((I've got an idea.I'll post it up in the morning.))

The vision:

As Skritch reaches, entranced by the statue's magics, a memory awakens within him.

It is nighttime deep the the Shadowbraid forest; yet the sky is lit by the fullness of the moon, hanging clearly in the air nestled in a sea of stars. Clutched close to his chest is a small parcel; a labor of devotion for just this occasion. As Skritch passes further from his small tree hut and deeper into the thorny woods, he can sense the nocturnal animals scurry about around him, a living web of energy that pulses and breathes even in this dark place. It's not long before the erstwhile aven find what he is looking for; a tall tree, bent and knotted with age and the power of the Mistress' presence. Not many of these trees are easy to find in the tangle, and Skritch feels comfort in knowing one is so close, especially on this night. Ascending the twisted tree in a series of short hops and pulls, he begins to unpack his parcel, nestled in its boughs. Stretching the thin decorated paper over the small wooden frame, Skritch remembers how lucky he was to find the parchment scrolls hidden away in the pack of that hapless traveler some months ago. Paper is quite the rarity here, and just perfect for his latest project. He had decorated the pages with all manner of designs; thorns and whorls, swamp flowers and stars, but one side was the most important, and he took great care as he lashed the final panel to the twiggy frame. As the moonlight continued to fall across the thorny expanse, Skritch watched in wonder as the lunar flowers began to unfurl, taking in the soft cool rays of their nocturnal nourisher. That is when it happens; from all around, in pairs and groups, the dusk-doves begin to take flight. The mirrored pairs, one black as the night's sky and the other as stark white as the full moon above, flit and fly together to form flocks of mobile stars and inky void. Sensing the time had come, Skritch lights the small candle inside the wooden frame of this parcel and, with a small toss, lets it bob and float away into the mass of moving sky. The paper lantern gently lifts away, turning slightly in the sky to reveal all his artworks; the thorns, the flowers, and stars.....and the most important panel, the lone Kenku borne to the sky on magical wings. Skritch watches as his lantern is carried away by the curious flying flock. From his vantage he sees other offering lights appear here and there around the tangle, though no others take to the air as his did. The Shadowbraid is dotted with light like its own little patch of starry sky, with offerings and wishes and thanks for the Thorn Witch. Once more Skritch looks to the sky to watch his own offering dance and weave among the dichotomous flock. Maybe this year......

Skritch blinks a moment realizing he is in a small cramped room full of knickknacks and baubles, not the open expanse of his home.....his home that was put to the torch not so long ago. He pulls back from the dusk-dove statue that he was so close to touching. A small tear escapes his eye and is lost among the feathers around his beak. Reaching into his pouch he softly clutches the avocado-sized seed, hoping it will comfort him.

(Uh that was completely amazing!)

The seed pulses with warmth as Skritch holds it close to him. For a moment, he senses the Thorn Witch's presence before it seems to fade. That is when Skritch hears a hard knock from behind him. There in the darkness that seemed imperceivable, the kenku sees a staff standing erect on its own until a withered, human-like hand seems to phase in like a ghost clutching it. However, Skritch cannot see who the hand belongs to, but he is able to guess.

"Who dares call on me?!" A scratchy old woman's voice screeches. She sounds angry. "State your name!"

Startled, Skritch turns and cowers at the stern voice. "Skritch! Skritch is here with message!" he stammeringly squawks.

"Skritch! Skritch!" The voice shouts a few more times. An old, human-looking woman pops out from the shadows. For a moment, Skritch may feel confused as he is used to hearing that witches and hags and other similar beings typically were green-skinned, but this one is more of a sandy color than anything. In a mere instant, she was near him and pulled him into a hug. "Oh, a messenger birdy! How lovely, how positively lovely!" She pulls away from him and has a huge smile painted on her face, but Skritch cannot see her eyes as they are obscured by rather fashionable-looking glasses. She turns from the kenku and waddles over to her table, "Come, come, sit with me, Skritch."

The staff is taller than she is as she seems to be roughly 4'5" in height, but she is stocky in her appearance. She had crows feet scattered around her eyes, deep wrinkles on her forehead, and smile lines that reached from the tip of her nose and around the crease of her lips. Whisps of white hair framed the woman's face with jagged curls flying in either direction, and her head was topped off with a wide-brimmed, black hat that had a crooked cone. She seemed to wear a simple, black gown, but Skritch couldn't see much more of the woman's skin aside from her hands and bare feet.

"Tell Baba Aga what your message is," Baga Aga beckons the kenku to join her as she finally manages to climb up to sit.

(Hey guys, I know I've been hammering out scenes with Skritch. My sister is visiting, so working on the jobs thing is taking a back burner, please feel free to start roleplaying at NPCs or each other and I will fill in when I can!)

Tentatively, Skritch shuffles over to the table and pulls himself into a chair. Looking at the old woman, he begins his tale. "Skritch from Shadowbraid in Amoan Hills. Skritch live there long time. Long as can remember. Gaians come to Shadowbraid. Bring army, bring fire. Skritch afraid. Skritch hide. Mistress find Skritch, but Mistress hurt. Give Skritch things and message for Baba Aga. Tell Skritch to flee to Dorborden." With that, Skritch pulls out the old tome and places it on the table, then reaches into his pouch and lays out the seed wrapped in a soft cloth. Again he speaks, but this time in the perfect imitation of the Thorn Witch's voice, complete with her pain and struggle. "Seek Baba Aga. Don't... tell... anyone..." Sitting back, he waits to see how his news is received.

Baba Aga's worry lines deepen as she says, "Dear old Thorny..." Baba Aga seems lost in thought, "Thorny always protected the Shadowbraid. If she has fallen, then things are looking worse than we could have imagined. The Gaians... what kind were they?"

((Does Skritch know?))

((Oh yes, feel free to say whatever you'd like. :) ))

"Skritch see many Gaians. Humans on horse. Elves with bows. Dwarves with big flingers of fire." Skritch tries to think back if there were any others.....

Jiron leaned back against the wall of his cramped room at the back of the Elder's Vault. He rubbed his eyes as he stared down at the crate that functioned as a small desk. He had been working on his designs. His string theory was pretty much finished, he just needed to find a way to gather the cash to test it out on a bag or something. His Thundercannon upgrade wasn't going as well. He'd decided to scrap the bullet vibration after running through his calculations again, and had gone through a couple other designs trying to think of a solution. His latest decision had been to try and work an arcane proximity field into his bullets, and have a trigger in the weapon to have them explode, releasing a kinetic wave and shrapnel when they were just about to impact.

The hobgoblin yawned. He loved tinkering and working on his designs and equations, but after a while, it taxed even him to his limit. Looking out the small window into an alley of the Ayabis ward, Jiron thought of Yares. He felt a slight pang of guilt thinking of Gorish and Arvin, how he had left leaving only a letter that didn't even assure them that they would be reunited. He hoped they understood. He couldn't live with Father anymore, not with him setting the tinkerer on a path that led away from what he loved. He did wish he could help people and see the world, but Jiron knows that he must find his own road that is walked by him, and not by Father.

Going back to happier thoughts, Jiron thought of the good times he had had with his friends. The time he had engineered a saddle so Arvin could try and ride a nodosaurus, when Jiron himself had fallen in the pond when they were out trying to catch loose raptors, when Gorish had found a small cave that they turned into their secret hangout for the following two years, until it got flooded in a particularly harsh wet season. Most of all, Jiron thought of the stories they had heard and read. Borvik had countless stories from his adventuring days, and legends past down from countless peoples, and Jiron had bought some books of lore off of a passing Tabaxi merchant when he was a kid.

The trio had loved the tales of Gorin Stonespeaker, how he routed the humans and created Fangkeep. The tales of the Fangwar Hero had always inspired them. Gorish looked up to the mythological figure almost as much as he looked up to his father, and Arvin loved the idea that Gorin might still be alive, living in the heart of the mountains, still protecting its residents. Jiron simply loved to wonder what had happened to him, how he came to his calling, and if he had been doubted by his father.

This trail of thought somehow led Jiron to think of Zellix. Chuckling, the young man realized that part of his interest in lost legends and history had probably been contracted from the illithid, and possibly Skabb. He wondered how many tales the old shopkeeper, who had doubtlessly been alive before Dorborden even existed, had collected. Did he know Stonespeaker's fate, or how Minotaur had first conquered the seas? Could he have known Baba Aga when she was as young as his employee? Did he perhaps know of beings like this supposed god of rats who had been lost to the sands of time? Jiron couldn't help but wonder these things as he sat, staring into the quiet district. He knew that Zellix had a strange aversion to talking about his history, which Jiron shouldn't be critical of considering he was keeping his own story somewhat of a secret. Perhaps, maybe, he would be willing to answer at least some of his questions, though.

As Jiron lay back on his cot, he resolved to ask Zellix in the morning, and the tinkerer surrendered to a sleep filled with dreams of legendary heroes and lost secrets of the past.

"So, those Gaians banded together to take the Shadowbraid..." Baba Aga strokes her chin thoughtfully. She lets out a deep sigh after a moment, before turning her attention back to Skritch and the objects he placed on the table. She leans forward and takes the tome for a moment. She opens it and skims a few pages, "Ah, the tome... it seems this was very much entrusted to you, Skritch. And the seed..." Baba Aga places the tome back down and takes the seed. As she does, the seed glows a faint red color at its core. "Skritch! Skritch! You've done it, you birdbrain!" Baba Aga jumps onto the table and dances with the seed in hand. She kicks her crystal ball off the table, which makes a loud thud on the ground as it lands. "Do you know what this means!" Without waiting for his answer, she exclaims, "Thorny isn't dead! She's right here! Well, sort of."

If ever there was a more gawkingly shocked expression on a birds face.....Skritch just stares at the display in awe, beak open and eyes as big as an owl's....

Baba Aga hops off the table and lays the seed, gently, on the table as if it were a baby. She starts pacing around the table in circles talking aloud, "Skritch, this is a rare opportunity! Rare indeed. I must investigate! Study! But first-" Baba Aga softly smiles at Skritch, "I must prepare for Walpurgisnacht. It's only a day away... oh! You know, it might be grand if you could fetch me something in particular. I already know I will need this, a particular ingredient that can only be found in the forests north of here. It would be a bit dangerous, but, it would bring old Thorny here back into a more... talkative state. Think you can handle something like that?"

Skritch nods emphatically, already working out a plan before even knowing what he's going to be tasked to find.

"Wonderful! I love a bird of action!" Baba Aga cackles as she twists her hand round and round. The crystal ball floats up from the ground and hovers between the hag and the kenku. "North of Dorborden, you seek wood, but not from any tree. This material must come from the red sapling that lies about two hours north from here," the crystal ball displays a sprouting tree whose wood is a dark red colour. The leaves, too, are tinged blood red. It seems to vibrate and undulate in a way that is definitely not common for small trees to do. "Of course, it won't be easy. This damn thing is guarded by blights upon Oethea's surface. Thankfully, we can use them." The crystal ball shows Skritch several hopping and growling twig monsters. They seem to be colored much like a forest should. "Bring me the red wood and any remains of these blights. Be careful! They are feisty."

"Skritch bring needed wood for Mistress." Skritch squawks excitedly. Then...looks to the door and then back to Baba Aga...somewhat unsure if this sort of thing was a dismissal or what should be happening in this situation. It's a little awkward.

Since Skritch seems to have no questions, Baba Aga hurries the bird out of her room, stuffing the tome into his feather arms as she does. "Thank you, deary, and when you are done tell Davi!"

Unless you have more to talk about, Davi will lead you back down the tree and give you some ideas about where you can find him.

Skabb was annoyed. Not only about being thrown out of the shop where he was trying to gather info, but also about the fact that making maps took so much time; and he couldn't even keep them to himself and improve upon them later. Anyway, the maps are only temporary after all. Only a fleeting thing, the paper will become dust as time goes by, but the knowledge can be kept forever. In new maps, in memories, in books, in depictions on strange tablets found in antiquities shops, in dark corners of a forgotten mansion where ghouls wander the halls and the walls breathe cold, damp breaths. Knowledge is forever, as long as it is kept that way. Delivered onto the next medium, after all, the mediums are fleeting, mere vessels for the incredible resource they are made to keep. 

Skabb looks out his window. Night-time, again? He twirls his whiskers around his finger. Crumples the map sketch and throws it into the piles with the others. "Only sell the perfect ones!" he mumbles to himself. 

Brand awoke from the celebratory night after his payoff for the rats in an alley beside the bar. He felt a strange, undulating pressure, like....

The minotaur's movements flashed as fast as the realization. Before he truly comprehended anything of the day or surroundings, he had an unfortunate gnoll pressed by the throat against a wall. Flanking horns presented danger for any head-thrashing resistance, and a hand was still in a pocket of Brand's armor, grasping at the few coins it could find. Yelling was drowned out in the young bull's ears by rage and a hangover, and he could faintly make out grasping hands on his arms and shoulders. Just as the world began to come into focus, though, it went black.

Brand awoke with a surge of salty water, a familiar and oddly welcome sensation if it weren't being used to drown him awake. As much as he struggled, his arms were bound to a thick, wooden post. In front of him, a harpy sits hunched over a knife and apple while a lizardman stands by dutifully with folded arms and a half-ogre holds a shade over the harpy with one hand while the other grasps a whale-worthy harpoon. As he awakes and shakes off both external and internal headaches, Brand is greeted by the harpy's taunting coo, "Well, lucky for you, that you woke first, so you can tell us your half of the story. Behind the bird-woman, the gnoll from before sat tied to an opposite mast, its head slumped in sleep with a crossbow bolt in its foot. The harpy extends her hand and waves Brand's attention back to her, "I'm over here. Let's lay it out now that when I ask a question, I expect an answer." 

The minotaur's indignation flared at such taunting condescension, "The bastard was robbing me in my sleep. He was stupid enough to get caught."

The harpy considers this a moment and looks to the lizardman. He shrugs in response, "Yor had hand in bull-man's shirt." The harpy nods to the lizardman who takes up one of two nearby buckets and throws its contents on the gnoll.

The yapping and barking erupted before giving way to a slew of abyssal curses. Once he realized where he was, the gnoll seemed to pacify until he saw Brand sitting opposite, "Kill, Kill it! It try to kill Yor!" In his thrashing, he lets out a yipe when his foot jams the bolt sideways.

The harpy ponders the two for a moment, looks to the lizardman who gives an indifferent shrug, then to the half-ogre who seems distracted by higher mysteries like food in his teeth. She points over to Yor, "Thrug, take him below to the doctor. He'll need that thing removed so he can start cleaning the hull for a week. Salty, untie the bull and give him his things back." The lizardman looks as though he may protest something, but moves quickly to obey. In a minute, the bindings are cut, a bag is given full of Brand's meager belongings, and the belt with sword and dagger are returned as well. "I apologize for detaining you like this. Had it been someone less capable, Yor would've turned up the same and you would've simply been rescued by Thrug and Salty here," the lizardman's strangely stoic complexion shifts slightly at the name, "As it happens, you needed a bit more convincing to let Yor go. Good thing Thrug has experience, or your may have ended up with a new appendage as well." In her ramblings, Brand grows more impatient by the second.

"Who the hell are you?" Brand's question the first of many more vulgar accusations and demands, but he had realized that he was standing before someone rather important on a ship. If there was one thing he managed to grasp before his exile, it was that a captain is practically a god aboard their ship and should be respected as such.

The harpy seemed pleased by the question, "Why I'm the captain aboard this ship, and we deal in some of the harder to acquire merchandise that comes into this port. I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but you seem like someone familiar with the water. One of the Hellrudder types?" Waving her hands dismissively, the harpy quickly changes direction, "You know what, nevermind. Take what's yours, keep a better watch on it, and carry on."

The lizardman escorts Brand to the gangplank and down to the dock, "Thanks, Salty," Brand sneers. Before he can fully turn, a foot kicks out the minotaur's knee and a fist rock his kidney. With the painful reminder, Brand makes his way back to his drinking hole.