The Scuttlebrush Chronicles

[Azulfae]

Mozgul knelt down keeping his head low amongst the bushes.

On the floor in front of him lay his Ice shard scimitar and a rod he had recently purchased. He put the rod up against the grip of the blade. Firmly tucking its end into a notch in the hilt he bound it firmly with some leather chord making it secure and almost a part of the sword so it would be ready to hand in combat.

Mozgul rose and took his shield firmly on his left arm. The hills were crawling with goblins today.

A few cantations later and he was off, stomping across the slopes.

“SHAMANZ!!! Bring me youz shamanz!”

The first goblin charged. Mozgul raised his sword and thumbed the rune on the side of the rod. A ray of frost shot forth and hit the goblin smack in the face. The Orc-blood bounded forwards and hacked into the belly of the goblin with his scimitar shattering chainmail, parried a blow with his shield and then cut the critter down with a second blow.

Archers unleashed arrows, they bounced harmlessly off a skin of stone covering Mozgul’s back.

Rays of frost cut back and forth across the field, one after another breaking the goblins down until they dropped, parts of their bodies breaking off frozen.

“RRROOOOOAAAARRGGGHHH!!! I needz real fight! Where is youz shamanz!”

One after another he cut down goblin after goblin.

“Bah!”

Finally Mozgul reached a summit of one of the highest hills. More goblins made easy work, he tried to talk with one but unfortunately it again showed an interest in the end of his blade.

Mozgul scanned the area, now a relatively calm sanctuary from the battle between goblins and a foul mouthed dwarf he could hear over the cliff and down below.

The sun was setting and the rocks were red with Lathander’s fading light.

A scuttlebrush plant grew fresh and healthy in the soil at the base of a large pair of boulders. The half-orc sheathed his blade and put his shield on his back. He crouched down and examined the plant in it’s natural environment. It seemed normal as any other plant but something was odd about this spot.

Finally Mozgul raised his hand from the earth beside the plant. He looked at his palm and smirked. “Hmm…”

The soil was warmer than elsewhere, not much but enough to notice.
Mozgul dug the plant out and moved it to a new spot. He waited and rested, hidden away on the hillside from the goings on in the surrounding area.

Selune rose in the sky beyond and cast a brilliant light upon the hillside. Mozgul rose and gave worship, wondering for a moment if the light of his goddess gave some blessing to the plant.

He felt the soil where the plant had been to see if it cooled and felt the soil around the new location to see if it would warm but the plant just became sickly. He moved the plant back and cast some healing blessings upon it.

“I is sorry.” He said tenderly as he caressed the leaves and patted the soil back down.

Mozgul turned and found a goblin standing near the bushes behind him.

The creature fired a bolt from a crossbow. Mozgul sidestepped and let rip a ray from his rod.

“Stop youz now! Wait and hear mine wordz!”

The creature muttered in it’s own language, clutching an icy burn on it’s arm, the crossbow it had be shooting was frozen with the bolt stuck firmly to the haft.

“Where youz shamanz?” The half-orc grumbled. “Do you speak orc” he blurted in orcan.

The goblin continued to rabble on in goblinoid, shouting and pointing and shaking it’s fist angrily.

Mozgul turned and pointed at a scuttle brush plant behind him.

“I needs talk youz shamanz bout dis onez.”

The goblin trembled with anger and the sound of many little feet caused the ground to rumble beneath Mozgul. He clasped his holy icon and Snargz burst forth from a flash of deep blue light and rainbow sparkles.

From the bushes nearby burst goblins and from higher up the hill they poured also.

“Bugger.”

[Azulfae]

Mozgul returned to the glade, bloodied and covered in dust. Snargz had done a good job keeping the goblins off and allowing him to escape and do a little more work before leaving the hills.

It had been a journey and a half to get back to the Viridale but when you have the legs of a horse at your disposal the trek is made possible with haste.

Mozgul dropped his bags to the floor in a suitable dry and clear garden area on a temperate slope near the grove. This place was a good undisturbed place for the planting of herbs and other such plants that the druids wished to cultivate.

He unpacked a bag of earth taken from around the scuttlebrush he had examined on the hill and then a few more specimens of the plant, carefully extracted and packaged.

Mozgul dug three pits.

One he filled with the soil from the Sarahan hills and planted a scuttlebrush into.

The second, he cleaned the earth from the roots of a plant and planted the plant into the soil of the glade.

The third he shredded some goblin meat he had collected and scattered it into the pit, then squeezed the blood from a bloody goblin steak into the earth as well and planted a plant on top of this.

Mozgul finally donated some blessings of care for the plants and watered them well.

As he finished he simply fell back and went to sleep in the warmth of the sun. His work was done, now only time might yield results.

[Verrath]

The site of the plant with the goblin blood/meat shows distinct marks of badger teeth and claws in the earth around it. The plant itself is untouched but it seems some of the blood has been licked away. Instead, an old boot has been buried at the plant's roots.

[DM_Equinox]

It appears that none of the displaced scuttlebush plants do very well - of all three, the one planted in the Glade's own soil seems to fare best; however, this might well have to do with the good quality and the blessings of Silvanus on said soil. As for the vandalizing badger - it does not seem that it had much to do with that particular plant's demise.

No, it must be yet another factor that causes this plant to thrive in the Shaharan Hills and, so it would seem, nowhere else in the vale.

[Azulfae]

Mozgul sat on a rock in the Viridale upon a high ledge and threw a fresh log on the fire. The flames wrapped around the log and sparks drifted upwards into the leaves of the tree above him.

From his pack he unpacked two parcels. In one parcel was wrapped fresh meat cut from the body of a Spittlefist goblin, the other contained meat cut from their cousins, the Mossclaw in the Viridale forest.

Mozgul smothered both meats in clay and stuffed them deep into the fire. He lay, watching the fire burn for a good time, allowing the meats to cook.

The night grew darker and Selune rose, her light dappled by the trees. He drew, from the dying embers of the fire, one clay parcel, the Spittlefist meat and broke the clay casing open. The smell coming from within was delicious.

The half-orc’s face broke into a smile as he sniffed the meat over.

Words echoed through his memory of a task once set to him by the lady in the Exigo camp. A request to gather some scuttlebrush seeds. She was interested in some healing properties of the plant.

Mozgul thought of the effective healing salves he had seen the warrior tribe of the Spittlefists use, during battle. Fast acting kits of healing herbs they were, some very potent considering they had been made by goblins. He also remembered some benches and areas in the caves that looked suitable for the production of such kits.

Mozgul drew a skinning knife and cut into the back of his forearm, just enough to split the skin and make the blood trickle out.

He took the meat and scoffed, leaned back and dabbed the blood from the wound which was sealing itself and scabbing over. ‘Good meat this Spittlefist meat.’ He thought to himself and patted his belly.

Mozgul drank from a water skin, to wash the meat down and took a pee on a nearby tree.

He returned to the fire and removed the other clay parcel. He split it open and took a good sniff of the meat. It smelled good but not so special as the other had done. He spun the skinning knife in his hand and slashed his skin again on the same arm.

Mozgul took a moment to watch the wound. It was not closing.

He squeezed the skin around the cut and watched some blood seep out. He scoffed down on the Mossclaw meat and sat back watching the new wound. He dabbed it with a cloth and watched the site flood anew with blood.

“Hmm… no bluudy wonder none of dems is eat dis crappy tribez meat.”