Counting Sheep
The posting by the Adventurer's Guild was rather straightforward: a sheep farmer is slowly losing his flock to unknown forces. Predators, thieves, vile sorcery? All are possible, though some more possible than others. There is no formal Guild representative for this matter (likely not paid for) and only directions to a farm and a contact person: the farmer, whose name is Skrook.
The directions are simple enough to follow as they are by way of marked roads and trails. The farm is only a half days' walk or mild ride from the city to the northwest, nestled between the deeper wilderness to the north, Mictlan to the east-northeast, and the Felwood a bit further west. The farm, as it is, is small and simple: a tiny cottage surrounded by several simple wooden pens containing sheep. An older, though not quite elderly, human sits in a rocking chair outside the cottage with an aging hound dozing nearby.
Auranar is riding a horse. This was expected by her thankfully, and thus she is wearing divided riding skirts rather than her usual fair. Expecting a trek through some mud in search of sheep, she has also put on a pair of sturdy and less fashionable boots than the ones she usually wears. Most unfortunately they are a plain brown color. Setting fashion aside, she seems to be in a good mood, a soft smile on her lips and a hopeful expression as well.
Even if things had begun on the wrong foot on her last journey for the Adventurer's guild, at least she'd been able to help.
As they approach the farm she carefully disembarks her mount in a way that suggests that perhaps riding horses is not her usual occupation, and makes her way with a wave and a pleasant greeting to the farmer. "Hello! We're here about your sheep!"
Aelwyn was walking along the road with his usual getup. He did not really understand why this was an issue the Guild was taking in on, but then again, he did not strive to - beyond the potential for coin. The sith-makar didn't really seem to grasp the concept of 'about to walk into a farm' like Auranar did, so he was left there walking mostly barelegged, dust and dirt already climbing up along his ruddy scaled thighs. Yet he did not seem to care about that either.
Freshly bought javelins jostled in a holster on the ruddy-scaled figures back, as he kept his glaive across his shoulders, letting the little ribbons of red off his weapon and horns flutter in the wind. "Farmer," Aelwyn greets, "As the red rider said."
Last time Zofi went to a farm for missing livestock, a person had gone missing and they were attacked by a burrowing ogre monster. Hopefully that would bit be the case this time.What ever happened to coyotes and wild cats?
Zofija traveled on griffon back, which made excellent time to the farm. Though she does stop to chuckle when she spots Auranar attempting to leave the saddle.
"Gods, you elves have all these years and you still don't know how to dismount a horse properly? Any hobgoblin knows how before they're tall enough to climb onto one." The arvek-nar snorts as she hops off the griffon. "Good day, yeah, we're here about some missing sheep."
GAME: Shilde casts Longstrider. Caster Level: 5 DC: 14
Shilde doesn't really do horses. Thankfully she knows a druid trick to help her keep a pace with the taller folk. Unfortunately, it doesn't keep a pace with horses and griffons. But such is life. When she and the others eventually reach the farm, she calls her ranging dog friend in close to keep him from sniffing around the farmer's property too much.. farmers tend to get nervous when that happens. And as she has been trying to do more, lately, she lets the better spoken, better looking members speak before she opens her mouth.
The farmer responds to the greeting by rising to his feet... well, foot. As he stands with the help of his curled staff, it becomes clear that he is missing his left leg at the knee. "'Lo!" he calls, stepping slowly, but competently towards. "It's about damned time!" His ire lingers only a moment before he turns apologetic.
"Sorry. Not you folk. The Pact. I've been raisin hell with them for days. They're quick to take their dues, always slow to spend 'em. Thank you for coming, one and all. I can't right afford to lose my flock. Name's Skrook." His first sight of Shilde's friend makes him wary, but he relaxes after realizing he's not something more feral.
"If you don't mind we'll have a look around sir Skrook." Auranar offers, embarrassment from Zofija's teasing making her shift from foot to foot. She takes a deep breath and settles herself, looking at the farmer and offering him a firm nod. "Shilde, do you think Rocky can track whatever has been eating his sheep?" She asks this last a little more quietly, sensitive to the fact that Rocky might be a less welcome member of their party.
Aelwyn was already looking towards the sheep pens. Actually he was standing right besides, staring at the sheep. How does one farm sheep? A city boy, through and through. The draconian narrows his orange slit pupils, staring at one sheep in particular in what seems to be contemplative suspicion. "How many sheep have been lost, Shepherd?" The Dragoon asks with a glance towards the old man.
"If you've been raisin hell with them, sounds like you don't have grape expectations to begin with." The Arvek-nar snorts at her own joke. "Ah well, we're here to help and we'll do our best to exceed them. They disappearing in the night, I expect? Do you leave them to rest in the fields, or is there a barn you're keeping them in? Helps to know if there's a building being broken into or not."
"Aye," Shilde answers Auranar after looking a little askance at Skrook before relaxing when the farmer does. She pats Rocky's neck. "Aye, well.. s'long as he doesn't get distracted by squirrels.." she amends. "I'll leave y'lot to talkin' with Skrook.." She tilts her head to the farmer, this time. "An' go take a look. An' don't worry... Rocky ain't going t'eat none've yer whoolies."
At Zofija's question, he shrugs. "You see a barn here? Love to have one, love more to have the silver to build one. They graze twice a day, with me and Terror" a nod to the hound that still viciously gaurds the spot of ground he sleeps on "watch 'em close. They're here in the pens otherwise, and at night. Found some blood, once or twice, at the fence, but I'm no pathfinder. 'Sides, not like I could chase 'em down, much less kick their asses!"
He barks out a belly laugh at his own joke... then recalls his company. He clears his throat and looks to his saviors sheepishly. "Er, sorry, Ladies. No offense meant." He's not entirely sure about Aelwyn, but hedges his bets.
"And I trust you'll keep your friend there in check. Else Terror'll make a meal out of him." If/when he wakes up, perhaps.
Auranar smiles at the man, not minding his course language at all. Adventurers after all, are courser still. Sometimes even... Well that thought is best left unfinished. She has no further questions herself, but leaving Shilde to wander around alone sounds like a bad idea to her. "I'll come with you Shilde. Just in case there's trouble." She makes then to follow the woman to where the pen is. Best to start there she figures.
GAME: Auranar rolls perception: (2)+5: 7 GAME: Shilde rolls survival+2: (14)+13+2: 29 GAME: Shilde rolls 1d20+6: (10)+6: 16 GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (17)+1: 18 GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (20)+4: 24 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+3: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL)
Aelwyn turns towards the old man. "The scales are bad for the digestion." Then he grins at his 'joke'. Probably. It's more like spreading his cheeks apart with a row of sharp teeth. His lips fall down and he turns back towards the sheep, before he begins pacing around the pen. He wasn't really geared for investigative work, but he gives the pen a look a see all the same, to see if there was anything out of place on it. Very out of place. How do sheep even work?
Eventually Aelwyn pauses in his tracks and stares down at his feet. "Blood." He calls out, then looks along the grass, before slowly walking away from the pen.
Shilde eyes 'Terror' a bit skeptically, but says nothing. No sense in antagonizing the the fellow. Especially since sometimes, particularly with animals, what you see is not always what you get. So she nods, then gestures to Auranar the welcome her along in the search. "Time t'work, Rocky," she tells her furred companion, and they set off towards the pens.
Once Rocky is 'unleashed', and after Shilde scolds him for trying to play, he sets about sniffing out the unfamiliar area while Shilde and Auranar look about. She doesn't notice right away when he finds something, but Rocky does pick up a scent. After exploring it, he barks excitedly to draw attention. When Shilde goes to investigate, she calls out, "Oi! Looks like blood 'ere," she informs, rubbing a thick finger along one of the fence trails, then scraping at it with a fingernail. "Tracks 'ere too. Looks a bit old, though. Not sure how long th'tracks'll hold."
"Dunno, maybe you had one behind the house or something." Zofi shrugs. "Best take a look around then, more ground to cover and we need to find where it happened."
Screech is much more interested in the sheep than finding where the sheep was taken. They took livestock to eat all the time, what was the problem? Zofija on the other hand, has much better luck. "Yeah, Aelwyn is right, something was attacked around here. Might be from a few times though. There's some trampled grass here, but it's still fresh. Something dragged off what I'm assuming was one of the sheep over here."
The shepherd watches the group for a time, though returns shortly to his chair. "Whatever it is, you find them, eh? Stop em. I'll add in some of the best wool this side of the Redridge, too!" Not that wool is currently at a premium given the warming change of seasons.
It's not much of a surprise to Auranar that she doesn't notice the blood initially. It's old and browned and... well it blends in with the surrounding area that it has fallen. And she certainly can't smell it like Rocky can! She hums and stays close to Shilde, trusting the other to guide them. "Let's follow it then?" She suggests a little hesitantly. They are after all here to find out what was taking the sheep.
Aelwyn was taking few steps in the direction of the trampled grass, before he turns his head and sees everybody else calling out their tracks. "Which of the tracks is the one to be followed?" The draconian asks, starting to move towards the rest of the group. Leaning his glaive onto the ground, he then muses. "Though perhaps the choice is not as important as the action to be taken." And for some reason he just starts staring at Auranar.
"Well.. " Shilde considers, then jerks her thump at the clues she and Auranar uncovered. *Bark* And Rocky. "Them's're a few days old.. but if they hold out, might still take us where we want t'go." Then there's a scowl. "Might be more'n one culprit here, too. But won't know till we look into it more. I vote we follow the ones me'n the elf found.. Rocky's got the scent, might give us an edge."
"They might all take us to the same place anyways, yeah." Zofija grunts. "Still think this spot here is a good place to start. You can see the grass hasn't sprung back up from being trampled. which means it's pretty fresh. But if you think that you can follow those tracks better, I'm no Dirk or hunter sort. I just hit things."
Auranar looks at Aelwyn, slightly uncomfortable with the attention she's getting. "Ah..." She looks at everyone. "I take it that everyone found tracks to a different place then?" She shifts slightly and seems to make a decision. "I think that we should stick with Rocky. We can come back and locate the other tracks since they're fresher later, but if we lose this one it might be gone later. Besides, he's got the scent now and that means we can follow it."
Dirk's knuckles are white around his pony's reins. Every now and again, he'll give a little hitch of his hips, thumping his heels against the animal's flanks. "Damn in, Thistle, I -told- ye not tae go munchin' on all that grass!" he growls. "C'mon, laddie, pick it -up, we're late!" The shaggy highland pony just gives a weary little snort, and continues plodding along. The old snowbeard is red-faced with angry frustration. "Arrrrgh! Dana's -teats-, I could get there faster walkin' by meself!" The pony shakes its mane, as if to say 'well then why don't you, you crotchety old bastard?' So it is, the other heroes are well into their investigation by the time the pony and its rider round the bend. Dirk swings out of the saddle, lumbering over to hitch his pony to a fencepost. "Just fer -that-, ye'll be gettin' nae carrots all soddin' week!" he growls, shaking his finger under the pony's nose. The animal responds by nosing affectionately at the dwarf.
"Oooooh!" It's all he can do to not stomp his foot in impotent fury. He pulls his thunderbelcher from its saddle holster and turns to trot over to the others. "Sorry I'm late, comrades! -Someone- decided tae stuff 'imself stupid!" He shoots a shit-eye at his pony, who returns it with a happy-sounding whinny. "Do we know where we're goin'? What we're doin'? I got plenty o' steam tae blow off, gimme summat tae shoot!"
The blood may be dried, but the scent has not been washed away of the path followed. Between Rocky's nose and Shilde's eyes, the trail remains intact enough to follow. It leads across the cleared grazing lands and into the uncleared and thickening woods beyond.
Not far from this shift in terrain, the path joins others. It may be just as Zofija casually mentioned, with at least a half-dozen other tracks combining into something of a trailhead. It is one that is well-worn, and may be a natural game trail. With the level of recent activity, it is trodden well enough that even those without keen noses, eyes, nor a sense of the wilds could readily follow it.
Auranar has to be careful of the trees and various plants trying to grow off the path which becomes easier to follow with every step. Even she can see it now and that's... both good and in her mind, somewhat concerning. After all, if it's so well traveled that might mean that there's quite a lot of whatever's been eating the sheep. She continues following it though, determined to see this through.
Shilde had a hands-on-hips, tapping foot welcome for Dirk.. before giving him a quick run-down on the situation so far. Multiple points of evidence of sheep assault and abduction. Possible points of entry. Promising trails. And with a word, Rocky is off following his nose.
As the trail becomes more defined, Shilde pace slows. At one point giving a warning to keep eyes and ears peeled.. as if any adventurer worth their salt needs that reminder. As the woods close in and visibility drops, she can't help but keep glancing upwards. As much of a friend of the trees as she is, she's also no stranger to the things that hide in the branches.
Zofija stops and takes a moment to mount the griffon slowly, clearly talking loudly to herself. "Left foot into the stirrup while holding tightly onto the pommel of the saddle with the dominant hand, hold the reins with the other hand, and swing your leg wide over the back." The state with all of the movements, not looking back at the elf before she was on the griffon who was the very embodiment of patience until they were moving off down the trail. "They've been using this area for some time." Zofija grunts when they reach the converging tracks. "Might mean we're going to find their den or other nesting site. If it's an animal, best be careful, can never be too much with wild and cornered beasts."
Aelwyn flat out stares at Dirk's arrival, then he turns his head towards the sky for a moment. He did witness that. With a roll of his shoulders he turns towards the chosen trail.
The sith-makar did not seem to be overly concerned with the change of the scenery, or even the way the several paths joined together. His glaive continued to rest against the nook of his shoulder and neck, as he followed the rest of the group. The dirt and mud clinging to his legs is now joined with fresh leaves and other foliage. "If it is only one entrance as the paths say, then it should be easy to corner them." The draconian says, "Then this issue can be resolved and the sheeps can return to..." A momentary pause as he tilts his head in though, "Sheep." Firm nod.
GAME: Dirk rolls Knowledge/Nature: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL)
Dirk hunkers down, following Rocky's wake. He sweeps his gaze over the tracks, eyes narrowed as he tries to make some sort of sense from the traces left. He shakes his head as he straightens. "I cannae make hide nor hair o' these tracks," he grumbles. "They're all jumbled up. Whatever made 'em, they're travelin' close together." He flicks his gaze around the woods, thunderbelcher held at the ready. "Keep yer eyes peeled mates. They could be anywhere," he mutters.
Yes, they could be anywhere. Anything. The forest grows more dim as all press on, between the thickening canopy of the trees and the lowering afternoon sun in the sky. After an hour or so of travel, there are signs of a clearing ahead some distance, if just by the increased illumination of sun upon grass.
GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (17)+4: 21 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+3: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Shilde rolls perception: (20)+11: 31 GAME: Auranar rolls perception: (9)+5: 14 GAME: Shilde rolls 1d20+7: (19)+7: 26 GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (15)+1: 16 GAME: Dirk rolls Perception: (8)+7: 15
"Oi. Watch yer step." The warning probably comes too late, likely on account of Shilde not thinking much of it besides a tendency to watch where her feet fall in the interests of minimizing her footprint in the wilds. She may have missed them entirely if not for Rocky pausing to sniff at one.
Auranar steps carefully on a log as they approach a clearing and she smiles in relief that some sort of destination is in sight! She quickly steps off the log and nearly twists her ankle as her foot falls into a hole of some kind. Without thinking she tries to pull it out only for the pinch of something sharp to stop her. Frowning she looks down and... There's a foot trap of some kind? A hole lined with sharp needles that are angled downward. "Ow! What?" She motions to Shilde to not get too close to her, particularly Rocky! "Watch out!"
"Oh, stop it Screech, I'll buy you another quarter of a steer when we get back to town." Zofija grumbles as she turns the reins to keep the griffon focused on the tracks, and not on the sheep that were getting steadily further and further away. "Hey, whoa there!" She grunts suddenly, pulling back and veering off and out of the way of something on the ground. "Watch out, there's something not quite with uh- yeah. You okay there?" She asks.
Aelwyn continues walking along with that self-assured, confident city stride. A steady gaze forward, a slight sway of his hips, more leaves stuck in his chest scales - and then suddenly his leg drops down a foot or two into a hole. He looks down at his leg, starts to hoist up - until he suddenly stops. More sharp needles! The draconian slowly removes the glaive off his shoulder. "Stop, stop." He calls out to the rest of the group, gently wriggling his leg to try and figure out how eager these pointy things are to penetrate.
Dirk looks over at Shilde. "Eh? What is it? Did ye--GYAH!" He pitches forward as his right foot vanishes into the ground up to the shin. He manages to plant his left foot and hand, keeping himself from faceplanting. "Oh, you sodding--" He goes to pull his foot out of the hole, but lets loose a pained yelp. "AAGH!" He goes stock-still, red-faced once again as he grits his teeth. "Foot catcher. Nobody try an' pull yer foot out, ye'll just tear yer skin tae shreds! Points are probably smeared wi' filth too!" Easing back, he pulls his handaxe off his belt and chunks it into the ground. "Try tae dig yeself free, but don't get poked by those pokers!"
"Well... sandstone 'n crumbling mortar," Shilde swears, stopping as she hears.. and sees.. several of the traps being revealed in true, dwarfish style. "Oi, Rocky.. don't move," she tells him before turning about, ignoring Auranar's warning as she starts to carefully approach and get a better look at what some of them have stepped into. "Hold still.. keep yer eyes peeled.. be a fine time t'be ambushed."
The foot traps are neither sophisticated nor machined. Upon inspection they appear as simple as a small hole lined with sharpened greenwood sticks embedded in the sides pointing inward and angled downward. They flexed upon entry, but not so at removal. Several potential options are available: careful extrication, careful removal of enough pointy sticks, brute force removal, or manual digging as Dirk suggested. All with varying pros and cons.
GAME: Auranar rolls escape artist: (9)+3: 12
"Well, it's not just animals here then, or at least, they have some manner of intelligence if there are some." Zofija grunts as she hops off her mount and investigates one of the holes. "Simple trap, but it works.”
The arvek-nar looks to the others. "spikes only go one way, they'll catch trying to pull up. Anyone got any flat metal they can wedge in the sides? If they can't be pulled up, then should be possible to pull your foot out of it."
Auranar carefully, very carefully shifts her foot in her shoe, extracting not the boot, but her foot alone from the trap. She doesn't like the idea of an ambush, but it sounds likely. Swallowing she carefully places her foot on a piece of the ground that isn't trapped. She's wearing hose under her skirt for various reasons, and it's not pleasant to get dirty and/or wet, but it's better than the foot remaining in the hole. There's a few holes and scratches in the hose for her efforts. Once it's free she keeps her eyes peeled for any signs of that _other_ trap.
Aelwyn looks around more of the party falls into the drops. Inhaling deeply, he takes heed to Dirk's warnings. After all, the fellow seemed to know what he was talking about. Sliding a hand to his dagger, he carefully looks at the spikes threatening his bared calves. "I have a small blade." The draconian calls out, and then tries to slowly and carefully push at those needles. Maybe he could push them down, snap them off, get them stuck to the side?
Aelwyn with Shilde's help slowly and steadily snaps off the sticks holding his poor feet hostage. He breathes in, nods his head towards Shilde. "A favor will be repaid." The dagger is returned to his waist and he picks up his glaive again. For some reason the sith-makar's stoic expression seems to radiate huge relief and withheld breath.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon4: (17)+4: 21 GAME: Dirk rolls Perception: (15)+7: 22 GAME: Auranar rolls perception: (3)+5: 8 GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (20)+1: 21 GAME: Shilde rolls perception: (1)+11: 12 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Shilde rolls 1d20+7: (5)+7: 12 GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (11)+4: 15 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12
A shadow falls upon the trail ahead of the group, and the sunlight on the grass is not so bright. This is due to the sizable silhouette at the end of the path. A man broader than a khazad and more than a pair of them tall now stands there. At his side is, in hand is... a tree. A smaller trunk, that is, or a major branch of one. It is roughly hewn and partially wrapped in rough deerhide.
"Welcome, brothers and sisters, to our den!" Despite carrying a very large stick, his voice is also deep and booming. His face bears ragged scars from what might have been claws, though of something large: a bear or lion, perhaps. Still, his eyes are bright and his smile is ... too wide?
For a moment, he almost appears to bear two heads... but the thing jutting from the right pauldron is not flesh. No, it is a twisted ... sculpture of something not quite determinable, fashioned from... other things not quite determinable.
"Your coming was foretold! Join us." He then steps back a stride, beckoning with the hand not bearing the tree trunk.
Dirk chunks great clods out of the earth around his shin, pulling them aside and carefully picking away each sharpened sliver as he unearths them. It's slow, but steady. That great booming voice has him pausing mid-chunk though. He looks up, eyes wide as tea saucers. Blink blink. "Och, aren't -you- a big'un?" he says. Something draws his attention away from the giant and off into the underbrush. Again his eyes get wide. "Those -your- wolves, boyo? Best you call 'em off afore they get hurt!" he growls. He resumes his efforts to get his foot free. Chunk chunk. He is a dwarf and he's digging a hole.
Shilde waves away Aelwyn's words as she steps back, brushing her hands off on her trousers as she turns... to look at.. the.. figure. Rocky is fixated, of course. He hadn't barked; instead, he emits a low, rumbling growl, his normally droopy ears stiff. The druid makes no move for her weapon, but she does carefully unlimber her shield from her pack, fiting her shield arm through its loops. "Foretold, eh?"
Auranar, like Dirk blinks at the words. She's naturally trusting but something about what he said sticks in her mind and makes her distrust him. "If you knew we were coming... Then why the traps?" She asks and then Dirk is cursing about wolves in the woods and her eyes sharpen on the man even more. "Wolves?" She feels a cool chill run down her spine and she looks around. Not actually seeing the creatures but she trusts that the others do. "I don't think we want to join you..."
Aelwyn turns to look at the figure as well. He glances around the clearing too. "Two wolves." He says quietly to the rest of the group and grasps his polearm. A large drawn breath and he turns to stare at the stranger with orange eyes, full of fire. "What kind of epic are we part of, Tree?" He asks from the large figure, "What is the next act?"
Zofija didn't seem to be needed to help the others out of the traps, so she just hops back up on her mount and keeps watch. And it was a good thing too, as what she saw caused her to blink a few times. "Would have been nice if we were foretold we were coming here, and that there would be spike traps in the path." The arvek-nar grumbles. "And if you knew we were coming, some warning would have been nice. So, to the point then. What's going on here, and what do you want?"
The rather large man's smile widens (though this does not, incidentally, make it appear any more pleasant). His hand tightens around his held log, sinew creaking... unless that is the wood. He addresses the comments from all, to all."You will be part of THE epic. The pack. What you want does not matter. What WE want, is you!"
"Harry them, brothers and sisters!" he then calls, and not to the adventurers. "Hobble them!"
"THE PACK. MUST. GRRRAWW!"
The last word is distorted as the man's visage likewise changes. The scars are covered in rapidly sprouting midnight fur and his maw elongates. Teeth lengthen and grow. This extends down his torso, leaving clawtips to dig into the grip of his weapon.
GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (19)+2: 21 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (5)+2: 7 GAME: Zofija rolls ride: (20)+11: 31
Two sets of jaws snap at Screech with some coordination. Only 'some' as one catches air rather than a leg. The other nearly connects before said leg is maneuvered away!
GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon1: (4)+4: 8
Aelwyn looks around as the creature turned into... yet another creature bellows those chilling orders. "Supporting the mount!" He calls out and snaps into action. He darts around the exposed holes with his bare feet, showing quite a bit of finesse. With a running step, the glaive is swung downwards at one of the wolves bothering Zofija... and then flat out misses. The branch on the ground is pretty dead, though.
GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+8: (5)+8: 13 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+5: (16)+5: 21 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (16): 16 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (16): 16 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d6+3: (2)+3: 5 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d4+3: (3)+3: 6 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d4+3: (4)+3: 7
"All you had to do was not fucking take livestock from the farms, and maybe not put violent traps around your territory. Now you're turning into a wolf monster in front of us." The Arvek-nar grumbles as the wolves charge at her and her mount, with a quick step to the side with a nudge of her leg in the saddle. She brings up the hammer to strike, but Screech sends it veering off course as they pounce on one of the wolves, tearing with beak and claws. All of the thought of sheep had made them awfully hungry, after all.
"Don't eat them, don't know if they're lycanthrope related." The hobgoblin warns, and the griffon drops some of the meat in their mouth with a low sound that could only be disappointment.
As large as he is (and he may be even larger now!), the lycanthrope of unusual size moves with some comparative grace as he charges for the group. In fact, for the khazad near the front. If there is the blood of giants within as his stature may suggest, the target is not coincidence. Shilde is struck by the swing of half an Auranar's worth of wood and hide.
Point of note: khazad can, in fact, fly. With assistance. Her landing in the foliage off the path, however, leaves much to be desired.
GAME: Dirk rolls Ranged: (1)+5: 6 (EPIC FAIL)
Dirk growls, chunking another clod of dirt from around his foot. This gives him enough wiggle-room that he's able to pull his foot free without shredding his boot (or the tender shin underneath it). He rises to his feet, lifting his thunderbelcher to his shoulder. "A'right, ugly, have some o' -this-!" he snarls. He pulls the trigger. CHK-FZZZZzzz... the hammer strikes, but there's no earth-shattering kaboom. Only a puff of smoke and a sizzle from the firing chamber. He gapes at the weapon, boggling for a moment. "Oh, piss up my -arse-!" he growls furiously.
GAME: Auranar casts Bless. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (14)+2: 16 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d6+1: (2)+1: 3
Magic is not a subtle thing. Yet Auranar wishes for the first time in her life that it was. Wishes that SHE were subtle. The red-clad woman watches her companion go flying and feels her stomach hit her feet. "Eluna save us." That man... that _thing_- She moves her hands, spreading the blessing over her allies and stepping behind a tree at the same time. "Just let us live through this."
Now the pair of wolves to the group's left move in, though not as a team. One moves up (from the other side of that tree) to snap at Auranar while the other darts to bite at Dirk. Auranar is just caught by a nip, but her stocking tears as it tries to pull her off her feet. Good for her, bad for wardrobe. The chomps upon Dirk skip off of his armor.
One of one pair is no more, leaving a lone wolf to their right. It snaps at Aelwyn (because screech is scary!) but catches not even one of his ribbons.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon1: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+8: (6)+8: 14 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+5: (11)+5: 16 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (3): 3 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (5): 5
Aelwyn watches his prey getting swooped up and torn to not-so-happy place. His attention is drawn just in time to nimbly dodge the second wolf's attack, with the Dragoon leaning hard onto his polearm on the ground and swing himself around. He was about to reciprocate to the gesture with a swing of his sword - but the glaive was stuck on the ground, and all that effort and momentum just makes him fall flat back against the polearm. "Nnh!" The sith-makar hisses, swallowing all the variety of curses that were coursing through his mind right now.
GAME: Zofija rolls 2d6+4: (6)+4: 10 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d6+3: (2)+3: 5 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d10+6: (8)+6: 14
The remaining wolf near the cavalier doesn't attack them had their attention away just enough for the griffon to pounce again. the beak bites down hard on one of the wolves shoulders, and the arvek-nar uses the opening to smash the beast with their hammer, before it is dropped.
The LOUS turns from having bashed Shilde to watch a packmate fall. Another one. With a howl of rage, he rushes to Zofija and clubs her about the torso with the hide-wrapped trunk. It is not a bloodying strike, but it still... stings.
GAME: Dirk rolls Craft/Gunsmithing: (17)+6: 23
Dirk breaks the action on his rifle, spitting the ruined shell out of the breech. He eyes those wolves warily as he scrabbles around in his hip satchel, bringing out a length of brush-wire. "Gack!" He skips back as one of the wolves snaps at him, putting some distance between himself and the lupine. With brisk precision, he cleans out the fouled firing chamber, hurriedly lifting the weapon and blowing through it with a low FOOMF. He stuffs his cleaning tool back into his hip satchel and fumbles around for a fresh shot. "Just you wait boyo," he growls angrily. "I only have tae hit ye -once-!"
GAME: Auranar casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (3)+2: 5 GAME: Dire Wolf rolls 1d20+2: (2)+2: 4
Auranar finds herself hunted by a wolf. The creature snaps and bites at her, tearing her clothes and scratching at her. The wild elf yelps and leaps backwards, snapping her arms up defensively and casting a spell that she has taught herself by wrote. A sheild of magic pours warmly over her form, ready to protect her from the harm that this wild wolf might try to do.
The number of lupines is dwindling faster than disappearing sheep. Their agility seems to be worsening, as well, as snapping jaws fail to catch either Auranar or Dirk. The tide seems to be distinctly turning.
One member of the group still lies in a pile of sticks and grass. Down, but perhaps not permanently and not forgotten. Merely that others might have been distracted by more urgent matters such as wolf in face. Aelwyn now does not have that issue with the two on the right being no more, thus he moves to check on the fallen (with style!) Shilde and work to tend and/or rouse her.
GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+8+1-1: (20)+8+1+-1: 28 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+8+1-1: (14)+8+1+-1: 22 GAME: Zofija rolls 6d6+9+9+9: (23)+9+9+9: 50 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (8): 8 GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20: (14): 14 GAME: Zofija rolls ride: (13)+11: 24
Zofija had the wind knocked out of her from the giant tree trunk that was smashed into them hard, and it was all that they could do to stay in the saddle for the moment. The arvek-nar grunts and rights herself, staring up at the wolf-man creature and snarling. "That all you got, big guy?" The arvek-nar grunts. "You'll have to do better than that. And you aren't going anywhere."
The griffon leapt up to restrain the wolf-creature, and the cavalier braced to rise as much as she could while remaining in the saddle. The hammer was brought up, and swung in a hard horizontal arc. Though instead of snapping the head to one side, it leaves a deformed caved in area of their head before the griffon lets go, and the arvek-nar falls back into the saddle.
Following the crunch of bone and other unpleasant and ...wet sounds, the lycanthrope remains standing, though its arms drop to its side and the tree-club falls from its grip. There are new, quieter sounds of grinding and/or crunching and some (certainly Zofija) can see the divot ...moving. Bone, flesh and muscle attempting to rapidly repair themselves.
For a heartbeat.
Then the figure crumples to its knees, as some parts are too vital to be deprived of, even for a moment. Such as organs contained in one's skull. It then falls face first into the dirt at Screech's feet, the fangs and fur now gone. Still a large body, but an otherwise normal one.
The remaining wolves seem aware of this as their growling ceases, and then they both turn to flee back into the woods.
The wolves take off and Auranar hesitantly looks around the tree she was hiding behind. The other wolf is fleeing also, and the wild elf edges toward the fallen body of their leader. "Poor thing." She murmurs the words quietly as she looks at the creature on the ground and does everything she can not to look at its mangled head. Instead she finds the statue that is on it's shoulder and picks it up. "If... If you guys don't mind. I'd like to keep this. A friend of mine is collecting them." She holds the statue delicately.
Dirk hurriedly fumbles another round out of his hip satchel, slaps it in place, and snaps his rifle shut. He racks the slide with a mighty CHK-CHAK, bringing it up to his shoulder to fire. Just in time for the giant to topple to the ground at his feet. "Beards o' me fathers!" he gasps, eyes wide. He gingerly tiptoes forward, reaching out to poke the fallen lycan's shoulder with the barrel of his thunderbelcher. "Is it -dead-?"
"Oi, my head," Shilde groans, pushing herself up into a sitting position against the trunk of the tree she fell at. Her shoulder seems to be at an awkward angle, and she winces when she tries to move it.. despite this, she waves off Aelywn's further efforts. "M'fine, m'fine," she keeps saying.
Rocky, not quite as ready to let the wolves go.. or maybe just wanting to make sure they keep leaving for a while. His barks and snarls can be heard fading slightly as he chases them off.
Zofija grunts and looks down at the fallen giant, for a good long time, keeping her hammer ready in case it did manage to repair the damage. "Can't say I wanted to do that, but yeah, think they're dead. And I don't want to leave what I'm assuming was a werewolf around to kill people."
"And those wolves were working with them. I'm not sure if you have any druidic rituals for the fallen Shilde, if you want to do anything or if you're feeling up to it, but if you want, I can spend some time clearing out these traps so no one is going to fall into them again.”
GAME: Shilde rolls knowledge/nature: (15)+9: 24 GAME: Dirk rolls Knowledge/Nature: (7)+6: 13
Shilde grunts again, pressing her eyes close as she reaches.. fumbles a little bit... for a hold on the tree behind her. Then she pushes herself all the way to her feet. She sways a bit, but manages to keep herself upright. Then she opens her eyes again. Her eyes shift around a little bit as her vision swims.. then they settle down upon the body. And the dead wolves. "Eh?" Yeah, the short lived existence as a flying dwarf has apparently left Shilde a 'changed' woman. "Ah. Right then." She stomps over to the wolves where they lay, then begins a slow process of waving her hands around, pulling a sprig of mistle-toe from her pouch as she mutters what could only be druidic words.
The wild elf puts the state away and looks around. "Yes, finding and destroying the traps would be a good idea. I would rather not fall in one bare-footed." Auranar shudders and then quickly looks around the group. "Is anyone in need of healing? I can provide a little."
Dirk frowns dourly, tugging at his beard. "Summat don't add up," he says. "They'd be needin' more'n just one sheep tae feed an entire pack. But... that herder was the only one who's reported missin' livestock?" He looks up and around. "So where're they gettin' the -rest- o' their eats from, eh?"
Shilde finishes her low chanting, tucking away her mistle-toe.. then looks side-eyed at everyone else really quickly. Satisfied, she steps away, rubbing the back of her head. "Aye, Dirk's the right've it," she says. "T'weren't normal fer wolves. Thing is.. one each night.. 'n the way he said t'was fortold? Thinkin' it might've been on purpose. T'lure folks out. Turn'em. Whole thing was a trap, by my reckonin'." Of course, she might just be jumping to conclusions. "Normal wolves'd be killin' an' gorgin'. A bunch at once, then layin' low."
Auranar wraps her arms around herself. Crossing them over her chest and her brow furrowed. "Good questions one and all. I think it has something to do with the werewolf, and with what's been going on in Alexandria with them of late. I've heard things but... This is the first time I've seen the werewolves for myself. They seem to be trying to infect the populace. This whole town might be infested with werewolves and they don't even know it. We should tell the temple of Eluna when we get back." She nods to herself.
Zofija grunts and pulls the large pack from the Griffon, and she spends a minute pulling several levers and latches that whir around until the main compartment opens, and she pulls out several things until she can remove the parts of the shovel from within. With this she gets to work on digging out around the traps. "Yeah, you don't hunt with these kinds of traps. They're either to keep people out, or keep people restrained long enough to deal with them." The Arvek-nar muses as she digs. "Hopefully the guy at the farm isn't in on this, but I doubt it. Could just be using him without him knowing."
Dirk shakes his head, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and planting his other hand on his hip. "Ye don't suppose that herder is in on it, do ye?" he asks. "I'd hate tae think that was true, but... och, I'm seein' werewolves in every shadow these days."
Shilde can only shrugs, then grunts a little bit. She doesn't seem concerned that Rocky hasn't returned yet, instead shuffling over to a fallen log to drop her posterior upon it. "Might be. Could try sniffin' him out. Poke 'im with somethin' silver, maybe? Maybe follow some've those other trails joinin' on t'this one. Might.. might be this one wasn't alone, for sure."
"Hard to say really, best course of action is to talk to them I suppose." Zofija shrugs. "Not sure where all the other tracks are leading, yeah. Maybe there's not sheep disappearing, but the tracks could be linked to other happenings. And tricked or not, if we assume they did not do so, we should at least let that man know that while the bulk of the problem is dealt with, there may still be wolves remaining to harry his livestock."
The traps are readily removed, whether dug out or simply filled in. The return to the shepherd Skrook is both quick and uneventful, reached before dusk truly sets in. Skrook is content to know that the threat to his sheep is ended. Wolves would not surprise him. Talk of more would disturb him. He gifts each with a bale of wool, if they wish (and can take it back with them). The flock is safe.
-End