Ereazaru leads the group into the woods for over an hour, heading toward a tributary of the Siannan River, finally stopping at a picturesque waterfall. “Here we are,” she announces. “Isn’t it beautiful? The nest is behind the falls.” She follows a narrow, misty path behind the flowing curtain of water and takes you into a damp, shallow cave that still smells strongly enough of the dragon to sting your sinuses and make your eyes water. There is an indentation in the floor of the cave filled with composting leaves and other rotten vegetable matter. Ereazaru scoops the top layer aside briefly, exposing four cream-colored, leathery eggs, each as large as a horse’s head.
“Pretty much all I’ve been doing is warming them by keeping them buried in this stuff. And I think I read somewhere once that mother dragons keep the shells of their eggs supple my moistening them every few hours with oil from some kind of belly gland, which I don’t really have, so I’ve been using mashed deer brains instead, which seem to be doing the trick so far.” She points to a goopy, earthen jar against the wall before covering the eggs again.“Hopefully this won’t take too long. I only hope I can make it home to see Nana one last time before she… um. Yeah, like I said, gimme about a week.”
“Please, please do your best to protect these eggs,” she implores earnestly. “I know most people don’t have much use for dragons, and would just as soon they all drop dead, but they’re increasingly rare animals who have a place in this world no less important than any other. And these little ones haven’t even hatched yet to do anyone any harm.”
“Please, please do your best to protect these eggs,” she implores earnestly. “I know most people don’t have much use for dragons, and would just as soon they all drop dead, but they’re increasingly rare animals who have a place in this world no less important than any other. And these little ones haven’t even hatched yet to do anyone any harm.”
She looks at the nest one last time and sighs. “All right, I’m off. Good luck! I’ll be back as soon as I can!”
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Mercurio turns to Varel.
"Roit, gonna nom'nate you ta take cara th' critter brain part."
[If you guys could decide on a schedule, that'd be very helpful!]
Salbadore makes himself busy inspecting an egg. "Eyes . . . spine . . . liver . . . brain . . ." He holds it up, gently angling it for different views of the developing dragon spawn. "These ought not be jostled too much, lest you disturb the settling of their internal vessels." He replaces the egg in its exact location in the nest.
Over the next few days, Salbadore will take the morning watch of the eggs by default. Each morning, after conducting his daily preparations, he'll occupy himself studying each of the eggs for several hours. During this period, he takes notes, draws sketches of the embryos, and inspects each egg carefully.
Laurie crinkles her nose at the "critter brain," and nods in agreement with Mercurio. She spends most of her practicing shooting and talking with Mercurio and Orthos. While she doesn't try and speak to Salbadore as well, she doesn't seem nearly as cold towards him as she was earlier in the trip.
At night, she takes the first watch, singing and playing her lute into the night.
The egg-tending schedule is as follows:
Salbadore takes the first morning shift (6am to 10am).
Varel takes the next shift (10am to 2pm). She also agrees to take the second night shift (10pm to 2am).
Orthos and Mercurio flip a coin. Mercurio wins and gets the afternoon shift (2pm to 6pm), leaving Orthos to cover the graveyard shift (2am to 6am).
The eggs need to be oiled with brains "every few hours," which you take to mean once per shift. It is tedious, nasty work.
The first day passes uneventfully as the heroes settle into their routine.
Near the end of his watch, Orthos uses a stick to scratch a summoning symbol in the dirt. It is complex, nearly five feet in diameter, but he works with a practiced hand.
As he finishes, the inside of the circle goes eerily dark, much darker than the nearly dawn air around it. Then as if viewed from afar, a single point of flickering light can be seen in its depths. A quiet whisper, as if traveling on the wind from a great distance is heard.
“Who is this? I am not forgotten? What do you want?”
“I am Orthos. I’ve called you back so that you may see the world again. Grant me your light, and my eyes will be yours.”
There’s a pause, as if the words must travel both directions.
“Tell me then, Orthos, What is it that you can keep after giving it to someone else?”
Orthos holds up a hand to hopefully quiet anyone who might try and answer for him. He then says, “My word.” The darkness fades, as does the light, and Orthos begins covering the symbol he made.
When he turns back towards his companions, they can see his eyes have become pitch black, and his pupils like flickering flames. This effect quickly fades, and Orthos smiles.
He then sets about preparing the campsite with his new magic. He finds a large branch, and after careful pruning, places it in the ground. With a touch, the top begins to burn with a heatless flame, shedding a bright light over the area. He focuses on this fire for a moment, and the site is surrounded by a sphere, about a dozen paces (40’) from edge to edge, whose surface is a myriad blend of the colors of the forest. Inside, the temperature is comfortable, and the view out unobstructed by the surface of the sphere.
Lastly, he begins preparing smaller torches of heatless flames for himself and his companions.
During the evening, the eggs (and thus the rest of the group as well) are treated to several ethereal melodies in Laurie's native tongue. These are the sharp contrast to the more spirited tunes she plays during the day, including one she seems to be in the midst of composing ... something about a group of heroes, a living corpse and a snake-man.
During his first morning shift, after Orthos has made everyone comfortable with his strange sphere of domesticity, Salbadore tells Mayna to "See if there's anything interesting here."
As he is just finishing up preparations for the day's operations, she comes hopping back to him with something in her mouth. It does not glint like metal, but it is shiny nevertheless. Salbadore holds his open hand to her, and she deposits her find into his care.
He holds it between two fingers like a cigarette. It is a deep green scale, still slightly oily from its originator's musk. "And this must be mother's own."
"Gad! This must be Draconis viridis." He looks to Orthos or Varel, whoever is around. "What did Master Buntswaite write in his Bestiary of Kauhedl? Brute bayne of yon built lands, knowne to et on yon rype pigges. Something to that effect, I believe. Old Buntswaite must have been right, if mother dragon was menacing Dale-Town."
On the second night, toward the end of Orthos' watch, a snuffling sound heralds the arrival of the largest badger he has ever seen. The badger growls at Orthos, who happens to be standing directly between it and four delicious dragon eggs.
Orthos looks at the badger, and tries to hold very still.
He slowly looks to a nearby torch and a small glow detaches from it and moves toward the animal.
It begins to produce a pattern of subtle, shifting colors in a mesmerizing fashion.
Perhaps this is an exceptionally stubborn badger; or, more likely, it is simply too stupid to be mesmerized by Orthos' spell. Baring its teeth, it hisses and snarls and spits ferociously as the young wizard approaches, but it does not attack. Yet.
The others begin to stir, their sleep penetrated by the racket.
As you wake, and your eyes focus, you see Orthos standing between you and a very large and very pissed off badger.
Mayna flutters to the ground near Salbadore's bed roll and growls out a soft, scratchy warning.
Under circumstances as comfortable as those provided by Orthos' Sphere of Domesticity, Salbadore wears a modestly long night shirt in his sleep. As Mayna calls, he rolls over and rests his head on his shoulder. He rubs the sand from his eyes with the opposite hand and clucks once at his Umganglichtier. In response she performs her signature peck-hop, planting the end of her bill right between his eyes, and dodging backwards.
"Foul fowl!" he curses quietly, "Peck me in the head will you . . . oh . . ." Without Mayna blocking his view, he can clearly see the danger at hand. Surprised as he is, he is also groggy and pissy for having been roused so rudely by Mayna, and therefore altogether unwilling to leave his bed roll just yet. He sits up, pushing himself ever so slightly away from the badger, and pulling his blanket up to his chin.
"Orthos!" he too-loudly whispers. "There's a badger! What do we do?" Still whispering/yelling (it's quite unnecessary for him to do so at this point, for the badger and the rest of the party are all clearly aware of him), he asks, "Should I scare it off?" He thinks for a moment. "I've a boar sample right here, let me get it out."
Varel mumbles in her sleep. "Mmm... sleeping SO gooood..."
She awakens as Mr. Nibbles whistles alerts her to the Dire Badger's presence. She hops awkwardy over to the Badger, too snug in her warm sleeping bag to consider removing it.
"Mister Badger sir! What's a big boy like you doing wandering into camp? How very brave of you to approach our fire! Now come here Mister Badger... I have something very special for you!"
Varel attempts to lead Mister Badger to where she had been cleaning the deer meat earlier today.
Varel's preternatural empathy with animals makes it easy for her to adapt her posture and movements to communicate calm and safety to the badger. Discerning that the creature is simply hungry, she offers it the deer carcass. The badger seizes the entire deer in its jaws and scurries away with its prize.
If ravens had lower lips, Mayna's would be curling. Dismayed by the loss of carrion, she takes flight and follows the badger for a short distance.
Watching, waiting, hoping.
Mister Nibbles creeps down and begins stalking the badger into the woods before Varel stops him. "Bad Mister Nibbles... I don't think Mister Badger wants to play with you. You want to eat him? But you already ate! No means no."
Mister Nibbles warbles, chirps, and whistles. It stares at Mayna curiously for a moment before it resumes grooming.
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