Rhykal paces the length of their little camp, unable and unwilling to keep still; her sword has been slid back into her scabbard, but she keeps a hand resting on the hilt at all times, prepared for an assault at any moment. What she can't understand is what the hell the point of this is; if something has worked this hard to trap them -- what seems to be all of them, quite specifically -- than why bother wasting all this time spooking them, trapping them, if not for something more? The reduction in their ability to see concerns her, although given her own very human senses, there's little more that she could see in the darkness of this place, particularly given the encroaching fog. She helps set up camp, largely in silence; as Miralen wonders off to an investigate, she shifts slightly away from the rest of them, to keep an eye on her as best as she can -- not primarily because she doesn't trust her (why trust any of these strangers, except that she has no choice?) but to ensure that nothing crawls out of their surroundings to catch her off guard, and to watch for any movement in the dark.
She listens to Radallion's music in the background; it's an unexpected performance, more compelling than she'd been expecting, and she doesn't mind the addition half as much as she expects -- though if there's something lying in the woods in search of them, she supposes they've sent out several beacons as to their location, now. Rhykal can't actually find it in herself to mind; if something plans to beset them, she'd rather it happen now, than later. It's not as if there's an option for escape; better to at least meet something in battle she can fight. Doing battle against endless, circular pathways is not the kind of thing Rhykal was made for.
Con save: 5 Perception check vaguely in Miralen's direction: 3
"The woman-child is moving away into the Mists alone" Svetlana notes and is reminded of that cemetery she once saw... The one where the last words of the deceased were engraved on the tombstones as an epitaph. She still remembers what was engraved on that of Nicolai, the explorer: 'Let's split up!'
Therefore, the Savage Wanderer, even though she assumes that Miralen knows what she is doing, advises her, before she disappears: "Be careful... Not even I, who am from Barovia, have a precise idea of what might be lurking out there. If you are in danger, run to us or shout".
Comforted by the attitude of Rhykal and Ansur, who seem ready to fight... and also experts in doing so, the last of the Dusk Elf maidens continues to eat the pomegranate... even the other half, since it seems no one wanted to taste some. When Radallion agrees to perform, she seems almost... mesmerized by the evocative and captivating voice of the handsome minstrel - as well as by the musical accompaniment so in accordance with the theme and so well performed, so relaxing. She has lived a long time (even if you wouldn't think so from her appearance) and listened to a large number of troubadours perform... and yet this is one of the most successful performances she can remember.
"You're really good" Svetlana murmurs at the end, keeping her voice low so as not to undermine, with her own words, the memory of his. “You sing, tell and play as if art were an extension of your very soul”. To her pleased amazement, even the Voices in her head seem momentarily calmed...
Perception check vaguely in Miralen's direction: 3
The mists, the anxiety of the light, and the ominous sounds in the darkness beyond, all pile atop your shoulders weighing you down. As you try to focus and regain your confidence by staying tenacious, you see Miralen begin to wander off. If you can just keep your eyes on those around the campfire, and Miralen... if you can just keep them all secure, you may be able to regain a little bit of control over your racing heart. as you stray just far enough in of eyesight of the campfire, you see Miralen persistently walking away, until she is completely enveloped in the mist. Any manner of control or false confidence you had clung to... fades away as stress begins to sink in.
As the evening rainstorm picks up, it pelts your skin, saturates your equipment (if exposed to the rain or ground), strangles your fire to a dim flame, and mixes with the earth to create a black murk underneath your feat. The clamor and rustling you once heard is all but drowned out by the sound of the storm. To even communicate through the sound of rain, is to almost scream.
Miralen:
going off of the beaten path, in the direction of the sound you heard: you take to the difficult terrain of the wilderness. as you escape the light of camp, you notice another light piercing through the woods. it takes quite a moment of climbing through soaked and murky dead-woods, however, gradually the haze and brush give way, revealing a bald hilltop. There stands a grim black tower, the last defiant turret of a long-crumbled fortress. Attached to this tower is a three-story manor house, whether beaten and veined with ivy. A porch girds the house, its sagging roof sheltering a stout front door that stands open and emits a flickering light.
"This storm risks putting out the fire..." Svetlana begins to worry again "If we walk through the fog, it drains our energy... If we stay here, the storm risks drowning us... The only positive note is that no one has physically attacked us yet... but I continue to have the unpleasant impression that something malevolent and powerful is toying with us" she looks around, looking for a possible makeshift shelter... A tree with branches large enough to shelter the group... A hollow trunk...
Your passive perception helps you understand that you are in the most vulnerable spot in regard to the storm. In the center of the crossroads, you can see into the misty sky above you; the rain un-impedingly assaulting the group. If cover is your priority, you may find a bit more reprieve off-path; finding or making an area to re-establish camp, with the withered forest overhead to serve as a canopy and catch the majority of the rainfall. you know as it is is: your fire won't last much longer.
With the storm getting stronger, Miralen wants to take shelter in the house, and hope her group will catch up and find her soon. But first, she will see if she can gather any information on it before going inside.
It has not been so terribly long since she realized a true kind of freedom, and for Rhykal to find herself trapped like this -- not only caught, but seemingly, as Svetlana had accurately put it, toyed with -- has brought her to the brink of self-control. She can do nothing; as the rain begins to pour down on them, all she can think is that she can do nothing, that no choice she makes can free her, that she will be left to wither in this dead, cursed hell without so much as a chance to swing her sword, without so much as a line of defense. Her hand clenches and unclenches around the hilt, as she continues to pace the camp, back and forth, back and forth, and on and on. "What the hell is the point of all this?" she says, finally, spinning to glance at each road in turn -- at each endless, circular road, looping in on itself, always, always returning to here. Why here? "I'm going to check on Miralen," she finally says, voice rising to be heard, no longer to keep herself still; desperate for some objective, some purpose, she begins to walk immediately in the direction where she last saw Miralen, in need of something different.
your eyesight almost fails you here, however what you see, you see through the lens of a criminal background and a roguish mind: as the rain pours harder beyond the clearing of the trees. you notice the house.. clearly has several floors, and looks architecturally different than the tower. The porch wraps around to the right side of the house to perhaps the back door? the balcony above the porch may look climbable for anyone of medium size, but for you... it would be tricky. the porch sits a few feat above the ground, a creaky wooden staircase invites you up...
"I'm going to check on Miralen," she finally says, voice rising to be heard, no longer to keep herself still; desperate for some objective, some purpose, she begins to walk immediately in the direction where she last saw Miralen, in need of something different.
Rhykal:
As you begin to distance yourself from the light of the dwindling campfire, and the green mage light, you quickly find another light source, peaking out to you from beyond the wilderness.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Rhykal begins to head toward the strange light; at this point, trap or not, it's different from the rest of the landscape, and that's, frankly, enough. If there's something waiting on the other side of it, fine; better that than a single extra second spent waiting, and wondering, and slowly losing her mind. She'll take choosing to walk into the face of danger, thank you very much. But she pauses a moment, unsheathing her sword and staring toward the light, trying to prepare herself for what horror might yet await, and see if Miralen might be anywhere nearby.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Miralen studies the house, thinking about how she should approach. The balcony seems risky, and walking right through the front door even more so. She decides she'll take the walk around to the back of the house, looking for a door or window to enter through.
As you step up on the porch, the planks creak underneath you, and the rails are covered in dead vines. three windows are within view, just right of the open doorway. peering into the dusty windows seems fruitless given the unlit rooms beyond. perhaps you could make out the contents of the room with some effort and time... as you walk around to the right of the house, you take a nice long walk down the wrap-around porch, passing several windows and a door. as you approach this end of the porch, the smell of delicious pastries fill your nose. you immediately get called back to memories of your childhood... in the streets of daggerford, baked goods were hard to come by... luckily you made friends with a fellow urchin child, Josephus, who frequently hit the local bakery, lifting all manner of delicious rolls, tarts, and pastries. unfortunately, he never shared them with you. Snapping back to reality, a quick check out back shows that the porch ends here, and there is no back door. Only the front, and the side-door where the scent of pastries seemingly emanates from.
as you approach the source of the light: Gradually the haze and brush give way, revealing a bald hilltop. There stands a grim black tower, the last defiant turret of a long-crumbled fortress. Attached to this tower is a three-story manor house, weather beaten and veined with ivy. A porch girds the house, its sagging roof sheltering a stout front door that stands open and emits a flickering light. the house clearly has 3 floors, and looks architecturally different than the tower. The porch wraps around to the right side of the house. the balcony above the porch looks climbable enough. the porch sits a few feat above the ground, a creaky wooden staircase invites you up...
A house. Of all the things she could have imagined, this one somehow seems the most outlandish, even in spite of its condition — that anything remotely resembling the livable world could exist out here suggests something very, very wrong with the place. Probably evil. For all she knows, it could be Strahd’s, though if he’s anything like Svetlana seemed to suggest, it seems a bit quaint for someone of his power. Not seeing Miralen anywhere nearby, she decides — if she can — to turn back to try to find the way she came, and make an attempt to return to the others; it’s not that she knows them, or even really trusts them, but it seems — well, it seems stupid not to warn them, or give them them offer, and maybe there’s a part of her that would rather face this together. Maybe she just ... well, stupidly, maybe she doesn’t want to be alone.
Your intuition guides you as you turn around, and retrace your steps. carefully treading through the murky and misty wilderness... you get about half-way before it becomes... oddly unfamiliar to you. confident that you're headed in the right direction, you continue. Continue... until you reach edge of the wilderness: a clearing. in front of you is the same sickly house. The mist has turned you around yet again. This time, you notice a roguish halfling circling from the right end of the house, back up to the front porch, and enters through the front door.
Performance check 26
Rhykal paces the length of their little camp, unable and unwilling to keep still; her sword has been slid back into her scabbard, but she keeps a hand resting on the hilt at all times, prepared for an assault at any moment. What she can't understand is what the hell the point of this is; if something has worked this hard to trap them -- what seems to be all of them, quite specifically -- than why bother wasting all this time spooking them, trapping them, if not for something more? The reduction in their ability to see concerns her, although given her own very human senses, there's little more that she could see in the darkness of this place, particularly given the encroaching fog. She helps set up camp, largely in silence; as Miralen wonders off to an investigate, she shifts slightly away from the rest of them, to keep an eye on her as best as she can -- not primarily because she doesn't trust her (why trust any of these strangers, except that she has no choice?) but to ensure that nothing crawls out of their surroundings to catch her off guard, and to watch for any movement in the dark.
She listens to Radallion's music in the background; it's an unexpected performance, more compelling than she'd been expecting, and she doesn't mind the addition half as much as she expects -- though if there's something lying in the woods in search of them, she supposes they've sent out several beacons as to their location, now. Rhykal can't actually find it in herself to mind; if something plans to beset them, she'd rather it happen now, than later. It's not as if there's an option for escape; better to at least meet something in battle she can fight. Doing battle against endless, circular pathways is not the kind of thing Rhykal was made for.
Con save: 5
Perception check vaguely in Miralen's direction: 3
"The woman-child is moving away into the Mists alone" Svetlana notes and is reminded of that cemetery she once saw... The one where the last words of the deceased were engraved on the tombstones as an epitaph. She still remembers what was engraved on that of Nicolai, the explorer: 'Let's split up!'
Therefore, the Savage Wanderer, even though she assumes that Miralen knows what she is doing, advises her, before she disappears: "Be careful... Not even I, who am from Barovia, have a precise idea of what might be lurking out there. If you are in danger, run to us or shout".
Comforted by the attitude of Rhykal and Ansur, who seem ready to fight... and also experts in doing so, the last of the Dusk Elf maidens continues to eat the pomegranate... even the other half, since it seems no one wanted to taste some. When Radallion agrees to perform, she seems almost... mesmerized by the evocative and captivating voice of the handsome minstrel - as well as by the musical accompaniment so in accordance with the theme and so well performed, so relaxing. She has lived a long time (even if you wouldn't think so from her appearance) and listened to a large number of troubadours perform... and yet this is one of the most successful performances she can remember.
"You're really good" Svetlana murmurs at the end, keeping her voice low so as not to undermine, with her own words, the memory of his. “You sing, tell and play as if art were an extension of your very soul”. To her pleased amazement, even the Voices in her head seem momentarily calmed...
If I hadn't already given you inspiration, you'd have it now.
All party members listening, mark inspiration.
The mists, the anxiety of the light, and the ominous sounds in the darkness beyond, all pile atop your shoulders weighing you down. As you try to focus and regain your confidence by staying tenacious, you see Miralen begin to wander off. If you can just keep your eyes on those around the campfire, and Miralen... if you can just keep them all secure, you may be able to regain a little bit of control over your racing heart. as you stray just far enough in of eyesight of the campfire, you see Miralen persistently walking away, until she is completely enveloped in the mist. Any manner of control or false confidence you had clung to... fades away as stress begins to sink in.
Rufus, Radallion, Svetlana, Ansur, Rhykal:
As the evening rainstorm picks up, it pelts your skin, saturates your equipment (if exposed to the rain or ground), strangles your fire to a dim flame, and mixes with the earth to create a black murk underneath your feat. The clamor and rustling you once heard is all but drowned out by the sound of the storm. To even communicate through the sound of rain, is to almost scream.
Miralen:
going off of the beaten path, in the direction of the sound you heard: you take to the difficult terrain of the wilderness. as you escape the light of camp, you notice another light piercing through the woods. it takes quite a moment of climbing through soaked and murky dead-woods, however, gradually the haze and brush give way, revealing a bald hilltop. There stands a grim black tower, the last defiant turret of a long-crumbled fortress. Attached to this tower is a three-story manor house, whether beaten and veined with ivy. A porch girds the house, its sagging roof sheltering a stout front door that stands open and emits a flickering light.
"This storm risks putting out the fire..." Svetlana begins to worry again "If we walk through the fog, it drains our energy... If we stay here, the storm risks drowning us... The only positive note is that no one has physically attacked us yet... but I continue to have the unpleasant impression that something malevolent and powerful is toying with us" she looks around, looking for a possible makeshift shelter... A tree with branches large enough to shelter the group... A hollow trunk...
Your passive perception helps you understand that you are in the most vulnerable spot in regard to the storm. In the center of the crossroads, you can see into the misty sky above you; the rain un-impedingly assaulting the group. If cover is your priority, you may find a bit more reprieve off-path; finding or making an area to re-establish camp, with the withered forest overhead to serve as a canopy and catch the majority of the rainfall. you know as it is is: your fire won't last much longer.
With the storm getting stronger, Miralen wants to take shelter in the house, and hope her group will catch up and find her soon. But first, she will see if she can gather any information on it before going inside.
perception check 5
It has not been so terribly long since she realized a true kind of freedom, and for Rhykal to find herself trapped like this -- not only caught, but seemingly, as Svetlana had accurately put it, toyed with -- has brought her to the brink of self-control. She can do nothing; as the rain begins to pour down on them, all she can think is that she can do nothing, that no choice she makes can free her, that she will be left to wither in this dead, cursed hell without so much as a chance to swing her sword, without so much as a line of defense. Her hand clenches and unclenches around the hilt, as she continues to pace the camp, back and forth, back and forth, and on and on. "What the hell is the point of all this?" she says, finally, spinning to glance at each road in turn -- at each endless, circular road, looping in on itself, always, always returning to here. Why here? "I'm going to check on Miralen," she finally says, voice rising to be heard, no longer to keep herself still; desperate for some objective, some purpose, she begins to walk immediately in the direction where she last saw Miralen, in need of something different.
Miralen:
your eyesight almost fails you here, however what you see, you see through the lens of a criminal background and a roguish mind: as the rain pours harder beyond the clearing of the trees. you notice the house.. clearly has several floors, and looks architecturally different than the tower. The porch wraps around to the right side of the house to perhaps the back door? the balcony above the porch may look climbable for anyone of medium size, but for you... it would be tricky. the porch sits a few feat above the ground, a creaky wooden staircase invites you up...
Rhykal:
As you begin to distance yourself from the light of the dwindling campfire, and the green mage light, you quickly find another light source, peaking out to you from beyond the wilderness.
Rhykal begins to head toward the strange light; at this point, trap or not, it's different from the rest of the landscape, and that's, frankly, enough. If there's something waiting on the other side of it, fine; better that than a single extra second spent waiting, and wondering, and slowly losing her mind. She'll take choosing to walk into the face of danger, thank you very much. But she pauses a moment, unsheathing her sword and staring toward the light, trying to prepare herself for what horror might yet await, and see if Miralen might be anywhere nearby.
Perception 15
Miralen studies the house, thinking about how she should approach. The balcony seems risky, and walking right through the front door even more so. She decides she'll take the walk around to the back of the house, looking for a door or window to enter through.
Investigation : 19
Stealth in case any enemies are lurking : 18
Miralen:
As you step up on the porch, the planks creak underneath you, and the rails are covered in dead vines. three windows are within view, just right of the open doorway. peering into the dusty windows seems fruitless given the unlit rooms beyond. perhaps you could make out the contents of the room with some effort and time...
as you walk around to the right of the house, you take a nice long walk down the wrap-around porch, passing several windows and a door. as you approach this end of the porch, the smell of delicious pastries fill your nose. you immediately get called back to memories of your childhood... in the streets of daggerford, baked goods were hard to come by... luckily you made friends with a fellow urchin child, Josephus, who frequently hit the local bakery, lifting all manner of delicious rolls, tarts, and pastries. unfortunately, he never shared them with you. Snapping back to reality, a quick check out back shows that the porch ends here, and there is no back door. Only the front, and the side-door where the scent of pastries seemingly emanates from.
Rhykal:
as you approach the source of the light: Gradually the haze and brush give way, revealing a bald hilltop. There stands a grim black tower, the last defiant turret of a long-crumbled fortress. Attached to this tower is a three-story manor house, weather beaten and veined with ivy. A porch girds the house, its sagging roof sheltering a stout front door that stands open and emits a flickering light. the house clearly has 3 floors, and looks architecturally different than the tower. The porch wraps around to the right side of the house. the balcony above the porch looks climbable enough. the porch sits a few feat above the ground, a creaky wooden staircase invites you up...
Miralen knocks on the side door, hoping whoever resides inside doesn't mean any harm.
After a moment.... there is no response.
A house. Of all the things she could have imagined, this one somehow seems the most outlandish, even in spite of its condition — that anything remotely resembling the livable world could exist out here suggests something very, very wrong with the place. Probably evil. For all she knows, it could be Strahd’s, though if he’s anything like Svetlana seemed to suggest, it seems a bit quaint for someone of his power. Not seeing Miralen anywhere nearby, she decides — if she can — to turn back to try to find the way she came, and make an attempt to return to the others; it’s not that she knows them, or even really trusts them, but it seems — well, it seems stupid not to warn them, or give them them offer, and maybe there’s a part of her that would rather face this together. Maybe she just ... well, stupidly, maybe she doesn’t want to be alone.
Rhykal:
Your intuition guides you as you turn around, and retrace your steps. carefully treading through the murky and misty wilderness... you get about half-way before it becomes... oddly unfamiliar to you. confident that you're headed in the right direction, you continue. Continue... until you reach edge of the wilderness: a clearing. in front of you is the same sickly house. The mist has turned you around yet again. This time, you notice a roguish halfling circling from the right end of the house, back up to the front porch, and enters through the front door.