As the group settled into camp for the night, Broch eventually excused himself and moved some distance away. The mage spent some time clearing a small area of branches and debris, then pulled a variety of items from his pack and pouches, organizing things carefully, paying strict attention to the forms and details of the ritual he'd decided it was time to undertake. The ritual required precision, as all magic did, and he soon lost himself in the workings of the spell, sending out his summoning, practically seeing it as a physical thing, seeking, ghosting out beyond and through the woods around them. Time passed and eventually Broch felt the response he'd been searching for. The spirit came to him and he completed the ritual, sealing his connection to it. With a final few crisp gestures, it coalesced out of the night air before him in the form of an owl, and settled onto his forearm, extended in greeting. He hadn't planned that specifically, but must have drawn the inspiration from the sounds of the living woods around him without realizing. So much mystery in the ways of magic, he thought, and so much more to learn still. "Off you go, then, my friend," he says in a low voice, and sent it up into the treetops for the time being. Quickly clearing away what remained of the ritual area, he returned to the fire and his new-found companions.
When his turn came in the night to keep watch, he continued to explore the link he'd created, seeing the night though the eyes of the owl up above and sending him out over the trees - an odd sensation at first, but one he grew more accustomed to as the time passed. When dawn came, he rose and joined the others around the remains of the campfire, though mostly refraining from the conversations for the time being.
He had little interest in stories, but was pleasantly surprised by Kero's riddles. Such challenges reminded him of home, and the camaraderie of his old warband when they were on the road, just as now. "One for you, then, warrior. Ripped from my mother's womb, beaten and burned, I become a blood-thirsty slayer. What am I?"
The answers came quickly to him, but he debated internally how to respond. The warrior valued might, and Jhese felt it would do little to vaunt his position in Kero's eyes if he showered him with praises for such deep riddles. On the other hand, he didn't want to come across as a know-it-all and quickly blurt out the answers. He'd let someone else claim that disparaging title.
No, he needed to gather more intel on who this warrior was before really engaging with him.
Deciding to add his own riddles to the bundle, Jhese shared, "My f..." He was quickly cut off by the proud hobgoblin. Typical.
The hobgoblin's riddle seemed far easier than the ice-borne warrior's, but Jhese suspected there was more depth to it than what he originally anticipated. Still, it did little favor to add his own riddle to the pile when three were left unanswered. But he was not addressed as the recipient of Broch's riddle, so he kept his mouth closed, looking between the two of them and finally into the forest surrounding them for any concealed viewers or ambushers.
Kero nods in response to Broch's riddle. "We do not have much experience manipulating ild. Most weapons of the jotun are taken from those they slay. The birth of these weapons hail the death of others. But the riddle speaks of its creation, so I must say it is the birth of a blade that you speak."
He saw the bard start to speak up and so nodded in his direction as he spoke. "Do you have answers, skald?"
Jhese smiles with a faint chuckle. "Your riddles are well said; their answers elusive." As if. "Perhaps you speak of the birth of Maglubiyet, Arcane Blade? Or of his famed black axe which constantly drips blood? If not so, then you have me stooped."
"And clearly the first riddle you shared speaks of a tree, frostborn. I suspect the second riddle speaks of past decisions and deeply harbored regrets, though I am no seer and cannot see your past."
He had gone out on a limb to test the waters and awaited their responses.
Broch smiled at Kero's answer but was interrupted by Jhese before he could speak. With a laugh, he responds. "I like how you think, Jhese Surion, though my people, and our gods, may not be so blood-thirsty as you believe. Discipline is the way to victory, not mere chaotic violence. Kero is closer to the mark, though not a perfect guess. Not the blade itself, but the iron which must be worked to form it."
Rummble decided to burrow himself a small hole in the ground, getting to a more softer, cold and damp earth. He swirled around himself and was just about to tuck in and close his eyes, when he noticed the hobgoblin doing some magic stuff. How strange.. the hob does magic. Watching him, he saw the monster conjure an owl, setting it loose upon the tree tops.
The next morning couldn't have bored Rummble more. Three of them were speaking in riddles. Who cares? Talking about trees and 'not the blade but the metal'. Blegh..
Rummble got to his feet and dusted himself off, picking some of the tiny grubs off his scale and leathers and popping them into his mouth. "So when's we movin?"
"That is where perception differs, Broch. You say, 'Ripped from my mother's womb, beaten and burned, I become a blood-thirsty slayer. What am I?' Had you said 'What was I?' Iron would have been the answer of choice." Kero had lived a life full of these riddles, and he would have always answered it the way he did. Each word was to be considered in an answer, but in the end it is the perception of both sides of the riddle that determine the answer. Every situation had more than one answer. This was the lesson of riddles.
Kero looks to the little kobold, "We are leaving now, Wyrm."
Aranala rolled her eyes at the riddles. They were interesting for sure, and definitely broke up the monotony of travel. The first one quite honestly was fairly easy--a tree, although if there were a type of tree then there'd be questions. Jhese answered that one readily enough, so Aranala kept her quiet. The second honestly held far more nuances in its phrasing. Jhese's response seemed far more on the mark than what Aranala thought of--death, regret, a mistake of some kind; all deeply personal, and all something that resonated with her just a bit on the whole. The last riddle, posed by Broch, definitely left much to be desired in the answer. She scowled.
"What am I? What was I?" she grumbled. "I would have said sword too. Trickery in words. Pah." Aranala rolled her shoulders and neck. "Where are we going, again? I seem to have forgotten."
Okay, to be truthful she could barely remember much of the bar, and the night after the wolves and a day of travel left her a little more than concerned what she might have agreed to that she'd forgotten in her no-longer-drunken haze. Aranala's eyes slid over to Rummble. She at least remembered Rummble. He was fun.
"Don't like riddles?" Aranala murmured specifically to the kobold.
"No, it's all stupid. Buncha' fools talkin' drunk wit' no drinks." Rummble snorts.
Then he heard the stout human call him 'wyrm'. "Oye, 'uman. I ain't that old! And I ain't that great! Not yet!"
Rummble dreamed of fame. He dreamed his name would be known for millenia. He dreamed he'd start a revolution, one that broke all kobold-kind from their shackles and bestow upon them the mindset 'I, too, am a people'.
Orilee had hoped for more stories, but talk turned to confusing questions. So many people unsure of things, and others who had the answers. Everyone was so helpful. Orilee grinned happily. Thinking itself clever as well, Orilee added to the questions. "I am broken, but kept inside. What am I?"
Broch nodded in acknowledgement of the warrior's argument. "You make a good point, Kero, the nuance of the wording is part and parcel to answering a riddle. The subtlety is the key, but perhaps something is being lost in the translation as well. Still, I would argue that the phrasing of "beaten and burned, I become" indicates the raw material is the answer. If your sword was to be beaten and burned, then it is less useful for it's intended purpose, is it not?"
The hobgoblin rose to his feet. "It is time to be moving along, yes. If everyone is packed and ready, I suggest we resume our journey before the impatient among us decide to go off on their own." When Orilee offered her own riddle, he turned to look towards the tortle. "Interesting. I'd not have expected your kind to be the emotional sort. I'd venture the answer is the heart."
Orilee considered the answer. While Orilee was sad, was it heartbroken? This would require more thought. A hand disappeared into its shell and reemerged holding the broken clockwork spider. Orilee held it up, with a soft smile. "The only thing I have left from my friend. It is broken. I cannot fix it. But I keep it, inside, next to my heart." Orilee blinked at the broken toy, the smile turning sad. "Maybe I can find someone to fix it."
Broch considered this response. It must not understand the concept of riddles, he thought. It asks a question instead, and one we couldn't know the answer to at that.
Keeping this thought to himself, he merely nods. "It is always difficult to lose those we care for," he offers. "I hope you can find someone to repair that for you, as a keepsake."
As the conversation peters out, Broch turns his attention to the trail and the forest around them as they move deeper into the wood. Aria had spoken of risks, and he was sure more than wolves and wild animals called this place home. Constant vigilance. He recalled the bard's words about how the magic around this castle of her's was twisted and unreliable. That was troubling, and he hoped there would be some sign of when that was becoming a risk to manage. He examined the greenery as they walked, eyes searching for anything starting to look unnatural or altered in any way. He continued to test his new link to the owl flaying above Did it have a name of it's own?, and occasionally let the arcane phrasing of one cantrip or another work it's power to test if there was anything he could feel in the ebb and flow of the magic.
"Aria," he asks aloud, "how far is our destination, lass? Will we be spending another night on the trail?"
Aria chooses not to partake in the riddles, but at Broch'tur's question she perks up. "We should arrive at the castle well before nightfall," she replies. "And while there are many dangers within, I'm not sure we want to spend another night camping on the wilderness. Besides, I do not know about the rest of you, but I am eager to get to this quest."
Hours go by as you continue to trade riddles. It is clear that the differences in culture often make expressions and humor awkward, as what is funny to a half-elf from Bridell does not really have any equivalent in Nyfra. Nevertheless, the time passes at least somewhat enjoyably. Eventually the greens of the forest begin to dull slightly. It is clear to those who know what they are looking for that this area of the wood is sick, dying even. Many of these trees are withered, blackened, and bear no fruit or leaves. A light mist obscures the area, blanketing the trail in a sense of gloom.
This place definitely gives you the creeps.
Shortly before when you would normally rest for dinner, you finally catch a glimpse of the castle. You can see a spire poking just out of the trees, and as you approach it looms nearer. Perhaps it's smaller than you'd expect, as all you've heard of it was an epic song. Or perhaps you expected something of this size, as you wouldn't expect a sprawling castle to be so well hidden in the woods. In either case, it's there, more foreboding than you could have hoped. A wrought iron fence separates you from the castle itself. Interestingly enough, there is no gate or opening visible to you.
As the group approaches the gateless fence, Kero can tell there's something off. The fence was nearly pristine, which for something being out in the elements as it was should have been impossible. The structure behind the fence was impressive enough, but he never cared much for dwellings and buildings. They were meant to protect you from the elements, and the elements were what made you strong. If you could endure them, you could endure anything. He approaches one of the posts of the fence, a red and blue gem decorating the post, and taps it with the butt end of his glaive. When nothing happens he turns to the others and shrugs.
Orilee wanders up behind Kero. Seeing that it was safe to touch, the Tortle reached out and touched the pretty blue gem in front of it. Suddenly, pain exploded and Orilee found itself pushed away from the fence. "I'm sorry," it said to the fence. "I only wanted a touch. I wasn't going to take!" It frowned, and looked down at its claw.
Rummble watches as the Tortle is punished for touching the fence's jewelry. The kobold rubs his scaled chin and looks at the ground. It was rocky, but as soon as his little hands starting parting the dirt, it broke loose easily enough. Not moments later he was well a number of feet down and curving to pass under the fence. As soon as his claws would brake the plane of the fence however, a physical force repels him and expels him backwards, knocking him into the little tunnel walls he'd made.
"OW! Fisk.." He rubs his scalp and crawls back up to the group, raising the other shoulder in a clueless expression. "Ay.. don't know. Magic fence says stay out. Anyone mess with magics?"
Seeing the repulsive reaction of the magic barrier to both Orilee and Rummble, but apparently not to Kero, Broch'Tur begins to pace back and forth along the fence, examining the pillars. Eyes drawn to the gems, he begins to suspect that they provide the key to this puzzle, if only they can figure it out.
He turns to their guide. "Aria, I have to assume your previous group got past this and into the castle. Was it not active in this way before? It would be... unfortunate, if we were to discover you knew of this and failed to mention it before it caused injury." Turning to the group in general, he continues. "Most curious that these two were harmed, either by touching the gems, or perhaps just the plane of the barrier itself, while Kero, a human, was not harmed. In any case, it seems most likely that our way past lies in the pattern of the stones and colors."
Kero does a walk about the fence line, noting the pattern the gemstones have. When he returns to the rest of the group, he stops at the pillar with three gemstones. "If this is a puzzle," he says, "I think this is where it would be unlocked." He grinned a bit, "Try Red, Blue, then Green." He thought he might have seen a pattern and was confidant he could heal any wounds the group would get if he were wrong.
As the group settled into camp for the night, Broch eventually excused himself and moved some distance away. The mage spent some time clearing a small area of branches and debris, then pulled a variety of items from his pack and pouches, organizing things carefully, paying strict attention to the forms and details of the ritual he'd decided it was time to undertake. The ritual required precision, as all magic did, and he soon lost himself in the workings of the spell, sending out his summoning, practically seeing it as a physical thing, seeking, ghosting out beyond and through the woods around them. Time passed and eventually Broch felt the response he'd been searching for. The spirit came to him and he completed the ritual, sealing his connection to it. With a final few crisp gestures, it coalesced out of the night air before him in the form of an owl, and settled onto his forearm, extended in greeting. He hadn't planned that specifically, but must have drawn the inspiration from the sounds of the living woods around him without realizing. So much mystery in the ways of magic, he thought, and so much more to learn still. "Off you go, then, my friend," he says in a low voice, and sent it up into the treetops for the time being. Quickly clearing away what remained of the ritual area, he returned to the fire and his new-found companions.
When his turn came in the night to keep watch, he continued to explore the link he'd created, seeing the night though the eyes of the owl up above and sending him out over the trees - an odd sensation at first, but one he grew more accustomed to as the time passed. When dawn came, he rose and joined the others around the remains of the campfire, though mostly refraining from the conversations for the time being.
He had little interest in stories, but was pleasantly surprised by Kero's riddles. Such challenges reminded him of home, and the camaraderie of his old warband when they were on the road, just as now. "One for you, then, warrior. Ripped from my mother's womb, beaten and burned, I become a blood-thirsty slayer. What am I?"
The answers came quickly to him, but he debated internally how to respond. The warrior valued might, and Jhese felt it would do little to vaunt his position in Kero's eyes if he showered him with praises for such deep riddles. On the other hand, he didn't want to come across as a know-it-all and quickly blurt out the answers. He'd let someone else claim that disparaging title.
No, he needed to gather more intel on who this warrior was before really engaging with him.
Deciding to add his own riddles to the bundle, Jhese shared, "My f..." He was quickly cut off by the proud hobgoblin. Typical.
The hobgoblin's riddle seemed far easier than the ice-borne warrior's, but Jhese suspected there was more depth to it than what he originally anticipated. Still, it did little favor to add his own riddle to the pile when three were left unanswered. But he was not addressed as the recipient of Broch's riddle, so he kept his mouth closed, looking between the two of them and finally into the forest surrounding them for any concealed viewers or ambushers.
Kero nods in response to Broch's riddle. "We do not have much experience manipulating ild. Most weapons of the jotun are taken from those they slay. The birth of these weapons hail the death of others. But the riddle speaks of its creation, so I must say it is the birth of a blade that you speak."
He saw the bard start to speak up and so nodded in his direction as he spoke. "Do you have answers, skald?"
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Jhese smiles with a faint chuckle. "Your riddles are well said; their answers elusive." As if. "Perhaps you speak of the birth of Maglubiyet, Arcane Blade? Or of his famed black axe which constantly drips blood? If not so, then you have me stooped."
"And clearly the first riddle you shared speaks of a tree, frostborn. I suspect the second riddle speaks of past decisions and deeply harbored regrets, though I am no seer and cannot see your past."
He had gone out on a limb to test the waters and awaited their responses.
Broch smiled at Kero's answer but was interrupted by Jhese before he could speak. With a laugh, he responds. "I like how you think, Jhese Surion, though my people, and our gods, may not be so blood-thirsty as you believe. Discipline is the way to victory, not mere chaotic violence. Kero is closer to the mark, though not a perfect guess. Not the blade itself, but the iron which must be worked to form it."
Rummble decided to burrow himself a small hole in the ground, getting to a more softer, cold and damp earth. He swirled around himself and was just about to tuck in and close his eyes, when he noticed the hobgoblin doing some magic stuff. How strange.. the hob does magic. Watching him, he saw the monster conjure an owl, setting it loose upon the tree tops.
The next morning couldn't have bored Rummble more. Three of them were speaking in riddles. Who cares? Talking about trees and 'not the blade but the metal'. Blegh..
Rummble got to his feet and dusted himself off, picking some of the tiny grubs off his scale and leathers and popping them into his mouth. "So when's we movin?"
"That is where perception differs, Broch. You say, 'Ripped from my mother's womb, beaten and burned, I become a blood-thirsty slayer. What am I?' Had you said 'What was I?' Iron would have been the answer of choice." Kero had lived a life full of these riddles, and he would have always answered it the way he did. Each word was to be considered in an answer, but in the end it is the perception of both sides of the riddle that determine the answer. Every situation had more than one answer. This was the lesson of riddles.
Kero looks to the little kobold, "We are leaving now, Wyrm."
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Aranala rolled her eyes at the riddles. They were interesting for sure, and definitely broke up the monotony of travel. The first one quite honestly was fairly easy--a tree, although if there were a type of tree then there'd be questions. Jhese answered that one readily enough, so Aranala kept her quiet. The second honestly held far more nuances in its phrasing. Jhese's response seemed far more on the mark than what Aranala thought of--death, regret, a mistake of some kind; all deeply personal, and all something that resonated with her just a bit on the whole. The last riddle, posed by Broch, definitely left much to be desired in the answer. She scowled.
"What am I? What was I?" she grumbled. "I would have said sword too. Trickery in words. Pah." Aranala rolled her shoulders and neck. "Where are we going, again? I seem to have forgotten."
Okay, to be truthful she could barely remember much of the bar, and the night after the wolves and a day of travel left her a little more than concerned what she might have agreed to that she'd forgotten in her no-longer-drunken haze. Aranala's eyes slid over to Rummble. She at least remembered Rummble. He was fun.
"Don't like riddles?" Aranala murmured specifically to the kobold.
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"No, it's all stupid. Buncha' fools talkin' drunk wit' no drinks." Rummble snorts.
Then he heard the stout human call him 'wyrm'. "Oye, 'uman. I ain't that old! And I ain't that great! Not yet!"
Rummble dreamed of fame. He dreamed his name would be known for millenia. He dreamed he'd start a revolution, one that broke all kobold-kind from their shackles and bestow upon them the mindset 'I, too, am a people'.
Orilee had hoped for more stories, but talk turned to confusing questions. So many people unsure of things, and others who had the answers. Everyone was so helpful. Orilee grinned happily. Thinking itself clever as well, Orilee added to the questions. "I am broken, but kept inside. What am I?"
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Broch nodded in acknowledgement of the warrior's argument. "You make a good point, Kero, the nuance of the wording is part and parcel to answering a riddle. The subtlety is the key, but perhaps something is being lost in the translation as well. Still, I would argue that the phrasing of "beaten and burned, I become" indicates the raw material is the answer. If your sword was to be beaten and burned, then it is less useful for it's intended purpose, is it not?"
The hobgoblin rose to his feet. "It is time to be moving along, yes. If everyone is packed and ready, I suggest we resume our journey before the impatient among us decide to go off on their own." When Orilee offered her own riddle, he turned to look towards the tortle. "Interesting. I'd not have expected your kind to be the emotional sort. I'd venture the answer is the heart."
Orilee considered the answer. While Orilee was sad, was it heartbroken? This would require more thought. A hand disappeared into its shell and reemerged holding the broken clockwork spider. Orilee held it up, with a soft smile. "The only thing I have left from my friend. It is broken. I cannot fix it. But I keep it, inside, next to my heart." Orilee blinked at the broken toy, the smile turning sad. "Maybe I can find someone to fix it."
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Broch considered this response. It must not understand the concept of riddles, he thought. It asks a question instead, and one we couldn't know the answer to at that.
Keeping this thought to himself, he merely nods. "It is always difficult to lose those we care for," he offers. "I hope you can find someone to repair that for you, as a keepsake."
As the conversation peters out, Broch turns his attention to the trail and the forest around them as they move deeper into the wood. Aria had spoken of risks, and he was sure more than wolves and wild animals called this place home. Constant vigilance. He recalled the bard's words about how the magic around this castle of her's was twisted and unreliable. That was troubling, and he hoped there would be some sign of when that was becoming a risk to manage. He examined the greenery as they walked, eyes searching for anything starting to look unnatural or altered in any way. He continued to test his new link to the owl flaying above Did it have a name of it's own?, and occasionally let the arcane phrasing of one cantrip or another work it's power to test if there was anything he could feel in the ebb and flow of the magic.
"Aria," he asks aloud, "how far is our destination, lass? Will we be spending another night on the trail?"
Aria chooses not to partake in the riddles, but at Broch'tur's question she perks up. "We should arrive at the castle well before nightfall," she replies. "And while there are many dangers within, I'm not sure we want to spend another night camping on the wilderness. Besides, I do not know about the rest of you, but I am eager to get to this quest."
Hours go by as you continue to trade riddles. It is clear that the differences in culture often make expressions and humor awkward, as what is funny to a half-elf from Bridell does not really have any equivalent in Nyfra. Nevertheless, the time passes at least somewhat enjoyably. Eventually the greens of the forest begin to dull slightly. It is clear to those who know what they are looking for that this area of the wood is sick, dying even. Many of these trees are withered, blackened, and bear no fruit or leaves. A light mist obscures the area, blanketing the trail in a sense of gloom.
This place definitely gives you the creeps.
Shortly before when you would normally rest for dinner, you finally catch a glimpse of the castle. You can see a spire poking just out of the trees, and as you approach it looms nearer. Perhaps it's smaller than you'd expect, as all you've heard of it was an epic song. Or perhaps you expected something of this size, as you wouldn't expect a sprawling castle to be so well hidden in the woods. In either case, it's there, more foreboding than you could have hoped. A wrought iron fence separates you from the castle itself. Interestingly enough, there is no gate or opening visible to you.
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As the group approaches the gateless fence, Kero can tell there's something off. The fence was nearly pristine, which for something being out in the elements as it was should have been impossible. The structure behind the fence was impressive enough, but he never cared much for dwellings and buildings. They were meant to protect you from the elements, and the elements were what made you strong. If you could endure them, you could endure anything. He approaches one of the posts of the fence, a red and blue gem decorating the post, and taps it with the butt end of his glaive. When nothing happens he turns to the others and shrugs.
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Orilee wanders up behind Kero. Seeing that it was safe to touch, the Tortle reached out and touched the pretty blue gem in front of it. Suddenly, pain exploded and Orilee found itself pushed away from the fence. "I'm sorry," it said to the fence. "I only wanted a touch. I wasn't going to take!" It frowned, and looked down at its claw.
(Took 4 psychic damage and pushed back 5 ft)
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Rummble watches as the Tortle is punished for touching the fence's jewelry. The kobold rubs his scaled chin and looks at the ground. It was rocky, but as soon as his little hands starting parting the dirt, it broke loose easily enough. Not moments later he was well a number of feet down and curving to pass under the fence. As soon as his claws would brake the plane of the fence however, a physical force repels him and expels him backwards, knocking him into the little tunnel walls he'd made.
"OW! Fisk.." He rubs his scalp and crawls back up to the group, raising the other shoulder in a clueless expression. "Ay.. don't know. Magic fence says stay out. Anyone mess with magics?"
(4 psychic damage)
Seeing the repulsive reaction of the magic barrier to both Orilee and Rummble, but apparently not to Kero, Broch'Tur begins to pace back and forth along the fence, examining the pillars. Eyes drawn to the gems, he begins to suspect that they provide the key to this puzzle, if only they can figure it out.
He turns to their guide. "Aria, I have to assume your previous group got past this and into the castle. Was it not active in this way before? It would be... unfortunate, if we were to discover you knew of this and failed to mention it before it caused injury." Turning to the group in general, he continues. "Most curious that these two were harmed, either by touching the gems, or perhaps just the plane of the barrier itself, while Kero, a human, was not harmed. In any case, it seems most likely that our way past lies in the pattern of the stones and colors."
Kero does a walk about the fence line, noting the pattern the gemstones have. When he returns to the rest of the group, he stops at the pillar with three gemstones. "If this is a puzzle," he says, "I think this is where it would be unlocked." He grinned a bit, "Try Red, Blue, then Green." He thought he might have seen a pattern and was confidant he could heal any wounds the group would get if he were wrong.
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