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The Cursebreaker

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"Ploughing hell" the Cursebreaker muttered under his breath as he stepped on something hidden in the thick weeds and stalks of wheat. Crouching down, he ran a leather gloved finger against the rusted edge of the blade. "Hmm, broken. Before or after it rusted?" he spoke, though mostly to himself. His answer quickly came as he studied the thing further "Before." he concluded as he brushed his hand against the ground, looking for something, anything else that might give him a clue. "Thick hide, unnatural. Werebeast perhaps? " Bolivar continued his quiet monologue with himself as he gathered everything he knew. It was an old habit of his, he had found quickly that by speaking the words he'd have an easier time putting them to memory than if he just thought them. Many thought him crazy for it, granted he probably were crazy, but it served a purpose. It helped him remember.

Regardless of his success in finding anything else that might help him determine the nature of the beast, Bolivar continued the trek to the forest edge. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find, really. If this truly was a Daemon, then it wouldn't have a lair however it might have some point of origin. A summoning circle, something that acted as it's anchor to this world. Defeating it wouldn't be enough, would only be temporary, he'd have to find that which kept bringing it into the world and break the curse, thus his aptly named moniker, Cursebreaker.

It was still early but even so the heat of the autumn morning was showing it's signs on the hardened Cursebreaker as droplets of sweat fell from his brow. As much as his armor worked to hide itself from plain view, it was still there. And even though it was just a feather light chainmail, it was still metal. Metal that got warmer and warmer the more it was exposed to sunlight. That, and the cool wind that was rustling the trees off in the distance had little effect down here between the stalks of wheat. But the Cursebreaker was determined to get to the woods, perhaps there the thick crowns would shield him from the worst of the summer rays. Furthermore, the quicker he could learn something useful, the faster he could return to his host.

There she was again, visible in his minds eye. The sight of the night before, her perfectly curvy body naked in the silhouette with hair cascading down her back and large, heavy orbs on the front. She was a real woman, not one of those skinny ones who lived in the city. No, it was clear to him that Adriana was used to the hardship of farm life, and it showed. Her hips and body, shaped into the perfect child carrying wife. Perhaps he'd make her a visit later that night?

He shook his head then, this was no time to daydream. He was hunting a beast, one wrong step and all of those thoughts and plans of carnal pleasure would never be a reality. Now that, would truly be a shame.



Myth-Weaver is down, so that +6 might be a +4, not entirely certain.
Roll(1d20) + 6:
20,+6
Total: 26


Roll(1d20) + 4:
14,+4
Total: 18
 
The fringes of the woods were populated by tall straight trees, left to grow and tended to form a sort of natural fence to the eye, marking the edge of the farmstead property. The undergrowth was riddled with trampled paths where goats, pigs and cows had walked or rooted around, and the sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, creating a dappled web of light and shadow. Further on, though, Barrelman's Wood grew a little thicker and more wild, with branches weaving together just over Bolivar's head into natural arches. Elms and oaks grew in abundance, and the otherwise fairly flat ground rose into a series of low hills, with blunt grey rocky outcroppings breaking through the earth like weathered bones here and there. When he stopped to examine the ground for tracks and spoor, the Cursebreaker found a few traces of wandering farm animals, wild hares and deer.

As he explored the woods, he found a dirt path wandering through the trees. It seemed like it had been well-used once, cleared by many feet and scraped by hoes and shovels, but there was no signs anyone had come that way for many years at least. It seemed to lead to a clearing Bolivar could see in the distance. IN addition to that, he could see a long, low mound of earth a ways deeper in the woods... perhaps one of the alleged 'barrows'?
 
Checking his equipment to make sure his potions, mutagens and extracts were readily available, Bolivar drew his Shifter's Sorrow, his Silver sword specifically forged and enchanted to combat the Supernatural. Not that he expected much resistance, it was day and even if there was someone, somewhere. They would most like not be dangerous, though perhaps if he could find the lair of this potential Werebeast, he could learn more.

Adriana had told him the barrows were just farmers tales, rumors and hogwash. But Bolivar knew differently, if it was a beast that would come and ravage her farmstead every full moon, then the beast would have it's lair somewhere. And with sword in hand, the Cursebreaker ventured further and further into the woods. This was where he excelled, the forest, it had been where he was raised. To him, the forest held few secrets and even the thickets undergrowth would do little to prevent his movement or tracking. Even if it was only a rumor, he would want to see with his own eyes if these barrows existed.

He kept himself low, crouching through the forest with the wind in his face. He wanted to mask his movement and his scent, as to not alert any potential predators to his presence, in here, he was to be the predator, not the prey. Though if he found said barrow, he would not enter it yet, just mark it's location on his map and move on.
 
A soft, trilling music reached the Cursebreaker's ears as he stalked through the woods, keeping downwind and measuring his footfalls on the thick carpet of fallen leaves scattered underfoot. The sound of a flute coiled amongst the trees like smoke, lilting and eerie, giving the forest an otherworldly air. It lead Bolivar towards a mound of earth, which he saw at once was not a barrow. Or at least not for any living being; it was a ley-mound, a place where an ancient, rune-encrusted standing stone had been toppled and buried in the earth, leaving a small hillock a few paces long and wide. It was a place of mystical power, where magical forces congregated. Such places were valued by mages and druids of all stripes - Bolivar even felt his potions and extract vials vibrating slightly, effervescing as they reacted to the energies flowing through the mound.

Atop the mound sat a cross-legged form. An elven man sat, bending over a number of small sprouts and saplings planted in the ground before them. He was tall and slight, silver-haired, ageless of face and bright of eye, with a narrow, handsome, foxlike face. He held a carved bone flute to his lips, and though his gaze flicked up as Bolivar appeared from behind a tree at the foot of the mound he kept playing his fey tune. Magic shimmered around the flute, pulsing in time with its song, and coaxed the plants to grow. Before Bolivar's eyes, the collection of tiny trees, flowers and herb bushes slowly enlarged, spreading their leaves and petals, blooming under the spell.

At last, the elf paused, and picked up a small pruning sickle with a golden blade, favoured by herbalists for retaining the potency of harvested ingredients. “Well met, Cursebreaker,” the ef said in a pleasant voice, inclining his head as he began carefully trimming and collecting leaves, berries, pollen and sap from his tiny garden.
 
Bolivar approached cautiously, the elven man had not acted in any hostile way, yet his presence so close to human territory warranted care. His eyes studying the shimmering flute as it, or rather, it's tunes, forced the nearby plants to grow at a rapid rate. For a second, Bolivar imagined himself having such a flute and the powers to use it, would make his own alchemy that much more potent, if he could just will out the things he'd need from the ground.

Despite his cautious approach, Bolivar lowered his guard. There was no reason for hostility, the elfling had done nothing to warrant it. "You have me at a disadvantage, elf." Bolivar said, it was true though, the elf knew of him, or at least knew what he was, but Bolivar only knew of the elf's race. When he had called him an elf, it had not been as a racial slur as so many other humans. Bolivar had dealt with elves before, on good terms, as is evident from the elven-metal he had forged his chainmail out of.

Looking closer at the forrest elf before him, Bolivar spoke up once more "I'm hunting a beast, comes from this forest. Know of it?" it was a long shot, chances were this elf had only recently come and didn't know of the curse, or the beast. But, something told Bolivar this elf at least knew something, or had heard of something which might help.
 
“Do I?” The elf glanced up from the plants he was carefully tending, his thing silver eyebrows raising high in surprise. “You are the one with the sword. The swords, rather,” he corrected himself, glancing at the still-invisible blade Heartseeker sheathed on Bolivar's back. “I would think that puts me at a disadvantage towards you.” Swathed in robes of forest green and mud brown, the elf's garments were covered in pockets and pouches, and he wore an intricate golden brooch like bird's nest on the collar of his cloak.

“However, my name is Aeronwenrhiodlanderdrysgwenllian.” Elves accumulated syllables in their name as they aged like humans accumulated mementos and knick-knacks. “A mere herbalist and student of nature, travelling through these rough lands, taking a moment to replenish my stocks.” He snicked the stem of one of the plants he had grown, collecting its sap in a tiny glass vial.

“I am a stranger here, so I am afraid I know of no beasts hereabouts. But I do not find these forests particularly malign... well, apart from the altar, that is.” Aeronwwnrhiod... uhhh, Aeron... tilted his head as he saw Bolivar's expression. “Have you not seen the ugly thing? I would have thought you must have passed it on your way here.” He nodded towards the clearing the Cursebreaker had seen in the distance before.
 
The elf's words seemed to amuse Bolivar. Sure, he had the weapons and the elf had nothing, but that had not been what the Cursebreaker had been referring to. Though he chose not to comment on it, instead simply nodded "It is not often I find your kind so close to humans, Aeronwenrhiodlanderdrysgwenllian." Bolivar said, easily able to roll the stupid amount of syllables off of his tongue. He had been practiced in the old tongue, the tongue of the elves. Much of the history as it is known had been written by his kind, and for the Cursebreakers to be as effective as they can, they need to study history, the beasts and creatures of the time.

He had noticed the thing on his way in, but had chosen to continue on wards and only marks it's existence and location to memory. He was headed that way on his way back, he could check the Alter going back. "Tell me, you don't happen to have any wolfsbane or belladonna, do you?" Bolivar asked as he sheathed his sword and took a few steps closer to the elf. If the beast he was hunting indeed was a were-beast, he might be able to concoct a poison off of those two plants that would aid against the beast.
 
Aeron smiled slightly, seeming pleased that the Cursebreaker was so courteous and adept in his tongue. “Hmmm. Wolfsbane, you say? Expecting a lycanthrope? I believe I have some about my person, yes.” He reached into a pouch and produced a carefully-wrapped cloth bundle, which he opened to reveal a handful of purple, bell-shaped flowers. “Yours for the using, Cursebreaker. For the price of a favour, should I ever need one and we happen to meet again, perhaps?”
 
Bolivar chuckled at the elf's words "A good Cursebreaker prepares for anything." He still didn't know for certain if he was up against a Lycanthrope, but from what he had gathered so far, it seemed highly likely. And he'd rather be prepared for one and not find it, than find it and not be prepared.

Sheathing his sword again, the massive blade turning invisible to all but those with magical sight or otherwise enchanted, the Cursebreaker stepped even closer to the elf. "I'm not fond of favors, but if that is the price you're asking, you leave me little choice." the Cursebreaker said before eventually nodding his agreement to the mans terms.

A favor, that would backfire for sure. But he'd find a way around it, always did. Besides, time was passing, time that Bolivar didn't have very much of. It was hard to tell dates, but Bolivar would guess that it was either tonight or tomorrow, whichever it proved to be, he'd have to work fast.

Eventually taking the offered bundle of cloth, flowers he would have to distill into a coating for his sword, Bolivar thanked the elfling before being on his way again, he had an altar to check out. Before he could lift the curse, he would have to find where it originated and what forces, or object, maintained it for so long.
 
Aeron inclined his head, watching Bolivar go with a calm, inscrutable expression on his face. Then he bowed his head back over his little spell-raised garden and continued harvesting components from it.



Bolivar trekked back through the woods, heading towards the space in the trees. As he approached the twittering of birds and skittering of little animals in the undergrowth seemed to still, as if the world was holding its breath. The oppressive air increased, but never quite peaked into anything solid as the Cursebreaker entered the clearing.

The 'altar', if that's what it was, was a crude thing. No more than the stump of a tree sawed down long ago, there were a few lines scratched into its surface depicting a hexagram, a simple magical glyph, with specks of something burned all around. There was also a pool of wet red blood oozing down the side of the stump... but Bolivar's training as a hunter and tracker told him that it was not freshly spilled. More likely, it appeared in the same manner as a victim's bloodstain or ectoplasm at a haunting, a manifestation of the dark deeds done here. The blood was reliquified by the magical forced that were swelling to a crescendo, heralding the reappearance of the beast tomorrow night.
 
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