The once sleepy village of Stonpond wakes up in a clutter. Sounds of men yelling and women crying for no apparent reason. It's madness. In the midst, a wounded human man limps out of the forest and into the town, slowly making his way towards the Stonpond Elder’s home, staggering and catching himself on the side of a well. He is bloodied, and his clothes and armor are torn... and with skin as white as bone. He winces as he limps back from the forest, dropping his sword on the ground with a resounding metallic clatter.
Or, at least, that is what is visible from the window of the cozy inn you all are sleeping in. The morning has come, and something is wrong.
Vaalsh wakes with a start. Her brown hair wildly tangled up in her doelike horns and ears, she rubs her eyes and groans. What was that noise? Just now she was in a yellow corn field in the heat of summer, brushing along the stalks with her fingers and then...
She gets up and groggily walks over to the window, her gooves clicking against the wooden floor. Vaalsh shifts the curtains to the side. "Whu?" The view sends a shiver down her spine. Someone's badly hurt! How did this happen?!
The satyr quickly throws on her traveling jacket over the nightgown, grabs her staff and rushes out of her room, practically jumping down the stairs of the inn. If she could just get to the man quickly enough, perhaps she could save him...
François smoothed out the one wrinkle in his shirt, then adjusted his gloves as he prepared to head downstairs. He'd already visited with most of the family yesterday, but today he'd be checking in on his cousin Jules and his wife--and their newborn. It was a respite from his arduous, if exciting, travels, and he'd been looking forward to it for months now.
Casually leaning to glance out the window, something caught his eye. Looking again, he noticed someone stumbling as if he'd walked from the forest, and... he wasn't sure what, but something looked wrong. "Here in sleepy Stonpond?" thought the bard as he peered, trying to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It was then that the man dropped his sword, and the slowly increasing sound of screams and cries caught his attention. It wasn't just the man in view... something was very wrong.
He didn't think of his family yet--they were on the outskirts of town, not in the immediate vicinity, and while he would be sure to check on them, he wasn't going to jump to any conclusions before seeing exactly WHAT was going on. Grabbing his equipment--including his pride and joy, his enchanted rapier Écharde--the young man left the room and headed outside to investigate.
Kiafra's eyes slowly open as the ruckus outside wakes him up, and the common room of the inn comes into focus, particularly a now cold hearth directly in front of the chair he is in. It dawns on him that he had fallen asleep in front of the fire after a few too many drinks again.
He had been woken by a noise, some screaming. And then the metallic clatter of a sword being dropped onto stone invades his senses.
He reaches to the side of his chair and his gloved hand grips the shaft of an ornate warhammer that is almost as tall as he is, and he leans on it as he struggles to rise. His head pounding a little as he does so.
Anyone watching would see a fairly young halfling, but one who is very tall and stocky for his kind, easily mistaken for a slender dwarf. He has a thick head of medium brown raggedy hair, with a couple of feathers tied in. His eyes are hazel, and right now a little bloodshot, and he is quite baby faced. He doesn’t wear any armour, only some functional woodsman's clothes consisting of fur boots, brown trousers and a tan top, with fine leather fingerless gloves imprinted with a rune in giant script. These are mostly concealed by a strange hooded cloak that seems to shift in colour as you look at it.
He saunters over to the window of the inn with his warhammer dragging behind him, and gazes out onto the street, as the screams and cries continue. Spotting the pale human wearing blood spattered clothes and armour leaning against the well, his sword on the floor next to him, immediately helps clear his mind.
A curse escapes his lips, although only someone versed in the tongue of giants would realise it for what it is, and he bolts for the front door now carrying his warhammer in more of a warriors grip.
Wim startles abruptly awake at the cacophony rising from the town; before she's yet fully aware, she's on her feet -- cropped brown hair a mess, eyes wild; she runs a fruitless hand through it and watches from the window as chaos seems to mount. There had been a few odd reports from the town, to be sure, but nothing that had led her to expect this; she can't deny wild curiosity, even intrigue, as she begins to pull on her armor, and eventually a cloak over top that, hood down, hair wild. Even when she's finished dressing, one of her burn scars remains visible, crawling up the side of her neck, though she's rarely still long enough to bring her entirely into focus.
Indeed, she's still pulling on her boots as she emerges from her room -- and has to make one trip back for her massive greatsword, left casually on the floor beside the bed -- and racing out the door of the inn, heading in the direction of the strange man she'd seen from her window, but looking around all the while in search of any other unexpected oddities, or further sources of chaos.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Launch Mechtune cracked an eye, annoyed at the break in her astral trance. Reality faded into the room she had rented for the night. Lingering curiosity bled from her ancestor’s life into her current reality. She stretched, the old joints popping under tension, and peered out the window in the direction of the disturbance.
Seeing the injured man, Launch slings on her cloak and veil then Starlight Steps 30 feet to the ground outside the window. Landing in a dash, she calls out to Bastion, her steel companion currently in the form of a war horse. Launch with Bastion on her tail ran full tilt to within 15 feet of the injured person before wisdom and caution overcame her impulsive reaction. She slowed to inspect the scene before reaching the man. “Ho, good sir!”, she said. “What has befallen you?”.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Looking out the window, Bryskin frantically gathers his belongings and pulls on his armor. Rushing out the door, he seems to be fleeing, only in the wrong direction. He stops to skirt the walls, using the chaos to his advantage as he attempts to sneak through. He holds his rapier out in front of him, his hand crossbow at his side. His rapier points at anything that moves, until he rushes past Mechtune and drops to his knees beside the fallen man. He puts his ear to the man's chest and hopes to hear a heartbeat.
Stealth: 30
Medicine: 17
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Bilyur Ningel - 100 dungeons of the blood Archivist
Kiafra reaches the front door and does a bit of a double take, as he sees a satyr carrying a staff wearing a travelling cloak over what appears to be a nightgown, reach it first. She is closely followed by a well dressed human with a nice looking rapier. He vaguely remembers having seen both in the inn the previous evening, perhaps after a drink his mind would be sharper and he would remember more.
"Morn...", he starts but his voice cracks and croaks, forcing him to clear it loudly. "Morning. Coming through", he says indicating he wants to get passed. Although the pair seem to be in as much of a rush as he is. And it could be assumed with his shorter legs he might not be as quick as they are anyway.
The inside of the inn itself is a barren mess, broken plates are strewn across the ground and there isn't a single person in the main area.
However, the city streets are just as bad, if not worse. As you few make your way into the city streets, it's clear that the man's arrival has made quite a commotion! People point at the man and yell; "Ghoul! Ghoul! Sir Comstock is a ghoul! " The man doesn't reply to any of these screams and jeers, and keeps his thoughts to himself.
He gasps and wheezes as he keeps his body held against the cobblestone, shuddering before taking a quick glance to those who came forward. As Kiafra makes his request, a bearded villager and his wife try their best to block what was going on to Kiafra, François, Vaalsh, and Wim. and who didn't manage to slip past. "Don't go any closer! It's one'a them crawlies from the woods! " Bryskin, you can tell that the man's heartbeat feels... off. It's slow and sluggish, but somehow he seems to be moving fine. He looks anything but, though. Upon hearing Launch's voice, he lets out a strained cry.
“ Oh, shut up, the lot of you! I can't deal with all the noise! I must speak to the Elder, we are all in grave danger! The Scarlet Fog has taken an entire town! ” The few villagers around him squint at him suspiciously, before backing away from him. At this moment, a wizened old dwarf, who was sitting on his front porch, rises and pulls open his door, waving for Comstock to come. He cannot carry himself anymore and falls right to the ground.
Vaalsh comes to a panting stand, looking confused and, frankly, annoyed at the couple blocking her path. "What has gotten into you? You know that I have protected you in the past, would you stop me from doing that again?"
Had the people forgotten so quickly? What ingrained suspersitions were they following? The satyr thinks to herself: 'A ghoul out of the woods?' Does she know anything about this? Roll: 12 (+4 Nature) or (+4 Religion), or does she know of a local custom relating to this, since she spent her whole life in the region around Stonpond?
Vaalsh is also surprised to see an armored woman already near Sir Comstock. It was not often that you saw such well-equipped warriors around Stonpond (although was this even armor?). And what about the not-so-small halfling that hurried past her just a second ago?
The man of the couple points to the sickly man. "Don't cry to the Elder if y'end up like one'a him!We got too many good folk 'round these parts, an' I don't wanna see you, or the rest a'yer pretty party, end up white as snow! "
Vaalsh can tell that although he does look very sickly, he isn't a ghoul. He's got the pale white skin of one, but no sharp teeth or claws in sight. Ghouls only come out at night, and it makes no sense that one would be out this early... but something is still very wrong with him.
Vaalsh, can you roll me Persuasion or Intimidation by chance?
Just as he finishes his sentence, his wife smacks him on the back of the head. " Oh, you bloke! That's Ms. Bramblescorn! She's been about protectin' some'a us for years! " The husband winces takes a second thought about what he says... before letting them pass with a small bow.
" Ah, crud... mah mistake. Rarely get outta th' house anymore with the kids about, never get to see any a'you. C'mon, Martha." He holds his wife's hand before standing back amongst the crowd.
In a bit of a huff, Vaalsh mumbles: "Take care" to the couple and approaches the one they called Sir Comstock. On the way, she frantically tries to get the worst of her tangles in order, being self-conscious about stepping in the middle of the vertitable congregation assembled here around the wounded man.
Being sure that this isn't a ghoul, she gets right up to him. Trying to look as tall as her small frame can muster, she says into the round: "I'm going to examine him with a spell, do not be alarmed!" She then casts detect magic¹ and tries to see if anything obvious is afflicting the man.
He looks pale, but still heavier than she could support on her own, so Vaalsh casts telekinesis on her staff in a swift motion and offers the staff to Comstock. She says softly: "Sir, hold onto this staff. It will support you." She will direct the staff to wherever the man is trying to move, carrying him if need be. Otherwise, she stands back, being aware that there are others here, some of whom might be better suited to examine the man medically.
¹As an action, thanks to Eldritch Sight
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The once sleepy village of Stonpond wakes up in a clutter. Sounds of men yelling and women crying for no apparent reason. It's madness. In the midst, a wounded human man limps out of the forest and into the town, slowly making his way towards the Stonpond Elder’s home, staggering and catching himself on the side of a well. He is bloodied, and his clothes and armor are torn... and with skin as white as bone. He winces as he limps back from the forest, dropping his sword on the ground with a resounding metallic clatter.
Or, at least, that is what is visible from the window of the cozy inn you all are sleeping in. The morning has come, and something is wrong.
OOC: Is the whole party already in the same room or are we in separate rooms?
Bilyur Ningel - 100 dungeons of the blood Archivist
Thread
Jaren - Campaignless Adventure
Thread
Volneer Smith Bryskin - Norea/Westhaven
OOC thread
IC thread
Bryskin Alleywood - The Scarlet Mist
Thread
Heiberos Ganneva - Tyranny of dragons
((Mhm! Everybody's in separate rooms.))
OOC: Do you prefer third person or first person communication?
Bilyur Ningel - 100 dungeons of the blood Archivist
Thread
Jaren - Campaignless Adventure
Thread
Volneer Smith Bryskin - Norea/Westhaven
OOC thread
IC thread
Bryskin Alleywood - The Scarlet Mist
Thread
Heiberos Ganneva - Tyranny of dragons
Vaalsh wakes with a start. Her brown hair wildly tangled up in her doelike horns and ears, she rubs her eyes and groans. What was that noise? Just now she was in a yellow corn field in the heat of summer, brushing along the stalks with her fingers and then...
She gets up and groggily walks over to the window, her gooves clicking against the wooden floor. Vaalsh shifts the curtains to the side. "Whu?" The view sends a shiver down her spine. Someone's badly hurt! How did this happen?!
The satyr quickly throws on her traveling jacket over the nightgown, grabs her staff and rushes out of her room, practically jumping down the stairs of the inn. If she could just get to the man quickly enough, perhaps she could save him...
(( Either work! ))
François smoothed out the one wrinkle in his shirt, then adjusted his gloves as he prepared to head downstairs. He'd already visited with most of the family yesterday, but today he'd be checking in on his cousin Jules and his wife--and their newborn. It was a respite from his arduous, if exciting, travels, and he'd been looking forward to it for months now.
Casually leaning to glance out the window, something caught his eye. Looking again, he noticed someone stumbling as if he'd walked from the forest, and... he wasn't sure what, but something looked wrong. "Here in sleepy Stonpond?" thought the bard as he peered, trying to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. It was then that the man dropped his sword, and the slowly increasing sound of screams and cries caught his attention. It wasn't just the man in view... something was very wrong.
He didn't think of his family yet--they were on the outskirts of town, not in the immediate vicinity, and while he would be sure to check on them, he wasn't going to jump to any conclusions before seeing exactly WHAT was going on. Grabbing his equipment--including his pride and joy, his enchanted rapier Écharde--the young man left the room and headed outside to investigate.
Flèche the adventurer was on the case.
Whistler
Titus - V. Human Battle Master Fighter 3 - [Pic] - [Pic2] - [Traits] - in Shadowglass
Locke - V. Human Shadow Monk 3 / Undead Warlock 2 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in FOW - DMless West Marches
Flèche - V. Human Swords Bard 10 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in The Scarlet Mist
Sterling - V. Human Bard 1 - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf
Kiafra's eyes slowly open as the ruckus outside wakes him up, and the common room of the inn comes into focus, particularly a now cold hearth directly in front of the chair he is in. It dawns on him that he had fallen asleep in front of the fire after a few too many drinks again.
He had been woken by a noise, some screaming. And then the metallic clatter of a sword being dropped onto stone invades his senses.
He reaches to the side of his chair and his gloved hand grips the shaft of an ornate warhammer that is almost as tall as he is, and he leans on it as he struggles to rise. His head pounding a little as he does so.
Anyone watching would see a fairly young halfling, but one who is very tall and stocky for his kind, easily mistaken for a slender dwarf. He has a thick head of medium brown raggedy hair, with a couple of feathers tied in. His eyes are hazel, and right now a little bloodshot, and he is quite baby faced. He doesn’t wear any armour, only some functional woodsman's clothes consisting of fur boots, brown trousers and a tan top, with fine leather fingerless gloves imprinted with a rune in giant script. These are mostly concealed by a strange hooded cloak that seems to shift in colour as you look at it.
He saunters over to the window of the inn with his warhammer dragging behind him, and gazes out onto the street, as the screams and cries continue. Spotting the pale human wearing blood spattered clothes and armour leaning against the well, his sword on the floor next to him, immediately helps clear his mind.
A curse escapes his lips, although only someone versed in the tongue of giants would realise it for what it is, and he bolts for the front door now carrying his warhammer in more of a warriors grip.
Wim startles abruptly awake at the cacophony rising from the town; before she's yet fully aware, she's on her feet -- cropped brown hair a mess, eyes wild; she runs a fruitless hand through it and watches from the window as chaos seems to mount. There had been a few odd reports from the town, to be sure, but nothing that had led her to expect this; she can't deny wild curiosity, even intrigue, as she begins to pull on her armor, and eventually a cloak over top that, hood down, hair wild. Even when she's finished dressing, one of her burn scars remains visible, crawling up the side of her neck, though she's rarely still long enough to bring her entirely into focus.
Indeed, she's still pulling on her boots as she emerges from her room -- and has to make one trip back for her massive greatsword, left casually on the floor beside the bed -- and racing out the door of the inn, heading in the direction of the strange man she'd seen from her window, but looking around all the while in search of any other unexpected oddities, or further sources of chaos.
Launch Mechtune cracked an eye, annoyed at the break in her astral trance.
Reality faded into the room she had rented for the night. Lingering curiosity bled from her ancestor’s life into her current reality.
She stretched, the old joints popping under tension, and peered out the window in the direction of the disturbance.
Seeing the injured man, Launch slings on her cloak and veil then Starlight Steps 30 feet to the ground outside the window. Landing in a dash, she calls out to Bastion, her steel companion currently in the form of a war horse. Launch with Bastion on her tail ran full tilt to within 15 feet of the injured person before wisdom and caution overcame her impulsive reaction. She slowed to inspect the scene before reaching the man.
“Ho, good sir!”, she said. “What has befallen you?”.
Investigation check 18
OOC Clarification so I don't disrupt the roll in the last post, Launch grabbed her staff case, but didn't take time to don the studded leather armor.
Looking out the window, Bryskin frantically gathers his belongings and pulls on his armor. Rushing out the door, he seems to be fleeing, only in the wrong direction. He stops to skirt the walls, using the chaos to his advantage as he attempts to sneak through. He holds his rapier out in front of him, his hand crossbow at his side. His rapier points at anything that moves, until he rushes past Mechtune and drops to his knees beside the fallen man. He puts his ear to the man's chest and hopes to hear a heartbeat.
Stealth: 30
Medicine: 17
Bilyur Ningel - 100 dungeons of the blood Archivist
Thread
Jaren - Campaignless Adventure
Thread
Volneer Smith Bryskin - Norea/Westhaven
OOC thread
IC thread
Bryskin Alleywood - The Scarlet Mist
Thread
Heiberos Ganneva - Tyranny of dragons
OOC: I've been super busy today, sorry it took so long to post.
Bilyur Ningel - 100 dungeons of the blood Archivist
Thread
Jaren - Campaignless Adventure
Thread
Volneer Smith Bryskin - Norea/Westhaven
OOC thread
IC thread
Bryskin Alleywood - The Scarlet Mist
Thread
Heiberos Ganneva - Tyranny of dragons
Kiafra reaches the front door and does a bit of a double take, as he sees a satyr carrying a staff wearing a travelling cloak over what appears to be a nightgown, reach it first. She is closely followed by a well dressed human with a nice looking rapier. He vaguely remembers having seen both in the inn the previous evening, perhaps after a drink his mind would be sharper and he would remember more.
"Morn...", he starts but his voice cracks and croaks, forcing him to clear it loudly. "Morning. Coming through", he says indicating he wants to get passed. Although the pair seem to be in as much of a rush as he is. And it could be assumed with his shorter legs he might not be as quick as they are anyway.
The inside of the inn itself is a barren mess, broken plates are strewn across the ground and there isn't a single person in the main area.
However, the city streets are just as bad, if not worse. As you few make your way into the city streets, it's clear that the man's arrival has made quite a commotion! People point at the man and yell; "Ghoul! Ghoul! Sir Comstock is a ghoul! " The man doesn't reply to any of these screams and jeers, and keeps his thoughts to himself.
He gasps and wheezes as he keeps his body held against the cobblestone, shuddering before taking a quick glance to those who came forward. As Kiafra makes his request, a bearded villager and his wife try their best to block what was going on to Kiafra, François, Vaalsh, and Wim. and who didn't manage to slip past. "Don't go any closer! It's one'a them crawlies from the woods! " Bryskin, you can tell that the man's heartbeat feels... off. It's slow and sluggish, but somehow he seems to be moving fine. He looks anything but, though. Upon hearing Launch's voice, he lets out a strained cry.
“ Oh, shut up, the lot of you! I can't deal with all the noise! I must speak to the Elder, we are all in grave danger! The Scarlet Fog has taken an entire town! ” The few villagers around him squint at him suspiciously, before backing away from him. At this moment, a wizened old dwarf, who was sitting on his front porch, rises and pulls open his door, waving for Comstock to come. He cannot carry himself anymore and falls right to the ground.
Vaalsh comes to a panting stand, looking confused and, frankly, annoyed at the couple blocking her path. "What has gotten into you? You know that I have protected you in the past, would you stop me from doing that again?"
Had the people forgotten so quickly? What ingrained suspersitions were they following? The satyr thinks to herself: 'A ghoul out of the woods?'
Does she know anything about this? Roll: 12 (+4 Nature) or (+4 Religion), or does she know of a local custom relating to this, since she spent her whole life in the region around Stonpond?
Vaalsh is also surprised to see an armored woman already near Sir Comstock. It was not often that you saw such well-equipped warriors around Stonpond (although was this even armor?). And what about the not-so-small halfling that hurried past her just a second ago?
The man of the couple points to the sickly man. "Don't cry to the Elder if y'end up like one'a him! We got too many good folk 'round these parts, an' I don't wanna see you, or the rest a'yer pretty party, end up white as snow! "
Vaalsh can tell that although he does look very sickly, he isn't a ghoul. He's got the pale white skin of one, but no sharp teeth or claws in sight. Ghouls only come out at night, and it makes no sense that one would be out this early... but something is still very wrong with him.
Vaalsh, can you roll me Persuasion or Intimidation by chance?
Persuasion roll: 24
Just as he finishes his sentence, his wife smacks him on the back of the head. " Oh, you bloke! That's Ms. Bramblescorn! She's been about protectin' some'a us for years! " The husband winces takes a second thought about what he says... before letting them pass with a small bow.
" Ah, crud... mah mistake. Rarely get outta th' house anymore with the kids about, never get to see any a'you. C'mon, Martha." He holds his wife's hand before standing back amongst the crowd.
In a bit of a huff, Vaalsh mumbles: "Take care" to the couple and approaches the one they called Sir Comstock. On the way, she frantically tries to get the worst of her tangles in order, being self-conscious about stepping in the middle of the vertitable congregation assembled here around the wounded man.
Being sure that this isn't a ghoul, she gets right up to him. Trying to look as tall as her small frame can muster, she says into the round: "I'm going to examine him with a spell, do not be alarmed!" She then casts detect magic¹ and tries to see if anything obvious is afflicting the man.
He looks pale, but still heavier than she could support on her own, so Vaalsh casts telekinesis on her staff in a swift motion and offers the staff to Comstock. She says softly: "Sir, hold onto this staff. It will support you." She will direct the staff to wherever the man is trying to move, carrying him if need be. Otherwise, she stands back, being aware that there are others here, some of whom might be better suited to examine the man medically.
¹As an action, thanks to Eldritch Sight