Barn turns away from the barrow mounds, confident that if his friends were moving on, then Clotha must not be buried in there. He falls in behind Caelen.
"You know, for j-just a moment there in that glade, I thought I s-saw... in the mist... people. Or at l-least people-shaped shadows? M-moving inside it..."
Shaking his head to clear the disquieting thought, the big man lopes on through the woods, chain mail clanking lightly.
Barn is still squinting through the mists. He has a vague sense that jewels and gold do not usually appear freely on offer in the middle of the forest (or anywhere, really), so he nods as Wynn calls out her warning of fey and water spirits to Smiling Jack. We need to look for Clotha...
As the big man follows Jack down the path, instinctively careful to minimize contact with the water, he tries to look for humanoid or animal tracks along the path or near the barrows. But the sheer strangeness of the situation distracts him and he becomes unsure which are his own tracks.
Smiling Jack says to the halted party, "I see paths out of this glade off to the west is one and two others south and southwest."
OOC- based on an earlier post #136 we were heading south. so do i assume the west path is along the stream?
"Seeing how we are heading south, ...we should probably ignore the west path....There may be more temptations along the stream...We should probably head..." looks at the the two potential paths, and not seeing one way over the other Perception 13 Survival 15"I ...guess...south?"
The air hung heavy with the scent of stagnant water and ancient reeds as the narrow, dirt track skirted the edge of the glassy, dark mere. To the left, the water stretched out like a sheet of hammered iron, unbroken by wind and reflecting the sullen, gray sky. The path was barely a ribbon of dry ground, winding between the encroaching mudflats and a dense, whispering thicket of willow trees. Ardwynn's head was on a swivel as she followed the group while trying to keep an eye on the mere and surroundings.
Perception: 10
Following the trail south, the silence was broken only by the sucking sound of muddy boots and the faint, melancholic calling of unseen waterfowl. The sun, a pale disc behind the mist, provided just enough light to catch the occasional, uncanny glint of sunlight on the distant, unruffled surface. Further down, the track curved around a moss-covered, rocky promontory, where ancient, gnarled roots had created natural, treacherous steps, forcing a slower, careful pace along the water's edge.
As the path continued southward, the terrain became more open, allowing a sullen, cold wind to sweep across the marshy land. The far bank of the mere was barely visible, a smudge of dark green against the gray, and with each step, Ardwynn felt as though they were being pulled deeper into a forgotten, untamed land, with the water serving as a watchful presence at their back.
Caelan let the talk of paths and bootprints fall away behind them as the glade opened like a held breath. He did not like open ground in Gallows Wood, too exposed, too staged. The mere sat in the center of it like an unblinking eye. His gaze tracked the three low mounds without lingering. Barrows, likely. Old things. The sort of places folk whispered around rather than approached. When Jack called out the jeweled hand, Caelan’s posture tightened instantly. “Don’t,” he said, voice flat as iron, before anyone could even think to move closer. “Eyes off the water. Hands off anything it offers.” He stepped laterally, putting himself between the group and the mere’s edge, bow held low, every sense turned outward. He did not look at the necklace again. Bait was bait, whether gold or grief. “Ardwynn’s right,” he added quietly.“Nothing in these woods lies in wait for kindness. Only for curiosity.” When the decision turned south, Caelan nodded once and took the lead again, not hurried, but firm. “South,” he agreed. “No stopping. No testing depths. No heroics.” As they moved along the narrow track, Caelan kept them off the waterline by a few extra paces, forcing the path even tighter rather than risking the mere’s reach. His eyes never stopped working, treeline, reeds, the mud for signs of passage. “Clotha’s trail won’t be loud,” he murmured, half to himself. “But it’ll exist somewhere. Ned wants us tired, frightened, chasing shine instead of sense.” He glanced back once, checking spacing through the mist. “Same order,” he said calmly. “No one drifts toward the water. If you hear something call your name, you ignore it.” Then forward again, boots careful on treacherous roots, voice lowered to the simple truth of it. “We keep moving. The girl is ahead. This place is only meant to slow us.”
OOC: Survival: 9 Perception: 18
The companions decide to continue south hopefully on the heels of Clotha and her captor.
As they re-enter the trees three of the companions ( Barn, Caelan and Smiling Jack) note that the vegetation on the mounds does not seem as aged as it should if these are truly ancient barrows of their forbears.....could it be they were, perhaps, somewhat more recent....though certainly NOT recent enough to contain Clotha in any form..still....a question for another time they have someone to save......
They reenter the mist choked woods and forge their way south.....eventually emerging into a deserted woodland clearing. An old rickety hut covered by climbing plants and moss stands in the middle of it. You can see an overgrown path out of the clearing to the south. The hut is around three metres across and two metres high and looks quite dilapidated its doorless doorway sagging to one side like a lopsided grin.
Does it resemble in any way the cottage they saw before? As in is it the same/similar but much aged now?
Not at all that one appeared well made and cared for....this one looks like someone with barely any skill forced a bunch of deadfall and scrapwood into a roughly hut shaped heap.
"Unless... unless Clotha's in th-there, we k-keep going south, right?" Barn's voice sounds uncertain as ever.
The big man grips his halberd and, attempting to look every direction at once without much success, he edges over until he can peer into the doorless doorway.
Reg had been trudging along with the rest of the group, he was quite unsure at this point what trail they were following. But he knew he was too far in to get out alone. As Jack mentioned the barrel to Barn, he paused and wondered what the man was referring to.
“Begging your pardon, Master Jack. Are we following a different barrel. The original one with the girl was back some four clearings ago.”
(From Post 69) (If I’m missing some other vital piece of information @damian_may, please correct me.)
After another half-hour of trudging along the path the light amongst the trees has improved slightly, and you can see the pale yellow circle of the autumn sun struggling to dissipate the ghostly mists that wreathe the forest. You enter a small grassy clearing and immediately notice a familiar-looking barrel lying abandoned in the middle of it.
"Unless... unless Clotha's in th-there, we k-keep going south, right?" Barn's voice sounds uncertain as ever.
The big man grips his halberd and, attempting to look every direction at once without much success, he edges over until he can peer into the doorless doorway.
Barn does note like other clearings various animal paths leading off into the woods as well as the more obvious trail........he also fancies he hears faint occasional creaks from the hut....perhaps it is going to collapse soon.....
Reg had been trudging along with the rest of the group, he was quite unsure at this point what trail they were following. But he knew he was too far in to get out alone. As Jack mentioned the barrel to Barn, he paused and wondered what the man was referring to.
“Begging your pardon, Master Jack. Are we following a different barrel. The original one with the girl was back some four clearings ago.”
(From Post 69) (If I’m missing some other vital piece of information @damian_may, please correct me.)
After another half-hour of trudging along the path the light amongst the trees has improved slightly, and you can see the pale yellow circle of the autumn sun struggling to dissipate the ghostly mists that wreathe the forest. You enter a small grassy clearing and immediately notice a familiar-looking barrel lying abandoned in the middle of it.
( Correct... though Jack did not vocalise their thoughts on the barrel perhaps Reg is simply rather intuitive.)
Smiling Jack is a bit frustrated from this hunt for Clotha. All of this tracking with nothing to show but sore feet, and the adrenaline let down after the encounter with a mushroom and a potential serial killer has just made Jack ripe for irritation and an immature choice..
Hearing the hut creaking, in a moment of immaturity says, "ah shut up...you" and shoots an arrow at the corner of the hut. "Damn it"Jack mutters and then goes to retrieve the arrow (assumes it is on the ground, if stuck in a tree or in a wall, he doesn't retrieve it.) Jack avoids going to close to the house afraid it will fall from any wind.
As the hut creaks and settles, Barn finds the slow wheels of his mind lead him towards the same suspicions that may have crossed Smiling Jack's as he looses his arrow at the structure (?). The big man steps forward to protectively shadow his friend retrieving his arrow, halberd (10' reach) at the ready.
"Is... is that h-hut thing... is th-that even a hut or... or a cr-creature?" Barn, from 10 feet away, pokes at it with the blade of his halberd. Not enough to do any real damage or bring the structure down, but perhaps to slice a few filaments of of straw or thatch.
What if it... what if it ate Clotha... the big man thinks to himself morosely.
by Richard Aronson, as printed in the Fall 1987 issue (#13) of “The Spell Book”
…Let us cast our minds back to the early days of Fantasy Role Playing, back when ye Dread Gygax was loose upon the land. Funny how humor and horror can start out so alike. Let us go still earlier (yes, it is permitted to breathe sighs of relief) to the days before Gygax (and the courts) thought that he owned FRP. In the early seventies, Ed Whitchurch ran “his game,” and one of the participants was Eric Sorenson, a veritable giant of a man. This story is essentially true: I know both Ed and Eric, and neither denies it (although Eric, for reasons that will become apparent, never repeats it either). If my telling of it does not match the actual events precisely, it is because I’ve heard it many different ways depending on how much of what type of intoxicants Ed had taken recently.
The gist of it is that Eric, well, you need a bit more about Eric, or else I won’t fill quota. Eric comes quite close to being a computer. When he games, he methodically considers each possibility before choosing his preferred option. If given time, he will invariably pick the optimum solution. It has been known to take weeks. He is otherwise in all respects a superior gamer, and I’ve spent many happy hours competing with and against him, as long as he is given enough time.
So, Eric was playing a Neutral Paladin (why should only Lawful Good religions get to have holy warriors was the thinking) in Ed’s game. He even had a holy sword, which fought well, and did all those things holy swords are supposed to do, including detect good (random die roll; it could have detected evil). He was on some lord’s lands when the following exchange occurred:
ED: You see a well groomed garden. In the middle, on a small hill, you see a gazebo. ERIC: A gazebo? What color is it? ED: (Pause) It’s white, Eric. ERIC: How far away is it? ED: About fifty yards. ERIC: How big is it? ED: (Pause) It’s about thirty feet across, fifteen feet high, with a pointed top. ERIC: I use my sword to detect good on it. ED: It’s not good, Eric. It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Pause) I call out to it. ED: It won’t answer. It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Pause) I sheathe my sword and draw my bow and arrows. Does it respond in any way? ED: No, Eric, it’s a gazebo! ERIC: I shoot it with my bow (roll to hit). What happened? ED: There is now a gazebo with an arrow sticking out of it. ERIC: (Pause) Wasn’t it wounded? ED: Of course not, Eric! It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Whimper) But that was a plus three arrow! ED: It’s a gazebo, Eric, a gazebo! If you really want to try to destroy it, you could try to chop it with an axe, I suppose, or you could try to burn it, but I don’t know why anybody would even try. It’s a *)@#! gazebo! ERIC: (Long pause. He has no axe or fire spells.) I run away. ED: (Thoroughly frustrated) It’s too late. You’ve woken up the gazebo, and it catches you and eats you. ERIC: (Reaching for his dice) Maybe I’ll roll up a fire-using mage so I can avenge my Paladin.
At this point, the increasingly amused fellow party members restored a modicum of order by explaining what a gazebo is. It is solely an afterthought, of course, but Eric is doubly lucky that the gazebo was not situated on a grassy gnoll.
That is the story of Eric and the Gazebo. It’s funnier when I tell it in person. Isn’t it always, though. Be seeing you…
Caelan’s head snapped slightly at the thrum of the bowstring, too sharp a sound in a place that demanded quiet. His eyes cut to Jack at once, and the disappointment there was immediate, though tempered by understanding. “Jack,” he said, low but firm, “not again. We do not loose arrows at shadows because we’re tired.” He did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The woods heard everything already. He stepped forward a pace, placing himself between the hut and the others without closing the distance too far. The structure looked wrong, not in some grand, monstrous way, but in the way old things looked when they had been left too long. Moss-heavy. Sagging. Waiting. Barn’s poke with the halberd made Caelan’s jaw tighten.
“Easy,” he says, quick and controlled.“Don’t prod it like a child testing a wasp nest.” He crouched slightly, scanning the hut’s threshold, the ground around it, the overgrown path beyond. No sign of a barrel. No sign of a struggle. No voices. Only that creaking, settling noise that could have meant nothing, or could have meant attention. “We keep moving south unless we have reason not to,” Caelan said, answering Barn’s uncertainty directly. His tone softened only a fraction. “If Clotha was here, we’d hear her. Ned isn’t hiding in a shack that can barely stand.”
His gaze returned briefly to Jack. “Rear guard means watching the trail and counting heads, not taking out your nerves on timber.”Then back to Barn, steady again. “And no, this is not a creature. Not unless the woods have grown very bored indeed.” He rose, taking one careful step away from the hut, drawing the group with him by presence more than gesture. “Leave it,” Caelan said quietly. “Every minute we spend arguing with rot is a minute Clotha is farther away.” And with that, he angled them back toward the southern path, eyes up, pace measured, refusing to let frustration turn them into prey.
OOC: Investigation checks 13 on the hut and the surrounding area to see if anything is out of the ordinary.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
There is no reaction to halberd or arrow and Caelans words seem to be true.....yet as they make to leave the ramshackle pile creaks ominously once more......then nothing further.....
The path south is open to them...many still feel an ominous tension here but Clotha is in danger and nothing is being gained here.
The companions progress down the path, it tightens as they go the shadowy trees closing in on all sides they walk for an hour or more and still the trees press around, there is no mist here but the weak sun is visible in only a thin strip above the path overhead.
Suddenly there is a sound in the brush to their left some distance to their left....
Barn's growing connection to the woodlands is at odds with how close the trees press now, restricting the big man's movement and ability to swing his long halberd effectively. He shakes his head and tries to keep his focus, trotting a step behind Caelan with a soft clanking of chain mail.
As soon as he hears the noise to the left, Barn's training causes him to pivot slightly, turning to scan the trees for the source of the sound while covering those around him with the reach of his weapon. Even glancing the other way in case of a ruse. Looking, listening, smelling for what may be there.
Barn's growing connection to the woodlands is at odds with how close the trees press now, restricting the big man's movement and ability to swing his long halberd effectively. He shakes his head and tries to keep his focus, trotting a step behind Caelan with a soft clanking of chain mail.
As soon as he hears the noise to the left, Barn's training causes him to pivot slightly, turning to scan the trees for the source of the sound while covering those around him with the reach of his weapon. Even glancing the other way in case of a ruse. Looking, listening, smelling for what may be there.
Barn turns away from the barrow mounds, confident that if his friends were moving on, then Clotha must not be buried in there. He falls in behind Caelen.
"You know, for j-just a moment there in that glade, I thought I s-saw... in the mist... people. Or at l-least people-shaped shadows? M-moving inside it..."
Shaking his head to clear the disquieting thought, the big man lopes on through the woods, chain mail clanking lightly.
Barn(Paladin1):Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4):VitusW's Silverwood Forest | Nivi(Rogue5):Erik_Soong's Netherdeep
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Quyen(Adept1, ba5ic system):ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord) | Seri(Druid1):Hunter_Orien's Saltmarsh
Xarian (Fighter3):Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer2):BillM's Icewind Dale | Shin(Wizard1):Culuril's Strixhaven
The companions decide to continue south hopefully on the heels of Clotha and her captor.
As they re-enter the trees three of the companions ( Barn, Caelan and Smiling Jack) note that the vegetation on the mounds does not seem as aged as it should if these are truly ancient barrows of their forbears.....could it be they were, perhaps, somewhat more recent....though certainly NOT recent enough to contain Clotha in any form..still....a question for another time they have someone to save......
They reenter the mist choked woods and forge their way south.....eventually emerging into a deserted woodland clearing. An old rickety hut covered by climbing plants and moss stands in the middle of it. You can see an overgrown path out of the clearing to the south. The hut is around three metres across and two metres high and looks quite dilapidated its doorless doorway sagging to one side like a lopsided grin.
Does it resemble in any way the cottage they saw before? As in is it the same/similar but much aged now?
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Not at all that one appeared well made and cared for....this one looks like someone with barely any skill forced a bunch of deadfall and scrapwood into a roughly hut shaped heap.
"Unless... unless Clotha's in th-there, we k-keep going south, right?" Barn's voice sounds uncertain as ever.
The big man grips his halberd and, attempting to look every direction at once without much success, he edges over until he can peer into the doorless doorway.
Barn's Perception: 10 (Passive 13)
Barn(Paladin1):Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4):VitusW's Silverwood Forest | Nivi(Rogue5):Erik_Soong's Netherdeep
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Quyen(Adept1, ba5ic system):ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord) | Seri(Druid1):Hunter_Orien's Saltmarsh
Xarian (Fighter3):Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer2):BillM's Icewind Dale | Shin(Wizard1):Culuril's Strixhaven
"Right Barn, let's keep moving." Jack keeps one eye on the hut as they proceed.
She can't be in there, the barrel wouldn't fit.
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Reg had been trudging along with the rest of the group, he was quite unsure at this point what trail they were following. But he knew he was too far in to get out alone. As Jack mentioned the barrel to Barn, he paused and wondered what the man was referring to.
“Begging your pardon, Master Jack. Are we following a different barrel. The original one with the girl was back some four clearings ago.”
(From Post 69) (If I’m missing some other vital piece of information @damian_may, please correct me.)
Barn does note like other clearings various animal paths leading off into the woods as well as the more obvious trail........he also fancies he hears faint occasional creaks from the hut....perhaps it is going to collapse soon.....
( Correct... though Jack did not vocalise their thoughts on the barrel perhaps Reg is simply rather intuitive.)
Smiling Jack, says
"Seeing how Ned ditched the barrel and was carrying Clotha over his shoulder, do think Ned made this his hideout?"
"Or is this hut too badly made for even Ned and it is a trap?"
OOC: Well technically Jack was just thinking about the barrel, not talking about the barrel. Mostly because his player forgot about the barrel =)
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
The hut creaks again as if settling....
Smiling Jack is a bit frustrated from this hunt for Clotha. All of this tracking with nothing to show but sore feet, and the adrenaline let down after the encounter with a mushroom and a potential serial killer has just made Jack ripe for irritation and an immature choice..
Hearing the hut creaking, in a moment of immaturity says, "ah shut up...you" and shoots an arrow at the corner of the hut. "Damn it" Jack mutters and then goes to retrieve the arrow (assumes it is on the ground, if stuck in a tree or in a wall, he doesn't retrieve it.) Jack avoids going to close to the house afraid it will fall from any wind.
As the hut creaks and settles, Barn finds the slow wheels of his mind lead him towards the same suspicions that may have crossed Smiling Jack's as he looses his arrow at the structure (?). The big man steps forward to protectively shadow his friend retrieving his arrow, halberd (10' reach) at the ready.
"Is... is that h-hut thing... is th-that even a hut or... or a cr-creature?" Barn, from 10 feet away, pokes at it with the blade of his halberd. Not enough to do any real damage or bring the structure down, but perhaps to slice a few filaments of of straw or thatch.
What if it... what if it ate Clotha... the big man thinks to himself morosely.
Barn(Paladin1):Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4):VitusW's Silverwood Forest | Nivi(Rogue5):Erik_Soong's Netherdeep
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Quyen(Adept1, ba5ic system):ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord) | Seri(Druid1):Hunter_Orien's Saltmarsh
Xarian (Fighter3):Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer2):BillM's Icewind Dale | Shin(Wizard1):Culuril's Strixhaven
OOC: I attack the gazebo!
by Richard Aronson, as printed in the Fall 1987 issue (#13) of “The Spell Book”
…Let us cast our minds back to the early days of Fantasy Role Playing, back when ye Dread Gygax was loose upon the land. Funny how humor and horror can start out so alike. Let us go still earlier (yes, it is permitted to breathe sighs of relief) to the days before Gygax (and the courts) thought that he owned FRP. In the early seventies, Ed Whitchurch ran “his game,” and one of the participants was Eric Sorenson, a veritable giant of a man. This story is essentially true: I know both Ed and Eric, and neither denies it (although Eric, for reasons that will become apparent, never repeats it either). If my telling of it does not match the actual events precisely, it is because I’ve heard it many different ways depending on how much of what type of intoxicants Ed had taken recently.
The gist of it is that Eric, well, you need a bit more about Eric, or else I won’t fill quota. Eric comes quite close to being a computer. When he games, he methodically considers each possibility before choosing his preferred option. If given time, he will invariably pick the optimum solution. It has been known to take weeks. He is otherwise in all respects a superior gamer, and I’ve spent many happy hours competing with and against him, as long as he is given enough time.
So, Eric was playing a Neutral Paladin (why should only Lawful Good religions get to have holy warriors was the thinking) in Ed’s game. He even had a holy sword, which fought well, and did all those things holy swords are supposed to do, including detect good (random die roll; it could have detected evil). He was on some lord’s lands when the following exchange occurred:
ED: You see a well groomed garden. In the middle, on a small hill, you see a gazebo. ERIC: A gazebo? What color is it? ED: (Pause) It’s white, Eric. ERIC: How far away is it? ED: About fifty yards. ERIC: How big is it? ED: (Pause) It’s about thirty feet across, fifteen feet high, with a pointed top. ERIC: I use my sword to detect good on it. ED: It’s not good, Eric. It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Pause) I call out to it. ED: It won’t answer. It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Pause) I sheathe my sword and draw my bow and arrows. Does it respond in any way? ED: No, Eric, it’s a gazebo! ERIC: I shoot it with my bow (roll to hit). What happened? ED: There is now a gazebo with an arrow sticking out of it. ERIC: (Pause) Wasn’t it wounded? ED: Of course not, Eric! It’s a gazebo! ERIC: (Whimper) But that was a plus three arrow! ED: It’s a gazebo, Eric, a gazebo! If you really want to try to destroy it, you could try to chop it with an axe, I suppose, or you could try to burn it, but I don’t know why anybody would even try. It’s a *)@#! gazebo! ERIC: (Long pause. He has no axe or fire spells.) I run away. ED: (Thoroughly frustrated) It’s too late. You’ve woken up the gazebo, and it catches you and eats you. ERIC: (Reaching for his dice) Maybe I’ll roll up a fire-using mage so I can avenge my Paladin.
At this point, the increasingly amused fellow party members restored a modicum of order by explaining what a gazebo is. It is solely an afterthought, of course, but Eric is doubly lucky that the gazebo was not situated on a grassy gnoll.
That is the story of Eric and the Gazebo. It’s funnier when I tell it in person. Isn’t it always, though. Be seeing you…
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Smiling Jack nods at Barn, acknowledges he is being blocked and maintains his rear watch position.
Caelan’s head snapped slightly at the thrum of the bowstring, too sharp a sound in a place that demanded quiet. His eyes cut to Jack at once, and the disappointment there was immediate, though tempered by understanding. “Jack,” he said, low but firm, “not again. We do not loose arrows at shadows because we’re tired.” He did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The woods heard everything already. He stepped forward a pace, placing himself between the hut and the others without closing the distance too far. The structure looked wrong, not in some grand, monstrous way, but in the way old things looked when they had been left too long. Moss-heavy. Sagging. Waiting. Barn’s poke with the halberd made Caelan’s jaw tighten.
“Easy,” he says, quick and controlled. “Don’t prod it like a child testing a wasp nest.” He crouched slightly, scanning the hut’s threshold, the ground around it, the overgrown path beyond. No sign of a barrel. No sign of a struggle. No voices. Only that creaking, settling noise that could have meant nothing, or could have meant attention. “We keep moving south unless we have reason not to,” Caelan said, answering Barn’s uncertainty directly. His tone softened only a fraction. “If Clotha was here, we’d hear her. Ned isn’t hiding in a shack that can barely stand.”
His gaze returned briefly to Jack. “Rear guard means watching the trail and counting heads, not taking out your nerves on timber.” Then back to Barn, steady again. “And no, this is not a creature. Not unless the woods have grown very bored indeed.” He rose, taking one careful step away from the hut, drawing the group with him by presence more than gesture. “Leave it,” Caelan said quietly. “Every minute we spend arguing with rot is a minute Clotha is farther away.” And with that, he angled them back toward the southern path, eyes up, pace measured, refusing to let frustration turn them into prey.
OOC:
Investigation checks 13 on the hut and the surrounding area to see if anything is out of the ordinary.
Jack acknowledge Caelan, the rebuke actually brought a slight infectious grin to the youngster.
There is no reaction to halberd or arrow and Caelans words seem to be true.....yet as they make to leave the ramshackle pile creaks ominously once more......then nothing further.....
The path south is open to them...many still feel an ominous tension here but Clotha is in danger and nothing is being gained here.
The companions progress down the path, it tightens as they go the shadowy trees closing in on all sides they walk for an hour or more and still the trees press around, there is no mist here but the weak sun is visible in only a thin strip above the path overhead.
Suddenly there is a sound in the brush to their left some distance to their left....
75
Barn's growing connection to the woodlands is at odds with how close the trees press now, restricting the big man's movement and ability to swing his long halberd effectively. He shakes his head and tries to keep his focus, trotting a step behind Caelan with a soft clanking of chain mail.
As soon as he hears the noise to the left, Barn's training causes him to pivot slightly, turning to scan the trees for the source of the sound while covering those around him with the reach of his weapon. Even glancing the other way in case of a ruse. Looking, listening, smelling for what may be there.
Barn's Perception: 21
Barn(Paladin1):Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4):VitusW's Silverwood Forest | Nivi(Rogue5):Erik_Soong's Netherdeep
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Quyen(Adept1, ba5ic system):ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord) | Seri(Druid1):Hunter_Orien's Saltmarsh
Xarian (Fighter3):Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer2):BillM's Icewind Dale | Shin(Wizard1):Culuril's Strixhaven
Something is moving stealthily on four legs somewhere a long way back in the trees, keeping pace with the group but not approaching......