Approaching the Village

[where excatly did we leave off?]

((If memory serves, the equivalent of a greeting party was sent into the throes of delirium. I believe that's where we stopped.))

((But then Iggy used Etiquette to roll back the shape-shifting, and so we've now just met them. Meeting the natives, take two!))

((Ah, I didn't know that part.))

Eastman is not seen during the approach towards the natives, which at this point should surprise no one ever.

((OOC: Holding off until Iggy can post here, since he's the one who's making the approach and who burned the Etiquette.))

*Walks in hands held high*
'Hail.'

(mindlink: who has speech of the world, because now would be a good time.)

(mindlink: I do. What do you want me to say?)

Ylva approaches, standing beside Miguel and mimicking his gesture with his hands. Using Speech of the World, she offers a simple greeting as well. "Hail."

Erikson is just out of sight still in Hispo awaiting orders.

The tribesmen regard you warily. "Hail," one of them says--in accented, but perfectly comprehensible English. "Why have you come to this place?"

Daniel hangs back, waiting with others in case of trouble.

*keeping his hands visible, Miguel smiles*
"We came here accidentally. Looking to recover a lost object for a friend and we fell, into a place, a cave, not far from here.... and now we search for a way home."

Bankroll looks incredibly relieved when he hears the tribal people speak English. He lets out a relieved sigh and casts his eyes up toward the sky with a murmured prayer of thanks in Italian.

On the heels of Miguel's words, he adds, "Our path home would be found in a place of purity of nature's power. What we would call a Glade, a sacred space."

The one who spoke considers your words, nodding gravely. "This has happened before," he says. "Not in my lifetime, but in my father's. I am a Speaker, but you will need more than a Speaker--you will need the Lorekeeper."

*Inclines his head*
'We would be glad to meet with him.'

Still hidden in the hedge the skalds hispo ears perked up at the word loremaster

The tribesman nods. "We will take you to him; that is one of our duties." He speaks to the other hunters in a language none of you recognize. Those who speak the Seneca, Cuyuga, or Mohawk language will find some of the words familiar; those with gifts allowing them to understand all languages will get this translation.

"They are from Beyond. We will take them to the Lorekeeper, as the law and the traditions dictate. They are peace-holy unless they break the laws of hospitality."

(bump)

Bankroll nods after the tribesman's declaration in English, understanding that portion of the man's words at least. Once the hunters begin to lead them to the loremaster, he falls in step with the rest of his companions to continue their journey.

The trip through the jungle is a lengthy one--three to four hours. The hunters are extremely skilled at moving quietly and obliquely.

As the shadows are lengthening and the light filtered in through the trees mellowing to late afternoon, you arrive at your destination--though the less wood-wise among you don't notice at first. The People of the Green dwell in flets in the trees, well-concealed.

You are guided up ladders made from woven vine-ropes to a village of platforms and catwalks--well-built, even if it does evoke certain images of Ewoks.

The tribesmen and women pause in their tasks to stare at you.

Bankroll and the hunters are a study in opposites. Where they move easily and silently through the jungle, his own passage is much more noticeable. What little experience he has moving stealthily is based around a concrete jungle, not a literal one. And it's clear that he has no familiarity with treks like this through natural settings. He's able to keep up, primarily due to his physical training and healthy habits of jogging through his neighborhood or at the gym. But the uneven ground and brush definitely slow him down.

When they arrive, he's likely one of the last to notice that they've reached a settlement. Once the dwellings are pointed out to him, an incredulous expression grows on his face as he sees what he's more likely to recognize as Endor than anything else.

Bankroll slowly follows their guides through the catwalks, stepping carefully to maintain his balance. His eyes take note of the residents of the community in short, quick glances, but he's primarily watching where he's walking, lest he fall flat on his face, or worse, tumble from the trees to the earth below.

*Miguel's climbs and moves with the grace of a trained athlete, though he appears built more like badger than a squirrel. He gives a regal nod to all that glance his way on the way to see the Loremaster*

Your guide leads you through the settlement to a large hut near the center, then motions you to enter. He looks like he intends to remain outside. You suspect that others of your party raced on ahead to inform the Loremaster of your arrival.

*ducks in and looks about*

Bankroll enters the hut and looks around.

The interior of the hut is dim. There is a smell of old woodsmoke and smoked meat. A voice from the back of the hut calls, reedy but firm:

"Come."

The man seated on a stool is ancient, a being of weathered rawhide and sinew. He wears furs and what look like ritual fetishes (the non-magical variety.) He regards you with dark eyes.

"Visitors from beyond. Enter, and be welcome. We will talk."

(OOC: And we're going to pause there until session--this is a conversation that would be best handled face to face.)