Vignette - Shadow Snake

The shadow snake is a massive reptile, averaging 25 feet in length but only a foot to foot and a half in diameter. Its magic talent appears to be a constitution that is only partially in this dimension. If they are also in another dimension, and if so what dimension, is very unclear. The results though are not. They are extremely hard to spot and also hard to hurt. Strong light sources work quite well, even a torch can cause considerable harm, and magical attacks of any kind work. Straight physical damage does little to nothing.

Their bite should be avoided at all costs. As they are not fully of this dimension their near immunity to physical threats also applies to eating. To fix this issue their poison shifts their victims into a similar state. It is not a process normal beings can survive.

-Species Tablets at Runehold

Chapter 24

The Nellie waited quietly off the shore of the artificial mesa, a white flag flying above her deck.

And waited.

And waited..

And waited…

“I guess you can’t blame them,” Regi said, “most of the new and surprising things in this world have been bad!”

“Hmmph, I don’t mind caution Regi, it's when caution becomes indecision that I start to worry. Incompetent allies are as bad as enemies.“ Arthur chimed in.

“Ah but incompatent enemies are a gift from the heavens. No? Besides, it shouldn’t be too much longer, it looks like someone kicked a beehive.”

The pool in front of them showed masses of people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Thankfully it was not entirely a disorganized cluster fuck, just mostly so. A significant group of bipedal figures had quickly formed up, 10 ranks deep but spread out at arms length from each other, quite quickly. Then they simply stood there and waited. Timothy could’t say for sure why, but he had a few guesses. Civilian authority was pretty well ingrained in most modern societies, and civilians were often not the best at responding to new things. It’s one reason that Arthur currently held full control in case of an attack. They did not want death by committee, or council in this case, to become more than a saying.

Even those probable civilians eventually figured it out and a tall dark haired man stripped off his white shirt, tied it to a stick… all while riding a giant boar down the narrow steps.

“Boar cavalry… They have boar cavalry!” Regi was incredulous.

“Are you jealous brother?”

“YES!”

“Heh, well we know what at least one of their pathfinders is capable of. Beast taming and some other shenanigans. That hogs walking down stairs.”

“Are you sure it's a pathfinder? Why not just a skill from the old world?” The tall blond bombshell from earlier spoke up.

“Could be, Tina, but I doubt it. Domestication of wild animals takes a long time. Generations I think for the original dogs. It’s only been around three months.” It was a good thing Arthur responded to that question. He managed to remain both respectful and sound interested when his people asked questions. Even when those questions sounded asinine to Timothy.

The hog rider, an older man, heavily worn by the passing of the wind, rain and time remained straight backed and unbowed. His missing shirt revealed a physique that remained whipcord and iron despite being on the slender side. No bodybuilder this man, just one who had lived through a hard life by being harder still. Still mounted he paused on the edge of a stone promontory, clearly artificial and designed more for getting water than for boats, with his makeshift flag raised.

In response to the invitation the nellie made her way in with papa Joe standing in clear view on the starboard side. The anchor dropped as a procession of people brought trade goods out of the hold and set them out on the deck. Pride of place were sets of vine clothing from the joiners along with blankets and sacks. It was simple stuff, pull over one size doesn’t fit anyone shirts, plain flat blankets, drawstring pants and sacks.

Timothy chuckled, the old man had to use his own shirt, golem made if Timothy had to guess, to make a flag. Da didn’t miss the hint.

With a beast tamer they would no doubt have plenty of hide for clothing eventually, but that eventually clearly hadn’t happened yet. Many of the people on the bluff above were looking more than a bit ragged. Three months of hard work was hard on clothing, and they likely only had one set each.

Bundles of near-hemp rope sat besides the cloth on one side while hot peppers from Jenney were piled in a small sack on the other. The council had decided to hold off on trading any active magic until we learned more about our neighbors. No reason to give more away than was necessary.

“Like we discussed, I will repeat whatever is said, you’ll have to watch the pool to see who is speaking.” Regi took a quick drink in preparation, the old man looked ready to kick it off, his eyes, as dark as his hair, were filled with caution but not anything that looked, to Timothy at least, like bloodlust.

Hope was starting to overcome worry. The formation on top of the cliff was definitely military, but it looked like a standard response to an attack, not planned aggression. The lack of obvious weapons made them some kind of spell casters. What kind Timothy was excited to discover… just preferably not now!

He spared a glance at an innocuous looking runed stone disk. If relations broke down, he was ready to assist.

But.

Stolen story; please report.

That ever present but. He really didn’t want anyone else to know about this particular enchantment. To the extent that he had used a joiner to fix a thin slice of stone over the top of the carved runes. The only thing visible was two stone dials that specified distance. The dials were limited to the boundaries of the mesa, in exchange they allowed him a much finer degree of control. Control enough that, combined with the distance given by the scrying pool, he could put the .1ft cubic material removal rune inside someone's head. Maybe. It would be pretty fiddly to aim it and the power costs over this distance were ruinous.

He would get four, maybe five shots out of it. Not a lot, but hopefully enough to take out any pathfinders he could spot.

And enough to thoroughly, dangerously scare his own people. There would be serious repercussions if it was used.

He pushed those thoughts away as the old man began to speak. “Strangers.” He tipped a hat that was as raggedy as his shirt, “I don't know that I can say welcome, the world bein what it is, but I won’t start the violence.” His eyes were deep and calm, but Timothy had to believe him when he continued on. “I’m a dab hand at finishing it when called.”

“A lack of violence might as well be ‘welcome’ now.” Da smiled, accepting the threat without a response. He wrapped one arm around Ma to show his own stance. A man does not look threatening with his petite wife tucked under his arm after all. “We can take it slow. My name is Joe Mason, this is my wife Patty and, as you can see,” he gestured to the piled goods “we are looking for trade, not a fight.”

“Tucker, bein the only one here abouts I’m not fancy enough to need two name. ” He took a good look at the piled goods, “Maybe wes can work sompin out. You got needs?”

“Spices mostly, anything to give some flavor to food. If you found anything like a tomato I’m supposed to prioritize those. All the pork on the hoof and no BBQ sauce has some of our folk a bit cranky.”

Tucker's face lit up with a genuine smile, it gave a glimpse of what he might have looked like in his twenties. Before weather and life had beaten his face and trimmed the fat from his frame. “Now that is indeed a crying shame. Happens we stumbled on some here or there. Should be able to swing some ripe ones as well as seeds. I would take ya to the cleaners for em, but a man has to have a heart. No BBQ. That’s downright cruel and unusual.”

“Haley, run on back and have Oscar pick out some trade goods.” Turning back to Pa he continued “You’ll forgive us, but best you stay on your fancy boat, not that I don’t trust you… but I don’t trust you. Yet. Give it some time and happens we can change that.”

“No forgiveness necessary Mr. Tucker, I feel nice and safe right where I’m at.”

“Mighty accommodating of ya, I guess we should get down to it, how many fine, plump, juicy tomatoes you lookin at for this stack of raggedy blankets?” His open good old boy smile started to look a bit predatory.

Patty and Joe matched his smile and the dickering began in earnest.

“Enough Regi, I don’t have any desire to listen to the bargaining.” Timothy was a bit confused. “I know I asked for the near-tomatoes but he didn’t mention the salt at all.”

Regi spoke first “You don’t want to show your hand too early when bargaining, Timothy. We want salt, but I imagine Tucker wants the clothes. We both start on less important goods to feel each other out. There’s also no reason to let them know we are spying on them. Makes people a bit paranoid. Da will wait for them to mention the salt first.”

“Besides,” Arthur picked up the conversation, “this won’t be a one time trade. You can survive on the salt found in animal blood and root vegetables, but it’s healthier to add a bit. Add in the sheer usefulness of salt as a preservative and for taste and we’ll be coming back to them over and over again. For that sort of thing you need a relationship, not merely a good deal.”

“I never took you for a nutritionist Arthur, that was oddly detailed. Where did you pick all that up?”

“...Timothy,” He spoke slow and careful, like you would to a not particularly clever child, “most career military have what amounts to a minor in low tech survival. If you get lost behind enemy lines you need to know what you can eat and what you must eat. It’s not unique to me, go ask any of the long term service folks, you will get an earful that is more practical and educated than most preppers. For marines and many special forces groups take that minor and make it a masters.”

Timothy winced, he could not afford to leave Arthur offended. The man was far too valuable for that. Besides, he was becoming a friend and wise friends did not let small injuries fester. “Sorry Arthur, I did not mean anything by it. I was honestly curious and figured you might have some fun hobbies.”

Arthur gave a rye, sad smile, “Don’t worry about it Timothy. You just hit the edge of an old wound. More than a few people assume the military is filled with blood soaked savages. They don’t realize the sheer amount of education required to prosecute a modern war.”

Letting the matter drop he turned back to the pool and Timothy did the same.

Time passed with only minor small talk. Timothy mostly didn’t bother to watch. Regi would let them know if it was something important. Until then he could go through his notes and make plans for later. Even if he couldn’t afford to get head down in a project he could still get the organizing out of the way.

Less than an hour later the Nellie pulled up her anchor and headed back upstream. The relief in the scrying room was almost palpable. Staying on guard and worrying about friends or family really took it out of you. In time perhaps they could do this without all the security and worries. But that would take a while. Building trust was not a job for a few measly hours. Still it seemed to be a good start.

After they pulled away from the docks Timothy deactivated the pool, there wasn’t much of a charge left and they might need help coming back through the swamp. It was a bit of a maze afterall. A dangerous, smelly maze.

It struck him once again how ridiculous it was that ten miles as the crow flies turned into over thirty miles of actual travel. The hovercrocs had sparked an idea for Timothy, if a thirty five feet long croc could float off the ground, why couldn't the Nellie? It was a ways down on his list, but he would get to it eventually.

It made Timothy giddy, every new creature, and some old, was providing him with inspiration for new directions his magic could take. He just needed time, always it was about time. Time to study and figure out how the critters did what they did. Then more time to encapsulate that method into a rune, or series of runes. Then even more to make something with those runes. All while trying to survive.

One step at a time. It was all he could do. Still he spent a while carving his observations into yet another wooden plaque.

Then it was game time once again. The Nellie had reached the swamp, and while downstream had been mostly free of issues, up would be considerably nastier. Going against the flow of the river meant a reduction in speed. It was almost five miles an hour up by the hold but the river spread out to cover the swamp, slowing down as it did so. Five miles an hour fluctuated a bit but averaged around three. They could deal with three. The biggest problem that remained was not getting lost.

All rivers lead to the sea. A cliche but true enough as far as that went. You could not really lose your way going downstream. You might hit a sandbar or run aground, but as long as you followed the flow you could find your way through. The opposite was not true. There were multiple rivers dumping into this massive wetlands. Following the wrong one would not get you home, but it might get you killed. The oversized black mangroves closing in the overhead did not help. The light was meager and the distractions ever present.

Preparations had been made. Or they would not have attempted this trip. A detailed map with a few landmarks to look for helped, Oddly shaped large stones or particularly unique trees. But the real safety was in redundancies. If the map didn’t work Regi could put a lightning bolt through the canopy for the scrying pool to spot. If that didn't work then Timothy had an experimental rune that might be able to find the nellie from the ‘doll’ sized figurine Arthur and Regi had joked about earlier.

Prior preparation, it made life so much easier and stress free. The Nellie cruised through the swamp with only minor issues, an overly curious hovercroc that thought better of it and a detour around what might be a hippopotamus of unusual size… A very wide detour.

For as the wise Regi did say, “FUCK THAT, BACK THE FUCK UP AND STAY THE FUCK BACK!” Apparently a close encounter while on leave in the old world Africa gave him an odd fear of the oversized water cow. A thirty two foot hovercrocs did not bother him but an oversized cow did.

At last they were out, and on the, relatively, safe track home. Various sighs of relief were heard through the room. It was over, they had salt, they had nearmatoes, and they had living parents… Life was good!