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.