Leftenant was lost in thought, his eyes closed, listening. He was prepared for the door to open, or a flash of light and expected a guard to bark orders immediately after. That all changed in an instance, however. Despite being disciplined from his military service, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed once the action started. The jolt of the wagon from an explosion was an unexpected shock that broke that discipline.
He looks around as the door opens and the moonlight dimly illuminates the inside of the wagon. He takes mental notes of the other occupants…just before their elven savior meets their demise. “More questions than answers.” His thought.
The elder human glances from Kalamin to Lyra, then to Glyptemus as they appear better prepared to escape the group’s bondage.
"Death comes for us all, yet you will not be forgotten, elven savior whose name I know not."
Lyra's voice is somber. The harmonica hangs darkly at her throat, drinking the moonlight. Even as her fellow captive warrior suggests it, Lyra moves her Mage Hand to collect the fallen elf's keys, then grins as she spies the tortle casting his own. Her own spectral hand places the keys in the other caster's Mage, Hand. "If you would free all of us with these, Sir Tortle, starting with the warriors, I think. Yet I suggest no one exit the wagon just yet!"
Lyra herself instead gestures once more with her fingers and a Minor Illusion appears of the wagon door, still closed, with no visibility within, obscuring the elf's corpse as well. A five foot cube of illusory image that makes it look as if the wagon is undisturbed and secure to the outside world.
She tilts her head and smiles at the human. "Perhaps the good times are just beginning. For all except our elven friend, sadly. Even if free, we are unarmed and unarmored and and at great risk if we wander out one by one. I have created an illusion that may hide our newfound freedom from our prior captors outside until we can all escape at once. That should give the tortle time to use the keys to open most or all the locks, I hope?"
The keys were still clutched in the elf's hand, and your Mage Hand is able to collect them without problem. After they're handed off to Glyptemis' Mage Hand, the Tortle mage is able to get to work unlocking the chains that bind the five of you.
Cries of agony and fury ring out around you, but no one else comes to the door yet. Occasionally the earth beneath you rocks again as another blast explodes somewhere nearby.
Once freed, Kalamin wastes no time hurrying to the door to reach through the illusion and drag the elf's body up with them(unless it will disrupt the illusion. In which case he doesn't.) If that works, he searches for any weapons he can make use of, even if it's just a dagger. "Sounds like quite a battle out there. I think you have the right idea..."He looks to the elvish woman blankly for a moment, trying to cut through the mental fog to recall her name. "Lyra."He says slowly, pointing at her."Escaping at once, and sticking together once we get out there."
Lyra nods back as she maintains the Minor Illusion and waits for the tortle to finish unlocking everyone's bonds.
"Yes, together it is. Call it a hunch, but we may have a complementary set of skills among us. Could any of you discern anything of our captors? Once outside, we may not know friend from foe. My memories are clouded, yet I recall being warned of danger by one I trust, then returning home to find it ransacked with runes written in blood on all surfaces and... perhaps a fiend or aberration with a large third eye in its forehead, obscured in darkness..."
You're able to pull the body up the rest of the way into the wagon, leaving the illusion unperturbed to those that would be viewing it outside. The elf wears a chain shirt, and in addition to the rapier clutched in his hand has a dagger belted to his waist.
Glyptemis works as quickly as he can to free everyone in the cart, passing the keys back and forth between his own hands and his Mage Hand, Glyp handling the manacles and the spectral hands releasing the chains around each person's waist. As Lyra asks for ways to discern more about their captors, Glyp realizes that he can no longer sense the presence of his familiar. "Ah damn.. they got Pando too." He mutters as he fiddles with one of the locks.
Kalamin twirls the dagger a few times in his hand before setting it aside. It wasn't his usual weapon...But it would do in a pinch. The rapier he takes from the dead elf's hand and wordlessly it offers up to one of the others.
"I'm afflicted similarly. I remember very little, some kind of attack." As he recalls the broken vision of the past his free hand goes to his chest, pulling on the collar of his robes to peer down and check the wound he suffered.
There's no fresh wound. You see a thin scar running down the right side of your torso, from collarbone to navel. As Glyptemis unlocks the last of your chains, still no one else has come to disturb the wagon.
Leftenant thought he was going to be the quiet one but the Tiefling has that habit cornered for now.
As the Tortle works the chains and locks, he offers the following of what he knows in hushed tones between the explosions and quakes.
“I’m call LT. There were two horses pulling the wagon. Our ‘escorts’ wear some kind of chain shirts…(he looks at the elf) but who doesn’t these days (his tone indicating that it is impossible to tell wether he was guard or attacker and which one is friend or foe).
As Kalamin offers the rapier, he pauses (waiting for any others to reach for it first) and says, “I’d prefer a bow but escapees can’t be choosers.”
Seeing LT pause, Glyptemis cautiously takes the rapier from Kalamin, nods at them both, and feels the weight of the weapon in his hand. He then slides it into a gap in his shell with a smoothness that belies a level of familiarity and expertise that are not conveyed by the rest of his demeanor.
"Thank you, from the sounds outside I get the feeling we aren't going to walk away from here without having to use it."
The final prisoner in the wagon remains unconscious. Is she even still alive? Nothing has been able to stir her yet. Not the bumps or rattling of chains. Not even the carnage outside. She's dead...gotta be, right? What light becomes available once the door is opened shows her crimson flesh and horns. A tiefling through and through. Even though her flesh tends to withstand the perils of fire, she bears obvious burn marks across her face. She's even missing an arm. One eye is entirely covered by bandages.
It isn't until another explosion rocks the carriage and ground that she comes to with a jerk! She snaps up to try to stand and bumps her head. "Augh!" she winces, and only then she notices the others. She goes to say something, but hears the obvious sounds of conflict outside.
"What...what's going on? Where am I? Who...are you?" She asks, looking around with her one good eye. Though her words are shaky and perhaps a touch slurred, her voice is quite airy. The light washes over chains and cuffs that now lay on the floor, loosened from the other prisoners. She does her best to try and sort through the fog of her memories. (Wis save: 23)
Then she sees the dead elf, and the others picking over the remaining gear. An all-too familiar sight. "Right...survive....We're in this together. At least for now. Nothing like the bondage of iron to bring people together." She winces as another explosion sends dirt and debris scattering across the carriage. "And war..."
You still your mind for a moment - a bright light cuts through the fog, a sun shining with the full radiance of Maliel. The fog evaporates, and your memories come back to you clearly. You were performing rites in the small temple to Maliel the people of Amberly had raised - partially in her honor, but mostly in yours. You recall looking up to see a shadow growing in one of the corners. A void that seemed to suck the very heat from the room. The altar of Everburning Flame flickered and died.
From the void stepped a tall emaciated humanoid, wrapped in a cloak of some blackened leathery material. It lacked and a nose and mouth, its eyes burned with a red gleam with a third eye in the center of its forehead. It raised its hand, long spindly fingers ending in sharp claws. It seemed to tower above you, even as it hunched over in the temple.
Drowsiness swept over you as a horrid chant began to echo in your mind. Ice shot through your veins and your limbs seized. With your last ounce of control you turned back to the entrance of the temple, falling to the ground as your legs gave out. The last thing you saw were others stepping through the door. Pale elves with white hair and red eyes, armored and equipped exactly the same as the one that now lays dead in the back of your prison wagon. The last to enter was a woman with ghost white skin, silver irisless eyes, and dressed in blood-red robes.
You still your mind for a moment - a bright light cuts through the fog, a sun shining with the full radiance of Maliel. The fog evaporates, and your memories come back to you clearly. You were performing rites in the small temple to Maliel the people of Amberly had raised - partially in her honor, but mostly in yours. You recall looking up to see a shadow growing in one of the corners. A void that seemed to suck the very heat from the room. The altar of Everburning Flame flickered and died.
From the void stepped a tall emaciated humanoid, wrapped in a cloak of some blackened leathery material. It lacked and a nose and mouth, its eyes burned with a red gleam with a third eye in the center of its forehead. It raised its hand, long spindly fingers ending in sharp claws. It seemed to tower above you, even as it hunched over in the temple.
Drowsiness swept over you as a horrid chant began to echo in your mind. Ice shot through your veins and your limbs seized. With your last ounce of control you turned back to the entrance of the temple, falling to the ground as your legs gave out. The last thing you saw were others stepping through the door. Pale elves with white hair and red eyes, armored and equipped exactly the same as the one that now lays dead in the back of your prison wagon. The last to enter was a woman with ghost white skin, silver irisless eyes, and dressed in blood-red robes.
Does Juno know anything about these elves? Or the pale lady?
After the rapier is taken by the Tortle, Kalamin grabs the dagger and offers it hilt first to the man who introduced himself as 'LT.' "Take it, I can punch my way through this fight if needed."
"You can call me Kal. As for who might be friend or foe out there...You four are the only ones I'm trusting not to put a blade in my back. Everyone else is a foe until they prove otherwise."
He positions himself near the door of the wagon, though not quite touching the illusion. "Any final preparations?"
Lyra gazes long at the dead elf's body, drawing his eyes closed with her Mage Hand.
"Now that I think on it, I am less sure this strange-complexioned elf was aiming to save us. Possessing keys to our shackles, and to the door of the wagon holding us prisoner after our abduction speaks to being a captor, not a savior. Perhaps coming to slit our throats before we could be freed?"
She shakes her head and and focuses on the task at hand. "Well met, Kal and LT, and anonymous tortle and tiefling friends! Let us hope our companionship is a long and fruitful one, for that will mean that we survive this day." Hands freed, Lyra plays two quick, lively riffs on her dark harmonica.
Bardic Inspiration to Kalamin and Glyptemis, as they are the ones who are armed currently. (10 minute duration, add 1d6 after any d20 roll).
The instant everyone appears ready, Lyra allows her Minor Illusion to dissipate, revealing the exterior of the wagon once more. Stretching her muscles after sitting so long, she prepares herself to follow behind those she judges to be the warriors in the group.
LT lets Kal keep the dagger, “It’s a little more my style, but we’ll see if I can pick something up along the way. Thank you, though. Perhaps we have just a minute to grab the chain shirt as well? I don’t think we have the time for any of us to put it on, but if we catch a break, it couldn’t hurt. Anyone care to help?”
Leftenant begins to remove the armor unless it’s completely covered in gore. As he does so he adds the following, in a rushed tempo.
”I’m unsure of the exact conditions we will find once we depart this mobile jail, but I’d expect a muddy road and snow. We will be easily tracked should we escape. But then, that requires us to survive long enough to get away from this commotion. Under different conditions I’d suggest the horses maybe, but I feel we are pushing our time already. Unless anyone else knows of an exact location to go, I’d suggest heading off the road and away from the rear of the wagon at an angle. Whichever way offers the most cover.”
He grips the chain shirt in his left, ready for the exit. He looks back to ensure the other three are ready, then locks eyes with Kal, “By your lead.”
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Leftenant was lost in thought, his eyes closed, listening. He was prepared for the door to open, or a flash of light and expected a guard to bark orders immediately after. That all changed in an instance, however. Despite being disciplined from his military service, he couldn’t keep his eyes closed once the action started. The jolt of the wagon from an explosion was an unexpected shock that broke that discipline.
He looks around as the door opens and the moonlight dimly illuminates the inside of the wagon. He takes mental notes of the other occupants…just before their elven savior meets their demise. “More questions than answers.” His thought.
The elder human glances from Kalamin to Lyra, then to Glyptemus as they appear better prepared to escape the group’s bondage.
“Good time’s about to end, I guess?”
"Death comes for us all, yet you will not be forgotten, elven savior whose name I know not."
Lyra's voice is somber. The harmonica hangs darkly at her throat, drinking the moonlight. Even as her fellow captive warrior suggests it, Lyra moves her Mage Hand to collect the fallen elf's keys, then grins as she spies the tortle casting his own. Her own spectral hand places the keys in the other caster's Mage, Hand. "If you would free all of us with these, Sir Tortle, starting with the warriors, I think. Yet I suggest no one exit the wagon just yet!"
Lyra herself instead gestures once more with her fingers and a Minor Illusion appears of the wagon door, still closed, with no visibility within, obscuring the elf's corpse as well. A five foot cube of illusory image that makes it look as if the wagon is undisturbed and secure to the outside world.
She tilts her head and smiles at the human. "Perhaps the good times are just beginning. For all except our elven friend, sadly. Even if free, we are unarmed and unarmored and and at great risk if we wander out one by one. I have created an illusion that may hide our newfound freedom from our prior captors outside until we can all escape at once. That should give the tortle time to use the keys to open most or all the locks, I hope?"
She looks to her companions for agreement.
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
The keys were still clutched in the elf's hand, and your Mage Hand is able to collect them without problem. After they're handed off to Glyptemis' Mage Hand, the Tortle mage is able to get to work unlocking the chains that bind the five of you.
An illusion falls into place on the wagon door.
Cries of agony and fury ring out around you, but no one else comes to the door yet. Occasionally the earth beneath you rocks again as another blast explodes somewhere nearby.
Once freed, Kalamin wastes no time hurrying to the door to reach through the illusion and drag the elf's body up with them(unless it will disrupt the illusion. In which case he doesn't.) If that works, he searches for any weapons he can make use of, even if it's just a dagger. "Sounds like quite a battle out there. I think you have the right idea..." He looks to the elvish woman blankly for a moment, trying to cut through the mental fog to recall her name. "Lyra." He says slowly, pointing at her. "Escaping at once, and sticking together once we get out there."
Lyra nods back as she maintains the Minor Illusion and waits for the tortle to finish unlocking everyone's bonds.
"Yes, together it is. Call it a hunch, but we may have a complementary set of skills among us. Could any of you discern anything of our captors? Once outside, we may not know friend from foe. My memories are clouded, yet I recall being warned of danger by one I trust, then returning home to find it ransacked with runes written in blood on all surfaces and... perhaps a fiend or aberration with a large third eye in its forehead, obscured in darkness..."
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
You're able to pull the body up the rest of the way into the wagon, leaving the illusion unperturbed to those that would be viewing it outside. The elf wears a chain shirt, and in addition to the rapier clutched in his hand has a dagger belted to his waist.
Glyptemis works as quickly as he can to free everyone in the cart, passing the keys back and forth between his own hands and his Mage Hand, Glyp handling the manacles and the spectral hands releasing the chains around each person's waist. As Lyra asks for ways to discern more about their captors, Glyp realizes that he can no longer sense the presence of his familiar. "Ah damn.. they got Pando too." He mutters as he fiddles with one of the locks.
Kalamin twirls the dagger a few times in his hand before setting it aside. It wasn't his usual weapon...But it would do in a pinch. The rapier he takes from the dead elf's hand and wordlessly it offers up to one of the others.
"I'm afflicted similarly. I remember very little, some kind of attack." As he recalls the broken vision of the past his free hand goes to his chest, pulling on the collar of his robes to peer down and check the wound he suffered.
There's no fresh wound. You see a thin scar running down the right side of your torso, from collarbone to navel. As Glyptemis unlocks the last of your chains, still no one else has come to disturb the wagon.
Leftenant thought he was going to be the quiet one but the Tiefling has that habit cornered for now.
As the Tortle works the chains and locks, he offers the following of what he knows in hushed tones between the explosions and quakes.
“I’m call LT. There were two horses pulling the wagon. Our ‘escorts’ wear some kind of chain shirts…(he looks at the elf) but who doesn’t these days (his tone indicating that it is impossible to tell wether he was guard or attacker and which one is friend or foe).
As Kalamin offers the rapier, he pauses (waiting for any others to reach for it first) and says, “I’d prefer a bow but escapees can’t be choosers.”
Seeing LT pause, Glyptemis cautiously takes the rapier from Kalamin, nods at them both, and feels the weight of the weapon in his hand. He then slides it into a gap in his shell with a smoothness that belies a level of familiarity and expertise that are not conveyed by the rest of his demeanor.
"Thank you, from the sounds outside I get the feeling we aren't going to walk away from here without having to use it."
The final prisoner in the wagon remains unconscious. Is she even still alive? Nothing has been able to stir her yet. Not the bumps or rattling of chains. Not even the carnage outside. She's dead...gotta be, right? What light becomes available once the door is opened shows her crimson flesh and horns. A tiefling through and through. Even though her flesh tends to withstand the perils of fire, she bears obvious burn marks across her face. She's even missing an arm. One eye is entirely covered by bandages.
It isn't until another explosion rocks the carriage and ground that she comes to with a jerk! She snaps up to try to stand and bumps her head. "Augh!" she winces, and only then she notices the others. She goes to say something, but hears the obvious sounds of conflict outside.
"What...what's going on? Where am I? Who...are you?" She asks, looking around with her one good eye. Though her words are shaky and perhaps a touch slurred, her voice is quite airy. The light washes over chains and cuffs that now lay on the floor, loosened from the other prisoners. She does her best to try and sort through the fog of her memories. (Wis save: 23)
Then she sees the dead elf, and the others picking over the remaining gear. An all-too familiar sight. "Right...survive....We're in this together. At least for now. Nothing like the bondage of iron to bring people together." She winces as another explosion sends dirt and debris scattering across the carriage. "And war..."
Juno
You still your mind for a moment - a bright light cuts through the fog, a sun shining with the full radiance of Maliel. The fog evaporates, and your memories come back to you clearly. You were performing rites in the small temple to Maliel the people of Amberly had raised - partially in her honor, but mostly in yours. You recall looking up to see a shadow growing in one of the corners. A void that seemed to suck the very heat from the room. The altar of Everburning Flame flickered and died.
From the void stepped a tall emaciated humanoid, wrapped in a cloak of some blackened leathery material. It lacked and a nose and mouth, its eyes burned with a red gleam with a third eye in the center of its forehead. It raised its hand, long spindly fingers ending in sharp claws. It seemed to tower above you, even as it hunched over in the temple.
Drowsiness swept over you as a horrid chant began to echo in your mind. Ice shot through your veins and your limbs seized. With your last ounce of control you turned back to the entrance of the temple, falling to the ground as your legs gave out. The last thing you saw were others stepping through the door. Pale elves with white hair and red eyes, armored and equipped exactly the same as the one that now lays dead in the back of your prison wagon. The last to enter was a woman with ghost white skin, silver irisless eyes, and dressed in blood-red robes.
Does Juno know anything about these elves? Or the pale lady?
Juno
OoC: There is nothing in your personal history that you know them from. Roll an Arcana check though.
oof just a 9
Juno
They spark no special significance for you. Could be they're all from the same enclave from somewhere in Imane?
After the rapier is taken by the Tortle, Kalamin grabs the dagger and offers it hilt first to the man who introduced himself as 'LT.' "Take it, I can punch my way through this fight if needed."
"You can call me Kal. As for who might be friend or foe out there...You four are the only ones I'm trusting not to put a blade in my back. Everyone else is a foe until they prove otherwise."
He positions himself near the door of the wagon, though not quite touching the illusion. "Any final preparations?"
Lyra gazes long at the dead elf's body, drawing his eyes closed with her Mage Hand.
"Now that I think on it, I am less sure this strange-complexioned elf was aiming to save us. Possessing keys to our shackles, and to the door of the wagon holding us prisoner after our abduction speaks to being a captor, not a savior. Perhaps coming to slit our throats before we could be freed?"
She shakes her head and and focuses on the task at hand. "Well met, Kal and LT, and anonymous tortle and tiefling friends! Let us hope our companionship is a long and fruitful one, for that will mean that we survive this day." Hands freed, Lyra plays two quick, lively riffs on her dark harmonica.
Bardic Inspiration to Kalamin and Glyptemis, as they are the ones who are armed currently. (10 minute duration, add 1d6 after any d20 roll).
The instant everyone appears ready, Lyra allows her Minor Illusion to dissipate, revealing the exterior of the wagon once more. Stretching her muscles after sitting so long, she prepares herself to follow behind those she judges to be the warriors in the group.
Sabetha(Monk2):DungeonMair's Rime/Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall/Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles/Barn(Paladin1):Nyx's ToA
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil/Soren(Druid4):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft/Nivi(Rogue3):Raiketsu's CoS/Lyra(Warlock2/Bard3):BlameItOnWinter's Will of the Ancients
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request/Quyen(Adept1):Constance's Nentir Vale/Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return
LT lets Kal keep the dagger, “It’s a little more my style, but we’ll see if I can pick something up along the way. Thank you, though. Perhaps we have just a minute to grab the chain shirt as well? I don’t think we have the time for any of us to put it on, but if we catch a break, it couldn’t hurt. Anyone care to help?”
Leftenant begins to remove the armor unless it’s completely covered in gore. As he does so he adds the following, in a rushed tempo.
”I’m unsure of the exact conditions we will find once we depart this mobile jail, but I’d expect a muddy road and snow. We will be easily tracked should we escape. But then, that requires us to survive long enough to get away from this commotion. Under different conditions I’d suggest the horses maybe, but I feel we are pushing our time already. Unless anyone else knows of an exact location to go, I’d suggest heading off the road and away from the rear of the wagon at an angle. Whichever way offers the most cover.”
He grips the chain shirt in his left, ready for the exit. He looks back to ensure the other three are ready, then locks eyes with Kal, “By your lead.”