It happened in a flash. One moment you were gawping at a pamphlet, taken in by its beautiful colours and moving shapes, the next a bright light obscured your vision. As your eyes adjust you look to your hand, it still contains the piece of paper, yet your surroundings have changed.
You hear shouts and screams of excitement, of laughter, of sheer joy - it is a stark contrast from where you were. Looking up you see the very Carnival that was depicted on the pamphlet, it looms over you intimidatingly. Others are gathered around you, Carnival-goers, excited smiles on their faces.
You shiver. It is dawn on a chilly, autumn morning. The ground is hard and hoary with frost. Not more than 20 feet to your left you see Carnival workers crowding around a communal fire, they drink from hot, steaming mugs. Whatever they contain looks and smells delicious. You note a real sense of comradery between those at the campfire. Brightly decorated wagons - a plethora of colour - sit behind them.
A loud, booming voice breaks you out of your reverie,“Welcome, one! Welcome, all! Welcome to the short, and welcome to the tall! Welcome angels, welcome fiends, welcome to all from walks between! Welcome to the Carnival! Step right up and lay your eyes on our menagerie of the macabre, our gathering of the grotesque, our collection of the curious, our festival of freaks!”. The lines are delivered with such expertise that you find yourself drawn in. The voice belongs to a gentleman dressed in a rather odd outfit, yellow and purple, he wears white face paint with a giant red smile.
“For a mere pair of copper coins, you can behold wonders beyond your wildest dreams and nightmares! Yes, that’s right folks - just two thin coppers buys you a ticket to thrills and chilling revelations! Step right this way and through the first curtain!”. You note a couple of people, tentatively at first, make their way on through the curtain - throwing their 2 coppers into a collection bucket as they pass through.
Moving forward, you attempt to see what all the hubbub is about. “Not you, Stranger!”The voice calls in your direction. You look around, was he speaking to you? It is then that you notice that you are not the only person looking a little lost and out of place; there is a group of you, 6 in total.
“Yeah - you lot!”The man yells, waving his hand, calling you over, “Oh no, you lot come with me. Got someone you oughta meet!”
Everyone feel free to introduce their characters. What do the others see when they look over towards you? Are you confident or shy? Well-dressed, squalid, or manacled? Who will approach the gentleman first - will it be you? **Randomly points over to one of the players!**
A grizzled human with a shock of nicely combed salt-n-pepper hair pulls a flyer away from his face. He lets his sausage fingers fall to his waist, still grasping the corner of the paper he had just been looking at. He turns to looks at the other 5 in the group being summoned by the jester. Even through his thick mountainman beard you can see his mouth is slightly agape in shock. He straightens his natural-leather buckskin vest over a barrel chest that wouldn't be out of place on a dockworker and absently wipes wipes mud and peat moss off his woolen tunic and hose.
Folding the flyer and putting it in his vest pocket, he ignores the jester for now. He looks to the rest of the group carrying flyers. He clears his throat like the rumble of distant thunder and says in a deep but friendly voice with an accent similar to the carnie's, "You all are looking a bit lost. Did you also... just... arrive? Just now?" He sounds like he's testing the waters; making sure he's not crazy.
Edit: Once people start talking a bit, he will introduce himself as Boyd Nilsson
a short (even for gnomes) grey skinner wrinkly male is barely awake. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. His eyes hide cleaver instincts and resilience, tested by the events of the last few months. At moments his eyes dart around, and it seems he is interacting with or talking to someone who isn’t in the room.
as the pamphlet falls from his face, stuck on with saliva, he sits up and looks around. He wonders to himself “what did you bring me back for?”
“I’m pretty sure we all just died.” He replies, unknowing and not yet caring who asked the question.
He starts rubbing his eyes in disbelief, slowly awakening himself and becoming more alert. suddenly he pays his pockets and looks around frantically… finding a sack laying against his leg he opens it to reveal some crossbows daggers and other devices. “This part of the package too?” He says to nobody, while instinctually clinging to the possessions.
The frosty ground burns Faila's feet and she shifts from first one foot, then to the other, inadequately wrapped as they are in lengths of wool scraps. Thin, undernourished, and not especially tall, this girl is no more than a teenager, with dark skin like a southerner and bright, alert eyes that try to watch everything. Her head is covered by a scarf wrapped in a kind of turban, and a thin and ragged long underdress, and a shorter overdress, are the only garments shielding her from the cold. Her fingers, numb from the cold on hands also inadequately wrapped in fabric scraps, grip the edges of the pamphlet even as the wind snatches it out of her fingers.
Where is she? The absolute disorientation she feels gives her no purchase to move or speak, but a familiar and more pressing consideration soon leaps to her senses as she takes in the strange and sudden scene before her.
Fire, and food! Silently she makes straight for the carnival workers drinking and chatting around the fire, her eyes fixed on the nearest mug. It takes her a moment to realize that the costumed man is shouting at her---calling her over---and a group of others as well. But, she just got here. And where is here? How does this man know her? Who are these others?
The warmth of the fire is much more enticing than the summons, however, and she plants herself as close to it as she can, her gaze drifting back to one of the steaming mugs with a hungry longing.
They had found her at last. As she knew they would. Wait... had they?
Nikita glances around with puzzlement - not at the location but of course at the teleportation itself and her new... group? "You lot"? That made no sense. This didn't have the feel of Iuz's minions decisively closing the jaws of some inscrutable trap. And why would they teleport her from one spot in Saltmarsh to another spot less than a mile away without capturing her in the process? Or were these manacles of a type she could not see or feel?
When she first arrived in Saltmarsh, a backwater on the southern coast of Keoland where she assumed she could finally go to ground, she had been thrilled to see the Carnival in town. What better place to blend in and take on a new identity? Not that she knew how to do that very well apparently. She knew her blades, her bow, and the beginnings of her magic. But then she had turned a corner to see an establishment with a sign that read "Faithful Quartermasters of Iuz" right there in the middle of the town and the relief had turned to ashes in her mouth. It was in that moment of sudden horror and confusion that the pamphlet found her. Almost compelled her to look. And had transported her... here. Just a five minute walk away from where she had been by the looks of it.
She glances to her shoulder and is comforted to see her familiar, Thumbtack, still perched on her shoulder. The dark grey owl's eyes close slowly, then dawn once more.
Well... if this is an elaborate, drawn-out capture by Iuz and his minions and they could teleport her at will, then running would be no use. She has nothing to do but hope this is something... else. It is even pleasant to be among the carnival crowd. She has been alone for years it feels like, though in truth it had only been months since Iuz had sussed out and compromised her coterie of spies from the Faerie Kingdom of Celene. Months on the run south, back from the demonspawn Iuz's land through Furyondy and Celene where none would acknowledge her any longer, over the mountains to Ulek, through most of Keoland and finally here. The southernmost little toe of what she had thought of as "the world."
She missed her friends, but they were gone. Dead or worse. Perhaps it was time to make new ones. She looks around at the oddly mismatched group, all of them seemingly just as puzzled, and somehow looking even more lost then she. At least one of them seems to be starving. If this is some weird, unnecessary ruse by those chasing her, so be it. She is so tired of running, after all. So very tired.
----- -----
A young elven woman stands before you with a tiny owl on her shoulder and a book peeking out of her backpack. She has a lithe, athletic build and shoulder-length fair hair tied back, but a harsh scar across the right side of her face prevents her from being beautiful. She consciously puts on a blank, unreadable expression, but just prior to that you briefly sense... not confusion, but at least uncertainty followed by resignation. She has the upright, confident stance of someone born to at least minor nobility, though she wears somewhat threadbare common travelling clothes. She carries a rapier at her hip and a longbow with a quiver of arrows slung behind her shoulder. But other than her scar, it is her piercing eyes that stand out, deep blue like the sea just after sunset.
She forces a smile at the group, squares her shoulders, then addresses the jester with an amiable but empty expression on her face. "Well then? I am Nikita Tantsora. Let's get this over with."
“Get what over with? Unfortunately I suspect this is another beginning… tit for tat, one death for one life. Again and again. Makes me wanna throw up sometimes.”
“nikita eh? I’m Nick Nack, but you can call me anything you want, I’m barely me anymore, certainly not who I used to be. Who cares? Yah let’s go is right! Thanks for the reminder deary” he winks at her then stares at the jester.
Under a hairless furrowed brow, large cobalt eyes blink quickly as they dart about, taking in the scene. A blank-yet-somehow-finely-featured face slowly turns to briefly study each individual. Smooth blue skin appearing from under a heavy, hooded cloak seems eerie in the flicker of the campfire and the accompanying tall, rail thin frame doesn't ease the discomfort of encountering such an alien creature in low light and under such bewildering circumstances.
In one long, elegant stride Meresaa moves to Faila's side and reaches down to wrap one side of her long cloak around the poor girl, drawing her in to the residual heat of the laboratory she inexplicably left behind.
"My child, you're freezing. Let's get you inside," she says in a quiet, soothing voice.
Looking back to the others she replies to each in turn, "It appears we've all just arrived and are in various states of discomfort. But I can assure you that I, for one, am very much alive and would prefer to remain that way by getting in out of the cold."
Focusing on Nikita, she squares her narrow shoulders imperiously. "It seems you've formed some sort of expectations already. The work of a quick mind. I can appreciate that. Why don't we follow this barker fellow until we find a more suitable place to discuss exactly what you'd like to get over with, hm?"
She begins to move, slowly, guiding Falia after the harlequined gentleman (if she'll follow).
Looking (way) down at Nick Nack, her eyes narrow slightly as she chews a lip and begins moving. Quietly, seemingly to herself, she says, "Feisty. I like it."
Nikita sighs and softens her gaze a bit. Perhaps this is Iuz's true revenge - a lifetime ahead, always seeing doom at every turn, even without cause.
"None of are what we used to be I suppose," she murmurs, ostensibly to Nick Nack, "but not dead yet, I think." She looks at the gnome again and is suddenly not sure.
The tall blue one has the right of it. If this isn't a trap, then better not to make assumptions. And warm up that poor girl - why didn't I think of that?
If Nikita sees Faila still close to any fire, she casts Prestidigitation, only slightly affecting the flames, gently increasing the heat while reducing the smoke. She inclines her head downward respectfully towards Meresaa. "As you say, my lady." As she follows the jester along with the group, Nikita thinks for a moment about some of their reactions.
Death for life? The starving girl barely clothed? The grizzled man asking if everyone had just arrived?
"I am from the North. I arrived in Saltmarsh but ten minutes back and saw the carnival from a distance. But then just now this pamphlet seems to have transported me from just over there," (Nikita points to another area of the town) "to here in the midst of it. Why, I could not say."
She turns to the grizzled man quizzically. "Where have you come from?"
“You sure we are alive? I meant Im not tying to die, but i could have sworn I was dying, if. It dead, and. Is I’m here. Any maybe that’s every life… you doze off for a bit, and you wake up another person in another time. Only sometimes they seem similar enough to be convinced it’s the same you.”
Nick nack is ready for anything, fully awake and annoyed to be. “So in this life are we best friends? Are we enemies? Leeme know, and fast!
Faila doesn't notice at first as the tall woman steps out of the shadows, and she jumps, startled, as she is wrapped in the cloak. But the warmth is immediately enticing, and being invited inside somewhere is something that the girl never turns down. "Yes, please," she says, haltingly, struggling for just a moment to remember her manners. She follows willingly, and as the conversation continues, she looks curiously at each of the others.
The squinty, wrinkled gnome.... the noble, haughty elf.... the grizzled man looks the most normal and reassuring to her, and she can't quite get a good look at the blue woman without letting too much cold air in under the cloak. But she's being invited inside, and there might even be food.
Grumpy but satisfied, “great! Another one I’ll have to protect!”
he looks up to the sky “why don’t you kill me now! Or you gonna make me love this one and then rip her from me and forCe me to watch?!” Nick turns back to the group.
“alright, what’s the deal this time? We a gang?” He starts grabbing at meresaa’s leg, “ we got matching tattoos or somethin’ ? Or some silly name?” He is overjoyed at people he can annoy lovingly.
Ermasnietsz stands silently and observes the actions of the strangers. Nobody has acknowledge her presence yet. That's not unusual. She wouldn't look out of place.
The gentleman that called out to you stands and watches in amusement, for the first time in his life that he could remember he was truly lost for words. He approaches the group of bewildered strangers, laughing as he walks; his laughter is deep and rich, filled with mirth. He stops just before you and claps his hands, slowly.
"Brilliant, simply brilliant!" He chuckles, "If you fail in the task my mistress has in mind for you, you are certainly welcome to join as an act!". You get the sense that his words are not unkind, but are a little mocking. "OH, but where are my manners? My name is Tindal. Tindal at your service, sir!”Tindal gives a deep, exaggerated bow. Spotting Meresaa and Faila, Tindal looks wide-eyed. "My dear ladies, please. If I could have the honour of accompanying you around the Carnival, it would be a pleasure. I think the first stop best be that campfire, by the looks of it. They'll have warm, spiced wine for you there... and perhaps more weather-appropriate clothing." You note a tinge of concern on Tindal's voice, "We take care of our own here. You are all guests, any tour can wait until you are all suitably watered and fed."
With that Tindal guides you towards the campfire. "Skurra." Tindal declares, at first you think he may have coughed or got something caught in his throat. "S'what they're called - Skurra. They are the owners of the wagons," he gestures around. Tindal's face lights up as though he remembered something deeply important,"Oh! Uhh - Just behold the Skurra's bombastic banners! Each canvas filled with amazing images to entice the imagination, each one a masterpiece!". You get the sense that it is an advertising pitch of sorts, as though he feels obliged to tell you the details - in short, it is delivered in a deeply unnatural and slightly forced way.
"Truth be told, they're alright." Tindal says as you approach the campfire, the Skurra make room for you - they look equally displeased by the inclement weather. "Anyone for any spiced wine... or, uh, any food?!" Tindal declares, the Skurra glare at him, but say nothing.
Boyd follows Tindal to the campfire surrounded by the wagons' owners. He allows the strangely-dressed man to complete his "sales pitch" before agreeing to take some food and drink, "Aye, that wouldn't go amiss right now." He accepts some spiced wine and whatever food they have cooking and finally answers Nikita, "So, you too, eh? I was just outside of Monmurg not 5 minutes ago. Look at the flyer, look down, and 'bang' I'm here." He sniffs sharply, and then takes a drink of warm wine.
"They've gathered up..." he mouths each number as he counts those around him who seem to be in the same situation."five. Five or maybe six of us." His gaze lingers on Ermaznietsz, about whom he isn't sure. He suddenly starts, "ah, manners.." he wipes his hand off on his pants, but veins of dirt seem to be etched permanently between his calluses. He extends it to Nikita, "Boyd Nilsson" he says, then extends kind of nods and smiles at the rest, including the Skurra, by means of introduction.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“Wine and dine us, loosen our inhibitions eh? Perhaps in another life buddy” nick instantly regrets not taking the offer, but stubbornly holds his ground.
“Boyd Nilsson eh? Nick Nack’s the name, but don’t go wearing’ it out!” It would be nice to have someone who cared enough to remember his name though…
“Alright alright! Show us what yah got y’all,! Not like we wudda got brought back just for dinner and a show, and to be the audience no less,” Nick casts eldritch blast straight into the sky like a firework without looking up. He is everyone in the face for revealing their fears and intentions (insight 7)
Meresaa calmly reaches down and removes Nick's hands from her. In an amused yet firm tone she says, "Any tattoos I may have would be mine to share, not yours to find, Mr. Nack. And the assumption that any among us are props for you to protect or fall in love with — in what I'm sure is a most fascinating inner monologue — is a bit off-putting to say the least." She nods in silent thanks to Tindal as she accepts a mug of spiced wine and promptly places it in Nick's hands. "Here," she says with a warm smile. "Something comforting to occupy those hands and that mouth."
"Nikita. Boyd Nilsson." She nods to each as she repeats their names. "Silent lurker," she smiles at Ermasnietsz. "It's a pleasure to meet each of you. My name is Meresaa and I must admit that I have absolutely no idea where we are. It seems some of us came from relatively near but this one," she looks down to her side and pulls the edge of her cloak back slightly from Faila's face, "doesn't seem like she's from anywhere with this kind of weather and I..." she trails off for a moment, looking up to the sky before meeting their gazes once more. "I don't even recognize the stars here so I can only surmise that I am continents (if not worlds) away from home."
She sighs.
"You say this place is called Saltmarsh? I've never heard of it. I was researching instability in planar gates and I suppose these are my just deserts for not proceeding with caution..."
She accepts whatever food is offered and passes it to Faila.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Nikita returns the grizzled man's handshake and smile, warmth ruined slightly as always by her scar, simply repeating his name with a nod. "Boyd Nilsson." There was a time as a young girl that such men both fascinated and scared her. No longer. She had met so many on her long flight from Iuz's wrath, working alongside them as hired hands and mercenaries for merchant caravans bound ever south. There was even the charming young one that Nikita had snuck off to the edge of the forest with once, when the need to escape the oppressive fear in her mind had grown too great...
She shakes her head slightly. There is something a bit different about Boyd, though. Monmurg? Further south than Nikita has ever been, though not so far from Saltmarsh as she thinks about. An island in the Azure Sea. As the youngest child in her family, her frustrated wanderlust had led her to devour maps and tales and history from far away. She recalled reading fanciful yarns of pirates who styled themselves as princes and of another more sinister group, though her memory on that is fuzzy.
History check if needed: 11
So Boyd had been transported by the pamphlet just as she had - from significantly farther away but still within this world and even fairly close by in the context of the Flanaess. The tall blue lady, Meresaa, and perhaps the others, however, seem to be from somewhere else entirely. She doesn't recognize the stars?
"My lady, we are on the southern coast of Keoland." Nikita pauses to look for any recognition on the face of Meresaa or the others (besides Boyd). "In the Flanaess." Another pause. "On Oerth?" Nikita looks around at the group a bit bewildered as she accepts the warm wine if offered, but does not yet drink. Who are these people?
Nick Nack's upward Eldritch Blast startles her slightly but also makes some things clearer as to the gnome's strange behavior and conversation with some invisible Other. She winks at the gnome. Reminded of her duties as a spell-caster, Nikita again uses Prestidigitation on the nearby fire to increase its heat and reduce the smoke in the hopes that Faila can warm herself up.
Nikita nods with respect at the Skurra and at the member of their group she still knows nothing of. The lurker. Don't let your guard down. Any of these people could still be an agent of Iuz. She extends a hand with studied politeness. "I am Nikita. Have you been transported here suddenly as the rest of us appear to have been?"
Nick enjoys the spiced wine now that he sees other drinkin g it and not fall to their deaths. “Thanks hun lemme ask you something” (he keeps firing eldritch blast after eldritch blast into the air with his off hand, a kid playing with fireworks. “Do you remember where you were just before you showed up here?”
he leans in sloooooowwwwwwly, “cause I’m telling yah I was dead. Not sleeping, not dreaming, dead! “ he downs the wine and keeps firing eldritch blasts …. And another eldritch blast…… and yet another eldritch blast.
“I know what I saw, and I know I made a mistake even reaching out towards it, but here we are… and if anything, THIS is the dream I tell you! This is the dream.” Nick notices Nikita playing with the fire and smiles. Turning to meressa , “you see that? Show us why they brought you here too. I’m sure you aren’t some joe shmo dead crow.”
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Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect
Characters
Introducing;
Boyd Nilsson - Human Rogue - Rockchewer
Ermasnietsz (The Timekeeper) - Reborn Sorcerer - InkedBee
Faila - Human Druid - ConstancePhokas
Meresaa - Vedalken Artificer - shadow1784
Nick Nack - Gnome Warlock - EyePaddle
Nikita Tantsora - Elf Wizard - Tybard
The time is now!
Everyone feel free to introduce their characters. What do the others see when they look over towards you? Are you confident or shy? Well-dressed, squalid, or manacled? Who will approach the gentleman first - will it be you? **Randomly points over to one of the players!**
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
A grizzled human with a shock of nicely combed salt-n-pepper hair pulls a flyer away from his face. He lets his sausage fingers fall to his waist, still grasping the corner of the paper he had just been looking at. He turns to looks at the other 5 in the group being summoned by the jester. Even through his thick mountainman beard you can see his mouth is slightly agape in shock. He straightens his natural-leather buckskin vest over a barrel chest that wouldn't be out of place on a dockworker and absently wipes wipes mud and peat moss off his woolen tunic and hose.
Folding the flyer and putting it in his vest pocket, he ignores the jester for now. He looks to the rest of the group carrying flyers. He clears his throat like the rumble of distant thunder and says in a deep but friendly voice with an accent similar to the carnie's, "You all are looking a bit lost. Did you also... just... arrive? Just now?" He sounds like he's testing the waters; making sure he's not crazy.
Edit: Once people start talking a bit, he will introduce himself as Boyd Nilsson
a short (even for gnomes) grey skinner wrinkly male is barely awake. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. His eyes hide cleaver instincts and resilience, tested by the events of the last few months. At moments his eyes dart around, and it seems he is interacting with or talking to someone who isn’t in the room.
as the pamphlet falls from his face, stuck on with saliva, he sits up and looks around. He wonders to himself “what did you bring me back for?”
“I’m pretty sure we all just died.” He replies, unknowing and not yet caring who asked the question.
He starts rubbing his eyes in disbelief, slowly awakening himself and becoming more alert. suddenly he pays his pockets and looks around frantically… finding a sack laying against his leg he opens it to reveal some crossbows daggers and other devices. “This part of the package too?” He says to nobody, while instinctually clinging to the possessions.
The frosty ground burns Faila's feet and she shifts from first one foot, then to the other, inadequately wrapped as they are in lengths of wool scraps. Thin, undernourished, and not especially tall, this girl is no more than a teenager, with dark skin like a southerner and bright, alert eyes that try to watch everything. Her head is covered by a scarf wrapped in a kind of turban, and a thin and ragged long underdress, and a shorter overdress, are the only garments shielding her from the cold. Her fingers, numb from the cold on hands also inadequately wrapped in fabric scraps, grip the edges of the pamphlet even as the wind snatches it out of her fingers.
Where is she? The absolute disorientation she feels gives her no purchase to move or speak, but a familiar and more pressing consideration soon leaps to her senses as she takes in the strange and sudden scene before her.
Fire, and food! Silently she makes straight for the carnival workers drinking and chatting around the fire, her eyes fixed on the nearest mug. It takes her a moment to realize that the costumed man is shouting at her---calling her over---and a group of others as well. But, she just got here. And where is here? How does this man know her? Who are these others?
The warmth of the fire is much more enticing than the summons, however, and she plants herself as close to it as she can, her gaze drifting back to one of the steaming mugs with a hungry longing.
They had found her at last. As she knew they would. Wait... had they?
Nikita glances around with puzzlement - not at the location but of course at the teleportation itself and her new... group? "You lot"? That made no sense. This didn't have the feel of Iuz's minions decisively closing the jaws of some inscrutable trap. And why would they teleport her from one spot in Saltmarsh to another spot less than a mile away without capturing her in the process? Or were these manacles of a type she could not see or feel?
When she first arrived in Saltmarsh, a backwater on the southern coast of Keoland where she assumed she could finally go to ground, she had been thrilled to see the Carnival in town. What better place to blend in and take on a new identity? Not that she knew how to do that very well apparently. She knew her blades, her bow, and the beginnings of her magic. But then she had turned a corner to see an establishment with a sign that read "Faithful Quartermasters of Iuz" right there in the middle of the town and the relief had turned to ashes in her mouth. It was in that moment of sudden horror and confusion that the pamphlet found her. Almost compelled her to look. And had transported her... here. Just a five minute walk away from where she had been by the looks of it.
She glances to her shoulder and is comforted to see her familiar, Thumbtack, still perched on her shoulder. The dark grey owl's eyes close slowly, then dawn once more.
Well... if this is an elaborate, drawn-out capture by Iuz and his minions and they could teleport her at will, then running would be no use. She has nothing to do but hope this is something... else. It is even pleasant to be among the carnival crowd. She has been alone for years it feels like, though in truth it had only been months since Iuz had sussed out and compromised her coterie of spies from the Faerie Kingdom of Celene. Months on the run south, back from the demonspawn Iuz's land through Furyondy and Celene where none would acknowledge her any longer, over the mountains to Ulek, through most of Keoland and finally here. The southernmost little toe of what she had thought of as "the world."
She missed her friends, but they were gone. Dead or worse. Perhaps it was time to make new ones. She looks around at the oddly mismatched group, all of them seemingly just as puzzled, and somehow looking even more lost then she. At least one of them seems to be starving. If this is some weird, unnecessary ruse by those chasing her, so be it. She is so tired of running, after all. So very tired.
----- -----
A young elven woman stands before you with a tiny owl on her shoulder and a book peeking out of her backpack. She has a lithe, athletic build and shoulder-length fair hair tied back, but a harsh scar across the right side of her face prevents her from being beautiful. She consciously puts on a blank, unreadable expression, but just prior to that you briefly sense... not confusion, but at least uncertainty followed by resignation. She has the upright, confident stance of someone born to at least minor nobility, though she wears somewhat threadbare common travelling clothes. She carries a rapier at her hip and a longbow with a quiver of arrows slung behind her shoulder. But other than her scar, it is her piercing eyes that stand out, deep blue like the sea just after sunset.
She forces a smile at the group, squares her shoulders, then addresses the jester with an amiable but empty expression on her face. "Well then? I am Nikita Tantsora. Let's get this over with."
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
“Get what over with? Unfortunately I suspect this is another beginning… tit for tat, one death for one life. Again and again. Makes me wanna throw up sometimes.”
“nikita eh? I’m Nick Nack, but you can call me anything you want, I’m barely me anymore, certainly not who I used to be. Who cares? Yah let’s go is right! Thanks for the reminder deary” he winks at her then stares at the jester.
Under a hairless furrowed brow, large cobalt eyes blink quickly as they dart about, taking in the scene. A blank-yet-somehow-finely-featured face slowly turns to briefly study each individual. Smooth blue skin appearing from under a heavy, hooded cloak seems eerie in the flicker of the campfire and the accompanying tall, rail thin frame doesn't ease the discomfort of encountering such an alien creature in low light and under such bewildering circumstances.
In one long, elegant stride Meresaa moves to Faila's side and reaches down to wrap one side of her long cloak around the poor girl, drawing her in to the residual heat of the laboratory she inexplicably left behind.
"My child, you're freezing. Let's get you inside," she says in a quiet, soothing voice.
Looking back to the others she replies to each in turn, "It appears we've all just arrived and are in various states of discomfort. But I can assure you that I, for one, am very much alive and would prefer to remain that way by getting in out of the cold."
Focusing on Nikita, she squares her narrow shoulders imperiously. "It seems you've formed some sort of expectations already. The work of a quick mind. I can appreciate that. Why don't we follow this barker fellow until we find a more suitable place to discuss exactly what you'd like to get over with, hm?"
She begins to move, slowly, guiding Falia after the harlequined gentleman (if she'll follow).
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne
Looking (way) down at Nick Nack, her eyes narrow slightly as she chews a lip and begins moving. Quietly, seemingly to herself, she says, "Feisty. I like it."
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne
Nikita sighs and softens her gaze a bit. Perhaps this is Iuz's true revenge - a lifetime ahead, always seeing doom at every turn, even without cause.
"None of are what we used to be I suppose," she murmurs, ostensibly to Nick Nack, "but not dead yet, I think." She looks at the gnome again and is suddenly not sure.
The tall blue one has the right of it. If this isn't a trap, then better not to make assumptions. And warm up that poor girl - why didn't I think of that?
If Nikita sees Faila still close to any fire, she casts Prestidigitation, only slightly affecting the flames, gently increasing the heat while reducing the smoke. She inclines her head downward respectfully towards Meresaa. "As you say, my lady." As she follows the jester along with the group, Nikita thinks for a moment about some of their reactions.
Death for life? The starving girl barely clothed? The grizzled man asking if everyone had just arrived?
"I am from the North. I arrived in Saltmarsh but ten minutes back and saw the carnival from a distance. But then just now this pamphlet seems to have transported me from just over there," (Nikita points to another area of the town) "to here in the midst of it. Why, I could not say."
She turns to the grizzled man quizzically. "Where have you come from?"
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
“You sure we are alive? I meant Im not tying to die, but i could have sworn I was dying, if. It dead, and. Is I’m here. Any maybe that’s every life… you doze off for a bit, and you wake up another person in another time. Only sometimes they seem similar enough to be convinced it’s the same you.”
Nick nack is ready for anything, fully awake and annoyed to be. “So in this life are we best friends? Are we enemies? Leeme know, and fast!
Faila doesn't notice at first as the tall woman steps out of the shadows, and she jumps, startled, as she is wrapped in the cloak. But the warmth is immediately enticing, and being invited inside somewhere is something that the girl never turns down. "Yes, please," she says, haltingly, struggling for just a moment to remember her manners. She follows willingly, and as the conversation continues, she looks curiously at each of the others.
The squinty, wrinkled gnome.... the noble, haughty elf.... the grizzled man looks the most normal and reassuring to her, and she can't quite get a good look at the blue woman without letting too much cold air in under the cloak. But she's being invited inside, and there might even be food.
Nikita can't help shaking her head and smiling at the chatty and disquieting gnome.
"Not enemies I hope. I already have a thousand enemies and one, and no friends left to speak of."
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Grumpy but satisfied, “great! Another one I’ll have to protect!”
he looks up to the sky “why don’t you kill me now! Or you gonna make me love this one and then rip her from me and forCe me to watch?!” Nick turns back to the group.
“alright, what’s the deal this time? We a gang?” He starts grabbing at meresaa’s leg, “ we got matching tattoos or somethin’ ? Or some silly name?” He is overjoyed at people he can annoy lovingly.
Ermasnietsz stands silently and observes the actions of the strangers. Nobody has acknowledge her presence yet. That's not unusual. She wouldn't look out of place.
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
The gentleman that called out to you stands and watches in amusement, for the first time in his life that he could remember he was truly lost for words. He approaches the group of bewildered strangers, laughing as he walks; his laughter is deep and rich, filled with mirth. He stops just before you and claps his hands, slowly.
"Brilliant, simply brilliant!" He chuckles, "If you fail in the task my mistress has in mind for you, you are certainly welcome to join as an act!". You get the sense that his words are not unkind, but are a little mocking. "OH, but where are my manners? My name is Tindal. Tindal at your service, sir!” Tindal gives a deep, exaggerated bow. Spotting Meresaa and Faila, Tindal looks wide-eyed. "My dear ladies, please. If I could have the honour of accompanying you around the Carnival, it would be a pleasure. I think the first stop best be that campfire, by the looks of it. They'll have warm, spiced wine for you there... and perhaps more weather-appropriate clothing." You note a tinge of concern on Tindal's voice, "We take care of our own here. You are all guests, any tour can wait until you are all suitably watered and fed."
With that Tindal guides you towards the campfire. "Skurra." Tindal declares, at first you think he may have coughed or got something caught in his throat. "S'what they're called - Skurra. They are the owners of the wagons," he gestures around. Tindal's face lights up as though he remembered something deeply important, "Oh! Uhh - Just behold the Skurra's bombastic banners! Each canvas filled with amazing images to entice the imagination, each one a masterpiece!". You get the sense that it is an advertising pitch of sorts, as though he feels obliged to tell you the details - in short, it is delivered in a deeply unnatural and slightly forced way.
"Truth be told, they're alright." Tindal says as you approach the campfire, the Skurra make room for you - they look equally displeased by the inclement weather. "Anyone for any spiced wine... or, uh, any food?!" Tindal declares, the Skurra glare at him, but say nothing.
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
Boyd follows Tindal to the campfire surrounded by the wagons' owners. He allows the strangely-dressed man to complete his "sales pitch" before agreeing to take some food and drink, "Aye, that wouldn't go amiss right now." He accepts some spiced wine and whatever food they have cooking and finally answers Nikita, "So, you too, eh? I was just outside of Monmurg not 5 minutes ago. Look at the flyer, look down, and 'bang' I'm here." He sniffs sharply, and then takes a drink of warm wine.
"They've gathered up..." he mouths each number as he counts those around him who seem to be in the same situation. "five. Five or maybe six of us." His gaze lingers on Ermaznietsz, about whom he isn't sure. He suddenly starts, "ah, manners.." he wipes his hand off on his pants, but veins of dirt seem to be etched permanently between his calluses. He extends it to Nikita, "Boyd Nilsson" he says, then extends kind of nods and smiles at the rest, including the Skurra, by means of introduction.
“Wine and dine us, loosen our inhibitions eh? Perhaps in another life buddy” nick instantly regrets not taking the offer, but stubbornly holds his ground.
“Boyd Nilsson eh? Nick Nack’s the name, but don’t go wearing’ it out!” It would be nice to have someone who cared enough to remember his name though…
“Alright alright! Show us what yah got y’all,! Not like we wudda got brought back just for dinner and a show, and to be the audience no less,” Nick casts eldritch blast straight into the sky like a firework without looking up. He is everyone in the face for revealing their fears and intentions (insight 7)
Meresaa calmly reaches down and removes Nick's hands from her. In an amused yet firm tone she says, "Any tattoos I may have would be mine to share, not yours to find, Mr. Nack. And the assumption that any among us are props for you to protect or fall in love with — in what I'm sure is a most fascinating inner monologue — is a bit off-putting to say the least." She nods in silent thanks to Tindal as she accepts a mug of spiced wine and promptly places it in Nick's hands. "Here," she says with a warm smile. "Something comforting to occupy those hands and that mouth."
"Nikita. Boyd Nilsson." She nods to each as she repeats their names. "Silent lurker," she smiles at Ermasnietsz. "It's a pleasure to meet each of you. My name is Meresaa and I must admit that I have absolutely no idea where we are. It seems some of us came from relatively near but this one," she looks down to her side and pulls the edge of her cloak back slightly from Faila's face, "doesn't seem like she's from anywhere with this kind of weather and I..." she trails off for a moment, looking up to the sky before meeting their gazes once more. "I don't even recognize the stars here so I can only surmise that I am continents (if not worlds) away from home."
She sighs.
"You say this place is called Saltmarsh? I've never heard of it. I was researching instability in planar gates and I suppose these are my just deserts for not proceeding with caution..."
She accepts whatever food is offered and passes it to Faila.
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne
Nikita returns the grizzled man's handshake and smile, warmth ruined slightly as always by her scar, simply repeating his name with a nod. "Boyd Nilsson." There was a time as a young girl that such men both fascinated and scared her. No longer. She had met so many on her long flight from Iuz's wrath, working alongside them as hired hands and mercenaries for merchant caravans bound ever south. There was even the charming young one that Nikita had snuck off to the edge of the forest with once, when the need to escape the oppressive fear in her mind had grown too great...
She shakes her head slightly. There is something a bit different about Boyd, though. Monmurg? Further south than Nikita has ever been, though not so far from Saltmarsh as she thinks about. An island in the Azure Sea. As the youngest child in her family, her frustrated wanderlust had led her to devour maps and tales and history from far away. She recalled reading fanciful yarns of pirates who styled themselves as princes and of another more sinister group, though her memory on that is fuzzy.
History check if needed: 11
So Boyd had been transported by the pamphlet just as she had - from significantly farther away but still within this world and even fairly close by in the context of the Flanaess. The tall blue lady, Meresaa, and perhaps the others, however, seem to be from somewhere else entirely. She doesn't recognize the stars?
"My lady, we are on the southern coast of Keoland." Nikita pauses to look for any recognition on the face of Meresaa or the others (besides Boyd). "In the Flanaess." Another pause. "On Oerth?" Nikita looks around at the group a bit bewildered as she accepts the warm wine if offered, but does not yet drink. Who are these people?
Nick Nack's upward Eldritch Blast startles her slightly but also makes some things clearer as to the gnome's strange behavior and conversation with some invisible Other. She winks at the gnome. Reminded of her duties as a spell-caster, Nikita again uses Prestidigitation on the nearby fire to increase its heat and reduce the smoke in the hopes that Faila can warm herself up.
Nikita nods with respect at the Skurra and at the member of their group she still knows nothing of. The lurker. Don't let your guard down. Any of these people could still be an agent of Iuz. She extends a hand with studied politeness. "I am Nikita. Have you been transported here suddenly as the rest of us appear to have been?"
Mud(Paladin2):Frandal's Scourge/Inge(Barbarian1):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Shin(Wizard2):Dimir_MTG's Surviving
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric3):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard2):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter5):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Rel(Warlock2):Uhtred's Phandelver/Xarian(Fighter1/Wizard1):ShieldHero's Drakkenheim
Nick enjoys the spiced wine now that he sees other drinkin g it and not fall to their deaths. “Thanks hun lemme ask you something” (he keeps firing eldritch blast after eldritch blast into the air with his off hand, a kid playing with fireworks. “Do you remember where you were just before you showed up here?”
he leans in sloooooowwwwwwly, “cause I’m telling yah I was dead. Not sleeping, not dreaming, dead! “ he downs the wine and keeps firing eldritch blasts …. And another eldritch blast…… and yet another eldritch blast.
“I know what I saw, and I know I made a mistake even reaching out towards it, but here we are… and if anything, THIS is the dream I tell you! This is the dream.” Nick notices Nikita playing with the fire and smiles. Turning to meressa , “you see that? Show us why they brought you here too. I’m sure you aren’t some joe shmo dead crow.”