The Red Hand of Doom (3.5)

[A.A.King]

"Personally I'm not a big fan of leaving Uno, Deux and the rest of the caravan behind but they would seriously limit our mobility which we can't do on this mission." He then heard Libby chime in "No, no, no. You're not getting out of this that easily. You're coming with us Libby! I need you to keep an eye out on the rest of the troupe, can't do that all by myself."

[ShedShadow]

"If he's not too busy cussing us out and laughing.."

[danielxcutter]

The greywarden chuckled. "You don't get to criticize someone for cussing, Aiden. Anyways, the forest trails would probably have less raiding parties I suppose, but there'd be less room to move around and there's a lot of us."

[A.A.King]

"Alright everyone, tomorrow we'll have to be ready for potential hobgoblin ambushes so I want everyone to get some sleep. I don't want us to get surrounded again just because of a lack of sleep!"

[danielxcutter]

Arendi yawned. "Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Good night guys."

[Dimers]

"Good night and good morrow." Diana bows slightly before Arendi heads away. She seems restless, herself, as she often does after a big show. Performing doesn't come easy to her yet.

[Aracor]

You're telling me that not only are we off to earn income in a way that DOESN'T involve me being oiled up, and I even get to sleep in? Wow, I didn't realize it was my name day. Good night, everyone!

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 3 of 6

They had set off at noon. Across the river Talar, and then north, following a dusty road not dissimilar from the one they'd entered town upon. But no more than a mile outside town, the dusty road all but disappeared, and the Circus, minus most of its pack animals, entered into the southernmost edge of Shaareach Forest.

The woodcutters' trail could hardly be called that. Whether a joke, a euphemism, or a product of wildlife constantly fighting back against the incursion of men, the trail amounted to a narrow dirt path on the floor of the forest, easily-lost ... unless you happened to have a drow scouting ahead and subtly marking out directions to those following in his wake. The wisdom of not bringing the bigger animals on the trail was immediately apparent.

Aidan had mentioned the weird feeling that had dropped over him as he'd first entered the Forest via the Dawn Way, and he wasn't surprised to have that feeling return. Indeed all of the others had the same sense that there was something at work within the Forest. Even more disturbing was that they were feeling it in different ways. Alastor had a mild surge of stage fright that he couldn't place. Vokon could not shake the feeling that the ground in front and behind of them was riddled with swampy quicksand, ready to drop them into darknesses unseen. Diana had the completely unfounded impression that something was moving below the scales of her dragonborn skin. Aerilaya was positive she heard something chuckle ... the same chuckle she'd heard in her head during the fight with the hobgoblins. And Arendi, the cleric of Kelemvor, could not shake the feeling that there were graves all around them, and that said graves were unquiet.

Even the Forest appeared to have been poorly named now they were in the literal thick of it. This was quite clearly a jungle, or at best some of the wildest rainforest that any of them had ever seen. The wild cacophony of life, birds, shrieking monkeys, creeling frogs, and a hundred other creatures, was all around them. The noises resounded through air as thick, moist, and hot as steaming broth. Diana's invocation kept any of them from exuding a single drop of sweat, of course, but the sensation was still true. There had to be a hundred different species of plants out here, in a hundred more colours, and even within a species there was variation. Mushrooms towered; Diana caught sight of a miniature oak, standing in a single ray of light from above. The closed-canopy of the jungle, hundreds of feet above, turned the ground below into a perpetual twilight otherwise, and the earth under their feet was a damp, rich black reeking of compost that only centuries of deadfall and mulch could produce. And then there were the bugs. Nothing lethal, nothing poisonous, but they mercilessly harried anyone without the scales of a dragon or dark, cold skin from the Underdark which seemed to puzzle insectile predators of that size.

Indeed the perpetual twilight, Aidan was surprised to realise, wasn't that much different from some of the more lighted sections of the Underdark. It was hot, yes, but he was not inconvenienced by that; and the dazzling sunlight was shielded by the efficient tent of the forest canopy. He stole from treetrunk to treetrunk, plying the shadows, casting the odd pebble in one direction or another, stopping now and then to scratch the symbol of an arrow onto the trunk of a tree, in the path he judged his companions would be coming down. The noise of the jungle most efficiently covered his movements. After a while all the bird calls and grunts became a sort of background noise.

So when he heard the undead, it stood out from the surrounding sounds clearly.

Aidan had reached the bole of a mangrove that was titanic in size and dimension, a good twenty foot diameter at the trunk. The undead was standing in the middle of where he perceived the path was taking the party. It evidently had not seen or heard him. It did not appear to be waiting for anyone; quite the contrary, it seemed to be uncertain of a direction, taking a slow step in one direction, then two steps in another, and then back again.

It appeared to be a badly decayed corpse, still standing. Large clumps of wet leaves stuck to it and tendrils of green undergrowth tangled among the locks of its remaining wisps of hair. The stink of it was enough to detect from forty feet away, as this one was.

But it was the undead's sounds that had alerted Aidan, and which now focused his interest. Aidan could not remember any skeleton or simple zombie which had vocalised clear words, and certainly not words in Common. That said, the undead's words did not have much variety to them. It kept repeating two words over and over: "Jarrett Nurth. Jarrett Nurth. Jarrett Nurth."

Aidan hadn't exactly been all over the world, but he had enough familiarity with Common and its little dialects and argots in this part of said world to know the decaying corpse was repeating a name. Over and over. But he had never heard of any undead creature that behaved like this, or at least no zombie or skeletal guardian that did this.

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 3 of 6

Signalled by Aidan that there was trouble ahead, the Circus readied weapons, cautiously shifting into a defensive formation as they padded up the trail. Being uncertain of the creature's precise location, it took them a few minutes, heat building around them, birds singing in the trees like a choir of dirges, bugs stinging at their faces. Only one creature - but of what manner? What kind? And why there? Aidan had already signalled that he would keep moving, and by the fact there was no agonised noise of pain, he'd apparently succeeded in fading away into the jungle shadows again.

They heard it before they saw it. The undead's voice was strangely deep and rumbling despite the deterioration of its throat. The same words, over and over every few seconds: "Jarrett Nurth. Jarrett Nurth. Jarrett Nurth."

Moving even more cautiously, they edged up past two towering tree trunks, and finally could see it. It was still stepping uncertainly in much the same spot as it had been, and at least at this moment didn't seem to have noticed the party, its head turned away. Green undergrowth tangled in its locks, bits of green ferns in its--

Spoiler: K (Religion) or INT DC 15, Arendi and Diana automatically succeed on this info

Show

It was the deepness of the voice that finally triggered the memories of the dragonborn and the death cleric. This undead creature was a Bracken Corpse, the reanimated remains of a murder victim hidden or dumped in the wilderness by their killer. It was a comparatively rare state of undeath that sometimes befell the less cruel of Loviatar's followers when killed, by whim of the goddess. It could also take place when a death in great anguish occurred in a strong field of arcane energy. It was most like a skeleton or zombie, with the main difference that there remained enough of a spark of intellect for the Bracken Corpse to keep repeating the name of its murderer.

Spoiler: K (Religion) or INT DC 20

Show

A Bracken Corpse could be asked questions and would answer with basic, monosyllabic responses about its killer and its death. This would not, however, prevent the Bracken Corpse from attacking an enemy that most resembled its killer - not that a strong resemblance was required.

Spoiler: K (Religion) or INT DC 25

Show

Bracken Corpses had no knowledge outside the circumstances of their death and their killer’s appearance at that time. Questions about these subjects wouldn't result in any response other than ‘Irrelevant.’. A Bracken Corpse had an aura of uneasiness they projected as well, and could also inflict Slimy Doom disease by its touch, albeit it was generally only creatures of poor constitution that tended to fall victim to that disease.

--the creature was slowly turning in their direction. The Circus had to decide quickly what it was going to do.

[Dimers]

Diana stepped forward to where the creature would see her if it turned around, making a quick "stay back" motion to the party with one hand. In a clear voice, she called out, "Who is Jarrett Nurth? Where is Jarrett Nurth?"

Spoiler: mechanics

Show

Readying an action to blast if the critter takes any action more aggressive than turning around and answering.

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 3 of 6

The Bracken Corpse turned towards Diana as if it had been yanked around. Rotting eyes twisted horribly in their sockets and fixed on the dragonborn. It was in a position such that it could only see her, and not her companions. It tilted its head at her questions. There was a momentary pause in the stream of repeated words.

Then the deep voice spoke again. Two phrases, a few seconds apart, in clear, discernible Common. A blackened tooth tumbled from the creature's lips as they parted and closed.

"Storekeeper. Not here."

The undead took a couple of steps toward Diana.

[danielxcutter]

Arendi took his hand off Reason and approached as well. "Who were you? What happened?"

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


Complication Dice: 3 of 6

The Bracken Corpse took a couple of steps back. Perhaps it was related to the holy symbol hanging from Arendi's neck; perhaps it was mere random movement.

"Ir-rel-evant. In woods. Night of Selune Weeping. Joined with Jarrett Nurth in clearing. Afterward. Throat cut. Dagger. While lay with sweat going cold on skin."

Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginalia

Show

A Night of Selune Weeping was an archaic way of speaking of a full moon; typically, when the moon of Selune was full, the small celestial bodies trailing it, called the Tears of Selune, would glow and twinkle as if afire.

[danielxcutter]

"Do you remember... why? the greywarden asked softly.

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic


Complication Dice: 3 of 6

"Irrelevant," the creature replied. It now took a few steps towards Arendi...

[danielxcutter]

Arendi sighed. "I see. I'm sorry - "

The greywarden drew Reason with a flick of his wrist.

"- but I do promise that whoever killed you gets what they deserve."

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 3 of 6

The Bracken Corpse's minimal intelligence seemed to flicker at the combination of Arendi's words and the drawing of his weapon. The creature's misshapen, rotting face twisted in sudden ferocity, and with a wordless shriek like some anguished animal, it came sprinting at them. Decaying hands with sharpened bone fingers rose towards them--

A roar of flame enveloped it from Diana, clean heat crashing through the cloying humidity. The corpse burned, sending a gods-awful smell through the clearing. Its shriek raised in pitch, up through the register to a nails-down-chalkboard height, as it staggered--

Reason punched into its chest like a scalpel, and Arendi ripped the blade upward, twisting it in precisely the way they had taught him to take decaying undead on the training grounds. Not only did the blade come out at the creature's neck, but so did the corpse's head from its shoulders, and the decapitated form collapsed, the foul power fuelling its existence dissipating in an instant.

Spoiler: The Chronicler's Marginala

Show

200 XP each to you guys.

I did a couple of rolls. :)

[danielxcutter]

Arendi brushed the remains off of Reason on one of the large leaves growing on the sides of a trail and sheathed the blade, shaking his head. "May Kelemvor send you to your rightful place."

[Deadguy]

Aerilaya Ralothyra Sheet Human Paragon (3) / Swordsage (2) Player: Deadguy

Aerilaya stifled a gag at the appearance of the rotting body. It wasn't that the sight turned her stomach, but the smell! She had picked up on the smell nearly as soon as the draw had sent the signal. She kept her distance and reached to her back, drawing a bit of tobacco to hold to her nose in an attempt to override the stench until they were clear.

"An interesting distraction, but a distraction none the less. We weren't paid to solve some murder mystery..." Aerilaya seemed in a foul mood. Between the heat and the bugs, this was not fun. She'd much rather be back at the inn, soaking in a bath with a glass of wine.

Maybe the showman's life isn't so bad...

Spoiler: OOC: Checks

Show

Active Effects
Hunter's Sense (scent)

[Aracor]

Well, that was fun. It's probably worth noting and possibly mentioning when we get back to town, but for now, it's probably more important to continue on. We still need to find our guide, and hopefully the keep.

[danielxcutter]

"...Just let me see if this person had anything left to bring back." said the greywarden. "It shouldn’t take too long."

[Saintheart]

A Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Forest, Cannath Vale
Sometime around four bells, the Eighth of Mirtul
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 3 of 6

The remains of the corpse didn't produce much that was terribly identifiable. Arendi was about as thorough as most mortal men could be in the circumstances. Aside from the formal work and education at the monastery, the teachings had also included a reasonable degree of desensitisation to the revulsive reflex that normally accompanied dealing with mortal remains; it was, after all, an occupational hazard for clerics of a death god. The very rough, experiental knowledge he'd garnered over the years led him to conclude (without much accuracy) that the body could have been out in the jungle for several months; insects and predators (as was somewhat common) had been restrained from eating anything by virtue of the strangeness that typically accompanied an undead form, but heat, and more importantly, moisture, ravaged a corpse harder in this sort of environment. So there didn't seem to be any distinctive items of clothing.

There was, however, a hint of what might have been a tattoo on what remained of the left forearm: a blue raptor of some kind. And on the same limb, on the upper arm, a bronze armband (cheap, likely worthless) which had the image of a cobra inscribed into it. The armband was easily recoverable.

There did not seem to be much else that could be done here, and certainly nothing else to be recovered from the corpse.


----

A Clearing Along the Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Foret, Cannath Vale
Close to sunset, the Eighth of Mirtual
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 4 of 6

The day was well and truly going down. Four hours they'd been at it since dealing with the Bracken Corpse. The bird calls were fading and the calls of frogs and crickets rose in volume. Underneath the canopy, the light was getting close to the point where likely darkvision would begin to shift into effect. The Circus certainly would have tough going if it wanted to even try following a trail in this menagerie in the dark. That said, the trail was now roughly keeping within earshot of a slow, lazy stream which occasionally glimmered when they saw it off to the north of the path. That most likely would be the eastern arm of the somewhat-ineptly named 'Swift Creek.'

About a hundred feet ahead, the canopy opened a little, and there lay a small cabin in a deep jungle clearing. A ramshackle front porch was littered with fishing baskets and skinning frames. The cabin overlooked a dark bayou or lake, with old gray cedar-trees draped in moss rising out of the water. An old skiff was tied up on the shore nearby, and a little smoke curled from the fieldstone chimney.

Aidan stepped out from the shadows of the nearest tree. He briefly explained that he'd done a quick circuit of the place and gone in closer while waiting for the Circus to catch up. The first thing was that the distance they'd travelled seemed to roughly fit the idea that this was Jorr Natherson's home. Secondly, the cabin itself was on clear ground, a good fifty feet out from the nearest bushes, although shadows of great white eucalpytus over the clearing meant there was still a decent amount of sunlight during the day that could reach it. Aidan also indicated for the Circus to look a little closer at the cabin porch: three big hunting hounds -- easily the size of riding dogs -- lay under the shelter of the porch, clearly asleep, two of them comically lying with their feet sticking up in the air in that way dogs sometimes did. One of them yawned, rolled over, and then went back to sleep. Hard to say whether their sleep made them unaware of the Circus, but Aidan had the feeling they'd not be seen or heard even if they trod right up the wooden step onto the porch and knocked on the door.

Such breeze as there was shifted, and the Circus heard it: faintly, from within the cabin, a human male's voice, singing tunelessly.

Tunelessly meaning ear-bleedingly off-key. Vokon had heard more melody out of shadowcats in heat.

[danielxcutter]

Under his helm, Arendi grimaced. "What the Baator is that? It makes allip gibberish sound like a lullaby."

[Dimers]

"Hey, it doesn't sound as bad as the bracken corpse's screech," Diana opined. "Before we go in ... who's doing the talking?" She glanced down at Alastor, wondering whether the flamboyant and slightly deluded ringleader would present himself as ideal for the task.

Spoiler: mechanics

Show

Switching to social-skills aura.

[danielxcutter]

The greywarden shuddered. "Ever heard allip gibberish?"

[A.A.King]

"I should probably do the talking. The guy owns dogs, we'll have thins in common" Alastor said as he petted Pogo "Though lets hope he doesn't want to join our ranks, even I wouldn't be able to sell that as a good performance to our audiances..."

[Aracor]

I don't know, there is a certain...rhythm to it, Vokon said while grimacing.

But yes, let's let Alastor speak for us initially. Hopefully this is the man we seek.

[A.A.King]

Alastor approached the house, walking next to Pogo rather than riding him so that he could send him away in case the other dogs got territorial.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Not sure how the word this in a story format but if Alastor gets the feeling that the dogs might get dangerous as he approaches them he'll spend a minute using his Wild Empathy ability to hopefully calm them down so that he can approach the door.

If he succesfully keeps them calm (or if they don't need to be kept calm) and he reaches the house he'll speak up in his usual loud voice "Greetings, would this be the home of a mister Jorr Natherson?"

[Saintheart]

A Clearing Along the Cutter's Trail
Shaareach Foret, Cannath Vale
Close to sunset, the Eighth of Mirtual
1372 DR, Year of Wild Magic

Complication Dice: 4 of 6

The dogs under the porch came scrambling out as Alastor and Pogo approached across the soft green grass of the clearing. Loud snarls and barking filled the air and Pogo's hackles went up instantly. But the hunting dogs had barely gotten more than ten feet away from the porch when a shuttered window on the cabin's front was pushed opened by a thick, heavy hand. The air split with a sudden, high whistle, and then the shutter fell closed again. The dogs immediately dipped their heads, trotting back to the porch, where they sat obediently on the short grass.

The cabin door groaned open. The man who took a step out onto the porch was a lean woodsman of indeterminate age, somewhere between sixty and six hundred or so. He had a seamed, leathery look to his face and arms, and a big curved knife sitting in a sheath strapped to one thigh. The thick, heavy hands held a yew longbow, the shaft nocked to its string pointing to the ground.

Spoiler: The Chronicler's Sketch

Show

"The **** is this?" the man said. His voice rattled with age. "Get off my lawn."

[danielxcutter]

"Uhhh..." Arendi looked at the ringmaster. "So that's the guy we're looking for, right?"