AKAandYESQIRELLE, the two of you step into the common room of a lively tavern. Although an elf and a kobold travelling together may seem strange, the two of you are united in a singular purpose: rooting out the undead and smiting them. Your journey brings you to the township of Arglesmere where the two of you order food and drink and sit down to unwind and enjoy the rest of your evening.
The common room of the inn is filled with the sounds of plucking. A travelling bard with a lute stands on a elevated stage at the far side of the tavern, playing a folk song you don't seem to recognize. ADIRAonce your song is complete, many of the patrons of the tavern clap for you and return to their cups and plates. You join them, taking a break from playing for the time-being to unwind as well. You take a seat near the stage where a bulky hobgoblin sits cross-armed in his chainmail. KROLBRIK, your parents' tavern is especially busy tonight and they've asked you to sit in the front to make sure things don't get out of hand. But tonight there hasn't been any trouble.
ROUX, for a few copper pennies Count Milo of Arglesmere has given you an important message to deliver. He's heard troubling reports of a band of miscreants in the woods, with roaring fire and he fears the worst about them. Rumor says that where they go they bring filth and evils with them: murder, thievery, necromancy. He has asked you to go to the Firemights' tavern and raise up a group of volunteers to root them out and drive them away.
Aka and Yesqirelle, not wanting to pass up the chance to investigate accused necromancers, your restful evening is interrupted by the call of duty. You pick up your things, pay your tab and follow Roux towards the camp in the woods. Krolbrik, you are honor-bound to accompany them and to protect your home. As for Adira, simple curiosity drives you towards the camp and perhaps inspiration for your next great ballad.
---
As the evening grows dark, you see a dozen men and women gathered around a crackling bonfire. The folk are in good spirits. A few of them sing and dance around the fire while others find happiness in their flasks and wineskins. Three barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles. Tied to a nearby tree, grazing, are half a dozen draft horses wearing bright coats with bangles and tassels.
BALA, life on the road with the Vistani has been peaceful and full of laughter. Each time they stop to make camp they sing merry and drink heavily around a large communal bonfire. Then, they pack it all up and do it again the next night. ERICINA, your wanderings have brought you into the company of the Vistani as well. Their nomadic lifestyle suits you and you feel welcome at their fire. They readily share food, wine, and song with you and a place to rest your head.
When the party of the five of you arrive at the fire, an older man greets you. He introduces himself as Stanimir and welcomes you to share their fire. You tell him about the Count's warning. Stanimir simply laughs.
“Don’t worry. We have no wish to make enemies of Count Milo. I have a story to tell all of you. First you listen, then we go.”
Stanimir fills his mouth with wine, then spits into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire’s core.
“We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten — a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads.”
The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side.
Stanimir continues. “One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he wouldn’t say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn’t give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves.”
Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes.
“This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, ‘I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.’”
The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers.
Stanimir’s face becomes a somber mask. “A curse has befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We’ve traveled far and wide to find heroes such as yourselves to end our dread lord’s curse and put his troubled soul to rest. Our leader, Madam Eva, knows all. Will you return to Barovia with us and speak with her?”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Well how do we know we can trust you? Aka is smart enough to not believe everything a stranger says, so he tries to study their faces for any hints of lying.
Bala etched closer and closer as the story progressed, not so much paying attention to it, but more on how it was told. "Marvelous Stanimir!" He boasts, rubbing his hands together. "You must teach me those tricks. Maybe then I could afford a bigger blanket." The albino lion tabaxi turned his gaze up from to the five nwwcomwes. " Greetings all! Would anyone like to see a trick of my own?" The tabaxi smirks, tossing a single rock up and down.
Ericina watches the fire as it begins to change color and show them the story of the Lord Stanimir is speaking of, her eyes going wide as she stares closer. She almost seems as if she is going to touch the fire but pulls back at the last moment. She then slsowly focuses on the other people, looking to Bala as he mentions a trick. "Tricks? I have some as well strange cat!" The mad druid says as she reaches over to attempt to pet the tabaxi.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Krolbrik, for his part, says nothing as he sits perched on a nearby log he had easily dragged from the woods with his hulking fiery orange frame for the group to sit on; the large hobgoblin would comically take up about a fourth of the log, but otherwise it was a serviceable seating arrangement. He hadn't really gotten to know the others aside from their being here and his charge as a paladin of Torm to at least look into these matters, but for his part he hadn't said much of anything.
His yellow eyes are firmly upon Stanimir, however, and when the stranger mentions the matter of the prince becoming a tyrant, he finally clears his throat and speaks in his deep voice at a volume above a brief, reverberating grunt.
"How far is this... Barovia from Arglesmere?" He asks. "There are not many in this township with a good sword arm. I worry that if I were to depart for an extended time, I would not be able to uphold my duty of protecting it. Forgive me if this seems brazen, but do you believe that your prince is a threat to my home?"
Stanimir's mirthy grin turns grim, "We need your help.Barovia is only a few days' trip by wagon. We can take you; it is dangerous to travel there on foot."
"As for your second question," Stanimir looks between you and Roux, as though to answer both questions with a single statement, "Madam Eva has the answers you seek."
Aka, Stanimir's plight is genuine. His tale is dramatized, obviously, but it rings of truth. As he gives his responses, you are able to trust that everything he has said is true.
"Then I shall give you aid," Krolbrik replied, offering Stanimir a gentle smile. "I can sense the ill forboding in your words; you would not have come to Arglesmere if you truly didn't need the help. I've no reason to believe that the rumors Count Milo feared are true, based on what you have said and done. You can clearly work some form of magic, but toying with necromancy is not one of those. Helping you will protect Arglesmere."
Krolbrik then turns to the group, bowing humbly. "I am Krolbrik. Krolbrik Firemight, of the Firemight Clan. On my word as a paladin of Torm, I will stand watch over you all."
Krolbrik casually stands up and looks up at the sky to try and determine the current time of night before looking around into the woods around them; watching and listening carefully. Even as busy with laughter and merriment as the area around the bonfire was, they were in the middle of the woods, with the comforts of town behind them. Life in the country had taught Krolbrik not to underestimate the wilderness... and to never assume you were alone.
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Bala lightly hisses as the druid scratches his head, swatting it away. "Stop! Stop that!" Then he stretches the same spot, thinks about it, and places Ericina's hand back on his head. "That spot, right there."
Stanimir nods to Krolbrik, "Thank you, paladin. We appreciate your support greatly."
Yesqirelle, around the bonfire are many men and women garbed in this peculiarly colorful wear. Your hosts are well armed and seem to know how to use their weapons, scimitars and crossbows mainly, but they are all preoccupied with drinking, singing, and making merry. Including Stanimir, there are twelve of them gathered around the fire. At the edges of the camp, there is nothing but peaceful silence. You are not in danger. As for half-truths or deceits, Stanimir speaks plainly and his words are genuine. He is telling the whole truth as he knows it.
"Alright, sounds as if we are in agreement. I shall join in on this effort, but I ask for a fair share of any spoils. I seek mainly after things of the arcane, but money is always useful. I also have my fair share of tricks cat" Roux snaps his fingers after muttering and making some hand signs and a shower of sparks puffs from them harmlessly.
Yesqirelle will finally speak, her voice sounding more like a whisper of the wind than anything else.
"I will join you. The rites of Kelemvor can be performed in any location."
Yesqirelle is a medium height (for an elf), slender twig. Not much can be seen of her face, as she always wears the hood of her cloak up. She carries a longbow on her back, and a quiver of arrows.
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Never one to turn down a good story, Adira sat leaning forward, her gold eyes wide during the whole tale. The young black skinned tiefling couldn't help being moved by the man's tale of a cursed prince in need of aid.
"Oh yes, I will come. I don't think I could possibly refuse! It is too interesting to say no!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Current Characters: Tailine, Tiefling Rogue 2 - Zanoliv
Ericina happily scratches the place she had been redirected to, as her other have reached into her bag for something. After a bit of rustling around inside of it she pulls out somethibg that is wrapped and appears to be some kind of food item. She pulls back from the tabsxi and unwraps it slowly to reveal dried fish. "Do you like fish strange cat? My Grigori did when he was still around. Sadly I have not come across any bovine friends so I could get you some milk." It seems that she thinks Bala may be a normal cat as she speaks, smiling strangely all the while, jumping a bit as she sees the magic performed by Roux.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
A massage and a show, what a day! Bala let out a few soft purrs as the druid scratched the sweet spot, humming in protest when she pulled away. Then his nose was assaulted by the greatest smell he had ever known. His irises dialate at the sight of the fish and he snatches it with glee. Before he took a bite, Bala turned back to Ericina with a stern face."Cats don't have fingers! I am Bala! Yes I'm short, but I'm not a house cat!...Thank you, though, " and he starts to eat the fish.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Krolbrik takes a moment to examine his companions around him. First there was the two humans. The man who was some type of spellcaster and the woman who seemed incredibly... touched? He wasn't sure.
Near him was the wood elf, an apparent devotee of Kelemvor. He was glad not to be the only one bound by an oath there, at that news, even as he tried to recall who Kelemvor was.*
Then came the odd ones out of the bunch: the talking man-cat, the kobold, and the tiefling. While any other paladin might be inclined to at least stare at them with some level of reproach, Krolbrik's status as a hobgoblin had rendered him more open-minded; he would judge actions, not facades.
They were turning out to be quite a strange band to any passing stranger on the roads.
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
"Wonderful!" Stanimir exclaims, "We will leave in one hour, please make any preparations you need, we will be here."
With that, the twelve brightly-clothed humans around the fire begin to load up boxes and tents onto their large covered wagons. After an hour, the lot of you have enough time to gather up any belongings, say any fare-wells, and return to the campsite. All of the humans now carry brightly lit torches and stand near their covered wagons. Stanimir throws a bucket of water over the dying bonfire to put it out and turns to face the crowd. The full moon beams down above you before being shrouded by heavy cloud cover.
The travelers let you store your belongings in the covered wagons, which they call vardos, but unfortunately you must walk alongside the wagons as there is no room inside once they are fully packed. Each of the three heavy barrel-topped wagons is drawn by a team of two muscular horses. Several days on the road pass without event, each night you stop and make camp, then dance, sing, drink, and eat before packing it all up and doing it again the next night. On the third morning, the caravan passes through a thick wall of mist that covers the road. The cold mist envelops the wagons on all sides. The only sounds are of the horses' hooves and bridles and the creaking of the wagon wheels. Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist.
Some three hours after first entering the mist, you finally emerge on the other side. The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
The wrought iron gates groan and creak under their immense weight. Each gate swings open just enough for one wagon to pass through at a time. One after one, the vardos pass through the colossal gates before they shuts closed behind you. A raven caws from overhead and flies west along the road in the direction you are travelling.
"Welcome to Barovia," Stanimir proclaims from the seat of the first wagon, "We've still a ways to go before we reach Madam Eva's camp so don't go running off yet."
Towering trees, whose tops are lost in heavy gray mist, block out all but a death-gray light. The tree trunks are unnaturally close to one another, and the woods have the silence of a forgotten grave, yet exude the feeling of an unvoiced scream. Half an hour passes and the trees on either side of the road give way to a large, flat clearing, several miles across. Tall shapes loom out of the dense fog that surrounds everything. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. The tall shapes become recognizable as village dwellings. The windows of each house stare out from pools of blackness. No sound cuts the silence except for mournful sobbing that echoes through the streets from a distance.
As the wagons make the transition onto cobblestone, each wagon lurches and shakes at the impact. Suddenly, there is a loud crack and a shattering of clay as the driver of the back-most wagon is thrown onto the stones. Besides the shattering of some ceramics inside the vardo, nobody seems terribly injured. Stanimir brings the caravan to a halt and the lot of you gather around the vardo to assess the damage.
"Damn it all, snapped clean in two!"
He grumbles and strokes his wiry mustaches before turning to the seven travelers he has brought along.
"I will send my son, Ratka, to Madam Eva's camp to ask for a spare one. It will take several days before they can return. In the meantime, the rest of you should rest in the town up ahead, Barovia. It will be safer there for you than in the mists. Once our wagon is repaired we will find you and we can continue our journey."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
AKA and YESQIRELLE, the two of you step into the common room of a lively tavern. Although an elf and a kobold travelling together may seem strange, the two of you are united in a singular purpose: rooting out the undead and smiting them. Your journey brings you to the township of Arglesmere where the two of you order food and drink and sit down to unwind and enjoy the rest of your evening.
The common room of the inn is filled with the sounds of plucking. A travelling bard with a lute stands on a elevated stage at the far side of the tavern, playing a folk song you don't seem to recognize. ADIRA once your song is complete, many of the patrons of the tavern clap for you and return to their cups and plates. You join them, taking a break from playing for the time-being to unwind as well. You take a seat near the stage where a bulky hobgoblin sits cross-armed in his chainmail. KROLBRIK, your parents' tavern is especially busy tonight and they've asked you to sit in the front to make sure things don't get out of hand. But tonight there hasn't been any trouble.
ROUX, for a few copper pennies Count Milo of Arglesmere has given you an important message to deliver. He's heard troubling reports of a band of miscreants in the woods, with roaring fire and he fears the worst about them. Rumor says that where they go they bring filth and evils with them: murder, thievery, necromancy. He has asked you to go to the Firemights' tavern and raise up a group of volunteers to root them out and drive them away.
Aka and Yesqirelle, not wanting to pass up the chance to investigate accused necromancers, your restful evening is interrupted by the call of duty. You pick up your things, pay your tab and follow Roux towards the camp in the woods. Krolbrik, you are honor-bound to accompany them and to protect your home. As for Adira, simple curiosity drives you towards the camp and perhaps inspiration for your next great ballad.
---
As the evening grows dark, you see a dozen men and women gathered around a crackling bonfire. The folk are in good spirits. A few of them sing and dance around the fire while others find happiness in their flasks and wineskins. Three barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles. Tied to a nearby tree, grazing, are half a dozen draft horses wearing bright coats with bangles and tassels.
BALA, life on the road with the Vistani has been peaceful and full of laughter. Each time they stop to make camp they sing merry and drink heavily around a large communal bonfire. Then, they pack it all up and do it again the next night. ERICINA, your wanderings have brought you into the company of the Vistani as well. Their nomadic lifestyle suits you and you feel welcome at their fire. They readily share food, wine, and song with you and a place to rest your head.
When the party of the five of you arrive at the fire, an older man greets you. He introduces himself as Stanimir and welcomes you to share their fire. You tell him about the Count's warning. Stanimir simply laughs.
“Don’t worry. We have no wish to make enemies of Count Milo. I have a story to tell all of you. First you listen, then we go.”
Stanimir fills his mouth with wine, then spits into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire’s core.
“We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten — a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads.”
The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side.
Stanimir continues. “One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he wouldn’t say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn’t give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves.”
Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes.
“This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, ‘I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.’”
The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers.
Stanimir’s face becomes a somber mask. “A curse has befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We’ve traveled far and wide to find heroes such as yourselves to end our dread lord’s curse and put his troubled soul to rest. Our leader, Madam Eva, knows all. Will you return to Barovia with us and speak with her?”
Well how do we know we can trust you? Aka is smart enough to not believe everything a stranger says, so he tries to study their faces for any hints of lying.
Insight:18 (welp sleeping now bye!)
Extended Signature! Yay! https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/off-topic/adohands-kitchen/3153-extended-signature-thread?page=2#c21
Haven’t used this account in forever. Still a big fan of crawling claws.
Roux, a well groomed human man with dark brown hair and a close-cropped beard covering numerous scars, leans closer to the man and asks in a low tone
"What help would I be able to expect in return for my aid?"
Bala etched closer and closer as the story progressed, not so much paying attention to it, but more on how it was told. "Marvelous Stanimir!" He boasts, rubbing his hands together. "You must teach me those tricks. Maybe then I could afford a bigger blanket." The albino lion tabaxi turned his gaze up from to the five nwwcomwes. " Greetings all! Would anyone like to see a trick of my own?" The tabaxi smirks, tossing a single rock up and down.
Ericina watches the fire as it begins to change color and show them the story of the Lord Stanimir is speaking of, her eyes going wide as she stares closer. She almost seems as if she is going to touch the fire but pulls back at the last moment. She then slsowly focuses on the other people, looking to Bala as he mentions a trick. "Tricks? I have some as well strange cat!" The mad druid says as she reaches over to attempt to pet the tabaxi.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Krolbrik, for his part, says nothing as he sits perched on a nearby log he had easily dragged from the woods with his hulking fiery orange frame for the group to sit on; the large hobgoblin would comically take up about a fourth of the log, but otherwise it was a serviceable seating arrangement. He hadn't really gotten to know the others aside from their being here and his charge as a paladin of Torm to at least look into these matters, but for his part he hadn't said much of anything.
His yellow eyes are firmly upon Stanimir, however, and when the stranger mentions the matter of the prince becoming a tyrant, he finally clears his throat and speaks in his deep voice at a volume above a brief, reverberating grunt.
"How far is this... Barovia from Arglesmere?" He asks. "There are not many in this township with a good sword arm. I worry that if I were to depart for an extended time, I would not be able to uphold my duty of protecting it. Forgive me if this seems brazen, but do you believe that your prince is a threat to my home?"
Stanimir's mirthy grin turns grim, "We need your help. Barovia is only a few days' trip by wagon. We can take you; it is dangerous to travel there on foot."
"As for your second question," Stanimir looks between you and Roux, as though to answer both questions with a single statement, "Madam Eva has the answers you seek."
Aka, Stanimir's plight is genuine. His tale is dramatized, obviously, but it rings of truth. As he gives his responses, you are able to trust that everything he has said is true.
"Then I shall give you aid," Krolbrik replied, offering Stanimir a gentle smile. "I can sense the ill forboding in your words; you would not have come to Arglesmere if you truly didn't need the help. I've no reason to believe that the rumors Count Milo feared are true, based on what you have said and done. You can clearly work some form of magic, but toying with necromancy is not one of those. Helping you will protect Arglesmere."
Krolbrik then turns to the group, bowing humbly. "I am Krolbrik. Krolbrik Firemight, of the Firemight Clan. On my word as a paladin of Torm, I will stand watch over you all."
Krolbrik casually stands up and looks up at the sky to try and determine the current time of night before looking around into the woods around them; watching and listening carefully. Even as busy with laughter and merriment as the area around the bonfire was, they were in the middle of the woods, with the comforts of town behind them. Life in the country had taught Krolbrik not to underestimate the wilderness... and to never assume you were alone.
Perception: 8
Yesqirelle will sit quietly in the corner, observing everything but saying nothing.
Insight: 21
Perception: 18
(Looking for any signs of threats, ambushes, half-truths etc.)
Check out my Extended signature here
Class Guides: Barbarian, Rogue, Sorcerer, Bard General Guides: PvP
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Bala lightly hisses as the druid scratches his head, swatting it away. "Stop! Stop that!" Then he stretches the same spot, thinks about it, and places Ericina's hand back on his head. "That spot, right there."
Stanimir nods to Krolbrik, "Thank you, paladin. We appreciate your support greatly."
Yesqirelle, around the bonfire are many men and women garbed in this peculiarly colorful wear. Your hosts are well armed and seem to know how to use their weapons, scimitars and crossbows mainly, but they are all preoccupied with drinking, singing, and making merry. Including Stanimir, there are twelve of them gathered around the fire. At the edges of the camp, there is nothing but peaceful silence. You are not in danger. As for half-truths or deceits, Stanimir speaks plainly and his words are genuine. He is telling the whole truth as he knows it.
Stanimir turns to the rest of you and asks again,
"Will you join us?"
"Alright, sounds as if we are in agreement. I shall join in on this effort, but I ask for a fair share of any spoils. I seek mainly after things of the arcane, but money is always useful. I also have my fair share of tricks cat" Roux snaps his fingers after muttering and making some hand signs and a shower of sparks puffs from them harmlessly.
Prestidigitation
Yesqirelle will finally speak, her voice sounding more like a whisper of the wind than anything else.
"I will join you. The rites of Kelemvor can be performed in any location."
Yesqirelle is a medium height (for an elf), slender twig. Not much can be seen of her face, as she always wears the hood of her cloak up. She carries a longbow on her back, and a quiver of arrows.
Check out my Extended signature here
Class Guides: Barbarian, Rogue, Sorcerer, Bard General Guides: PvP
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Never one to turn down a good story, Adira sat leaning forward, her gold eyes wide during the whole tale. The young black skinned tiefling couldn't help being moved by the man's tale of a cursed prince in need of aid.
"Oh yes, I will come. I don't think I could possibly refuse! It is too interesting to say no!"
Current Characters: Tailine, Tiefling Rogue 2 - Zanoliv
Ericina happily scratches the place she had been redirected to, as her other have reached into her bag for something. After a bit of rustling around inside of it she pulls out somethibg that is wrapped and appears to be some kind of food item. She pulls back from the tabsxi and unwraps it slowly to reveal dried fish. "Do you like fish strange cat? My Grigori did when he was still around. Sadly I have not come across any bovine friends so I could get you some milk." It seems that she thinks Bala may be a normal cat as she speaks, smiling strangely all the while, jumping a bit as she sees the magic performed by Roux.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
A massage and a show, what a day! Bala let out a few soft purrs as the druid scratched the sweet spot, humming in protest when she pulled away. Then his nose was assaulted by the greatest smell he had ever known. His irises dialate at the sight of the fish and he snatches it with glee. Before he took a bite, Bala turned back to Ericina with a stern face."Cats don't have fingers! I am Bala! Yes I'm short, but I'm not a house cat!...Thank you, though, " and he starts to eat the fish.
Krolbrik takes a moment to examine his companions around him. First there was the two humans. The man who was some type of spellcaster and the woman who seemed incredibly... touched? He wasn't sure.
Near him was the wood elf, an apparent devotee of Kelemvor. He was glad not to be the only one bound by an oath there, at that news, even as he tried to recall who Kelemvor was.*
Then came the odd ones out of the bunch: the talking man-cat, the kobold, and the tiefling. While any other paladin might be inclined to at least stare at them with some level of reproach, Krolbrik's status as a hobgoblin had rendered him more open-minded; he would judge actions, not facades.
They were turning out to be quite a strange band to any passing stranger on the roads.
* Religion: 14
(Krolbrik can notice that her holy symbol looks like an upright skeletal arm holding scales, if that's helpful.)
Check out my Extended signature here
Class Guides: Barbarian, Rogue, Sorcerer, Bard General Guides: PvP
Currently playing in: Quest for the Shunned City, Coliseum of Conquest, DragonDenn's Dragonlords, Shipwrecked on Fugue, Tomb of Annihilation, Razor's Lost Mine of Phandelver, The Lost Kenku & One Grung Above
Currently DMing: Princes of the Apocalypse, Out of the Abyss, Coliseum of Conquest—The Arena (Sometimes)
Hmm.. Well if they're going, guess there's not as much danger. I'll speak with her. As he says this, he draws his longbow in case of.... Trouble.
Extended Signature! Yay! https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/off-topic/adohands-kitchen/3153-extended-signature-thread?page=2#c21
Haven’t used this account in forever. Still a big fan of crawling claws.
"Wonderful!" Stanimir exclaims, "We will leave in one hour, please make any preparations you need, we will be here."
With that, the twelve brightly-clothed humans around the fire begin to load up boxes and tents onto their large covered wagons. After an hour, the lot of you have enough time to gather up any belongings, say any fare-wells, and return to the campsite. All of the humans now carry brightly lit torches and stand near their covered wagons. Stanimir throws a bucket of water over the dying bonfire to put it out and turns to face the crowd. The full moon beams down above you before being shrouded by heavy cloud cover.
The travelers let you store your belongings in the covered wagons, which they call vardos, but unfortunately you must walk alongside the wagons as there is no room inside once they are fully packed. Each of the three heavy barrel-topped wagons is drawn by a team of two muscular horses. Several days on the road pass without event, each night you stop and make camp, then dance, sing, drink, and eat before packing it all up and doing it again the next night. On the third morning, the caravan passes through a thick wall of mist that covers the road. The cold mist envelops the wagons on all sides. The only sounds are of the horses' hooves and bridles and the creaking of the wagon wheels. Black pools of water stand like dark mirrors in and around the muddy roadway. Giant trees loom on both sides of the road, their branches clawing at the mist.
Some three hours after first entering the mist, you finally emerge on the other side. The fog spills out of the forest to swallow up the road behind you. Ahead, jutting from the impenetrable woods on both sides of the road, are high stone buttresses looming gray in the fog. Huge iron gates hang on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two headless statues of armed guardians flank the gate, their heads now lying among the weeds at their feet. They greet you only with silence.
The wrought iron gates groan and creak under their immense weight. Each gate swings open just enough for one wagon to pass through at a time. One after one, the vardos pass through the colossal gates before they shuts closed behind you. A raven caws from overhead and flies west along the road in the direction you are travelling.
"Welcome to Barovia," Stanimir proclaims from the seat of the first wagon, "We've still a ways to go before we reach Madam Eva's camp so don't go running off yet."
Towering trees, whose tops are lost in heavy gray mist, block out all but a death-gray light. The tree trunks are unnaturally close to one another, and the woods have the silence of a forgotten grave, yet exude the feeling of an unvoiced scream. Half an hour passes and the trees on either side of the road give way to a large, flat clearing, several miles across. Tall shapes loom out of the dense fog that surrounds everything. The muddy ground underfoot gives way to slick, wet cobblestones. The tall shapes become recognizable as village dwellings. The windows of each house stare out from pools of blackness. No sound cuts the silence except for mournful sobbing that echoes through the streets from a distance.
As the wagons make the transition onto cobblestone, each wagon lurches and shakes at the impact. Suddenly, there is a loud crack and a shattering of clay as the driver of the back-most wagon is thrown onto the stones. Besides the shattering of some ceramics inside the vardo, nobody seems terribly injured. Stanimir brings the caravan to a halt and the lot of you gather around the vardo to assess the damage.
"Damn it all, snapped clean in two!"
He grumbles and strokes his wiry mustaches before turning to the seven travelers he has brought along.
"I will send my son, Ratka, to Madam Eva's camp to ask for a spare one. It will take several days before they can return. In the meantime, the rest of you should rest in the town up ahead, Barovia. It will be safer there for you than in the mists. Once our wagon is repaired we will find you and we can continue our journey."