Forest Forensics I: Fellowship of Ker-ching by JJR Sorrel

The Fellowship of Ker-ching

An Unexpected party

When Sorrel Darkfire decided to keep it secret that she was celebrating her thirty third birthday there was no talk or excitement in the Three Headed Dragon.

Sorrel was very quiet and very peculiar and had been the irritation of the inn staff ever since her unremarkable arrival and repeated return. The riches she had bought back from her adventures were so paltry they had become a staff legend and it was popularly believed, whatever Shaleena might say, that she was rubbish with treasure.

“The bill will have to be paid for,” they said. “It’s natural, or trouble will come of it.”

But so far trouble had not come, and Sorrel had scraped together the money. She remained on flirting terms with Shaleena and had no other admirers among the guests at the inn as she covered her head and hid in the corner.

‘A very nice well-spoken gloomstalker ranger is Ms. Firefoot, as I’ve always said,’ Gaffa the kobold waiter declared. Sorrel was very polite to him, calling him ‘Master Coldheart’, and consulting him on the menu specials — in the matter of meat and potatoes, the waiter was recognised as the leading authority by all the other waiters (including himself).

Then Sorrel’s birthday actually dawned. The sun got up, the clouds vanished, she went downstairs and breakfast began. She ate her dishes and then vanished. Not in a blinding flash of light, just by pulling her hood down and her mask up and slipping into the shadows.

She thought about returning to her room but remembered she’d left a wizard there who seemed to think a one-night stand was a proposal of marriage. She kept talking about a ring and asking Sorrel to give her something precious.

She sat in the inn and sang softly to herself:

The moaning goes ever on and on
Though I closed the door where it began.
Now way too far the moaner has gone,
And I must avoid her, if I can,
She’s pursuing me with eager feet,
She wants to join me in some larger way
Where many responsibilities and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
But I really don’t want to get involved.
I see her more as a friend.
Kind of awkward.
Maybe I should ghost her.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the wizard leaving. “Goodbye my dear bimbo,’ she whispered. “I hope I’m not drunk at our next meeting.”

The Shadow of Breakfast

As the waiter took her breakfast plates away, Sorrel thought about the rumours she’d heard of strange things happening in the world outside. There was a name she only knew in legends of the dark past, like a shadow in the background of her memories; it was ominous and disquieting. It seemed that the T Rex in Angelbark Forest had not been the end of the story. Some fungus was spreading far and wide. Away far east and south Orcs were shopping again in the mornings. Trolls were abroad, if they’d had two jabs and a negative PCR. And there were murmured hints of creatures more terrible than all these, but they had no name.

She hadn’t seen Tayz since the T Rex/velociraptor encounter, but that morning there came the once familiar tap on the table. She looked up with surprise and delight. The Aarakocra was pecking at his food on the table, and it was clacking away. She welcomed her distant friend with careful delight.

“You look the same as ever Sorrel,” Tayz said.

“So do you,” Sorrel replied, but secretly she thought Tayz looked more careworn. The cleric was sitting a careful distance from Sorrel, a bright fire was on the hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South. Everything looked fresh, and the new green of Spring was shimmering in the streets.

A tall goliath who knew Tayz introduced himself as Kavel. “How long have you two known each other?” Sorrel asked.

“Known?” said Kavel. “I have known much that only the Wise know, Sorrel, but I haven’t really understood most of it as I’m a barbarian. But if you mean "known about Tayz", well, I still do not know Tayz, one might say. I am only a guest.”

Fortunately, Derthaad came over, who knew both Kavel and Tayz. “I have just consulted Angier the wood elf, and there’s a job going. He has a copy of this letter.”

'I cannot read the fiery letters,' said Sorrel in a quavering voice.

'No,' said Derthaad, 'but I can. The paper is upside down to you which makes them quite hard to read but here’s what they say close enough… One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”

“Are you sure?” Tayz looked over his shoulder. “From here it looks like –

Research assistants wanted

Archibald Tumblefoot, distinguished visiting scholar, is in need of research assistants to uncover the source of a recently discovered aggressively parasitical infestation in the Angelbark Forest, threatening the local flora and fauna. Advanced degrees preferred, but not required. If interested, please submit you application, along with two letters of recommendation, to the Daring Heights Academy."

Derthaad looked again. “Sorry, you’re right, I thought it was in French. That makes a lot more sense.”

Five is Company

Suddenly he stopped as if listening. Sorrel became aware that all was very quiet, inside and outside. There was a squawk, and Angier’s cheerful head appeared.

'Well, well, bless my complete absence of a beard!' said Angier. “Four people with whom I have a nodding acquaintance and an important hook in the development of my character awaiting. I have thought of something to shut your mouth, all four of you, and potentially pay you properly for hunting with me. You shall go away with me and Mr. Tumblefoot!'

'Me, Angier!' cried Sorrel, hauling herself to her feet. 'Me go and see trees and stuff!” She shrugged. “I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do.”

A Short Cut to Tumblefoot

The Daring Heights Academy was on the other side of the Portal Plaza. It didn’t take long to get there.

A Conspiracy Unneeded

Angier negotiated entrance with Gildor the doorman. The academy was essentially rows and rows of desk stacked with researchers, followed by two rows of empty tables then one row with a fort of books.

“Did you find out anything about the letter from Gildor?” Kavel asked

“Not much, only hints and riddles,” said Angier evasively.

“Did you ask why he was sniffing?”

“We didn't discuss it,' said Angier.

“You should have. He might have had a cold, and have you ever seen an Aarakocra sneeze?”'

“He wants qualifications,” Angier pointed towards the wall of books, so they rapidly forged letters of recommendation. As they finished there was an eruption of paper balls from behind the walls and Professor Tumblefoot – a halfling professor – appeared.

Halflings have a passion for mushrooms, surpassing even the greediest likings of Big People, and they like their mushroom tea how they like it - a fact which partly explains Professor Tumblefoot's long complaints to the caretaker and grumbling about the uselessness of Glint. Sorrel remembered the fire headed genasi and bit her tongue. She sort of owed her life to the scholar, in a way that was hard to define and difficult to explain. And possibly untrue.

'Well!' said Tumblefoot at last, sitting up and straightening his back, as if he had made a decision. 'I can't keep it dark any longer. I have got something to tell you all. But I don't know quite how to begin.'

'I think I could help you,' said Angier quietly, 'by telling you some of it myself.'

'What do you mean?' said Tumblefoot, looking at him anxiously.

'Just this, my dear old Tumblefoot: You are in need of research assistants to uncover the source of a recently discovered aggressively parasitical infestation in the Angelbark Forest, threatening the local flora and fauna. Advanced degrees preferred, but not required.'

Tumblefoot opened his mouth and shut it again. His look of surprise was so comical that they laughed. 'Dear old Tumblefoot!' said Angier. 'Did you really think you had thrown dust in all our eyes? You have not been nearly careful or clever enough for that! You have written down specifically everything you need on this piece of paper, and we have all read it. It was bleedin’ obvious.”

'Good heavens!' said Tumblefoot. 'Is all Daring Heights discussing my departure then?'

“I suspect not,” said Tayz.

Tumblefoot packed a backpack and bitched about Glint and the caretaker – ‘I will be leaving you a bad review,’ he sniffed, then turned to the party. “The Company shall be Six; and shall represent the Free Peoples of Kantas: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. And, obviously, halflings.”

“And Aarakocra,” added Tayz.

“And Goliaths,” Kavel pointed out.

“I don’t actually see any dwarves,” Sorrel observed.

“We’re also short a Tabaxi and a Loxodon, but we do have a Dragonborn,” Derthaad said mildly.

“No-one ever plays a Loxodon so they don’t count,” Tumblefoot sniffed. “We will be heading north through the village of Bloody Creek. It’s a long march. Half a day. Hilly terrain. Keep a good eye on where we’re going – it’s lots of effort, and we can lose the path. But I have a song that can help…”

He stood gazing off into the distance and a soft tune played across his lips.

“Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.
To…”

“If you keep singing, I am going to kill you,” said Tayz.

The Old Forest

The party left Daring Heights. On the far side was a faint path leading towards the Forest. Looking back, they could see the dark line of Daring Heights through the stems of trees that were already thick about them. Looking ahead they could see only tree-trunks of innumerable sizes and shapes: straight or bent, twisted, leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched; and all the stems were green or grey with moss and slimy, shaggy growths.

They picked a way among the trees, carefully avoiding the many writhing and interlacing roots using a series of skill checks that went very well, save for poor Kavel’s attempt to carry the professor’s bag.

The ground was rising steadily. There was no sound. For the moment there was no whispering or movement among the branches; but they all got an uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched with disapproval, deepening to dislike and even enmity. The feeling steadily grew, until they found themselves looking up quickly, or glancing back over their shoulders, as if they expected a sudden blow.

“The only thing that could make this journey worse,” Sorrel said to Tayz, “is some weirdo in an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band slumping along with great yellow boots on his thick legs, and charging through grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink.”

“Some people like that bit,” Tayz shrugged.

“If it had any bearing whatsoever on any future events at all I might be able to just about put up with derry doll, merry fucking doll, hi whatever the fuck a dillo,” Sorrel grumbled, “but if all it involves is honey, rain and some woman with her feet in a puddle I’m out of here.”

In the Church of Father Jonathan

Finally, they arrived at Blood Creek and the professor decided to consult with Father Jonathan at the local chapel.

The party stepped over the wide stone threshold, and stood still, blinking. They were in a long low room, filled with the light of lamps swinging from the beams of the roof; and on the table of dark polished wood stood many candles, tall and yellow, burning brightly.

In a chair, at the far side of the room facing the outer door, sat a priest. His long hair rippled down his shoulders; his cloak was green; and his belt was shaped like a belt. About his feet in wide vessels of green and brown earthenware, white water-lilies were floating, so that he seemed to be enthroned in the midst of a pool.

'Enter, good guests!' he said, and before they could say anything, he sprang lightly up and over the lily-bowls, which smashed to pieces under his metal armour. 'Come dear folk!' he said, taking Angier by the hand. 'Laugh and be merry! I am Jonathan, priest of the Chauntea faith. I have a song to sing you which in musical form reports that no further monstrosities have been seen, but the harvest seems a tiny bit iffy, and there has been less game in the forest.”

“Could we just take that information without the song?” Tayz asked.

“Well, I had an errand: gathering water-lilies,” Father Jonathan’s voice rose in song. “Green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,”

Tayz sighed and turned away leaving the priest standing in the broken bowls. The party walked out, hearing his voice fading behind them as he sang about a woman called Goldberry.

“Is Goldberry a Jewish name?” Sorrel asked.

“Possibly Sephardi,” Angier nodded.

Fog on the Barrow Downs

“I think,” said the professor, “It is time to split the party, for this is a guarantee of success. I will go to the Sauerkraut Tavern. Who’s in?”

Derthaad decided to check in with the local constabulary first and Sorrel went with him, concerned that the gentle scholar might struggle if the armed guard proved truculent.

They walked up to the watch tower at the top of a ridge or hill. They were weary, sweating and yet chilled.

'Where are you?' they cried out miserably.

There was no reply. They stood listening. They were suddenly aware that it was getting very cold, and that up here a wind was beginning to blow, an icy wind. A change was coming in the weather.

Sorrel imagined suddenly that she caught a muffled cry.

'Where are you?' Derthaad cried again, both angry and afraid.

'Here!' said a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of the ground. 'I am waiting for you!'

“How did you know we were coming?”

“Well, not you, specifically. Just people passing. All I want is a quiet life, nothing going on, but then you do gooders come through wanting adventure.”

They looked down and saw a middle-aged militia man lying up against a small hand-propelled vehicle, with just one wheel, clearly designed to be pushed by a single person using two handles at the rear. He was eating donuts on the grass. “One month til I retire,” he sighed. “Is it not possible to have a snack in peace after I have put my barrow down.”

“Your barrow down?”

“Yes, it’s a terrible pun crowbarred into place with such cack handed incompetence that I’ll probably have to repeat it. Because barrow down referencing a wheelbarrow is very different from a barrow on a down, being an ancient tomb perched on top of a low hill which contains a mcguffin that suddenly turns out to be very useful much, much later on.”

“What about the fog?”

“That’s me. F.O.G. Forward Operating Geezer. Anyway, what do you want?” He hauled himself to his feet. “Lance is the name, corporal Lance.”

Derthaad and Sorrel exchanged glances. “This man appears to have been promoted above his level of competence,” Derthaad whispered.

Corporal Lance told them that in “the tavern they’re saying the forest is quiet – there’s less game for the hunters,” he spat out a wad of chewing donut. “That could mean more monsters, could mean less. The goat rancher is complaining that some of his goats have gone missing. Sheep gone missing too. But I’m going to stay right here. I moved to the countryside because the air is better and you live longer.”

As he spoke Derthaad and Sorrel had a vision of a great expanse of years behind him, like a vast shadowy plain over which there strode slightly overweight men, middle aged and grinning with bright swords, and last came one with a wheelbarrow and a lucrative pension plan. Then the vision faded, and they were back in the sunlit world. They made ready, packing their bags and heading for the tavern.

At the Sign of the Sauerkraut Tavern

The village of Bloody Creek had some hundred stone houses, mostly above the Road, nestling on the hillside with windows looking west. On that side, running out of the forest, there was a deep river.

Down on the Road, there was a large inn. It had been built long ago when the traffic on the roads had been far greater. For Bloody Creek stood at an old meeting of ways; another ancient road crossed the East Road just outside the western end of the village, and in former days folk of various sorts had travelled much on it.

The innkeeper was an important person. Her house was a meeting place for the idle, talkative, and inquisitive among the inhabitants, large and small, of the village. The company was in the big common-room of the inn. The gathering was large and mixed, as Angier discovered, when his eyes got used to the light. This came chiefly from a blazing log-fire, for the three lamps hanging from the beams were dim, and half veiled in smoke. There were a couple of dwarves and one or two strange-looking men. On the benches were various folk: men of Bloody, a collection of local halflings (sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and comers.

Angier noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten dwarf, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was listening intently. In spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face.

'Who is that?' Angier asked, when he got a chance to whisper to the inn keeper.

'Him?' said the landlady in an answering whisper, cocking an eye without turning her head. 'I don't rightly know. He seldom talks: not but what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. What his right name is I've never heard: but he's known round here as Zenith. He runs the Almosta Ranch.”

Angier found that Zenith was now looking at him, as if he had heard or guessed all that had been said.

Angier asked Kavel, given his impressive size, to get the attention of the room. Kavel jumped up and stood on a table, and began to talk. Some of the drinkers laughed and clapped, thinking that someone had taken as much ale as was good for him. Kavel suddenly felt very foolish, He spoke 'a few suitable words' and then he hesitated and coughed.

Everyone in the room was now looking at him. 'A song!' shouted one of the drinkers. 'A song! A song!' shouted all the others. 'Come on now, master, sing us something that we haven't heard before!'

For a moment Kavel stood gaping. Then in desperation he jumped down and Tayz sprang up. He considered singing a ridiculous song that his family had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about an inn; and that is probably why it came into Tayz's mind just then. Instead, however, he asked for detailed and specific information regarding any and all potential unsettling, disturbing, sinister and otherwise unpleasant forest-based events. The crowd was unimpressed.

Angier watched the crowd turn away and felt a fool. Not knowing what else to do, he crawled to the dark comer by Zenith, who sat unmoved, giving no sign of his thoughts.

'Well?' said Zenith. 'Why did you do that?’

'I don't know what you mean,' said Angier, annoyed and alarmed.

'Oh yes, you do,' answered Zenith; ‘but for the sake of plot expediency, let me tell you this.” He paused significantly. “Some of the goats and sheep have gone missing!”

There was a long pause.

“That’s it?” Angier stared. “No additional clues? I mean, the things we’re after are literally vast deadly corpse plants that actually eat people.”

“Well then, you should have delivered your questioning with more pizzazz,” Zenith shrugged. “Frankly, you’re lucky to get even this clue. You probably should have sung them a song.”

“There are way too many songs in this quest already,” Angier sighed. “Every ten minutes someone breaks into a tune, mostly pointless. It’s like, what is it with all the songs? Most people fast forward through them anyway. I heard someone start one about Elbereth that went on for pages and pages. No one reads it. No one.”

“You need to take that complaint upstairs,” the dwarf shrugged. “Laters.”

Hieronymus

When Angier reported back on Zenith’s advice, Sorrel sighed.

“I could ask the sheep,” she said.

The party stared at her as she lead the way to Berry Crest Farm at the edge of the forest.

“Professor, think what it might mean,” she chanted.

“if I could talk to the animals, just imagine it
Chatting to a chimp in chimpanzee
Imagine talking to a tiger, chatting to a cheetah
What a neat achievement that would be.
If we could talk to the animals, learn their languages
Maybe take an animal degree.
I'd study elephant and eagle, buffalo and beagle,
Alligator, guinea pig, and flea.
I would converse in polar bear and python,
And I would curse in fluent kangaroo.
If people asked me, can you speak rhinoceros,
I'd say, "Of courserous, can't you?"

As she finished the ancient chant of Doolittle, her voice suddenly became a series of low baas and she moved amongst the sheep until one sprightly ewe pointed her in the direction of an impressive ram, saying – “there is the king Hieronymus. Remember ye the ancient verse: “All that is wool does not gimmer*. Not all those who wander are lost. The old that is strong is no wether **, Deep rumen are not reached by the frost***. Renewed shall be scurs that was broken****. The polled again shall be king.*****”

Sorrel approached Hieronymus who seemed surprised at her questions but readily supplied the answers. “Frankly I thought my storyline had ended ages ago, so I’m grateful for a cameo,” he said. “The river is polluted with death. Death! Follow it to its source and conquer the evil. But be afraid! It is terrible! All fear it!”

A Walk as it Gets Dark

Hearing Sorrel’s account of her conversation, Angier used his deep connection to the forest and let his elven magic flow from his fingertips, detecting undead in the forest. “It’s within 10km,” he warned the party. “Shit got real.”

They moved upriver, pushing through the thick foliage. Sorrel slipped ahead, silently scouting while the others came crashing behind. It was getting darker. The shades of evening began to fall, and it grew cold. They were suddenly aware of great hunger, for they had not eaten anything since breakfast.

“We must make camp soon,” Angier said, his brow furrowed. “Sorrel, see if you can find a clearing – but be careful. Last time I was here, the clearings were the most deadly.”

Flight over the Ford

Tayz flew along the river. There was probably a ford at some point. Difficult chapter heading to include.

Many Meetings

Sorrel moved forward, an arrow notched to her longbow and felt rather than hear the thunderous roar of a T Rex. It rumbled through the ground and shook her to the core. She slipped back to the party and beckoned Tayz.

“The last time I was here with you, that sheep farmer Alan Shearer – he was morphed by the ancient planes into a T Rex, wasn’t he?”

Tayz nodded. “And when I tried to change him back, he wasn’t interested. He was happy with his powerful hind legs and strong jaws although he did think the tiny arms looked silly.”

“Then we should hold off from hitting the dinosaur,” Sorrel warned the party.

As she spoke, they stepped out of the trees and beheld the towering carnivore fighting for its life against two abominable ambulatory plants which struggled to grapple the beast with sickly green tentacles.

“Corpse flowers!” the professor gasped. “They sprout atop the grave of an evil necromancer or the remains of powerful undead. They scavenge corpses from battlefields and graveyards using fibrous tentacles to stuff the remains into its body and feeds on carrion to repair itself. These plants have a malevolent bent and despise the living. This is not ideal.”

“We must save Alan Shearer!” Sorrel cried.

Just then, one of the terrifying creatures appeared to feel the arrival of fresh blood.

“We must also save ourselves,” said the professor grimly. “This is going to get nasty.”

To be continued in the next book the Two Corpse Flowers******




*I swear, gimmer means female sheep. Look it up.

** castrated male sheep. There comes a point where you can over research.

*** rumen - the first compartment of the stomach of a ruminant animal where bacteria and protozoa break down cellulose. Believe it or not, I have a job.

**** small horny growths in the skin where horns would be. According to Wikipedia.

***** polled is a term for livestock without horns in species which are normally horned. So, what I’ve done is attempt to use sheep farming terms to replace words for regal power. I think it failed right from the off, but I thought that pushing it beyond the bounds of sanity might claw something back. It hasn’t.



****** The Two Corpse Flowers vaguely rhymes with the Two Towers. Obviously, that doesn’t really work as there’s at least half of the Fellowship of the Ring chapters left but frankly this ham fisted Tolkein mash-up is a lot harder than I thought it would be and I’m not even going to pretend to keep it going. Believe me Kantas, I suffered for you. And I think we can all agree it wasn’t worth it.