Saternesdæg 1100 hrs High Sun

The companions leave the ancient monastery before the new sun breaches the horizon having gathered the few iron-bloom mushrooms needed to add to the brew which might save the people of Falcon's Hollow from the black scour taint. Now they have only to retrieve the last ingredient, a pickled root. According to Jhaelin's recount of his memories, the only source which might have such a thing locally is the old hag known as Ulizmila, a wise woman and practitioner of the old ways. While some have said she is a monstrous hag and great, great granddaughter of Baba Yaga herself, the Witch Queen of the North, others knew her as a harsh but wise sage willing to share her wisdom for strange and often morbid prices.

The early morning is cool with leaves and grasses heavily burdened with overnight dew. Birds chirp incessantly as the companions once again enter the forest known as Darkmoon Vale (sometimes referred to as darkwood vale). Travel is slow as the companions push through rough foothill terrain. There are no paths and the thick underbrush must be pushed aside or hacked through to make any progress.

As the sun arcs into the hours of high sun, five hands since leaving the dwarven monastery, the low clinging clouds have burned off and the heat of the day has well began. The morning dew is gone now and the humidity is high which in turn makes it feel hotter than it actually is. The air is hazy. The heat is stifling and annoying to anyone in armor heavier than leather. Every companion is once again drenched in sweat from the effort of hiking and strenuous work to get through the forest. Insects, if they are not biting, are buzzing about in annoyance.

The sounds of the forest become suddenly distant as the trees part, opening into a small, almost perfectly circular glade. The nearest stands of pine, eyln, and darkwood-- all typically sturdy woods-- twist away from the clearing, as if bent by some impossibly strong wind or seemingly in an attempt to flee despite their paralyzed roots. At the glade's center squats an ugly cottage, little more than a pile of twigs, shoots, and ivy stacked upon mud walls. From the thatched roof dangle bundles of gnarled roots, old dried beast carcasses, and knuckle-boned bangles, all clattering together like gruesome wind chimes from what little breeze there is. A dozen small thatched fetishes-- each shaped like a tiny man, imp, or rearing serpent-- stand propped in a yard of high grasses, keeping guard before a rickety plank door.

Perceptibly, it looks as if this place has been vacant a very long time...

---

The clearing is roughly 120 feet in diameter with a dilapidated, circular, 15-foot cottage at its center. The PC's stand on the west end of the clearing.

Upon seeing the dilapidated condition of the cottage, Jhaelin is dispirited. His brows wrinkle with worried thoughts.

"That's not encouraging." he says to the others.  He peers upward toward the high sun and wipes his sweaty bald head with a rag that he is using as a bandage around his arm. It still itches, even though he is returned to His grace.

Roxie looked at the props and hut, eyes taking in every detail and clucked her tongue. "Seems to me if someone exacted high prices for her help, she might go to some lengths to keep those with frivolous wants away. I'll check," she said quietly as she pulled a dagger free just in case. With careful steps, she started making her way toward the hut.

"Is she scouting around, gonna knock, or breaking in?" Karok asked quietly.

Fortunately, the terrain and vegetation make everyone's travel slow, so she is not left lagging behind. At one point, she takes her armor off and drags and hefts it along. The disruption that causes is made up by the removal of the discomfort wearing it had caused, so her pace remains about the same.

Reaching the glade, and seeing the condition it has been left in, she offers, "Maybe she's dead? That happens to old people, you know." She also enters the glade, but instead of following Roxie, she goes over and taps one of the knucklebone bangles, listening to the sort of music it makes. If it was less gruesome, she would take it for her one day inn, but as it is, it would scare away customers.

"We've seen, what? A half dozen or more perfectly capable, sensible people die on this journey?" Karok muttered amongst the main body of the group. "But this silligribbet deludes herself that I'm shooting obsidian shards out of my non-existent vagina, drags her armor throughout half the day, walks into a witch's clearing and plays with her knucklebones!"

"And she'll probably outlive us all." the dour dwarf grunts.

Roxie had meant to scout ahead, checking for anything that might be dangerous to the others but before she realized it she had a shadow. A noisy one at that! Any pretense of stealth was dropped as she stopped for a moment to run a hand over her face. "Sheka," she muttered and then continued forward to look around the entrance of the hut.

"It does seem she lacks any sense of danger." Jhaelin mutters, watching as the two approach the apparently vacant thatch cottage. He notes the lack of smoke coming from the very apex of the thatched roof where there should be an opening for smoke from a fire to escape. Of course, there may not be a fire pit within, but what witch's hovel wouldn't have a fire to brew upon?

"She might be dead, by now," Karok muttered, still quietly. "Or on a journey. There might even be a note, if that's the case."

A shadow creeps over the clearing as the sun becomes obscured by a passing thick cloud. There are very few of them in the sky, and when one obscures the sun it is cause for pause to enjoy the palpable relief the brief shade offers. The heat and humidity of the day is comparable to that of yesterday. Anyone with any sort of weather sense figures it very likely to storm again in the evening hours.

Roxie tippy-creeps toward the cottage, then gives up any attempt at stealth when Leah follows, her chain mail armor held in one hand ka-chink'n against her leg with every step. She ratttles some hanging knuckle-bones as Roxie peers through the moldering door that is rotting off its hinges yet still blocks the way within. The interior is dimly lit through a small smoke escape in the roof and from the doorway, revealing a small circular space filled with shadows. As the high cloud moves on, the sun once again beats down on the Ulduan region. More than five hands since breaching the eastern horizon it shines a shaft of light through the draft hole in the roof down at an angle onto the western edge of the cottage revealing the dusty floor to be mortared slabs of shale from the surrounding hills. In the center is a fire pit, occupied by a large squat iron cauldron. Too big to hang, it has four iron legs and sits over cold ash, charcoal, and charred wood. Normal looking spider webbing covers its rim and sides. There is something odd about the webbing around the sides of the cauldron.

Except for one area, the walls of the cottage are lined with shelves. The shadows prevent seeing what might lay upon them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:12, Sat 19 Nov 2022.

As Roxie looked in and saw the webbing, a shudder shook her shoulders and her grip on the dagger tightened. She wasn't normally superstitious but the dark shadow that crept overhead didn't make her mood any better. Motioning the others, she picked up a few loose pebbles. "Doesn't seem like anyone's been in there for quite a while but something doesn't seem right. There's an iron pot inside with webbing all around it but something seems off about those webs," she informed the others when they approached.

Durwe approaches the cottage. He too looks in above the leaning heavy rotting door that blocks the way in and is not impressed. Who would live in a place like this?

"Well, certainly no one is home. We can just go in and look around then."

With that said, he pulls at the door to get it out of the way. Dust falls and the wood groans at the hinges before splitting away. Durwe throws the door to the side and steps into the cottage to take a look around.

Inside, the cottage is dank, reeking, and filled with shadows. Haphazardly hung shelves line the walls, covered in all manner of clay jugs, clouded bottles, strangely cut rocks, rotted bunches of herbs, and a museum of other crude curios and remnants of a bone grinder’s artifice. A rusted iron cauldron, with a mouth nearly 5 feet wide and a depth of at least 3 feet, dominates the hut’s single room. Beneath its web and ash-covered surface is concealed a surface shaped with a relief of capering fiends and leering devils. Across from the door (previously hidden from view by the bright shaft of light), against the far wall, stands a high-backed chair made of wicker, the gigantic curved tusks of some monstrous beast, and thousands of blunt molar teeth. In the chair sits what looks like a corpse wrapped in filthy burial linens, its form padded with pungent herbs and sprouting patches of thick white mold.

To the right of the chair is an aged and ragged bedroll, a wooden chest, and a dilapidated wooden dresser drawer. The bottom of the two drawers is broken out. On the top of the dresser drawer sits a mortar and pestle, a large candle, a crude iron statuette of a serpentine figure, more dried herbs and ground rocks. Lying next to the dresser drawer on the floor is a kiln dried adobe pish pot and an empty bucket.

Hanging from several of the wood pole rafters are various dried and moldy herbs.

To the right of the doorway, leaning against the wall is tanning rack. A stretch of wolf hide is laced upon it, hardened and mostly rotted away. A small wooden chest lies next to it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:17, Sat 19 Nov 2022.

Leah frowns when Durwe removes the door. The woman may be dead, but that is still no reason to tear up the pea patch.

She looks inside with the others, but sees nothing of interest. So, she remains outside the door, pole in hand, keeping watch on the clearing in case anything approaches.

Though it was sweltering, Roxie shuddered as she looked inside fully. "It's like a tomb," she said quietly. "Does anyone know what this root looks like and maybe it's here? Though from the looks of things it might not be in good enough shape to help the people of the town."

Karok began taking a long, slow circuit around the cottage, to make sure and see the outside of all the walls. His sword and shield were held ready.

"I have a general idea of what it looks like from reading the tome. Basically, it looks like a rat's tail and is pickled, so most likely will be found in a jar of liquid."

Jhaelin is first to enter the cottage. He scans the room slowly, his eyes finally resting on what appears to be a corpse wrapped in burial linens. Is that Ulizmila? He next scans the walls that are lined with wooden shelves cluttered with all manner of things. This might take a while, he realizes.

"Okay, who's going to help me look? I need three people. Any more and we start bumping elbows."

"I will help." Durwe says, stepping into the cottage. He too scans the room; not for jars at first, but for dangerous creatures that would certainly have made the cottage their home. He finds none... which in itself is a curiosity. Why not? And...

"Why is everything still on the shelves if vacant so long? Why is there no animal or creature making this place their home?"

Durwe steps around the room and looks down on the burial linens, then throws a questioning glance over at Jhaelin.

"A witch's ill repute... and this hideousness might explain keeping the locals or bandits away. But animals?"

Roxie stepped inside and let her eyes adjust, the dagger in her hand poised for danger. "Can anyone see if this is an illusion?" she asked softly. Before going to the bookshelf, she approached the cauldron in the center. "What is it about these webs that seem so off?" she grumbled and stared at it for a moment. The rocks in her left hand clicked against each other as she rolled them around nervously. "I don't like disturbing resting places but I'm tempted to chunk a stone at the cauldron." And see if another damn spider comes out she thought to herself.

With the tip of her dagger Roxie pushes aside the webbing around the huge cauldron. Beneath is revealed a strange surface. A raised relief depicts capering fiends and leering devils around the cauldron's girth. Strange depictions of lurid acts and frivolity. The mouth of the rusty iron cauldron is easily five feet wide and it is at least three feet deep. Empty as one looks in...

Durwe taps the side of the cauldron with is sword tip. The sword meets iron with a metallic ding.

"It's real." Durwe states matter-of-factly. He walks over to one of the shelves and looks over its web coated contents without touching anything. Several glass jars containing nothing resembling a rats' tail. One resembling a pig... perhaps a fetus. A few implements or tools of some sort for cutting, skewering, and threading. He recognized a knife and an awl. The other two were a mystery to him. Some old quills were behind the tools with an inkwell. Two small skulls... maybe rats? A small box of finger bones. A wick and oil lamp. A bowl with a yellowish powder. Small antlers.