You are a group of individual travellers on the road, all travelling in the same direction but not particularly familiar with each other. As the sun starts setting on another day of travel, you decide to make camp and share a fire for the night to cook your rations and exchange stories. The woods are quiet this night, and the air grows chill. Your fire sputters as a low mist gathers around the edges of your camp, growing closer as the night wears on. During the night, you sleep fitfully, and occasionally awake briefly - but when you do the fog and darkness obscures everything beyond the area of your campfire. In the distance, you hear the occasional howling of Wolves in the distance - which strikes you as odd since you have not heard of wolves in these parts of the world. When you wake up in the morning, the fog seems just as thick, with no sign of lessening. As you gather your things and look around, you begin to notice that the trees and ground around you appear to have changed. Worse still, the stone road by which you pitched your camp appears to have vanished, and in its place you find a single dirt track leading off from your camp into the fog. Whatever happened to you overnight, you do not appear to be in the same place as where you pitched your camp.
As you look around you, it becomes clear to you that wherever you now are, sticking together as a group might be your best chance. Looking around yourselves at each other, you each hope that as a group you might have enough skills and luck to make it back home.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
A woman of slender and short figure walks away from the group. She delicately plucks some exotic plants. With a curious gaze, she reaches out and caresses the weathered stones, as if seeking answers for their strange situation.
"Interesting," she murmurs, her voice a soft breath that hangs in the air. "It seems someone whisked us away from our slumber and deposited us in a realm unknown. Perhaps another world altogether..."
The woman slowly lowers her hood, unveiling a shaved head adorned with intricate tattoos. Though her countenance remains impassive, her eyes shimmer with an inner fire, burning bright with anticipation and excitement.
A short-furred tabaxi stands close to the dirt track, their long, thin tail lashing back and forth the only movement from them. Their rounded ears sit perked forward atop their head as they peer down the road, head tilted just slightly to the side. One clawed hand was up at their chest, clutching the pendant around their neck - a crude holy symbol of their own devising. The woman's words seem to catch their attention, one ear flicking towards her, followed quickly by their orange eyes.
"It is very unsettling," they agree, sniffing at the air. "I recognize nothing about this place; even the scent has changed." They turn in a slow circle, checking over the rest of the group as though reassuring themself that everyone was accounted for. Their ears settled out of their alert position, lending a more relaxed look to Remnant's face despite the fangs that peeked out of their upper muzzle. "We should be careful; this fog cannot be a good omen."
A fair skinned blonde haired elf packs up his bedroll and double checks his gear. He then approaches the others. "Anyone else hear the wolves last night? That was kinda ominous wasn't it? Anyone reckon where we are or how we even got here for that matter?" he asks. "Oh my name is Rojor by the way. Rojor Reldraxi."
One of the people traveling upon this road is dressed in dark rugged clothing and a leather coat with chain mail beneath. He has dark brown eyes, black unkempt hair down to his shoulders, and his face shows a haggard beard. The night before he could be heard muttering some words before he found his rest in his bedroll. With morning, he took his time, putting on his boots, slowly donning his armor, securing his swords in their scabbards at each hip, and taking up his pack. For a long time, he surveyed their new surroundings in silence.
"It lies dim and cold on the face of the mould, Like a smile on the lips of the dead. As chill and as white, as dense and as light As the winding-sheet laid in the still of the night Over the funeral bed."
He speaks the poem as he looks out into the fog. "Whatever has befallen us, it seems we have only one path to take. Ill omen or not. Perhaps we should stick together."
A woman of slender and short figure walks away from the group. She delicately plucks some exotic plants. With a curious gaze, she reaches out and caresses the weathered stones, as if seeking answers for their strange situation.
Investigation:. 12
The trees that surround you are dark and evergreen (like Conifer, Spruce and Pines). This is very different to the place where you made camp last night, near an almost tropical forests. There is a lot of moss and other vegetation, making the place seem wild and untouched - save for the single path that heads away from your camp off through the trees. The sun has risen but is hidden behind low fog and high clouds. So while it is bright, there is also a somewhat gloomy feel to the day. You cannot see from here where the path will lead you as you are surrounded by fog which limits your vision.
A pale and wiry figure finally grunts and stands up, dusting the leaves off his fading finery. He had apparently spent the night resting with his back to a tree. He tilts his head to one side and frowns, staring at the tattooed woman. His long blonde hair clings to his head in the damp air, highlighting his pale face.
"Another world you say?"
He looks around at the path, the mist the rocks, the trees. "Not much of an outdoors man, I must admit. But..." he sniffs the air. "This place seems as perfectly miserable as the one we camped in last night. Bit more damp, maybe."
He quickly gathers his pack and bow then tightens his belt and pack straps before looking up again at his companions. "Alcazar Tremayne, at your service." He manages a slight bow, then says to the warrior. "Agreed. Wherever we are, it seems we only have one way to go, and I would prefer the safety of numbers."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"The vegetation whispers to me, we are in a land of higher latitudes and cooler climes," Bianka remarks, her voice tinged with excitement. She turns to her companions and says."I would recommend wearing warmer clothing, dear friends."
The woman makes her way back to her mule, retrieving her cloak and gloves from their resting place.
"In case my name has eluded your ears, I am Bianka Slovak," she introduces herself. Her hand gestures towards the language on her mule's back. "And, as is apparent... I am a wizard."
Bianka's gesture summons forth a small creature, emerging from a small leather bag. With swift movements, the creature, an eagle-owl, alights upon her outstretched arm. Its two big eyes meet the wizard's before it gracefully vanishes into the mist.
Bianka commands her familiar to scour the path ahead, searching for any traces left by both humans and beasts.
Bianka's gesture summons forth a small creature, emerging from a small leather bag. With swift movements, the creature, an eagle-owl, alights upon her outstretched arm. Its two big eyes meet the wizard's before it gracefully vanishes into the mist.
Bianka commands her familiar to scour the path ahead, searching for any traces left by both humans and beasts.
Owl
Perception: 5
Stealth: 8
The owl sees nothing much in the fog beyond more trees. Curiously, despite trying to go in a straight line out from its mistress to explore, it finds itself somehow turned around in the mist and returning to where it came. This happens in all directions, except when exploring down the path. This path seems to go on for a while, and then joins a larger road - albeit still a very shabby and not well maintained one.
However, as you watch your familiar explore, something odd happens to it. It seems to be dropping a very large amount of its feathers. Far too many for a healthy bird, yet it continues to fly as well as ever. As it returns closer to you, you find that not only have it's feathers gone, but even it's flesh is turning black and looking dry and cracked. As it returns and lands on your outstretched hand, you regard it curiously for a second. Then a gust of wind picks up, and blows away the its black flesh like ashes from a dying fire - leaving behind only a clean skeleton, still held together by magic.
(In terms of game mechanics, the familiar is now undead—not a celestial, fey, or fiend—and is immune to features that turn undead. Other than that, it behaves exactly as always and has the same actions, abilities, etc as usual.)
From an Academic and Wizarding perspective, this is truly fascinating. Wherever you currently are, it's not just the trees and weather that have changed - even the nature of magic itself seems subtly different from any of your previous experiences and studies.
Alcazar watches as the creature transforms then examines the backs of his own hands, flexing his fingers, watching closely for signs of change. After a few moments doing this, oblivious to his surrounds, he draws a shallow breath, "Perhaps there is something a little odd abut this place after all."
He shrugs, shifts his pack and stands ready to move on.
Remnant watches the familiar change, their tail lashing behind them. "An abomination," they hiss quietly, mostly to themself. "This is a foul place." Anathema to their calling, if the creature's change in nature was any indication. Still, the group was right; staying together was probably better. They lean down to carefully pick up their pack and shoulder it, shaking themself out of the uncomfortably prickly feeling poking at the back of their mind.
"I am Remnant Two Mask," they offer, unable to remember if names had been exchanged before they had settled in for the night. They carefully tuck their holy symbol back beneath the tunic under their leather armor. "While normally I might question the wisdom of following a well-travelled path in a place we do not know, in this case I would prefer not to get lost in the fog." It smelled foul; or perhaps that was just their own fear talking. They took a deep breath to calm themself, settling their fur, and took a few steps onto the dirt track, glancing at the rest of the group. "Shall we?"
For the first time since their arrival in this mystical realm, the woman's emotions burst forth. "Oh... Kiri! What has this forsaken place done to you?" Her lips contort into a feral smile, resembling the snarl of a wolf.
"My familiar is no ordinary avian. She is a creature from the ethereal plane, clad in material skin. The very essence of this realm tugs at her being, a clear indication that we have strayed far from our original world." Bianka astride her loyal mual, gazes at the Tabaxi cleric and their companions, nodding resolutely. "There is but one path that will unveil the truth, and it stretches out before us." With a firm grip on the reins, she guides her mount forward, venturing into the ominous darkness that lies ahead.
(Bianka will send her now undead familiar 30 feet ahead of the group to scout the path.)
As others introduce themselves, the man with the haggard beard says, "I'm Janek Whitmor." He watches the strange transformation of Bianca's familiar. His response to her elucidation on the nature of her creature is just a soft grunted "Hmm."
Without further conversation, he heads slowly down the path. He does cast a look back, both to see that others are coming and if there's further information from those scouting.
The curious fog seems to leave you little choice but to make your way along this path. As the Owl reported, it soon joins a larger road, still unmade and rough. You follow the road for an hour or two, and the scenery (or what you can see of it through the fog) seems to be forest and rocks. But as you move along the road, you find something ahead. At first, you can only make out darker shades in the fog, but as you get closed you can make it out more clearly. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
As you approach, the massive gates open slowly, creaking on their hinges. There does not appear to be anyone actually operating or opening the gates, and you can see no mechanism by which the free-swinging gates could be moved. They simply seem to have opened on their own as you get closer.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Janek pauses as he comes to the gates which seemed to have opened on their own. "Just something to be expected in this place?" he says. "I'd still think there'd be people here somewhere." He looks around, trying to see if he can detect any signs of others being somewhere near.
You hear and see no one. But at the same time, ever since you have been walking in the forest, you can't help but feel like you are being watched. Whether this is true or not, there is no one around you at the moment.
As you examine the gate and it's surroundings, you notice a very weathered inscription engraved into the stone near the gate. It reads simply reads "Barovia", presumably denoting the name of the land behind the gate.
The gate looks ancient and has not been maintained or kept in much use, and is overgrown with moss and other plants. Although clearly it is not entirely unused, as there are some tracks of wagons and people going through the gate. But given you know nothing about when it last rained or what the weather here is like you are not able to work out how recently these tracks were made.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
You are a group of individual travellers on the road, all travelling in the same direction but not particularly familiar with each other. As the sun starts setting on another day of travel, you decide to make camp and share a fire for the night to cook your rations and exchange stories. The woods are quiet this night, and the air grows chill. Your fire sputters as a low mist gathers around the edges of your camp, growing closer as the night wears on. During the night, you sleep fitfully, and occasionally awake briefly - but when you do the fog and darkness obscures everything beyond the area of your campfire. In the distance, you hear the occasional howling of Wolves in the distance - which strikes you as odd since you have not heard of wolves in these parts of the world. When you wake up in the morning, the fog seems just as thick, with no sign of lessening. As you gather your things and look around, you begin to notice that the trees and ground around you appear to have changed. Worse still, the stone road by which you pitched your camp appears to have vanished, and in its place you find a single dirt track leading off from your camp into the fog. Whatever happened to you overnight, you do not appear to be in the same place as where you pitched your camp.
As you look around you, it becomes clear to you that wherever you now are, sticking together as a group might be your best chance. Looking around yourselves at each other, you each hope that as a group you might have enough skills and luck to make it back home.
(Please introduce yourselves in character)
A woman of slender and short figure walks away from the group. She delicately plucks some exotic plants. With a curious gaze, she reaches out and caresses the weathered stones, as if seeking answers for their strange situation.
"Interesting," she murmurs, her voice a soft breath that hangs in the air. "It seems someone whisked us away from our slumber and deposited us in a realm unknown. Perhaps another world altogether..."
The woman slowly lowers her hood, unveiling a shaved head adorned with intricate tattoos. Though her countenance remains impassive, her eyes shimmer with an inner fire, burning bright with anticipation and excitement.
Investigation:. 12
A short-furred tabaxi stands close to the dirt track, their long, thin tail lashing back and forth the only movement from them. Their rounded ears sit perked forward atop their head as they peer down the road, head tilted just slightly to the side. One clawed hand was up at their chest, clutching the pendant around their neck - a crude holy symbol of their own devising. The woman's words seem to catch their attention, one ear flicking towards her, followed quickly by their orange eyes.
"It is very unsettling," they agree, sniffing at the air. "I recognize nothing about this place; even the scent has changed." They turn in a slow circle, checking over the rest of the group as though reassuring themself that everyone was accounted for. Their ears settled out of their alert position, lending a more relaxed look to Remnant's face despite the fangs that peeked out of their upper muzzle. "We should be careful; this fog cannot be a good omen."
(ooc: Think fossa for the type of cat species.)
No Longer Active
A fair skinned blonde haired elf packs up his bedroll and double checks his gear. He then approaches the others. "Anyone else hear the wolves last night? That was kinda ominous wasn't it? Anyone reckon where we are or how we even got here for that matter?" he asks. "Oh my name is Rojor by the way. Rojor Reldraxi."
One of the people traveling upon this road is dressed in dark rugged clothing and a leather coat with chain mail beneath. He has dark brown eyes, black unkempt hair down to his shoulders, and his face shows a haggard beard. The night before he could be heard muttering some words before he found his rest in his bedroll. With morning, he took his time, putting on his boots, slowly donning his armor, securing his swords in their scabbards at each hip, and taking up his pack. For a long time, he surveyed their new surroundings in silence.
"It lies dim and cold on the face of the mould,
Like a smile on the lips of the dead.
As chill and as white, as dense and as light
As the winding-sheet laid in the still of the night
Over the funeral bed."
He speaks the poem as he looks out into the fog. "Whatever has befallen us, it seems we have only one path to take. Ill omen or not. Perhaps we should stick together."
Rabbit Sebrica | Skarai | Katryl Brightfury | Rylia Lionrage | Roxana Raincrest | Janek Whitmor | Lokilia Vaelphin
The trees that surround you are dark and evergreen (like Conifer, Spruce and Pines). This is very different to the place where you made camp last night, near an almost tropical forests. There is a lot of moss and other vegetation, making the place seem wild and untouched - save for the single path that heads away from your camp off through the trees. The sun has risen but is hidden behind low fog and high clouds. So while it is bright, there is also a somewhat gloomy feel to the day. You cannot see from here where the path will lead you as you are surrounded by fog which limits your vision.
A pale and wiry figure finally grunts and stands up, dusting the leaves off his fading finery. He had apparently spent the night resting with his back to a tree. He tilts his head to one side and frowns, staring at the tattooed woman. His long blonde hair clings to his head in the damp air, highlighting his pale face.
"Another world you say?"
He looks around at the path, the mist the rocks, the trees. "Not much of an outdoors man, I must admit. But..." he sniffs the air. "This place seems as perfectly miserable as the one we camped in last night. Bit more damp, maybe."
He quickly gathers his pack and bow then tightens his belt and pack straps before looking up again at his companions. "Alcazar Tremayne, at your service." He manages a slight bow, then says to the warrior. "Agreed. Wherever we are, it seems we only have one way to go, and I would prefer the safety of numbers."
"The vegetation whispers to me, we are in a land of higher latitudes and cooler climes," Bianka remarks, her voice tinged with excitement. She turns to her companions and says."I would recommend wearing warmer clothing, dear friends."
The woman makes her way back to her mule, retrieving her cloak and gloves from their resting place.
"In case my name has eluded your ears, I am Bianka Slovak," she introduces herself. Her hand gestures towards the language on her mule's back. "And, as is apparent... I am a wizard."
Bianka's gesture summons forth a small creature, emerging from a small leather bag. With swift movements, the creature, an eagle-owl, alights upon her outstretched arm. Its two big eyes meet the wizard's before it gracefully vanishes into the mist.
Bianka commands her familiar to scour the path ahead, searching for any traces left by both humans and beasts.
Owl
Perception: 15
Stealth: 16
The owl sees nothing much in the fog beyond more trees. Curiously, despite trying to go in a straight line out from its mistress to explore, it finds itself somehow turned around in the mist and returning to where it came. This happens in all directions, except when exploring down the path. This path seems to go on for a while, and then joins a larger road - albeit still a very shabby and not well maintained one.
However, as you watch your familiar explore, something odd happens to it. It seems to be dropping a very large amount of its feathers. Far too many for a healthy bird, yet it continues to fly as well as ever. As it returns closer to you, you find that not only have it's feathers gone, but even it's flesh is turning black and looking dry and cracked. As it returns and lands on your outstretched hand, you regard it curiously for a second. Then a gust of wind picks up, and blows away the its black flesh like ashes from a dying fire - leaving behind only a clean skeleton, still held together by magic.
(In terms of game mechanics, the familiar is now undead—not a celestial, fey, or fiend—and is immune to features that turn undead. Other than that, it behaves exactly as always and has the same actions, abilities, etc as usual.)
From an Academic and Wizarding perspective, this is truly fascinating. Wherever you currently are, it's not just the trees and weather that have changed - even the nature of magic itself seems subtly different from any of your previous experiences and studies.
Alcazar watches as the creature transforms then examines the backs of his own hands, flexing his fingers, watching closely for signs of change. After a few moments doing this, oblivious to his surrounds, he draws a shallow breath, "Perhaps there is something a little odd abut this place after all."
He shrugs, shifts his pack and stands ready to move on.
Remnant watches the familiar change, their tail lashing behind them. "An abomination," they hiss quietly, mostly to themself. "This is a foul place." Anathema to their calling, if the creature's change in nature was any indication. Still, the group was right; staying together was probably better. They lean down to carefully pick up their pack and shoulder it, shaking themself out of the uncomfortably prickly feeling poking at the back of their mind.
"I am Remnant Two Mask," they offer, unable to remember if names had been exchanged before they had settled in for the night. They carefully tuck their holy symbol back beneath the tunic under their leather armor. "While normally I might question the wisdom of following a well-travelled path in a place we do not know, in this case I would prefer not to get lost in the fog." It smelled foul; or perhaps that was just their own fear talking. They took a deep breath to calm themself, settling their fur, and took a few steps onto the dirt track, glancing at the rest of the group. "Shall we?"
No Longer Active
The path ahead looks dark and foreboding. Are you ready to start leaving your campsite?
“Yes. It might be wise to stick together until we know more about this place.”*the elf remarks, keeping his bow at the ready.”
For the first time since their arrival in this mystical realm, the woman's emotions burst forth. "Oh... Kiri! What has this forsaken place done to you?" Her lips contort into a feral smile, resembling the snarl of a wolf.
"My familiar is no ordinary avian. She is a creature from the ethereal plane, clad in material skin. The very essence of this realm tugs at her being, a clear indication that we have strayed far from our original world." Bianka astride her loyal mual, gazes at the Tabaxi cleric and their companions, nodding resolutely. "There is but one path that will unveil the truth, and it stretches out before us." With a firm grip on the reins, she guides her mount forward, venturing into the ominous darkness that lies ahead.
(Bianka will send her now undead familiar 30 feet ahead of the group to scout the path.)
As others introduce themselves, the man with the haggard beard says, "I'm Janek Whitmor." He watches the strange transformation of Bianca's familiar. His response to her elucidation on the nature of her creature is just a soft grunted "Hmm."
Without further conversation, he heads slowly down the path. He does cast a look back, both to see that others are coming and if there's further information from those scouting.
Rabbit Sebrica | Skarai | Katryl Brightfury | Rylia Lionrage | Roxana Raincrest | Janek Whitmor | Lokilia Vaelphin
Rojer follows the others down the foreboding path. Curious as to where it will lead them.
Remnant moves forward with the group, determined to stick close for both the safety of themself and the rest.
No Longer Active
The curious fog seems to leave you little choice but to make your way along this path. As the Owl reported, it soon joins a larger road, still unmade and rough. You follow the road for an hour or two, and the scenery (or what you can see of it through the fog) seems to be forest and rocks. But as you move along the road, you find something ahead. At first, you can only make out darker shades in the fog, but as you get closed you can make it out more clearly. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
As you approach, the massive gates open slowly, creaking on their hinges. There does not appear to be anyone actually operating or opening the gates, and you can see no mechanism by which the free-swinging gates could be moved. They simply seem to have opened on their own as you get closer.
Janek pauses as he comes to the gates which seemed to have opened on their own. "Just something to be expected in this place?" he says. "I'd still think there'd be people here somewhere." He looks around, trying to see if he can detect any signs of others being somewhere near.
(Perception: 8)
Rabbit Sebrica | Skarai | Katryl Brightfury | Rylia Lionrage | Roxana Raincrest | Janek Whitmor | Lokilia Vaelphin
You hear and see no one. But at the same time, ever since you have been walking in the forest, you can't help but feel like you are being watched. Whether this is true or not, there is no one around you at the moment.
As you examine the gate and it's surroundings, you notice a very weathered inscription engraved into the stone near the gate. It reads simply reads "Barovia", presumably denoting the name of the land behind the gate.
The gate looks ancient and has not been maintained or kept in much use, and is overgrown with moss and other plants. Although clearly it is not entirely unused, as there are some tracks of wagons and people going through the gate. But given you know nothing about when it last rained or what the weather here is like you are not able to work out how recently these tracks were made.