“So we clean it my friend!!! No better garment for a warrior than their armor and weapons! Let the nobles wear pelts and silks! “ replies Thurston joviosly.
"Vark is right." Jex places a hand on Thurston's armour as he passes. "If you want something from someone, you get better results if you match to their own standards of dress, it creates feelings of empathy that can be exploited."
He turns back from the door.
"Keep that scroll safe Aiden, and try to remember this conversation." Jex quickly descends the staircase and a few moments later he is slipping through the streets of the now waking town, past a dwarven mining party heading for the lifts, traders in the market and people going about their business. Those that see the half-elf will soon forget him. Minutes later he is slipping through the gate unnoticed and out into the wild lands beyond the town walls. Out of habit more than any real sense of secrecy or danger he takes a longer route to his destination, doubling back twice before eventually slipping into the simple hut created by an old friend.
An hour later, his belly full of breakfast and tea and having endured a paniful conversation his friend would not even remember he returns to the town wth a small packet pressed in his breast pocket. He makes a few stops for further supplies for his plan before entering the small temple attached to his establishment, weighed down by a heavy sack, slipping in the side door and silently moving into the shadowy alcove at the back of the room. Here under the intimidating stare of his god he lays out his grizzly scene. He moves the candles laid out by Nakia earlier in the day from their higher shelves to the floor around the alcove to cast longer shadows. He retrieves a bundle rolled in a blanket from the sack he carried in, unrollingit, bloody rags and weapons fall to the floor, items of horror that would shake most, but the assassing lays them in plain view with no emotion. The scene set, he sits himself cross legged on the floor and chants a prayer. He removes the package he had received from Dorno, unwrapping the sides to reveal spongy leaves, soaked in a sweet smelling substance, he squeezes some into his mouth and places the rest on a small plate above a bowl of burning oil in front of him.
Back in the orphanage he had learnt of the assassins of old having a similar practice, after commiting their acts of horror, they would use substances to numb themselves from the emotional pain, something to help them detach, now he had a different purpose for it, to dissociate himself, and Matteo, from reality, and hope the weaker stomach of the latter would become more likely to shrink away under the confusion and parnoia. One final touch to further tip the balance in his favour - pain. He takes out the final item from his pack - a small vial of snakes venom, dips a sharp knife in it and slices it into his hand. Smearing the blood over himself for extra effects, he intensifies the chant and reaches for the mask, pulling it from his face...
A shriek rings out from the temple and a few worshippers scatter from the doors. Matteo is left crouched in a pool of tears and blood as a pair of lizard like creatures move in the shadows.
He would remember, Aiden decided. He would. His will was indomitable. He would remember.
Remember what?
He was supposed to be thinking about something, Aiden realizes as the door swings shut. He looks up at the others, deciding to that if he couldn't remember, it must not have been that important. "Well, when will we be leaving?" he asks, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. There, he finds a rolled and tied scroll. Frowning, he unfurls it and reads. He finishes and swears loudly in Norscan. He tosses it on the table. "Anybody who doesn't remember the conversation we just had with Jex had better read this."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Aiden Olrikson | Human | Tempest Domain Cleric of Thor
Once Vark is done reading the signed letter and kicking himself for once again letting the mask’s wiles tamper with his memory, he is eager to get on with his day. And of course, nothing else is so pressing on his mind as the upcoming dinner in Wydrioth. Even despite the tension of the latter half of the morning, the buzz of excitement he felt from his earlier conversation with Morben lingered. This meeting holds huge importance, they will be representing Sheercleft at a time when it needs all the allies it can get. Plus… Morben and his friend can probably show Vark a bunch of cool magic. So he really wants to make a good impression.
Other than his armor, Vark’s wardrobe has remained the same since he first came to Sheercleft: rough hewn wool and linen. Not fit for the courts of Wydrioth. Thankfully Vark now resides in the former home of Sheercleft’s Mabinogi puppet leader. Surely Quentin owned some suitable formal wear? Fabric flies around the room as Vark tosses clothes from the closet and they catch on the breeze that tends to flit around the sorcerer when he is excited. He holds up another shirt to his torso and frowns - too small. It’s still a strange feeling not to be the runt. But here, maybe…. he pulls what looks like a night gown out of the back of the closet. The fabric is nice enough, and too long is a better problem than too short in this case, it can be adjusted right? With this thinking in mind Vark reassesses his options and picks out some trousers and a jacket, using a mage hand to roll it up and see what it might look like cropped just above his waist.
“Not too bad!”
A short time later, Vark arrives at Ringrut’s with his second hand haul in tow. Immediately he makes a bee line for Brynja.
”Uhm, h-hi Miss Brynja, I was uhm… I was wondering if I could ask you a favor? Well, not a favor, I can pay, I just uhm… well I didn’t know who else to ask. My mom always made all my clothes so uhm… uhm, anyway I was hoping you could help make some of these fit me,” he spreads out the garments on a table awkwardly. “Th-these could just be cut and uhm… hemmed? And the pants I think need to be let out… or… in?” He looks down at the dwarven woman with an utterly helpless look in his big grey eyes.
Brynja was deep in her work when Vark drops in. The kitchen of Ringrut's was as busy in the morning as the tavern floor was at night. Miners and traders passed through regularly to load up on baskets of bread and pasties as well as a bottle or two. Brynja may not have been a chef by trade, but she worked long enough to be as much a force with pot and stove as she was with kegs. "Vark! Good t'see ye, lad! I'll be right there."
Ringrut's cursing could be heard rumbling from the kitchen as Brynja stepped out and looked over Vark's acquired clothes. "I'm no tailor, sorry, Vark. I've worked with Ringrut since I retired, an' I really only learned t'patch boy's clothes when yer rock-headed friend needed it. I can help get yer fit an' give a name of a wonderful lass in town, though. Go on an' get changed then come on back. I've got a pot on that needs me back there an' Ringrut's about t'ave my head." She gives a wry smile as she cracks her knuckles before turning back to the kitchen.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
“Oh, uhm, okay! Thank you!” Vark does as instructed and in short order Brynja has measured the boy and Vark has learned that he’s grown some since first leaving home, filled out with all the activity and hearty Dwarven food. He finds the girl Brynja has recommended and in no time she is working on the alterations he’s requested
The next day, Vark receives an unusually ornate, calligraphed fire message on watermarked parchment from Morben de Wydrioth. As promised, the letter invites the Acharnost to a private dinner party two weeks hence to celebrate the Fool's dawn with Morben and his circle of friends. The party is to take place at the Andalairë inn in Wydrioth and begins at dusk.
Vark is quick to rally the rest of the Acharnost with a flurry of telepathic messages, calling them to Ringrut’s in order to share his exciting news.
“You were talking about wanting to make a trip to Karaz Kadrin, right?” he says, directing the question to Bründir. “We should have enough time to make it there and back before the Fool’s Dawn. If we hurry.”
Val looks around at the others assembled. "Do we feel comfortable leaving Sheercleft after having just repelled an attack? What if they simply send another force?"
"It will take time for them to assemble another force and even more for it to reach us. I would be more concern about spies or saboteurs... and that's what Jex should be worried about... " says Thurston adjuting his fur cape to his shoulders
"Jex isn't worried 'bout shit but himself right now."
Nakia drops into the empty seat opposite Thurston, exhaustion lines evident on her face, bags under eyes and burns and bruises on her hands.
"Shitbag has me doing his job and cleaning up his messes. Now I've got him locked up in a room at the orphanage after the mess he made at the chapel and all the c*** can do is whine at me not to let you take him. Begging like some broken old man on the street. Well you can take him, if he doesn't want to go all the better. Keeps babbling on about not wanting to be put back together or some bollocks. Maybe you'll have better luck than me, if not at least he'll be far away. If you're leaving town, let me know and I'll drop him off to you. I can find out about your spies too while you're gone."
As accustomed as Vark is to vulgar Orcish curses, Nakia’s expletive still sets a blush to his grey-green cheeks. “Uhm y-yes, thank you, Nakia.”
A short time later the Acharnost has gathered on the edge of town, prepared to set off. Though great threats and important missions still loom on the horizon, the diplomatic and educational focus of this present journey is a refreshing lowering of the stakes compared to their last departures. As always Vark has his blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders and Pathmaker within reach as he sits atop Toivoa, ready to ride.
As promised, Nakia appears as the group gathers, a figure with a sack over his head and his hands bound is dragged by 2 kobolds from the back of a donkey and dumped at the feet of the group.
"He's gagged under there, I'd keep him that way, he's less annoying. Won't let Jex out, or so he says. I've tried, thought the stress might do it, or rather, Jex did, but he's as stubborn as Jex, even if he buried everything else about him."
She turns back for the orphanage, pausing for just a moment.
"Please do keep him alive, it would be good to have him back the way he was. I think he just needs some time is all."
Aiden dismounts from his grey mare. "Let him loose," he says, pulling the sack from Matteo's head and the gag from his mouth. He looks at the half-elf. "We all promised Jex we would not force you two together, even if we don't remember it." He pulls out the scroll with their various agreements on it. "It goes for you, too, Matteo."
Val nods. "Agreed, we cannot keep our friend tied up. The wilds are always dangerous. I will ride with Matteo and listen to his complaints if need be." She rolls her neck with a grin. "As long as he agrees to listen to mine as well."
Matteo winces at the morning sun as the sack comes loose from face. He shakes the hair from his eyes, stretches his lips to loosen the muscles where they had been stretched by the gag and twists his wrists, rubbing the friction burn. He nods his thanks.
His voice is hoarse from dehydration but he answers Val as he reapplies the kindly priest smile with each word.
"I will always listen, it's how we best keep from fighting. If you could only keep Brundir and Vark from forcing the mask onto my face again."
“I’m- uhm- I’m sorry again about that…” Vark replies, flashing a grimace at Bründir. The apology is genuine, and also includes feeling sorry for paralyzing Jex, but it was a tricky situation after all and he would probably make the same choices were it to happen again.
Brundir rides along on Stonebrow as everyone gathers. He turns a sad gaze down to his bound friend, but an ironic smile crept its way onto his mouth at the mention of the mask, "Don' give me a reason, then. I'm really, truly sorry about what happened. Somethin's broke in ye, an' I think ye'd agree on that, at least. If ye came t'us as Jex, an' said somethin' happened an' yer turnin' over a new leaf, and ye wan'a have a new name fer it, it makes sense. But sayin' ye've got two people in one head....I'm sorry, but it just seems like ye got a problem that can't be fixed alone." The dwarf fishes a hand into a small saddlebag and produces a small stone. "Here. I owed this to ye." Brundir tosses the stone to Jex. It's nearly flat and hand-polished smooth so that it sits in the hand the same a three coins. On one side, a carved circle is shown, slashed across by an uneven line. On the other side, a single dwarven run - "B" - could be seen, representing "Baraz". "I don' remember, I reckon on account'a that damned mask, but I trust ye'll hold me to it."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
The Acharnost set out down Quenlan Pass towards the familiar slopes of Mount Judgement, which still bear the scars of the battle that took place a few days before. The air is clear and crisp, but the wind is icy cold and the mountains groan as sky and earth strain against one another. Around noon, a dry-stone monastery can be seen clinging to the mountainside on high. A humanoid silhouette stands watch atop its single turret.
“So we clean it my friend!!! No better garment for a warrior than their armor and weapons! Let the nobles wear pelts and silks! “ replies Thurston joviosly.
PbP Character: A few ;)
"Vark is right." Jex places a hand on Thurston's armour as he passes. "If you want something from someone, you get better results if you match to their own standards of dress, it creates feelings of empathy that can be exploited."
He turns back from the door.
"Keep that scroll safe Aiden, and try to remember this conversation." Jex quickly descends the staircase and a few moments later he is slipping through the streets of the now waking town, past a dwarven mining party heading for the lifts, traders in the market and people going about their business. Those that see the half-elf will soon forget him. Minutes later he is slipping through the gate unnoticed and out into the wild lands beyond the town walls. Out of habit more than any real sense of secrecy or danger he takes a longer route to his destination, doubling back twice before eventually slipping into the simple hut created by an old friend.
An hour later, his belly full of breakfast and tea and having endured a paniful conversation his friend would not even remember he returns to the town wth a small packet pressed in his breast pocket. He makes a few stops for further supplies for his plan before entering the small temple attached to his establishment, weighed down by a heavy sack, slipping in the side door and silently moving into the shadowy alcove at the back of the room. Here under the intimidating stare of his god he lays out his grizzly scene. He moves the candles laid out by Nakia earlier in the day from their higher shelves to the floor around the alcove to cast longer shadows. He retrieves a bundle rolled in a blanket from the sack he carried in, unrollingit, bloody rags and weapons fall to the floor, items of horror that would shake most, but the assassing lays them in plain view with no emotion. The scene set, he sits himself cross legged on the floor and chants a prayer. He removes the package he had received from Dorno, unwrapping the sides to reveal spongy leaves, soaked in a sweet smelling substance, he squeezes some into his mouth and places the rest on a small plate above a bowl of burning oil in front of him.
Back in the orphanage he had learnt of the assassins of old having a similar practice, after commiting their acts of horror, they would use substances to numb themselves from the emotional pain, something to help them detach, now he had a different purpose for it, to dissociate himself, and Matteo, from reality, and hope the weaker stomach of the latter would become more likely to shrink away under the confusion and parnoia. One final touch to further tip the balance in his favour - pain. He takes out the final item from his pack - a small vial of snakes venom, dips a sharp knife in it and slices it into his hand. Smearing the blood over himself for extra effects, he intensifies the chant and reaches for the mask, pulling it from his face...
A shriek rings out from the temple and a few worshippers scatter from the doors. Matteo is left crouched in a pool of tears and blood as a pair of lizard like creatures move in the shadows.
He would remember, Aiden decided. He would. His will was indomitable. He would remember.
Remember what?
He was supposed to be thinking about something, Aiden realizes as the door swings shut. He looks up at the others, deciding to that if he couldn't remember, it must not have been that important. "Well, when will we be leaving?" he asks, thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. There, he finds a rolled and tied scroll. Frowning, he unfurls it and reads. He finishes and swears loudly in Norscan. He tosses it on the table. "Anybody who doesn't remember the conversation we just had with Jex had better read this."
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Aiden Olrikson | Human | Tempest Domain Cleric of Thor
"What conversation?" asks Thurston, asking himself why he was thinking on finding some fancy clothes...
PbP Character: A few ;)
Once Vark is done reading the signed letter and kicking himself for once again letting the mask’s wiles tamper with his memory, he is eager to get on with his day. And of course, nothing else is so pressing on his mind as the upcoming dinner in Wydrioth. Even despite the tension of the latter half of the morning, the buzz of excitement he felt from his earlier conversation with Morben lingered. This meeting holds huge importance, they will be representing Sheercleft at a time when it needs all the allies it can get. Plus… Morben and his friend can probably show Vark a bunch of cool magic. So he really wants to make a good impression.
Other than his armor, Vark’s wardrobe has remained the same since he first came to Sheercleft: rough hewn wool and linen. Not fit for the courts of Wydrioth. Thankfully Vark now resides in the former home of Sheercleft’s Mabinogi puppet leader. Surely Quentin owned some suitable formal wear? Fabric flies around the room as Vark tosses clothes from the closet and they catch on the breeze that tends to flit around the sorcerer when he is excited. He holds up another shirt to his torso and frowns - too small. It’s still a strange feeling not to be the runt. But here, maybe…. he pulls what looks like a night gown out of the back of the closet. The fabric is nice enough, and too long is a better problem than too short in this case, it can be adjusted right? With this thinking in mind Vark reassesses his options and picks out some trousers and a jacket, using a mage hand to roll it up and see what it might look like cropped just above his waist.
“Not too bad!”
A short time later, Vark arrives at Ringrut’s with his second hand haul in tow. Immediately he makes a bee line for Brynja.
”Uhm, h-hi Miss Brynja, I was uhm… I was wondering if I could ask you a favor? Well, not a favor, I can pay, I just uhm… well I didn’t know who else to ask. My mom always made all my clothes so uhm… uhm, anyway I was hoping you could help make some of these fit me,” he spreads out the garments on a table awkwardly. “Th-these could just be cut and uhm… hemmed? And the pants I think need to be let out… or… in?” He looks down at the dwarven woman with an utterly helpless look in his big grey eyes.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Brynja was deep in her work when Vark drops in. The kitchen of Ringrut's was as busy in the morning as the tavern floor was at night. Miners and traders passed through regularly to load up on baskets of bread and pasties as well as a bottle or two. Brynja may not have been a chef by trade, but she worked long enough to be as much a force with pot and stove as she was with kegs. "Vark! Good t'see ye, lad! I'll be right there."
Ringrut's cursing could be heard rumbling from the kitchen as Brynja stepped out and looked over Vark's acquired clothes. "I'm no tailor, sorry, Vark. I've worked with Ringrut since I retired, an' I really only learned t'patch boy's clothes when yer rock-headed friend needed it. I can help get yer fit an' give a name of a wonderful lass in town, though. Go on an' get changed then come on back. I've got a pot on that needs me back there an' Ringrut's about t'ave my head." She gives a wry smile as she cracks her knuckles before turning back to the kitchen.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
“Oh, uhm, okay! Thank you!” Vark does as instructed and in short order Brynja has measured the boy and Vark has learned that he’s grown some since first leaving home, filled out with all the activity and hearty Dwarven food. He finds the girl Brynja has recommended and in no time she is working on the alterations he’s requested
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
The next day, Vark receives an unusually ornate, calligraphed fire message on watermarked parchment from Morben de Wydrioth. As promised, the letter invites the Acharnost to a private dinner party two weeks hence to celebrate the Fool's dawn with Morben and his circle of friends. The party is to take place at the Andalairë inn in Wydrioth and begins at dusk.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva
Vark is quick to rally the rest of the Acharnost with a flurry of telepathic messages, calling them to Ringrut’s in order to share his exciting news.
“You were talking about wanting to make a trip to Karaz Kadrin, right?” he says, directing the question to Bründir. “We should have enough time to make it there and back before the Fool’s Dawn. If we hurry.”
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Val looks around at the others assembled. "Do we feel comfortable leaving Sheercleft after having just repelled an attack? What if they simply send another force?"
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
"It will take time for them to assemble another force and even more for it to reach us. I would be more concern about spies or saboteurs... and that's what Jex should be worried about... " says Thurston adjuting his fur cape to his shoulders
PbP Character: A few ;)
"Jex isn't worried 'bout shit but himself right now."
Nakia drops into the empty seat opposite Thurston, exhaustion lines evident on her face, bags under eyes and burns and bruises on her hands.
"Shitbag has me doing his job and cleaning up his messes. Now I've got him locked up in a room at the orphanage after the mess he made at the chapel and all the c*** can do is whine at me not to let you take him. Begging like some broken old man on the street. Well you can take him, if he doesn't want to go all the better. Keeps babbling on about not wanting to be put back together or some bollocks. Maybe you'll have better luck than me, if not at least he'll be far away. If you're leaving town, let me know and I'll drop him off to you. I can find out about your spies too while you're gone."
As accustomed as Vark is to vulgar Orcish curses, Nakia’s expletive still sets a blush to his grey-green cheeks. “Uhm y-yes, thank you, Nakia.”
A short time later the Acharnost has gathered on the edge of town, prepared to set off. Though great threats and important missions still loom on the horizon, the diplomatic and educational focus of this present journey is a refreshing lowering of the stakes compared to their last departures. As always Vark has his blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders and Pathmaker within reach as he sits atop Toivoa, ready to ride.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
As promised, Nakia appears as the group gathers, a figure with a sack over his head and his hands bound is dragged by 2 kobolds from the back of a donkey and dumped at the feet of the group.
"He's gagged under there, I'd keep him that way, he's less annoying. Won't let Jex out, or so he says. I've tried, thought the stress might do it, or rather, Jex did, but he's as stubborn as Jex, even if he buried everything else about him."
She turns back for the orphanage, pausing for just a moment.
"Please do keep him alive, it would be good to have him back the way he was. I think he just needs some time is all."
Aiden dismounts from his grey mare. "Let him loose," he says, pulling the sack from Matteo's head and the gag from his mouth. He looks at the half-elf. "We all promised Jex we would not force you two together, even if we don't remember it." He pulls out the scroll with their various agreements on it. "It goes for you, too, Matteo."
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Aiden Olrikson | Human | Tempest Domain Cleric of Thor
Val nods. "Agreed, we cannot keep our friend tied up. The wilds are always dangerous. I will ride with Matteo and listen to his complaints if need be." She rolls her neck with a grin. "As long as he agrees to listen to mine as well."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Matteo winces at the morning sun as the sack comes loose from face. He shakes the hair from his eyes, stretches his lips to loosen the muscles where they had been stretched by the gag and twists his wrists, rubbing the friction burn. He nods his thanks.
His voice is hoarse from dehydration but he answers Val as he reapplies the kindly priest smile with each word.
"I will always listen, it's how we best keep from fighting. If you could only keep Brundir and Vark from forcing the mask onto my face again."
“I’m- uhm- I’m sorry again about that…” Vark replies, flashing a grimace at Bründir. The apology is genuine, and also includes feeling sorry for paralyzing Jex, but it was a tricky situation after all and he would probably make the same choices were it to happen again.
”We should uhm… we should probably be off.”
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Brundir rides along on Stonebrow as everyone gathers. He turns a sad gaze down to his bound friend, but an ironic smile crept its way onto his mouth at the mention of the mask, "Don' give me a reason, then. I'm really, truly sorry about what happened. Somethin's broke in ye, an' I think ye'd agree on that, at least. If ye came t'us as Jex, an' said somethin' happened an' yer turnin' over a new leaf, and ye wan'a have a new name fer it, it makes sense. But sayin' ye've got two people in one head....I'm sorry, but it just seems like ye got a problem that can't be fixed alone." The dwarf fishes a hand into a small saddlebag and produces a small stone. "Here. I owed this to ye." Brundir tosses the stone to Jex. It's nearly flat and hand-polished smooth so that it sits in the hand the same a three coins. On one side, a carved circle is shown, slashed across by an uneven line. On the other side, a single dwarven run - "B" - could be seen, representing "Baraz". "I don' remember, I reckon on account'a that damned mask, but I trust ye'll hold me to it."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
The Acharnost set out down Quenlan Pass towards the familiar slopes of Mount Judgement, which still bear the scars of the battle that took place a few days before. The air is clear and crisp, but the wind is icy cold and the mountains groan as sky and earth strain against one another. Around noon, a dry-stone monastery can be seen clinging to the mountainside on high. A humanoid silhouette stands watch atop its single turret.
The Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - DM for Aiden, Bründir, Jex, Thurston, Valaith and Vark
The Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - DM for Alaris, Astrid, Caio and Shiva