|
Johnnie sets out along the long Trod, walking down it for a long ways with no sign of any passing hobs--though she does see a fair amount of withering and dying vegetation. It's as if the Hedge is just... drying up, in some places. It's fairly patchy, some parts are worse off than others--while some look reasonably untouched.
Eventually, her will and the Hedge calls her off of the Trod, into the thorns. But her Wyrd is strong, and the shadows that cling around her help her pass with relative ease as she walks further and further away, into a dark, eerie forest with a low fog hanging along the ground. The dead trees dotting the landscape here and there just add to the aesthetic of the the place.
(The Hedge will force you to roll Wits+Investigation to navigate the spooky forest!)
@Fofo (They/Them) rolled 8 dice and got 4 successes. 1 5 10(4) 2 5 9 10(4) 9
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 3 dice and got 1 success. 7 9 4
The lone Johnnie strides down the trod, studying the dying vegetation like she understands it. She does, in fact- though it's only because it's in the Hedge and these are strange, odd plants that she is actually familiar with. She picks up on the uneven distribution, noting the untouched areas, trying to suss out whether there's any actual rhyme and reason to what's healthyish and what's dying off. Then, though, she leaves the trod, shadows making way for her as she strides towards her destination, head on a swivel and Sigknifr spinning in her hand, resisting the terrific urge to whistle to broadcast her calm confidence. It takes some effort to keep on her track while the woods get darker and die, but the fog only slows her so much, making her work a little harder to keep moving.
The Hedge tries to lure her off the path, tempting her with disorientating whispers and shadowy mirages--but she follows her senses and they lead her forward without fault.
Through the trees, up ahead, she sees several large shapes that appear to be... looming above the ground. As she draws closer, looking through the dark and the mists, she sees that they're not hovering--they're hanging from the branches above. Five very dead briarwolves. It looks like they've been hanging for a while--their bodies are cold and stiff, blood dried, but there's very deep gashes across their flanks.
(Wits+Composure!)
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 11 dice and got 3 successes. 10(5) 7 3 7 6 1 1 9 4 8 3
@Fofo (They/Them) rolled 8 dice and got 4 successes. 9 8 2 1 8 7 10(5) 6
Johnnie gets the sensation of being watched, and hears some distant rustling in the trees above, but can't quite make out anything in particular in the dark.
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 3 dice and got 1 success. 6 4 10(1)
There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of pattern as far as area. But she does notice that hedge plants and thorns that grow closer to the ground are, in general, more severely effected than those who grow above ground? It leads to the idea that the cause is something in the ground, somehow.
"Well, well. Something had fun tearing into those things. Claws or blades... thinking probably claws from the rough edges on the lacerations... five taken down and strung up in the branches. Thrown up? Or hung up? Or killed up there?" Johnnie muses to herself, tapping a fingertip against her lips. She catches onto that watcher's sense, ignoring it for the most part- or at least visibly ignoring it while trying to get a better feel for what's moving above her in the trees. She takes a moment to look for a properly forked branch in the trees above, then whirls and punches the tree's trunk- it won't harm the tree, but she's Spinning, using the action to coax a proper dowsing rod down out of the tree above to aid in her Investigations to come! (Hedgespinning effort to create Investigation equipment which will be good for 1 roll! -1 for being in the thorns iirc)
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 24 dice and got 5 successes. 7 2 7 4 6 4 2 2 10(8) 4 1 7 3 6 3 3 8 1 4 2 8 1 8 1
(I'll take the +4 Disposable Dowser!)
@Fofo (They/Them) rolled 10 dice and got 6 successes. 9 6 10(7) 8 10(8) 10(3) 1 4 3 5
(Also give me a Wits+Occult roll.)
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 6 dice and got 4 successes. 4 8 10(2) 1 10(10)(2) 4
When Johnnie forces her will upon the Hedge... the Hedge pushes back. Violently. The Hedge pushing back against Hedgespinning isn't exactly unusual--but it feels different, somehow. It feels more powerful--and that power isn't coming from the thorns. It's coming from below her feet.
Which becomes all the more clear as dark roots erupt up out of the ground, growing up over and around the tree to nearly completely encase it. The fog around her grows thicker, and colder. She rapidly starts to shiver as ice starts to form up along the branches and trunks and thorns around her. (You're under the Extreme Cold tilt atm, so -1 to all rolls and you don't heal Bashing naturally.)
Johnnie absolutely does not miss the sensation of that powerful Spin coming from below as the fog thickens and freezes, nor as it swallows up the tree almost completely. She waits only long enough to catch the stout, forked stick she'd been eyeing as it topples down into reach, then starts looking around to judge the extent of the frigid zone she's now shivering in, curious if she should go up, or move on, as her best option.
Wits+Investigation+Equipment-1!
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 7 dice and got 2 successes. 9 10(3) 4 3 6 5 4
The dowsing rod leads her around the clearly, from one corpse to the other, helping her pick out details...
It looks like the wounds were created with a mixture of claws and blades. Some lines are jagged, some are cleaner--but the damage is... gruesome. Whatever killed these briarwolves... the beasts didn't stand much of a chance. She also notices some scorch marks--on the fur and on the area around her, which suggests some fire was used. Likely not a full forest fire, there's not enough damage for that, but perhaps... weaponized flame? There's certainly other signs of a fight in the area as well. Turned up dirt, claw marks on the ground, and even the occasional... tire track?
The briarwolves were clearly strung up after being brutally killed. There's parts that the rod helps her find in the corpses where it looks like pieces were carved out? Bits of bone and scraps of fur. Trophies, but not anything big enough to be used. Whatever killed them was killing for sport.
Above her, she hears the rustling again.
"Really," she mutters as she realizes what she's looking at. "Trophies from briarwolves but no use for the bodies. Wasteful." And unimpressive, but that's ego talking, and Johnnie's gotten a lot better at keeping those absurdly arrogant thoughts in the back of her mind, sulking where they belong. "Blades, flame, tires, claws- perhaps a hunting party of changelings or hobs. Leaning changelings, from what looks like either Elemental Weapon or perhaps a little Primal Glory- or," she realizes, "Maybe just another Elemental." The rustling strikes her ears once more, and she turns to look upwards again, calling up. "If you're trying to be stealthy up there, there's not much point if you're going to rub shoulders with every dry leaf this side of Rose Red. You can either talk to me like a grown-up, come at me already, or wander off- but you're only embarrassing yourself the longer you skulk up there!"
There's several seconds of stillness and quiet before three pairs of eyes are visible peeping out from the branches above, reflecting what little light there is in this place like an animal's. One of the pairs of eyes climbs down closer, until Johnnie can make out a creature the size of a large... goat. It is rather goat like in form, but with clawed feet that cling to the branches, two curling horns, and two bat wings that are currently tucked up against it's sides. The winged hob peers down at her curiously and speaks in a low, whispering voice that echoes around her, "You are... a confident one... aren't you...?"
"Unhealthily so, yes," calls up Johnnie without concern. "Once you've declared yourself a God and then changed your mind, the ego equilibrium usually settles someplace around "arrogant little fuck," as it happens." All stated as fact, without malice or stung pride. "Were those your work- the quintet of wolves? Or just here to scavenge? Which- by the way- you're welcome to, I'll not be hauling much back with me, I'm fact-finding. What are you lot doing so far from the trods? Can't be safe."
"Scavengers," the hob whispers back, head tilting to regard her. But then it--and the other two, similar goat-like winged hobs climb down. Wings flap until they perch on top of the corpses, starting to tear into the flesh hungrily. The one remains talkative though, as it speaks in between stripping off pieces of flesh to swallow down whole. "We keep to... the trees... to the shadows... Trods are too loud... for our tastes."
"Sensible. The trods aren't entirely safe these days, and the ground- well. You look warmer than I, though I suspect I rather pissed off our Deeproot Underlords, so the chill might be my fault. Apologies if it freezes your meal. I travel the trees myself sometimes, but it's only so fast, and sometimes it pays to be quick- so the ground tends to be the way for me."
"We are... used to cold... food." The chill does appear to be clinging to the corpses, frost gathering on fur, but their claws and teeth are sharp enough that they can gnaw off pieces. "You angered her, yes," the hob replies after chewing a mouthful.
Johnnie pauses, tilting her head. "Her? The roots are a her? And how did I make her mad? I just wanted a branch, I didn't even end up hitting the tree that hard. Who am I pissing off, exactly? I'm not much for picking fights I'm not aware of." Her shadows move, tucking her coat closed, trying to conserve warmth.
"The roots," the hob confirms, then works on bit by bit carving off one of the wolf's legs, likely to carry off elsewhere. "She does not like giving up her control."
"Would you like them butchered?" Vorpal offers easily. "I wouldn't mind making the work easier for you, you're doing me a favor sharing this information. Interesting that the plants would take such umbrage to having the Hedge Spun. Was it specifically because I interfered with the tree, or is it Spinning in general she dislikes?"
A beat pause, as all three of the hobs peer towards her and stare eerily.
"We would not disagree with this," the hob whispers, crawling over the hanging corpse, head tilting and goatish ears twitching. "Spinning. The Hedge is her's."
Johnnie beams, and whirls Sigknifr into her hand properly, taking the expertly forged survival knife and starting to make quick work of butchering the wolves into easily abscondable pieces, prioritizing meaty segments for the goats. "And here I thought I was entitled. You know, when all this started," she says, twitching to the side as she cuts into an artery, dodging a spatter of blood like it's no big deal. "We thought it might have been something realside. Didn't realize Poison Ivy had taken over the Mole Kingdom."
The trio if hobs... laugh? It's sort of a laugh combined with a cackling hyena-like sound and a goat's baaa. But then they watch greedily as she carves up the corpses. No need to roll--she isn't really on a time limit, and despite the flesh starting to freeze, it's not a hard job. As she carves off pieces of flesh, the hobs snatch them up and fly them up to the tree tops, doing this several times until they've squirreled away... a fair amount of flesh.
The hob perches on a branch above as she finishes up, it's fur smeared with blood. "Your company and aid hasn't been completely worthless." Is this supposed to be a thanks??? "But you should return to your Trod, Changeling. These woods aren't safe while the Armsmaster is hunting."
"Armsmaster?" If Johnnie had canine ears, they would be definitively perked. "Is that a local Hob? A Huntsman, or did some spider-beast Lost get a big head?" Heh, arms. While she's standing around, Johnnie starts to pry fangs and claws out of the carcasses remaining. Might as well fill her pockets while they talk.
"Not a Huntsman... but a creation of the Gentry," the hob replies, watching her pry fang and claw.
(You can make an Intelligence+Occult roll.)
-1 for Cold
@Fe (He/Her) rolled 5 dice and got 1 success. 7 3 4 4 8
Johnnie does kinda recognize the name of Armsmaster. Probably has read it somewhere or heard a rumor about them at some point. Though currently the only thing she can really recall is that they have ties to Le General Taire.
Johnnie makes a squicked face for a moment and nods. "Alright. Well, I appreciate the information you've given me. I'm Vorpal. Should I know your names, before I go?" She asks, putting together the pieces to realize the one responsible for the wolves was, likely, this Armsmaster.
"We are... the Gursies," it replies, then extends its wings out to flap and stretch. "If you die, die well, Vorpal." With that, the hob flaps off, soaring upwards into the inky darkness of the treetops.
"As well a wish as any could give me," calls Vorpal as they take off with their spoils. Or... well. They ARE frozen foods. So maybe not spoils. Freshes? Whatever. She takes a deep breath and pockets the claws and teeth she scavenged herself, heading back the way she came. As much as she liked the idea of facing off against some Thing of the Gentry tough enough to take down five wolves at once, she had Information, and it really ought to make it back home before she started chasing her own hobbies.
Johnnie is able to slip her way back through the shadows and mists, finding the Trod and her way home. That's about it, for now!
|