As she walks through the streets Dahme'dre takes in her surroundings. Fear and self interest have dominated the lives of these people for too long. Has change truly come? If so, its effects creep in slowly. Decades of the curse have rought deep wounds in the souls of the peiple, and removed the stronger members of the population.
The water and waste pooling in the streets parts as she approaches pressed aside with Shape Water, and the earth trembles announcing her approach... If not announcing her nerves.
(All that time studying the past has left little room to maintain her health I guess.)
As they walk through the streets, Erdan will continue his sycophant retainer persona towards Dahme'dre. He will continue to whisper loudly to her, mostly about the state of this town and how she deserves to be somewhere nicer, and about the schedule.
He will also be using this time to examine the area, and look for the best way to make a hasty retreat if needed. Also, he inspects the building as they approach, looking to see if there are any hidden guards. Mostly making sure they aren't walking into a trap.
The foul water staining the streets flows away from you, Dahme'dre, as you make your way through the town. The buildings do not markedly improve, though nearer the center they are generally slightly better maintained but if anything more fortified.
Erdan, you continue your steady stream of toadying in Dahme'dre's ear, which appears to meet with the expectations of the guards escorting you. Looking about the area, you note the building with the Ducal Crest stands nestled between an abandoned blacksmithy on the right and a narrow alley on the left. You cannot tell explicitly from where you're standing, but context clues suggest the alley might be a dead end. Directly opposite the building are three homes, one abandoned and the other two heavily fortified and among the better maintained you have seen during your walk through the city.
You spot no additional guards, but there would be no shortage of places for someone to conceal themselves out of your sight, be it in the alley or in one of the surrounding buildings.
As the party approaches the building, the two door guards look at you with the disinterested interest of professional guards everywhere. One of your escorts drops back and quietly asks Valen and Erdan, "How am I to announce the Lady?"
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"My lady, you gave your real name! You know we are supposed to be traveling inconspicuously! You know what happens to nobles outside of Thar! Oh my, oh my, your father will not be pleased with me! This is what I get for agreeing to go on one of your jaunts along the countryside!"
Turning to the guard, he will say, snootily! "Introduce her quietly, we do not want the whole town knowing she is here."
The guard listens to Erdan's interlude with the studied blankness of one long accustomed to the peculiarities and intrigues of nobility. "Very good, Lady d'Cannith," he says with a half bow to Dahme'dre, his male companion ducking inside to introduce you as his female companion opened the front door to the squat building, revealing near darkness within. "I would ask that you terminate your spellcasting and quash any lingering enchantments, Lady" he adds, "It is for your own safety, you understand, the ritualistic arcana the Duke maintains is most delicate."
Dahme'dre holds the rhythm of her guidance, unwilling to be removed from the weave, as she makes an effort to keep calm and quash that rumbling. Her eyes fade to their natural light brown, and she gives the guard a pleasant smile and a nod of acquiescence.
Dahme'dre, you consider if any rituals can be directly harmful to you but don't come to any satisfactory answers. Rituals are simply too broad a discipline of arcana to be predict their interactions with your own magic to any degree of comfort. There are certainly rituals where breathing too loudly, let alone introducing your own magic, could be disastrous. On the other hand, you know of some so inherently stable disrupting them requires more power than you could muster at full strength.
You hear the guard within intone the name Erdan gave, and a thin, impatient voice respond, "Well tell her to get inside and close the door, you cretin."
Peering through the door, you can make out little, the room being in semi-darkness, lit by the flickering light of candleflame.
"Well, he seems pleasant." Dahme'dre observes sarcastically in the private moment. "Nobles are always such pleasant company, am I right?" She gives her allies a playful grin before looking for their input. "Duke Milles. His family must have risen to power recently. In my recollection the name belonged to an Earl. Recently acquired wealth has served them well in politics, though it's clearly done little toward the family's upbringing." She looks over her allies, noting more apprehension or unease than she would expect in the situation. "We'll keep this meeting brief. We've got a long road ahead... However, if the Duke has some business for us, it may be wise to hear. Any thoughts?"
"If the duke has some business which gives mutual benefit, I see no reason not to hear him out." Valen seems ill at ease, as though the whole town is made for a trap.
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"What are we waiting for, my Lady? Time is not our friend. Go talk, then we shall leave."
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Horatio Hirschfeld - Squire imbued with fae powers, in the Coliseum of Conquest (W2/L1) DM for Reavers of Harkenwold, and sometimes The Fighting Grounds of the Coliseum
You enter into the building, to find it largely consists of a single open chamber. Every internal wall has been removed, with faint traces visible on the floor to your right to indicate where one such once stood. The light is dim and flickering, coming from dozens of candles spread about the room in complex configurations. The candles stand in clusters around small groups of arcane paraphernalia. Symbols of mystic appearance have been drawn in red and green ink on the walls, floor and even on the back of the door through which you enter. A single large pentagram covers the entire ceiling.
Four guards stand stoically in the room, ignoring the flickering light and staring resolutely ahead when not watching your every move.
The only pieces of furniture in the room are a large oaken desk, with symbols carved into it at regular intervals and a lantern burning on its left edge, and two chairs. The grander of the two stands behind the desk, occupied by a thin man with greying, wispy hair and deep bags under his grey eyes. He looks up impatiently at your entry, a weary sigh escaping his lips before an automatic polite smile of welcome fixes itself upon his lips.
The second chair is occupied by a Dwarven woman of middle years dressed in robes of white. She appears peacefully asleep, snoozing in the chair with a large book spread across her lap.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Dahme'dre resists the urge to steady and brighten the candles. She looks over the symbols, the pentagram, and the configuration of the candles. Some of the... Custodians of her order use Ritual casting, and she intends to follow the same path. These don't seem terribly unlike spells she's seen before. (Arcana: (2)12)
She offers a well practiced curtsey, and waits until she is addressed before speaking.
(Assuming a brief greeting:)
"Duke Milles, it is an honor." She greets him warmly, her melodic voice not quite in song. "I do hope we are not taxing your time too greatly." Noting his weariness she offers more candidly. "The duties and expectations of a family name can be quite trying, I know. Our visit was requested here by the guards, though the request may have been unwarranted. As we are here, though..." She pauses to offer the right words, less an offer than an admission. "Let us know if my party's talents are needed before we depart. Arion is in a rough state, and you have much to accomplish."
The figures and candles continue to draw her attention throughout her statements though she keeps her eyes on the Duke as she speaks. She has a hard time quelling her interest, however, and she finally asks, "May I... Examine your rituals?" She starts to move nearer to the closest fixture before he responds, and (if he allows her examination) she draws up and calms the flickering glow of the lights with Thaumaturgy as she begins her soft humming once again.
Erdan will enter a few steps behind Dahme'dre, with his head respectfully bowed. He will move off to the side of the door as they enter, and stay there while she is speaking. He will take a closer look at the guards, see what they are armed with and to see if they are Royal Guards from the capital, or the Duke's personal guards.
Dahme'dre, the rituals are completely baffling to you and while they bear a superficial resemblance to spell work you've seen in the past, you are unable to immediately discern their purpose.
The duke looks wearily up from his work and blinks at you all owlishly before greeting Dahme'dre in a raspy but authoritative voice. "Lady d'Cannith," he says, not quite succeeding at the pronunciation. "I bid you welcome to this crime riddled cesspit." He peers at your face for a moment, searching his memory but clearly comes up empty. "I do not recognize you from court, but even low standing with the Emperor should not drive a noble to risk the Withering."
He blinks at the offer of assistance, however half hearted pursing his lips. He seems about to respond when you move toward one of the spell-circles. "My lady, royal or not, charming or not, if you so much as breathe upon my Withering Wards I will have you carved pieces," he says, a clear note of fear in his voice. "Step back, and let us talk of your purpose here."
Erdan, while not a soldier you can clearly see the guards around the room are experienced and hardened veterans. Hard, watchful eyes trace the movements of everyone in the party at once and multiple scars speak of wounds sustained in anger. The disposition of weaponry also seems carefully planned. Those closest to the door bear wide shields and short, stabbing blades. A guardswoman against the rear wall carries a halberd a half a head taller than she is with a wicked spike. The fourth guard, wearing lighter leather armor carries a pair of light hatchets, currently stored in belt-loops. All four bear the insignia of the royal guard.
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As she walks through the streets Dahme'dre takes in her surroundings. Fear and self interest have dominated the lives of these people for too long. Has change truly come? If so, its effects creep in slowly. Decades of the curse have rought deep wounds in the souls of the peiple, and removed the stronger members of the population.
The water and waste pooling in the streets parts as she approaches pressed aside with Shape Water, and the earth trembles announcing her approach... If not announcing her nerves.
(All that time studying the past has left little room to maintain her health I guess.)
Extended Signature
As they walk through the streets, Erdan will continue his sycophant retainer persona towards Dahme'dre. He will continue to whisper loudly to her, mostly about the state of this town and how she deserves to be somewhere nicer, and about the schedule.
He will also be using this time to examine the area, and look for the best way to make a hasty retreat if needed. Also, he inspects the building as they approach, looking to see if there are any hidden guards. Mostly making sure they aren't walking into a trap.
(( How are you making the earth shake? ))
The foul water staining the streets flows away from you, Dahme'dre, as you make your way through the town. The buildings do not markedly improve, though nearer the center they are generally slightly better maintained but if anything more fortified.
Erdan, you continue your steady stream of toadying in Dahme'dre's ear, which appears to meet with the expectations of the guards escorting you. Looking about the area, you note the building with the Ducal Crest stands nestled between an abandoned blacksmithy on the right and a narrow alley on the left. You cannot tell explicitly from where you're standing, but context clues suggest the alley might be a dead end. Directly opposite the building are three homes, one abandoned and the other two heavily fortified and among the better maintained you have seen during your walk through the city.
You spot no additional guards, but there would be no shortage of places for someone to conceal themselves out of your sight, be it in the alley or in one of the surrounding buildings.
As the party approaches the building, the two door guards look at you with the disinterested interest of professional guards everywhere. One of your escorts drops back and quietly asks Valen and Erdan, "How am I to announce the Lady?"
Aio maintains her position at the rear of the group, constantly swiveling her head to look at everything.
I don't like this place. We should leave. It feels like... trouble.
Pit of Vipers: Watl Wiggins - Halfling Rogue(10)
League of Improbable Adventurers: Alan Quatermain - Human Fighter(3)
(Quick history check to see if I know of any nobles or noble titles I could use that won't seem suspicious. history 12 )
Valen gives a shrug and a nod to Erdan, "He's the courtly one. I handle more...spiritual pursuits."
(Thaumatergy for the earth-trembling?)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
(Yes, Thaumaturgy for light rumbling. Maybe she's hungry. There's some light rumbling here too.)
Noting Erdan's momentary reluctance Dahme'dre notes, "You may introduce me as Lady Alice d'Cannith"
Extended Signature
Erdan turns to Dahme'dre with a shocked look.
"My lady, you gave your real name! You know we are supposed to be traveling inconspicuously! You know what happens to nobles outside of Thar! Oh my, oh my, your father will not be pleased with me! This is what I get for agreeing to go on one of your jaunts along the countryside!"
Turning to the guard, he will say, snootily! "Introduce her quietly, we do not want the whole town knowing she is here."
The guard listens to Erdan's interlude with the studied blankness of one long accustomed to the peculiarities and intrigues of nobility. "Very good, Lady d'Cannith," he says with a half bow to Dahme'dre, his male companion ducking inside to introduce you as his female companion opened the front door to the squat building, revealing near darkness within. "I would ask that you terminate your spellcasting and quash any lingering enchantments, Lady" he adds, "It is for your own safety, you understand, the ritualistic arcana the Duke maintains is most delicate."
Dahme'dre holds the rhythm of her guidance, unwilling to be removed from the weave, as she makes an effort to keep calm and quash that rumbling. Her eyes fade to their natural light brown, and she gives the guard a pleasant smile and a nod of acquiescence.
Extended Signature
Dahme'dre opts not to comment on Erdan's words. Frankly the man could introduce her in any way he wished. She preferred not to speak untruths.
She gestures to the guards to lead the way and nods to her companions to follow.
She considers her knowledge of Arcane rituals. Is she aware of a ritual that would in fact be harmful to her, as she held such effects? (Arcana: (3)9)
She continues to hum softly.
Extended Signature
Dahme'dre, you consider if any rituals can be directly harmful to you but don't come to any satisfactory answers. Rituals are simply too broad a discipline of arcana to be predict their interactions with your own magic to any degree of comfort. There are certainly rituals where breathing too loudly, let alone introducing your own magic, could be disastrous. On the other hand, you know of some so inherently stable disrupting them requires more power than you could muster at full strength.
You hear the guard within intone the name Erdan gave, and a thin, impatient voice respond, "Well tell her to get inside and close the door, you cretin."
Peering through the door, you can make out little, the room being in semi-darkness, lit by the flickering light of candleflame.
"Well, he seems pleasant." Dahme'dre observes sarcastically in the private moment. "Nobles are always such pleasant company, am I right?" She gives her allies a playful grin before looking for their input. "Duke Milles. His family must have risen to power recently. In my recollection the name belonged to an Earl. Recently acquired wealth has served them well in politics, though it's clearly done little toward the family's upbringing." She looks over her allies, noting more apprehension or unease than she would expect in the situation. "We'll keep this meeting brief. We've got a long road ahead... However, if the Duke has some business for us, it may be wise to hear. Any thoughts?"
Extended Signature
"If the duke has some business which gives mutual benefit, I see no reason not to hear him out." Valen seems ill at ease, as though the whole town is made for a trap.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
"No harm in hearing him out. Fair warning, I don't normally take kindly to nobles abusing there citizens." Erdan says.
"What are we waiting for, my Lady? Time is not our friend. Go talk, then we shall leave."
Horatio Hirschfeld - Squire imbued with fae powers, in the Coliseum of Conquest (W2/L1)
DM for Reavers of Harkenwold, and sometimes The Fighting Grounds of the Coliseum
You enter into the building, to find it largely consists of a single open chamber. Every internal wall has been removed, with faint traces visible on the floor to your right to indicate where one such once stood. The light is dim and flickering, coming from dozens of candles spread about the room in complex configurations. The candles stand in clusters around small groups of arcane paraphernalia. Symbols of mystic appearance have been drawn in red and green ink on the walls, floor and even on the back of the door through which you enter. A single large pentagram covers the entire ceiling.
Four guards stand stoically in the room, ignoring the flickering light and staring resolutely ahead when not watching your every move.
The only pieces of furniture in the room are a large oaken desk, with symbols carved into it at regular intervals and a lantern burning on its left edge, and two chairs. The grander of the two stands behind the desk, occupied by a thin man with greying, wispy hair and deep bags under his grey eyes. He looks up impatiently at your entry, a weary sigh escaping his lips before an automatic polite smile of welcome fixes itself upon his lips.
The second chair is occupied by a Dwarven woman of middle years dressed in robes of white. She appears peacefully asleep, snoozing in the chair with a large book spread across her lap.
Dahme'dre resists the urge to steady and brighten the candles. She looks over the symbols, the pentagram, and the configuration of the candles. Some of the... Custodians of her order use Ritual casting, and she intends to follow the same path. These don't seem terribly unlike spells she's seen before. (Arcana: (2)12)
She offers a well practiced curtsey, and waits until she is addressed before speaking.
(Assuming a brief greeting:)
"Duke Milles, it is an honor." She greets him warmly, her melodic voice not quite in song. "I do hope we are not taxing your time too greatly." Noting his weariness she offers more candidly. "The duties and expectations of a family name can be quite trying, I know. Our visit was requested here by the guards, though the request may have been unwarranted. As we are here, though..." She pauses to offer the right words, less an offer than an admission. "Let us know if my party's talents are needed before we depart. Arion is in a rough state, and you have much to accomplish."
The figures and candles continue to draw her attention throughout her statements though she keeps her eyes on the Duke as she speaks. She has a hard time quelling her interest, however, and she finally asks, "May I... Examine your rituals?" She starts to move nearer to the closest fixture before he responds, and (if he allows her examination) she draws up and calms the flickering glow of the lights with Thaumaturgy as she begins her soft humming once again.
(Nat one, wah wah.)
Extended Signature
Erdan will enter a few steps behind Dahme'dre, with his head respectfully bowed. He will move off to the side of the door as they enter, and stay there while she is speaking. He will take a closer look at the guards, see what they are armed with and to see if they are Royal Guards from the capital, or the Duke's personal guards.
Dahme'dre, the rituals are completely baffling to you and while they bear a superficial resemblance to spell work you've seen in the past, you are unable to immediately discern their purpose.
The duke looks wearily up from his work and blinks at you all owlishly before greeting Dahme'dre in a raspy but authoritative voice. "Lady d'Cannith," he says, not quite succeeding at the pronunciation. "I bid you welcome to this crime riddled cesspit." He peers at your face for a moment, searching his memory but clearly comes up empty. "I do not recognize you from court, but even low standing with the Emperor should not drive a noble to risk the Withering."
He blinks at the offer of assistance, however half hearted pursing his lips. He seems about to respond when you move toward one of the spell-circles. "My lady, royal or not, charming or not, if you so much as breathe upon my Withering Wards I will have you carved pieces," he says, a clear note of fear in his voice. "Step back, and let us talk of your purpose here."
Erdan, while not a soldier you can clearly see the guards around the room are experienced and hardened veterans. Hard, watchful eyes trace the movements of everyone in the party at once and multiple scars speak of wounds sustained in anger. The disposition of weaponry also seems carefully planned. Those closest to the door bear wide shields and short, stabbing blades. A guardswoman against the rear wall carries a halberd a half a head taller than she is with a wicked spike. The fourth guard, wearing lighter leather armor carries a pair of light hatchets, currently stored in belt-loops. All four bear the insignia of the royal guard.