the tooth is razor sharp--sharper than any knife you have ever held. It makes sense now that the wolf so easily flayed the flesh of even the most hardened warriors who faced him. Evidently, the transformation from wolf form to humanoid form did not include these teeth. There seems to be no sign that touching the teeth has done you any harm. The Walker celebration continues above.

Elva:

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With Daar helping, the sling seems almost to braid itself. It is finished. There is no mistaking the jubilant sound of the walkers above.

Kraalkar:

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Your gear is in perfect working order, almost as if it were new. Now that the others have drawn your attention to it, you can now hear the celebration-sounds of the Walkers.

Daar walks toward the chamber entrance, perhaps reminiscing.

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar nods affirmatively as Arlen picks up the teeth with no ill effects. Then he turns and walks out of the cavern towards the cave entrance.

[Tura]

Elva

"Yes, let's go."
Elva checks her new sling with satisfaction and passes it through her belt, then puts the knife back in her backpack. She stands up, picks up her staff, the backpack and a burning branch from the fire, and follows Kraalkar outside.
It will be nice to see the sun again.

Gray follows her, yawning.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

Hmp - good, Arlen muses, staring at the tooth in his hand. He tosses it idly, and it floats back onto the lid of the pot. He see the heart squirm again, and he frowns, wondering if he's not missing something there. Deciding to study it further later, he shrugs his pack on, slinging his bow across his back, and follows the others toward the cheering, carefully holding the pot in one hand.

[Zed's Dead]

IC Narration:

The cave is dark, except for the improvised torch Elva carries with her. You percieve that the hooting and yelling is coming from the main cave entrance--the one you entered to escape the wolves yesterday. As you near the entrance, you notice the stone has been rolled back. Your first glimpse outside is painful until your eyes adjust to the blinding white snow. If you approach the entrance, you see the entire tribe of Walkers grouped around three huge piles of wood and brush. Scanning the scene, you notice that several trees have been felled. There are three piles of corpses -- wolf, walker, and human. There is very little left of the walker and human corpses -- mostly clothing and body parts. If you choose to look closely, you can see the remains of Uluia and perhaps Imbrus, which you recognize by the colors of their clothing.

Most of the wolf corpses are already partially burned.

On top of the Walker corpses, arms and legs splayed, is the corpse of the Walker who was Fenris-Wolf. It has been mutilated. If not for the fact that it is naked, you wouldn't have recognized it.

When you show your faces, the crowd quiets, and all the Walkers turn toward you.

The chieftan turns as well. He motions you over toward the group.

<Come. We must burn, now.>

Kraalkar

Kraalkar steps out of the cave, momentarily blinded by the dazzling sunlight. The exposed skin of his face tightens against the bracing cold. He steps to the side to let the others pass, and fills his lungs with fresh air. Ahh, what a beautiful day. Once his eyes adjust to the glare, he takes in the scene. The Walkers, the prepared bonfires, the bodies...and the mutilated corpse.

He recognizes this. It is time for khe'moris...or a form of it. The spirits must be...appeased...lest they linger. The ritual has always made him uncomfortable. Perhaps the Walkers have a different method of grieving their fallen. I hope so... Kraalkar composes his face into a sober mask, and turns as the chieftain approaches.

<Come. We must burn, now.>

Kraalkar nods gravely and follows him.

IC Narration:

The ice which fell from the sky last night has created a thick crust on the ground. from time to time, your boots break through the surface and into the powdery snow beneath. It is colder today than it was yesterday, by at least twenty degrees. Your eyes water as the wind blasts your faces and exposed skin.

[Zed's Dead]

The chieftan gestures toward you.

<You kill wolves. You kill Fenris and then you (he motions at Arlen) cut the magic from it. We give you sleep and food. We give you safety. We light fire now for you honor! For the People!>

Three Walker females touch torches to the three pyres. You notice that the wood is smeared with some kind of black, tarry substance. The flames lick greedily at the wood.

<Now come the time of the blame-casting!>

A great roar of approval rises from the throats of the assembled Walkers.

<Who kill us winter and winter and winter?> The chief is shouting loudly.

<FENRIS!> The Walkers respond in kind.

<Who stalk us through shadows?>

<FENRIS!>

<Who eat slow and old?>

<FENRIS!>

The voices become louder with every exchange.

<Who kill small ones in woman belly?>

<FENRIS!>

<Who bring dark on bright day?>

<FENRIS!>

The blame-casting has reached a fever pitch.

<WHO TRY AND FAIL TO KILL US ALL?>

<FENRIS!>

<WHO DEAD NOW?>

<FENRIS!>

<WHO DEAD?>

<FENRIS!>

<WHO BURRRRN NOOOOOOOOOWWWWW>

<FEEEEENNNNNRISSSSSS!>

The Walkers seem to go insane in a frenzy of destruction. The chief, who wears crude gloves, heaves the body of Fenris onto the now blazing pyre. The others claw at the corpses of the wolves and throw them into the inferno, which only climbs higher with each corpse.

The Chieftan picks up the head of fenris, which must weigh at least forty pounds, and brings it over to you.

<You who kill Fenris now burn Fenris for all to see!>

Daar begins to reach out, but she hesitates, looking around at the three of you.

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

The wind licks Kraalkar with tongues of ice. He shivers inside his furs, but not just from the cold. Outwardly, he appears a sober spectator untouched by the rising waves of emotion. He could be carved of granite, with his arms crossed, jaw set, and brows lowered, masking an inner tension from those around him. The roiling energy around and in the Walkers builds, and crests, and then breaks into an uncontrollable frenzy.

<FEEEEENNNNNRISSSSSS!>

The pungent stench of burned hair and flesh rises from the bonfire to be whipped away by the wind. Kraalkar swallows uncomfortably. How can you be so blind? The voice is no longer dry; it's almost hungry. I know you can feel it. I know you think that old woman had power, but flame? Pah! It can destroy, and there's a power in that, but to move others to your bidding... The voice shivers, a tickling sensation along Kraalkar's skin. THIS is true power, Kraalkar. The voice becomes wheedling. And I can give it to you. The power to make your clan accept you. The power to make Elenia notice you...to have her-- Silence! Kraalkar snarls, squelching the voice. You know why I will not embrace that power. And you are not to mention her again! He shoves the voice into a box and closes the lid.

<You who kill Fenris now burn Fenris for all to see!>

Kraalkar sees Daar hesitate, then steps forward himself. He grips the grisly object in both hands. Its hair is spiky with dried blood, and the cold skin is hard and waxy. Kraalkar takes two steps forward, then spins and launches the head up into the air and onto the roaring bonfire.

<Such is the fate of all who attack this clan!> he bellows.

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(1d20+13)[24] Bluff check to appear unperturbed through it all.

[Tura]

Elva

The brisk, frozen wind makes Elva hold her cloak tightly around her, but she takes deep breaths with gratitude. She plants her torch in the snow, momentarily warming her hand in what little heat it gives, and watches the ceremony solemnly, and also curiously. Burning the dead, instead of burying them properly, strikes her as a bit odd.

The sight of the head of Fenris in the chieftain's hands disappoints her. And that leaves me no excuse to enter their "holy place". I'll just have to ask. Then again, her companions had displayed an uncanny ability to get on the Walkers' good side, if occasionally with less than a truthful approach. In any case, it would have to wait for now.

<You who kill Fenris now burn Fenris for all to see!>

Elva blinks with surprise. That seemed like a significant task, one she wouldn't expect him to assign to strangers.

<This is a great honor. We thank you.>

As Kraalkar picks up the head and throws it into the fire, she watches mesmerized, as if waiting for the head to explode or start screaming. The ceremony was more powerful than she had given it credit for.