You have been invited to the home of Syndra Silvane, a retired adventurer and merchant.
A gray-scaled kobold wearing a suit and tie tailored to their size opens the door and leads you up a grand staircase to the third floor, then ushers you into a wood-paneled room with a fireplace, comfortable chairs, and a heavy table bearing goblets and bottles of wine. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts. You see a few more kobolds around the house, some doing chores while others are just lazing around. While they seem to do most if not all of the house-keeping, it is obvious they live here on their own free will. They are not slaves, they might not even be servants: They are housemates.
A person is seated in an overstuffed chair near the fire. You can’t discern a gender, because only the person’s head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask conceal the wearer’s face. Even the person’s dry, raspy voice provides no clue. “Help yourselves to wine, and seat yourselves, friends — I hope I may call you that.”
There's other six people here as well. This person seem to be addressing all of you: They were invited here as well, just like you.
You may now introduce yourself, please make a short physical description of your character while you are at it: How do they look like, what are they wearing right now, that kinda stuff. Feel free to interact with each other as well. A certain bard will join us later...
Dryn takes a relaxed stance but does not sit or take a drink. She's an imposing figure. A violet skinned Tiefling with dark purple hair and bright gold pupil-less eyes. She stands 6 foot tall with horns that curve back from her forehead to the sides of her beautiful stern face that curl out beside her ears. She wears simple clothes under chain-mail with tattered cloak. A cruel looking maul hangs on her belt and a shield with the symbol of her order emblazoned upon it is strapped to her back. She seems quiet and but observant. She's sizing everyone up and listens intently to others who choose to speak. She is stood beside an equally tall and imposing red scaled dragonborn.
OOC: Hope I'm not over stepping Shawhaw by saying we're standingtogether.
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
OOC: Not at all Rider, was literally about to post and saw yours! Also Fennic will warm up, its a slow burn :)
You watch a very tall and broad shouldered Red scaled Dragonborn walk forward first, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in the smell of food and wine. His brow raises at all of the smaller Kobolds, a small sneer creeping as his lips curl into a slight snarl at one of the Kobolds who pass in front of him. He is not use to prey being domesticated. His leathers appear tight against his body, a tattered brown shirt and brown pants gripped tightly under the armor. A longbow draped around his body, two sheathed short-swords at his hips. His feet free from any boots, talons clacking against the floorboards as he grabs a glass of wine, the glasses looking extremely delicate in his clawed fingers. He sips it slowly with a refinement and grace that seems strange against the large Dragonborn. You can see a necklace of random teeth, claws, and bones draped over his thick neck. He glances over his shoulder to Dryn, the intimidating Tiefling beside him and shrugs. He speaks to the rest matter-of-factly.
"I am Fennic. Well-met."
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Viktor Dreamweaver - Cleric - "I'm the stuff of nightmares kid."
Tyril Strongbones - Ranger- "I prick and poke until I get what I need... Whether it be supple flesh or cold steel"
Zedair Daardendarian- Fighter- "You were not a challenge. How unfortunate for you."
DM. Player. Teacher. Husband. Cat owner. Dog Lover
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Edwin is an average height human male, wearing a set of well-fitted set of fine travelling clothes completely free of dirt or wear; His brown hair and beard are short and well-kempt giving off an air of privilege. A gleaming longsword is strapped to his hip, and a shield rests across is back. Both appear as if they have never seen combat. He appears overly comfortable in the setting, largely ignoring the others in the room. He is instead actively perusing the charts and maps on the walls, eagerly absorbing the material. He barely notices as the figure in the chair speaks, only shifting his attention away from the reading materials as Fennic steps forward.
"Oh, um..." he hesitates and bows awkwardly, with a hint of embarrassment"Edwin Longfellow, at your service." He fidgets slightly as he waits for the others to introduce themselves, eyes continuing to dart around the room at the plethora of knowledge waiting to be consumed.
You hear a slight huffing and puffing and then finally the sound of a step that was missed and a sudden *BAM* as a foot is slammed down on the final step up, nearly falling. A small gnome comes in the room, nose in a book and barely looking up to walk up the steps, nearly taking a fall at the top. He stumbles into the room, backpack and loose fitting robes on, dagger in his belt and short staff at his side. A black raven squawks and flaps up off of his shoulder, circling the room. Erbert Jenkins looks up quite embarrassed, a picture of fluster. He looks around at all of the books, maps, and charts and he is overjoyed. For a moment he ignores everyone, thumbing through what he can see on the table. After he feels the stare of eyes on him, he looks up and says “Hello, I’m Erbert Jenkins. Glad to meet you all. Cuervo, come down from there!” He gathers himself and says “A glass of wine sounds lovely, right about now.” He pours it and holds it in his hand, trying to look sophisticated.
A man almost fully covered in a cloak adorned with colored feathers stands with you. From what you can tell, he appears to be a young, tall human. His left hand sticks out from the cloak, holding a staff adorned with even more feathers and topped with a bird skull. The hand holding the staff is dark, the back of it covered with what looks to be lighter colored scars, as if from a burn. As others introduce themselves, the hooded head turns to each.
"I am O'waac. I am honoured." His voice, much like your host's, is dry and raspy. Seemingly damaged. His accent betrays that he is not a local.
Standing relatively near the figure bundled up in a blanket is yet another kobold. Even by kobold standards, Squawk is fairly small. Barely standing two feet tall, the kobold has scales of a dark russet color. The light of the room dances across ittle black horns and claws with a slightly glossy sheen. His draconic, yellow eyes are wide in amazement at all the strangers filing into the room. He squeaks in an excited tone, "So many big people!"
Squawk is wearing a simple, sleeveless tunic of an off-colored white. He wears simple gray pants that end in tatters just below his knees, and he also has no shoes. A small tail extends from his backside, and it swishes nervously through the air as he looks at the people in the room. Wrapped around him like a bandolier is a sash with what looks like several acupuncture needles in it, but they seem larger than normal.
Squawk's jaw drops a fraction as he spots Fennic. He snaps his mouth close as he realizes how foolish he looked, but still, it was hard for him not to be impressed. The dragonborn almost looked like he did!
As it sink in that these strangers were to be his team members, he noticed that everyone was already introducing themselves. He clears his throat and says in a slight voice, "My name is Squawk." He fiddles with his fingers nervously as he continues to watch everyone .
Dryn, as you use your divine sense on the enviroment around you, you notice a few things: The gnome's raven is Fey in nature, but that does not come as a surprise coming from wizards and their familiars. What does come as a surprise is the strange feeling you get from the feather-wearing human, O'waac: There's the feeling that you'd get from something that it is Undead, but it is extremely faint and unlike anything you have ever felt before. You sense on him something unique: Something that's both dead and alive, and not bound to evil in any way like the undead you'd know always are.
Edwin and Erbert, as you look at the maps and charts in display on the room, you see the vast knowledge being kept here, as the maps here are of all kind of studied locations. There a few maps of Faerun's wilderness, as well as gathered intel on exotic continents such as Zakhara, Maztica and Kara-Tur. Something in particular catches your eye, though: It is a map of Chult, but as you'll expect from such an unexplored region, it is quite incomplete. Chult is so vast and untamable that most of it is still shrouded in mystery, and the blank parts of this map are quite telling of that.
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Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
Erbert is almost literally drooling over the maps. “I’ve never seen an updated map of Chult such as this, the one my maester had was almost blank. But so many areas undiscovered.... so much to do. Camp Vengance, this looks interesting, a finger like area of exploration, going toward...Mhala? But where to begin? I can’t wait!” He looks up flushing red, perhaps from his awkwardness, perhaps from the wine. “Was, was that out loud?” Cuervo sitting up high on a book case answers “Out loud, out loud, hah hah hah!” mockingly.
Dryn looks at O'waa curiously but not with visible ill intent. The paladin seems confused about them and not entirely sure what to make of the man. She remains quiet listening to the orders and eager for instruction on how they will proceed. Dryn is keen to return to Chult as soon as possible now that she has more potential allies.
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“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Fennic finishes his glass of wine quickly, refilling it and strides over to the maps where Erbert and Edwin's attention has been drawn. He slowly gazes over it from top to bottom and smiles at the vast amount of forest and uncharted areas. He nods to the small statured individuals beside him and smiles at the raven as turns on his heels to find a larger more comfortable seat if possible as he rests back taking in a deep breath and shutting his eyes for a moment as he thinks of those around him
Dryn the Tiefling, Edwin the Human, Erbert the Gnome, O'waac a colorful Human, Squawk the... He grimaced slightly as his eyes were closed, ...Kobold.
He then opened his black and yellow eyes and began to speak, "I have never been to Chult. I am here to hunt..." You watch as Fennic says the word with a low growl of pleasure, "I am hunting with Dryn, what are we doing here?"
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Viktor Dreamweaver - Cleric - "I'm the stuff of nightmares kid."
Tyril Strongbones - Ranger- "I prick and poke until I get what I need... Whether it be supple flesh or cold steel"
Zedair Daardendarian- Fighter- "You were not a challenge. How unfortunate for you."
DM. Player. Teacher. Husband. Cat owner. Dog Lover
Having barely noticed that Erbert had come to look over the maps as well, Edwin jumps slightly as the raven speaks, suddenly absorbing the conversation the gnome appeared to be having to himself.
"Yes, a mysterious land to be sure. I've done some reading, but all I have found is ancient history. Nothing in the material I had access to from recent times, so your guess is as good as mine as to the current condition of the peninsula."
Edwin smiles slightly, glad that Erbert seems to share a similar outlook on knowledge.
At Erbert's comment, the person nods. "I understand your fascination. Yes, mapping Chult has always been nigh impossible, and nothing is known about the region’s current geography beyond a few miles from the coast. What you see on that map is all that has been able to be explored. The rest is unknown...”
They shake their head. "If I was able, I would travel there myself. I was an adventurer years ago... I died once and was raised from the dead. I have since closed the door on that stage of my life..." There's a painful-sounding cough before they(she?) continues. "I must look completely unrecognizable like this, but I'm Syndra Silvane..." Another cough."The death curse you’ve heard about has struck me... I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening."
She glances at Squawk and the other kobold who guided you to the room. "The kobolds you see around the house... When I was still an adventurer and a traveler, I freed their tribe from slavery, and they have followed me everywhere ever since. When the death curse struck me, they took care of me. They're family..." She stares at Squawk, her expression unreadable because of the mask, but you can guess it is a fond one. "Now their child wants to travel to an unknown, dangerous land to try to save me... I do not want him to travel there alone."
With some difficulty, and despite the gentle insistence of the gray-scaled kobold who worriedly tells her to just sit down and relax, Syndra stands and walks towards the maps. "My contacts in the Harpers have learned that the cause of the death curse is a necromantic artifact called the Soulmonger. According to their sources, the Soulmonger is somewhere in Chult, but..."
She goes quiet and points to the blank parts of the map. The gesture explains the dire hopelessness of her current situation more than her words ever could.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
The cloaked man, O'waac, seems to sense Dryn's regard and turns his hooded head toward her. Saying nothing further, he just nods his head at her, once.
Erven looks up to the bookcase and says "Cuervo, ven a mi hombro." He peers over the map, then with a fluttering and flapping Cuervo comes down and rests on Erven's shoulder. The raven appears to look down and give the map an appraisal as well. "Hmm, it appears according to the legend that if we go due south, we will run into undead. I wonder what is there... but if we go southwest and cross the river, we would run into uncharted territory fairly quickly. Any suggestions about which direction we should go? Do you have any thoughts about how the death curse struck you? Have you uncovered anything yet that could help us? Any leads about where the Soulmonger could be? Am I asking too many questions?" He is becoming aware that he is speaking too much, rattling off questions. He takes a big gulp of wine.
Squawk anxiously trails at Syndra's side as she moves, preparing to catch it he needs to. He realizes he would probably be squished if she did fall, but he remains nevertheless. At Erven's line of questions, he squeaks out, "She was fine before, but it suddenly just hit her. And it's not just her being affected. Anyone who's been raised from the dead is being afflicted as well."
O'waac moves closer to the map, staring at it. "I am from the interior of the jungle. Or at least that is what my parents told me. I do not remember much. My tribe may still be there. I fear I will be of little help navigating, unless some memories come back to me." His voice begins getting coarser the longer he speaks. "I remember leaving from this place," his right hand comes out from under the cloak to point at Port Nyanzaru. No scars are apparent on that hand. "I was taught the ancient language of my people, so maybe I can help in that aspect if need be."
((OOC - I don't know if you plan on using the various Human dialects for Forgotten Realms in your game, but if so one of my languages could be changed to Chultan))
Ice in Summer stands near the edge of the room admiring the decorations and artwork. As he did so he constantly moved, swaying from foot to foot, or tapping his hand against his side. Even little shrugs and head shakes. He seemed to be on the edge of action and trying hard to maintain control. Still, the muscles beneath the blue-black fur that covered his body rippled occasionally, suggesting that even though he looked distracted, he could be a threat when he needed to be. The rapier hanging from his side particularly screamed for attention, as if calling out to be challenged, while professing confidence that most would leave the challenge unanswered. Especially when confronted by his imposing 6'4" frame.
Ice's clothing suggested a strange heritage. Elements of his outfit would have fit in perfectly in the bustling cities, while the ornaments that adorned him could have walked ancient streets many generations ago. It seemed that Ice was a being caught between times, and never quite content with where he was. This odd fashion sense was enhanced by an air of detachment, as if was observing situations and not truly a part of them.
As the host spoke, Ice looked around the room trying to puzzle out why this particular group had been brought together. they were an unusual collection. It would be interesting to get to know each of them.
((@Xadeem: Look at your character sheet. Being Chultean, I added that language to O'waac's sheet))
Syndra takes a deep breath when asked so many questions, but Squawk answers to one of the questions before she has to. She nods, thankful.
"Hordes of undead appeared on Chult around the same time as the death curse struck..." She explains slowly. "The Harpers think that a powerful necromancer might be hiding somewhere on the jungle and doing all of this. The locals have their own theories. This... "Soulmonger", we know of its existence thanks to the savage goblins who live in the jungle. They speak of a devil who's eating the souls of the dead... Sounds like a fiend, yes, but the Harpers theorize that the 'devil' part might be just fearful superstitions they came out with for something they saw but couldn't understand. Whatever it was that they saw, even they are scared of it."
She offers the map for Erven to take. “Working from dozens of sea charts, log books, and explorers’ journals, I assembled everything known about the current state of Chult into this one map. I’ll provide it to you if you undertake my mission.”
She turns to O'waac. "Do not worry for that, there's guides who will be more than willing to guide you on your mission. The merchant princes shall explain it better than I."
“When you’re ready to depart, I will teleport us all to Port Nyanzaru, the only major settlement in Chult. I’ve been there several times before, so there’s little chance of mishap. Once there, I’ll stay with a friend named Wakanga O’tamu. He’s one of seven merchant princes who rule the city...” She pauses before continuing. "But I must warn you, this is dangerous. I choose you all based on the knowledge and abilities I know you all to have, but Chult is as beautiful as it is merciless. Enormous reptiles, tribes of goblins cursed with lycanthropy, and now an army of undead prowl its jungles and ruins..."
She waits for her words to sink in before asking. "...Do you think you will be strong enough to survive there?"
You have been invited to the home of Syndra Silvane, a retired adventurer and merchant.
A gray-scaled kobold wearing a suit and tie tailored to their size opens the door and leads you up a grand staircase to the third floor, then ushers you into a wood-paneled room with a fireplace, comfortable chairs, and a heavy table bearing goblets and bottles of wine. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts. You see a few more kobolds around the house, some doing chores while others are just lazing around. While they seem to do most if not all of the house-keeping, it is obvious they live here on their own free will. They are not slaves, they might not even be servants: They are housemates.
A person is seated in an overstuffed chair near the fire. You can’t discern a gender, because only the person’s head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask conceal the wearer’s face. Even the person’s dry, raspy voice provides no clue. “Help yourselves to wine, and seat yourselves, friends — I hope I may call you that.”
There's other six people here as well. This person seem to be addressing all of you: They were invited here as well, just like you.
You may now introduce yourself, please make a short physical description of your character while you are at it: How do they look like, what are they wearing right now, that kinda stuff. Feel free to interact with each other as well. A certain bard will join us later...
Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
RachelEvening's Tyranny of the Dragon Queen - DM
RachelEvening's Tomb of Annihilation - DM
Dryn takes a relaxed stance but does not sit or take a drink. She's an imposing figure. A violet skinned Tiefling with dark purple hair and bright gold pupil-less eyes. She stands 6 foot tall with horns that curve back from her forehead to the sides of her beautiful stern face that curl out beside her ears. She wears simple clothes under chain-mail with tattered cloak. A cruel looking maul hangs on her belt and a shield with the symbol of her order emblazoned upon it is strapped to her back. She seems quiet and but observant. She's sizing everyone up and listens intently to others who choose to speak. She is stood beside an equally tall and imposing red scaled dragonborn.
OOC: Hope I'm not over stepping Shawhaw by saying we're standingtogether.
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
OOC: Not at all Rider, was literally about to post and saw yours! Also Fennic will warm up, its a slow burn :)
You watch a very tall and broad shouldered Red scaled Dragonborn walk forward first, his nostrils flaring as he breathes in the smell of food and wine. His brow raises at all of the smaller Kobolds, a small sneer creeping as his lips curl into a slight snarl at one of the Kobolds who pass in front of him. He is not use to prey being domesticated. His leathers appear tight against his body, a tattered brown shirt and brown pants gripped tightly under the armor. A longbow draped around his body, two sheathed short-swords at his hips. His feet free from any boots, talons clacking against the floorboards as he grabs a glass of wine, the glasses looking extremely delicate in his clawed fingers. He sips it slowly with a refinement and grace that seems strange against the large Dragonborn. You can see a necklace of random teeth, claws, and bones draped over his thick neck. He glances over his shoulder to Dryn, the intimidating Tiefling beside him and shrugs. He speaks to the rest matter-of-factly.
"I am Fennic. Well-met."
Viktor Dreamweaver - Cleric - "I'm the stuff of nightmares kid."
Tyril Strongbones - Ranger- "I prick and poke until I get what I need... Whether it be supple flesh or cold steel"
Zedair Daardendarian- Fighter- "You were not a challenge. How unfortunate for you."
DM. Player. Teacher. Husband. Cat owner. Dog Lover
"I'm Dryn," the purple tiefling says with a husky voice but says nothing else just remains observant.
Dryn uses Divine sense on the room and its occupants.
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Edwin is an average height human male, wearing a set of well-fitted set of fine travelling clothes completely free of dirt or wear; His brown hair and beard are short and well-kempt giving off an air of privilege. A gleaming longsword is strapped to his hip, and a shield rests across is back. Both appear as if they have never seen combat. He appears overly comfortable in the setting, largely ignoring the others in the room. He is instead actively perusing the charts and maps on the walls, eagerly absorbing the material. He barely notices as the figure in the chair speaks, only shifting his attention away from the reading materials as Fennic steps forward.
"Oh, um..." he hesitates and bows awkwardly, with a hint of embarrassment "Edwin Longfellow, at your service." He fidgets slightly as he waits for the others to introduce themselves, eyes continuing to dart around the room at the plethora of knowledge waiting to be consumed.
Ryndar Shadowsbane - Lvl 3 Eldarin Fighter | Kassar - Lvl 2 Lizardfolk Druid (Circle of Stars) | Finnegan (Finn) Taggert - Lvl 1 Human Cleric (Peace Domain) |
Verdan Schmidt - Lvl 2 Half-Elf Bard | Grithik - Lvl 5 Deep Gnome Warlock (Celestial)
You hear a slight huffing and puffing and then finally the sound of a step that was missed and a sudden *BAM* as a foot is slammed down on the final step up, nearly falling. A small gnome comes in the room, nose in a book and barely looking up to walk up the steps, nearly taking a fall at the top. He stumbles into the room, backpack and loose fitting robes on, dagger in his belt and short staff at his side. A black raven squawks and flaps up off of his shoulder, circling the room. Erbert Jenkins looks up quite embarrassed, a picture of fluster. He looks around at all of the books, maps, and charts and he is overjoyed. For a moment he ignores everyone, thumbing through what he can see on the table. After he feels the stare of eyes on him, he looks up and says “Hello, I’m Erbert Jenkins. Glad to meet you all. Cuervo, come down from there!” He gathers himself and says “A glass of wine sounds lovely, right about now.” He pours it and holds it in his hand, trying to look sophisticated.
A man almost fully covered in a cloak adorned with colored feathers stands with you. From what you can tell, he appears to be a young, tall human. His left hand sticks out from the cloak, holding a staff adorned with even more feathers and topped with a bird skull. The hand holding the staff is dark, the back of it covered with what looks to be lighter colored scars, as if from a burn. As others introduce themselves, the hooded head turns to each.
"I am O'waac. I am honoured." His voice, much like your host's, is dry and raspy. Seemingly damaged. His accent betrays that he is not a local.
Enzo Ballantine - Shadow Sorcerer
Standing relatively near the figure bundled up in a blanket is yet another kobold. Even by kobold standards, Squawk is fairly small. Barely standing two feet tall, the kobold has scales of a dark russet color. The light of the room dances across ittle black horns and claws with a slightly glossy sheen. His draconic, yellow eyes are wide in amazement at all the strangers filing into the room. He squeaks in an excited tone, "So many big people!"
Squawk is wearing a simple, sleeveless tunic of an off-colored white. He wears simple gray pants that end in tatters just below his knees, and he also has no shoes. A small tail extends from his backside, and it swishes nervously through the air as he looks at the people in the room. Wrapped around him like a bandolier is a sash with what looks like several acupuncture needles in it, but they seem larger than normal.
Squawk's jaw drops a fraction as he spots Fennic. He snaps his mouth close as he realizes how foolish he looked, but still, it was hard for him not to be impressed. The dragonborn almost looked like he did!
As it sink in that these strangers were to be his team members, he noticed that everyone was already introducing themselves. He clears his throat and says in a slight voice, "My name is Squawk." He fiddles with his fingers nervously as he continues to watch everyone .
Dryn, as you use your divine sense on the enviroment around you, you notice a few things: The gnome's raven is Fey in nature, but that does not come as a surprise coming from wizards and their familiars. What does come as a surprise is the strange feeling you get from the feather-wearing human, O'waac: There's the feeling that you'd get from something that it is Undead, but it is extremely faint and unlike anything you have ever felt before. You sense on him something unique: Something that's both dead and alive, and not bound to evil in any way like the undead you'd know always are.
Edwin and Erbert, as you look at the maps and charts in display on the room, you see the vast knowledge being kept here, as the maps here are of all kind of studied locations. There a few maps of Faerun's wilderness, as well as gathered intel on exotic continents such as Zakhara, Maztica and Kara-Tur. Something in particular catches your eye, though: It is a map of Chult, but as you'll expect from such an unexplored region, it is quite incomplete. Chult is so vast and untamable that most of it is still shrouded in mystery, and the blank parts of this map are quite telling of that.
Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
RachelEvening's Tyranny of the Dragon Queen - DM
RachelEvening's Tomb of Annihilation - DM
Erbert is almost literally drooling over the maps. “I’ve never seen an updated map of Chult such as this, the one my maester had was almost blank. But so many areas undiscovered.... so much to do. Camp Vengance, this looks interesting, a finger like area of exploration, going toward...Mhala? But where to begin? I can’t wait!” He looks up flushing red, perhaps from his awkwardness, perhaps from the wine. “Was, was that out loud?” Cuervo sitting up high on a book case answers “Out loud, out loud, hah hah hah!” mockingly.
Dryn looks at O'waa curiously but not with visible ill intent. The paladin seems confused about them and not entirely sure what to make of the man. She remains quiet listening to the orders and eager for instruction on how they will proceed. Dryn is keen to return to Chult as soon as possible now that she has more potential allies.
“But no living man am I! You look upon a woman...You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Fennic finishes his glass of wine quickly, refilling it and strides over to the maps where Erbert and Edwin's attention has been drawn. He slowly gazes over it from top to bottom and smiles at the vast amount of forest and uncharted areas. He nods to the small statured individuals beside him and smiles at the raven as turns on his heels to find a larger more comfortable seat if possible as he rests back taking in a deep breath and shutting his eyes for a moment as he thinks of those around him
Dryn the Tiefling, Edwin the Human, Erbert the Gnome, O'waac a colorful Human, Squawk the... He grimaced slightly as his eyes were closed, ...Kobold.
He then opened his black and yellow eyes and began to speak, "I have never been to Chult. I am here to hunt..." You watch as Fennic says the word with a low growl of pleasure, "I am hunting with Dryn, what are we doing here?"
Viktor Dreamweaver - Cleric - "I'm the stuff of nightmares kid."
Tyril Strongbones - Ranger- "I prick and poke until I get what I need... Whether it be supple flesh or cold steel"
Zedair Daardendarian- Fighter- "You were not a challenge. How unfortunate for you."
DM. Player. Teacher. Husband. Cat owner. Dog Lover
Having barely noticed that Erbert had come to look over the maps as well, Edwin jumps slightly as the raven speaks, suddenly absorbing the conversation the gnome appeared to be having to himself.
"Yes, a mysterious land to be sure. I've done some reading, but all I have found is ancient history. Nothing in the material I had access to from recent times, so your guess is as good as mine as to the current condition of the peninsula."
Edwin smiles slightly, glad that Erbert seems to share a similar outlook on knowledge.
Ryndar Shadowsbane - Lvl 3 Eldarin Fighter | Kassar - Lvl 2 Lizardfolk Druid (Circle of Stars) | Finnegan (Finn) Taggert - Lvl 1 Human Cleric (Peace Domain) |
Verdan Schmidt - Lvl 2 Half-Elf Bard | Grithik - Lvl 5 Deep Gnome Warlock (Celestial)
((Still waiting on Ice))
At Erbert's comment, the person nods. "I understand your fascination. Yes, mapping Chult has always been nigh impossible, and nothing is known about the region’s current geography beyond a few miles from the coast. What you see on that map is all that has been able to be explored. The rest is unknown...”
They shake their head. "If I was able, I would travel there myself. I was an adventurer years ago... I died once and was raised from the dead. I have since closed the door on that stage of my life..." There's a painful-sounding cough before they(she?) continues. "I must look completely unrecognizable like this, but I'm Syndra Silvane..." Another cough. "The death curse you’ve heard about has struck me... I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening."
She glances at Squawk and the other kobold who guided you to the room. "The kobolds you see around the house... When I was still an adventurer and a traveler, I freed their tribe from slavery, and they have followed me everywhere ever since. When the death curse struck me, they took care of me. They're family..." She stares at Squawk, her expression unreadable because of the mask, but you can guess it is a fond one. "Now their child wants to travel to an unknown, dangerous land to try to save me... I do not want him to travel there alone."
With some difficulty, and despite the gentle insistence of the gray-scaled kobold who worriedly tells her to just sit down and relax, Syndra stands and walks towards the maps. "My contacts in the Harpers have learned that the cause of the death curse is a necromantic artifact called the Soulmonger. According to their sources, the Soulmonger is somewhere in Chult, but..."
She goes quiet and points to the blank parts of the map. The gesture explains the dire hopelessness of her current situation more than her words ever could.
Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
RachelEvening's Tyranny of the Dragon Queen - DM
RachelEvening's Tomb of Annihilation - DM
The cloaked man, O'waac, seems to sense Dryn's regard and turns his hooded head toward her. Saying nothing further, he just nods his head at her, once.
Enzo Ballantine - Shadow Sorcerer
Erven looks up to the bookcase and says "Cuervo, ven a mi hombro." He peers over the map, then with a fluttering and flapping Cuervo comes down and rests on Erven's shoulder. The raven appears to look down and give the map an appraisal as well. "Hmm, it appears according to the legend that if we go due south, we will run into undead. I wonder what is there... but if we go southwest and cross the river, we would run into uncharted territory fairly quickly. Any suggestions about which direction we should go? Do you have any thoughts about how the death curse struck you? Have you uncovered anything yet that could help us? Any leads about where the Soulmonger could be? Am I asking too many questions?" He is becoming aware that he is speaking too much, rattling off questions. He takes a big gulp of wine.
Squawk anxiously trails at Syndra's side as she moves, preparing to catch it he needs to. He realizes he would probably be squished if she did fall, but he remains nevertheless. At Erven's line of questions, he squeaks out, "She was fine before, but it suddenly just hit her. And it's not just her being affected. Anyone who's been raised from the dead is being afflicted as well."
((Hope I'm not overstepping my bounds.))
O'waac moves closer to the map, staring at it. "I am from the interior of the jungle. Or at least that is what my parents told me. I do not remember much. My tribe may still be there. I fear I will be of little help navigating, unless some memories come back to me." His voice begins getting coarser the longer he speaks. "I remember leaving from this place," his right hand comes out from under the cloak to point at Port Nyanzaru. No scars are apparent on that hand. "I was taught the ancient language of my people, so maybe I can help in that aspect if need be."
((OOC - I don't know if you plan on using the various Human dialects for Forgotten Realms in your game, but if so one of my languages could be changed to Chultan))
Enzo Ballantine - Shadow Sorcerer
Ice in Summer stands near the edge of the room admiring the decorations and artwork. As he did so he constantly moved, swaying from foot to foot, or tapping his hand against his side. Even little shrugs and head shakes. He seemed to be on the edge of action and trying hard to maintain control. Still, the muscles beneath the blue-black fur that covered his body rippled occasionally, suggesting that even though he looked distracted, he could be a threat when he needed to be. The rapier hanging from his side particularly screamed for attention, as if calling out to be challenged, while professing confidence that most would leave the challenge unanswered. Especially when confronted by his imposing 6'4" frame.
Ice's clothing suggested a strange heritage. Elements of his outfit would have fit in perfectly in the bustling cities, while the ornaments that adorned him could have walked ancient streets many generations ago. It seemed that Ice was a being caught between times, and never quite content with where he was. This odd fashion sense was enhanced by an air of detachment, as if was observing situations and not truly a part of them.
As the host spoke, Ice looked around the room trying to puzzle out why this particular group had been brought together. they were an unusual collection. It would be interesting to get to know each of them.
((@Xadeem: Look at your character sheet. Being Chultean, I added that language to O'waac's sheet))
Syndra takes a deep breath when asked so many questions, but Squawk answers to one of the questions before she has to. She nods, thankful.
"Hordes of undead appeared on Chult around the same time as the death curse struck..." She explains slowly. "The Harpers think that a powerful necromancer might be hiding somewhere on the jungle and doing all of this. The locals have their own theories. This... "Soulmonger", we know of its existence thanks to the savage goblins who live in the jungle. They speak of a devil who's eating the souls of the dead... Sounds like a fiend, yes, but the Harpers theorize that the 'devil' part might be just fearful superstitions they came out with for something they saw but couldn't understand. Whatever it was that they saw, even they are scared of it."
She offers the map for Erven to take. “Working from dozens of sea charts, log books, and explorers’ journals, I assembled everything known about the current state of Chult into this one map. I’ll provide it to you if you undertake my mission.”
She turns to O'waac. "Do not worry for that, there's guides who will be more than willing to guide you on your mission. The merchant princes shall explain it better than I."
“When you’re ready to depart, I will teleport us all to Port Nyanzaru, the only major settlement in Chult. I’ve been there several times before, so there’s little chance of mishap. Once there, I’ll stay with a friend named Wakanga O’tamu. He’s one of seven merchant princes who rule the city...” She pauses before continuing. "But I must warn you, this is dangerous. I choose you all based on the knowledge and abilities I know you all to have, but Chult is as beautiful as it is merciless. Enormous reptiles, tribes of goblins cursed with lycanthropy, and now an army of undead prowl its jungles and ruins..."
She waits for her words to sink in before asking. "...Do you think you will be strong enough to survive there?"
Active Campaigns:
Raiketsu's Princes of the Apocalypse (DM: Raiketsu) - Shautha: Half-Orc, Level 3 Druid (Circle of Land: Mountain) ⟆ Monster Misfits Adventures (DM: ShadIn) - Vrakskan Onyxadyn: Dragonborn, Level 3 Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian) ⟆ Rime of the Frostmaiden (DM: Sarvaeth) - Rildayne Uln'hyrr: Drow Elf, Level 1 Warlock of the Archfey
RachelEvening's Tyranny of the Dragon Queen - DM
RachelEvening's Tomb of Annihilation - DM