Seeing young Clotha held captive against her will in the tree, and remembering how bullies had treated him growing up, Barn's face starts to turn red with outrage and he begins to call out angrily, but his speech impediment brings the words to a spluttering halt.
The big man grips his halberd in white knuckles and turns hopefully to Wynn and Oengus as companions who might be able to say something useful.
Ardwynn steps up near Smiling Jack... "Be prepared but try to NOT shoot me in the back."
She moves up and halves the distance between Barn and Caelan before stopping to hail the tree.
"Hello the tree! Is it 'Old Ned' I am addressing? We don't wish to harm you; we have come for the young girl you rolled up here. Can you come out and speak with us?"
Persuasion: 17+4 = 21
Ardwynns voice rings out her tone and and timbre so utterly convincing that many of her companions, and indeed some of the surrounding crows, felt moved to speak even though they had not been addressed......yet from the hollow tree there was only silence......
Smiling Jack, grins a bit hearing Ardwynn's plea about her back. Realizing Ned ducked down, Jack let's out a half breath, inhales a bit and focuses equally on breathing and on shooting Ned when he pops back up...and acquiring him, if given the go sign.
...when or if? Jack just does not think all is well, something is gnawing at his gut. Something is off. Jacks starts looking around as he concentrates on Ned popping up,. Maybe he will pop up in another location?
Perception is rolled on character sheet. It was a 10.
Smiling Jack scans the area but is unable to sight anything concerning....
Barn is on the verge of stepping up within his halberd's reach of the tree stump so that he can take a whack at what is apparently Old Ned's head if it pops out again when Wynn advances to make her rather well-spoken offer of parlay. Hearing that, the big man checks himself.
I guess if Wynn's asking him out nicely to talk and all,Barn thinks to himself, a halberd to the face is probably impolite... for now, anyway...
Remaining in place, the big man scans the clearing and the tree-line surrounding it. Much as Smiling Jack is doing, only instead of looking for an alternate place Ned might appear, Barn is starting to become worried that Ned might be a... what had one of his sergeants called it? A 'Stalking Horse'? Some kind of diversion to draw attention away from a larger ambush or encircling force. So he searches for signs of other foes, or for any threats surrounding them.
Barn'sPerception to look for other foes or threats in the clearing and tree-line: 18
Barns eyes and ears scan the treeline finding nothing concerning though he does hear a faint squeal, possibly from a small mammal or similar, some distance away to the south.....
Caelan slowed the moment the clearing opened before them, boots easing to a stop as his eyes took in the abandoned barrel, the hollow oak, the shifting mist. He lifted a hand, not raised, just enough, to steady the pace behind him without calling attention to it. His focus narrowed, everything else falling away. When Clotha’s cry rang out and was cut short, something cold settled behind his eyes. He did not shout. He did not rush. He watched. That brief glimpse of the face, the pinched grey skin, the hooded eyes, the sharp yellow teeth, burned itself into his mind. Caelan’s breath slowed as memory stirred, unbidden. He searched it quickly, ruthlessly: half-remembered fireside warnings, old hedge-witch mutterings, things seen at the edge of vision in other woods. Creatures that borrowed paths instead of leaving tracks. Tricksters that hid inside trees, barrels, bones. Not Aos Sí, not noble enough. Not goblin either. Something smaller. Meaner. Clever in a way that liked leverage more than blood. Maybe a hob like the old man had said about Ned, he thought grimly. Or something that wears the name when it suits.
He shifted his stance subtly, angling himself so he could see both the oak and the surrounding treeline without turning his head too much. His bow remained lowered, arrow still nocked but not drawn. He noted Jack’s position by sound and movement alone, felt Barn’s presence like a wall of restrained force at his back, registered Ardwynn’s voice as she stepped forward to speak. Caelan did not interrupt her. He let the words hang in the air, watching for how the forest itself reacted, how the mist curled, how the birds went silent again. His fingers brushed the rowan charm at his chest, not in prayer, but in thought. He took one careful step to the side, adjusting his angle, ensuring there was space between each of them, no clustering, no easy sweep or trick. His eyes flicked briefly to Jack, then back to the oak, measuring distance, measuring timing. He leaned slightly toward Barn without looking away. “Hold,”he murmured under his breath. “Not yet, let see where she gets with him.” Caelan stayed where he was, poised between restraint and violence, mind working through old stories and newer instincts, trying to remember not just what such a creature was, but how it liked to survive when cornered.
OOC:
History check for any information he could remember about this creature: 16 (rolled in game log)
Caelen- knows from rustic tales that the term general 'goblin' covers an almost infinite number of troublesome or vexatious fay, such as Bwca, spriggans etc. and that the prefix 'Hob' was generally amended to that term in order to be polite......generally in hope that they would leave them be. The features do seem reminiscent of other fay his grandmother referred to as Goblins of Dobbies.....generally mischievous, tricksy.....yet deadly when trapped....
"Well that IS interesting!" Jack says louder than he expected.
He goes up to the tree stump and looks down.
Jack Perception check 20
Utterly ignoring the tense situation and Ardwynns attempt to negotiate the strange little pox-marked man shuffled up to the tree and poked his head into the hollow looking downwards.
Jack sees:-
Neds grinning face hisses at you inches from your face as you look down into the hollow, a scrap of white linen is caught on the inside of the hollow......a long clawed hand reaches for you......
Reg had watched the young girl Ardwynn address the creature as best as he could think when an old rhyme came to him.
“I do believe it’s him in there, I think your speech was grand. Why he won’t parley with us I can not understand.” Reg takes a step forward getting closer to the hollow so his voice will reach into the hole. He then recites the small nursery rhyme he (and others) had used sometimes back at his hamlet. While it mostly was used for helping with the sick, he thought any reaction from Ned would be welcomed at this point
”Won’t you have a word with us, perhaps then we’d understand. Why you took the girl so far, took her from her lands. Is there something you’d rather have, that we could trade you for perhaps?”
Smiling Jack is still on guard splitting his attention between the tree and the surrounding terrain.
Jack closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head and quickly looks around again. Jack mumbles, "Too many choices, he may be in tree he may have left...If you take something, and they are on your tail, then give the following people choices...dad called it...ah... misdirection. Ned is in the tree, but no sign of him...since we saw him in the tree...that is why this off...he isn't there no more...but then... this is harder than my training...what if he is in the tree, cause everyone thinks he is...I must be wrong.".....
Reg had watched the young girl Ardwynn address the creature as best as he could think when an old rhyme came to him.
“I do believe it’s him in there, I think your speech was grand. Why he won’t parley with us I can not understand.” Reg takes a step forward getting closer to the hollow so his voice will reach into the hole. He then recites the small nursery rhyme he (and others) had used sometimes back at his hamlet. While it mostly was used for helping with the sick, he thought any reaction from Ned would be welcomed at this point
”Won’t you have a word with us, perhaps then we’d understand. Why you took the girl so far, took her from her lands. Is there something you’d rather have, that we could trade you for perhaps?”
Reg- walked up towards the hollow tree behind Jack who was peering into the stump.....
As Reg drew closer to the tree the essence of Illusory dweomer seeped out from within it.....much stronger than the fading essence along the path.....
Smiling Jack is still on guard splitting his attention between the tree and the surrounding terrain.
Jack closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head and quickly looks around again. Jack mumbles, "Too many choices, he may be in tree he may have left...If you take something, and they are on your tail, then give the following people choices...dad called it...ah... misdirection. Ned is in the tree, but no sign of him...since we saw him in the tree...that is why this off...he isn't there no more...but then... this is harder than my training...what if he is in the tree, cause everyone thinks he is...I must be wrong.".....
Smiling Jack considered all the possibilities.....
Jack waves his fingers at Ned and says, "Hello down there! What's your name? and why are down in that hole?!"
Jack-
As Jack speaks to Ned he notes a slight incongruencey when Neds arm reaches up to paw at him the elbow seems to dip inside the wood of the trunk.....and as the face sneers at him he can almost make out something behind it.....a large bulbous puffball fungi almost as big as Jacks head......
Barn is starting to fidget. He had held back, thinking that Wynn's overture would be the starting point of the interaction with Old Ned. Yet with no response, and now with UN-smiling Jack and Reg the Trapper approaching and talking down into the hole, he has no idea what to think.
"Wh-what do you s-see in there? I scanned the tr-treeline. L-looked and listened. No th-threats, but did hear some critter squealing f-further south."
The big man looks helplessly at Ardwynn and Caelan beside him, then back at the two by the stump. "Is... is Old N-Ned even in there with Clotha?"
The trapper had hoped for a non-confrontational meeting, perhaps that was still possible, but that belief was waning thin.
”Things are not as they appear here, I can not say exactly how, but our eyes, our senses are deceiving us…as is what ever we have followed. Trust not what you are seeing”
Reg backs away from the hollow and the tree. His hands grasp his staff. He looks up to the surrounding trees where the murder of crows are.
With measured breath, he states, “We just want the girl returned!”
Then a thought comes to him. If he can’t trust his senses, how can he be sure the barrel is real? He rushes to where the empty barrel lay and pokes and prods it with his staff, trying to tell if it is part of the illusion as well before checking anything else.
Óengus considers the situation and points out to the party that the truth is unknown, and Old Ned is refusing to negotiate. "Thus, we have to make a decision about how to proceed. Should we further investigate the path we have traveled and how the events proceeded? Could we have been decieved at any point?"
OOC: Also just thinking it would be beneficial to have a summary of all the information we know.
Barn is starting to fidget. He had held back, thinking that Wynn's overture would be the starting point of the interaction with Old Ned. Yet with no response, and now with UN-smiling Jack and Reg the Trapper approaching and talking down into the hole, he has no idea what to think.
"Wh-what do you s-see in there? I scanned the tr-treeline. L-looked and listened. No th-threats, but did hear some critter squealing f-further south."
The big man looks helplessly at Ardwynn and Caelan beside him, then back at the two by the stump. "Is... is Old N-Ned even in there with Clotha?"
The trapper had hoped for a non-confrontational meeting, perhaps that was still possible, but that belief was waning thin.
”Things are not as they appear here, I can not say exactly how, but our eyes, our senses are deceiving us…as is what ever we have followed. Trust not what you are seeing”
Reg backs away from the hollow and the tree. His hands grasp his staff. He looks up to the surrounding trees where the murder of crows are.
With measured breath, he states, “We just want the girl returned!”
Then a thought comes to him. If he can’t trust his senses, how can he be sure the barrel is real? He rushes to where the empty barrel lay and pokes and prods it with his staff, trying to tell if it is part of the illusion as well before checking anything else.
The barrel appears to be as real as he perceived making a hard thunk as he pokes it with his staff....
Óengus considers the situation and points out to the party that the truth is unknown, and Old Ned is refusing to negotiate. "Thus, we have to make a decision about how to proceed. Should we further investigate the path we have traveled and how the events proceeded? Could we have been decieved at any point?"
OOC: Also just thinking it would be beneficial to have a summary of all the information we know.
Caelan remained still as Ardwynn’s words faded into the mist, his eyes fixed on the hollow oak. He knew enough of the old ways to feel the wrongness in the silence. An entreaty like hers, clear, respectful, and properly given, should have earned an answer. Even the most ill-tempered hob would usually acknowledge being addressed so openly. That it hadn’t unsettled him more than any threat. His thoughts turned inward, working quickly through remembered warnings and half-names. Hob was never a single creature, only a courtesy, one given in hope of avoiding offense. Bwca. Dobby. Hearth-goblins his grandmother had spoken of in low voices. Tricksy things that borrowed places rather than lived in them, playful until trapped, deadly when pressed. Creatures that thrived on uncertainty and enjoyed watching folk doubt their own senses.
When Reg recited the rhyme, Caelan did not comment, but he shifted his stance, angling himself so Jack and Reg stayed within his peripheral vision as they edged closer. His bow rose a fraction, not aimed, just ready, and he stepped subtly to one side to widen the spacing again. “Careful,” he murmured, low and even. “Don’t crowd the hole.”Barn’s question drew a brief glance. Caelan shook his head once. “I don’t think he ever meant us to be sure,” he said quietly. “That’s the trick of it.” His gaze flicked to the barrel as Reg prodded it, then back to the hollow, then up to the branches where the crows watched too intently. The faint squeal Barn had heard lodged itself in his thoughts, not ignored, not acted on yet. Another thread, perhaps, meant to pull them apart. When Jack mentioned the mushroom, Caelan’s focus sharpened. He took two slow steps closer to the oak, stopping well short of the hollow, lowering his stance to study angles rather than peer straight in. “Could be a cap,” he muttered. “Or bait.” He let out a measured breath and lifted his free hand slightly, hold. No rush. No sudden moves.
You should have answered her, he thought, eyes never leaving the tree. Which means you’re listening…and choosing not to. Caelan stayed where he was, scanning oak, barrel, ground, and treeline in turn, testing what felt placed rather than natural, waiting for the moment when the forest, or the thing hiding within it, made the next move.
Jack's two handed hold on the notched arrow is still in place, but lets the bowstring go slack and the arrow is now pointed downward. Jack continues to look around without stepping, just slowly rotating in place. Jack takes a deep cleansing breath, then speaks. Spoken louder than his previous mumbling, he says "Have we been misdirected?"
Assuming Ned outfoxed them, Jack is looking for a sign of Ned's tracks slightly beyond the tree as the others that have approached the tree have probably destroyed any signs. When a potential sign looks promising he slowly walks to that point for a better look.
Ardwynn slowly spins in place until she is looking back at the hollowed tree again. "I fear you all may be correct. We followed the lure and now we are in a spot of 'their' choosing... whomever 'they' are. Best be prepared for anything."
Caelan remained still as Ardwynn’s words faded into the mist, his eyes fixed on the hollow oak. He knew enough of the old ways to feel the wrongness in the silence. An entreaty like hers, clear, respectful, and properly given, should have earned an answer. Even the most ill-tempered hob would usually acknowledge being addressed so openly. That it hadn’t unsettled him more than any threat. His thoughts turned inward, working quickly through remembered warnings and half-names. Hob was never a single creature, only a courtesy, one given in hope of avoiding offense. Bwca. Dobby. Hearth-goblins his grandmother had spoken of in low voices. Tricksy things that borrowed places rather than lived in them, playful until trapped, deadly when pressed. Creatures that thrived on uncertainty and enjoyed watching folk doubt their own senses.
When Reg recited the rhyme, Caelan did not comment, but he shifted his stance, angling himself so Jack and Reg stayed within his peripheral vision as they edged closer. His bow rose a fraction, not aimed, just ready, and he stepped subtly to one side to widen the spacing again. “Careful,” he murmured, low and even. “Don’t crowd the hole.”Barn’s question drew a brief glance. Caelan shook his head once. “I don’t think he ever meant us to be sure,” he said quietly. “That’s the trick of it.” His gaze flicked to the barrel as Reg prodded it, then back to the hollow, then up to the branches where the crows watched too intently. The faint squeal Barn had heard lodged itself in his thoughts, not ignored, not acted on yet. Another thread, perhaps, meant to pull them apart. When Jack mentioned the mushroom, Caelan’s focus sharpened. He took two slow steps closer to the oak, stopping well short of the hollow, lowering his stance to study angles rather than peer straight in. “Could be a cap,” he muttered. “Or bait.” He let out a measured breath and lifted his free hand slightly, hold. No rush. No sudden moves.
You should have answered her, he thought, eyes never leaving the tree. Which means you’re listening…and choosing not to. Caelan stayed where he was, scanning oak, barrel, ground, and treeline in turn, testing what felt placed rather than natural, waiting for the moment when the forest, or the thing hiding within it, made the next move.
Someone about what Jack said scratches at his mind.......What sort of mushroom......why would a mushroom be so notable that the afflicated man would comment on it.....
Jack's two handed hold on the notched arrow is still in place, but lets the bowstring go slack and the arrow is now pointed downward. Jack continues to look around without stepping, just slowly rotating in place. Jack takes a deep cleansing breath, then speaks. Spoken louder than his previous mumbling, he says "Have we been misdirected?"
Assuming Ned outfoxed them, Jack is looking for a sign of Ned's tracks slightly beyond the tree as the others that have approached the tree have probably destroyed any signs. When a potential sign looks promising he slowly walks to that point for a better look.
Assume tracking is survival 17
New Perception 14
He is unable to find any tracks at all.....even in places he is certain Ned would have had to pass judging from the barrels position......as he assesses the situation he replays the last few things his namesake has said....what exactly did he.....was he talking to a mushroom?
Ardwynn slowly spins in place until she is looking back at the hollowed tree again. "I fear you all may be correct. We followed the lure and now we are in a spot of 'their' choosing... whomever 'they' are. Best be prepared for anything."
The crows are certainly paying them all a lot of attention but whether it is because they are soon expecting a meal or because the group are the most entertaining thing in the woods this morning is hard to tell.......
In her gut she's almost certain that Clotha is nowhere nearby and getting further away by the moment......
Caelan watched Jack ease the bowstring and begin his slow turn, noting the shift from tension to thought. He didn’t interrupt. Questions like that, have we been misdirected, were the right ones to ask in places like this. “Aye,” he said quietly, not answering so much as acknowledging. He stepped a few paces to the side, careful where he placed his boots, eyes dropping to the ground beyond the hollow oak rather than around it. “Very likely.”
He followed Jack’s line of thinking without mirroring his movements, widening his own search pattern instead, looking not for footprints, but for absence. Where grass should have been bent and wasn’t. Where dew lay untouched in places that should have been disturbed. He frowned slightly as the pattern refused to resolve into anything solid. “No tracks,” he murmured. “Not where he’d have to pass. Not even where he’d want us to think he did.” The word mushroom surfaced again in his mind, nagging. Caelan’s gaze lifted slowly from the ground to the hollow, then to the base of the oak, scanning for caps, rings, growths that didn’t belong. In old tales, mushrooms were markers as often as food, fairy rings, thresholds, places where the ground thinned between worlds. Not all were dangerous. But none were meaningless.
He shifted his weight, turning just enough to keep everyone in view without drawing focus. “This clearing,” he said lowly, more observation than warning. “It’s chosen. Not random.”The crows’ attention did not escape him. He did not look up at them directly, only tracked their shadows as they hopped and cawed from branch to branch. Too many eyes. Too patient. Caelan’s jaw set as he straightened, the realization settling heavier in his chest. “If Clotha was meant to be here,” he said quietly, “we’d hear her. This feels like a pause. A question asked of us.” He took one slow step back from the oak, careful not to turn his back on it. “Stay ready,” he added, calm but firm. “And don’t commit to any one answer yet. That’s how they win.” His eyes moved once more across the clearing, alert, remembering half-remembered lessons and old warnings. You don’t follow their path, he thought. You wait for them to show you which choice costs the least. And so Caelan waited, watching, listening, and refusing to be hurried by the silence as he thought about everything that has gone on so far.
OOC: Insight Check on the mention of the mushroom and just this whole situation: 25 (Nat 20; rolled in game-log)
"For what it is worth, I think between the mushroom and the crows we have lost the trail and should probably leave. Those crows are giving me the heebie-jeebies. I would like to leave this little area and figure out where we lost the trail."
To see if a gathering of crows is bad roll survival20
Jack starts to back away from his current position and start to retreat back to where they came from, and starting to look for a new trail and if something is ready to ambush them. Perception 12
Reg was drawn to Caelan for unknown reasons, he felt familiar in an outcast kind of way. His measured decisions mostly aligned with his…mostly. But on this point, waiting, he could take it no longer.
He pleads with the others, ”We all saw the girl in the hollow, thar’s no other place to look, the barrel is as real as I. We asked for permission and got not any response. I say we act and ask for forgiveness if needed.”
And with that, the stout man moves to the tree, staff held in front, bottom tip just slightly ahead of his step, a little off the ground. “We’ve come for the girl, if’n you’s are inviting us in, then don’t return her now.”
He reaches out with his staff to determine if the tree is real. His conviction firm.
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Arcana- 6
Ardwynns voice rings out her tone and and timbre so utterly convincing that many of her companions, and indeed some of the surrounding crows, felt moved to speak even though they had not been addressed......yet from the hollow tree there was only silence......
( +1 Heroic Inspiration to Ardwynn)
Smiling Jack scans the area but is unable to sight anything concerning....
Barns eyes and ears scan the treeline finding nothing concerning though he does hear a faint squeal, possibly from a small mammal or similar, some distance away to the south.....
Caelen- knows from rustic tales that the term general 'goblin' covers an almost infinite number of troublesome or vexatious fay, such as Bwca, spriggans etc. and that the prefix 'Hob' was generally amended to that term in order to be polite......generally in hope that they would leave them be. The features do seem reminiscent of other fay his grandmother referred to as Goblins of Dobbies.....generally mischievous, tricksy.....yet deadly when trapped....
Utterly ignoring the tense situation and Ardwynns attempt to negotiate the strange little pox-marked man shuffled up to the tree and poked his head into the hollow looking downwards.
Jack sees:-
Neds grinning face hisses at you inches from your face as you look down into the hollow, a scrap of white linen is caught on the inside of the hollow......a long clawed hand reaches for you......
Reg had watched the young girl Ardwynn address the creature as best as he could think when an old rhyme came to him.
“I do believe it’s him in there, I think your speech was grand. Why he won’t parley with us I can not understand.” Reg takes a step forward getting closer to the hollow so his voice will reach into the hole. He then recites the small nursery rhyme he (and others) had used sometimes back at his hamlet. While it mostly was used for helping with the sick, he thought any reaction from Ned would be welcomed at this point
“Hobhole Hob! Hobhole Hob!
Ma bairn’s gotten t’kink cough,
Tak’t off, tak’t off!”
”Won’t you have a word with us, perhaps then we’d understand. Why you took the girl so far, took her from her lands. Is there something you’d rather have, that we could trade you for perhaps?”
Smiling Jack is still on guard splitting his attention between the tree and the surrounding terrain.
Jack closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head and quickly looks around again. Jack mumbles, "Too many choices, he may be in tree he may have left...If you take something, and they are on your tail, then give the following people choices...dad called it...ah... misdirection. Ned is in the tree, but no sign of him...since we saw him in the tree...that is why this off...he isn't there no more...but then... this is harder than my training...what if he is in the tree, cause everyone thinks he is...I must be wrong.".....
Jack waves his fingers at Ned and says, "Hello down there! What's your name? and why are down in that hole?!"
"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
Arcana- 14
Reg- walked up towards the hollow tree behind Jack who was peering into the stump.....
As Reg drew closer to the tree the essence of Illusory dweomer seeped out from within it.....much stronger than the fading essence along the path.....
Smiling Jack considered all the possibilities.....
Jack-
As Jack speaks to Ned he notes a slight incongruencey when Neds arm reaches up to paw at him the elbow seems to dip inside the wood of the trunk.....and as the face sneers at him he can almost make out something behind it.....a large bulbous puffball fungi almost as big as Jacks head......
Barn is starting to fidget. He had held back, thinking that Wynn's overture would be the starting point of the interaction with Old Ned. Yet with no response, and now with UN-smiling Jack and Reg the Trapper approaching and talking down into the hole, he has no idea what to think.
"Wh-what do you s-see in there? I scanned the tr-treeline. L-looked and listened. No th-threats, but did hear some critter squealing f-further south."
The big man looks helplessly at Ardwynn and Caelan beside him, then back at the two by the stump. "Is... is Old N-Ned even in there with Clotha?"
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map
The trapper had hoped for a non-confrontational meeting, perhaps that was still possible, but that belief was waning thin.
”Things are not as they appear here, I can not say exactly how, but our eyes, our senses are deceiving us…as is what ever we have followed. Trust not what you are seeing”
Reg backs away from the hollow and the tree. His hands grasp his staff. He looks up to the surrounding trees where the murder of crows are.
With measured breath, he states, “We just want the girl returned!”
Then a thought comes to him. If he can’t trust his senses, how can he be sure the barrel is real? He rushes to where the empty barrel lay and pokes and prods it with his staff, trying to tell if it is part of the illusion as well before checking anything else.
Óengus considers the situation and points out to the party that the truth is unknown, and Old Ned is refusing to negotiate. "Thus, we have to make a decision about how to proceed. Should we further investigate the path we have traveled and how the events proceeded? Could we have been decieved at any point?"
OOC: Also just thinking it would be beneficial to have a summary of all the information we know.
"I cast Fireball."
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"I cast Fireball."
"It's a 15 by 15 room."
"I said I cast Fireball."
"Hey guys, something is wrong. There's like a mushroom down there! Does that make sense?"
Jack looks back to see if the party understands the words coming out of his mouth.
"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
A query indeed......
The barrel appears to be as real as he perceived making a hard thunk as he pokes it with his staff....
Further excellent queries....
Jacks question follows the others as it hangs in the air.....
Caelan remained still as Ardwynn’s words faded into the mist, his eyes fixed on the hollow oak. He knew enough of the old ways to feel the wrongness in the silence. An entreaty like hers, clear, respectful, and properly given, should have earned an answer. Even the most ill-tempered hob would usually acknowledge being addressed so openly. That it hadn’t unsettled him more than any threat. His thoughts turned inward, working quickly through remembered warnings and half-names. Hob was never a single creature, only a courtesy, one given in hope of avoiding offense. Bwca. Dobby. Hearth-goblins his grandmother had spoken of in low voices. Tricksy things that borrowed places rather than lived in them, playful until trapped, deadly when pressed. Creatures that thrived on uncertainty and enjoyed watching folk doubt their own senses.
When Reg recited the rhyme, Caelan did not comment, but he shifted his stance, angling himself so Jack and Reg stayed within his peripheral vision as they edged closer. His bow rose a fraction, not aimed, just ready, and he stepped subtly to one side to widen the spacing again. “Careful,” he murmured, low and even. “Don’t crowd the hole.” Barn’s question drew a brief glance. Caelan shook his head once. “I don’t think he ever meant us to be sure,” he said quietly. “That’s the trick of it.” His gaze flicked to the barrel as Reg prodded it, then back to the hollow, then up to the branches where the crows watched too intently. The faint squeal Barn had heard lodged itself in his thoughts, not ignored, not acted on yet. Another thread, perhaps, meant to pull them apart. When Jack mentioned the mushroom, Caelan’s focus sharpened. He took two slow steps closer to the oak, stopping well short of the hollow, lowering his stance to study angles rather than peer straight in. “Could be a cap,” he muttered. “Or bait.” He let out a measured breath and lifted his free hand slightly, hold. No rush. No sudden moves.
You should have answered her, he thought, eyes never leaving the tree. Which means you’re listening…and choosing not to. Caelan stayed where he was, scanning oak, barrel, ground, and treeline in turn, testing what felt placed rather than natural, waiting for the moment when the forest, or the thing hiding within it, made the next move.
Smiling Jack
Jack's two handed hold on the notched arrow is still in place, but lets the bowstring go slack and the arrow is now pointed downward. Jack continues to look around without stepping, just slowly rotating in place. Jack takes a deep cleansing breath, then speaks. Spoken louder than his previous mumbling, he says "Have we been misdirected?"
Assuming Ned outfoxed them, Jack is looking for a sign of Ned's tracks slightly beyond the tree as the others that have approached the tree have probably destroyed any signs. When a potential sign looks promising he slowly walks to that point for a better look.
Assume tracking is survival 17
New Perception 14
Ardwynn - Wisdom check: 13
Ardwynn slowly spins in place until she is looking back at the hollowed tree again. "I fear you all may be correct. We followed the lure and now we are in a spot of 'their' choosing... whomever 'they' are. Best be prepared for anything."
Someone about what Jack said scratches at his mind.......What sort of mushroom......why would a mushroom be so notable that the afflicated man would comment on it.....
He is unable to find any tracks at all.....even in places he is certain Ned would have had to pass judging from the barrels position......as he assesses the situation he replays the last few things his namesake has said....what exactly did he.....was he talking to a mushroom?
The crows are certainly paying them all a lot of attention but whether it is because they are soon expecting a meal or because the group are the most entertaining thing in the woods this morning is hard to tell.......
In her gut she's almost certain that Clotha is nowhere nearby and getting further away by the moment......
Caelan watched Jack ease the bowstring and begin his slow turn, noting the shift from tension to thought. He didn’t interrupt. Questions like that, have we been misdirected, were the right ones to ask in places like this. “Aye,” he said quietly, not answering so much as acknowledging. He stepped a few paces to the side, careful where he placed his boots, eyes dropping to the ground beyond the hollow oak rather than around it. “Very likely.”
He followed Jack’s line of thinking without mirroring his movements, widening his own search pattern instead, looking not for footprints, but for absence. Where grass should have been bent and wasn’t. Where dew lay untouched in places that should have been disturbed. He frowned slightly as the pattern refused to resolve into anything solid. “No tracks,” he murmured. “Not where he’d have to pass. Not even where he’d want us to think he did.” The word mushroom surfaced again in his mind, nagging. Caelan’s gaze lifted slowly from the ground to the hollow, then to the base of the oak, scanning for caps, rings, growths that didn’t belong. In old tales, mushrooms were markers as often as food, fairy rings, thresholds, places where the ground thinned between worlds. Not all were dangerous. But none were meaningless.
He shifted his weight, turning just enough to keep everyone in view without drawing focus. “This clearing,” he said lowly, more observation than warning. “It’s chosen. Not random.” The crows’ attention did not escape him. He did not look up at them directly, only tracked their shadows as they hopped and cawed from branch to branch. Too many eyes. Too patient. Caelan’s jaw set as he straightened, the realization settling heavier in his chest. “If Clotha was meant to be here,” he said quietly, “we’d hear her. This feels like a pause. A question asked of us.” He took one slow step back from the oak, careful not to turn his back on it. “Stay ready,” he added, calm but firm. “And don’t commit to any one answer yet. That’s how they win.” His eyes moved once more across the clearing, alert, remembering half-remembered lessons and old warnings. You don’t follow their path, he thought. You wait for them to show you which choice costs the least. And so Caelan waited, watching, listening, and refusing to be hurried by the silence as he thought about everything that has gone on so far.
OOC:
Insight Check on the mention of the mushroom and just this whole situation: 25 (Nat 20; rolled in game-log)
Smiling Jack
"For what it is worth, I think between the mushroom and the crows we have lost the trail and should probably leave. Those crows are giving me the heebie-jeebies. I would like to leave this little area and figure out where we lost the trail."
To see if a gathering of crows is bad roll survival20
Jack starts to back away from his current position and start to retreat back to where they came from, and starting to look for a new trail and if something is ready to ambush them. Perception 12
Jack still has his shortbow & arrow notched.
OOC- this is were my character knows more then me.
Smiling Jack says, "something about crows and how they can alert X or Y. Also why they should leave this area as soon as possible"
Reg was drawn to Caelan for unknown reasons, he felt familiar in an outcast kind of way. His measured decisions mostly aligned with his…mostly. But on this point, waiting, he could take it no longer.
He pleads with the others, ”We all saw the girl in the hollow, thar’s no other place to look, the barrel is as real as I. We asked for permission and got not any response. I say we act and ask for forgiveness if needed.”
And with that, the stout man moves to the tree, staff held in front, bottom tip just slightly ahead of his step, a little off the ground. “We’ve come for the girl, if’n you’s are inviting us in, then don’t return her now.”
He reaches out with his staff to determine if the tree is real. His conviction firm.