KHAZUUL

Sow’s eyes are bright as she takes in the surrounding greenery. It’s dark, but the sound of it in the drizzle, on top of those strange and more distant sounds, seems to mesmerize the girl.

"I don’t remember," she half-whispers, hoarsely, without turning to look at the man. It’s all they seem to know now, this jungle and the threads and the weirdness that lurks within it. To have this sanctuary now — it seems a miracle. Like a turning point. Like they might now actually have a chance to survive.

Finally turning to look at Cutwell, Sow seems to shake out of her reverie. "Something… warmer, brighter. Drier. But less… full of wonder… and magic."

Cutwell wonders if the girl has something on the brain as well as on the body, until she explains her thoughts more fully.

"Getting cozy, are ya?" he asks, trying to sound supportive. He supposed that some number of people must descend from the wall and never go back up. By choice, he means, and not due to grisly death.

Sow giving voice to her imaginings, at least as much as she could figure out, spurred the ex marchguard to reveal some of his own.

"I often feel a presence. I try to ignore it but it is persistent when it decides to be. I ... you see ... I fell in love with a Vicar's daughter. When I was banished from the parish, she ...." But Flint could go on no further. He hadn't expected the tide of emotion to overwhelm him the way it did, but perhaps now that he had said it, made it real in front of the others, the feeling would also be banished from his life for good. After a few deep breaths, he was able to compose himself and reveal a little more of his story and the anguish it caused him.

"She's angry, this presence, as if she lives to punish me."

"Used to it, maybe?" Sow answers Cutwell before she looks at Flint when he muses about feeling a presence.

Her eyebrows are up as she adds, "You're cursed?"

As Freki eats his share of the jerky, washing it down with a little water, he comes to sit by the entrance to the sanctum to hear his companion's the stories. When Flint gets emotional, he puts a hand on the marchguard's shoulder to provide a bit of comfort but stays quiet for now, just listening.

"She what?" Cutwell asks, wondering if he had promised to take the girl with him and then absconded in the night.

Flint frowns and looks at Sow. "You know I never thought about it in that way, but maybe."

The man shudders as he realizes that the girl might be right. He nods and offers a half smile to Freki as he offers his moral support.

"It's okay," Sow says in her friable timbre. Shrugging and lifting one eyebrow, she adds, "Me too," before turning back to the night and the thrum of the dark jungle.

Through the night, it is tranquil within the walls of the well-lit stone sanctuary, and watches past without incident. Rainfall beats a steady rhythm upon the weathered structure, as the nocturnal orchestra of creatures plays through the surrounding wilderness.

Sow feels the presence of the Sanctum all through the night through a sixth sense that defies explanation but is as real as the others. In a similar way, Cutwell also can sense the flute he carries at the corners of his consciousness.Day 9, Watch 1
Wilderness Action: TBD
Location: Hex 6
Weather: Fair

Rising with the sun, the company is pleased to discover the rains have stopped, and the sun's rays penetrate the dispersing clouds. You are surprised to discover that red and purple vines have quietly enveloped the Shrinking Sanctum. Investigating them closer, the vines have bone-like serrated ridges and channels for collecting moisture, or perhaps blood. They appear to be attempting to slowly strangle the sanctum. The stone is impervious to the vines, but you can imagine they would have crushed your tents had the company chosen to camp inside those instead.

Cutwell will pass out his rations, if the others with him rise with groaning stomachs.

"Can we eat that?" he asks, inspecting the vines that had tried to strangle them in the night and failed. He tries to cut to the middle one with his scalpel to see exactly what was inside.

If nothing else, it might provide a medicinal salve for Sow’s creeping skin condition.

"We can take that as a no, can’t we?" Cutwell offers, as he turns his nose away from the stench.

He wondered if the vines tried to strangle everything it met, which might make Lotus hard to find, or if it simply had a taste for blood…

A quick inspection in the morning shows Sow that her injuries are healing -- Cutwell's treatments and leeches are working. After dressing, helping the group pack up and shrinking their sanctum back down to size after cutting the nasty vines off the thing, the girl heads to the meeting where they are all deciding the plans for the day.

"Should we look for the old Black Skull camp since it's supposed to be nearby?" she asks the others, closing her eyes for a moment, basking as the warm sun beats on her face.

Flint didn't realize the extent of his discomfort with leeches and bleeding plants and foul weather. Sever a man's head from his body, no problem. Run his sword through a man's belly, perfectly fine. So it came as a surprise, this new sensitivity. He was disappointed in himself as a result.

Trying to shrug it off he agreed wholeheartedly with the plan of visiting the Skulls camp. It would be a good diversion.

"Yes, lets try and find the camp."

Freki feels refreshed after a sounds sleep in the sanctuary, but quickly feels a sense of danger when they discover the vines.

"Wow, this magic shelter is already been worth the trouble we had coming by it," he remarks to the others.

"I'm happy to go looking for that old base first, as long as we find some lotus before leaving this area and going back to the Black Skull fortress else Tunny is going to throw us out," he says not wanted to split the party in such a dangerous territory.

"Do we have enough food to stay out in the jungle that long?" Sow asks, before adding, "Do you think those vines... were they attracted to the shelter's magic?"

"We can set some traps. I have a snare trap we can put somewhere suitable. I have rope too for a few makeshift setups."

Flint almost salivates as he pictures a roasting rabbit over a crackling fire.

"Could be, couldn’t they?" Cutwell starts! But he holds up his hands, which have some of the vine juice on them. "Or maybe it’s us they were wanting!" he says, rubbing his hands down his front.

He pulls out the flute then, as the thing had been on his mind. Sow’s theory could be put to the test. He puts the thing to his lips gingerly, and blows a thin tube through the instrument. He’s no musician, so it’s a raspy sound. Then he sets the flute near the vines and watches for any movement!

As Cutwell presses his lips to the flute, he encounters a barrier that prevents him from breathing into the instrument. He senses that this barrier is as much in his mind as in his lungs.