A cold wind swept through the Temple of the Sacred Light, rustling banners and carrying whispered conversations into the high-vaulted ceilings. Though it was undoubtedly once a grand edifice of white stone, with intricately carved murals carved into its walls, the centuries had not been kind to it. Pillars were cracked and chipped, their once pristine surfaces dulled to a coarse gray by the relentless passage of time. Likewise, the mosaic tiles beneath your feet had lost much of their color, leaving only hints of the vibrancy they once displayed. Despite how large the temple was, it wasn't enough to fit the full force of all three parties. And so many mages, sentinels, and Calyxi soldiers were camped either at the mountain's summit, or in the nearby village of Vault.
The Calyxi delegation had done well to keep tempers from flaring so far - soldiers in full plate and plumed helmets patrolling and standing guard at all times. The tension around the temple had been palpable over the last few days. For hours on end, the mage and sentinel leadership would disappear behind closed doors with the princess. Each time they emerged, peace seemed no closer.
It is now the fourth day of the summit, and a light snowfall has begun. A general assembly had been called, so the Princess might address all members of the summit herself. As you milled about in the crowd...You suddenly felt a gentle tingle in the back of your mind. And then the pain began.
You double over in pain as you feel as though your very bones have caught fire. Strange runes and markings sear themselves into your skin all over your body: your face, your hands, your arms, your legs. Others nearby begin to notice, and perhaps a few concerned individuals begin to reach out. In the next breath, a colossal roar reverberates through the temple, shaking stones from the ancient vaulted ceiling and sending cracks spiraling through the floor. The air erupts in an explosion of sickly green light as centuries of stonework come crashing down. The avalanche of rubble and raw power engulfs everything - rebel, sentinel, and Calyxi. In a single thunderous moment, the Temple of the Sacred Light, along with all who had gathered, disappear into a storm of collapsing rock and arcane fury.
Then darkness.
When your senses return to you, the first thing you feel is a soul numbing cold. You awaken and look around to find yourself in a place of floating shards of stone, and a sky webbed with black ichor, lit by a ghostly wash of green and blue. You notice others around you, your number five in total, and you see they share the same strange marking that had been seared into your flesh before the temple collapsed.
...As you bring yourself to your feet in this strange landscape, what do you do?
Lucian, as soon as his senses return to him, springs to his feet and looks around him, silently taking in the horror. He looks up, to the calamity in the sky, and gasps. “This… is this…” he trails off, looking to his forearm. On it is a swirling tattoo of thorns against his dark skin that almost seems to be digging into his skin, like shackles. He covers it up with the sleeve of his fine black jacket, wiping off debris and dirt. He looks around, seeing the other four people around him. He brushes his hair out of his face and rushes over to them, making sure they’re all alive and well. He’s in a state of utter panic, and is frantic, looking over his shoulder constantly, and trying to survey his surroundings while making sure those around him are okay. He speaks in a hushed tone, afraid to make too much noise.
As Roland stands, his hand goes immediately to a pocket in his cloak. He finds the comforting warmth and soft fur in there, and a friendly nip on his finger lets him know that his familiar is Ok.
"Prince..." he whispers to himself looking around at his surroundings. Noticing the others, he says "what kind of trickery is this?" and he begins to cast a spell, aiming to summon a beast to his side to aid him, but he falters, and drops the spell. Looking at his wrist, he see's markings. New... strange... "They look like... like a serpent. Sort of..." he says to himself, then gathers his whits about him, looking up.
He notices the others seem as confused and shocked as he feels, so he let's down his guard a bit. But just a bit.
Lucian backs away a bit, trying to calm down a little, looking to the sky. He takes a coin from his pocket, flipping it just out of nervousness, needing to do something with his hands. “I-uh… i’m not sure…” he puts the coin back in his pocket, looking to Roland. “Are you alright? I think something happened and it…” he trails off, turning away and rolling up his sleeve, examining his tattoo of a tangle of thorns around his forearm.
Holm hears someone speaking without hearing any words, and slowly raises a hand to his forehead to try and stop the ringing. Gods, he hadn't felt this disoriented in months, since he'd last drank one of Elira's experiments for her. As his vision and hearing clear, he catches the last few words of an unfinished sentence from an elf a few paces away. Not Calyxi. But where are they?He hadn't been the only one hidden in the crowd, but he couldn't see any of the other soldiers or delegates from his party.
He winces as his still-clearing mind finally registers a burning pain in his arm under a thick metal bracer. He places his other hand over it, willing it to unclasp, revealing a strange web of red, almost mirroring the webbing of black that criscrosses the sky above. Before anyone else can see the small metal plate at the center of the marking, he clamps the bracer back down over his arm and yanks a sleeve over it. "How'd we get here?" he asks, making an effort to sound Dravican in order to keep up appearances. "And where is everyone else?" He takes a moment to examine his surroundings more closely, searching for any sign of the Calyxi he'd traveled with or the delegates he'd been charged to keep an eye on (investigation19 or perception18 with the same roll if that's more appropriate).
Korran always liked the cold. For once it was far less miserable than the heat. There was no excess of humidity, no clothes clinging to the skin because of sweat. More than that he enjoyed the colors. The leaden of the skies and the white tapestry of snow made him feel calm. When the flakes started to fall the elf stretched his hand, letting two or three rest on his palm. For a second he even felt peace, then came the call for the general assembly. A waste of time, he was certain.
Before he could feel bored and start wishing to return to his tent his mind became alert. Not a second later he felt like his flesh was boiling in his own blood. He tried to scream, but there’s no voice. Air felt like smoke in his lungs. He bent and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He didn’t notice the worried faces reaching for him or the shaking of the ground, but the cracking of stone and the green light overpowered his torment. Darkness came before fear and brought him relief. Consciousness returned before he opened his eyes.
Before moving, Korran started to mentally check the state of his body. Before he could finished three voices appeared. Feeling no missing piece, the bard decided it’s safe to move. Opening his eyes he was hit with nothing but confusion.
“By the look of it, you seem to be right.” He answered the bearded man while getting to his feet. “Hells is what happened. Either that or something awfully similar.” Looking around there were only four besides himself. “Anyone else felt a horrible pain before the explosion?”
Notes (Questions): Since Korran uses long shirts and gloves, does he notices the mark on his forearm? Does he know any song or tale about any place that looks like the scenario he's seeing?
A young man with vibrant orange hair brings himself up into a sitting position, he looks at his hands for a moment, flexing them as he notes the rune burned into the back of one of them. Two mirrored concentric crescents with an arrow pointed through them. "Hm."He surveys the broken landscape before them as he thinks back to those final moments in the temple, the falling rock...The explosion. No one survived that. Briefly he considered what may have caused it. A mage who saw an opportunity to end the sentinels once and for all? But at such a cost to their own. It didn't make sense.
Dante pushes himself to his feet, chiming in on the conversation the others around him are having with a sobering thought. "I think we might be dead, and this is what comes after."
Rubbing the back of his hand, he takes a look around the area for a meaningful way forward. A path or a road of some kind.
Lucian looks to Dante, seeing the rune burned into his hand, taking note of it.
”If… If we’re dead, then why are we the only ones here? I… saw what happened, surely we weren’t the only ones… k-killed?”
lucian Then rolls up his left sleeve to check his forearm again, revealing the tattoo of a thorny vine wrapping around part of his arm. He looks to Roland, and his wrist, with the serpentine markings. “Strange… that c-can’t be a coincidence…” he mutters.
Holm: There are no signs of a single soul besides the 5 of you. Among the floating islands of rock, you see ruined structures here and there. You note that these ruins look like nothing like the Temple of Sacred Light.
Korran: It would still hurt, which might prompt him to check. There are many songs and stories of different realms - places inhabited by gods or the nature spirits. None of them were ever described as this bleak, or ruined.
Dante: Beneath your feet is a platform, with stairs leading down to solid blackened ground. A few feet beyond that is a ledge. Below is an unfathomable fall that you can't even see the bottom of, as a fog permeates this entire area. There is another island of rock across about a 30 foot gap, and even more further out.
As you ruminate your situation, pieces of stone and rock begin to float up from the fog below. They slowly and carefully assemble into a bridge crossing the first gap to the next floating island, which is about 35-40 feet in diameter. Braziers along the edge of the bridge are suddenly set ablaze with a faint blue glow, as if lighting the way.
"Dead or alive, we seem to be alone for the moment." Holm notices the inconsistencies between the ruins around him and the temple he'd been in only moments before, but chooses not to worry the others with that observation for the moment. They didn't need to know yet how much time he'd spent studying various plans and diagrams of the Temple of Sacred Light before the princess's summit.
Making no move to take off his bracer once more as the others examine their own marks a bit more publicly, Holm instead makes his way to his feet, brushing a tuft of dark hair out of his face and looking a bit more broadly at his surroundings. He'd been warned not to use magic publicly while in Dravica unless it became necessary to his task, but what of the summit? Did he even have a task now? And without any magic, how could he find his way off this rock and back to somebody who could answer that question? But then, a bridge, and lights seeming to pull him in that direction.
"What kind of magic is this? Floating rocks and braziers? Marks that none of us seem to have possessed before whatever just happened? I'm no sentinel, but that doesn't mean I trust this," he says with a small note of rising panic, or perhaps fear, in his voice, as a hint of his Calyxi accent slips back in.
As the orange-haired man joined the conversation, Korran’s mind turned to his right forearm. There he felt a tamer version of the searing pain before the explosion. Taking his glove and pulling his sleeve the elf saw an unfamiliar mark. It looked like a winged scepter, entangled by scaled patterns that reminded him of snakes and dragons. From the head of the scepter a spiral flowed, besides them curved lines formed something akin to wings or light.
“Going by song and tale, we may have been damned to the same punishment because of similar sins.” The bard answered putting on his glove. “Or we may have been dragged here because of the way we were killed. Assuming we were killed.” He looked around, finding nothing familiar. “I’ve never heard of a realm like this.”
Maybe they were transported alive. But if so, why? Korran didn’t know the others but doubt that all five of them were more important than the princess, the leader of the rebellion, the archon of the Sentinels and their intermediator. I’m certainly not, he thought as the braziers started to burn.
“I don’t think jumping is an option so… Shall we?” He pointed to the bridge, not inclined to trust his back to those strangers. At least not while he could avoid it.
Notes: If the party advances during the bridge, Korran follows.
Roland looks at the other markings that have manifested on these strangers. It can't be a coincidence he thinks.
"We are not dead" he says and pulls out a little white ball of fur. He places it on his shoulder and a small head emerges, stretches then looks around. "This is Jack, or Lojack if he likes you. He is my familiar. If we were dead, I don't think he'd be here too."
"Well it looks like maybe we are not alone" he says, as a bridge begins to form in front of them."A welcome of sorts? For better or for worse, it seems like whoever is welcoming us is adept and accepting of the arcane arts."
He looks around at the others, the little white weasel on his shoulder following suit. "Here" he says, and hands each one a small berry. "Magical healing. Not much, but in a pinch, it could be life saving."As he looks at the bridge in front of them. "I feel like we maybe in a bit of a pinch."
Dante raises an eyebrow at the small furry creature, but nods, acquiescing to the stranger's point. "So not dead then." He accepts the small berry, slipping it into a pocket. "I think you're right, we probably aren't alone. Something wanted us here...I just wonder if it was also responsible for what happened at the temple."And why us? That particular question he kept to himself.
"Still. Forward is the only way it seems." He draws his longsword, and strides down the stairs towards the bridge to the next island. He looks forward across the other pieces of shattered land in the distance, looking for any notable landmarks or structures. A gate, perhaps an intact building?
Perception: 14 (with disadvantage due to fog I presume?)
As you step onto the bridge, you see the scattered islands of rock swing into motion in front of you. They drift closer together, as more stone rises from the fog to create more bridges more for you - giving you a way across this shattered plain.
Dante: On an island about 100 feet out, you notice a swirl of arcane energy burst to life, coinciding with the mark on your hand flaring.
As you all make it to the next island, a sound like tearing metal breaks the silence of this place. A deep echoing voice chanting in an unknown language fills the air. Two sickly green sigils also flare to life, one on the platform behind you, and another further ahead. Ethereal, shadowy black forms ooze out of them. Behind you, one of them lets out a screech.
Roll for initiative.
OoC:
I wasn't too sure on marching order besides Korran and Dante, so I kind of just guessed. There is a session running on the Maps feature, I'll leave that up on my PC all day. Alternatively, here's a screenshot of it.
[[ Just as a note, I’m very okay with you rolling initiative for me to speed things up if that’s something that others are also fine with or even if it just takes me longer than normal to reply and everyone else has already rolled. ]]
A cold wind swept through the Temple of the Sacred Light, rustling banners and carrying whispered conversations into the high-vaulted ceilings. Though it was undoubtedly once a grand edifice of white stone, with intricately carved murals carved into its walls, the centuries had not been kind to it. Pillars were cracked and chipped, their once pristine surfaces dulled to a coarse gray by the relentless passage of time. Likewise, the mosaic tiles beneath your feet had lost much of their color, leaving only hints of the vibrancy they once displayed. Despite how large the temple was, it wasn't enough to fit the full force of all three parties. And so many mages, sentinels, and Calyxi soldiers were camped either at the mountain's summit, or in the nearby village of Vault.
The Calyxi delegation had done well to keep tempers from flaring so far - soldiers in full plate and plumed helmets patrolling and standing guard at all times. The tension around the temple had been palpable over the last few days. For hours on end, the mage and sentinel leadership would disappear behind closed doors with the princess. Each time they emerged, peace seemed no closer.
It is now the fourth day of the summit, and a light snowfall has begun. A general assembly had been called, so the Princess might address all members of the summit herself. As you milled about in the crowd...You suddenly felt a gentle tingle in the back of your mind. And then the pain began.
You double over in pain as you feel as though your very bones have caught fire. Strange runes and markings sear themselves into your skin all over your body: your face, your hands, your arms, your legs. Others nearby begin to notice, and perhaps a few concerned individuals begin to reach out. In the next breath, a colossal roar reverberates through the temple, shaking stones from the ancient vaulted ceiling and sending cracks spiraling through the floor. The air erupts in an explosion of sickly green light as centuries of stonework come crashing down. The avalanche of rubble and raw power engulfs everything - rebel, sentinel, and Calyxi. In a single thunderous moment, the Temple of the Sacred Light, along with all who had gathered, disappear into a storm of collapsing rock and arcane fury.
Then darkness.
When your senses return to you, the first thing you feel is a soul numbing cold. You awaken and look around to find yourself in a place of floating shards of stone, and a sky webbed with black ichor, lit by a ghostly wash of green and blue. You notice others around you, your number five in total, and you see they share the same strange marking that had been seared into your flesh before the temple collapsed.
...As you bring yourself to your feet in this strange landscape, what do you do?
Lucian, as soon as his senses return to him, springs to his feet and looks around him, silently taking in the horror. He looks up, to the calamity in the sky, and gasps. “This… is this…” he trails off, looking to his forearm. On it is a swirling tattoo of thorns against his dark skin that almost seems to be digging into his skin, like shackles. He covers it up with the sleeve of his fine black jacket, wiping off debris and dirt. He looks around, seeing the other four people around him. He brushes his hair out of his face and rushes over to them, making sure they’re all alive and well. He’s in a state of utter panic, and is frantic, looking over his shoulder constantly, and trying to survey his surroundings while making sure those around him are okay. He speaks in a hushed tone, afraid to make too much noise.
As Roland stands, his hand goes immediately to a pocket in his cloak. He finds the comforting warmth and soft fur in there, and a friendly nip on his finger lets him know that his familiar is Ok.
"Prince..." he whispers to himself looking around at his surroundings. Noticing the others, he says "what kind of trickery is this?" and he begins to cast a spell, aiming to summon a beast to his side to aid him, but he falters, and drops the spell. Looking at his wrist, he see's markings. New... strange... "They look like... like a serpent. Sort of..." he says to himself, then gathers his whits about him, looking up.
He notices the others seem as confused and shocked as he feels, so he let's down his guard a bit. But just a bit.
"what the hells just happened?" he says.
Lucian backs away a bit, trying to calm down a little, looking to the sky. He takes a coin from his pocket, flipping it just out of nervousness, needing to do something with his hands. “I-uh… i’m not sure…” he puts the coin back in his pocket, looking to Roland. “Are you alright? I think something happened and it…” he trails off, turning away and rolling up his sleeve, examining his tattoo of a tangle of thorns around his forearm.
Holm hears someone speaking without hearing any words, and slowly raises a hand to his forehead to try and stop the ringing. Gods, he hadn't felt this disoriented in months, since he'd last drank one of Elira's experiments for her. As his vision and hearing clear, he catches the last few words of an unfinished sentence from an elf a few paces away. Not Calyxi. But where are they? He hadn't been the only one hidden in the crowd, but he couldn't see any of the other soldiers or delegates from his party.
He winces as his still-clearing mind finally registers a burning pain in his arm under a thick metal bracer. He places his other hand over it, willing it to unclasp, revealing a strange web of red, almost mirroring the webbing of black that criscrosses the sky above. Before anyone else can see the small metal plate at the center of the marking, he clamps the bracer back down over his arm and yanks a sleeve over it. "How'd we get here?" he asks, making an effort to sound Dravican in order to keep up appearances. "And where is everyone else?" He takes a moment to examine his surroundings more closely, searching for any sign of the Calyxi he'd traveled with or the delegates he'd been charged to keep an eye on (investigation 19 or perception 18 with the same roll if that's more appropriate).
DM - A Humblewood Adventure | Holm Erebos - Dread Tyrant
Korran always liked the cold. For once it was far less miserable than the heat. There was no excess of humidity, no clothes clinging to the skin because of sweat. More than that he enjoyed the colors. The leaden of the skies and the white tapestry of snow made him feel calm. When the flakes started to fall the elf stretched his hand, letting two or three rest on his palm. For a second he even felt peace, then came the call for the general assembly. A waste of time, he was certain.
Before he could feel bored and start wishing to return to his tent his mind became alert. Not a second later he felt like his flesh was boiling in his own blood. He tried to scream, but there’s no voice. Air felt like smoke in his lungs. He bent and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He didn’t notice the worried faces reaching for him or the shaking of the ground, but the cracking of stone and the green light overpowered his torment. Darkness came before fear and brought him relief. Consciousness returned before he opened his eyes.
Before moving, Korran started to mentally check the state of his body. Before he could finished three voices appeared. Feeling no missing piece, the bard decided it’s safe to move. Opening his eyes he was hit with nothing but confusion.
“By the look of it, you seem to be right.” He answered the bearded man while getting to his feet. “Hells is what happened. Either that or something awfully similar.” Looking around there were only four besides himself. “Anyone else felt a horrible pain before the explosion?”
Notes (Questions): Since Korran uses long shirts and gloves, does he notices the mark on his forearm? Does he know any song or tale about any place that looks like the scenario he's seeing?
A young man with vibrant orange hair brings himself up into a sitting position, he looks at his hands for a moment, flexing them as he notes the rune burned into the back of one of them. Two mirrored concentric crescents with an arrow pointed through them. "Hm." He surveys the broken landscape before them as he thinks back to those final moments in the temple, the falling rock...The explosion. No one survived that. Briefly he considered what may have caused it. A mage who saw an opportunity to end the sentinels once and for all? But at such a cost to their own. It didn't make sense.
Dante pushes himself to his feet, chiming in on the conversation the others around him are having with a sobering thought. "I think we might be dead, and this is what comes after."
Rubbing the back of his hand, he takes a look around the area for a meaningful way forward. A path or a road of some kind.
Perception: 15
Lucian looks to Dante, seeing the rune burned into his hand, taking note of it.
”If… If we’re dead, then why are we the only ones here? I… saw what happened, surely we weren’t the only ones… k-killed?”
lucian Then rolls up his left sleeve to check his forearm again, revealing the tattoo of a thorny vine wrapping around part of his arm. He looks to Roland, and his wrist, with the serpentine markings. “Strange… that c-can’t be a coincidence…” he mutters.
Holm: There are no signs of a single soul besides the 5 of you. Among the floating islands of rock, you see ruined structures here and there. You note that these ruins look like nothing like the Temple of Sacred Light.
Korran: It would still hurt, which might prompt him to check. There are many songs and stories of different realms - places inhabited by gods or the nature spirits. None of them were ever described as this bleak, or ruined.
Dante: Beneath your feet is a platform, with stairs leading down to solid blackened ground. A few feet beyond that is a ledge. Below is an unfathomable fall that you can't even see the bottom of, as a fog permeates this entire area. There is another island of rock across about a 30 foot gap, and even more further out.
As you ruminate your situation, pieces of stone and rock begin to float up from the fog below. They slowly and carefully assemble into a bridge crossing the first gap to the next floating island, which is about 35-40 feet in diameter. Braziers along the edge of the bridge are suddenly set ablaze with a faint blue glow, as if lighting the way.
"Dead or alive, we seem to be alone for the moment." Holm notices the inconsistencies between the ruins around him and the temple he'd been in only moments before, but chooses not to worry the others with that observation for the moment. They didn't need to know yet how much time he'd spent studying various plans and diagrams of the Temple of Sacred Light before the princess's summit.
Making no move to take off his bracer once more as the others examine their own marks a bit more publicly, Holm instead makes his way to his feet, brushing a tuft of dark hair out of his face and looking a bit more broadly at his surroundings. He'd been warned not to use magic publicly while in Dravica unless it became necessary to his task, but what of the summit? Did he even have a task now? And without any magic, how could he find his way off this rock and back to somebody who could answer that question? But then, a bridge, and lights seeming to pull him in that direction.
"What kind of magic is this? Floating rocks and braziers? Marks that none of us seem to have possessed before whatever just happened? I'm no sentinel, but that doesn't mean I trust this," he says with a small note of rising panic, or perhaps fear, in his voice, as a hint of his Calyxi accent slips back in.
DM - A Humblewood Adventure | Holm Erebos - Dread Tyrant
As the orange-haired man joined the conversation, Korran’s mind turned to his right forearm. There he felt a tamer version of the searing pain before the explosion. Taking his glove and pulling his sleeve the elf saw an unfamiliar mark. It looked like a winged scepter, entangled by scaled patterns that reminded him of snakes and dragons. From the head of the scepter a spiral flowed, besides them curved lines formed something akin to wings or light.
“Going by song and tale, we may have been damned to the same punishment because of similar sins.” The bard answered putting on his glove. “Or we may have been dragged here because of the way we were killed. Assuming we were killed.” He looked around, finding nothing familiar. “I’ve never heard of a realm like this.”
Maybe they were transported alive. But if so, why? Korran didn’t know the others but doubt that all five of them were more important than the princess, the leader of the rebellion, the archon of the Sentinels and their intermediator. I’m certainly not, he thought as the braziers started to burn.
“I don’t think jumping is an option so… Shall we?” He pointed to the bridge, not inclined to trust his back to those strangers. At least not while he could avoid it.
Notes: If the party advances during the bridge, Korran follows.
Roland looks at the other markings that have manifested on these strangers. It can't be a coincidence he thinks.
"We are not dead" he says and pulls out a little white ball of fur. He places it on his shoulder and a small head emerges, stretches then looks around. "This is Jack, or Lojack if he likes you. He is my familiar. If we were dead, I don't think he'd be here too."
"Well it looks like maybe we are not alone" he says, as a bridge begins to form in front of them. "A welcome of sorts? For better or for worse, it seems like whoever is welcoming us is adept and accepting of the arcane arts."
He looks around at the others, the little white weasel on his shoulder following suit. "Here" he says, and hands each one a small berry. "Magical healing. Not much, but in a pinch, it could be life saving." As he looks at the bridge in front of them. "I feel like we maybe in a bit of a pinch."
Dante raises an eyebrow at the small furry creature, but nods, acquiescing to the stranger's point. "So not dead then." He accepts the small berry, slipping it into a pocket. "I think you're right, we probably aren't alone. Something wanted us here...I just wonder if it was also responsible for what happened at the temple." And why us? That particular question he kept to himself.
"Still. Forward is the only way it seems." He draws his longsword, and strides down the stairs towards the bridge to the next island. He looks forward across the other pieces of shattered land in the distance, looking for any notable landmarks or structures. A gate, perhaps an intact building?
Perception: 14 (with disadvantage due to fog I presume?)
As you step onto the bridge, you see the scattered islands of rock swing into motion in front of you. They drift closer together, as more stone rises from the fog to create more bridges more for you - giving you a way across this shattered plain.
Dante: On an island about 100 feet out, you notice a swirl of arcane energy burst to life, coinciding with the mark on your hand flaring.
As you all make it to the next island, a sound like tearing metal breaks the silence of this place. A deep echoing voice chanting in an unknown language fills the air. Two sickly green sigils also flare to life, one on the platform behind you, and another further ahead. Ethereal, shadowy black forms ooze out of them. Behind you, one of them lets out a screech.
Roll for initiative.
OoC:
I wasn't too sure on marching order besides Korran and Dante, so I kind of just guessed. There is a session running on the Maps feature, I'll leave that up on my PC all day. Alternatively, here's a screenshot of it.
![]()

Roland Initiative: 9
Korran Initiative (rolled on the campaign log): 12
Holm Initiative: 19
[[ Just as a note, I’m very okay with you rolling initiative for me to speed things up if that’s something that others are also fine with or even if it just takes me longer than normal to reply and everyone else has already rolled. ]]
DM - A Humblewood Adventure | Holm Erebos - Dread Tyrant
Lucian Initiative: 19
OOC: I'm the same, you can roll initiative for Dante if you want,
Initiative: 15
"Not alone indeed," Dante mutters, bringing his sword up into a front guard.
[No issues with DM rolling initiative for Roland, I feel like that route usually cuts out a real time day :) But happy to roll if people prefer it]