In the Lair of the Night Thing

The three adventurers ducked out of the tent. Iona squinted in the soft blush of dawn that was spreading over the landscape from the eastern horizon with the rise of the day-star. Had they really spent so long in the shaman's tent? Chitter clicked her chelicerae at as she sensed her mistress' unease, but had to sidestep to avoid Shotavi and Khelarr. The goliath rolled his shoulders and neck to loosen them up, and they all appreciated the clearer air.

Shotavi, Khelarr said, making the dreas look up. Can you track the Night Thing?

In the vision, it went through the front gate and into the forest, Iona found herself adding. So it would most likely be best to start there.

Shotavi nodded and led the way to the edge of the clan's encampment. In the daylight, the sharpened stakes that formed the palisade looked puny and pathetic—especially given how one section had been smashed through. Shotavi made a beeline for that area and started casting about the ground.

A moment later, she straighted up and beckoned to her companions. A child could follow this trail, she said with a sniff, and gestured to the mess of trampled greenery and trails of tarry black blood that had smeared along the underbrush to mark the Night Thing's passage.

Not a wise one, Iona commented, but nonetheless followed Shotavi and Khelarr into the depths of the forest.

The dreas relaxed under the trees, occasionally reaching out to appreciatively or soothingly stroke the trunk of a particular specimen. Although moving quickly and surely down the pathway that had been cleared for them by the Night Thing, she appeared halfway lost to a reverie of green. Iona wondered if Shotavi missed her botanical kindred during walks such as these, and if it was possible for the dreas to go back to being a treant if she ever grew tired of the adventuring life among mortals.

And then their path ended.

Gods' blood, Khelarr grumbled, and Shotavi hummed a soft agreement as they all looked up at the steeply canted granite cliff that rose before them out of the forest floor. It was about the hight of five or six human hunters stacked on each other's shoulders. The only way forward and upward that Iona could see was the claw-scored trunk of an ancient dead tree that leaned against the cliff wall, which had clearly been used before: more streaks of tarry monster blood adorned the gnarled, leafless branches.

I suppose we're going to climb, Khelarr said.

Shotavi held up a green hand. Wait, she said. Let me investigate first.

The dreas approached the toppled tree, crooning softly like a mother soothing an infant. She jerked her hand back less than a heartbeat after laying it on the trunk of the fallen elder, hissing as though burned.

What's wrong? Khelarr demanded.

The tree is wet and rotten to its heartwood, Shotavi answered. One of us might be able to make it to the top by climbing, but any significant weight will cause it to crack asunder. I think we need to find another way.

Then let's see if we can search for a way around, Iona said. I'll search.

Be careful, Khelarr warned.

Iona sniffed derisively at that statement and walked off, following the base of the cliff wall with Chitter at her heels.

Iona and her spider familiar returned some time later, footsore and frustrated. She had found no alternate path around the cliff wall, and relayed as much to her sapient companions. While she had been gone, however, Shotavi and Khelarr had continued investigating the tree for any hidden boons it might yield toward helping them scale the cliff.

Khelarr greeted Iona's dour grimace with a sunny smile. There's a thick creeper hidden underneath the bulk of our tree here—it goes up the cliff face, and Shotavi says it can hold us. I'm going to see if I can expose it better, and then we can climb up more easily.

Iona eyed the tree with obvious doubt. I see.

Khelarr ignored her and put his shoulder against the leaning trunk of the dead tree. He anchored his feet against the earth, and the muscles in his neck and forearms strained as he pushed. Nothing seemed to happen for several long moments, and then the trunk splintered with a deep groan that culminated into a sharp crack as it snapped all the way and fell onto its side.

Shotavi let out a whoop. Iona folded her arms across her chest.

Who wants to go first? Khelarr asked.

I will! Shotavi said, and leaped forward as gracefully as a doe. She grabbed hold of the creeper and began hauling herself up hand over hand with obvious enthusiasm. When she reached the top and scrambled over the edge, she poked her head back over. There's a pool of monster blood up here! It reeks!

Khelarr turned to Iona. I'm not carrying your spider for you, the goliath said.

Iona shuddered at the thought of the gigantic warrior transporting her precious companion. Absolutely not, she said, and Chitter doesn't need your help.

Khelarr raised an eyebrow. Are you volunteering to go next?

If I must, Iona gritted out, and approached the creeper. She didn't have the strength of Shotavi or Khelarr, although Chitter began clambering up the cliff face without any seeming hindrance at all.

Just as Iona grabbed hold of the trailing vine, the dreas let out a shriek.

Shotavi? Khelarr called, but neither the goliath or the human could see over the top of the cliff.

They're everywhere! Shotavi screamed. Get them off me!

Khelarr didn't hesitate. He slung the mage over his shoulder, ignoring her squawk of protest as he did so, and started climbing up after Shotavi.

Chitter, responding to her mistress' distress, leaped from the cliff face onto Khelarr's head. The goliath bellowed in horrified surprise at the wolf-sized spider's attack, and nearly lost his grip on the vine. Chitter lunged for the man's neck, her chelicerae dripping venom.

Chitter! Stop! Iona shrieked, twisting around and grabbing the spider's chelicerae with the hand not wrapped around Khelarr's upper arm. The spider immediately ceased her attack and simply clung to Khelarr, who was unable to respond other than to keep climbing. At Iona's urging, Chitter moved off of Khelarr and resumed her own independent, upward climb.

That gods-forsaken spider, Khelarr gasped, his voice trembling.

Shotavi screeched with rage somewhere up above.

At the top of the cliff, Iona twisted around to detach herself from Khelarr and crawl over the edge of the precipice on her own. Chitter followed her, and Khelarr did the same a moment later. Further away from the edge, Shotavi danced around, slapping at a swarm of biting flies and a stirge that buzzed around her head. One of her hands was smeared with insectine gore, indicating the fate that another of the monstrous, bloodsucking insects had suffered.

In the shelter of the trees beyond the reeking pool of tarry ichor, something let out a deep-bellied, earth-shaking roar. Iona froze, her eyes widening in fear at the noise. Chitter shivered at the vibration that traveled through the ground. Khelarr ignored it and went for the other stirge that was attempting to bury its proboscis into Shotavi's midsection.

Khelarr swatted at the stirge, which zipped out of reach. The goliath overbalanced and fell into the bloody muck, causing him to let out a yelp of disgusted protest. He crawled out of the blood as fast as he could and rolled in the grass, trying to get the stuff off of his leather and fur clothing and his skin. A moment later, he got onto his hands and knees and gagged hard, but fortunately managed to keep down last night's meal.

Poison, he choked out. That blood is poison, gods damn it all. He reached for his waterskin, but stopped when another roar echoed through the nearby forest. It sounded much closer now, and something huge crashed through the trees just out of sight.

We need to leave, Iona hissed. Now!

Khelarr got to his feet just as the tyrantmaw burst out of the trees. The massive theropod dinosaur charged towards the three adventurers with an open mouth. Iona shrieked and bolted for the relative shelter of the forest, her spider following close behind. Khelarr grabbed Shotavi's hand and ran after the mage; this terror was too big to fight.

The three humanoids dodged among the trees and plunged through the thick, clinging underbrush, which managed to slow the tyrantmaw a small amount. Iona, in the lead, could hear the voice of what sounded like an elderly woman calling from nearby: Hurry! This way! You'll lose the beast if you just—

Iona panted out an invocation as she ran.

Her spell confirmed the magical nature of the voice. What do you want? Iona demanded in between gasps for breath.

I want you to live! the voice replied. There—the fallen log! Get under it! Hide!

Iona swore and dove for the fallen log that loomed ahead of her.

Iona skinned the palm of one hand on a rock as she dropped and rolled into her hiding spot, as well as banging her head against the side of the mossy trunk. She smelled wet earth and growing things, and her world was a reeling kaleidoscope of green and brown. The mage panted hard, her cheek and nose smushed against the rich loam of the forest floor, but froze when she heard a rattling hiss. She raised her head and looked into the reptilian black eyes of a freshly awoken pit viper, which promptly lunged for her face with an open mouth.

The viper's bite took her high in the cheek, just under her eye. Chitter, catching up to her mistress, ripped the snake away and bit the reptile's body in half. Khelarr and Shotavi dove into the small space under the log alongside Iona, who groaned as she was forced to roll in the dirt to make room for them. By a miracle, the tyrantmaw thundered past them, roaring as it continued the chase. Chitter started eating the snake.

Khelarr looked at the quickly disappearing snake, and then at the mage. Iona? he panted.

It bit me, Iona replied, wiggling around to bring her fingers to her face. The area around the two puncture points already felt hot to the touch and had begun to swell. The light pressure of her hand provoked a searing pain. I think it was venomous.

Did you see what kind of snake it was? Shotavi asked.

Iona shook her head. Ask Chitter.

At this point, spider had already devoured more than three quarters of the snake's body. As the adventurers watched, its tail disappeared into the spider's maw.

The tyrantmaw moved further away, its roars fading into the distance. The three humanoids listened for several long moments until a relative silence returned to the forest, then crawled out from under the log. Iona staggered as she got to her feet, her vision swimming as an oppressive heat spread outward with the pain in her face.

Shotavi... Iona managed to croak. Do you have any herbs?

I've got plenty, but I don't know which ones you need, the dreas replied. Her brows furrowed with concern. She reached over and felt Iona's forehead with her hand, then looked at Khelarr. She's already far too feverish. We need to find a skilled healer.

Bring her to me, the elderly woman's voice whispered. I'll fix your little magelet.

Shotavi's eyes went wide, and Khelarr drew one of the hatchets tucked into his belt as he looked around. Who said that? the goliath demanded.

Hag, Iona grunted, then fell to her knees and retched up the contents of her stomach into a clump of bracken. Chitter clicked her chelicerae in distress, scuttling forward and attempting to climb into her mistress' lap. Iona reached out to reassure her familiar, but ended up waving her shaking hand into empty air as she toppled onto her side. She heard her humanoid companions' voices as distant points of sound far across the roar and crash of an imagined ocean, and couldn't bring herself to respond.

It's not time for you to go just yet, dearie, the hag's voice called through the void, piercing through the thunderous pain that clouded Iona's senses.

Iona slurred out something foul in response, and felt her body bend as Khelarr picked her up and cradled her in his massive arms. She felt the goliath start to run, and could only weakly scrabble one hand at her face as the pain spread into her eyes. Her vision began to darken.