Farmer's Haven II

Farmer's Haven part II.
Here is part I: http://www.tenebraemush.net/index.php/Farmer7s_Haven_I
Baz da Ork, Bhavrad Besra, Erakirak, Fabris, Taleth, Vaalyun (Whirlpool DM)
SUMMARY: The party explores the tunnels beneath the well and encounters some animated corpses

"So any questions?" The half-elf asks as he combs his fingers through his tangled red hair. "We got plenty of space if you need some tone to rest and prepare. It's new. one long trek for the lot of you, so like I said, you got time. No sense in exhausting you early." Koi smiles.

Erakirak shrugs. One advantage of ranger training is Endurance that significantly exceeds the norm, but he's used to waiting for companions who tire easily.

"No... seems straightforward enough. You lead us to the well, we find whatever's inside, we kill any wights who show up. Wights take damage from regular weapons, right?"

GAME: Besra rolls knowledge/religion: (9)+8: 17

"Right, den we rest up here. Check yer supplies. Check yer water. Check yer weapons. If ya needs water or yer gear is shite. Speak up, Kor will provide for those who fight. His touch will sooth thirst and mend implements of war. Then get some sleep. First rule of soldier'n, sleep when you can get it, eat when it's offered." The big Ork begins to loosen his armor and look around for a defensible spot to sack out in.

"Wights are dangerous, we should prepare ourselves as best we can before we face them." says Vaalyun, the thin, limping cleric shifting a bit to move his big shield to a more comfortable spot on his back. "Undead are a blight upon the living."

Besra might or might not stand out. Next to a layperson, her particular aesthetic might be odd. But she's in the company of adventurers now, and here, out-of-the-ordinary is par for the course. And so our ordinarily unordinary adventurer quietly sits, adjusting a finely-crafted longbow. She has other weapons on her person. A buckler on her wrist, a scimitar scabbarded at her side, and a fine pistol (to the extent that such unreliable monstrosities of artifice can be "fine") tucked behind her waist, on a belt holster. She might seem a warrior to some, albeit one with a flair for dramatic face paint. Others might know better. She's mouthing something under her breath, and anyone with the appropriate knowledge will recognize those words. It's a prayer to Verdama, the kind more likely known by someone schooled in that dogma. Maybe that's not a surprise, with how she looks.

"Yes. Your weapons will work just fine, so far as my limited knowledge tells me. Be wary, though. Their touch will drain your life essence. And should you fall to them, we will be forced to kill you twice. Any slain by a wight rises as one. That is, if you don't kill us first. Needless to say, these aren't the most fearsome undead, but nor are they foes to be trifled with." She falls silent for a few moments as she lifts her bow to the light of her lamp, careful not to pull back the string as she examines it. "I do have a lot of questions. I'm not sure we can get answers from here, though." She looks toward Vaalyun, finaly. "Hearthguard," she says, addressing him respectfully with his proper title. "I will look to your wisdom for guidance in this endeavour."

"I can create clean water." The red-haired Sylvanori offers softly as she approaches with her weight on her staff. This sort of mission is right up the Druid's alley - perhaps she was sent for a reason. Taleth looks between those gathered and offers a weak smile; her druidic vestments of feathers and leaves catching in the wind, "But yes, let us rest." And the horned woman finds a place to settle down with her pack so she might bring out her bedroll.

Erakirak nods to Baz, whose advice seems sound and familiar. His chain shirt is light and silvery and he is accustomed to sleeping in it on the road, so he just finds a comfortable spot to sack out. He listens interested to the discussion of wights, but mostly tunes out after "your weapons will work just fine"... all he really needs to know is how to kill them.

GAME: Vaalyun refreshes spells.

"The power of the Star Mother can harm the undead, or heal us, but it cannot do both at the same time." Vaalyun explains to his companions, "Something worth knowing, for your general edification." Then he steps off to pray and quietly meditate, spending some time refreshing his connection to the light of the evening star. He can be heard praying softly in Celestial for the forces of the light to drive the dark stain from the homes of those who live here, and for Althea to strengthen his hand in the battles to come.

Erakirak snores.

Koi nods, showing you to a communal living space within the wooden walls.There, you are able to spend some time relaxing and getting yourselves prepared.

"So you all need anything? We've basic supplies here if you do."

"Hah, the power of Kor is the big foot he puts your ass to keep ya fighting." Baz settles down, stripping out enough of his armor to be comfortable and laying his supply packs on it. He nods towards Koi. "We'll take any food you can spare that'll travel well. Den we could use a torch or two if we're gonna be night fighting. Lastly if ya got some rope, as we be go'in in some well. Rope would be good." The big Ork snorts a few times and leans back against a tree trunk. "Ya, rope."

"Before we retire, what's everyone's chosen fighting style? Range? Melee? Magic? And does anyone here have good defensive abilities in close quarters?" Besra asks. "Their life draining attacks might necessitate the use of unconventional tactics, and I'd like to think on that matter before the time to fight actually arrives."

Erakirak lifts his bow into the air, by way of answer.

It is a nice-looking bow.

Taleth gets comfortable against a crate atop of her bedroll. "I am more of a caster... Though I can use a bow fairly well." Motioning to her longbow and quiver that is now laid at her side.

"Up close, far away, I can kill anything, any time." The Big Ork grunts out from his half-slumber, tapping the axe, and then the unusual quiver at his side. "With Kor's touch and me armor I'm an wall of death, harder den steel and thats not just me big third leg, wot? Hah! Heh!" The Ork smacks his lips a few times and settles down, a small line of drool already starting around his left tusk.

GAME: Besra rolls knowledge/religion: (15)+8: 23

Vaalyun is reasonably armored, and has a big shield. But he's still busily praying. The dents in his shield show that he's been pressed into front-line service on occasion.

Erakirak seems content. A careful observer might notice that this is less because he's well-equipped, than it is because he doesn't seem to care much about his equipment, other than his bow, which he takes VERY good care of.

"I would say we should minimize the close combat exposure of our less hearty party members, then. If you can fight defensively up close, Baz, you could serve as the primary bulwark for the rest of the party. And given how tough you seem to be, you'd be much more likely to shrug off their draining attacks. We'll likely need secondary melee fighters as well, though. If necessary, I'll take up that role. I'm not particularly skilled in close combat, but I might be better suited to the task than others here." The Tsuran looks at the praying cleric, eyeing his armaments. "I'm not sure if the Hearthguard is willing to do the same, but he looks capable. You should all be ready, in any case. If you do find yourself in an up-close fight, prioritize defense."

Besra sets her bow down and retrieves a tiny book of field notes from one pocket, beginning to leaf through it. "There is one tactic which might prove useful, Vaalyun, should you care to undertake it. I'm not sure if you have such a spell at your disposal, but a Raise Dead spell will kill a wight outright. Since you're not using it to restore life, the typical material cost should not be required."

"Alas, that level of power is beyond me." Vaalyun says, looking up from his prayers, "And likely will be for quite some time. But my life is in the hands of the Compassionate One, so if I am needed to meet the beasts head-on, I will do so."

The big Ork is already fast asleep, his blurgh-larrgh-snarrrrlp-blop, most likely some form of affirmative response to Besra's statements. He sleeps with the instant deep oblivion of those used to having to get their rest whenever they can.

Erakirak snores.

Taleth drifts off into slumber.

A smirk cracks across Besra's face. "Well, then." It's the first time she has shown any hint of mirth during this journey. "I suppose I can't hold back myself when you're showing such zeal. The calling of Absolution isn't one of cowardice. I might hold myself in reserve when the fight starts, so you know. Should a more powerful undead show itself, which my intuition tells me might be the case, I would like to engage it in single combat."

She looks at Baz and the other members already asleep as they begin to snore, her expression warming just a touch. "But perhaps I've spoken too much. We're all weary. Lets take our rest, then."

By the time the next evening has rolled around, you're ready to go! You are soon en route! Following the path that seems to open ahead of you.

Vaalyun has prayed and slept, and now feeling refreshed, dons his armor and departs with the others. He doesn't lead, but makes sure that he stays somewhere near the front of the pack, ahead of the less-armored members of the party.

The Ork marches along at the rear of the unit, as the Treant is breaking trail he takes up vanguard position. His dark armor blending well with the gloom. Baz's axe is held over his shoulder and his shield is lashed to his arm. The pyramid styled spikes that seem to over adorn his amror bristle from every angle. His small black eyes scanning the environment, keeping an eye out for possible ambushes and traps.

Erakirak remain near the middle of the marching order. From time to time he clambers up a tree to get a better view of their surroundings, then glides along the path to catch up with the party.

It isn't fun, the marching, but it is easy. The forest around you see s to shelter and protect you while opening passages for you. Where one trail ends, another begins. Soon, you are guided to the grove's edge where the ground is less verdant. Not dead, but not quite so lovely. Open farmland in the distance is an attempt to reclaim it. You are now near the firs farm, it would seem.

Erakirak pays more attention to the ground as they pass out of the grove. Honestly, he prefers the less verdant surroundings, they remind him more of his mountain homeland. Regardless, he keeps an eye out for any tracks that might tell a story.

Besra doesn't seem to enjoy the marching. She labors a bit, though that's perhaps to be expected. She's taller than most, but she's not particularly muscular. If anything, she seems a bit too normal for a woman at arms; despite her arsenal, she doesn't look particularly built for this profession. But she soldiers on, the same hardened expression not leaving her face. Whether it's innate or the result of divine providence, she has the will for this, if nothing else.

"Be on your guard," she says simply, though loud enough this time for the scattered group to hear her. "Wights themselves tend to have bestial intelligence; they generally attack mindlessly absent some intervening force. But if there some more powerful foe controlling them, which both our employers and I myself suspect, do not expect this battle to be simple. We may be ambushed at the most inopportune moment. Until our quarry is destroyed, stay weary."

The first farm, if you can call it that, is a small fenced off structure with wheat growing in the fields around it. These buildings are primarily designed to be fortified, it seems, small and hardy. Designed for someone to spend time keeping watch from here for the signs of wights. It is dark in there.

A single well sits nearby and a single goat in a cage remains near the entrance. There may be someone inside, probably one of the watchers mentoned by Koi.

Fabris has arrived.

Erakirak walks over to the well and looks down into the darkness. He doesn't really expect to see anything, given his lack of nightvision, but prefers to test such theories rather than take them for granted.

Fabris scans the treeline, comfortable in the darkness. Then he heads for the well and looks down it. "Well? Well."

Erakirak nods agreement. "Well."

Vaalyun, being human, is also lacking something in the nightvision department. "Should we, you know, light a torch or cast a light spell or something?" He peers around, for any evidence of Wight activity.

The big Ork moves towards the well. His small eyes peering around in the darkness, his nose flexing as he wuffs in the scents. His more feral Ork tendencies searching out anything wrong, any traps or ambushes.

For those with more sensitive noses, death is fresh on the winds.

Also not fresh. It's Dragonier. It's not coming from the building, thankfully, but there's so many wights in the nation that you never quite feel free of the stench.

Fabris leans over the well. "Why don't we light it once we're in the well. That way we don't pull down anything on us inadvertently."

Erakirak pulls a handkerchief out of his bag and ties it around his beak, leaving him looking like an avian desperado. It does little to alleviate the stench, but it makes him feel better. "All right," he agrees. "One of you nightwalkers should go first, though." He draws his bow, prepared to provide cover.

It's hard to see down the well.

In fact, it's very dark. Becasue it's also dark out here.

Fabris gets ready to climb down. "Let's get the rope set up."

Drawing out his supply of rope, the big Ork sets about tying and securing it firmly then tosses a length down the well. Without another word, once he's sure he can fit, he ambles over the edge and begins lowering himeslf down into the darkness. The massive strength in his arms letting him power down, and also as he's first he's unlikely to crater anyone if he slips his grip.

The door of the structure creaks open slowly.

"Pssst. Who the hell are you people?" asks a Lucht girl, staring from the doorway.

"You're not wights, so you must be from the grove. You sent to check the walls around here?"

Vaalyun sighs, and says, "Sewers, wells, dungeons, sewers... Join the Temple, they said. See the world, they said. Heal people, and fight dark forces, they said." Then someone speaks to them, and he looks up, replying, "We're looking for the wights. Yes, we've been sent. Have you seen any of them?"

Fabris waits before lowering himself down. "And the water supply, as well." He waits for her answer.

Erakirak simply nods.

Erakirak simply nods, having little to say that has not been said by the talkative human. He prepares a torch to be lit when the need arises.

There's a pair of beady blood shot black eyes peeking over the edge of the well at the Lucht. "Wot?" The Ork intones, and it echos somewhat from his perch hanging in the mouth of the well. "We going down heah or wot? The job is ta kill wots in da well ya?"

"If that's what's going on. I don't know," replies the Lucht to Baz. r

"Some of the structures are connceted by the underground aquaducts we've set up. If you follow the water far enough, you'll find some of the other fields we've set up. There should be someone inside. You can hide inside if you need to. Okay?" She explains.

Erakirak nods. "Any special sign of recognition? Or is not being dead sufficient?"

Fabris opens his mouth, then closes it. Salient point, and he waits for an answer.

"Right, then. So we're just going to climb down your well here and look for life-sucking dead creatures." Vaalyun says, "You don't mind, I hope? And if we see any other Travellers along the way, do you want us to give them any message?"

"Pretty much 'don't be a wight' is the most you need. Being able to talk is pretty much a big signifier, since /most/ of the wights aren't capable of intelligent speech. Note, I said most." She glances at the well again.

"Good luck."

"Luck is for Tarenites. Kor only wants blood." The Ork says with a chortle, then clambers down into the darkness. Hand over hand, none the worse for wear it seems having hung by merely his grip for so long.

Erakirak looks puzzled by Baz' comment, but lets it go. He stands at the edge of the well, bow in one hand, unlit torch in the other.

"Thank you," Fabris says with a formal bow, then gets read to climb down after. He looks quizically at Erakirak, "Maybe the orcish liturgy is different."

Vaalyun waves cheerily to the Lucht, and then makes his own way down the shaft of the well, climbing carefully to avoid slipping and landing on whatever is down there.

Llamas go 'Wuaaagh.' "No, you can't fit in there," Bhavrad says to his fluffy companion. From a saddlebag he pulls out a set of boot spikes and a climbing pick. The gayly dressed dwarf gives a half-salute to the others before following the ork over the edge.

Erakirak stays on the surface, holding his somewhat formal bow, hoping someone will light a torch before too much longer.

Fabris lights a torch once he's safely underground.

"I can hang on to her for you, bring her inside where she's not bait like idiot over there," she gives a nod towards the goat in the cage. The goat screams.

Erakirak watches intently as the party descends, ignoring the llama and the goat. Once everyone is clear, he intends to jump in and glide down the well-shaft to join them.

The red-haired dwarf looks to the giant llaman, and then to the Lucht. "If you want to deal with her, feel free. But she's pretty fast. Short of a dragon, she's pretty good. But I am sure she'll like the company. With hands on the rope, Bhavrad gives a push back to repel down a few feet at a time.

The lucht takes the reign and opens the door. "Don't mind the company. Even if I have to clean up all the shit."

That leaves the rest of you to head down the well, for now, which you do. There is indeed a great deal of water in here, along with a tunnel. The lift and pully system digs into what is clearly an efficient irrigation system directing water from somewhere. The tunnels are narrow, but walkable, and follow alongside the running water current. It is dark down here.

Fabris holds his torch high, other hand on the hilt of his rapier. He does explore at a decent clip -- dwarves.

GAME: Vaalyun casts Light. Caster Level: 5 DC: 14

"Bah." Baz blinks a few times as torches and light spells are used. He shakes his head slowly as his eyes adapt from darkness to illumination. Then he sniffs the tunnel air and peers around looking for signs or clues.

Vaalyun reaches the bottom and looks around - oh, right, it's black down here, except for the torchlight. He pulls his shield onto his arm and murmurs a prayer over it, causing it to flare into another light source. Then he murmurs a quieter prayer, asking for Althea to bless their endeavors.

Erakirak puts his unlit torch away and follows the group, his bow at the ready.

GAME: Baz da Ork rolls survival: (10)+9: 19

Bhavrad lifts a hand to protect his eyes as they adjust to the sudden appearance of light. Unlike his underground brethren, the light was certainly something he needed. He pulls a plate down from his armored arm, locking it over his knuckle. Once set, he draws a long stiletto. "Well big and ugly, lead the way."

Peering, sniffing, listening. The big Ork sloshes around in the water as he turns this way and that then shrugs. "It's a nice tunnel, dats about it. I nae see which way ta go. Wot if we start mak'n noise and let'em come to us?" Baz shifts on his feet and swings his axe once to limber up his arm. "We can sing ole march songs, give em some melody ta die by, hah?"

Erakirak shrugs one wing. "It's not like we could be quiet if we tried."

"Sure everyone would like to die with a song on their lips," Bhavrad replies to the Oruch. "You guess is as good as mine tough. Not exactly comfortable down here underground." Says the Khazad. Most be one of those weird above ground dwarves. "But I am not against making a big noise and stabbing whatever comes crawling out." He jabs the air experimentally. "Ready when you are."

Fabris pauses. "You know, I'd like to make some semblance of an effort -- if only because our friends were talking about how some of them were smarter than others." He considers. "We could also just follow the right-hand wall and be systematic?"

"I'm sure Baz and I can retrace our steps if we have to," Rak observes, "but it can't hurt to be systematic."

With a shrug Baz glances from Bhavrad to Fabris. Then with out further ado he plunges along the right hand wall. Raising his shield to the ready as he breaks trail, however he manages a song under his breath. Just enough to carry along the words of the most ancient Oruch battle hymn. "Where there's a whip, where's a way, where's a way.." His steps tromping along with the rythm.

"If we make noise, we're going to draw them right to us. Song and noise are the work of the living, whom the undead hate beyond all reason." Vaalyun says, and then adds, "If they had any reason, that is, which most of them, the experts tell us, do not." He continues along with the others, lit up shield to hand.

"Not to mention the light," Rak adds. "And hate... does not need a reason." He seems to speak from experience.

Exploring down here is time consuming. Very.

It's also a bit cramped. And slow. Thankfully, a llama isn't in the way. It 's going to take you a while. True to the words of the halfling and the Half-elf from earlier, on occasion you find another pully and lever designed to lift water from the irrigation system up into the farm above, but so far no wights. However, as you move along, you do notice the water is changing colors. Rather than the clear crystal its supposed to be, it is... ruddy. Starting to look a little... wrong.

You might be getting close to a source of toxins.

GAME: Baz da Ork rolls survival: (7)+9: 16

Fabris gestures with the torch, "Look at that. That doesn't look... right." He stares at the water. "Blood? Rust? Something worse?"

GAME: Bhavrad rolls knowledge/local: (12)+6: 18

GAME: Erakirak rolls knowledge/geography: (20)+4: 24

GAME: Erakirak rolls knowledge/nature: (8)+4: 12

Erakirak nods. "Whatever that is, it isn't natural. I say we track it to its source."

"S'not me." Baz announces as he moves through some of the ruddy water. His eyes sweeping the tunnel and the water. He sniffs a few times and peers down at the liquid. "Wot is dis? Looks like nuttin I ever saw, or at least passed."

Bhavrad kneels down and dips the end of a bandana into the water. "The water in these parts is never this crudded up. In fact it shouldn't be anything like this." He holds the cloth up and gives it a sniff, sure not to touch the corrupted liquid. "Lets follow it."

"Seems a better plan than wandering around here with no particular destination in mind." Vaalyun says, as they continue on their way, "So we follow the polluted water, then."

Fabris nods. "Yes. Let's go." He forges ahead. Light with the opinion, strong with the directionality.

Following the running water further in, you soon begin to smell it.

Rot.

Intense rot. Like 'a half dozen bodies are here rot'. It's compounded by being underground with limited air flow.

Nausea is a consequence.

GAME: Fabris rolls fort: (10)+2: 12

GAME: Baz da Ork rolls fort: (4)+8: 12

GAME: Erakirak rolls fort: (16)+6: 22

GAME: Vaalyun rolls fort: (17)+5: 22

GAME: Bhavrad rolls fort +2: (9)+5+2: 16

Erakirak is grateful for the handkerchief around his beak, as the air proves as foul and polluted as the water.

Fabris loses the contents of his stomach reflexively, almost before he really registers the stench. "Au-- Aug-- Gh. Agh." Talking his hard, talking is really hard.

Bhavrad seemed more disgusted than sickened. "We already have to deal with the brood, and someone thinks dumping our own people down here is a good idea?!" The khazad shakes his head as he pulls forth a few colorful clothes, wraps one around his mouth, and hands out the others. The scent of his cologne is dowsed into each, and each is probably not normally used for this particular use.

Vaalyun covers his mouth with his hand and turns away - of course, it's a miasma of death that cannot be escaped, so it doesn't help, but he manages to hold down that nice lunch they had before setting out.

GAME: Besra rolls fort: (13)+10: 23

Oh hi.

That's a problem.

That is, to say, the bloated coprses floating in the water here are a problem. They look like they've been tied down, weighted something. Too intelligent for most wights, it seems. That's a problem.

Remember, they had found one and removed it from the waters. Now there's more?

And then they, in all their bloated, grotesque glory, open their eyes and look at you.