You stand upon the deck of the schooner The Diviner as it steers alongside the rocky shores. It is in the evening on the third and final day of your journey from Baldur’s Gate and the winds seem to blow a little colder. The evergreen treetops of the Cloakwood rustle endlessly, whispering among themselves some secret words of sorrow. Callbrax, your captain, steers the boat alongside the shores.
“See that?” he says to you, pointing to a monolithic black tower appearing just above the dark forest. “Zaldara,” the mage says ominously. “We’re close.” Minutes later, the wind howls a lonely note as Callbrax brings The Diviner as close as he can to the shore. A small cliff ten feet high rises up from the rocks. Atop the cliff, you see dense trees and Zaldara’s imposing lair towering above.
You think back to the past several days and the events that have brought you to the present moment.
It was a warm day in Baldur’s Gate as you lay your dead friend, dwarven explorer Urgon Wenth to rest. Death came quickly for Urgon. One day he simply began to waste away. No cleric or paladin could stop the death curse from taking him, just as the healers of Faerun couldn’t stop the dreaded affliction from taking any who died in the past.
For days, the talk of the streets and taverns had all been about this so-called death curse: a wasting disease afflicting everyone who’s ever been raised from the dead. Victims grow thinner and weaker each day, slowly but steadily sliding toward the death they once denied. When they finally succumb, they can’t be raised — and neither can anyone else, regardless of whether they’ve ever received that miracle in the past. Temples and scholars of divine magic are at a loss to explain a curse that has affected the entire region, and possibly the entire world.
In fact, you have seen many people gone before their time these last tendays, but Urgon’s passing hurt the most. You stood before a small crowd, gathered at a shrine in Baldur’s Gate. The cleric asked each of you to give a eulogy by sharing a memory of your friendship. Your words were simple but heart-felt. It is perhaps still difficult to think about.
As the mourners began to head home after saying their goodbyes to Urgon, two people who stood at the back of the crowd approached. One was a female sun elf, older but still spry, dressed in the noble finery of a northerner. The other was more mysterious, a human draped in a heavy black cloak wearing a silver mask. The elf spoke. “Beautiful ceremony. It’s clear your friend meant a lot to you.” The cloaked figure cut in with a dry, raspy voice, one that reminded you of the way Urgon spoke as death approached, “There is a chance Urgon’s soul, and that of countless others, can be saved. If you act quickly, we might even be able to bring him back to life... and you can save those still living with the curse as well.”
“Remallia Haventree,” said the elf with a smile and graceful handshake. “Syndra Silvane,” rasped the human.
Syndra began. “I was an adventurer years ago. Like so many of us, I died once and was raised from the dead. I have since closed the door on that stage of my life. Yet, the death curse we’ve all heard about has struck me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening. I have turned to Remallia for assistance.” She smiled at the elf, placing her hand on the latter’s shoulder.
Remallia touched Syndra’s hand and continued. “I am a member of a faction known as the Harpers. We are a group of covert operatives who are concerned about abuses of power, magical or otherwise. We believe that this strange curse afflicting the deceased… and dying--” she glanced at Syndra, “--is similar to the magic that a lich uses to feed souls to its phylactery. A lich, a true lich, would be able to trace this death curse to its source.”
“But where to find a lich? They don’t exactly advertise their services. Well, we have located one. The lair of Zaldara Cordress, known as the Duchess of Rot, is found in the nearby Cloakwood. We are preparing a force to raid her tower, overpower her, and extract from her information about the curse.”
“The key to forcing her cooperation is to steal her phylactery. Our wizards have determined that hers is her spellbook, a tome bound in human skin, which she keeps locked in a vault in her basement.”
“That’s where you come in. We need a small force of specialized agents--adventurers--to sneak into the tower’s cellar and search for the phylactery. Meanwhile, our forces will attack the ground and upper floors of the tower simultaneously to draw Zaldara and her guardians--well, most of them, anyway--away. We can assist you with some healing potions and a promised reward of 750 gold pieces upon your successful completion of the mission.”
Of course you had accepted. Adventure is in your blood, and what justice might be gained for Urgon? Even a chance to return him to life? Remallia had then handed each of you one healing potion and filled you in on the plan. (Please add one potion of healing to your inventory.)
The next morning, you had set sail from Baldur’s Gate aboard The Diviner with a single Harper crewmember, Callbrax the lightfoot halfling sorcerer. During the journey, you gleaned the most basic knowledge of your teammates. Everyone’s mind, it seems, has been focused on the magnitude of the task ahead. Now, at the end of the third day, you have arrived at the seaside cave connected to Zaldara’s tower. This night, you find yourselves precariously stationed at the doorstep of possibly the greatest foe you have ever faced.
“Remember the plan,” Callbrax advises calmly, ever the disciplined leader. “We listen for Remallia’s horn blow, which signals the Harper’s assault on the tower. At that point, you must move as quickly as possible to find the phylactery, in order both to minimize the number of Harper casualties and to avoid Zaldara herself! If she senses that her phylactery is in danger she will move swiftly and mercilessly to protect it, and all will be for naught. Once the spellbook is found, you must hasten back to this ship, where I will be waiting to teleport you to Remallia.”
Callbrax hops into the knee-deep water, motioning for you to grab your equipment and follow. The ocean is cold as death. Callbrax walks onto the shore and touches the cliff wall, muttering an arcane incantation.
As he does, the wall parts just a bit, revealing a stone stair going downward into darkness.
Suddenly a bleat breaks the night that fills your heart with adrenaline and dread. Callbrax spins round. “That’s Remallia’s horn! Good luck! Go! Go! Go!”
Laderan follows their halfling leader ashore, literally bunny hopping over the rails to land with a splash before wading onwards. The water coming almost half way up his legs and soaking theough his motley troos. The voluminous, shabby, leather hood now dripping water from the splash landing, droplets running off and making their way through a maze of metal studding punched into the dark leather jerkin he wears. There are patches of matting all through his tawny brown hair, now mixed with the wet patches that darken his tone it gives him an odd, mottled appearance. He shakes himself to share an impromptu shower with everyone bearby.
Watching as the stone stairwell appears out of the wall and cooing slightly at the reveal. Even in the short time you've known the leporine rapscallion, it has become abundantly clear that most of his comments come with at least a mild dose of sarcasm. "I still haven't worked out how this 'crack squad' of specialized agents ended up as a ragtag bunch of misfits who hadn't even met each other until the other day. Picking for this one was sliiiiim." He announces in a self-deprecating manner.
At the sound of the horn, he loops his pack over his shoulder and mutters loudly, "Gold and glory... Just gotta stay alive long enough!" Callabax's voice urges them all to action, and Laderan breaks into a flat out run down the stairs towards the unknown.
The sun elf mourned his late friend quietly in Baldur's Gate, the dwarf hadn't been the reason he made the trip all the way from Myth Drannor, and the news of his passing hadn't been what Ornir expected to hear when he arrived. "Urgon was always eager to wade into the unknown and dangerous places abandoned for centuries, for reasons often more related to others than himself." he spoke in a calm and sorrowful tone when given a chance by the cleric, "That willingness is an example all should take to heart in their own way. Farewell, friend."Later, when Remallia mentions a lich, Oranir's hand twitches as if he was about to rise it to ask a question or mention shomething, but the elf stops it short, muttering to himself.
And following the sequence of unexpected turns, Oranir eventually found himself being splashed with seawater by hopping companion nearby after climbing down from the ship as carefully as possible to avoid getting drenched. Glaring at Laderan, Oranir shook his arms and the golden silks that hanged from his gloves trying to get the cold water out. Leaning on his staff, he approached the entrance and looked down, somberly shaking his head, "Little glory one usuall finds in a lich's lair... But if that is what lies between us and answers, so be it." and shifts into more haste down the stairs as Callbrax urges them forward.
Vladimir is uncertain. He knows that his order intended this to be his trial, but nothing seems right. The members of his team are so different, the circumstances so messy. He is excited, of course, to have an opportunity to destroy a lich. That would be a spectacular way to begin his trial. But his teammates seem so much more sophisticated and knowledgeable about the world. A couple even seem to know magic. He’ll have much to learn from them; he hopes he’s ready to pull weight.
At the sound of Remallia’s horn, he leaps forward. He finds himself racing the rabbit-man (a herringbone named Laderan) in order to be the first into the lich’s tower. As he enters the darkened doorway, he thinks to himself, “Let’s get this over with!”
(Ashtear sheet is finishing up but. ON THE BOAT ON THE WAY).
Enjoying the open water, smell of the sea(?). Finding Callbrax and disrupting their preperations for a moment. "Hiya. Quick dumb question. This is a curse rekilling everthing that once lived. Has anone actually seen the LIch? Aren't they formerly dead? Or does it seem to disregard undead entirel regardless of sapience or presence of a soul in a phill?"
As the cute rabbit earred one leaps away followed by her new friends in arms, Ashtear ponders how much wider the world really is after she left the little village. She'd never seen such variety in body shapes and abilties. It really was quite interesting and a joy to see. Shaking herself to focus for a moment not on the interesting new life she leads-but on the obvious doom tower in the distance. Following up Callbrax and being certain the boat is tied down properly as Callbrax seemed to entirely disregard the possibilty.
"We're the only ones silly enough to try this Mr Laderan. I'm neither glory nor gold-Won't say no to gold. But I need the Harper's information network." Shaking a moment in obvious fear at their intended destination. Taking a deep breath as the horn blows, "We all have fears. We know some day our time is gonna come. But no matter how you cut it, you'll kick the bucket. When our day comes. So get out and live a little.' --As dad used to say." before striding forward with the others into the unknown. Taking up a position in the middle.
Ashtear description
Dirty blond hair-often worn in a high pony tail, or loose pushed back. Equipped with a cotton handmade hat, that has a bit of metal-dulled from hammer working into shape-across the front. Wearing a lighter red jacket, under which can be seen a chain shirt coloured black.
Distinctly along her wrist and arms are finely worked metal bracers that extend to her hands, metal following over the back of her hand, attached to fingerless close fitting mesh. Overlaying her knuckles a small metal band. These pseudo gauntlets are highlighted with red along the bracers and yellow accents along the joints. Notably, on the underside of each bracer near the wrist is a small copper half sphere.
Hanging off a cord strung across her chest is a crossbow. Along the small of her back pointed to the left side of her body is a bolt case, with a small opening at the top to insert and draw bolts from.
A worn leather backpack rests on her back above the case, on the side of which is fixed a shield on the left, and a dagger on the right.
Tucked into her jacket pocket is a single pair of glasses-almost goggle like, if asked she'll state they help her see at night.
The same black mesh under her gauntlet follows down her legs from her short pants down to her boots. Coloured much the same as her gauntlets but without the metal adornments.
Merrick was not fond of the sea. Not in the least. Over the long journey from the Earthspur Mountains, he took to the roads wherever he could. And though the odd ferry boats and river passages did save him much time in reaching Baldur's Gate, it was certainly not worth the awful feeling that washed over him every time.
On a bright note, the nausea he was overcome with had helped to push aside the sorrow he felt for Urgon. Terrible loss this was of an individual most kind. He would need to take some time after this endeavor to properly honor his friend's passing.
He remained mostly quiet during the boat ride. Whenever an individual in this strange crew sought to share some words, Merrick quickly began to hum one of the chants he recalled from the Monastery and closed his eyes. Focusing solely on not hurling, he desperately wished that the others would see him deep in humble meditation and not as if he was about to spill the contents of his morning meal overboard.
As the boat arrived to its destination, Merrick quickly got out of the boat. What hopefully seemed to be stoic bravery was really the materialization of his desire to be out of the small, unstable vessel. He strode up to the steps, looked down, and did his best to cover his sudden gasp. This was nothing like the inviting wine cellars he had rummaged through back at the Monastery, with their sweet smells of blueberry.
No, I can not think of this now, I must be brave, he thought. He took his place towards the front of the pack as he began to cautiously step down the stairs. He sighed and spoke deeply, imitating his Master's reverent tone, "Erm... Let us... Proceed."
Sayax is saddened by the passing of his friend Urgon. By the looks of the ones around him during the funeral, the dwarf appeared to touch many lives. He could understand why, he had a kind word and smart remark for anyone that crossed his path. Sayax smiles in his memories as he listens to those that speak of him.
As the two women approach and offer not only a job, YES!, but a possibility of eliminating this curse that has been plaguing them all? Is that even real? He jumps at the chance to join in, no matter who he is with. Though now, on the boat as he looks them all over, he wonders what their true natures are and what their own reasons are for joining in on this dangerous escapade. He'll have to ask when he gets the chance he thinks. But for now they all seem pretty pre-occupied with their own thoughts that he doesn't want to deter them from concentrating on what is to come ahead.
When the boat comes along shore, he disembarks as soon as it stops moving. And before he knows it, he is drenched by the leatherclad harengon! He laughs, "Good show young one! Yes, let us get on with this!" The blue scaled dragonborn has stark white long hair in long braids down his back, his marooned colored scale mail fits him to a T and he has a war hammer at his side. Upon the shield he carries is a symbol of a white gauntlet and he stands extremely rigid as he looks around the shore.
Once the stairs emerge, he smiles as the rabbit and half-elf race to get into the dungeon, "Yes! That's the spirit! We'll get this book of the lich in no time!" He claps his hands on the shoulders of the firbolg and the human, seeing the slightest hesitation in them, looks at both of them, "Shall we?"and heads down the stairs with the rest of the group.
That hollow sound pierces the silence in this pitch black cave as water slowly falls from stalactites. Stale air fills your lungs as you take in the cave. A large, unworked stone column holds up the ceiling (north center). Stout stairs leading up hug the column’s west side while a 5-foot high ledge that leads into darkness appears along its east side. Further back (northeast), a second set of stairs leads up to a stone door carved with a skull.
(Actions? Please account for visibility, as there are no light sources here.)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As the plunge into the oppressive darkness, Laderan slows to a stop, allowing the others to catch up with him. "I can creep forward easily enough, only problem is I can see jack all in this darkness. Anyone got a light?" He creeps forwards, attempting to make no sound and timing his footfalls to the repetitive drips, breathing in the dank air it seems clear that this is not a well travelled area, well not travelled by the living anyway. Feeling at the edge of the wall and listening carefully for any other signs of movement.
Stealth: 16 (depending on light situation this likely for move quietly only) Perception: 11
(Edit - second roll I'd mistakenly put as a second stealth skill with perception modifier, corrected the ability tooltip. Pre-edit roll was 13)
Oranir takes a deep breath of the damp stale air inside as if coming back home, looking around blinking his eyes for a moment as his vision adjusts to the darkness. "We're going into the lair of a lich, looking for their phylactery. The more dangerous the path looks, the more likely it will lead in the right direction." he says as he steps ahead for a better view. Nodding at the surroundings as he moves further into the cavern, the elf's eyes eventually find the door carved with a skull in the distance, he smirks and whispers to himself, "A bit too obvious, Zaldara?" and points with his staff towards the skull door, "There."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Merrick winces slightly as Sayax claps his shoulder and puts on a brave smile. He follows the group into the cave, though his eyes do not adjust to the intense darkness within. He begins to fumble through his backpack looking for the torches, dumping out the tinderbox, waterskin, and a small clay pendant depicting a now-fadedaded yellow rose. As he reaches to pick it up, a familiar scaled hand reaches forward and grabs it for him.
As Sayax grips the pendant tightly, a glow like morning sun begins to escape between his fingers. He offers the pendant back to Merrick, now shining bright light in all directions. Merrick let's out a relieved sigh, "Many thanks." and ties the pendant off on the tip of his staff to cast light in all directions.
The respite offered by the light was short lived as Oranir points out the omnious skull-shaped door. Wanting partially to weight out options and to delay the inevitable, he peels slightly away from the group to give a listen beyond the ledge.
Merrick listens down the other (not skull door passage): 6
Laderan's ears pick up someone moving past him before his eyes can register it, though unsure of exactly who it was. As the voice reaches him through the darkness he assumes the association between voice and movement, which is quickly confirmed when Merrick walks forwards shedding light all around him. With the light sabotaging any attempts at sneaking about the place Laderan stands up out of his crouch and steps forwards next to Oranir. "Well, if you were a clever lich, and you knew that someone might come after your phy-lac-a-mathingy, wouldn't it defeat the point if it was obvious? I mean, if I was that clever I'd probably remember where I leave my super important, undeath altering objects without making little signposts to remind me... So who would that skull be here for? That's right, us, the plucky band of theives."
Vladimir was unhappy. This cave had not been cleaned in who knows how long. Of course, it was a cave, so you had to make allowances, but honestly. This was supposed to be the [secret] entrance to a dwelling place; would it have hurt someone to pump out this brackish water? Now they would likely trail mud all over the floors. And the smell, Vladimir almost couldn't bear it. He knew he was here serving the Greater Good and he appreciated the opportunity, but there were times when he wished his calling had been to be a clerk at a desk, a well-organized desk, rather than whatever this was. The gods move in mysterious ways.
Looking ahead, he saw both Oranir and Laderan, looking to the right. Oranir was pointing at something to the right. Merrick, on the other hand, was standing alone to the left, before what looked like a set of tall stairs. "Ah ha!"thought Vladimir, "A way out of this distressing water."He made his way over to Merrick in order to see what was visible from that position.
"You're quite welcome Merrick, now let's see what we have here."Now that the area is lit up, Sayax takes in the atmosphere of the dank, dark cavern. Definitely what you'd expect to find following those steps down here. As Oranir points out the skull door, Sayax references the path to the West. "Yes, that door does appear to be the way, but there is some stairs over here and a path, wouldn't it be good to clear the area? I would hate for someone or something to come at us from behind."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Merrick, receiving the blessing of Sayax’s light spell, peers up the stairs to the northwest, but notices nothing within the light’s boundaries.
Vladimir joins Merrick, noting with his excellent eyes that the topography of the current chamber extends into the next, though nothing threatening yet emerges.
Sayax and Ashtear likewise step deeper into the chamber, eager to determine the best path forward.
Laderan creeps forward through the gloom, listening carefully, but doesn’t hear more than the dripping of water.
Oradin steps toward the northeastern stair, noting the presence of the skull-laden doorway.
As Laderan and Oradin pass by the large, central column, the shuffling of dragging footfalls is heard. From behind the column emerge four skeletal horrors, eternal guardians of Zaldara’s crypt! They wield bows and shortswords and seem none too happy to suffer the living!
GM:
Enemy initiative: 15
Ashtear initiative: 16
Laderan initiative: 19
Merrick initiative: 12
Oranir initiative: 7
Sayax initiative: 19
Vladimir initiative: 14
Initiative (bold may act): Ashtear, Laderan, Sayax, enemy, remaining PCs
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As the horrors appear, Sayax readies his hammer and heads 10' N to the green skeletal creature. Aiming his hammer to bring a blow across the creatures face, he swings...
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hearing the sounds of shuffled steps atop the ledge nearby quickly followed by the reactions of those in the light Laderan looks about franticly, unable to immediately see any danger to himself immediately he moves away from the ledge, not knowing what to expect atop it. When he sees the first skeletal figure, shambling onwards. He reacts instinctively, calling on the powers that the genie imbued him with, drawing in the essence of the earth from all around him. Small particles of sand and dust rapidly gravitate together in front of the harengon's outstretched hand, a small sphere swirling and twisting, growing as more detritus flies towards it. As it reaches a critical mass a jet of sand shoots towards the skeleton on the ridge before the magic disperses. "Oranir, they are above us, take care!" So saying, Laderan darts over to the larger group, leaving himself a little breathing room from them.
Action: Eldritch Blast Attack: 18 Damage: 7 force +2 bludgeoning(Genie's wrath) BA: - Movement: 30ft as per map
As the others engage in the close range combat. Oranir off in the distance under the skeletons on the ledge. Moving out from the light, dropping to a knee and taking aim Ashtear fires her crossbow in counterance to the skeleton ambush.
18To Hit Red. 4 Piercing non magical.
Saddling up closer to the edge of the wall, hoping to obtain some cover but still present a target rather than the exposed Oranir. "Undead, Obvious. We were too loud...but they likely taste our life regardless. Dad always said undead smell the living's life energy."
You stand upon the deck of the schooner The Diviner as it steers alongside the rocky shores. It is in the evening on the third and final day of your journey from Baldur’s Gate and the winds seem to blow a little colder. The evergreen treetops of the Cloakwood rustle endlessly, whispering among themselves some secret words of sorrow. Callbrax, your captain, steers the boat alongside the shores.
“See that?” he says to you, pointing to a monolithic black tower appearing just above the dark forest. “Zaldara,” the mage says ominously. “We’re close.” Minutes later, the wind howls a lonely note as Callbrax brings The Diviner as close as he can to the shore. A small cliff ten feet high rises up from the rocks. Atop the cliff, you see dense trees and Zaldara’s imposing lair towering above.
You think back to the past several days and the events that have brought you to the present moment.
It was a warm day in Baldur’s Gate as you lay your dead friend, dwarven explorer Urgon Wenth to rest. Death came quickly for Urgon. One day he simply began to waste away. No cleric or paladin could stop the death curse from taking him, just as the healers of Faerun couldn’t stop the dreaded affliction from taking any who died in the past.
For days, the talk of the streets and taverns had all been about this so-called death curse: a wasting disease afflicting everyone who’s ever been raised from the dead. Victims grow thinner and weaker each day, slowly but steadily sliding toward the death they once denied. When they finally succumb, they can’t be raised — and neither can anyone else, regardless of whether they’ve ever received that miracle in the past. Temples and scholars of divine magic are at a loss to explain a curse that has affected the entire region, and possibly the entire world.
In fact, you have seen many people gone before their time these last tendays, but Urgon’s passing hurt the most. You stood before a small crowd, gathered at a shrine in Baldur’s Gate. The cleric asked each of you to give a eulogy by sharing a memory of your friendship. Your words were simple but heart-felt. It is perhaps still difficult to think about.
As the mourners began to head home after saying their goodbyes to Urgon, two people who stood at the back of the crowd approached. One was a female sun elf, older but still spry, dressed in the noble finery of a northerner. The other was more mysterious, a human draped in a heavy black cloak wearing a silver mask. The elf spoke. “Beautiful ceremony. It’s clear your friend meant a lot to you.” The cloaked figure cut in with a dry, raspy voice, one that reminded you of the way Urgon spoke as death approached, “There is a chance Urgon’s soul, and that of countless others, can be saved. If you act quickly, we might even be able to bring him back to life... and you can save those still living with the curse as well.”
“Remallia Haventree,” said the elf with a smile and graceful handshake. “Syndra Silvane,” rasped the human.
Syndra began. “I was an adventurer years ago. Like so many of us, I died once and was raised from the dead. I have since closed the door on that stage of my life. Yet, the death curse we’ve all heard about has struck me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening. I have turned to Remallia for assistance.” She smiled at the elf, placing her hand on the latter’s shoulder.
Remallia touched Syndra’s hand and continued. “I am a member of a faction known as the Harpers. We are a group of covert operatives who are concerned about abuses of power, magical or otherwise. We believe that this strange curse afflicting the deceased… and dying--” she glanced at Syndra, “--is similar to the magic that a lich uses to feed souls to its phylactery. A lich, a true lich, would be able to trace this death curse to its source.”
“But where to find a lich? They don’t exactly advertise their services. Well, we have located one. The lair of Zaldara Cordress, known as the Duchess of Rot, is found in the nearby Cloakwood. We are preparing a force to raid her tower, overpower her, and extract from her information about the curse.”
“The key to forcing her cooperation is to steal her phylactery. Our wizards have determined that hers is her spellbook, a tome bound in human skin, which she keeps locked in a vault in her basement.”
“That’s where you come in. We need a small force of specialized agents--adventurers--to sneak into the tower’s cellar and search for the phylactery. Meanwhile, our forces will attack the ground and upper floors of the tower simultaneously to draw Zaldara and her guardians--well, most of them, anyway--away. We can assist you with some healing potions and a promised reward of 750 gold pieces upon your successful completion of the mission.”
Of course you had accepted. Adventure is in your blood, and what justice might be gained for Urgon? Even a chance to return him to life? Remallia had then handed each of you one healing potion and filled you in on the plan. (Please add one potion of healing to your inventory.)
The next morning, you had set sail from Baldur’s Gate aboard The Diviner with a single Harper crewmember, Callbrax the lightfoot halfling sorcerer. During the journey, you gleaned the most basic knowledge of your teammates. Everyone’s mind, it seems, has been focused on the magnitude of the task ahead. Now, at the end of the third day, you have arrived at the seaside cave connected to Zaldara’s tower. This night, you find yourselves precariously stationed at the doorstep of possibly the greatest foe you have ever faced.
“Remember the plan,” Callbrax advises calmly, ever the disciplined leader. “We listen for Remallia’s horn blow, which signals the Harper’s assault on the tower. At that point, you must move as quickly as possible to find the phylactery, in order both to minimize the number of Harper casualties and to avoid Zaldara herself! If she senses that her phylactery is in danger she will move swiftly and mercilessly to protect it, and all will be for naught. Once the spellbook is found, you must hasten back to this ship, where I will be waiting to teleport you to Remallia.”
Callbrax hops into the knee-deep water, motioning for you to grab your equipment and follow. The ocean is cold as death. Callbrax walks onto the shore and touches the cliff wall, muttering an arcane incantation.
As he does, the wall parts just a bit, revealing a stone stair going downward into darkness.
Suddenly a bleat breaks the night that fills your heart with adrenaline and dread. Callbrax spins round. “That’s Remallia’s horn! Good luck! Go! Go! Go!”
Laderan follows their halfling leader ashore, literally bunny hopping over the rails to land with a splash before wading onwards. The water coming almost half way up his legs and soaking theough his motley troos. The voluminous, shabby, leather hood now dripping water from the splash landing, droplets running off and making their way through a maze of metal studding punched into the dark leather jerkin he wears. There are patches of matting all through his tawny brown hair, now mixed with the wet patches that darken his tone it gives him an odd, mottled appearance. He shakes himself to share an impromptu shower with everyone bearby.
Watching as the stone stairwell appears out of the wall and cooing slightly at the reveal. Even in the short time you've known the leporine rapscallion, it has become abundantly clear that most of his comments come with at least a mild dose of sarcasm. "I still haven't worked out how this 'crack squad' of specialized agents ended up as a ragtag bunch of misfits who hadn't even met each other until the other day. Picking for this one was sliiiiim." He announces in a self-deprecating manner.
At the sound of the horn, he loops his pack over his shoulder and mutters loudly, "Gold and glory... Just gotta stay alive long enough!" Callabax's voice urges them all to action, and Laderan breaks into a flat out run down the stairs towards the unknown.
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
The sun elf mourned his late friend quietly in Baldur's Gate, the dwarf hadn't been the reason he made the trip all the way from Myth Drannor, and the news of his passing hadn't been what Ornir expected to hear when he arrived. "Urgon was always eager to wade into the unknown and dangerous places abandoned for centuries, for reasons often more related to others than himself." he spoke in a calm and sorrowful tone when given a chance by the cleric, "That willingness is an example all should take to heart in their own way. Farewell, friend." Later, when Remallia mentions a lich, Oranir's hand twitches as if he was about to rise it to ask a question or mention shomething, but the elf stops it short, muttering to himself.
And following the sequence of unexpected turns, Oranir eventually found himself being splashed with seawater by hopping companion nearby after climbing down from the ship as carefully as possible to avoid getting drenched. Glaring at Laderan, Oranir shook his arms and the golden silks that hanged from his gloves trying to get the cold water out. Leaning on his staff, he approached the entrance and looked down, somberly shaking his head, "Little glory one usuall finds in a lich's lair... But if that is what lies between us and answers, so be it." and shifts into more haste down the stairs as Callbrax urges them forward.
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Vladimir is uncertain. He knows that his order intended this to be his trial, but nothing seems right. The members of his team are so different, the circumstances so messy. He is excited, of course, to have an opportunity to destroy a lich. That would be a spectacular way to begin his trial. But his teammates seem so much more sophisticated and knowledgeable about the world. A couple even seem to know magic. He’ll have much to learn from them; he hopes he’s ready to pull weight.
At the sound of Remallia’s horn, he leaps forward. He finds himself racing the rabbit-man (a herringbone named Laderan) in order to be the first into the lich’s tower. As he enters the darkened doorway, he thinks to himself, “Let’s get this over with!”
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
(Ashtear sheet is finishing up but. ON THE BOAT ON THE WAY).
Enjoying the open water, smell of the sea(?). Finding Callbrax and disrupting their preperations for a moment. "Hiya. Quick dumb question. This is a curse rekilling everthing that once lived. Has anone actually seen the LIch? Aren't they formerly dead? Or does it seem to disregard undead entirel regardless of sapience or presence of a soul in a phill?"
As the cute rabbit earred one leaps away followed by her new friends in arms, Ashtear ponders how much wider the world really is after she left the little village. She'd never seen such variety in body shapes and abilties. It really was quite interesting and a joy to see. Shaking herself to focus for a moment not on the interesting new life she leads-but on the obvious doom tower in the distance. Following up Callbrax and being certain the boat is tied down properly as Callbrax seemed to entirely disregard the possibilty.
"We're the only ones silly enough to try this Mr Laderan. I'm neither glory nor gold-Won't say no to gold. But I need the Harper's information network." Shaking a moment in obvious fear at their intended destination. Taking a deep breath as the horn blows, "We all have fears. We know some day our time is gonna come. But no matter how you cut it, you'll kick the bucket. When our day comes. So get out and live a little.' --As dad used to say." before striding forward with the others into the unknown. Taking up a position in the middle.
Ashtear description
Dirty blond hair-often worn in a high pony tail, or loose pushed back. Equipped with a cotton handmade hat, that has a bit of metal-dulled from hammer working into shape-across the front. Wearing a lighter red jacket, under which can be seen a chain shirt coloured black.
Distinctly along her wrist and arms are finely worked metal bracers that extend to her hands, metal following over the back of her hand, attached to fingerless close fitting mesh. Overlaying her knuckles a small metal band. These pseudo gauntlets are highlighted with red along the bracers and yellow accents along the joints. Notably, on the underside of each bracer near the wrist is a small copper half sphere.
Hanging off a cord strung across her chest is a crossbow. Along the small of her back pointed to the left side of her body is a bolt case, with a small opening at the top to insert and draw bolts from.
A worn leather backpack rests on her back above the case, on the side of which is fixed a shield on the left, and a dagger on the right.
Tucked into her jacket pocket is a single pair of glasses-almost goggle like, if asked she'll state they help her see at night.
The same black mesh under her gauntlet follows down her legs from her short pants down to her boots. Coloured much the same as her gauntlets but without the metal adornments.
Merrick was not fond of the sea. Not in the least. Over the long journey from the Earthspur Mountains, he took to the roads wherever he could. And though the odd ferry boats and river passages did save him much time in reaching Baldur's Gate, it was certainly not worth the awful feeling that washed over him every time.
On a bright note, the nausea he was overcome with had helped to push aside the sorrow he felt for Urgon. Terrible loss this was of an individual most kind. He would need to take some time after this endeavor to properly honor his friend's passing.
He remained mostly quiet during the boat ride. Whenever an individual in this strange crew sought to share some words, Merrick quickly began to hum one of the chants he recalled from the Monastery and closed his eyes. Focusing solely on not hurling, he desperately wished that the others would see him deep in humble meditation and not as if he was about to spill the contents of his morning meal overboard.
As the boat arrived to its destination, Merrick quickly got out of the boat. What hopefully seemed to be stoic bravery was really the materialization of his desire to be out of the small, unstable vessel. He strode up to the steps, looked down, and did his best to cover his sudden gasp. This was nothing like the inviting wine cellars he had rummaged through back at the Monastery, with their sweet smells of blueberry.
No, I can not think of this now, I must be brave, he thought. He took his place towards the front of the pack as he began to cautiously step down the stairs. He sighed and spoke deeply, imitating his Master's reverent tone, "Erm... Let us... Proceed."
Sayax is saddened by the passing of his friend Urgon. By the looks of the ones around him during the funeral, the dwarf appeared to touch many lives. He could understand why, he had a kind word and smart remark for anyone that crossed his path. Sayax smiles in his memories as he listens to those that speak of him.
As the two women approach and offer not only a job, YES!, but a possibility of eliminating this curse that has been plaguing them all? Is that even real? He jumps at the chance to join in, no matter who he is with. Though now, on the boat as he looks them all over, he wonders what their true natures are and what their own reasons are for joining in on this dangerous escapade. He'll have to ask when he gets the chance he thinks. But for now they all seem pretty pre-occupied with their own thoughts that he doesn't want to deter them from concentrating on what is to come ahead.
When the boat comes along shore, he disembarks as soon as it stops moving. And before he knows it, he is drenched by the leatherclad harengon! He laughs, "Good show young one! Yes, let us get on with this!" The blue scaled dragonborn has stark white long hair in long braids down his back, his marooned colored scale mail fits him to a T and he has a war hammer at his side. Upon the shield he carries is a symbol of a white gauntlet and he stands extremely rigid as he looks around the shore.
Once the stairs emerge, he smiles as the rabbit and half-elf race to get into the dungeon, "Yes! That's the spirit! We'll get this book of the lich in no time!" He claps his hands on the shoulders of the firbolg and the human, seeing the slightest hesitation in them, looks at both of them, "Shall we?" and heads down the stairs with the rest of the group.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
That hollow sound pierces the silence in this pitch black cave as water slowly falls from stalactites. Stale air fills your lungs as you take in the cave. A large, unworked stone column holds up the ceiling (north center). Stout stairs leading up hug the column’s west side while a 5-foot high ledge that leads into darkness appears along its east side. Further back (northeast), a second set of stairs leads up to a stone door carved with a skull.
(Actions? Please account for visibility, as there are no light sources here.)
As the plunge into the oppressive darkness, Laderan slows to a stop, allowing the others to catch up with him. "I can creep forward easily enough, only problem is I can see jack all in this darkness. Anyone got a light?" He creeps forwards, attempting to make no sound and timing his footfalls to the repetitive drips, breathing in the dank air it seems clear that this is not a well travelled area, well not travelled by the living anyway. Feeling at the edge of the wall and listening carefully for any other signs of movement.
Stealth: 16 (depending on light situation this likely for move quietly only)
Perception: 11
(Edit - second roll I'd mistakenly put as a second stealth skill with perception modifier, corrected the ability tooltip. Pre-edit roll was 13)
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Oranir takes a deep breath of the damp stale air inside as if coming back home, looking around blinking his eyes for a moment as his vision adjusts to the darkness. "We're going into the lair of a lich, looking for their phylactery. The more dangerous the path looks, the more likely it will lead in the right direction." he says as he steps ahead for a better view. Nodding at the surroundings as he moves further into the cavern, the elf's eyes eventually find the door carved with a skull in the distance, he smirks and whispers to himself, "A bit too obvious, Zaldara?" and points with his staff towards the skull door, "There."
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Merrick winces slightly as Sayax claps his shoulder and puts on a brave smile. He follows the group into the cave, though his eyes do not adjust to the intense darkness within. He begins to fumble through his backpack looking for the torches, dumping out the tinderbox, waterskin, and a small clay pendant depicting a now-fadedaded yellow rose. As he reaches to pick it up, a familiar scaled hand reaches forward and grabs it for him.
As Sayax grips the pendant tightly, a glow like morning sun begins to escape between his fingers. He offers the pendant back to Merrick, now shining bright light in all directions. Merrick let's out a relieved sigh, "Many thanks." and ties the pendant off on the tip of his staff to cast light in all directions.
The respite offered by the light was short lived as Oranir points out the omnious skull-shaped door. Wanting partially to weight out options and to delay the inevitable, he peels slightly away from the group to give a listen beyond the ledge.
Merrick listens down the other (not skull door passage): 6
Laderan's ears pick up someone moving past him before his eyes can register it, though unsure of exactly who it was. As the voice reaches him through the darkness he assumes the association between voice and movement, which is quickly confirmed when Merrick walks forwards shedding light all around him. With the light sabotaging any attempts at sneaking about the place Laderan stands up out of his crouch and steps forwards next to Oranir. "Well, if you were a clever lich, and you knew that someone might come after your phy-lac-a-mathingy, wouldn't it defeat the point if it was obvious? I mean, if I was that clever I'd probably remember where I leave my super important, undeath altering objects without making little signposts to remind me... So who would that skull be here for? That's right, us, the plucky band of theives."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Vladimir was unhappy. This cave had not been cleaned in who knows how long. Of course, it was a cave, so you had to make allowances, but honestly. This was supposed to be the [secret] entrance to a dwelling place; would it have hurt someone to pump out this brackish water? Now they would likely trail mud all over the floors. And the smell, Vladimir almost couldn't bear it. He knew he was here serving the Greater Good and he appreciated the opportunity, but there were times when he wished his calling had been to be a clerk at a desk, a well-organized desk, rather than whatever this was. The gods move in mysterious ways.
Looking ahead, he saw both Oranir and Laderan, looking to the right. Oranir was pointing at something to the right. Merrick, on the other hand, was standing alone to the left, before what looked like a set of tall stairs. "Ah ha!" thought Vladimir, "A way out of this distressing water." He made his way over to Merrick in order to see what was visible from that position.
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
Perception: 7
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
"You're quite welcome Merrick, now let's see what we have here." Now that the area is lit up, Sayax takes in the atmosphere of the dank, dark cavern. Definitely what you'd expect to find following those steps down here. As Oranir points out the skull door, Sayax references the path to the West. "Yes, that door does appear to be the way, but there is some stairs over here and a path, wouldn't it be good to clear the area? I would hate for someone or something to come at us from behind."
Merrick, receiving the blessing of Sayax’s light spell, peers up the stairs to the northwest, but notices nothing within the light’s boundaries.
Vladimir joins Merrick, noting with his excellent eyes that the topography of the current chamber extends into the next, though nothing threatening yet emerges.
Sayax and Ashtear likewise step deeper into the chamber, eager to determine the best path forward.
Laderan creeps forward through the gloom, listening carefully, but doesn’t hear more than the dripping of water.
Oradin steps toward the northeastern stair, noting the presence of the skull-laden doorway.
As Laderan and Oradin pass by the large, central column, the shuffling of dragging footfalls is heard. From behind the column emerge four skeletal horrors, eternal guardians of Zaldara’s crypt! They wield bows and shortswords and seem none too happy to suffer the living!
GM:
Enemy initiative: 15
Ashtear initiative: 16
Laderan initiative: 19
Merrick initiative: 12
Oranir initiative: 7
Sayax initiative: 19
Vladimir initiative: 14
Initiative (bold may act): Ashtear, Laderan, Sayax, enemy, remaining PCs
As the horrors appear, Sayax readies his hammer and heads 10' N to the green skeletal creature. Aiming his hammer to bring a blow across the creatures face, he swings...
Attack: 6 Damage: 7
Hearing the sounds of shuffled steps atop the ledge nearby quickly followed by the reactions of those in the light Laderan looks about franticly, unable to immediately see any danger to himself immediately he moves away from the ledge, not knowing what to expect atop it. When he sees the first skeletal figure, shambling onwards. He reacts instinctively, calling on the powers that the genie imbued him with, drawing in the essence of the earth from all around him. Small particles of sand and dust rapidly gravitate together in front of the harengon's outstretched hand, a small sphere swirling and twisting, growing as more detritus flies towards it. As it reaches a critical mass a jet of sand shoots towards the skeleton on the ridge before the magic disperses. "Oranir, they are above us, take care!" So saying, Laderan darts over to the larger group, leaving himself a little breathing room from them.
Action: Eldritch Blast Attack: 18 Damage: 7 force +2 bludgeoning(Genie's wrath)
BA: -
Movement: 30ft as per map
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
As the others engage in the close range combat. Oranir off in the distance under the skeletons on the ledge. Moving out from the light, dropping to a knee and taking aim Ashtear fires her crossbow in counterance to the skeleton ambush.
18To Hit Red. 4 Piercing non magical.
Saddling up closer to the edge of the wall, hoping to obtain some cover but still present a target rather than the exposed Oranir. "Undead, Obvious. We were too loud...but they likely taste our life regardless. Dad always said undead smell the living's life energy."