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[IC] Stick in the Mud
Horseshoe
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
The rough basalt of the mountain ahead seemed unrelenting and vast, and upon these slopes Rena, Cleric of Ioun, persevered with certainty that she was nearing her cryptic destination.
Her search had taken her through libraries, long and often pointless anectodes of storytellers, and the frustrating riddles of oracles and fortune-tellers of all kinds in the backwards villages and hamlets of the valley beyond The Scar.
She had learned much from this journey though, which was a thought that gave her much satisfaction. Gathering knowledge even for its own sake was a worthy task... and to apply it coupled accomplishment to practice. It made her think that Ioun must think highly of her to be worthy of it.
This message sent to her by Ioun "Seek The Ancient Skin" had been both challenge and instruction. She had discovered through her journeys that "Ancient Skin" had been the name of a vast and bleak landscape among a mountain range near the Scar. She had put herself through intense geographical research to narrow down local mountains to but a few possibilites... and once again had to look to the name itself.
A bleak mountain range could only be inhabited by a scant few races... her research of the area indicated Goliaths. Her delving into their inscrutable and primitive culture (and even more brutish yet subtly complicated language) indicated that Ancient Skin had been named for one of its denizens.
An anthropologist, in a tome that had somehow survived over five hundred years, documented this "Ancient Skin" as some sort of local demigod, second only to the curious patron of the Goliaths... a deity known as "Kavaki The Ram Lord".
For some time she distracted herself in finding more tales of Kavaki. He was not merely a lord of rams in the way that one might expect such primitive title to be attached to some God of Giantkin. Kavaki was, in the minds of Goliaths, a gigantic immortal Mountain Sheep. Shaggy, fierce, with great Horns and Hooves that trampled and rammed those who sought to destroy his people.
The continual presence of "ramming" in Goliath culture struck her as a bit... unsettling in some way. In talking to them she had heard phrases such as "May your head grow hard as the Ram", "may your ramming be feared by all enemies", or how "Mighty Kavaki rammed the backsides of his foes even as they retreated in submission to his virility in battle."
Now, in the Mountains of the Ram Lord, the completion of her task seemed inevitable. But the landscape was sparse, with only the occasional buch of grasses or flowers amongst cracks in this place of great altitude. Little sound but the wind and occasionally a distant bleating or click of hooves.
Finally, and somewhat unexpectedly, as her boots felt heavy and her scraped knees found her wishing that she had worn more practical garb, she came upon something that might have been her destination... though part of her wished that it might not be.
A crude village of caves and piled boulders revealed itself in an area that seemed at first part of the natural landscape. The unfortunate smell of burning dung reached her nostrils, the sound of grunting and grinding rocks somewhere within, and the muttering of an odd tongue confirmed that the area's only humanoid inhabitants were indeed Goliaths.
As she approached a few appeared, their skin dark and dotted with lithoderms that were nearly a perfect match for their surroundings. As they approached she straightened her hair and raised her chin, trying to seem as tall as possible... though her gaze came up only to the collarbone of the shortest among them.
One with a great spiked chain about his shoulders, clad in rough furs that seemed a bit... immodest, held up his broad, thick hand and spoke.
"Anshi'kavaki'shu'shu'ni'ho. What wants you, Not-Rammer?"
Just when I think I've heard everything crude... somehow
Rena took a proud posture in imitation of he whom addressed her... assured that her next words were meant to be spoken: "I seek the Ancient Skin."
The chain-wearer turned to a sparsely-clad Goliath female, who held an nine-foot spear.
"Che'ar'bu'ruksa'ne'oa'teno."
"Be'no'ah'to'ke."
His raised hand lowered, and he turned back to Rena.
"You five then. Okay. Follow, five."
The two Goliaths, one walking behind and the other before, led her into the primitive village. There were few giant-kin in this... well whatever one might call such a place. All armed but going about various mundane tasks of village life. Finally she was led to the opening of a cave, covered with some rough cloth upon which was smeared in an indigo dye the image of a ram's head. A strong smelling smoke poured from the top of the opening, and the stain on the rock above gave the impression that something inside burned constantly.
The female poked the small of her back with the butt of her greatspear.
"In, five."
Rena parted the curtain and entered, recieving another encouragement from the spear that was neither necessary nor appropriate to a cleric's modesty.
She could have at least tried to have manners... no, no I shouldn't think like that. It could be a cultural greeting of some sort. Oof! By the Eyes of Ioun, what a terrible smell.
Her search had taken her through libraries, long and often pointless anectodes of storytellers, and the frustrating riddles of oracles and fortune-tellers of all kinds in the backwards villages and hamlets of the valley beyond The Scar.
She had learned much from this journey though, which was a thought that gave her much satisfaction. Gathering knowledge even for its own sake was a worthy task... and to apply it coupled accomplishment to practice. It made her think that Ioun must think highly of her to be worthy of it.
This message sent to her by Ioun "Seek The Ancient Skin" had been both challenge and instruction. She had discovered through her journeys that "Ancient Skin" had been the name of a vast and bleak landscape among a mountain range near the Scar. She had put herself through intense geographical research to narrow down local mountains to but a few possibilites... and once again had to look to the name itself.
A bleak mountain range could only be inhabited by a scant few races... her research of the area indicated Goliaths. Her delving into their inscrutable and primitive culture (and even more brutish yet subtly complicated language) indicated that Ancient Skin had been named for one of its denizens.
An anthropologist, in a tome that had somehow survived over five hundred years, documented this "Ancient Skin" as some sort of local demigod, second only to the curious patron of the Goliaths... a deity known as "Kavaki The Ram Lord".
For some time she distracted herself in finding more tales of Kavaki. He was not merely a lord of rams in the way that one might expect such primitive title to be attached to some God of Giantkin. Kavaki was, in the minds of Goliaths, a gigantic immortal Mountain Sheep. Shaggy, fierce, with great Horns and Hooves that trampled and rammed those who sought to destroy his people.
The continual presence of "ramming" in Goliath culture struck her as a bit... unsettling in some way. In talking to them she had heard phrases such as "May your head grow hard as the Ram", "may your ramming be feared by all enemies", or how "Mighty Kavaki rammed the backsides of his foes even as they retreated in submission to his virility in battle."
Now, in the Mountains of the Ram Lord, the completion of her task seemed inevitable. But the landscape was sparse, with only the occasional buch of grasses or flowers amongst cracks in this place of great altitude. Little sound but the wind and occasionally a distant bleating or click of hooves.
Finally, and somewhat unexpectedly, as her boots felt heavy and her scraped knees found her wishing that she had worn more practical garb, she came upon something that might have been her destination... though part of her wished that it might not be.
A crude village of caves and piled boulders revealed itself in an area that seemed at first part of the natural landscape. The unfortunate smell of burning dung reached her nostrils, the sound of grunting and grinding rocks somewhere within, and the muttering of an odd tongue confirmed that the area's only humanoid inhabitants were indeed Goliaths.
As she approached a few appeared, their skin dark and dotted with lithoderms that were nearly a perfect match for their surroundings. As they approached she straightened her hair and raised her chin, trying to seem as tall as possible... though her gaze came up only to the collarbone of the shortest among them.
One with a great spiked chain about his shoulders, clad in rough furs that seemed a bit... immodest, held up his broad, thick hand and spoke.
"Anshi'kavaki'shu'shu'ni'ho. What wants you, Not-Rammer?"
Just when I think I've heard everything crude... somehow
Rena took a proud posture in imitation of he whom addressed her... assured that her next words were meant to be spoken: "I seek the Ancient Skin."
The chain-wearer turned to a sparsely-clad Goliath female, who held an nine-foot spear.
"Che'ar'bu'ruksa'ne'oa'teno."
"Be'no'ah'to'ke."
His raised hand lowered, and he turned back to Rena.
"You five then. Okay. Follow, five."
The two Goliaths, one walking behind and the other before, led her into the primitive village. There were few giant-kin in this... well whatever one might call such a place. All armed but going about various mundane tasks of village life. Finally she was led to the opening of a cave, covered with some rough cloth upon which was smeared in an indigo dye the image of a ram's head. A strong smelling smoke poured from the top of the opening, and the stain on the rock above gave the impression that something inside burned constantly.
The female poked the small of her back with the butt of her greatspear.
"In, five."
Rena parted the curtain and entered, recieving another encouragement from the spear that was neither necessary nor appropriate to a cleric's modesty.
She could have at least tried to have manners... no, no I shouldn't think like that. It could be a cultural greeting of some sort. Oof! By the Eyes of Ioun, what a terrible smell.
continued in next post, no IC's from players for now please... just settin' stuff up. Apologies for so many freaking words.
Horseshoe on
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Oh... five. I see. Very literal folk.
A fire before them flared as a heap of tough dried leaves, flowers and grasses were thrown upon it. More smoke issued from the firepit in the center of the cavern, and a warm glow illuminated its figures. Behind the fire sat a Goliath female, sitting next to what Rena could only deduce must be a very, very elderly goliath.
His lithoderms, those pieces of living stone that mark all Goliaths, had grown so dense and large that there was no skin left to see... and their jutting nature suggested that they were slowly growing deeper. Few Goliaths indeed lived long enough to die by becoming one with the stone. This was, of course, Ancient Skin. Any who looked upon him and had heard the name could have understod. The goliath female gently began dabbing some sort of salve or substance... quite possibly rendered sheep fat, around his face.
The smoke had a sort of intoxicating, entrancing effect... eyes watered, vision swayed, all but the Hooch were not so used to the sense-altering effects of shamanistic plants and concoctions. It seemed that Ancient Skin must spend most of his time under the influence of this smoke. Perhaps it was meant to preserve him, or allow him to speak to his God.
It was hard to tell if he could see at all. His eyes, old as they were, would have had to peer through slits in the plates that covered his face. His mouth slowly began to move, the sound of rock grating against rock a constant background to the soft deep voice that came forth. The female next to him translated.
"Kon'eshe'a'a'tu'no'kevak'tan'iti'e'no'a'shu'kun'tu'o'o..."
"Old skin, he say he welcome all you came to Kavaki's Mountain."
"...du'no'ke'ke'ke'pa'yo'tu'ben'o'o'kevaki'mak'la're'to'dohk'no'a..."
"He say he dream long time by the fire and Kavaki tell him your names."
"...shu'shu'se'kuk'vak'ba'to'e..."
"Tree-Rammer,"
"...ek'key'to'si'bek'la'la'o'pa..."
"Leaf-Hearer,"
"...tu'tu'ba'lo'kon'pe'tehy'o..."
"Soup-Watcher,"
"...kip'to'mo'su'su'dan'ka'ro'u'u..."
"Thought-Thinker,"
"...shan'ko'olol'te'te'eep'ne'ne..."
"Drink-Bleeder,"
"...ske'shek'ka'no'a'kav'vak'e'e'te'ne'esh'ke'esh'esh'tu'bok'ko'a'e..."
"He say Kavaki bring you here to help him."
The crudely translated speech continued. Ancient Skin spoke of hundreds of years before, when he was young and strode the mountains, "ramming" all who opposed his chiefdom of Kavaki's blessed land. Long before the earth was "rammed deep by the Hard One, Outcast of the Sky Herd". Beyond the wall, that he commanded his people to aid the now-dead King Morlond in building, lay an old shrine that Ancient Skin's grandfather had built. A great evil had befallen it, and all of the young Giant-kin whom had journeyed to fight it had not returned from beyond the wall, behind which lay that sacred place. Kavaki sent to Ancient Skin those who could accomplish the task.
"...pek'kon'kavak'wan'wang'o'ukla'mok'si'si'u'ni'cha..."
"He say in shrine is Big Stick of Kavaki."
More plants were thrown upon the fire, and it raged up to illuminate the statue behind them. It appeared to have been carved from stone, its finer features rendered in baked mud. Well, hopefully it was mud. This must have been the image of Kavaki The Ram Lord, or at least one of them. It was a giant anthropomorphic ram, with a fierce bestial visage and mighty horns. Rena wondered to herself if the Big Stick was supposed to be a part of this very statue... but there seemed to be no place for it.
This seemed like bad news. If the Big Stick was indeed an artifact of Kavaki The Ram Lord, and it had fallen into the hands of beings with foul intentions, no good could possibly come of it. The corruption that had taken the lands surrounding the Chaos Scar would spread... and in seemed that in this case it literally would, perhaps in the form of... mud?
Ancient Skin knows a lot of stuff if you want to ask him things
or tell ghost stories around the campfire or whatever
Poor Goliaths. They surround themselves with nature, and yet they wallow in tradition and superstition, ignoring opportunity upon opportunity to change their lives. Lovely language, and yet... stupid.
The elf rose in a fluid motion, pressing two fingers against her heart. "Ancient Skin, Avandra's voice brought me here. 'Twould be folly to deny my Goddess's will. Tell us of these 'Toad-Kin.'"
She blinked, and the room shifted before her eyes again, the thick smoke playing havoc with her perceptions.
Then, slowly, she sat down, both to regain her balance and listen to whatever story they were about to be regaled with.
"The Toad-Kin are vile and base, squatting in bogs and holes. They would drown your world in their Mud, and with Kavaki's Big Stick they now have the power to do it... They are soft and fat and ugly, spouting poison and stench, and defilement in all their acts. They were born from the footsteps of an old evil that walked the land long ago. A vile perversion of the gentle frogs in the swamps and springs... Ikki, their Chief, has claimed the Big Stick as his own. It must be returned to Kavaki's image, or wielded by those who will use it to ram his enemies"
The enemy that had taken this artifact of the Goliaths was clear to all of them now: Bullywugs.
Keylet frowned, but remained silent, quietly running one finger up and down the sheathed edge of her sword. The entire atmosphere of this village seemed wrong. Far too static, as opposed to the fluid, shifting life of her time in the Order of Avandra's Scar. Perhaps it would change for the better, now that their 'Big Stick' was gone.
She tried standing again, and this time made it to the door, bowing deeply to Ancient Skin before slipping out into the clean air, taking a deep breath.
Mud is... bad. Even if the Goliaths don't regain their stick, the 'Toad-Kin' should not be allowed to use it.
"The name's Gormil. What might you be called, Elf?"
He unfolded upwards and loped out of the cave after the dwarf and the elf, who stood blinking in the sunlight, making their introductions. Ancient Skin had said that the five of them were the ones who were capable of stopping the bullywugs, so that made them a team now, right? The Hooch regarded his new companions. Make a good impression.
The plant-man wrapped the two in a tight hug. "I'm the Hooch," he said after a long moment, still hugging them.
Hoo...well, at least that was a learning experience. I wonder if there will be time to stop and ask some questions when we return? It would be nice to know more about the town...er, village.
Wincing as she returned to the light outside, Rena focused her gaze on the three who had already exited, apparently entangled in a group hug. What an eclectic group of individuals. She would have to ask about how they knew to come here, at least, after they were done embracing. After all, it would be rude to interrupt.
Without waiting for a response, Urza bent down and retrieved his bow and quiver from where they leaned against the rock face. It had seemed impolite to bring the weapons inside, even though they were ill suited to confined spaces.
Clasping her hands together, she bowed slightly towards the other four gathered outside of Ancient Skin's home. Best to get to know each other, right? "My name is Rena. Rena Shepard. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
After taking some time to examine the glyphs that dotted the outside of the rock that held the cave of Ancient Skin, Urza and Rena discovered that it was said the shrine of The Big Stick was near a breach in the wall known as the "Goat's Hole".
A young goliath turns around, having heard the odd ramblings of the Wilden... she appears to be attempting to make a soup out of potatoes, grass and... maybe some rocks.
"Many goats that way," she continues, pointing her dripping copper spoon in a southwesterly direction, "where knee-people are, always goats. They like their goats much... be careful where you look. Ask first."
"I think your explanation is correct." Rena offered, shifting her messenger bag slightly to be more comfortable. "The tribe does seem to be very literal, after all. I can't see why this would be any different." Thinking over the situation for a moment, there was only one logical conclusion to come to.
"It doesn't seem like we will get much more than what we have. Maybe we should be on our way." she finally stated, beginning to amble in the direction which the goliath woman had pointed.
It bled into his shambling frame. And he saw through the eyes of the Old Timers. The Leaves. The Roots. The Vines. The running sap of ages past, the running waters, the sap, the mix of them all... The Hooch.
He saw them. The 'Wugs. Squatting. Always in the water. They looked soft. Their skin was flabby, their bones could flex, they looked like bug-eyed toads with strong corded arms like wild beasts. They needed the mud, the water. Without it... well it was like they'd wither away. It kept them strong, it kept that cloud of air that steamed out of their pores. They stank, they belched, they spoke in a language that hurt the ears.
He saw them from the water as they ripped at the roots, pulling out insects and slopping them by the handful into their toothless mouths brimming with malevolence, bile, filth, and power. The juice from the insects pulverized, seeping down into their rotten guts, where they mixed with sparks and fire and cold... sand and stone and blackness... filth and hatred and old ugliness... bubbling like their very beginnings when they crawled from a filth that wasn't that of the Old Timers.
They looked dumb. They weren't. That mistake had been made. Not just dumb animals, but with a primitive society, with great chiefs and cunning soldiers. The stupid ones were used well enough, sometimes for food, sometimes for sacrifice, sometimes just to watch as they were thrown into the face of snarling nature that tried to peel them back and remove their stain from creation.
Hooch coughed and nearly stumbled to the floor, a bit of the Stuff dripping out of his body. It was over.
But only for a moment, after which they resumed their mottled whirl. "Not natural. Shmarter than they look. Need ...to be wet... to... need moishture. Stinky, y'unnerstand. Stinky." He looked at the others to see if they understood the true significance of the 'wug stench.
Recovering, he looks back to Hooch "So, a right foul smellin creature eh?"
"There was a perfectly good gate not five feet from her," observed Rena.
"Yeahbut... s'was cool lookin."
The Hooch was not challenged in his assertion. I mean, it had been pretty cool, and there wasn't much to be done in talking sense to a intoxicated Wilden. As Hooch slammed himself into the wall trying to copy the Avenger, the rest walked through the gate until eventually he caught up.
Several hours and several leagues later, the rocky mountains began to give way a valley that remained verdant despite the debris that had been strewn across it by the meteor, which cast the ruins of the previous civilization about as it did earth, burning stone, and run-on sentences. Gormil was pleased to see that there were no trees to be seen for a great distance around. It was surely a sign of providence.
The bleating of domesticated creatures could be heard in the distance, along with a bit of high-pitched whistling and shouting. As had been surmised, soon a small ramshackle village of Halflings could be seen in the distance, not a stone's throw from the King's Wall. They were herding the animals toward small pens, calling to one another in their odd short-person patois.
The Halfling Farmers had still not seen the group's approache. These small, rustic folk seemed very intent upon herding their animals and talking amongst themselves.
She wasn't quite sure what to think of the others chosen by Ancient Skin yet. For the most part they hadn't been that talkative (well, except for the wilden fellow, and he was a little unsettling).
Relaxing a smidgen, she looked to the other four travellers. It wouldn't be very right for her to just jump on in and start talking to the little people without knowing much about them, and she had a feeling one of the others wouldn't have quite the same inhibition. Besides, maybe they just wanted to get on with the task.
"So, ah, are we going to stop and say hi, or...?"
"Hullo Thar halflin's!" Gormil says, a bit to loudly, introducing himself. Perhaps he had been following a bit to closely to the Hooch the whole way ...
By bowing, Keylet had (perhaps unknowingly) bent her torso forward to eye level with the little halflings, and then drawn further attention to her chest with the salute. Words seemed to bounce right off of them, they were... well... transfixed by the sight of this strange giantess (well, a giantess in a relative sense).
"Hehe. Goats'ole? Lads, e'wanta Goats'ole 'ear."
The odd little creatures laughed in shrill vibrato outbursts.
"Ahnlee fonz'ere. Betwah, na'ems Rolf O'Lawler," he said, pointing a thumb at himself. He continued, indicating another male and a female halfling "enth'umzor Dongengal Lowe n' Bea Farchune."
"di'irk in'evar nawbs innaval, eh? Tyr'dun, lad?"
Insight check DC 10
Ha. Goat's Hole? You hear that, lads, he wants a Goat's Hole here!
Just joking with you. By the way, my name is Rolf O'Lawler, and them there is Donegal Lowe and Bea Fortune.
Don't recall any newcomers in the Valley though, do I? What are you up to, lad?