Zorg's Lost Souls III

     Dave's not here...

     It's perhaps the first coherent thought to leak out of Mulligan in the last little bit. At least the first using actual words, anyway.

     Mulligan blinks.  A bunch.  And pokes at his face a bit.  It's like he's testing for sensation or something but he doesn't exactly share with everyone else.  He's too busy rediscovering reality and trying to decide if he is in favor of it or not.

     While g'Reg is explaining the essential size difficulties involved in a relationship between a dryad and a gnome, or something (Mulligan isn't really paying attention) and while Rowan is waxing poetic about heroic derring-do and the past future tense of special, Mulligan squats down on his haunches and smiles at the little mushroom-umbrella headed people.  He slowly reaches to his belt and pulls free an empty pouch he had tucked in there.  He holds it out towards the little fella's and opens it wide.

     You think you could shake some of that there powder into here? 

     He ask one at random.  Then another, and another.  More so if they agree.  

     It surely would help with us defeating the evil hag and bringing Zybilna back...

Meadowleaf smiles at Greginald with a twinkle in her deep, dark eyes, but presses him no further on the invitation. Instead she backs off a step and with a wave of her hand the grasping weeds and thorns shrivel away and disappear. Still looking at Greg, the dryad says:

I will help you. I do not know many things, but I know the trees. Will and his friends nest in the branches of Little Oak. Little Oak does not like to stay in the same place for long. Where he is at any time, Grandfather Gum knows best. He travels not, and stands where the shadow of that peak falls longest upon the forest floor... if he yet lives. The forest is not what it once was.

Next, Meadowleaf walks over toward Rowan and holds something out to him. Elf-friend. Should you succeed in your quest, and restore the Queen of Wishes... remember what was lost. Take these if you are true to your word. They may aid you against the servants of Granny Nightshade. The dryad drops three sycamore seeds into Rowan's hand. Any who partake may travel for a time and leave no sign, as a soft breeze through a meadow.

Meanwhile, about a dozen of the little mushroom-folk shuffle toward Mulligan. Several at once peer curiously into the cavity of the pouch, and some start to softly sing strange words of unfamiliar songs as they each in turn give a little shimmy and shake a puff of spores into the bag.

Shake it off, shake it off.
Shake, rattle and roll.
Shake shake shake your booty...
Shake a tail feather...
Shake it like a polaroid picture...
Shake it up...

Finally the dryad walks back to the edge of the clearing, casts one last glance at the group, and then steps into the trunk of a tree as though stepping through a doorway, and disappears. The only thing remaining in the clearing, beside the central stump, is the soft breeze and the bobbing mushrooms who have now returned to singing a collection of songs about 'shaking', all at once and over the top of each other.

Rowan thanks Meadowleaf for the sycamore seeds and wraps them up carefully, stowing them in his pouch, suspecting they're quite special.

He watches the mushrooms shake spores into Mulligan's pouch, wondering what he's doing but gets distracted by the song and begins shaking a little himself in time to their medley of songs.

"So Grandfather Gum casts a big shadow in the forest and we have to find that. Do you think he has a tall peaked hat? Is that why she said peak? Or is Grandfather Gum a mountain? Mountain might make more sense. But so could a giant with a tall hat. I guess we could look for both. They'd both stand out." Rowan says as he waves goodbye to the dryad.

     Thank you, little dude...

     Mulligan says this each time, a dopey smile on his face and a little bounce in his squat as he patiently waits for all willing to donate.  He's not as stoned as he was but he's not entirely clear headed just yet.

     I've seen a tree stand but never a mountain...

     He points out to Rowan without really even knowing what he means.

     When he's collected all the dust he can he wonders how to thank the little ones and thinks about maybe giving them some coin, but he doesn't have much of that.  Then he considers giving them each a ball bearing - they could all have a shiny and do with it as they may... But they don't have hands to accept them with.  Mulligan pouts and worries about this for a bit but eventually forgets even what he was thinking about and instead looks around confusedly.

     Anyone have a snack?  I have the munchies...

"from context clues, i'd say the gum is a tree sitting in the shade of the tallest mountain." Greg corrects Rowan whilst looking fir the tallest peak around. Digging in his pack the gnome finds a few goodberries and hands them to Mulligan, they're a bit old and softer than they should be.

In case Barria (and Mulligan, who hasn't seemed himself) still isn't paying attention and not understanding what's going on, Rowan explains everything that has happened and that they're looking for a bit gum tree in the shade, or maybe a giant named gum with a hat on his head in the forest. He does so in Common, not realizing he's shifted languages again.

Completely dazed by the going ons of the dryad and the mushrooms, Barria watches Mulligan be high and the other two converse with the tree lady.  She isn't sure what to do.  When she asked for translation, that didn't really work.

Finally, after the dryad leaves, Rowan explains the situation and the dwarf agrees with G'reg's synopsis of what she means in order to find the gum tree.  "Well, at least we have something to look for, that's at least something."  She finds herself a little disappointed to leave the mushroom creatures though, they are so fun.

Gently pulling Mulligan by the hand, Barria leads the way out of the clearing and toward the distant peak. The singing of the mushrooms dies away quicker than expected as the forest closes in around the group once more, and with it returns the heavy, oppressive feeling. It's clear now that the dryad's grove was an exception... a pocket of lightness in an otherwise brooding wood. Perhaps others exist, but so far it has been unique.

A narrow game trail crosses the path of the travellers, but not wanting to deviate away from the barely-visible mountain, the group decide to ignore it. However, they do notice another poster tacked to a tree some distance down the track... another Wanted poster displaying Will of the Feywild, with the message:

“This little troublemaker belongs to me. Bring him home alive and unharmed, and you’ll win the heart of one you love.”

And behold, on the opposite side of the same tree, yet another poster, identical save for the message:

“Bring me this imp alive and unharmed, and I’ll bury you up to your neck in silver.”

The group continue on beneath the weight of the canopy, forcing their way through tangled undergrowth. Progress is slow, until gradually the brush thins and the trees begin to space out, making travel easier.

Before long, the sound of singing drifts through the trees yet again... high-pitched, nasal, and unmistakably familiar. Moving toward it, the noise of singing is soon joined by the sound and smell of a campfire.

In short order, the group comes upon a small campsite... not a clearing, but a comfortable gap between the trees. A backpack rests against a trunk. A blackened cauldron filled with water bubbles over the flames of a modest fire, and nearby, a frying pan sits atop a flat stone, the rich smell of melted butter wafting lazily through the still air.

Directly beside the frying pan is a lone mushroom-folk, singing merrily to itself. The tune is cheerful, and the lyrics unfamiliar... the creature sings them like one who has memorised them perfectly, but understands none of their meaning:

...Well, I stepped out the tub, put my feet on the floor
I wrapped the towel 'round me, and I opened the door...

After each couplet of lines, the mushroom-man leans over, dips his cap into the melted butter, and slowly rubs it in, humming all the while, before straightening and resuming the song.

...And then a splish-splash, I jumped back in the bath
Well, how was I to know there was a party going on?

Rowan looks at the wanted posters and again shakes his head. “She’s always threatening people in these. It’s like maybe she doesn’t actually want someone to bring Will in. Buried to your neck in silver? That sounds very uncomfortable and tough to get out of. And win a heart? Most creatures would die without their heart.”

Once they see the little mushroom dude sautéing his own head, Rowan looks around the clearing.

”No hands probably makes it pretty hard to start a fire and put a pan over it.”

He looks into the woods.

”Hello. Anyone there?”

     Mulligan allows himself to be pulled away and he finds his head quickly clearing as it is done.  He had tried, in this clean and sober state, to explain to Rowan that being buried up to ones neck in silver was just a figure of speech, that it was a good thing, that no coins (of people being buried in such) were actually being harmed...  But the combination or Rowan's particular brand of logic and the fact that Mulligan didn't trust this Hag and certainly didn't trust her not to twist her words to their most disastrous results... Well, the conversation did not go as planned.

     Mulligan found his newfound sobriety tested again quite quickly when he sees yet another mushroom fella, this one apparently buttering his own head? Mulligan is about to comment on this sight but, naturally, no words would come.  Luckily Rowan was on top of it and tackling the questioning of the li'l dude so Mulligan just took a couple steps away, tried to blend in with the shadows behind a tree or something, and tried to see but not be seen...

((Stealth to hide, if you want it - 28))

Barria looks at the wanted posters as the others do, and as Mulligan states the figure of speech, she shakes her head.  "I don't know.  If we were back home I'd agree with you, but here?  I'd almost bet Rowan is more correct in his assertions."

She smiles as she sees the mushroom singing his little song.  The smell of sauteed mushroom... ooh did it make her stomach rumble!  She wants to pull out some spices out of her pack and add it to the butter... but since the poor guy was cooking himself alive, she thought better of it and waited to see if anyone responded to her elf friend's call.

There is no answer to Rowan's call, although he calls again and again for a short while. Mulligan waits in the shadows, knowing from experience that stealth requires patience. Greginald and Barria continue to inspect the area and observe the singing, sauteed saprophyte.

Only a few minutes pass before a voice is heard through the trees. It's a strange guttural voice, and seems to be humming a tune similar to the one the mushroom-man is singing, but broken and off-key. Then emerging from the forest comes a strange creature. It appears to be a humanoid frog, and is dressed in fine clothing, and carrying a small pile of firewood. It seems distracted by its own thoughts, and doesn't notice the group until it almost runs into Rowan.

The creature stops short and freezes for a moment... looking at the four three visitors, its bulgy eyes flicking back and forth from one face to the next... before regaining its composure and saying:

Ah... Guests... Kro’ah did not expect guests.

There is another uncomfortable pause, before Kro'ah continues:

You may sit. But the meal is... spoken for.

     Where we come from many consider frog legs a delicacy...  But then again, where we come from, it's generally not acceptable to eat things that can talk.  But that doesn't apply here?

     Mulligan asks mentally without stepping out of his concealment just yet.

Rowan looks from the frog to the singing mushroom and is torn. He knows some people eat lambs and calves and other objectively cute animals. They don't sing in a language that Rowan can understand but he's also not sure if the singing mushrooms are any more intelligent.

"Does your mushroom over there know what's going on?" Rowan asks. Then he goes over and gets closer to the buttered mushroom and asks "Do you know that you're about to be eaten? Are you okay with that?"

Rowan frowns again. If the mushroom is okay with being eaten, does that make the situation better or worse? Being able to understand what is about to happen seems like it should be worse.

His brain starts to hurt from trying to think through the situation and he can feel the magical energy that often comes up on him when he gets overstimulated or suffers from sensory overload start to gather in his body.

Rowan starts pacing, getting agitated by the frog and mushroom situation.

The finely-attired frog-creature places his firewood down and retrieves a vial from his pack. He glances around in search of the source of the telepathic voice, but then shrugs and looks back to his task, replying verbally:

Why not? If it tastes good...

Then seeing that the three visible visitors are reluctant to make themselves comfortable, he bows and gives his name:

Forgive me... Kro'ah, under-Baron of Bogbottom, forty-seventh in line for the crown of the Soggy Court. I extend my hospitality, such as it is in these humble surrounds.

Kro'ah shuffles over to the cauldron and tests the water, replying to Rowan's question with a croaky laugh:

Of course not. Thinks it's getting a warm bath. Ha ha! But it dies happy... and I get a delicious meal, so I'm happy... everyone is happy!

The mushroom's song falters a bit as Rowan makes his statement, and it goes silent for just a moment. Kro'ah's bulgy eyes stare at the elf and he scolds: Don't tell it that! Then to the mushroom he sings soothingly: Soft and warm, that sounds nice, doesn't it? Soft and warm.

Soft and warm, mimics the mushroom in the same sing-song tone, and then continues the refrain over and over as Kro'ah sprinkles his vial of herbs and spices on the mushroom's cap...

G'Reg hates the thick forest floor as the others forge ahead, his little legs and slightly slower movement speed are not proving beneficial at all. Once the gap in the trees is made, Mulligan hiding and the others stopped to observe, G'Reg catches up and listens to the frog man. "Kro'ah? That's your name? Pleased to meet ya, I uhhhh... Whilst we make no claim to your meal and personally I have no issue with it, it smells lovely by the way. We would like directions if you know the area. Grandfather Gum, heard of him? We just want to chat with him is all." The gnome gives the mushroom a bit of a side eye and if it picks up on the conversation he will loudly clear up "ah lovely smelling bath, that is, yes uhhh bath. Soft and warm hm!"

     Death.  Oblivion.  Nothing for ever and ever.  No friends.  No sights.  No Sound.  No Song.  This is what this frog-guy Kro'ah offers you.  Run along if you prefer life and song and companionship!

     Mulligan offers these words to the mushroom-dude exclusively, trying to convey appropriate imagery as well as he does, though he is much better sending words than images.  This is a strange land with stranger customs, Mulligan isn't sure forcing the little dude not to be eaten is appropriate if the little dude wants it.  If he could at least persuade him to try to shuffle along elsewhere then at least they'd have cause to defend him.

     Though, he supposed, like hunting for sport back home, stopping it in the short term just means it'll happen when you're not looking.  Nothing is really won.  It's all balm for the conscience and soul.  But as it was his conscience and soul at stake, he'll balm away if he can.

Rowan looks back the way they had come and thinks of the dryad and all of her little mushroom friends. He makes up his mind to do nothing until the Baron of Bogbottom answers G'reg about Grandfather Gum.

No, forgive me. I know no Grandfather Gum, Kro'ah replies to Greginald. In fact, I do not know this forest at all. I'm seeking a route back to Hither. I've met no other save for you three, this tasty morsel here, and the grey-skinned fellow wandering around the lake, carving wood.

When Kro'ah realises the group don't know who he is talking about, he explains:

Did you not pass the lake? No I suppose not. I didn't see it myself, but I could sense it nearby. Anyway, there was a little grey chap there. Pointy hat. Carving wood with his knife. He was determined to get to the lake, but claimed that only a unicorn can go there.

The frog-man stops and ponders for a moment.

Come to think of it... I think he was carving a horn... long and spiraled. Perhaps he thinks the lake is easily fooled.

He shrugs and turns back to his meal preparation...
Perhaps it is.
...to find the main ingredient has vanished.

I say! he croaks, casting around the clearing in vain. My dinner has absconded!

-----------------------
Meanwhile, during this conversation, Mulligan's mental words to the mushroom seem to have penetrated its mycological mind, and it's song dies away. Kro'ah is too engaged with Greginald to notice, but the mushroom hops down from the frying-pan-rock, and waddles into the undergrowth without making any further noise...

Greg casts a curious glance to Barria at the mention of a horn but says nothing more one the subject.

"Well good luck on your journey, say, your traversal back to Thither, you wouldn't be out doing any errands for granny Skabatha would you?" Greg inquires of kro'ah without trying to give away any of his own lack of alliance there.