Hurdrak shivered at the concussion cold that hit him but he did not fret for his friends had pulled down another one. Focusing his his thoughts on the final shrike, he unleashed another sword slash to cut it out of the air.
Bonus action: move hex to this shrike if it wasn't already on it.
The remaining shrike shrieks at the continued assault, but keeps his eyes on the owl below. When the blast hits, the bird jinks then dives, trying to dislodge its unwanted passenger.
Unable to toss its rider, the shrike’s dive resolves into a more controlled landing. Close, but not too close, to the feeding owl. The bird prostrates itself, but it is difficult to tell if it is to allow the mouse to dismount, or if it is assuming a supplicatory position; it is facing the great owl, but with its head lowered. Either way, it seems disinclined to further violence at the moment.
Blackbur climbs down carefully. As he gets to the ground he gives his red cloak a flourish. He has his sword drawn and is at a careful distance to the owl. He starts to sweat. “Lo there, did I look into the face of death...” Blackbur is ready to act in case the owl starts to eye any of the others instead of eat its bird.
Hurdrak slows down his attacks. With two of the shrikes dread and the other seemingly cowed by its mouse rider. He decides its best to seek a little cover and moves himself closer to the a tree to limit the angles the owl could come. He turns towards the other dead shrike and prepares some magic just in case.
If the owl starts to take any hostile action, he will case minor image by the dead bird to make it seem like there is shimmering light around it in hope to bring its attention there
Sirithal pulls the silver ring from the dead Shrike, and then moves closer to Heidi and the mouselings to provide additional protection, all the while wracking his brains for why the inscription on the ring is familiar... 'Are you, and the young ones, okay?' he asks in his usual harsh whisper
Kilmorrow too, looks like he has seen death’s face. Released from the shrike’s grasp, he runs right past Hurdrak and places his back to the tree, nearly impaling himself on a thorn. Eyes wide, he shivers and rocks as his gaze constantly shifts, but never seems to settle on anything. Even in the Mouse Guard, not all are equal to facing the horrors which now prowl the surface, the stresses of a cold that will not end.
Healer Heidi nods her thanks to Mistral and Sirithal, as she hugs and holds her young ones, then ministers to Nirvel’s pierced bottom. Sirithal thinks the inscription must be part of a prayer he has read or heard, to Auril, of course. Despite the fact that she is widely blamed for this neverending winter, she has garnered quite a following in the Dale these past two years, even in some of the mousetowns.
Dixie spies one of the mask-faced beings slipping out of the trunk of the tree. There is no hole- it just stepped right out, through the bark, from within. The two others follow closely behind, but do not venture too close to the mother and her children. The rabbit ranger thinks they must be Chwingas, minor elemental beings which stand no taller than herself, and are known for their curiosity and resulting mischief.
Finishing its meal in the snow, the owl raises its head and speaks: “I accept your tribute, and expect another. In ten days time. Here in this grove.”
The great owl proffers a feather and beckons Blackbur to accept it. “Wear this, that my minions may know you. Each tenday, a tribute.”The threat of retribution for failure is left unspoken.
“Shrike, arise. You will serve this mouse, be at his call, as you are at mine.”
Acknowledging Erhard’s presence for the first time, the owl just nods. “Keep it.”
"Keep.." Erhard looks around, face warped by confusion before he remembers the cape he'd ripped from the shrike. "Is this, were they yours?" Erhard ask as he points to corpse of the shrike the owl had begun eating. "Who are you?" his voice becoming increasingly nervous as he tries to understand what's transpired.
The torch still burns which was ignited by the Rabbit ranger, aiding the fellow adventurers with it's illumination within the 20 feet. Under the vigour of Hero Heist, she has almost forgotten about the well-being of Heidi and the mouslings. "That's a shame!" she chastises herself for letting down her guard and adds a mental note to assist the mouslings by offering a mount. A pair of brown orbs inspects the movements of the Owl and the Chwingas when they move closer, Dixie considers the former one as an ally but she wonders if these puppet like creatures were the cause of the disappearance of the mouslings at the first instance, whether they aided her with their charms or not. Also, she must know if they have anything to do with the Shrike attack, her tiny head at the verge of exploding with so many questions. Investigation: 19
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Sirithal’s eyes narrow, recognising a shakedown. He tries to determine if the owl’s intentions are limited to the provision of a dead bird every tenday. He suspects not...
The great snowy owl does not speak to them again. It flap-hops over to the other dead shrike, and rests a single clawed talon upon it, soft cooing sounds issuing from its beaked mouth.
The bird begins to writhe, distorting into new shapes, transforming. After a few moments, its blurred image resolves into that of a small rabbit. There is a look of terrified recognition in the creature’s eyes, for it knows its new lease on existence is to be short-lived. The owl’s talons sink in, and it begins to feast.
The Chwingas see Dixie’s curiosity, and they return it, tilting their masked faces this way and that. One of them follows her around, attempting unsuccessfully to hop in the same fashion.
Sirithal is uncertain of the owl’s exact intent, but suspects that if the tribute is ever less than the nutritional equivalent of the patrol, they might be in trouble. Still, a certain meal every tenday is a valuable commodity in these dark times, not to be taken or given lightly.
The patrol backs away, and the owl pays them no more heed. The mouselings are in good spirits, and still seem unbothered by the bitter cold. Even Nirvel seems more excited by the encounter, than harmed by his ordeal.
Kilmorrow, however, is not himself. Whether it be by some fel winter magic, or just the frightful events of the day... he is not right, not fit for duty, and must ride in the sled with Nirvel. The only shrike left living obeys the owl’s command, and follows along with the patrol, circling overhead whether they wish for the company or no.
No sooner have they set out upon their return trip, than the wind picks up, driving the cold right through even their heavy winter garments, slowing forward momentum to a crawl. The telltale signs of an impending blizzard force a halt, even as the twilit sky is settling into the deeper hues of the long winter night.
Only the mouselings and the Chwingas seem impervious to the deadly cold, though there is a real fear of them be quite carried off by a strong gust!
“This blasted never ending winter... but did you see the seeds?? Maybe it’s finally over!” Blackbur seems emboldened by the idea and soldiers on through the snow, wrapping his cloak around him as best he can.
Hurdrak shook his head, "The seeds are there but this storm is hitting hard. I don't think it's ending do soon, but I've been wrong before." He stares into the storm, "if we risk pressing on, then I suggest we tie a rope to each other to prevent separation."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Blackbur nods. “I may be the patrol leader, but I know when to listen to good advice. stay together folks, let’s tie up.” He’ll move from the smallest mice and Heidi first to the rest of the squad making sure we’re all tied in a line.
“We’ll get through this.” Blackbur does his best to keep a clear direction in his head. Survival 19
Tying a rope to the line connecting everyone for safety, Erhard constantly swivels his head looking deep into the storm and his surroundings (Perception: 18), nervous of the owl. "If that owl, that beast comes to collect whatever tribute it's seeking, I'm not sure the guard is prepared to stop it."
Mistral finds that he is continuously battered by the wind, his wings proving more hinderance than help. Wrapping them around him for what little extra protection they provide against the bitter cold, he trudges miserably along with his mouse companions.
Hurdrak shivered at the concussion cold that hit him but he did not fret for his friends had pulled down another one. Focusing his his thoughts on the final shrike, he unleashed another sword slash to cut it out of the air.
Bonus action: move hex to this shrike if it wasn't already on it.
Action: eldrich blast at it.
Attack: 22 Damage: 3 + 3 necrotic from hex
The remaining shrike shrieks at the continued assault, but keeps his eyes on the owl below. When the blast hits, the bird jinks then dives, trying to dislodge its unwanted passenger.
Animal Handling check please, for Blackbur.
Blackbur’s only got one paw wrapped the shrike’s feathers and tries to hang on for dear life!
animal handling 11
Paladin - warforged - orange
Unable to toss its rider, the shrike’s dive resolves into a more controlled landing. Close, but not too close, to the feeding owl. The bird prostrates itself, but it is difficult to tell if it is to allow the mouse to dismount, or if it is assuming a supplicatory position; it is facing the great owl, but with its head lowered. Either way, it seems disinclined to further violence at the moment.
Blackbur climbs down carefully. As he gets to the ground he gives his red cloak a flourish. He has his sword drawn and is at a careful distance to the owl. He starts to sweat. “Lo there, did I look into the face of death...” Blackbur is ready to act in case the owl starts to eye any of the others instead of eat its bird.
Paladin - warforged - orange
Hurdrak slows down his attacks. With two of the shrikes dread and the other seemingly cowed by its mouse rider. He decides its best to seek a little cover and moves himself closer to the a tree to limit the angles the owl could come. He turns towards the other dead shrike and prepares some magic just in case.
If the owl starts to take any hostile action, he will case minor image by the dead bird to make it seem like there is shimmering light around it in hope to bring its attention there
Sirithal pulls the silver ring from the dead Shrike, and then moves closer to Heidi and the mouselings to provide additional protection, all the while wracking his brains for why the inscription on the ring is familiar... 'Are you, and the young ones, okay?' he asks in his usual harsh whisper
Arcana: 18
Kilmorrow too, looks like he has seen death’s face. Released from the shrike’s grasp, he runs right past Hurdrak and places his back to the tree, nearly impaling himself on a thorn. Eyes wide, he shivers and rocks as his gaze constantly shifts, but never seems to settle on anything. Even in the Mouse Guard, not all are equal to facing the horrors which now prowl the surface, the stresses of a cold that will not end.
Healer Heidi nods her thanks to Mistral and Sirithal, as she hugs and holds her young ones, then ministers to Nirvel’s pierced bottom. Sirithal thinks the inscription must be part of a prayer he has read or heard, to Auril, of course. Despite the fact that she is widely blamed for this neverending winter, she has garnered quite a following in the Dale these past two years, even in some of the mousetowns.
Dixie spies one of the mask-faced beings slipping out of the trunk of the tree. There is no hole- it just stepped right out, through the bark, from within. The two others follow closely behind, but do not venture too close to the mother and her children. The rabbit ranger thinks they must be Chwingas, minor elemental beings which stand no taller than herself, and are known for their curiosity and resulting mischief.
Finishing its meal in the snow, the owl raises its head and speaks: “I accept your tribute, and expect another. In ten days time. Here in this grove.”
The great owl proffers a feather and beckons Blackbur to accept it. “Wear this, that my minions may know you. Each tenday, a tribute.” The threat of retribution for failure is left unspoken.
“Shrike, arise. You will serve this mouse, be at his call, as you are at mine.”
Acknowledging Erhard’s presence for the first time, the owl just nods. “Keep it.”
"Keep.." Erhard looks around, face warped by confusion before he remembers the cape he'd ripped from the shrike. "Is this, were they yours?" Erhard ask as he points to corpse of the shrike the owl had begun eating. "Who are you?" his voice becoming increasingly nervous as he tries to understand what's transpired.
The torch still burns which was ignited by the Rabbit ranger, aiding the fellow adventurers with it's illumination within the 20 feet. Under the vigour of Hero Heist, she has almost forgotten about the well-being of Heidi and the mouslings. "That's a shame!" she chastises herself for letting down her guard and adds a mental note to assist the mouslings by offering a mount.
A pair of brown orbs inspects the movements of the Owl and the Chwingas when they move closer, Dixie considers the former one as an ally but she wonders if these puppet like creatures were the cause of the disappearance of the mouslings at the first instance, whether they aided her with their charms or not. Also, she must know if they have anything to do with the Shrike attack, her tiny head at the verge of exploding with so many questions.
Investigation: 19
InkedBee (Undead_Analyst)
Covetous, Dragonish Thoughts - Jenviel Tsumara: Fallen Aasimar- Monk|Crimson Sands of Time - Navarra Iltazyara: Human- Druid/Warlock| Bleak Prospect - Ermasnietsz: Reborn- Clockwork Soul Sorcerer
Sirithal’s eyes narrow, recognising a shakedown. He tries to determine if the owl’s intentions are limited to the provision of a dead bird every tenday. He suspects not...
Insight: 11
The great snowy owl does not speak to them again. It flap-hops over to the other dead shrike, and rests a single clawed talon upon it, soft cooing sounds issuing from its beaked mouth.
The bird begins to writhe, distorting into new shapes, transforming. After a few moments, its blurred image resolves into that of a small rabbit. There is a look of terrified recognition in the creature’s eyes, for it knows its new lease on existence is to be short-lived. The owl’s talons sink in, and it begins to feast.
The Chwingas see Dixie’s curiosity, and they return it, tilting their masked faces this way and that. One of them follows her around, attempting unsuccessfully to hop in the same fashion.
Sirithal is uncertain of the owl’s exact intent, but suspects that if the tribute is ever less than the nutritional equivalent of the patrol, they might be in trouble. Still, a certain meal every tenday is a valuable commodity in these dark times, not to be taken or given lightly.
Blackbur holds out a paw gesturing for everyone to start backing away.
“It’s time to leave, everyone. We’ve got the mouselings. This will be a problem for another day.”
Paladin - warforged - orange
The patrol backs away, and the owl pays them no more heed. The mouselings are in good spirits, and still seem unbothered by the bitter cold. Even Nirvel seems more excited by the encounter, than harmed by his ordeal.
Kilmorrow, however, is not himself. Whether it be by some fel winter magic, or just the frightful events of the day... he is not right, not fit for duty, and must ride in the sled with Nirvel. The only shrike left living obeys the owl’s command, and follows along with the patrol, circling overhead whether they wish for the company or no.
No sooner have they set out upon their return trip, than the wind picks up, driving the cold right through even their heavy winter garments, slowing forward momentum to a crawl. The telltale signs of an impending blizzard force a halt, even as the twilit sky is settling into the deeper hues of the long winter night.
Only the mouselings and the Chwingas seem impervious to the deadly cold, though there is a real fear of them be quite carried off by a strong gust!
“This blasted never ending winter... but did you see the seeds?? Maybe it’s finally over!” Blackbur seems emboldened by the idea and soldiers on through the snow, wrapping his cloak around him as best he can.
Paladin - warforged - orange
Hurdrak shook his head, "The seeds are there but this storm is hitting hard. I don't think it's ending do soon, but I've been wrong before." He stares into the storm, "if we risk pressing on, then I suggest we tie a rope to each other to prevent separation."
Blackbur nods. “I may be the patrol leader, but I know when to listen to good advice. stay together folks, let’s tie up.” He’ll move from the smallest mice and Heidi first to the rest of the squad making sure we’re all tied in a line.
“We’ll get through this.” Blackbur does his best to keep a clear direction in his head. Survival 19
Paladin - warforged - orange
Tying a rope to the line connecting everyone for safety, Erhard constantly swivels his head looking deep into the storm and his surroundings (Perception: 18), nervous of the owl. "If that owl, that beast comes to collect whatever tribute it's seeking, I'm not sure the guard is prepared to stop it."
((Survival: 21))
Mistral finds that he is continuously battered by the wind, his wings proving more hinderance than help. Wrapping them around him for what little extra protection they provide against the bitter cold, he trudges miserably along with his mouse companions.