Hey guys, this is the campaign thread, I’ll have the first DM post by tomorrow, but for now describe your character and tell everyone how they ended up in Highbrook.
I am Gurog Quickstep, a Goliath Barbarian, descended from the Cloud Giants. It is because of my ancestry that I have limited teleportation that I incorporate into my battle style, which has earned me my surname, Quickstep. I am motivated to protect my friends and eliminate anyone or anything that threatens them. My protective nature will occasionally get me into trouble as I will sometimes jump into dangerous situations that could have been avoided in order to defend my friend. I recently finished serving my time in the Goliath army and have come to Highbrook in search of an adventuring team to join me in seeking wealth and glory.
I walk into the city and notice the stares and see the fear in the common-folk immediately. I stand taller than most at 7.5 feet tall with shockingly blue hair which even among the cloud giant descendants is rare. My stature always makes people stare, but my bulging muscles and the great axe across my back keep them at bay and cause mothers to pull their children closer in order to protect them from the “brute”. I don’t mind, I’ve never been good at dealing with others. There hasn’t been a problem yet that my axe couldn’t solve. I gruffly ask one of the town guards where the closest tavern is. A quick walk later and I’m back in my element. I can’t decide which I should do first, partake in a game of dice or test my strength against those in the fighting ring. Either way, I’ll be the one to walk away with the winnings.
I walk out of the woods, from alongside the trade road and head towards the Eastern Gate of the town of Highbrook. It had been a long way to travel, through three days of an unseasonably cold rain, to approach at last the high city walls. Elves, especially elven druids, are renowned for our ability to survive in the wild for a long time. But even we occasionally need supplies, the company of others, and most definitely tonight a warm meal, a hot bath, and a dry bed.
I walk towards the city under the gaze of the unworried guards. They believe me to be the non threatening elf woman they see. I stand about 5 feet tall, with sodden blonde hair and green eyes, weighing around 110 pounds, as humans measure such things. I walk easily with my staff in hand as I respond to their challenge "Who goes there, lass? What be yer name and yer business in Highbrook?"
I look up at the armored man and smile. "My name is Tharra Quofinas, of the Golden Oak grove. This day I seek warmth of an inn, and if the gods p!ease to give us better weather on the morrow, supplies to take back home when I leave." My answer is apparently sufficient so they allow me to pass and give me directions to a nearby inn, Trollslayer's.
Yorik Twobrand, a hermit living in the woods outside of town, makes way through the city gates and heads to the market with his weekly haul of fresh herbs and edible mushrooms gathered from mother woods herself. If not for the weeks worth of dirt and soil stained travel cloak, he would appear an imposing man. Standing just over six feet tall, worn leather armour under his weather worn travel cloak, a modified shafted boar spear his only obvious weapon. As he travels the streets to the market square, a well worn path he knows from his biweekly visits to town, the local street kids mock him and tease him, "there goes crazy old Yorik, gods how he smells, my pa says he's bewitched by a talking goat" and so forth. Yorik doesn't do much to change their opinions, or anyone else's for that matter. After all he does talk, a lot at times, to himself, and he probably does smell a little, but bewitched by a talking goat? He chuckles at the thought and says to no one in particular, the goat's name is Beatrice, and she's actually a nobles missing daughter that just happens to be under a curse. I thought that maybe, well you know, kissing her, well that it might break the curse. Of course it didn't but now I can't get her to leave my hut! Finally arriving at the market he manages to trade his goods for coin and supplies, now for a hot meal, a good glass of wine and, he sniffs himself, maybe a bath. As he makes his way to his favorite inn he can be heard arguing with himself about what day of the week it is.
It has been far too long since Aymar Vardiel, an Elf of humble beginnings, had made his way back to the city of Highbrook. Most of his days are spent hunting and doing what he can to protect the small village deep within the eastern forest. Normally, a rather peaceful life, however, as of late more and more trouble seems to find its way to his quiet home. Sent by the village elder to procure medical supplies, Aymar grabs his simple wooden club and shield, as well as his wooden staff and journeys west to Highbrook. After some hard days travel, Aymar enters the city with some fresh meat and hides to trade. Approaching the city guard he timidly asks where he might trade for medical supplies. With some direction Aymar aquires the neccasary supplies, only getting lost twice, and decides it would be best to stay the night within the city, rather than brave the road again today. After awkwardly walking around the town, not wanting to bother anyone with questions, he finds the Inn and settles down with a warm plate of food, and secures a room for the night.
Aymar is an Elf who stands 5'11", he has short pale blonde hair, almost white, and wears basic leathers, and an emerald green cloak. The club and shield he carries are very primitive in appearance, but his staff stands out. It starts of plain at the bottom but the wood slowly begins to twist into vines the wrap around a large bulb at the top. The bulb is colorful with shades of greens and purples but is currently closed. Aymar is fairly shy for an elf, but is protective in nature and is always looking out for the common folk.
In the heart of the untamed wilds, where paths twist and turn as unpredictably as the seasons, there is one figure who walks them all with ease—Norberos Eldrendre. Norberos is as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves, though his quirks often leave those he guides wondering whether they are in the presence of a wise druid or a madman.
At first glance, he appears every bit the ancient elf druid, with hair as wild and silver as the morning mist, and eyes that gleam with a deep, knowing light. His robes, patched together from leaves, feathers, and odd bits of moss. He uses his walking staff, crooked and gnarled that looks like the roots of his good friend Eldertwig Wyrmbark, an old tree, to help balance himself as he hums forgotten tunes under his breath. Norberos is known to speak to the trees as if they were old friends—and they sometimes answer back, or so he claims.
Norberos has a habit of going off on tangents, sharing lore about the migration patterns of birds or the hidden virtues of a certain kind of mushroom—right in the middle of a journey. He might stop mid-conversation to chat with a passing squirrel, or offer cryptic advice in the form of riddles that only seem to make sense hours later. Despite these oddities, those who follow him soon come to realize that every strange detour, every whimsical moment, has a purpose known only to Norberos. His eccentric nature belies a deep and profound connection to the land, and while he may offer you a cup of tea brewed from a flower that only blooms once a decade, it is often exactly what you need at that very moment.
Though he rarely strays far from his friends in the forest, Norberos has recently been seen in the quiet town of Highbrook, nestled on the edge of the woods. His arrival, as with most things concerning Norberos, was sudden and curious. Some say he was drawn by a disturbance in the balance of nature—a sickness in the trees, a strange silence in the birdsong, or a darkness lurking in the earth. Others claim he came simply because the wind whispered to him that it was time. Norberos himself? He’s been known to offer different explanations on different days. Sometimes he’ll speak of a "great calling," other times he'll mention needing a rare herb that only grows near the town's well, or simply say, "The stars told me I should visit."
As he enters Highbrook on this day he slowly saunters in and says to no one in particular "Hello there. Beautiful day for a stroll. What's that you say? It's evening?" He looks up at the sky and shrugs "Pfft still a good day for a stroll" and stroll he does right through town
(Aside Note if any of the other elves would like to know him or know of him we could work that into the story if the DM is ok with that)
Zinlynn is 'that girl' in Highbrook. Not only is she a half-breed - part human and part elf - she is haunted by something...something so terrible that she never speaks of it. There are many rumors in the city - although nobody can say for certain what actually happened to her. She sometimes shrinks away from shadows on the wall, or wakes sweating from a bloodcurdling nightmare. Some say that she whispers to demons in the dark, but most folk know she is really a nice young woman who carries some psychic burden that has taken its toll. She lives in an isolated shack at the edge of the city and works at the Trollslayer's Tavern as a serving wench. She rarely smiles but is not distant or awkward. In fact, Zinlynn is one of hardest working servers in the place. She has a sharp memory, and a sharper tongue when needed to control anyone too far into their cups! She is dressed in dark clothes and leather boots that seem practical in the tavern or even out in the forest.
So it is in the tavern where you first get a glimpse of this dark and haunted lady...
Korath Varnak strides through the winding streets of Highbrook, his imposing frame casting long shadows in the fading light of dusk. Standing at 6'2", his green skin and sharp amber eyes mark him as a half-orc, and his unkempt black hair and short beard add to his rugged appearance. He walks with purpose, though his expression carries the weight of someone constantly caught between two worlds.
Highbrook is his home now, a place where he serves as both protector and mediator, trying to mend the wounds of racial tension between orcs, humans, and others. The whispers of fallen angels and the looming corruption stir something within him—a call to confront the darkness that once shaped his past and now threatens to consume his future.
As Korath approaches the inn tavern, the flickering lanterns illuminate his weathered face, and the lively chatter within reaches his ears. He feels the weight of his warhammer on his back, a familiar reminder of the battles he’s fought both on the field and within himself.
Korath steps into the warm glow of the tavern, the heavy scent of roasted meats and spilled ale filling the air. His sharp amber eyes scan the room as he makes his way to the bar. The chatter of patrons fades slightly as the half-orc approaches, but Korath is no stranger to that. Highbrook may be a place of tolerance—at least on the surface—but old habits die hard, and his presence often silences a room for a heartbeat or two.
"An ale," Korath grunts to the barkeep, sliding a few coins across the counter, "and whatever’s hot tonight."
The barkeep nods, recognizing the familiar face, and without a word, fills a tankard to the brim with frothy ale. Korath takes it, his muscles aching from a long day of resolving disputes and keeping the peace. He finds a seat in the corner, away from the more boisterous crowd, and sinks into the worn wooden chair with a heavy sigh.
The weight of his responsibilities—both as a cleric and as someone caught between two worlds—rests on his shoulders like a well-worn mantle. The ale is cold and bitter as it slides down his throat, the perfect remedy for the weariness that clings to him. Soon after, the barkeep sets down a plate of roasted meat, potatoes, and bread in front of him.
Korath mutters his thanks and begins to eat, savoring the warmth of the food. Yet even as the noise of the tavern hums around him, his mind drifts to The Spine. The darkness lurking in that desolate range calls to him, the same way the relic did all those years ago.
It had been a miserable couple of nights down in Two Copper Alley. Not only was there a cold rain, but that rain kept the easy marks huddled inside. Fewer pockets to pick meant fewer coins in his pouch. So not only had he been wet and cold, but all he could afford was some cold bread and warm ale. At least the main hall of the Trollslayer's was comfortably warm and dry.
I walk in and it's the usual mix of mostly Big Folk. No one notices me walk in until I climb up into a chair and wave Zinlynn over. I smile at her and pour on the charm. "Hello, sweet! What can I get for 4 coppers that's warm and filling?" I run a hand through my short, brown hair and look up at the half-elf, admiring her straight black hair. I'm wearing a set of plain clothes, slightly worn and carrying my backpack which is holding most of my working gear.
Assuming the DM is ok with it, Aymar would like to know Norberos. Could be as simple as Norberos has passed through his village on a few occasions, or Aymar has simply heard of Norberos. I’m happy to work something out with you.
((OOC I could switch to a fight class right fast if we need, wouldn't be a problem and it may work out better for me, this is my first druid. just let me know and if the DM is ok with it))
As evening falls, a strange silence seems to fall over the city. Just as the stars begin to show, a piercing yell fills the entirety of the city, shattering what silence there once so strangely was. As heads turn upward, you see what must be the source of the yell. A massive, majestic man falls from the heavens, beard flapping behind him. As he falls, his magnitude is fully understood. This man is the size of a large mountain range.
[Gurog] "HOLY HELL!!"I yell as I see this man plummet to the earth. He's moving fast and I know I have mere moments before the impact. I look down at my hand and see the handle of the mug I was holding in the tavern... I must have shattered it in my surprise. I drop the remains and quickly yell to the others on the street to prepare themselves. "Secure yourselves, get low! This man is going to hit hard and cause an earthquake!" Near me is a young couple with a newborn child. I run over and kneel and let them huddle within my breadth; my only thought being that maybe I can protect this one family from the disaster about to happen. I brace myself as best I can, although it is awkward with these three under me.
Korath’s heart pounds in his chest, the primal fear of witnessing something so otherworldly coursing through him. Is this a herald of divine wrath? A sign from the heavens tied to the corruption he has sensed stirring in The Spine?
With years of battle-hardened instinct taking over, Korath springs into action.
He sprints toward the center of town, barking orders at passersby. “Get to cover! Away from the streets!” His voice booms with the authority of his war cleric training. He mentally reaches for his divine connection and casts Shield of Faith on himself, though he knows it won't be much use if that thing hits the city.
((Religion to try to remember if he's heard of anything like this: 19.))
Zinlynn heads out with everyone else, looking skyward to see the falling, giant - no, god-sized - man. However, unlike everyone else - she actually starts walking toward the potential impact area, arms held wide open as if giving a welcoming embrace to a dear friend not seen in a long time. "Come - take me at last..." she shouts at nothing - and everything - at once.
DM:
Put your spoiler her Strength of the Grave attribute here. "Starting at 1st level, your existence in a twilight state between life and death makes you difficult to defeat. When damage reduces you to 0 hit points, you can make a Charisma saving throw (DC 5 + the damage taken). On a success, you instead drop to 1 hit point. You can’t use this feature if you are reduced to 0 hit points by radiant damage or by a critical hit."
This gives the others a sense of her desire, but inability, to actually die. =)
Korath’s breath catches as the monumental figure falls through the heavens, his mind racing with a memory he'd hoped was buried forever. This has happened before—once, long ago. He barely remembers the tale from when he was growing up near the Spine, passed down in whispers among the few who dared to speak of it. Almost nothing was known about the first fall. Only fragments of the tale remained: a city vanished, landscapes reshaped, and the heavens forever scarred by the arrival of a being so vast that its existence seemed impossible.
Now, standing in the streets of Highbrook, Korath feels the weight of that ancient tale crushing down on him. This is no mere myth—it is happening again.
"Gods help us," he mutters under his breath, gripping the handle of his warhammer tightly. The fact that almost nothing is known about what follows this fall fills him with an unsettling sense of dread. No one survived the last event to tell the full story. And now, here he stands, witness to the same ominous phenomenon.
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Hey guys, this is the campaign thread, I’ll have the first DM post by tomorrow, but for now describe your character and tell everyone how they ended up in Highbrook.
I am Gurog Quickstep, a Goliath Barbarian, descended from the Cloud Giants. It is because of my ancestry that I have limited teleportation that I incorporate into my battle style, which has earned me my surname, Quickstep. I am motivated to protect my friends and eliminate anyone or anything that threatens them. My protective nature will occasionally get me into trouble as I will sometimes jump into dangerous situations that could have been avoided in order to defend my friend. I recently finished serving my time in the Goliath army and have come to Highbrook in search of an adventuring team to join me in seeking wealth and glory.
I walk into the city and notice the stares and see the fear in the common-folk immediately. I stand taller than most at 7.5 feet tall with shockingly blue hair which even among the cloud giant descendants is rare. My stature always makes people stare, but my bulging muscles and the great axe across my back keep them at bay and cause mothers to pull their children closer in order to protect them from the “brute”. I don’t mind, I’ve never been good at dealing with others. There hasn’t been a problem yet that my axe couldn’t solve. I gruffly ask one of the town guards where the closest tavern is. A quick walk later and I’m back in my element. I can’t decide which I should do first, partake in a game of dice or test my strength against those in the fighting ring. Either way, I’ll be the one to walk away with the winnings.
Tharra Quofinas
I walk out of the woods, from alongside the trade road and head towards the Eastern Gate of the town of Highbrook. It had been a long way to travel, through three days of an unseasonably cold rain, to approach at last the high city walls. Elves, especially elven druids, are renowned for our ability to survive in the wild for a long time. But even we occasionally need supplies, the company of others, and most definitely tonight a warm meal, a hot bath, and a dry bed.
I walk towards the city under the gaze of the unworried guards. They believe me to be the non threatening elf woman they see. I stand about 5 feet tall, with sodden blonde hair and green eyes, weighing around 110 pounds, as humans measure such things. I walk easily with my staff in hand as I respond to their challenge "Who goes there, lass? What be yer name and yer business in Highbrook?"
I look up at the armored man and smile. "My name is Tharra Quofinas, of the Golden Oak grove. This day I seek warmth of an inn, and if the gods p!ease to give us better weather on the morrow, supplies to take back home when I leave." My answer is apparently sufficient so they allow me to pass and give me directions to a nearby inn, Trollslayer's.
Paradise Lost--Tharra Quofinas, druid. Unam the Unseen, rogue
A Kitchen Sink Odyssey - Gerald Dawnwing, paladin, oath of devotion
Play by Post on Discord Indytanaformoclina, gnome wizard
Yorik Twobrand, a hermit living in the woods outside of town, makes way through the city gates and heads to the market with his weekly haul of fresh herbs and edible mushrooms gathered from mother woods herself. If not for the weeks worth of dirt and soil stained travel cloak, he would appear an imposing man. Standing just over six feet tall, worn leather armour under his weather worn travel cloak, a modified shafted boar spear his only obvious weapon. As he travels the streets to the market square, a well worn path he knows from his biweekly visits to town, the local street kids mock him and tease him, "there goes crazy old Yorik, gods how he smells, my pa says he's bewitched by a talking goat" and so forth. Yorik doesn't do much to change their opinions, or anyone else's for that matter. After all he does talk, a lot at times, to himself, and he probably does smell a little, but bewitched by a talking goat? He chuckles at the thought and says to no one in particular, the goat's name is Beatrice, and she's actually a nobles missing daughter that just happens to be under a curse. I thought that maybe, well you know, kissing her, well that it might break the curse. Of course it didn't but now I can't get her to leave my hut! Finally arriving at the market he manages to trade his goods for coin and supplies, now for a hot meal, a good glass of wine and, he sniffs himself, maybe a bath. As he makes his way to his favorite inn he can be heard arguing with himself about what day of the week it is.
It has been far too long since Aymar Vardiel, an Elf of humble beginnings, had made his way back to the city of Highbrook. Most of his days are spent hunting and doing what he can to protect the small village deep within the eastern forest. Normally, a rather peaceful life, however, as of late more and more trouble seems to find its way to his quiet home. Sent by the village elder to procure medical supplies, Aymar grabs his simple wooden club and shield, as well as his wooden staff and journeys west to Highbrook. After some hard days travel, Aymar enters the city with some fresh meat and hides to trade.
Approaching the city guard he timidly asks where he might trade for medical supplies. With some direction Aymar aquires the neccasary supplies, only getting lost twice, and decides it would be best to stay the night within the city, rather than brave the road again today. After awkwardly walking around the town, not wanting to bother anyone with questions, he finds the Inn and settles down with a warm plate of food, and secures a room for the night.
Aymar is an Elf who stands 5'11", he has short pale blonde hair, almost white, and wears basic leathers, and an emerald green cloak. The club and shield he carries are very primitive in appearance, but his staff stands out. It starts of plain at the bottom but the wood slowly begins to twist into vines the wrap around a large bulb at the top. The bulb is colorful with shades of greens and purples but is currently closed. Aymar is fairly shy for an elf, but is protective in nature and is always looking out for the common folk.
In the heart of the untamed wilds, where paths twist and turn as unpredictably as the seasons, there is one figure who walks them all with ease—Norberos Eldrendre. Norberos is as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves, though his quirks often leave those he guides wondering whether they are in the presence of a wise druid or a madman.
At first glance, he appears every bit the ancient elf druid, with hair as wild and silver as the morning mist, and eyes that gleam with a deep, knowing light. His robes, patched together from leaves, feathers, and odd bits of moss. He uses his walking staff, crooked and gnarled that looks like the roots of his good friend Eldertwig Wyrmbark, an old tree, to help balance himself as he hums forgotten tunes under his breath. Norberos is known to speak to the trees as if they were old friends—and they sometimes answer back, or so he claims.
Norberos has a habit of going off on tangents, sharing lore about the migration patterns of birds or the hidden virtues of a certain kind of mushroom—right in the middle of a journey. He might stop mid-conversation to chat with a passing squirrel, or offer cryptic advice in the form of riddles that only seem to make sense hours later. Despite these oddities, those who follow him soon come to realize that every strange detour, every whimsical moment, has a purpose known only to Norberos. His eccentric nature belies a deep and profound connection to the land, and while he may offer you a cup of tea brewed from a flower that only blooms once a decade, it is often exactly what you need at that very moment.
Though he rarely strays far from his friends in the forest, Norberos has recently been seen in the quiet town of Highbrook, nestled on the edge of the woods. His arrival, as with most things concerning Norberos, was sudden and curious. Some say he was drawn by a disturbance in the balance of nature—a sickness in the trees, a strange silence in the birdsong, or a darkness lurking in the earth. Others claim he came simply because the wind whispered to him that it was time. Norberos himself? He’s been known to offer different explanations on different days. Sometimes he’ll speak of a "great calling," other times he'll mention needing a rare herb that only grows near the town's well, or simply say, "The stars told me I should visit."
As he enters Highbrook on this day he slowly saunters in and says to no one in particular "Hello there. Beautiful day for a stroll. What's that you say? It's evening?" He looks up at the sky and shrugs "Pfft still a good day for a stroll" and stroll he does right through town
(Aside Note if any of the other elves would like to know him or know of him we could work that into the story if the DM is ok with that)
Zinlynn is 'that girl' in Highbrook. Not only is she a half-breed - part human and part elf - she is haunted by something...something so terrible that she never speaks of it. There are many rumors in the city - although nobody can say for certain what actually happened to her. She sometimes shrinks away from shadows on the wall, or wakes sweating from a bloodcurdling nightmare. Some say that she whispers to demons in the dark, but most folk know she is really a nice young woman who carries some psychic burden that has taken its toll. She lives in an isolated shack at the edge of the city and works at the Trollslayer's Tavern as a serving wench. She rarely smiles but is not distant or awkward. In fact, Zinlynn is one of hardest working servers in the place. She has a sharp memory, and a sharper tongue when needed to control anyone too far into their cups! She is dressed in dark clothes and leather boots that seem practical in the tavern or even out in the forest.
So it is in the tavern where you first get a glimpse of this dark and haunted lady...
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Korath Varnak strides through the winding streets of Highbrook, his imposing frame casting long shadows in the fading light of dusk. Standing at 6'2", his green skin and sharp amber eyes mark him as a half-orc, and his unkempt black hair and short beard add to his rugged appearance. He walks with purpose, though his expression carries the weight of someone constantly caught between two worlds.
Highbrook is his home now, a place where he serves as both protector and mediator, trying to mend the wounds of racial tension between orcs, humans, and others. The whispers of fallen angels and the looming corruption stir something within him—a call to confront the darkness that once shaped his past and now threatens to consume his future.
As Korath approaches the inn tavern, the flickering lanterns illuminate his weathered face, and the lively chatter within reaches his ears. He feels the weight of his warhammer on his back, a familiar reminder of the battles he’s fought both on the field and within himself.
Korath steps into the warm glow of the tavern, the heavy scent of roasted meats and spilled ale filling the air. His sharp amber eyes scan the room as he makes his way to the bar. The chatter of patrons fades slightly as the half-orc approaches, but Korath is no stranger to that. Highbrook may be a place of tolerance—at least on the surface—but old habits die hard, and his presence often silences a room for a heartbeat or two.
"An ale," Korath grunts to the barkeep, sliding a few coins across the counter, "and whatever’s hot tonight."
The barkeep nods, recognizing the familiar face, and without a word, fills a tankard to the brim with frothy ale. Korath takes it, his muscles aching from a long day of resolving disputes and keeping the peace. He finds a seat in the corner, away from the more boisterous crowd, and sinks into the worn wooden chair with a heavy sigh.
The weight of his responsibilities—both as a cleric and as someone caught between two worlds—rests on his shoulders like a well-worn mantle. The ale is cold and bitter as it slides down his throat, the perfect remedy for the weariness that clings to him. Soon after, the barkeep sets down a plate of roasted meat, potatoes, and bread in front of him.
Korath mutters his thanks and begins to eat, savoring the warmth of the food. Yet even as the noise of the tavern hums around him, his mind drifts to The Spine. The darkness lurking in that desolate range calls to him, the same way the relic did all those years ago.
Unam the Unseen
It had been a miserable couple of nights down in Two Copper Alley. Not only was there a cold rain, but that rain kept the easy marks huddled inside. Fewer pockets to pick meant fewer coins in his pouch. So not only had he been wet and cold, but all he could afford was some cold bread and warm ale. At least the main hall of the Trollslayer's was comfortably warm and dry.
I walk in and it's the usual mix of mostly Big Folk. No one notices me walk in until I climb up into a chair and wave Zinlynn over. I smile at her and pour on the charm. "Hello, sweet! What can I get for 4 coppers that's warm and filling?" I run a hand through my short, brown hair and look up at the half-elf, admiring her straight black hair. I'm wearing a set of plain clothes, slightly worn and carrying my backpack which is holding most of my working gear.
Paradise Lost--Tharra Quofinas, druid. Unam the Unseen, rogue
A Kitchen Sink Odyssey - Gerald Dawnwing, paladin, oath of devotion
Play by Post on Discord Indytanaformoclina, gnome wizard
Assuming the DM is ok with it, Aymar would like to know Norberos. Could be as simple as Norberos has passed through his village on a few occasions, or Aymar has simply heard of Norberos. I’m happy to work something out with you.
(@JustinVindicator -- you are running 2 characters? I'm fine with it, just making sure I didn't miss something)
This will be fine, I can work with both of you on this if you want.
@Srgharrison Yes. The DM pointed out to me that we had 3 druids, a barbarian, a cleric, and a sorceror. So I volunteered to run a rogue as well.
Paradise Lost--Tharra Quofinas, druid. Unam the Unseen, rogue
A Kitchen Sink Odyssey - Gerald Dawnwing, paladin, oath of devotion
Play by Post on Discord Indytanaformoclina, gnome wizard
((OOC I could switch to a fight class right fast if we need, wouldn't be a problem and it may work out better for me, this is my first druid. just let me know and if the DM is ok with it))
As evening falls, a strange silence seems to fall over the city. Just as the stars begin to show, a piercing yell fills the entirety of the city, shattering what silence there once so strangely was. As heads turn upward, you see what must be the source of the yell. A massive, majestic man falls from the heavens, beard flapping behind him. As he falls, his magnitude is fully understood. This man is the size of a large mountain range.
What do you do?
[Gurog] "HOLY HELL!!" I yell as I see this man plummet to the earth. He's moving fast and I know I have mere moments before the impact. I look down at my hand and see the handle of the mug I was holding in the tavern... I must have shattered it in my surprise. I drop the remains and quickly yell to the others on the street to prepare themselves. "Secure yourselves, get low! This man is going to hit hard and cause an earthquake!" Near me is a young couple with a newborn child. I run over and kneel and let them huddle within my breadth; my only thought being that maybe I can protect this one family from the disaster about to happen. I brace myself as best I can, although it is awkward with these three under me.
Korath’s heart pounds in his chest, the primal fear of witnessing something so otherworldly coursing through him. Is this a herald of divine wrath? A sign from the heavens tied to the corruption he has sensed stirring in The Spine?
With years of battle-hardened instinct taking over, Korath springs into action.
He sprints toward the center of town, barking orders at passersby. “Get to cover! Away from the streets!” His voice booms with the authority of his war cleric training. He mentally reaches for his divine connection and casts Shield of Faith on himself, though he knows it won't be much use if that thing hits the city.
((Religion to try to remember if he's heard of anything like this: 19.))
Korath- as far as you know, this has only happened once before, and almost nothing is fully known about it.
Zinlynn heads out with everyone else, looking skyward to see the falling, giant - no, god-sized - man. However, unlike everyone else - she actually starts walking toward the potential impact area, arms held wide open as if giving a welcoming embrace to a dear friend not seen in a long time. "Come - take me at last..." she shouts at nothing - and everything - at once.
DM:
Put your spoiler her Strength of the Grave attribute here. "Starting at 1st level, your existence in a twilight state between life and death makes you difficult to defeat. When damage reduces you to 0 hit points, you can make a Charisma saving throw (DC 5 + the damage taken). On a success, you instead drop to 1 hit point. You can’t use this feature if you are reduced to 0 hit points by radiant damage or by a critical hit."
This gives the others a sense of her desire, but inability, to actually die. =)
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Korath’s breath catches as the monumental figure falls through the heavens, his mind racing with a memory he'd hoped was buried forever. This has happened before—once, long ago. He barely remembers the tale from when he was growing up near the Spine, passed down in whispers among the few who dared to speak of it. Almost nothing was known about the first fall. Only fragments of the tale remained: a city vanished, landscapes reshaped, and the heavens forever scarred by the arrival of a being so vast that its existence seemed impossible.
Now, standing in the streets of Highbrook, Korath feels the weight of that ancient tale crushing down on him. This is no mere myth—it is happening again.
"Gods help us," he mutters under his breath, gripping the handle of his warhammer tightly. The fact that almost nothing is known about what follows this fall fills him with an unsettling sense of dread. No one survived the last event to tell the full story. And now, here he stands, witness to the same ominous phenomenon.