Unlike some other worlds, the heroes on Kindraxus learned what her followers were doing too late. The Cult of the Dragon created strife and terror and recruited dragons, giants, demons and devils until they eventually managed to pull her from hell to this plane of existence. Heroes and villains alike took up arms against Tiamat in the chaos she created and were almost all utterly destroyed in the resulting cataclysm.
In her insane state at being held in the hells for so long, Tiamat raged across the world destroying all in her path until she was met head on by the might of Bahamut. The fight between these two would have ravaged the planet if Bahamut had not sacrificed his divine power to strike Tiamat down in their final confrontation. The power that was unleashed warped reality, causing many changes in the world that most likely persist to this day. During the fight, the last few heroes and villains left in the world banded together to cast a mighty spell using their very lifeforce, creating a shielded safe haven for humans and many other races to shelter against the magical onslaught that pounded the planet. It kept them alive, but not entirely unchanged.
Those magical walls lasted 200 years before slowly beginning to weaken. The very walls that saved are now slowly breaking down. What will become of the races if the world hasn't healed? One can only speculate and hope for the best. The heroes are gone, lost to time, but there are some who have kept the old ways in memory. They will teach a new crop of heroes to face what this world has to offer.
–Life in the New Commonwealth was rigid and strict. Laws had to be enforced and followed to keep society from grinding to a halt. Arcane magic had been forbidden in the village from the beginning. After several people died trying to use it, everyone had had enough. Water was plentiful enough but food had initially had to be rationed after almost two hundred people just appeared out of thin air. The nearby forests were teeming with game, but the initial onslaught of hunting almost decimated the wildlife.
The races had all split up initially, trying to attempt to go about their normal ways of life but each one was too few in number back then to accomplish anything divided. They eventually came together in the one small village and built it up. They realized they would have to become united in all ways to make it work. After each race had the numbers to possibly go off on their own, they had grown fond of this new dynamic and stayed together.
After their numbers grew they knew they would have to keep the population down, so as not to outgrow this place they could not escape. Many attempts to escape the shield walls were attempted, but none had ever succeeded. Eventually attempting to bypass the shield wall was made illegal as well, the small governing force afraid of what might happen if someone actually succeeded in breaking through somehow.
What was out there beyond the walls? No one knew. The walls glowed golden to simulate the day, and turned almost black to simulate night. The skies were empty except for seven stars that shone with white brilliance and pulsed blue every hour. Over the years, the stars began to change from white to solid blue one by one until only a single star was left. That star recently changed from white to red, causing mass confusion. Why did this last star turn the color of blood instead of the blue of the others? Many think it is an ill omen.
Two hundred years passed with the shield standing strong, but for the last sixty-four years the shield has begun to weaken. Every citizen was able to feel it the moment it began, though they don’t really understand how. For years, the folk of the village have scoured the walls around it’s diameter. They have found that in a few places, the golden light of the wall would be a bit less bright, and if they look hard enough, they can see a shadow every so often. Never anything distinct enough to make out. Sometimes small golden cracks can be found that eventually seal themselves back up after a night cycle.
Several attempts to try and cure the walls have been tried, some in catastrophic failure and some not working at all. Groups are split in the village on whether the walls were meant to weaken at some point and let the folk inside out to once again prosper in the world or the walls coming down will allow whatever devastation has happened outside in to destroy all life. All that is truly certain is that the call of magic has slowly begun to surface again though the villagers are still wary of it and ban it from the village.
With the village elders wary of what may come to pass if the walls do come down, they have singled out each of you as having the makings of the heroes of old. Heroes they do not have anymore. The elders are little more than librarians and historians that wrote about the heroes and the techniques they used to champion the world against evil. You have been trained by these learned ones and your own relatives that keep the spirit of heroes and champions alive to this day, in mind if not form.
As such, you all find yourselves in a pasture on a small farm outside of New Commonwealth learning some form of combat from Sergeant Farthran Thrang. Farthran is a five foot tall dwarven male with bushy white hair and a matching long beard tucked into the front of his pants to keep it from dragging under his feet. He normally wears ringmail armor when making his rounds around town, but today he has removed those and donned some nice light padded armor and wielding a wooden battleaxe with the blades padded as well. He takes great delight in swinging this axe with greater speed than you would think an old dwarf could and sweeping your feet out from under you or bonking you hard in the chest and knocking you off your feet. “Well then, that concludes our lessons for today men. I hope I wasn’t too hard on you.” He cackles playfully, poking Roy in the chest with his axe and giving him a wink.
Otis stands to the side watching Sergeant Thrang give his bruising lesson to Roy Campbell to end today's lessons. Otis was well acquainted with those lessons. It had been Thrang that Otis' grandsire Pops had sent Otis an his brother Elmo to for weapons and armor training when they were teenagers. And it was Sergeant Thrang the council sent to arrest Otis after a few of the more reckless attempts to escape the shielding.
Otis didn't know which was worse the beating, and embarrassingly from the flat side of Sergeant Thrang's axe, or the week in the stocks. Otis didn't know what the council was up to bringing this group out here for training. But it wouldn't stop Otis from trying to get out of the shielding again.
Otis stands to the side, a bit husky for his size and its hard to tell just how much of that is muscle until he loses his tunic or shirt. Which are currently off and laying to the side. For a big guy he can move surprisingly quickly and with grace.
The size of his hands, feet, and the width of his shoulders would make most folks think he works as a wood cutter like his brother, but the constant smell of kitchen herbs that seem to hang about him gives truth to his occupation. His large hands and forearms have cut and burn scars as well as swollen knuckles from training. Similarly his shins has scars from training and strengthening against trees.
His black hair is shoulder length, but it is starting to recede at his crown. A full beard and mustache cover much of his face. Currently both drip with sweat.The usual smile on his lips and the laughter shining in his brown eyes are a bit muted.
Otis' large tattoo on his right chest, shoulder, back, and arm stands out with its swirling black twisting lines and symbols. Though dirt covers Otis, it doesn't seem to hide the tattoo any.
" I just hope I don't have to work the kitchens tonight in the tavern after this." , Otis thinks to himself.
Gillian watched Farthran joke with Roy, wondering why he had been chosen to join this group at all. He wasn’t strong or fast or hard nosed like the others. If anything, he more resembled a squire than a knight, more the reader of a great tale than the character in one.
Gillian’d only ever played around with his abilities in private. Either the elders have been secretly watching me this whole time, or they must have known from the start, and these abilities are something my parents knew might manifest in me... Genetic of Gifted? The source of his powers were still a mystery to him.He tucked these thoughts to the back of his mind for the next time he spoke with his father.
Snapping back into the present moment, he felt the weight of the crossbow leaning against his hand and leg. He had had a decent day in terms of accuracy, for a man no longer a boy, with no employment to speak of, or any prospects for that matter.
Gillian look at his fellow ‘hero prospects’ one at a time: there was Roy and Otis who he knew, as well a gnome, a half-orc, and an elf from around New Commonwealth. He thought to himself, Man if anyone in this group is as crazy as me, it’s gotta be this gnome, looking down on the top of his head. He send the gnome a [message] privately: “These training days making you feel any more Heroic?” while pointing his way with a half smirk.
On the bright side, now that he’s been selected for hero bootcamp, he could cast spells out in the open.
Roy decides that staring up at a dwarf is not his favorite thing he’s ever done, so he gets up in spite of the complaints from his bruised and weary body.
Roy stands taller than many men. He has the long arms and legs with broad shoulders that all speak to a lineage of knights. Warlords, if he’s honest. His smile has full, straight and white teeth over a strong jaw, beneath high cheekbones, blue eyes and fine, golden blonde hair. All of that speaks to the breeding of nobility; tyrants, if he’s honest.
He walks over to a bit of horse fence where a canteen hangs and drinks from it before letting out a breath of exertion, and a bit of a laugh in frustration.
“Farthran, you enjoy that far too much.” His wry smile falls away. “I just hope it’s enough.”
Roy starts to pull on his gambeson and such to get the chain mail he’s begun wearing everywhere back on. “I know it’ll have to be. I’m sure you all feel it. It won’t be long now.”
Like the others Grahl watches the last of todays session with Farthran. With the light of the dome's golden glow shining on Grahls bald head he makes sure he wipes the small line of blood from his lip. Mostly so his sister Talia would not fuss over him again like she had after previous training sessions. They had enough on their minds lately.
Grahl didnt mind the training sessions, knowing he can endure more than most here. Which made him wonder why this group was chosen. Looking around he knew all the faces, some better than others. It was clear why Otis and Roy were chosen, like himself they were among the young and strong of New Commonwealth. But the others? Gillian, a bookworm. And two old ones. He knew Klok and Falken and respected them for their experience but they seemed like odd picks at the moment.
As Grahl watched the training session and he would flinch a bit when the more frail ones of the party took a beating. It only made him want to spar the dwarf more himself. When Otis or Roy however sparred Falthran it was difficult to hold back a grin when they took a hit. Sometimes moving his hand over his short fangs and mouth, and moving his hand slightly down to scratch his trimmed beard to not make it to obvious.
Replying to Roy's words, It will have to be.If we train any more my beard will become longer than Falthrans. Hehe a short chuckle follows but stops as Grahl turns his head towards the shield and the brief interuption of training gets replaced by worries of what they might find outside.
Klok watched over the others training while he stood by and watched. He took a few shots with his bow to make it seem like he was training with the younglings but he was here to keep an eye on their training. He was tasked with making sure they were taking it seriously but also to see how the younglings got along with one another. Klok decided he had seen enough for the day and approached the others, with the use of his walking stick, from the fence he was leaning against.
"Well younglings, how are we feeling about our training? Klok is tired from swinging swords and shooting arrows. Do you feel ready to face the trials ahead?" He says smiling at the younglings who have just finished up.
“thank you for showing me how to use this crossbow Klok, makes me feel like I could almost be useful out there.” Gillian answers the elder politely, imagining himself a comedy of errors fumbling for a bolt and by the time he shot it, only to hit the lifeless body of an already dead target that Roy or Otis had brought down.
Looking up at the orange dome, Gillian wondered if anyone in the group had been outside the barrier. He [messaged] Klok, “Have you been out there? Any clues as to what we are to face?”
He started to walk out towards the firing range to find any bolts laying about. He had a feeling similar to the idea of not wasting paper, knowing each piece took time, both the materials procured and the craftsmanship executed. He practices his [mage hand] along the way, seeing if it was strong and dexterous enough to pick the bolts up so he didn’t have to bend down for each one.
a crackle of variance in the dome caught his eye, as his gaze shot up towards the now red star that brooded bloody.
Falken's hands fall to his knees as he begins huffing and puffing after the lesson. He bends back up and places a hand on his back. "Come on Farthran, you know I'm not fit for this.." Falken huffs and puffs a bit more. "I haven't been this active since Lilly was a child." He removes the hand from his back and does some very, very, very light stretching. He then pops the cork off a vial filled with a light blue liquid. He drinks it and let's out a refreshing. "Ahhh... That's much better... So when is the next training day my friend?" He asks, with a slight hint of sarcasm.
Falken has white hair that seems thin and looks as if it would be stiff if touched. His eyebrows are bushy and his beard and mustache are fairly long. He sports a pair of goggles on his head with a set of leather armor over his chest and legs. He has a regular size backpack, which looks larger in comparison to him. His pack his filled with various different supplies and tools which he uses to concoct his various potions and salves.
((My apologies, I didn't fully read everyone's posts, so I didn't realize Gillian sent me a message.))
Falken whips his head around as the words enter his head, trying to find the source. "WHA... WHO!!!" As he scans the group, he sees Gillian looking over in his direction. He stops for a moment and just stares Gillian down. "Is it you!? Are you in my head?" He asks, rudely, his voice cracking at times, like a teenager going through puberty.
Klok sees Falken's reaction to what appears to be a message sent by magical means. Klok receives one as well but does not startle. Klok has read up on how magic was used before the shield went up.
Arcana 8
Understanding the spell that was used on Falken and himself he answers in his head.
"No, Gillian nor have I ever tried to go outside the shield. However, I fear our fate may be pushing us in that direction"
Gillian took Klok’s response in stride, knowing that the truth wasn’t gonna be pretty either way. He kept picking up bolts with his mage hand. Klok’s calmness helped Gillian believe they had a chance of not all getting themselves killed right away, maybe just killed eventually.
Turning his gaze toward Falken while the corners of his mouth turned upward, Gillian replied out loud: “And now you’re in mine! Got any tricks of your own?”
The look on Falken's face turns more into a nervous look. He looks around real quick then looks down. His foot begins to tap rapidly and he scratches his arm as he responds to Gillian. "I learned some things when I was a youngin, but nothing I've touched in a long time... But neat trick!" He says, quickly changing his look and tone to be a more joyful one.
Arriving at the target dummy he was practicing on, Gillian yanked at the 3 bolts lodged in its chest, struggling with the 3rd before it tore a little more of the fabric of the dummy on its way out. Noticing a bolt among the weeds whose staff had splintered apart, he threw the rest in his sack while keeping the broken bolt’s two halves in his hands. Sweeping the area one last time to make sure he got them all, Gillian began walking back to the group, hungry both for a meal as well as some actual action.
”If one of you could turn this cracked bolt into a few loafs of bread, now that’d be something. I’m starving,” hecommented daydreamingly, not expecting a reply.
Otis walks over to his shirt and tunic picking them up. Turning to see Gillian messing with that elders, Otis smiles. " For a quiet one, Gillian's going to be more of a trouble maker than the rest of us if we give him enough time."he thinks to himself before answering old Klok.
"Klok, sir, there's no way for us to be ready for our trials. First we don't actually know what's on the other side of the shielding. Second, we really don't know to what purpose the council has us training. "
"Are we preparing for when, ..." Otis pauses rethinking his sentance. "or if, the shields falling?"
"Or are we taking the more prudent step of trying to find out what's out there before the shield falls and all of the Commonwealth is exposed to the same reality?", Otis returns with respect.
Falken eyes down the broken bolt and reaches a hand out. "Here... I can't turn it into a loaf of bread, but I can repair it. You won't even see the seams." He says jokingly at the end. He takes the broken bolt and holds the two pieces in his hands. He stares at them nervously before holding them together, blocking the broken parts from view. He closes his eyes and slowly begins to focus, a light gold light begins to emit from between his fingers and in short time, he opens his hands back up, revealing the newly repaired bolt. Good as new, as if it never broke. Inscribed on the shaft of the bolt as well, is the word Faith, written in common.
((Falken used a charge of Magical Tinkering for the inscription))
Stepping over to place his hand on Roy's shoulder, Farthran grins at him and nods, "You should always be wondering if it's enough, and as long as you can ask that of yourself, it should be. It's always the lazy ones that fail." His hand squeezes comfortingly a few times before turning to face Falken. "I'm sorry old friend, If I work you over hard, it's only to make you better. I know our way of life doesn't really give much to prove, but if that shield comes down, we have no idea what might come in. I just want everyone here, even the..." He waggles his eyebrows and wiggles his fingers a bit glancing at Gillian, "less martially inclined types to know a bit about self defense and combat."
He walks over to some racks set up on the side for holding weapons and armor and begins removing his padded pieces and placing them in appropriate spots. "The fact is, we don't know what's out there, or if the shield will come down or heal itself. We just have to prepare for the worst. Speaking of which, we should all go bath and change clothes. The monthly meeting is tonight and Elder Roceran has specifically asked that you attend. I think he wants to see what the future hope of New Commonwealth looks like." He grins and heads over to an area with large wash basins nearby the river.
Klok smiles "Klok certainly wants to see what is in store for these younglings. Falken and Klok are old. Who knows why Falken and Klok were chosen. Klok happy to aid younglings wherever Klok can. Shall we wash up and head to the meeting"
Falken nods in agreement to Farthran. "That is true. All we've ever known is that shield, and I don't think it's secret, at least to us that have seen it for longer, that it's not doing great.. Is it safe to say this will be our last trip home for a while? If so, I have some affairs I have to get in order." Falken makes sure he has all his belongings and that they are secured.
Otis will head over to the wash basins and wash up. Once dry he will put his shirt and tunic back on. He unties his hair letting his hair fall loose, as well with his beard.
–Life in the New Commonwealth was rigid and strict. Laws had to be enforced and followed to keep society from grinding to a halt. Arcane magic had been forbidden in the village from the beginning. After several people died trying to use it, everyone had had enough. Water was plentiful enough but food had initially had to be rationed after almost two hundred people just appeared out of thin air. The nearby forests were teeming with game, but the initial onslaught of hunting almost decimated the wildlife.
The races had all split up initially, trying to attempt to go about their normal ways of life but each one was too few in number back then to accomplish anything divided. They eventually came together in the one small village and built it up. They realized they would have to become united in all ways to make it work. After each race had the numbers to possibly go off on their own, they had grown fond of this new dynamic and stayed together.
After their numbers grew they knew they would have to keep the population down, so as not to outgrow this place they could not escape. Many attempts to escape the shield walls were attempted, but none had ever succeeded. Eventually attempting to bypass the shield wall was made illegal as well, the small governing force afraid of what might happen if someone actually succeeded in breaking through somehow.
What was out there beyond the walls? No one knew. The walls glowed golden to simulate the day, and turned almost black to simulate night. The skies were empty except for seven stars that shone with white brilliance and pulsed blue every hour. Over the years, the stars began to change from white to solid blue one by one until only a single star was left. That star recently changed from white to red, causing mass confusion. Why did this last star turn the color of blood instead of the blue of the others? Many think it is an ill omen.
Two hundred years passed with the shield standing strong, but for the last sixty-four years the shield has begun to weaken. Every citizen was able to feel it the moment it began, though they don’t really understand how. For years, the folk of the village have scoured the walls around it’s diameter. They have found that in a few places, the golden light of the wall would be a bit less bright, and if they look hard enough, they can see a shadow every so often. Never anything distinct enough to make out. Sometimes small golden cracks can be found that eventually seal themselves back up after a night cycle.
Several attempts to try and cure the walls have been tried, some in catastrophic failure and some not working at all. Groups are split in the village on whether the walls were meant to weaken at some point and let the folk inside out to once again prosper in the world or the walls coming down will allow whatever devastation has happened outside in to destroy all life. All that is truly certain is that the call of magic has slowly begun to surface again though the villagers are still wary of it and ban it from the village.
With the village elders wary of what may come to pass if the walls do come down, they have singled out each of you as having the makings of the heroes of old. Heroes they do not have anymore. The elders are little more than librarians and historians that wrote about the heroes and the techniques they used to champion the world against evil. You have been trained by these learned ones and your own relatives that keep the spirit of heroes and champions alive to this day, in mind if not form.
As such, you all find yourselves in a pasture on a small farm outside of New Commonwealth learning some form of combat from Sergeant Farthran Thrang. Farthran is a five foot tall dwarven male with bushy white hair and a matching long beard tucked into the front of his pants to keep it from dragging under his feet. He normally wears ringmail armor when making his rounds around town, but today he has removed those and donned some nice light padded armor and wielding a wooden battleaxe with the blades padded as well. He takes great delight in swinging this axe with greater speed than you would think an old dwarf could and sweeping your feet out from under you or bonking you hard in the chest and knocking you off your feet. “Well then, that concludes our lessons for today men. I hope I wasn’t too hard on you.” He cackles playfully, poking Roy in the chest with his axe and giving him a wink.
Otis stands to the side watching Sergeant Thrang give his bruising lesson to Roy Campbell to end today's lessons. Otis was well acquainted with those lessons. It had been Thrang that Otis' grandsire Pops had sent Otis an his brother Elmo to for weapons and armor training when they were teenagers. And it was Sergeant Thrang the council sent to arrest Otis after a few of the more reckless attempts to escape the shielding.
Otis didn't know which was worse the beating, and embarrassingly from the flat side of Sergeant Thrang's axe, or the week in the stocks. Otis didn't know what the council was up to bringing this group out here for training. But it wouldn't stop Otis from trying to get out of the shielding again.
Otis stands to the side, a bit husky for his size and its hard to tell just how much of that is muscle until he loses his tunic or shirt. Which are currently off and laying to the side. For a big guy he can move surprisingly quickly and with grace.
The size of his hands, feet, and the width of his shoulders would make most folks think he works as a wood cutter like his brother, but the constant smell of kitchen herbs that seem to hang about him gives truth to his occupation. His large hands and forearms have cut and burn scars as well as swollen knuckles from training. Similarly his shins has scars from training and strengthening against trees.
His black hair is shoulder length, but it is starting to recede at his crown. A full beard and mustache cover much of his face. Currently both drip with sweat.The usual smile on his lips and the laughter shining in his brown eyes are a bit muted.
Otis' large tattoo on his right chest, shoulder, back, and arm stands out with its swirling black twisting lines and symbols. Though dirt covers Otis, it doesn't seem to hide the tattoo any.
" I just hope I don't have to work the kitchens tonight in the tavern after this." , Otis thinks to himself.
Katerielle in Lost mine of Phandelver.
Bhelmek Thuldren in The dark tower of Cabilar.
Iam Unsure in Tower of Heaven.
Gillian watched Farthran joke with Roy, wondering why he had been chosen to join this group at all. He wasn’t strong or fast or hard nosed like the others. If anything, he more resembled a squire than a knight, more the reader of a great tale than the character in one.
Gillian’d only ever played around with his abilities in private. Either the elders have been secretly watching me this whole time, or they must have known from the start, and these abilities are something my parents knew might manifest in me... Genetic of Gifted? The source of his powers were still a mystery to him. He tucked these thoughts to the back of his mind for the next time he spoke with his father.
Snapping back into the present moment, he felt the weight of the crossbow leaning against his hand and leg. He had had a decent day in terms of accuracy, for a man no longer a boy, with no employment to speak of, or any prospects for that matter.
Gillian look at his fellow ‘hero prospects’ one at a time: there was Roy and Otis who he knew, as well a gnome, a half-orc, and an elf from around New Commonwealth. He thought to himself, Man if anyone in this group is as crazy as me, it’s gotta be this gnome, looking down on the top of his head. He send the gnome a [message] privately: “These training days making you feel any more Heroic?” while pointing his way with a half smirk.
On the bright side, now that he’s been selected for hero bootcamp, he could cast spells out in the open.
Roy decides that staring up at a dwarf is not his favorite thing he’s ever done, so he gets up in spite of the complaints from his bruised and weary body.
Roy stands taller than many men. He has the long arms and legs with broad shoulders that all speak to a lineage of knights. Warlords, if he’s honest. His smile has full, straight and white teeth over a strong jaw, beneath high cheekbones, blue eyes and fine, golden blonde hair. All of that speaks to the breeding of nobility; tyrants, if he’s honest.
He walks over to a bit of horse fence where a canteen hangs and drinks from it before letting out a breath of exertion, and a bit of a laugh in frustration.
“Farthran, you enjoy that far too much.” His wry smile falls away. “I just hope it’s enough.”
Roy starts to pull on his gambeson and such to get the chain mail he’s begun wearing everywhere back on. “I know it’ll have to be. I’m sure you all feel it. It won’t be long now.”
Paladin - warforged - orange
Like the others Grahl watches the last of todays session with Farthran. With the light of the dome's golden glow shining on Grahls bald head he makes sure he wipes the small line of blood from his lip. Mostly so his sister Talia would not fuss over him again like she had after previous training sessions. They had enough on their minds lately.
Grahl didnt mind the training sessions, knowing he can endure more than most here. Which made him wonder why this group was chosen. Looking around he knew all the faces, some better than others. It was clear why Otis and Roy were chosen, like himself they were among the young and strong of New Commonwealth. But the others? Gillian, a bookworm. And two old ones. He knew Klok and Falken and respected them for their experience but they seemed like odd picks at the moment.
As Grahl watched the training session and he would flinch a bit when the more frail ones of the party took a beating. It only made him want to spar the dwarf more himself. When Otis or Roy however sparred Falthran it was difficult to hold back a grin when they took a hit. Sometimes moving his hand over his short fangs and mouth, and moving his hand slightly down to scratch his trimmed beard to not make it to obvious.
Replying to Roy's words, It will have to be. If we train any more my beard will become longer than Falthrans. Hehe a short chuckle follows but stops as Grahl turns his head towards the shield and the brief interuption of training gets replaced by worries of what they might find outside.
Klok watched over the others training while he stood by and watched. He took a few shots with his bow to make it seem like he was training with the younglings but he was here to keep an eye on their training. He was tasked with making sure they were taking it seriously but also to see how the younglings got along with one another. Klok decided he had seen enough for the day and approached the others, with the use of his walking stick, from the fence he was leaning against.
"Well younglings, how are we feeling about our training? Klok is tired from swinging swords and shooting arrows. Do you feel ready to face the trials ahead?" He says smiling at the younglings who have just finished up.
“thank you for showing me how to use this crossbow Klok, makes me feel like I could almost be useful out there.” Gillian answers the elder politely, imagining himself a comedy of errors fumbling for a bolt and by the time he shot it, only to hit the lifeless body of an already dead target that Roy or Otis had brought down.
Looking up at the orange dome, Gillian wondered if anyone in the group had been outside the barrier. He [messaged] Klok, “Have you been out there? Any clues as to what we are to face?”
He started to walk out towards the firing range to find any bolts laying about. He had a feeling similar to the idea of not wasting paper, knowing each piece took time, both the materials procured and the craftsmanship executed. He practices his [mage hand] along the way, seeing if it was strong and dexterous enough to pick the bolts up so he didn’t have to bend down for each one.
a crackle of variance in the dome caught his eye, as his gaze shot up towards the now red star that brooded bloody.
Falken's hands fall to his knees as he begins huffing and puffing after the lesson. He bends back up and places a hand on his back. "Come on Farthran, you know I'm not fit for this.." Falken huffs and puffs a bit more. "I haven't been this active since Lilly was a child." He removes the hand from his back and does some very, very, very light stretching. He then pops the cork off a vial filled with a light blue liquid. He drinks it and let's out a refreshing. "Ahhh... That's much better... So when is the next training day my friend?" He asks, with a slight hint of sarcasm.
Falken has white hair that seems thin and looks as if it would be stiff if touched. His eyebrows are bushy and his beard and mustache are fairly long. He sports a pair of goggles on his head with a set of leather armor over his chest and legs. He has a regular size backpack, which looks larger in comparison to him. His pack his filled with various different supplies and tools which he uses to concoct his various potions and salves.
((My apologies, I didn't fully read everyone's posts, so I didn't realize Gillian sent me a message.))
Falken whips his head around as the words enter his head, trying to find the source. "WHA... WHO!!!" As he scans the group, he sees Gillian looking over in his direction. He stops for a moment and just stares Gillian down. "Is it you!? Are you in my head?" He asks, rudely, his voice cracking at times, like a teenager going through puberty.
I don't have a signature.
Klok sees Falken's reaction to what appears to be a message sent by magical means. Klok receives one as well but does not startle. Klok has read up on how magic was used before the shield went up.
Arcana 8
Understanding the spell that was used on Falken and himself he answers in his head.
"No, Gillian nor have I ever tried to go outside the shield. However, I fear our fate may be pushing us in that direction"
Gillian took Klok’s response in stride, knowing that the truth wasn’t gonna be pretty either way. He kept picking up bolts with his mage hand. Klok’s calmness helped Gillian believe they had a chance of not all getting themselves killed right away, maybe just killed eventually.
Turning his gaze toward Falken while the corners of his mouth turned upward, Gillian replied out loud: “And now you’re in mine! Got any tricks of your own?”
The look on Falken's face turns more into a nervous look. He looks around real quick then looks down. His foot begins to tap rapidly and he scratches his arm as he responds to Gillian. "I learned some things when I was a youngin, but nothing I've touched in a long time... But neat trick!" He says, quickly changing his look and tone to be a more joyful one.
I don't have a signature.
Arriving at the target dummy he was practicing on, Gillian yanked at the 3 bolts lodged in its chest, struggling with the 3rd before it tore a little more of the fabric of the dummy on its way out. Noticing a bolt among the weeds whose staff had splintered apart, he threw the rest in his sack while keeping the broken bolt’s two halves in his hands. Sweeping the area one last time to make sure he got them all, Gillian began walking back to the group, hungry both for a meal as well as some actual action.
”If one of you could turn this cracked bolt into a few loafs of bread, now that’d be something. I’m starving,” he commented daydreamingly, not expecting a reply.
Otis walks over to his shirt and tunic picking them up. Turning to see Gillian messing with that elders, Otis smiles. " For a quiet one, Gillian's going to be more of a trouble maker than the rest of us if we give him enough time." he thinks to himself before answering old Klok.
"Klok, sir, there's no way for us to be ready for our trials. First we don't actually know what's on the other side of the shielding. Second, we really don't know to what purpose the council has us training. "
"Are we preparing for when, ..." Otis pauses rethinking his sentance. "or if, the shields falling?"
"Or are we taking the more prudent step of trying to find out what's out there before the shield falls and all of the Commonwealth is exposed to the same reality?", Otis returns with respect.
Katerielle in Lost mine of Phandelver.
Bhelmek Thuldren in The dark tower of Cabilar.
Iam Unsure in Tower of Heaven.
Falken eyes down the broken bolt and reaches a hand out. "Here... I can't turn it into a loaf of bread, but I can repair it. You won't even see the seams." He says jokingly at the end. He takes the broken bolt and holds the two pieces in his hands. He stares at them nervously before holding them together, blocking the broken parts from view. He closes his eyes and slowly begins to focus, a light gold light begins to emit from between his fingers and in short time, he opens his hands back up, revealing the newly repaired bolt. Good as new, as if it never broke. Inscribed on the shaft of the bolt as well, is the word Faith, written in common.
((Falken used a charge of Magical Tinkering for the inscription))
I don't have a signature.
Stepping over to place his hand on Roy's shoulder, Farthran grins at him and nods, "You should always be wondering if it's enough, and as long as you can ask that of yourself, it should be. It's always the lazy ones that fail." His hand squeezes comfortingly a few times before turning to face Falken. "I'm sorry old friend, If I work you over hard, it's only to make you better. I know our way of life doesn't really give much to prove, but if that shield comes down, we have no idea what might come in. I just want everyone here, even the..." He waggles his eyebrows and wiggles his fingers a bit glancing at Gillian, "less martially inclined types to know a bit about self defense and combat."
He walks over to some racks set up on the side for holding weapons and armor and begins removing his padded pieces and placing them in appropriate spots. "The fact is, we don't know what's out there, or if the shield will come down or heal itself. We just have to prepare for the worst. Speaking of which, we should all go bath and change clothes. The monthly meeting is tonight and Elder Roceran has specifically asked that you attend. I think he wants to see what the future hope of New Commonwealth looks like." He grins and heads over to an area with large wash basins nearby the river.
Klok smiles "Klok certainly wants to see what is in store for these younglings. Falken and Klok are old. Who knows why Falken and Klok were chosen. Klok happy to aid younglings wherever Klok can. Shall we wash up and head to the meeting"
Falken nods in agreement to Farthran. "That is true. All we've ever known is that shield, and I don't think it's secret, at least to us that have seen it for longer, that it's not doing great.. Is it safe to say this will be our last trip home for a while? If so, I have some affairs I have to get in order." Falken makes sure he has all his belongings and that they are secured.
I don't have a signature.
Otis will head over to the wash basins and wash up. Once dry he will put his shirt and tunic back on. He unties his hair letting his hair fall loose, as well with his beard.
Katerielle in Lost mine of Phandelver.
Bhelmek Thuldren in The dark tower of Cabilar.
Iam Unsure in Tower of Heaven.
Klok follows suit and washes up
Roy takes off the armor he’d just been strapping on, and heads for the basins.
“I think a bath sounds just right. And if one of you has some magic to warm that water up, I’d enjoy that immensely.”
Paladin - warforged - orange