It has been twelve weeks since you left the mainland. Each of you exiled for crimes against the crown. The ship, Lord of the Damned, was sailing through the tropical climates as it was taking you to your destination, a distant land unknown to the group. During this time, you have been kept bound in shackles, like slaves, under deck. The crew have treated you as less than dirt, barely keeping you alive as they provide minimal food and drink while occasionally forcing the captives to row when the winds have died.
The prior night, tempestuous weather hit Lord of the Damned. There were cries from above deck, as screams came shortly after. There was a crashing noise, as sides of the ship shattered against... something. It was not long before the bars on the brig went flying, knocking you unconscious.
You have awoken, somehow still alive, and at decent health, on a beach. This long sandy bay is warmed by the glorious sunshine glistening down upon you. Looking at yourselves, you appear to have some of your possessions, things that were locked away securely for when you arrived at your exile location, already adorned upon yourselves. Armour, weapons, and personal possession just the way you would keep them. There are pieces of driftwood also along the beach, and up ahead appears to be palm trees and up a small climb appears to be more tropical flora.
On the beach, you appear not to be alone. The others held in the brig nearby you have seemingly also survived; six of you in total. These are the people who have helped you keep sane during the torturous weeks aboard that ship, people you somewhat feel you can trust for the time being. They also appear to no longer be in their prisoner garb.
Players: if you would like to introduce your characters and what they look like.
"Ha! I told all of you.....The Darklord would save us! We are destined to do great works! See...he really is nice!"Larry falls to his knees in the sand. Larry is a young Dwarf, although he speaks with no Dwarven accent. At his side a whip with two ends to mimic the appendage of the Darklord. He wears a dark wide brimmed hat and a dark red and black shirt...underneath which is a chainmail shirt black and loose leather pants. A shield with what at first glance seems to be a stylized Y adorning the front.
Larry smiles often and winks....however his amicable nature comes off as somewhat creepy, and his eyes are dark and shifty. During the voyage he spent much time noting that killing evil men was not itself evil, and it was obvious the Paladins of Lathander where evil in their pride and snobbery.
Maxwell Belmont, former Inquisitor of the church, now just a prisoner in exile. Excommunicated from the church, he was sent into exile in lieu of an public execution owing to the fact that they wanted to keep the matter silenced and buried. Soon after being found guilty on multiple counts of excessive force, bribery and heresy he found himself on a ship to parts unknown.
After what felt like weeks, the ship he was on soon found it's self sailing into a storm. It was during this chaos that the ship slammed into something, sending the bars of the cell flying, knocking him unconscious. In his unconscious state he heard a familiar voice, calling for him to awaken. This voice he recognized as his wife Cassandra, someone who he lost long ago. Heading her call, Maxwell opened his light blue eyes and was greeted by bright sunlight and the sounds how waves crashing on the beach. Sitting up he ran his fingers through his short black hair and looked around, trying to take stock of his current situation. Looking around, he soon found out that he was on some unknown beach with what appeared to be all his gear, things he shouldn't have gotten back until they reached their destination. Thinking on it, wasn't it odd that he had survived at all?
Getting up from where he was sitting he was soon greeted by a headache, most likely caused by the lump on his head he received when those bars it him. Steadying himself he looked around and found that he was not alone. After cleaning the sand off of his black chain mail, he checked his longsword for damage and picked up his shield where it had been laying on the ground and walked over to the others.
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
Giacomo is an unassuming human adorned in light loose grey fabrics, with dirty white sashes keeping it all snug at vital points; ankles, wrists, knees, elbows and waist. Oh his head is a flat brimmed hat keeping the sun out of his eyes. Giacomo is currently precariously balanced on one foot, weapons in each hand, still, or so it seems at first glance. If watching long enough one may perceive Giacomo moving ever so slowly, performing an agonizingly slow thrust with his long sword, short sword held above and behind to maintain balance. The whole thrust, if others are patient enough to observe, would take nearly half an hour to complete.
Giacomo ignores the others as they walk nearby or speak, intensely focused on some point ahead of the tip of his sword. Anyone that would approach to interfere with his forms receive a harsh "Don't. I will finish soon enough." Everyone knows from their time in the ship that Giacomo would do this type of meditative 'practice', even without weapons, several times a day if their captors let him. When their captors intentionally interrupted his forms, he was quick to challenge them to fight, outnumbered or straight duel, it mattered not to him. Unfortunately their captors never took him up on his offer.
Among the other debris that had washed upon the shore was an ornate trunk. The chestnut slats expertly cut, sanded, and finished. Every inch of the metal trim machined to perfection, creating an airtight seal when locked. Inside, crisp red velvet lined the surfaces. Surely, it would make an excellent escape pod from a sinking ship. At least, that’s what Melody thought the first time she saw it in the captain’s quarters. Luckily for her, she happened to be up there “bartering” for better treatment when the crash occurred. The captain was so quick to run off that he never noticed her slipping into the trunk.
On the beach, a quiet clatter emanates from the inside of trunk, peppered with mumbled swear words. After a couple of moments, the top springs open, and Melody cautiously pops her head out, peering just over the edge. A white hood covered her head, and a matching veil hid the lower half of her face. Her wide green eyes study the scene, taking note of the other escaped inmates. Seeing a lack of authority figures, she rises up out of the trunk, dusting herself off. The hood is part of a long white cloak, with fur accents. Beneath the cloak, aside from her armor, she’s wearing a form fitting dress and cheap, fake jewelry.
Meoldy stepped out of the trunk, one unsteady boot in the sand, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “I hate sand.” She stepped out completely and tried to survey her surroundings. Then, a realization. “Finias! Where are you!?!” Melody shrieked, without concern, just anger.
Retching on the sand a short distance away, a human hauls himself up onto the beach. His clothes may once have been considered nice, fashionable even, and certainly well made, though now they are soiled and worn almost beyond color or recognition. His face, unusually pale at the moment, betrays a quick look of horror as a wave breaks behind him, just wetting the tips of his feet. Heaving himself up, and away from the shore, he glances around for a piece of nearby driftwood. Finding a few pieces washed up together he proceeds to twist his hand angrily in the air, muttering something from behind his short, rugged mustache.
The pieces of wood burst suddenly into flame, the salt and moisture hissing out of the damp pieces. Seating himself next to his impromptu fireplace, he appears somewhat calmer for all that just transpired.
Melody stepped out of the trunk, one unsteady boot in the sand, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “I hate sand.” She stepped out completely and tried to survey her surroundings. Then, a realization. “Finias! Where are you!?!” Melody shrieked, without concern, just anger.
A short-thick, rather unsavory, disheveled looking male 'Hill Dwarf' with light-olive skin, dark brown eyes, and dripping wet unkempt auburn-brown hair comes crawling out of the salt-water. High waves crashing against and over him as he coughs, gags, sputters and spits out the briny water. He had up until reaching the shore lay atop a shattered piece of the ship's deck, large enough to support his weight and keep him afloat.
Soaking wet, the squat toad-like dwarf rogue picks himself up answering his delicateSnapdragon's sweet siren call, "here Mistress! I am here... your devoted fool Finias Fingers lives!"The homely dwarf shouts and dances with glee as he slowly walking towards her... dragging along his pack and gear. His attire consisting of a faded leather armor customized and combined with bits and pieces of a typical jester's costume forming a rather bizarre patchwork amalgamation. The outfit itself appears rather old, worn, and poorly made consisting of a motley tight-fitting brown and blue peasant’s leather shirt, long leather trousers, pointy-toed boots and a signature fool's cap with brass bells. Hanging from a strap slung over his shoulder and back is a cheap second-hand viol. He looks at Melody and then the others nearby with a wide sly shit-eating grin of one who has escaped the reaper's grasp once again...
The group gets to their feet, surveying the area. Behind them, the open sea glistens in the sunlight, though off by the horizon are large dark storm clouds.
Grabbing belongings, people can see that everyone else here is also as equipped as they are. As the echoes of the waves lapping on the beach die away into the background of their minds, they hear another tone, a shrill scream of terror, not too far away. It appears to be coming from just beyond the treeline, over the sand banks.
With a huff, Melody looks disdainfully down at Finias.
"You're all wet! How are you supposed to carry my things?"
Shaking her head, she picked up her own belongings like they were a terrible burden, and started striding over toward the others. As she approached, she let the anger slide from her face and softened her features.
"Hello boys!" Her voice had risen, become syrupy. "Have we met?" She was genuinely lost when trying to recall any of her fellow exiles. Sure, they'd probably told her their story at one point or another, but it hardly seemed important then.
Rolling his eyes at the absurd suggestion, "Yes, after waking up on a mysterious beach I always go towards the first shrill sound I hear. Kidding aside, I agree that we should get off the beach. Whatever is making that sound can't be having a good time."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
The group gets together and moves off of the beach, climbing that short bank onto the grassy land ahead. Seeing through the treeline, the party can see a human woman with tanned skin and wearing some light clothing is being chased towards the treeline by what appears to be a handful of dark green goblins with tribal paint marks on them and brandishing small spears.
At the first sign of Finias being dry enough as to not moisten her belongings, Melody unceremoniously drops the strap of her bag over his head. As the group walks together, she studies them subtly, looking over their weapons and equipment. And deciding which is cutest.
As Logi speaks, Melody looks over the scene unfolding between the woman and the goblins. With a shrug, Melody says, "Both?"
Giacomo sneers at Logi, answering, "A defenseless woman fleeing armed creatures may prove a test of your skills, but I will pit myself against the mettle of these armed foes."
Giacomo darts forward, both weapons already floating gracefully in the air as the monk covers the uneven ground.
"Very well than, let's do this." AS he rushes forward, Maxwell will yell towards the goblins to make sure that they look at him, "Green skins, I'm here to judge you and have found you guilty. Now prepare to receive judgment." Once within 15ft of them he will grasp his holy symbol and draw on his power to enhance his Dreadful Aspect.
Channel Divinity-Dreadful Aspect As an action, the paladin channels the darkest emotions and focuses them into a burst of magical menace. Each creature of the paladin's choice within 30 feet of the paladin must make a Wisdom saving throw if it can see the paladin. On a failed save, the target is frightened of the paladin for 1 minute. If a creature frightened by this effect ends its turn more than 30 feet away from the paladin, it can attempt another Wisdom saving throw to end the effect on it.
ooc: I would like to only target the goblins.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
With a huff, Melody looks disdainfully down at Finias. "You're all wet! How are you supposed to carry my things?"
Finias looks up at Melody trying his best to ignore her disdain giving a whimper of despair, "tut-tut my sweet, I am just a little damp, not all the way wet it seems, we'll no doubt make due just fine, I assure you, I am on the case, your case... umm." Stammering at a bit in her presence, trying to calm her volatile temper.
At the first sign of Finias being dry enough as to not moisten her belongings, Melody unceremoniously drops the strap of her bag over his head. As the group walks together, she studies them subtly, looking over their weapons and equipment. And deciding which is cutest.
Finias with a servile smile grabs the strap dropped over his head, gathering up her gear and his own, trying his best to keep up and follow his sweet kind-hearted mistress and her new companions in the direction of the human woman being chased by the Goblins. Finias watches as the others react looking up at Melody, ready to defend her maiden honor should any of those dreadful creatures come anywhere close to her or attempt to harm even a single golden hair on that beautiful head of hers.
Sorry for the delay in posting again, getting house prepped for the possible hurricane coming my way and a few things packed should I need to evacuate, so if you don't hear from me, power its out and/or I am off the grid so feel free to carry on without me and for DM to play/run my character as need until I get back. Finias will definitely seek to protect Melody at any cost and himself between her and any danger, etc. Thanks...
Genuine laughter erupts from Melody as she watches Giacomo and Maxwell rush in, making bold statements. She kicks Finias in the shin, leaning down ever so slightly to whisper to him,
”We aren’t going to have to do anything around here. Look at them go. Pff. Suckers.”
Her voice dripped with amusement. Melody used a perfectly manicured nail to flick Finias ear and chuckled, before reaching over him into her bag. Retrieving her crossbow, she loaded a bolt into it. She skulked up next to Logi, playfully bumping him.
“We can use the girl for target practice.”
She said softly, giving Logi a wink.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Welcome to the Play-by-Post campaign of Tyrants & Terrors (1st Edition)!
The following players are the main cast of this play-by-post:
This post will hold spoilers in the future that have the homebrew rulings and shortcuts to the beginning of each episode.
Episode List:
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
Prologue: Stranded!
It has been twelve weeks since you left the mainland. Each of you exiled for crimes against the crown. The ship, Lord of the Damned, was sailing through the tropical climates as it was taking you to your destination, a distant land unknown to the group. During this time, you have been kept bound in shackles, like slaves, under deck. The crew have treated you as less than dirt, barely keeping you alive as they provide minimal food and drink while occasionally forcing the captives to row when the winds have died.
The prior night, tempestuous weather hit Lord of the Damned. There were cries from above deck, as screams came shortly after. There was a crashing noise, as sides of the ship shattered against... something. It was not long before the bars on the brig went flying, knocking you unconscious.
You have awoken, somehow still alive, and at decent health, on a beach. This long sandy bay is warmed by the glorious sunshine glistening down upon you. Looking at yourselves, you appear to have some of your possessions, things that were locked away securely for when you arrived at your exile location, already adorned upon yourselves. Armour, weapons, and personal possession just the way you would keep them. There are pieces of driftwood also along the beach, and up ahead appears to be palm trees and up a small climb appears to be more tropical flora.
On the beach, you appear not to be alone. The others held in the brig nearby you have seemingly also survived; six of you in total. These are the people who have helped you keep sane during the torturous weeks aboard that ship, people you somewhat feel you can trust for the time being. They also appear to no longer be in their prisoner garb.
Players: if you would like to introduce your characters and what they look like.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
"Ha! I told all of you.....The Darklord would save us! We are destined to do great works! See...he really is nice!" Larry falls to his knees in the sand. Larry is a young Dwarf, although he speaks with no Dwarven accent. At his side a whip with two ends to mimic the appendage of the Darklord. He wears a dark wide brimmed hat and a dark red and black shirt...underneath which is a chainmail shirt black and loose leather pants. A shield with what at first glance seems to be a stylized Y adorning the front.
Larry smiles often and winks....however his amicable nature comes off as somewhat creepy, and his eyes are dark and shifty. During the voyage he spent much time noting that killing evil men was not itself evil, and it was obvious the Paladins of Lathander where evil in their pride and snobbery.
Maxwell Belmont
Lvl 3 | Aasimar | Paladin/Oathbreaker
Maxwell Belmont, former Inquisitor of the church, now just a prisoner in exile. Excommunicated from the church, he was sent into exile in lieu of an public execution owing to the fact that they wanted to keep the matter silenced and buried. Soon after being found guilty on multiple counts of excessive force, bribery and heresy he found himself on a ship to parts unknown.
After what felt like weeks, the ship he was on soon found it's self sailing into a storm. It was during this chaos that the ship slammed into something, sending the bars of the cell flying, knocking him unconscious. In his unconscious state he heard a familiar voice, calling for him to awaken. This voice he recognized as his wife Cassandra, someone who he lost long ago. Heading her call, Maxwell opened his light blue eyes and was greeted by bright sunlight and the sounds how waves crashing on the beach. Sitting up he ran his fingers through his short black hair and looked around, trying to take stock of his current situation. Looking around, he soon found out that he was on some unknown beach with what appeared to be all his gear, things he shouldn't have gotten back until they reached their destination. Thinking on it, wasn't it odd that he had survived at all?
Getting up from where he was sitting he was soon greeted by a headache, most likely caused by the lump on his head he received when those bars it him. Steadying himself he looked around and found that he was not alone. After cleaning the sand off of his black chain mail, he checked his longsword for damage and picked up his shield where it had been laying on the ground and walked over to the others.
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
Giacomo is an unassuming human adorned in light loose grey fabrics, with dirty white sashes keeping it all snug at vital points; ankles, wrists, knees, elbows and waist. Oh his head is a flat brimmed hat keeping the sun out of his eyes. Giacomo is currently precariously balanced on one foot, weapons in each hand, still, or so it seems at first glance. If watching long enough one may perceive Giacomo moving ever so slowly, performing an agonizingly slow thrust with his long sword, short sword held above and behind to maintain balance. The whole thrust, if others are patient enough to observe, would take nearly half an hour to complete.
Giacomo ignores the others as they walk nearby or speak, intensely focused on some point ahead of the tip of his sword. Anyone that would approach to interfere with his forms receive a harsh "Don't. I will finish soon enough." Everyone knows from their time in the ship that Giacomo would do this type of meditative 'practice', even without weapons, several times a day if their captors let him. When their captors intentionally interrupted his forms, he was quick to challenge them to fight, outnumbered or straight duel, it mattered not to him. Unfortunately their captors never took him up on his offer.
Melody, “Elf,” Bard
Among the other debris that had washed upon the shore was an ornate trunk. The chestnut slats expertly cut, sanded, and finished. Every inch of the metal trim machined to perfection, creating an airtight seal when locked. Inside, crisp red velvet lined the surfaces. Surely, it would make an excellent escape pod from a sinking ship. At least, that’s what Melody thought the first time she saw it in the captain’s quarters. Luckily for her, she happened to be up there “bartering” for better treatment when the crash occurred. The captain was so quick to run off that he never noticed her slipping into the trunk.
On the beach, a quiet clatter emanates from the inside of trunk, peppered with mumbled swear words. After a couple of moments, the top springs open, and Melody cautiously pops her head out, peering just over the edge. A white hood covered her head, and a matching veil hid the lower half of her face. Her wide green eyes study the scene, taking note of the other escaped inmates. Seeing a lack of authority figures, she rises up out of the trunk, dusting herself off. The hood is part of a long white cloak, with fur accents. Beneath the cloak, aside from her armor, she’s wearing a form fitting dress and cheap, fake jewelry.
Meoldy stepped out of the trunk, one unsteady boot in the sand, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “I hate sand.” She stepped out completely and tried to survey her surroundings. Then, a realization. “Finias! Where are you!?!” Melody shrieked, without concern, just anger.
Retching on the sand a short distance away, a human hauls himself up onto the beach. His clothes may once have been considered nice, fashionable even, and certainly well made, though now they are soiled and worn almost beyond color or recognition. His face, unusually pale at the moment, betrays a quick look of horror as a wave breaks behind him, just wetting the tips of his feet. Heaving himself up, and away from the shore, he glances around for a piece of nearby driftwood. Finding a few pieces washed up together he proceeds to twist his hand angrily in the air, muttering something from behind his short, rugged mustache.
The pieces of wood burst suddenly into flame, the salt and moisture hissing out of the damp pieces. Seating himself next to his impromptu fireplace, he appears somewhat calmer for all that just transpired.
A short-thick, rather unsavory, disheveled looking male 'Hill Dwarf' with light-olive skin, dark brown eyes, and dripping wet unkempt auburn-brown hair comes crawling out of the salt-water. High waves crashing against and over him as he coughs, gags, sputters and spits out the briny water. He had up until reaching the shore lay atop a shattered piece of the ship's deck, large enough to support his weight and keep him afloat.
Soaking wet, the squat toad-like dwarf rogue picks himself up answering his delicateSnapdragon's sweet siren call, "here Mistress! I am here... your devoted fool Finias Fingers lives!" The homely dwarf shouts and dances with glee as he slowly walking towards her... dragging along his pack and gear. His attire consisting of a faded leather armor customized and combined with bits and pieces of a typical jester's costume forming a rather bizarre patchwork amalgamation. The outfit itself appears rather old, worn, and poorly made consisting of a motley tight-fitting brown and blue peasant’s leather shirt, long leather trousers, pointy-toed boots and a signature fool's cap with brass bells. Hanging from a strap slung over his shoulder and back is a cheap second-hand viol. He looks at Melody and then the others nearby with a wide sly shit-eating grin of one who has escaped the reaper's grasp once again...
The group gets to their feet, surveying the area. Behind them, the open sea glistens in the sunlight, though off by the horizon are large dark storm clouds.
Grabbing belongings, people can see that everyone else here is also as equipped as they are. As the echoes of the waves lapping on the beach die away into the background of their minds, they hear another tone, a shrill scream of terror, not too far away. It appears to be coming from just beyond the treeline, over the sand banks.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
Logi, gesturing once more at the bonfire, casts control flames to extinguish the blaze.
"Let's get off the beach." He barks to the others, his voice coarse from inhaled salt water.
"And find out who's making that racket."
With a huff, Melody looks disdainfully down at Finias.
"You're all wet! How are you supposed to carry my things?"
Shaking her head, she picked up her own belongings like they were a terrible burden, and started striding over toward the others. As she approached, she let the anger slide from her face and softened her features.
"Hello boys!" Her voice had risen, become syrupy. "Have we met?" She was genuinely lost when trying to recall any of her fellow exiles. Sure, they'd probably told her their story at one point or another, but it hardly seemed important then.
Now that you look at yourselves, you are surprisingly dry for castaways. Perhaps the tropical sunlight dried you out as you were passed out.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
Maxwell Belmont
Lvl 3 | Aasimar | Paladin/Oathbreaker
Rolling his eyes at the absurd suggestion, "Yes, after waking up on a mysterious beach I always go towards the first shrill sound I hear. Kidding aside, I agree that we should get off the beach. Whatever is making that sound can't be having a good time."
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
The group gets together and moves off of the beach, climbing that short bank onto the grassy land ahead. Seeing through the treeline, the party can see a human woman with tanned skin and wearing some light clothing is being chased towards the treeline by what appears to be a handful of dark green goblins with tribal paint marks on them and brandishing small spears.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
"I've been wondering when I could try this out."
Logi steps forward, readying his hands by his chest to cast a spell. Logi pauses, and grins towards the group, eager to see the results.
"The goblins, or the woman?"
At the first sign of Finias being dry enough as to not moisten her belongings, Melody unceremoniously drops the strap of her bag over his head. As the group walks together, she studies them subtly, looking over their weapons and equipment. And deciding which is cutest.
As Logi speaks, Melody looks over the scene unfolding between the woman and the goblins. With a shrug, Melody says, "Both?"
Giacomo sneers at Logi, answering, "A defenseless woman fleeing armed creatures may prove a test of your skills, but I will pit myself against the mettle of these armed foes."
Giacomo darts forward, both weapons already floating gracefully in the air as the monk covers the uneven ground.
"Very well than, let's do this." AS he rushes forward, Maxwell will yell towards the goblins to make sure that they look at him, "Green skins, I'm here to judge you and have found you guilty. Now prepare to receive judgment." Once within 15ft of them he will grasp his holy symbol and draw on his power to enhance his Dreadful Aspect.
Channel Divinity-Dreadful Aspect
As an action, the paladin channels the darkest emotions and focuses them into a burst of magical menace. Each creature of the paladin's choice within 30 feet of the paladin must make a Wisdom saving throw if it can see the paladin. On a failed save, the target is frightened of the paladin for 1 minute. If a creature frightened by this effect ends its turn more than 30 feet away from the paladin, it can attempt another Wisdom saving throw to end the effect on it.
ooc: I would like to only target the goblins.
“Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero's strength, the mother's resilience and the poor man's armor. It cannot be broken and it cannot be taken away.”
Finias looks up at Melody trying his best to ignore her disdain giving a whimper of despair, "tut-tut my sweet, I am just a little damp, not all the way wet it seems, we'll no doubt make due just fine, I assure you, I am on the case, your case... umm." Stammering at a bit in her presence, trying to calm her volatile temper.
Finias with a servile smile grabs the strap dropped over his head, gathering up her gear and his own, trying his best to keep up and follow his sweet kind-hearted mistress and her new companions in the direction of the human woman being chased by the Goblins. Finias watches as the others react looking up at Melody, ready to defend her maiden honor should any of those dreadful creatures come anywhere close to her or attempt to harm even a single golden hair on that beautiful head of hers.
Sorry for the delay in posting again, getting house prepped for the possible hurricane coming my way and a few things packed should I need to evacuate, so if you don't hear from me, power its out and/or I am off the grid so feel free to carry on without me and for DM to play/run my character as need until I get back. Finias will definitely seek to protect Melody at any cost and himself between her and any danger, etc. Thanks...
Genuine laughter erupts from Melody as she watches Giacomo and Maxwell rush in, making bold statements. She kicks Finias in the shin, leaning down ever so slightly to whisper to him,
”We aren’t going to have to do anything around here. Look at them go. Pff. Suckers.”
Her voice dripped with amusement. Melody used a perfectly manicured nail to flick Finias ear and chuckled, before reaching over him into her bag. Retrieving her crossbow, she loaded a bolt into it. She skulked up next to Logi, playfully bumping him.
“We can use the girl for target practice.”
She said softly, giving Logi a wink.