Norwick's envoys and the goblins of the West Rawlins
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"Ooohh.. ja! That must be it, slippi rocks! Ridge had not fallen down in this vay vhen I last saw place, so no vonder I did not think of it."
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Dwin looks from Raghnild to the landslide and back again, pointing at the rocks.
Slippy rocks?
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Upon arrival at the sacred circle, Ragnhild grows very quiet, almost distant, seemingly lost in memories as she walks slowly around the circle. Touching a hand to one of the pillars, she stops, bright tears welling in her blue eyes, spilling openly down her cheeks. Her voice is hoarse when she finally finds it, emotions clearly overwhelming the warrioress in this place.
"Here is vhere stand on my wedding day, all those years ago… there Grahk sit, on stone that now kan hardly be seen. Shamans and warrjors line circle, frends watching.. Zoma put to test after test for marry chieftain's daughter. Fighting bear in nothing but wedding suit, bearing weight of boulder, hang from meat hooks and even fight Grahk himself for my hand."
Ragnhild's strong, calloused fingers caress the fine golden bracers circling her wrists, tracing the twirling pattern of the golden wire and the outline of the various precious stones set in it as she speaks.
"My test then vhas to not interfere, to stand still and not help, even vhen think Zoma need me, or vould die infront of my eyes… it maybe the hardest thing I ever had to do. That vhas for chieftain's daughter.. for chieftain to become self, I know not the proper rituals."
Her eyes slowly focus back to the present, tears drying as she looks around the circle anew, noting all the changes with a look of growing concern.
"I see now vhat Sqee mean by old ways fading, this place have not seen use in manni years, from looks of it. I vill clear some weeds, if rest of you take look around for things to compare vith map. No slip on rocks near ridge there, looks like landslide risk.. "
With that slightly maternal warning, Ragnhild sets about clearing weeds, grasses and brambles from the circle and the stone south of it, working tirelessly to bring back a semblance of the sacred place's old order.
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After several days travel the party arrives at the Sacred Goblin Circle. Little seems the same, though the four pillars still stand stoically near the shore they are now covered in vine which are now just beginning to bloom with small red flowers filling the air with a sweet coying smell. The circle in the middle of the stones is no longer cleared of weeds. Brambles and long grasses cover the area almost completely obscuring the block of stone that Grahk once sat upon to the south of the circle. Where once a sense of sanctity once was now just a feeling of ruins persist. The river seems as it was to the east and the ridge to the west has partially fallen down in a small landslide.
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_The dwarf peers at the group, curious at their sudden excitement. His furrowed brow quickly turns into an "oh shite!" look as the Cat Lady points in his direction.
Looking for cover and scrambling to get out of the area quietly, the dwarf quickly makes his way perpendicular to where she was pointing, making sure he is downwind.
Once a better spot is found he quietly pants out dwarven insults as he opens a bottle of ale to settle himself down._
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Tindra perks up at hearing her name. Unfortunately, Ragnhild had to repeat her question about rivers with ridges nearby; Tindra was simply too distracted with her own thoughts about what could be following the group.
"Rivers and ridges? Actually, I think I know of only a few places that would fit that description." Tindra pauses to think as she looks around and gets her bearings. "The closest should be out in this direction," she says while pointing the way.
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(( You just gave Tindra enough info to narrow it down actually.))
::Listening to Rag's description, it comes to Tindra's mind that there are only a few areas in the woods where not only a river is nearby but also some sort of ridge or hill::
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Stomping ahead once more, a low muttering can be heard from Ragnhild, as if she's thinking out loud:
"Almost twenty years ago.. not really pay attention to path then.. amazed we manage find vay home, considering Zoma kould get lost in own back pocket.. vhas large clearing, deep in forrest.. I think vater close.. heard it.. ja, river to one side.. and hill on other.. or ridge perhaps…"
She grinds to a sudden halt, turning sharp blue eyes on Tindra.
"How manni rivers in Rawlins woods, Tindra? Am pretti sure there vhas one close, maybe that kan nudge us in right direction?"
//thankya Salsa, and if you think Ragnhild should remember the general direction of the circle - south/west/east, just roughly - help me out, because her player does not remember mention of such at all.
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((You did leave on your own accord…..One thing of note about the circle, it had a river to one side and a ridge on the other. ))
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Ragnhild on her part, never the most attentive of people, kept a quick and steady pace until it dawned on her that the stubby-legged dwarves were lagging behind. Stopping with a small grunt of frustration, the tall barbarian woman turned around, waiting for the others with thinly conceiled impatience, leg muscles all but twitching. When the group is once more complete, she comments:
"Grrr, this be making me tear hair out soon. I am -sure- am meant to go to ritual circle, but how to get there, how!? Stupid map.. we kan tri stream that Dwin suggest next, but how vill we know we find the right slippi rocks? Vhat be nearest symbol to that one again?"
//Salsa, I seem to recall the entire wedding party was brought to the ritual area blindfolded, am I right, or am I just filling in the blanks of my less than perfect memory with my own ideas here?
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Belin and Dwin's little argument and leaving something behind should have seemed odd to Tindra, if she was paying attention. The sorceress focused her attention to her surroundings, and mostly ignored what was going on with the others. She knew something was watching them, and her instincts told her it would follow them. She always trusted her instincts.
She wouldn't admit it, but part of her was bothered by how she lost the scent's location. Good old feline pride…
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_The goblin opened his eyes, blinking slowly to get his bearings. The creaking sound of the rope kept a steady tempo as his head started to clear and he realized the forest around him was upside down.
His breath quickened as the the relaxation that unconsciousness had brought left at the sight of the dwarf who was checking a red hot smithing tool inside a circle of glowing red coals.
The goblin struggled a bit, but quickly realized there was no escape from his situation. His grunts and movement, alerted the dwarf that his prey was awake._
"Yeh are goin teh tell me what me wants teh know. Now, what be 'slippy rocks'?"
_The dwarf pulled the gag off the goblin at this moment, and at the same time the greenskin fearing for his life, began to scream. This only elicited a chuckle from the dwarf.
The goblin began speaking quickly, but in his own tongue. The dwarf's eyes narrowed and he moved swiftly to the fire, removing the red hot metal. Showing the upside down goblin the red glowing tip he narrowed his eyes._
"Maybe dis will remind yeh how teh speak common…. Like me heard yeh speakin in deh forest!"
Walking behind the goblin, the dwarf picked up an icicle.
"Deh sheer heat of dis poker will kill all deh nerves in yeh skin… Yeh will hardly feel any pain.. But when yeh will try teh walk, deh uselessness of yeh legs will let yeh know deh damage was done... Now.. Slippy Rocks... Wut does it mean?"
With this last statement, the dwarf held the cold ice to the goblin's back while holding the red hot one against some deer meat lying on the ground behind the goblin. The sizzle of the burning pelt and meat, and the awful smell of burning hair permeated the goblin's senses. To the skin something ice cold feels the same as the red hot. But this was not information the goblin possessed.
"Ayyyeeeeeeee! Me no know! Me no know! NO FIRE!! NO FIRE!!! Me no know! Slippy Rocks! Wet Rocks! Snow Rocks! NO SURE! NO KNOWS!"
_This went on for a few minutes, the icicle being touched to his back when a question was asked. The goblin screaming in assumed pain at the thought of his being burned, the smell of the burning deer adding to his panic.
Having gleaned little information the dwarf was ready to keep tracking the rag tag party. The goblin had provided little as far as an answer, but it did make some sense as to what it could mean as far as a goblin map marker._
"Open yeh mouth…. WIDE!"
_The dwarf's glare made it clear this was not a request to refuse. The goblin slowly opened his mouth, stammering for his life as the dwarf eyed him. Then without warning the icicle was rammed in his mouth as the dwarf held aloft the red hot metal.
The dwarf quickly moved to the tree and in one swift motion cut the rope holding the goblin in the air._
"Help yehself to the deer meat. It be quite gud when cooked dis way. Sear deh juiced inside."
_With that the dwarf picked up his pack leaving the goblin feeling around his back for the burn marks that were not there. Relieved and exhausted the greenskin fainted into the snow.
The dwarf just shook his head and muttered as he turned from the site._
[D] "Mentally stronger than hins… Me will have teh make a note of that..."
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_The dwarf watches from a crouch in the distance as the scene plays out in front of him.
The female of his kind putting down the ales, the male yelling at her and gesturing. As they stop and look around speaking in hushed tones, he mutters and narrows his eyes at Belin. The same look that has crossed his face before he separated more than a few bodies from their souls. The look quickly changes to a furrowed brow as he peers at whatever his cousin slides under the ale bottles.
After watching them walk off, he motions with his staff to the small pile and issues the simple command "Fetch!".
Slow but obedient to his master, the undead minion makes his way over to the ale bottles and whatever is underneath.
As his summon carries out his charge, Foilir ponders the fact that his kin may know he is alive and in these parts. Would be a shame, as he was starting to feel comfortable in his cave, with an army of goblins at his beck and call.
The undead returns, handing him the ale bottles and whatever was underneath. The dwarf looks at it quizzically. He slides it inside the breastplate of his armor and looks at the two bottles of ale.
He marks the top of one and poisons it and recorks it. He makes a similar mark on the second and places them both into his light travel pack.
Motioning to his witless companion, the continue to follow the rag tag group.
As he walks he mutters to himself "Hooks, Crowns, Slippery Rocks.."_
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Aye, but dat crazy gnome been gone fromma these part for years.
Belin turns a blind eye to Dwin's fixing of the bottles. Although it is doubtful she missed it.
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_At hearing that, Dwin stops and looks around at the woods, with a look of sudden realization on his face. He stoops and adjusts the bottles quickly so that they are certain to stay upright. A quick eye might also see that he slipped something underneath one of them.
He then says loudly, so others can hear it:_
Bah! It must have been witchery or an eye-trick. I dont believe fer a second that he's in these parts!
Lets get movin!
He makes a final glance to the surrounding woods and heads off.
Hooks, crowns and slippy-rocks. I'm startin to think this to be a fools-tale!
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<d>I told you who I saw last time we came out here. she shrugs</d>
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Dwin eyes the dropped ale and stares at his wacky cousin.
[d]Da fark you droppin those for?
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Belin drops a couple Dolvak darks to the ground and then sets off after the speedy blond
Oy Ragger meh legs beh short dunnay forget dat!
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Rising to stretch out her long, muscular legs, Ragnhild nods agreement, a quick grin lighting up her otherwise grim features at Belin's nicknames for her and Tindra.
"Ja, ja, right place or vrong, this spot be much changed from vhat it vhas at time of map's making. We backtrack then, maybe make vay east like you suggest Dwin."
Once her mind is made up, Ragnhild seems reluctant to stay a moment longer, the customary restlessness returning as she rests the spear on her shoulder and sets off with long, quick strides.
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Tindra stops in her search for whatever is watching as Belin calls out to her. She looked frustrated, one could easily imagine her tail would be flicking back and forth if Tindra had been in her feline shape. 'Dammit,' she thought to herself, 'I lost it. Where the heck did that scent come from?'
With a quick sigh, Tindra turns to Belin, "Aye, we're getting nowhere here. Let's move on… carefully."
