The rank odors of the Brokenveil Marsh mingle with the musty aroma of a fleet of gargantuan reptiles as you traverse the rickety rope bridges above Urzin. This strange goblinoid village moves slowly and endlessly through the swampy Xhorhasian wastes, its structures set atop the massive shells of horizonback tortoises. Urzin’s monstrous residents pay you little heed until you approach the large, ramshackle hall of Ogre Lord Buhfal II—a towering structure of haphazard timber and scrap.
The din of the swamp and the hushed chatter of Urzin’s residents is muted as you step through the folds of a heavy leather curtain into the chamber beyond. There, the reek of the marsh is quickly replaced by the favorable scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Orc attendants gesture you toward a litter of dingy furs before the seat of Buhfal II, who allows you to settle in before his baritone voice issues a welcome.
“Eat. Drink. But be wary, for the empire has come to Xhorhas, bringing damnation with it! Our witch, Bol’bara journeyed to the foothills of the Brokenveil Bluffs to the west, where she regularly forages for ritual components. She never returned. For her rescue I shall pay you 200gp. You shall have the aid of one of our scouts, Morgid. I would suggest you start near the recent dwendalian fort near the bluffs.”
OOC: I promise this will be the longest post I write this entire campaign.
The morning Vicelor receives his summons from Ogre Lord Buhfal II, he is bustling about his hovel, scheming and complaining. Watching from a few feet away — quiet and patient as always — is Daks, Vicelor's assistant, yes man, and perhaps only friend. In truth, Daks is probably smarter than Vicelor, but he lacks ambition, so he is content to stand in Vicelor's shadow with the goal of helping his friend ... become better. Both individuals are kobolds, but while Daks is vibrantly red and orange, Vicelor is covered in green scales the color of wet leaves, though in his usual attire, a green robe, only his hands, feet and snout are visible. His eyes, bright and orange as a sunrise, are his only striking feature.
This morning's rant is centered around a particular bugbear who continually sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. Vicelor is an accomplished shaman — revered by most and whose counsel and help are much sought after ... at least in Vicelor's opinion. The bugbear is a detractor and nay-sayer. Despite the many wonderous ways Vicelor has proven his wisdom and deep connection with the earth, the bugbear is always one step behind to whisper lies in order to undermine Vicelor's reputation and potential leadership. And this is where his true frustration lies: Vicelor seeks status, and until he can truly be seen as powerful in the eyes of all of Urzin, he will never truly be happy.
So hot is Vicelor's temper this morning that when there is a clearing of the throat at the doorway to his hovel, the shaman whips around and yells, "What?!"
The messenger, not at all intimidated by the kobold's shout, taps the butt of his spear against the wooden floor and announces as if addressing a crowd. "Ogre Lord Buhfal II demands an audience with citizen Vicelor. You are to submit yourself before the Ogre Lord within the hour at his hall." His message dispensed, the messenger turns and marches away.
Daks, just as taken aback as Vicelor at the pronouncement, responds with a feeble "Thank —" before hurrying to stick his head out of the doorway and call out, "Thank you!" The brightly scaled kobold turns with wide eyes to gaze at Vicelor, who has stopped his pacing and is now biting on one claw while gazing at the floor in thought. "What do you think he wants?" Daks asks, speaking quietly, not knowing whether to be excited or scared.
Vicelor gives his head a little shake, not taking the claw out of his mouth yet. He begins pacing again, but more slowly this time. He is quiet for several seconds before he stops and looks at Daks. "Whatever it is, I mustn't show fear. Surely it is something good," Vicelor says, sounding as if he is trying to convince himself. "Perhaps he wants to ask me to help fill in while Bol’bara is away," he says, looking hopeful. "She's been gone a while, and I've been wanting to get a claw into her territory anyway," he smiles, showing yellow teeth. When Daks is slow to mirror his hopefulness, Vicelor's shoulders droop again.
"I'm sure it's fine," Daks says brightly, stepping forward and forcing nonchalance. "In fact, it's quite an honor — summoned to the Ogre Lord's hall. I mean, if you were in trouble, they wouldn't just summon you; the guard would have escorted you ... right?" Daks asks, sounding unsure again.
Vicelor's eyes shoot back and forth before he looks up to smile at Daks. "You're right! They would have escorted me!" His mind begins to race as his back straightens to his maximum height of two-and-a-half feet. He raises his hands to chest height, places palm to palm, and tap his claws together. "It must be good. It must be." He looks around his small, dingy home, which to most races would act as a pet's shelter. He was elated when they offered him a small place on one of the horizonback tortoises. He saw it as a huge step toward his success ... even if it was on one of the last in the order. Daks still lives in a tent he has to pack up and haul every time Urzin relocates. Vicelor doesn't look down on his friend for this ... much.
"Where is my best robe?" Vicelor asks. The two quickly prepare Vicelor for his visit to the Ogre Lord's hall. As it is not a short trek, and he does have very short legs, Vicelor leaves as soon as possible. Daks waves him away with a big smile, truly happy for Vicelor's presumed boon.
As he approaches the hall, Vicelor straightens his back and raises his snout to indicate his status. He carries with him, using it as an unnecessary walking stick, his usual shaman's staff: a rough-hewn wooden rod about three feet tall with various trinkets — a couple of rodent skulls, some bird feathers, and a crystal or two — dangling from the top. Around the neck and waist of his cleanest green robe, he has dawned two leather thongs with more trinkets tied to them, including some teeth, claws, more feathers, and some beads. On the thong around his waste is a very thin pouch. Sticking out of the top is a small piece of yew wood. Those who have been helped by Vicelor know this to be his wand.
Vicelor gives the orc guards a nod of his hooded head as he passes, trying his best to look and act as if he is supposed to be there. Once inside, he pauses, both unsure of what to do next and surprised by the immediate reaction of his saliva glands to the smell of cooked meat. He swallows the gush of liquid that filled his mouth as he is beckoned forward toward the reception area. He gives a deep, somewhat melodramatic bow toward Buhfal II, his many trinkets knocking together like tiny windchimes. The strap around his neck starts to slip over his bowed head, and he has to slap it with his empty hand to keep it on. Straightening up quickly, he fixes the necklace and grins sheepishly before scurrying toward the litter of fine furs.
As the others arrive, Vicelor sizes each up, trying to place their faces and racking his brain for anything he knows about them.
After the Ogre Lord's introduction, Vicelor looks at him with wide eyes. Bol'bara is missing? What luck! Maybe she's dead! Before he has a chance to respond, he unconsciously sticks another large bite of food into his toothy maw.
In spite of every step feeling like it would lead to doom, Nimruil Naerith ever visibly carried himself like a Drow without much of a care in the world. Even the putrid scent of the environ -- by his standards at least --, and which despite having endured it for several weeks now he'd still had yet to become noseblind of it, would not be allowed to diminish this projection. If not for Zamren, barely a teen by Drow standards and his ward for all intents and purposes, insisting upon him pulling silky black locks into a topnot and make the meeting geared up like some ranger, the Drow would've truly let the swagger shine through.
It is not until but the final curtain that the half-smile started to fade a bit. 'Suppose I owe you one again, Z' He mused, suppressed the urge to take a breath, and then strolled on inside. Now Nimruil by no stretch of the imagination was the brightest or wisest elf in existence. But, once directed over to the Ogre Lord, seeing the giant kin was enough to squash even the most half-hearted of thoughts of perhaps offering some bet to yet get him out of whatever it was his last one had gotten himself into. He hadn't even the nerve to speak for that matter. But, he had enough since to slip into a formal bow at the waist prior to sitting down, legs beneath and feet beneath him, and hands on his knees.
Noting the kobold first and their skull ridden walking stick, Nimruil offered a strained but polite smile in greeting. "... That is 200 each, or.... *ahem*....I mean... quite a hefty pursue. Truly this temporary loss of Bol'bara is greatly felt. Temporary, as we will most definitely see to her return." He reply to the lord, bow his head once, then turned to study the hobgoblin to next arrive on the scene.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yog - [Tortle]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Stars/Celestial (Libretalia)
Grum felt that was not an ordinary day. In left the city early in the morning to forage the area and to do his usual little walk in the nature around the ever moving city Urzin. He loved this peaceful moment where the city is not fully awake and he can feel his link to the Nature. In the morning he spotted a red feather pheasant and managed to shoot it with one javelin. A beautiful prize and delicious one as well. He came back back slowly and spend some time at the tavern, on the look out for possible contract. Grum was well known to be a bounty hunter, at his best when tracking targets in the forest and the marches. He was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the Ogre Lord Buhfal II administration, inviting him to an audience.
Now in the court room, Grum listens carefully to the brief, taking mental notes of the new contract. "Seems easy enough" he thinks. Looking around, he sees that his teams are not all useless and add "Grum is at your service my Lord. This should be done rapidly". Nodding the the Lord, he grabs another piece of food, a juicy piece of meat... melting in his mouth, before adding "Just to be sure, my Lord. Can we use all necessary force to insure the safe return of Bol’bara?"
"200gp for the group. I should hope it would be done quickly. She is one of our most respected elders and a voice of reason within Urzin. Any and all force is allowed to safely bring her back!"
"If that is all. I would encourage you to hurry. The empire isn't know for being merciful," the ogre says as he motions towards the door. Morgid bows to him and slips outside to wait for you.
Vicelor shoves as much food in his mouth as will fit before scrambling to his feet and bowing again, this time holding his necklace in place. He mumbles something as he backs away, not turning his back and continuing to bow toward the Ogre Lord until he is almost out of the door. At the last second, the green kobold turns and scrambles back through the curtain and into the light of day to stand near Morgid. He begins chewing frantically and swallowing hard to empty his mouth of the gluttonous amount of food as inconspicuously as possible. When his mouth is finally empty, he clears his throat and blinks up at Morgid. "Um ... hello," he says a bit shyly. "Vicelor," he says, placing his hand on his chest. He looks around at the others. "So, are we leaving today?"
Nimruil nodded in a sagely manner to the Ogre Lord. He is in far less a hurry then Vicelor as he preferred to at least polish what he'd gathered on his plate. Most of which were the closest equivalent to greens and fish available. Although if few and far between, then the Drow settled for whatever was there and didn't seem too... disturbing.
Even then, Nim will follow the lead of whoever is last to rise to address morgid. That is, after bagging any left overs he could quickly, before fgiving the Ogre Lord one last respectful bow. "Well that was certainly a rather fruitful for meeting." Is the first words out of Nimruil's mouth after exiting to the tent. "And I suppose it'll just be us four then. How quaint... I am Nimruil. Or Nim, to my friends. Which, I suppose you can call me that, as I'm certain this little venture will make us as close such, no?" He says, smiling toothily at the others.
"And while I'm sure there is much for us to speak of regarding our individual capabilities, best we walk and talk. At least until its time to quiet, least the denizen of your fair lands decide they wish to hear our bones crack beneath their oh so hungry jaws." He adds, broadening the smile just a bit after folding his hands behind him. Then, he looks to Mordrin, expecting the hobgoblin to lead the way,.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yog - [Tortle]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Stars/Celestial (Libretalia)
Grum nods at his new companions. He looks them from up and down, trying to gauge how useful they will be. He usually works alone, this will be a change but maybe some help might be needed for this mission. "I am Grum"he says, placing his fist on his chest as a sign of courtesy. "I agree with you, let's talk when we will be in the Marches.Let's go meet this Morgid and start the chase. The longer we wait the harder it will be to track old Bol’bara". Grum places his huge morningstar on his shoulder, grabs some food displayed on the table and leaves the room.
You all climb down the sides of the turtles and turn towards the marsh. Morgid nods, "Tis best we hurry. I can navigate us through the swamp though I am no warrior." He pulls out a map of the marsh.
(You are all in the upper right hand corner where there is a turtle. You destination is in the lower left. How you get there is up to you.)
(Once you have agreed on a direction, one of you can make a survival check or ask for Morgid to make one. Also decide the speed you want to go (slow, medium, or fast). Then if each of you would roll 3d12 for me.)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
After giving the map a good once over and hearing Grum's suggestion, the Drow smiled almost smugly up at the big guy. "Sure, sure. The sooner we get through this terrible, er, I mean these wondrous but dangerous lands, the sooner we can return triumphantly." Nimruil said brightly and raised a hand as if to clap Grum on the shoulder. But then remember not only how tall the bugbear was, as well as their fearsome reputation he promptly turned the gesture into a finger crossbow and add, "After you my well muscled friend. I will keep to the rear until I am needed. Much better shot than I am skilled with Lucky here." He said gesturing from the shortbow at his back, to the rapier on his hip.
"And if all else fails, I do know a bit of, uh, battle hymns to give some pep to those steps." He chuckles at that before tugging his hood up into place and making ready to follow Grum's lead.
Mystery 12s!: 2, 1, 4.
If keeping lookout is possible at fast pace, even at disadvantage... which I got regardless due to Sunlight Sensitivity, here's the rolls: 6.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Once it is clear that they are leaving immediately, Vicelor looks taken aback. The kobold's eyes widen, and he looks over his shoulder back in the direction the caravan traveled from the previous day. A few uttered vowels of indecision escape him as he clearly feels hesitant to embark, but he finally sighs, squares his shoulders, and follows along behind the taller party members. After the blabbermouth drow decides to act the rear guard, Vicelor gladly steps into third position, letting those with less brains keep watch while he commences to scheme.
When consulted, Vicelor would say (in a tone that indicates the others must be idiots if they think otherwise) that they should head straight for the last location Bol’bara was supposed to be — the foothills of the Brokenveil Bluffs to the west. He would also express that he thinks they should get there in a timely manner, so normal or fast speed would be his preference.
Boggy wetlands covered with waist-high water spread as far as the eye can see as you venture deeper into the mist-laden expanses of the Brokenveil Marsh. Morgid, your hobgoblin guide, knows the route you must follow, but that path leads through a hazardous morass and the territory of unknown monsters.
While you take a brief rest on a patch of relatively dry land, Morgid produces a scrap of bleached leather from his belt—a map of the marsh. His eyes narrow as if trying to pierce the fog ahead as he glances from the marsh to the map and back again.
“The marsh loves outlanders like you,” he murmurs. “Loves to gobble ’em up, bones and all. But worry you not, my friends. Morgid will lead the way. Maybe three days of swamp to sift through till we reach Fort Venture. And then it’s your time to shine.” The wild-eyed hobgoblin stuffs the map back into his belt and briskly wades into the bog once more, motioning for you to follow.
The first half the day or so goes by slowly as you slog through the marsh. Around noon when you are beginning to feel hungry and are covered in sweat from the midday heat, everyone but Grum hears the sound of a group of creatures moving through the swamp. You see a group of five humanoids moving through the trees.
The rank odors of the Brokenveil Marsh mingle with the musty aroma of a fleet of gargantuan reptiles as you traverse the rickety rope bridges above Urzin. This strange goblinoid village moves slowly and endlessly through the swampy Xhorhasian wastes, its structures set atop the massive shells of horizonback tortoises. Urzin’s monstrous residents pay you little heed until you approach the large, ramshackle hall of Ogre Lord Buhfal II—a towering structure of haphazard timber and scrap.
The din of the swamp and the hushed chatter of Urzin’s residents is muted as you step through the folds of a heavy leather curtain into the chamber beyond. There, the reek of the marsh is quickly replaced by the favorable scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Orc attendants gesture you toward a litter of dingy furs before the seat of Buhfal II, who allows you to settle in before his baritone voice issues a welcome.
“Eat. Drink. But be wary, for the empire has come to Xhorhas, bringing damnation with it! Our witch, Bol’bara journeyed to the foothills of the Brokenveil Bluffs to the west, where she regularly forages for ritual components. She never returned. For her rescue I shall pay you 200gp. You shall have the aid of one of our scouts, Morgid. I would suggest you start near the recent dwendalian fort near the bluffs.”
A tall hobgoblin steps forward and bows.
OOC: I promise this will be the longest post I write this entire campaign.
The morning Vicelor receives his summons from Ogre Lord Buhfal II, he is bustling about his hovel, scheming and complaining. Watching from a few feet away — quiet and patient as always — is Daks, Vicelor's assistant, yes man, and perhaps only friend. In truth, Daks is probably smarter than Vicelor, but he lacks ambition, so he is content to stand in Vicelor's shadow with the goal of helping his friend ... become better. Both individuals are kobolds, but while Daks is vibrantly red and orange, Vicelor is covered in green scales the color of wet leaves, though in his usual attire, a green robe, only his hands, feet and snout are visible. His eyes, bright and orange as a sunrise, are his only striking feature.
This morning's rant is centered around a particular bugbear who continually sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. Vicelor is an accomplished shaman — revered by most and whose counsel and help are much sought after ... at least in Vicelor's opinion. The bugbear is a detractor and nay-sayer. Despite the many wonderous ways Vicelor has proven his wisdom and deep connection with the earth, the bugbear is always one step behind to whisper lies in order to undermine Vicelor's reputation and potential leadership. And this is where his true frustration lies: Vicelor seeks status, and until he can truly be seen as powerful in the eyes of all of Urzin, he will never truly be happy.
So hot is Vicelor's temper this morning that when there is a clearing of the throat at the doorway to his hovel, the shaman whips around and yells, "What?!"
The messenger, not at all intimidated by the kobold's shout, taps the butt of his spear against the wooden floor and announces as if addressing a crowd. "Ogre Lord Buhfal II demands an audience with citizen Vicelor. You are to submit yourself before the Ogre Lord within the hour at his hall." His message dispensed, the messenger turns and marches away.
Daks, just as taken aback as Vicelor at the pronouncement, responds with a feeble "Thank —" before hurrying to stick his head out of the doorway and call out, "Thank you!" The brightly scaled kobold turns with wide eyes to gaze at Vicelor, who has stopped his pacing and is now biting on one claw while gazing at the floor in thought. "What do you think he wants?" Daks asks, speaking quietly, not knowing whether to be excited or scared.
Vicelor gives his head a little shake, not taking the claw out of his mouth yet. He begins pacing again, but more slowly this time. He is quiet for several seconds before he stops and looks at Daks. "Whatever it is, I mustn't show fear. Surely it is something good," Vicelor says, sounding as if he is trying to convince himself. "Perhaps he wants to ask me to help fill in while Bol’bara is away," he says, looking hopeful. "She's been gone a while, and I've been wanting to get a claw into her territory anyway," he smiles, showing yellow teeth. When Daks is slow to mirror his hopefulness, Vicelor's shoulders droop again.
"I'm sure it's fine," Daks says brightly, stepping forward and forcing nonchalance. "In fact, it's quite an honor — summoned to the Ogre Lord's hall. I mean, if you were in trouble, they wouldn't just summon you; the guard would have escorted you ... right?" Daks asks, sounding unsure again.
Vicelor's eyes shoot back and forth before he looks up to smile at Daks. "You're right! They would have escorted me!" His mind begins to race as his back straightens to his maximum height of two-and-a-half feet. He raises his hands to chest height, places palm to palm, and tap his claws together. "It must be good. It must be." He looks around his small, dingy home, which to most races would act as a pet's shelter. He was elated when they offered him a small place on one of the horizonback tortoises. He saw it as a huge step toward his success ... even if it was on one of the last in the order. Daks still lives in a tent he has to pack up and haul every time Urzin relocates. Vicelor doesn't look down on his friend for this ... much.
"Where is my best robe?" Vicelor asks. The two quickly prepare Vicelor for his visit to the Ogre Lord's hall. As it is not a short trek, and he does have very short legs, Vicelor leaves as soon as possible. Daks waves him away with a big smile, truly happy for Vicelor's presumed boon.
As he approaches the hall, Vicelor straightens his back and raises his snout to indicate his status. He carries with him, using it as an unnecessary walking stick, his usual shaman's staff: a rough-hewn wooden rod about three feet tall with various trinkets — a couple of rodent skulls, some bird feathers, and a crystal or two — dangling from the top. Around the neck and waist of his cleanest green robe, he has dawned two leather thongs with more trinkets tied to them, including some teeth, claws, more feathers, and some beads. On the thong around his waste is a very thin pouch. Sticking out of the top is a small piece of yew wood. Those who have been helped by Vicelor know this to be his wand.
Vicelor gives the orc guards a nod of his hooded head as he passes, trying his best to look and act as if he is supposed to be there. Once inside, he pauses, both unsure of what to do next and surprised by the immediate reaction of his saliva glands to the smell of cooked meat. He swallows the gush of liquid that filled his mouth as he is beckoned forward toward the reception area. He gives a deep, somewhat melodramatic bow toward Buhfal II, his many trinkets knocking together like tiny windchimes. The strap around his neck starts to slip over his bowed head, and he has to slap it with his empty hand to keep it on. Straightening up quickly, he fixes the necklace and grins sheepishly before scurrying toward the litter of fine furs.
As the others arrive, Vicelor sizes each up, trying to place their faces and racking his brain for anything he knows about them.
After the Ogre Lord's introduction, Vicelor looks at him with wide eyes. Bol'bara is missing? What luck! Maybe she's dead! Before he has a chance to respond, he unconsciously sticks another large bite of food into his toothy maw.
In spite of every step feeling like it would lead to doom, Nimruil Naerith ever visibly carried himself like a Drow without much of a care in the world. Even the putrid scent of the environ -- by his standards at least --, and which despite having endured it for several weeks now he'd still had yet to become noseblind of it, would not be allowed to diminish this projection. If not for Zamren, barely a teen by Drow standards and his ward for all intents and purposes, insisting upon him pulling silky black locks into a topnot and make the meeting geared up like some ranger, the Drow would've truly let the swagger shine through.
It is not until but the final curtain that the half-smile started to fade a bit. 'Suppose I owe you one again, Z' He mused, suppressed the urge to take a breath, and then strolled on inside. Now Nimruil by no stretch of the imagination was the brightest or wisest elf in existence. But, once directed over to the Ogre Lord, seeing the giant kin was enough to squash even the most half-hearted of thoughts of perhaps offering some bet to yet get him out of whatever it was his last one had gotten himself into. He hadn't even the nerve to speak for that matter. But, he had enough since to slip into a formal bow at the waist prior to sitting down, legs beneath and feet beneath him, and hands on his knees.
Noting the kobold first and their skull ridden walking stick, Nimruil offered a strained but polite smile in greeting. "... That is 200 each, or.... *ahem*....I mean... quite a hefty pursue. Truly this temporary loss of Bol'bara is greatly felt. Temporary, as we will most definitely see to her return." He reply to the lord, bow his head once, then turned to study the hobgoblin to next arrive on the scene.
Yog - [Tortle]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Stars/Celestial (Libretalia)
Nobody - [Feral-Tiefling]Wizard/Sorcerer - War/Draconic (HoTDQ)
Jack Vicvan - [Eladrin]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Dreams/Archfey
-
Hiatus:
Xanrazan - [Earth Genasi]Bard - College of Swords(Shadowthorn's Princess of the Apocalypse)
Grum felt that was not an ordinary day. In left the city early in the morning to forage the area and to do his usual little walk in the nature around the ever moving city Urzin. He loved this peaceful moment where the city is not fully awake and he can feel his link to the Nature. In the morning he spotted a red feather pheasant and managed to shoot it with one javelin. A beautiful prize and delicious one as well. He came back back slowly and spend some time at the tavern, on the look out for possible contract. Grum was well known to be a bounty hunter, at his best when tracking targets in the forest and the marches.
He was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the Ogre Lord Buhfal II administration, inviting him to an audience.
Now in the court room, Grum listens carefully to the brief, taking mental notes of the new contract. "Seems easy enough" he thinks. Looking around, he sees that his teams are not all useless and add "Grum is at your service my Lord. This should be done rapidly". Nodding the the Lord, he grabs another piece of food, a juicy piece of meat... melting in his mouth, before adding "Just to be sure, my Lord. Can we use all necessary force to insure the safe return of Bol’bara?"
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation
"200gp for the group. I should hope it would be done quickly. She is one of our most respected elders and a voice of reason within Urzin. Any and all force is allowed to safely bring her back!"
"If that is all. I would encourage you to hurry. The empire isn't know for being merciful," the ogre says as he motions towards the door. Morgid bows to him and slips outside to wait for you.
Vicelor shoves as much food in his mouth as will fit before scrambling to his feet and bowing again, this time holding his necklace in place. He mumbles something as he backs away, not turning his back and continuing to bow toward the Ogre Lord until he is almost out of the door. At the last second, the green kobold turns and scrambles back through the curtain and into the light of day to stand near Morgid. He begins chewing frantically and swallowing hard to empty his mouth of the gluttonous amount of food as inconspicuously as possible. When his mouth is finally empty, he clears his throat and blinks up at Morgid. "Um ... hello," he says a bit shyly. "Vicelor," he says, placing his hand on his chest. He looks around at the others. "So, are we leaving today?"
Nimruil nodded in a sagely manner to the Ogre Lord. He is in far less a hurry then Vicelor as he preferred to at least polish what he'd gathered on his plate. Most of which were the closest equivalent to greens and fish available. Although if few and far between, then the Drow settled for whatever was there and didn't seem too... disturbing.
Even then, Nim will follow the lead of whoever is last to rise to address morgid. That is, after bagging any left overs he could quickly, before fgiving the Ogre Lord one last respectful bow. "Well that was certainly a rather fruitful for meeting." Is the first words out of Nimruil's mouth after exiting to the tent. "And I suppose it'll just be us four then. How quaint... I am Nimruil. Or Nim, to my friends. Which, I suppose you can call me that, as I'm certain this little venture will make us as close such, no?" He says, smiling toothily at the others.
"And while I'm sure there is much for us to speak of regarding our individual capabilities, best we walk and talk. At least until its time to quiet, least the denizen of your fair lands decide they wish to hear our bones crack beneath their oh so hungry jaws." He adds, broadening the smile just a bit after folding his hands behind him. Then, he looks to Mordrin, expecting the hobgoblin to lead the way,.
Yog - [Tortle]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Stars/Celestial (Libretalia)
Nobody - [Feral-Tiefling]Wizard/Sorcerer - War/Draconic (HoTDQ)
Jack Vicvan - [Eladrin]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Dreams/Archfey
-
Hiatus:
Xanrazan - [Earth Genasi]Bard - College of Swords(Shadowthorn's Princess of the Apocalypse)
Grum nods at his new companions. He looks them from up and down, trying to gauge how useful they will be. He usually works alone, this will be a change but maybe some help might be needed for this mission.
"I am Grum" he says, placing his fist on his chest as a sign of courtesy. "I agree with you, let's talk when we will be in the Marches.Let's go meet this Morgid and start the chase. The longer we wait the harder it will be to track old Bol’bara". Grum places his huge morningstar on his shoulder, grabs some food displayed on the table and leaves the room.
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation
You all climb down the sides of the turtles and turn towards the marsh. Morgid nods, "Tis best we hurry. I can navigate us through the swamp though I am no warrior." He pulls out a map of the marsh.
(You are all in the upper right hand corner where there is a turtle. You destination is in the lower left. How you get there is up to you.)
(Once you have agreed on a direction, one of you can make a survival check or ask for Morgid to make one. Also decide the speed you want to go (slow, medium, or fast). Then if each of you would roll 3d12 for me.)
Grum is happy to help leading the party. "I say today, walk fast, South-West. We can reduce our speed tomorrow while foraging."
Survival: 9
3d12: 5. 6 1
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation
After giving the map a good once over and hearing Grum's suggestion, the Drow smiled almost smugly up at the big guy. "Sure, sure. The sooner we get through this terrible, er, I mean these wondrous but dangerous lands, the sooner we can return triumphantly." Nimruil said brightly and raised a hand as if to clap Grum on the shoulder. But then remember not only how tall the bugbear was, as well as their fearsome reputation he promptly turned the gesture into a finger crossbow and add, "After you my well muscled friend. I will keep to the rear until I am needed. Much better shot than I am skilled with Lucky here." He said gesturing from the shortbow at his back, to the rapier on his hip.
"And if all else fails, I do know a bit of, uh, battle hymns to give some pep to those steps." He chuckles at that before tugging his hood up into place and making ready to follow Grum's lead.
Mystery 12s!: 2, 1, 4.
If keeping lookout is possible at fast pace, even at disadvantage... which I got regardless due to Sunlight Sensitivity, here's the rolls: 6.
Yog - [Tortle]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Stars/Celestial (Libretalia)
Nobody - [Feral-Tiefling]Wizard/Sorcerer - War/Draconic (HoTDQ)
Jack Vicvan - [Eladrin]Druid/Warlock - Circle of Dreams/Archfey
-
Hiatus:
Xanrazan - [Earth Genasi]Bard - College of Swords(Shadowthorn's Princess of the Apocalypse)
Once it is clear that they are leaving immediately, Vicelor looks taken aback. The kobold's eyes widen, and he looks over his shoulder back in the direction the caravan traveled from the previous day. A few uttered vowels of indecision escape him as he clearly feels hesitant to embark, but he finally sighs, squares his shoulders, and follows along behind the taller party members. After the blabbermouth drow decides to act the rear guard, Vicelor gladly steps into third position, letting those with less brains keep watch while he commences to scheme.
When consulted, Vicelor would say (in a tone that indicates the others must be idiots if they think otherwise) that they should head straight for the last location Bol’bara was supposed to be — the foothills of the Brokenveil Bluffs to the west. He would also express that he thinks they should get there in a timely manner, so normal or fast speed would be his preference.
20
(So fast paced, West or South-West?)
Boggy wetlands covered with waist-high water spread as far as the eye can see as you venture deeper into the mist-laden expanses of the Brokenveil Marsh. Morgid, your hobgoblin guide, knows the route you must follow, but that path leads through a hazardous morass and the territory of unknown monsters.
While you take a brief rest on a patch of relatively dry land, Morgid produces a scrap of bleached leather from his belt—a map of the marsh. His eyes narrow as if trying to pierce the fog ahead as he glances from the marsh to the map and back again.
“The marsh loves outlanders like you,” he murmurs. “Loves to gobble ’em up, bones and all. But worry you not, my friends. Morgid will lead the way. Maybe three days of swamp to sift through till we reach Fort Venture. And then it’s your time to shine.” The wild-eyed hobgoblin stuffs the map back into his belt and briskly wades into the bog once more, motioning for you to follow.
The first half the day or so goes by slowly as you slog through the marsh. Around noon when you are beginning to feel hungry and are covered in sweat from the midday heat, everyone but Grum hears the sound of a group of creatures moving through the swamp. You see a group of five humanoids moving through the trees.
Vicelor hides and attempts to identify the humanoids.
Stealth: 19
Perception: 3 — second roll if in direct sunlight (disadvantage): 12
So good is Vicelor's hiding spot that he can no longer perceive the humanoids. Well, at least if they are hostile, they'll attack the others first!
Perception to identify the type of humanoids: 9
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation
Grum, after everyone points them out to you, you see the group of UNDEAD walking in your direction
OOC: did they spotted us ?
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation
Roll insight
Insight: 4
Currently Playing: Regdus Ironfist (Greyhawk) Lvl 1 Storm Sorcerer ; Goraseth Drerjoxian (Icespeak) Lvl 3 Paladin Oath of Glory; Lerak (The Wild Beyond the Witchlight) Lvl 3 Barbarian Wild Magic
In Pause: Grimnir " Shadow-Feet", Lv 11 Owner of "The Basilisk & the Monk" (OotA) - Kurma Kappa, Lv 8 Priest of Oghma (ToA)
Currently DM'ing: Princes of Apocalypse >> Tomb of Annihilation