Suspend for a while your sense of query, I am to tell you an old tragic story Revealed unto my solemn heart A myth that was wrongfully taught In a far land of ancient Greece Dwelt a highland lass in peace, Fairer than Helen was she, in appearance I, in lines few reveal unto you Her virtue and her acquaintance.
Gentle to all young and old By heaven and earth she was extolled, In youth she served the goddess`s temple From soul to heart was innocent ample, Vanity and vengeance from a heavenly figure Eroded the life of this maiden fair, For the sin of temptation of heavenly race She was cursed and horridly deface With venomous vipers, rattling around her neck, That turned a being into rock With her noxious gaze and look.
The anguish that never had quenched A fragrance that turned into a stinky stench, As she refused the gods to be wench. A rustic figure with crying heart Ah! Demon and monster she was thought.
Her cheer and bloom Melted like a mist and made her gloom, Her sole recreation in that dreadful park Was to scrub and scratched dust from rock. For years of infinity She was blest with malevolent charity Till Perseus the Demi-god Beheaded her and ceased her life odd.
It was really a cliche. A dark and stormy nights down at the docks. You waited in the cold driving rain what felt like hours until a gnome in a busy purple suit with a large oddly green foreign looking flower approaches. At first, he offers you shelter at his inn nearby. He's loud and pushy. You take an instant disliking to the wee man. As you listen to him drone on and on about the amenities of his fine establishment that from where you stand looks like a dump like all the other dumps surrounding you, you wave him off as a pushy promoter. You were told to come here to meet the Order's contact. The note you received at your accommodation in the slums written in a language you just started to notice now everywhere you looked in the city of Sul Na Mara. It read: "The Raven is on the move" and gave the time as well as the location. The note implied this agent of the Order would be easy to spot too but this buffoon couldn't be someone so ominously named "the Raven" you think to yourself as he continues to talk needing little encouragement from you! As you are continually refuse the gnome he distracts you long enough for a hood to be slipped over your head and for you to be muscled onto a cart as a heavy blow knocks you out! When you awake you cannot recall the time that has passed. The ride is uncomfortable and you hear the subtle muffled moans of others who probably met your same fate. After another ten or twenty minutes the cart it stops. You are then hauled out of the cart still hooded and now you notice bound.
"This...this is it," a harsh female voice calls out as your push forward still hooded, still bound. "What a joke," she adds as heavy laughter rumbles around you.
You hear someone speak in a heavy accent through their hood but you don't recognize the language! You then realize whatever it was that had been said had to be insulting because you then hear a vicious blow be struck and a sicken crack as something falls like a sack of grain into the ground near your feet!
"This one bites eh?" The female voice calls out with disdain, "good to know," she adds next as the laughter rises again.
You are then pushed forward as a hand grips your arm leading you ahead. You bump into other people, at least you hope they're people and are moved out from the rain then finally indoors. The air hits you is cold and musty as well as oddly heavy. The floor is a steady incline down. It takes several minutes and you finally stop with a jerk.
"These are the only ones who showed," a gruff voice says next. "It's a sorry lot but hey they'll be fun to watch," he adds next chuckling as another person sighs heavily nearby.
"Put them in the cells," a delicate yet gender-ambiguous voice says next. "The trial will start once the arena is set," they add before you're pushed forward again.
As you're lead this time you accidentally, or intentionally, the person leading you bumps you against a rounded stone wall. They stop abruptly and you hear a metal door open. Before you know it you are shoved inside simultaneously as your bonds are cut and the hood snatched off! The cell door is then closed behind you with a tug too quickly for you see anyone and now you're faced with a 10ft by 10ft stone cell but there's yet another door ahead but it looks more like a chute!
Alici followed the directions of her captors, straight backed and proud. She did her best not to show any fear, but more than once held her breath as she was pulled or shoved to different places and different positions. She walked along steadily, doing her best to keep pace with whomsoever was "guiding" her. She stepped forward with as much care as they would allow as she was pushed into her cell, and didn't struggle or try to make any sudden movements. In the cell, she turned slowly as the door closed behind her, and she looked around the cell and shoot to try to get her bearings.
A young woman of average height, but broad of hips and shoulders; Alici wears strange and foreign clothing with strange symbols and emblems that have been slashed but sewn back together with red string. Her armor (chainmail, helm, and shield) is of common make, and is heavily worn and appears to be a bit too large for her, and it's easy to assume that it was inherited or purchased after seeing heavy use, but it is still sturdy and serviceable. She wears a rapier, and a coiled whip on her left hip,
"Well, I suppose this is the life I chose." she says to herself, taking a seat on the cold cell floor. She appraises herself, taking a look at her equipment to make sure she still has everything she brought with her, and panics slightly when she realizes that she cannot find her dagger, a gift from an old patron. She digs through her pack and finds the dagger waiting there at the bottom, and takes it in hand, letting out an audible sigh of relief. Putting it in one of her pack's more accessible pockets, she shoulders her backpack and straps it on tight before sitting in the corner, leaned against the wall, a resigned look on her face as she awaits her fate.
Villanelle curses herself for not being able to pick up on what was an obvious trap as she was being led to her cell. She doesn't waste time trying to escape her bonds or fight, instead allowing them to shove her in the small room. She is an average sized woman with blonde hair and a face whose bored expression conveys how accustomed she is to doing less-than-savory things to stay alive. As she prepares to be sent into the arena, she calls upon the shadows to protect her body and pulls out the enchanted rapier she stole from her father.
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Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
Duquesse let's them push her roughly along, taking the knocks without complaint. She keeps her feet well maintaining her balance throughout the journey to the cells despite her inability to see. As she can see once more and realises where she is she reflexively takes a deep breath that she doesn't release for a long time, the act seems to be meditative and she sits in silence alone with her thoughts the only movement is her shock of white hair which moves as if she were in a breeze, even though the cell is as still as can be.
The woman is young, barely in her twenties, the white hair frames a face that draws attention where ever she goes, the icy white skin and white eyes are a sign of her elemental heritage and are extremely rare. She wears a suit of chainmail, the links are tiny and thin, looking like they should be useless in battle but they seem light and don't restrict her movement, a rapier is belted at her hip and she carries a longbow the quiver for which is strapped across her back so she can draw them over her shoulder, it is the only item of clothing not covered by a dark cloak which has a deep hood.
Nat staggers to a halt in the cell, straightens but does not attempt to look back to see the door closing. He takes a deep breath, notices the chute, and steps to the side so that he is not directly in front of it. He takes some time to straighten his clothing which has been rather messed up during the trip. As he does so, he starts humming quietly to himself.
Nat is a five foot two triton male in his early twenties, with medium-length blond hair tied back in a pony tail. His leather armour, though not new, is in excellent condition, and though his clothes are standard adventuring stuff in dark greens and browns it's clear he takes care of them as though they were the finest silks.
Once he is happy with his appearance, he scans the room, each wall, ceiling, floor and door, looking for anything that catches his eye. Once he is done, he checks his possessions to see what is still with him. Finally he directs his attention to the chute, walking over to it and checking for traps before attempting to open it.
All the time he is humming his tune, not loud enough that anyone in a neighbouring cell would hear, or at least that is the intent.
From the moment he regained conciousness, York stayed quiet, almost like a doll, he followed as he was forced down the various turns, leading here. Even if he couldn't see, he could still feel all the stares on his skin, still smell their pungent smell fill his nose. With every step, a ragged breath, but not from weakness or fatigue, but from something far more savage, that desired to be let loose. Being thrown into his cell, he remain unmoving on the ground, listening to his captors footprints as they faded. Once they did, he finally stood up.
Stretching out his back standing up straight, York's full height of a lean 70in (5ft 10in) was shown. With a head full of gold hair, and a open hooded vest, the tribal wolf tattoos the cover his chest are easily seen. Shimmering gold eyes, appearing sharp, lazily scan the room, his stare landing on the chute. Without much thought, he simply sits down cross legged, entering meditation.
He could feel death in each breath, but there was no need to go seek it. It would come to him, soon.
Felkin jumped to his feet as soon as he could after bing thown into the cell, but the door was already closed behind him. Quickly looking around he found the cell to be to be so small and lacking anything besides walls, meaning he most likely will not be kept there for long. He considered trying to try and break the door, but quickly gave up on the idea. There would probably be too many guards outside. The chute also looked promising, but also suspicious.
Felkin is an average sized gnome, but with an unusual skin color. His skin is darker, but not the same as mere sun tan. It has a glint to it, when light from torches passes over it. Mist of his body is covered by loose clothing as if hiding something. The color in his eyes matches that of his skin. Felkin also wears a large featureless dark headband over his head.
He paces about for a short while before deciding to sit down and catch his breath.
Retiog enjoyed being out in the rain at the dock as it reminded him of the storms in the savannas to the southwest of Sul Na Mara and always provided a source of calm. The little colorful little gnome amused the half-orc for a little while, but his persistence soon became bothersome, requiring him to constantly swat the little man away like a fly on the flank of a cow. "Beat it, you pessttt..."
Coming to his senses, the barbarian smiles to himself. "Of course you lot like to play dirty. I should have known better," he sneers under the cover. As he is being led along, Retiog provides some resistance for his 'guides' to let them know that he may be a handful.
When the hood comes off and the door slams, the redish-brown skinned half-orc begins to pace, taking long, steady breaths trying to keep his inner fury at bay. The chain shirt, which jingles lightly with his heavy steps, has simple leather harness atop it, containing a number of axes and javelins. At his back is a simple wooden shield covered with leather, and a scimitar at his hip. Having calmed himself, the half-orc adjusts his gear and goes down on both knees. He waits...
All of you react in a range of emotions to the beginning of the trial. It's oddly stifling in your cell which you come to realize is more of an animal pin. There's bits of straw strewn about the floor and it doesn't smell the best in here either. Just when you think too much time has passed and are starting to feel the drain of your travel to the city the chute slides open revealing a sand covered arena ahead. The chute remains open and the dull murmur of voices find you from ahead inside the arena itself. Moving to the doorway you peer out, it's an arena all right! Beside your doorway and across you see several other doorways with figures looming in them 30ft apart. There is, as you count, nearly 60 doorways but figures only darken about 10 you can see on the curve on either side of your door. Just as you begin to step out and cleared the doors a voice silences the distance murmures.
"Welcome," a jovial yet genderless voice greets you. "You've all come here to prove something. Whether it's to yourself, your family, a mentor, or a peer that something brought you here to put your life on the line to join us," the voice says echoing around you and whispering in your ear. "Each of us here will participated in the same trial," they add as the crowd claps softly. "Some would call it a blood bath..." laughter trickles through the hundreds of people in the arena, "while some would say it's merely a true exercise of talents to see what kind of person you are when the odds are good or bad. Most hope for the former but I predict the ladder," they say a smirk to their tone even if you can't quite find the origin of tge voice as laughter rattles again throughout the arena. "If victorious today you will move into the guild. You will receive a boon from us and will be counted among our illustrious number. Meeting your fellows in the field today might be the last thing you ever do but it could also be the beginning of a life long alligence to the true rulers of Talamh," they shout louder than before as a great illusion of Medusa's head writhing with snakes illuminates the arena above you to a deafening applause from the crowd as other illusions and spell effects crackle, streak, and boom around the arena!
OOC: I am now going to a meeting at the department head and business affairs office about possible starting an archaeological field school for the summer!! Wish me luck! I'll post the map and starting point as soon as I can. I ask y'all simply to post reactions to the words. Now we'll move into action with the current intiative order. You can roll perceptions but no movement. The map will represent areas of cover features etc... Thanks!!
When the chute slides open, Alici looks at it for a moment, quizzically. She looks through the opening and pulls her shield onto her left arm and tucks her helm in the crook of it. She runs her free hand along the inside of the chute as she walks steadily and intentionally down and into the arena. She observes her surroundings carefully, and stands just outside the entrance to the chute while she listens to the disembodied voice echoing all around her, at once close and far away. She takes her helm in her right hand and carefully slides it into place, doing her best not to impede her vision even for a moment.
With lips are taught and form a straight grim line and her eyes look at once dejected, but determined as she scans the room. She sets her shield arm and draws the rapier from her hip, cleanly, swiftly, without flourish. She bends slightly forward and slides her feet into a fighting stance.
As the arena is uncovered and the noise of the crowd rises Duquesse continues to hold the air in her lungs, body completely still. Eventually she faces the opening full on, her hands moving deftly over her equipment, checking straps and buckles. Reaching into her pack she removes the last piece of her gear, a small buckler that complements the rapier at her hip. Satisfied she resumes her statuesque wait for a signal.
York, still meditating, upon hearing the opening of the chute, in a lazy, yet fluid motion, rises to his feet and listens attentively to the speaker's words. Upon hearing the words "blood bath", he shivers a little and his eye gleam. Not paying much attention to what she says next, he subconsciously begins to prepare for the fight to come.
Drawing his blades out and tying rope to his waist, he nearly misses the spectacle of the Medusa head. Taking a look at the snake haired woman's face, York gives a interested look, ".....pretty lights." However, his attention goes back to his gear, and soon after his mind begins to drift ever so slightly, as his blood begins to start pumping with excitement.
Nat draws his shortsword slowly, and peers out through the newly-opened doorway into the arena. He had been standing to the side, but when he hears the voice and the crowds, he moves out, raises his free hand and waves up to the crowd in greeting. The tune he is quietly humming changes; now it is The Ballad of Anke Joritter, the tale of a half-elf hero who triumphed in combat against a hundred foes before being betrayed and murdered by her lover. He turns to wave to each part of the crowd, trying at the same time to see which opponents are nearest to him.
Villanelle doesn't pay much attention to the crowds. Or to the pyrotechnics. She merely shifts her cold gaze from one fighter to the other, gauging which one will be easiest to kill and which ones she should stay away from. In one hand is a drawn rapier, the other is crackling with magical energy. Shadows swirl about her form, offering some slight protection.
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Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
Note: You are underground. This is your starting point. This is the ONLY map unless things get too hairy and you can't figure things out. The red hand is an NPC also in the mix. Everyone is standing in an area in full cover giving direct hits from the starting point is impossible. The blocks are 10ft each so NOTE the distance. You may move your range from the 'doorway' and engage others who have moved. You may not remain in your starting point. Once you've left your starting point there is no longer full cover. The triangles give 3/4 cover while the circle in the middle is a large collum that can give full coverage and holds up the roof. You can scale the triangles they are 5ft off the ground. You can not scale the column however which as I said is holding up the ceiling which is 50ft above you.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Alici's soldier training kicks in and as the signal to commence and her feet move to action so quickly that she even surprises herself. She sprints up and obstacle to get high ground and a lay of the battlefield and her fellow combatants and as she reaches what she sees as a good vantage point, she nods to Ducquesse below. She surveys the battlefield carefully, doing her best to maintain her composure as her opponents spring to action and everything around her turns to chaos. The gleam of her rapier cuts a bright line even in the dim light of the arena, and she raises her shield, steeling herself for the battle to come.
move : L3
action : ready (putting in spoiler hopefully y'all declare prior to reading)
Alici is readying an attack against anyone who enters her threat range.
Villanelle turns her head in each direction. One enemy to the North, another to the East. She has to get the advantage somehow. Villanelle moves up to space 12C, taking cover behind the triangle and casts Armor of Agathys on herself, bolstering her vitality and making any enemy who strikes her regret it.
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Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
Sorry wanted to get this in earlier but thought we were posting in initiative still. Consider this to have occurred prior to combat starting. Nothing that would affect anything but just wanted to get some flavor in before I get sent packing... Good luck all.
When the chute slides open the half-orc breathes a sigh of relief as the anticipation of this moment has put his nerves to the test. He rises from his knees and rolls his neck before stepping out. The sight before him is a bit overwhelming. His past tests of this nature had never been in front of such a large crowd. He takes a step to the edge of his alcove and pulls out two javelins, planting them in the sand before him. His tattooed arms reach up and pull the thick cords of braided hair up into a topknot - each braid coming down to the middle of his back and accented with various bits of carved bone or crystal.
He half listens to the voice from above as he continues his preparations, understanding well what this is meant to be. He kneels down to one knee and grabs and handful of the sand, then rises, rubbing the sand between his hands. Once the voice ends its speech, the barbarian allows the frenzy of the crowd to take over him. Taking a wide stance, the half-orc starts to rhythmically stomp one foot, slapping the tops of this thighs and delivering hammer fists to his own forearms. The shield at his back and numerous weapons attached to him rattling against his chain shirt only amplifying the sound. This routine is repeated a number of times as he chants.
Kia rite! Kia kino nei hoki! A ka mate, ka mate ka ora, ka ora! Tenei te tanguta p'huruhuru! A upane, a ka upane! Whiti te ra!
By the end of this apparent war ritual, the half-orc has literally whipped himself into a frenzy... the rage soon to follow.
As Duquesse enters the arena she sees another woman similarly armed atop a nearby structure, not wishing to cede the high ground the genasi harnesses her control over the winds themselves to gently carry her up into the air 20' above the ground. As he does she sheathes her sword and draws her longbow in preparation for the upcoming battle "Well met" , she calls over to the other woman, "Let us see who else is coming to this party."
Casts Levitate from Mingle with the Wind racial power.
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Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Suspend for a while your sense of query,
I am to tell you an old tragic story
Revealed unto my solemn heart
A myth that was wrongfully taught
In a far land of ancient Greece
Dwelt a highland lass in peace,
Fairer than Helen was she, in appearance
I, in lines few reveal unto you
Her virtue and her acquaintance.
Gentle to all young and old
By heaven and earth she was extolled,
In youth she served the goddess`s temple
From soul to heart was innocent ample,
Vanity and vengeance from a heavenly figure
Eroded the life of this maiden fair,
For the sin of temptation of heavenly race
She was cursed and horridly deface
With venomous vipers, rattling around her neck,
That turned a being into rock
With her noxious gaze and look.
The anguish that never had quenched
A fragrance that turned into a stinky stench,
As she refused the gods to be wench.
A rustic figure with crying heart
Ah! Demon and monster she was thought.
Her cheer and bloom
Melted like a mist and made her gloom,
Her sole recreation in that dreadful park
Was to scrub and scratched dust from rock.
For years of infinity
She was blest with malevolent charity
Till Perseus the Demi-god
Beheaded her and ceased her life odd.
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
It was really a cliche. A dark and stormy nights down at the docks. You waited in the cold driving rain what felt like hours until a gnome in a busy purple suit with a large oddly green foreign looking flower approaches. At first, he offers you shelter at his inn nearby. He's loud and pushy. You take an instant disliking to the wee man. As you listen to him drone on and on about the amenities of his fine establishment that from where you stand looks like a dump like all the other dumps surrounding you, you wave him off as a pushy promoter. You were told to come here to meet the Order's contact. The note you received at your accommodation in the slums written in a language you just started to notice now everywhere you looked in the city of Sul Na Mara. It read: "The Raven is on the move" and gave the time as well as the location. The note implied this agent of the Order would be easy to spot too but this buffoon couldn't be someone so ominously named "the Raven" you think to yourself as he continues to talk needing little encouragement from you! As you are continually refuse the gnome he distracts you long enough for a hood to be slipped over your head and for you to be muscled onto a cart as a heavy blow knocks you out! When you awake you cannot recall the time that has passed. The ride is uncomfortable and you hear the subtle muffled moans of others who probably met your same fate. After another ten or twenty minutes the cart it stops. You are then hauled out of the cart still hooded and now you notice bound.
"This...this is it," a harsh female voice calls out as your push forward still hooded, still bound. "What a joke," she adds as heavy laughter rumbles around you.
You hear someone speak in a heavy accent through their hood but you don't recognize the language! You then realize whatever it was that had been said had to be insulting because you then hear a vicious blow be struck and a sicken crack as something falls like a sack of grain into the ground near your feet!
"This one bites eh?" The female voice calls out with disdain, "good to know," she adds next as the laughter rises again.
You are then pushed forward as a hand grips your arm leading you ahead. You bump into other people, at least you hope they're people and are moved out from the rain then finally indoors. The air hits you is cold and musty as well as oddly heavy. The floor is a steady incline down. It takes several minutes and you finally stop with a jerk.
"These are the only ones who showed," a gruff voice says next. "It's a sorry lot but hey they'll be fun to watch," he adds next chuckling as another person sighs heavily nearby.
"Put them in the cells," a delicate yet gender-ambiguous voice says next. "The trial will start once the arena is set," they add before you're pushed forward again.
As you're lead this time you accidentally, or intentionally, the person leading you bumps you against a rounded stone wall. They stop abruptly and you hear a metal door open. Before you know it you are shoved inside simultaneously as your bonds are cut and the hood snatched off! The cell door is then closed behind you with a tug too quickly for you see anyone and now you're faced with a 10ft by 10ft stone cell but there's yet another door ahead but it looks more like a chute!
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Alici
Alici followed the directions of her captors, straight backed and proud. She did her best not to show any fear, but more than once held her breath as she was pulled or shoved to different places and different positions. She walked along steadily, doing her best to keep pace with whomsoever was "guiding" her. She stepped forward with as much care as they would allow as she was pushed into her cell, and didn't struggle or try to make any sudden movements. In the cell, she turned slowly as the door closed behind her, and she looked around the cell and shoot to try to get her bearings.
A young woman of average height, but broad of hips and shoulders; Alici wears strange and foreign clothing with strange symbols and emblems that have been slashed but sewn back together with red string. Her armor (chainmail, helm, and shield) is of common make, and is heavily worn and appears to be a bit too large for her, and it's easy to assume that it was inherited or purchased after seeing heavy use, but it is still sturdy and serviceable. She wears a rapier, and a coiled whip on her left hip,
"Well, I suppose this is the life I chose." she says to herself, taking a seat on the cold cell floor. She appraises herself, taking a look at her equipment to make sure she still has everything she brought with her, and panics slightly when she realizes that she cannot find her dagger, a gift from an old patron. She digs through her pack and finds the dagger waiting there at the bottom, and takes it in hand, letting out an audible sigh of relief. Putting it in one of her pack's more accessible pockets, she shoulders her backpack and straps it on tight before sitting in the corner, leaned against the wall, a resigned look on her face as she awaits her fate.
~♡~
Villanelle curses herself for not being able to pick up on what was an obvious trap as she was being led to her cell. She doesn't waste time trying to escape her bonds or fight, instead allowing them to shove her in the small room. She is an average sized woman with blonde hair and a face whose bored expression conveys how accustomed she is to doing less-than-savory things to stay alive. As she prepares to be sent into the arena, she calls upon the shadows to protect her body and pulls out the enchanted rapier she stole from her father.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
More
Duquesse let's them push her roughly along, taking the knocks without complaint. She keeps her feet well maintaining her balance throughout the journey to the cells despite her inability to see. As she can see once more and realises where she is she reflexively takes a deep breath that she doesn't release for a long time, the act seems to be meditative and she sits in silence alone with her thoughts the only movement is her shock of white hair which moves as if she were in a breeze, even though the cell is as still as can be.
The woman is young, barely in her twenties, the white hair frames a face that draws attention where ever she goes, the icy white skin and white eyes are a sign of her elemental heritage and are extremely rare. She wears a suit of chainmail, the links are tiny and thin, looking like they should be useless in battle but they seem light and don't restrict her movement, a rapier is belted at her hip and she carries a longbow the quiver for which is strapped across her back so she can draw them over her shoulder, it is the only item of clothing not covered by a dark cloak which has a deep hood.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
Nat staggers to a halt in the cell, straightens but does not attempt to look back to see the door closing. He takes a deep breath, notices the chute, and steps to the side so that he is not directly in front of it. He takes some time to straighten his clothing which has been rather messed up during the trip. As he does so, he starts humming quietly to himself.
Nat is a five foot two triton male in his early twenties, with medium-length blond hair tied back in a pony tail. His leather armour, though not new, is in excellent condition, and though his clothes are standard adventuring stuff in dark greens and browns it's clear he takes care of them as though they were the finest silks.
Once he is happy with his appearance, he scans the room, each wall, ceiling, floor and door, looking for anything that catches his eye. Once he is done, he checks his possessions to see what is still with him. Finally he directs his attention to the chute, walking over to it and checking for traps before attempting to open it.
All the time he is humming his tune, not loud enough that anyone in a neighbouring cell would hear, or at least that is the intent.
From the moment he regained conciousness, York stayed quiet, almost like a doll, he followed as he was forced down the various turns, leading here. Even if he couldn't see, he could still feel all the stares on his skin, still smell their pungent smell fill his nose. With every step, a ragged breath, but not from weakness or fatigue, but from something far more savage, that desired to be let loose. Being thrown into his cell, he remain unmoving on the ground, listening to his captors footprints as they faded. Once they did, he finally stood up.
Stretching out his back standing up straight, York's full height of a lean 70in (5ft 10in) was shown. With a head full of gold hair, and a open hooded vest, the tribal wolf tattoos the cover his chest are easily seen. Shimmering gold eyes, appearing sharp, lazily scan the room, his stare landing on the chute. Without much thought, he simply sits down cross legged, entering meditation.
He could feel death in each breath, but there was no need to go seek it. It would come to him, soon.
Felkin jumped to his feet as soon as he could after bing thown into the cell, but the door was already closed behind him. Quickly looking around he found the cell to be to be so small and lacking anything besides walls, meaning he most likely will not be kept there for long. He considered trying to try and break the door, but quickly gave up on the idea. There would probably be too many guards outside. The chute also looked promising, but also suspicious.
Felkin is an average sized gnome, but with an unusual skin color. His skin is darker, but not the same as mere sun tan. It has a glint to it, when light from torches passes over it. Mist of his body is covered by loose clothing as if hiding something. The color in his eyes matches that of his skin. Felkin also wears a large featureless dark headband over his head.
He paces about for a short while before deciding to sit down and catch his breath.
Retiog enjoyed being out in the rain at the dock as it reminded him of the storms in the savannas to the southwest of Sul Na Mara and always provided a source of calm. The little colorful little gnome amused the half-orc for a little while, but his persistence soon became bothersome, requiring him to constantly swat the little man away like a fly on the flank of a cow. "Beat it, you pessttt..."
Coming to his senses, the barbarian smiles to himself. "Of course you lot like to play dirty. I should have known better," he sneers under the cover. As he is being led along, Retiog provides some resistance for his 'guides' to let them know that he may be a handful.
When the hood comes off and the door slams, the redish-brown skinned half-orc begins to pace, taking long, steady breaths trying to keep his inner fury at bay. The chain shirt, which jingles lightly with his heavy steps, has simple leather harness atop it, containing a number of axes and javelins. At his back is a simple wooden shield covered with leather, and a scimitar at his hip. Having calmed himself, the half-orc adjusts his gear and goes down on both knees. He waits...
All of you react in a range of emotions to the beginning of the trial. It's oddly stifling in your cell which you come to realize is more of an animal pin. There's bits of straw strewn about the floor and it doesn't smell the best in here either. Just when you think too much time has passed and are starting to feel the drain of your travel to the city the chute slides open revealing a sand covered arena ahead. The chute remains open and the dull murmur of voices find you from ahead inside the arena itself. Moving to the doorway you peer out, it's an arena all right! Beside your doorway and across you see several other doorways with figures looming in them 30ft apart. There is, as you count, nearly 60 doorways but figures only darken about 10 you can see on the curve on either side of your door. Just as you begin to step out and cleared the doors a voice silences the distance murmures.
"Welcome," a jovial yet genderless voice greets you. "You've all come here to prove something. Whether it's to yourself, your family, a mentor, or a peer that something brought you here to put your life on the line to join us," the voice says echoing around you and whispering in your ear. "Each of us here will participated in the same trial," they add as the crowd claps softly. "Some would call it a blood bath..." laughter trickles through the hundreds of people in the arena, "while some would say it's merely a true exercise of talents to see what kind of person you are when the odds are good or bad. Most hope for the former but I predict the ladder," they say a smirk to their tone even if you can't quite find the origin of tge voice as laughter rattles again throughout the arena. "If victorious today you will move into the guild. You will receive a boon from us and will be counted among our illustrious number. Meeting your fellows in the field today might be the last thing you ever do but it could also be the beginning of a life long alligence to the true rulers of Talamh," they shout louder than before as a great illusion of Medusa's head writhing with snakes illuminates the arena above you to a deafening applause from the crowd as other illusions and spell effects crackle, streak, and boom around the arena!
OOC: I am now going to a meeting at the department head and business affairs office about possible starting an archaeological field school for the summer!! Wish me luck! I'll post the map and starting point as soon as I can. I ask y'all simply to post reactions to the words. Now we'll move into action with the current intiative order. You can roll perceptions but no movement. The map will represent areas of cover features etc... Thanks!!
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
(OOC: Ohh nice good luck!)
When the chute slides open, Alici looks at it for a moment, quizzically. She looks through the opening and pulls her shield onto her left arm and tucks her helm in the crook of it. She runs her free hand along the inside of the chute as she walks steadily and intentionally down and into the arena. She observes her surroundings carefully, and stands just outside the entrance to the chute while she listens to the disembodied voice echoing all around her, at once close and far away. She takes her helm in her right hand and carefully slides it into place, doing her best not to impede her vision even for a moment.
With lips are taught and form a straight grim line and her eyes look at once dejected, but determined as she scans the room. She sets her shield arm and draws the rapier from her hip, cleanly, swiftly, without flourish. She bends slightly forward and slides her feet into a fighting stance.
~♡~
As the arena is uncovered and the noise of the crowd rises Duquesse continues to hold the air in her lungs, body completely still. Eventually she faces the opening full on, her hands moving deftly over her equipment, checking straps and buckles. Reaching into her pack she removes the last piece of her gear, a small buckler that complements the rapier at her hip. Satisfied she resumes her statuesque wait for a signal.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
York, still meditating, upon hearing the opening of the chute, in a lazy, yet fluid motion, rises to his feet and listens attentively to the speaker's words. Upon hearing the words "blood bath", he shivers a little and his eye gleam. Not paying much attention to what she says next, he subconsciously begins to prepare for the fight to come.
Drawing his blades out and tying rope to his waist, he nearly misses the spectacle of the Medusa head. Taking a look at the snake haired woman's face, York gives a interested look, ".....pretty lights." However, his attention goes back to his gear, and soon after his mind begins to drift ever so slightly, as his blood begins to start pumping with excitement.
Nat draws his shortsword slowly, and peers out through the newly-opened doorway into the arena. He had been standing to the side, but when he hears the voice and the crowds, he moves out, raises his free hand and waves up to the crowd in greeting. The tune he is quietly humming changes; now it is The Ballad of Anke Joritter, the tale of a half-elf hero who triumphed in combat against a hundred foes before being betrayed and murdered by her lover. He turns to wave to each part of the crowd, trying at the same time to see which opponents are nearest to him.
Villanelle doesn't pay much attention to the crowds. Or to the pyrotechnics. She merely shifts her cold gaze from one fighter to the other, gauging which one will be easiest to kill and which ones she should stay away from. In one hand is a drawn rapier, the other is crackling with magical energy. Shadows swirl about her form, offering some slight protection.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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*ALWAYS use the grid coordinates for movement. *
Note: You are underground. This is your starting point. This is the ONLY map unless things get too hairy and you can't figure things out. The red hand is an NPC also in the mix. Everyone is standing in an area in full cover giving direct hits from the starting point is impossible. The blocks are 10ft each so NOTE the distance. You may move your range from the 'doorway' and engage others who have moved. You may not remain in your starting point. Once you've left your starting point there is no longer full cover. The triangles give 3/4 cover while the circle in the middle is a large collum that can give full coverage and holds up the roof. You can scale the triangles they are 5ft off the ground. You can not scale the column however which as I said is holding up the ceiling which is 50ft above you.
First round!
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Alici's soldier training kicks in and as the signal to commence and her feet move to action so quickly that she even surprises herself. She sprints up and obstacle to get high ground and a lay of the battlefield and her fellow combatants and as she reaches what she sees as a good vantage point, she nods to Ducquesse below. She surveys the battlefield carefully, doing her best to maintain her composure as her opponents spring to action and everything around her turns to chaos. The gleam of her rapier cuts a bright line even in the dim light of the arena, and she raises her shield, steeling herself for the battle to come.
move : L3
action : ready (putting in spoiler hopefully y'all declare prior to reading)
Alici is readying an attack against anyone who enters her threat range.
attack : 27 damage : 11
bonus action : shield bash attempting to knock prone athletics : 10
~♡~
Villanelle turns her head in each direction. One enemy to the North, another to the East. She has to get the advantage somehow. Villanelle moves up to space 12C, taking cover behind the triangle and casts Armor of Agathys on herself, bolstering her vitality and making any enemy who strikes her regret it.
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Sorry wanted to get this in earlier but thought we were posting in initiative still. Consider this to have occurred prior to combat starting. Nothing that would affect anything but just wanted to get some flavor in before I get sent packing... Good luck all.
When the chute slides open the half-orc breathes a sigh of relief as the anticipation of this moment has put his nerves to the test. He rises from his knees and rolls his neck before stepping out. The sight before him is a bit overwhelming. His past tests of this nature had never been in front of such a large crowd. He takes a step to the edge of his alcove and pulls out two javelins, planting them in the sand before him. His tattooed arms reach up and pull the thick cords of braided hair up into a topknot - each braid coming down to the middle of his back and accented with various bits of carved bone or crystal.
He half listens to the voice from above as he continues his preparations, understanding well what this is meant to be. He kneels down to one knee and grabs and handful of the sand, then rises, rubbing the sand between his hands. Once the voice ends its speech, the barbarian allows the frenzy of the crowd to take over him. Taking a wide stance, the half-orc starts to rhythmically stomp one foot, slapping the tops of this thighs and delivering hammer fists to his own forearms. The shield at his back and numerous weapons attached to him rattling against his chain shirt only amplifying the sound. This routine is repeated a number of times as he chants.
Kia rite!
Kia kino nei hoki!
A ka mate, ka mate ka ora, ka ora!
Tenei te tanguta p'huruhuru!
A upane, a ka upane!
Whiti te ra!
By the end of this apparent war ritual, the half-orc has literally whipped himself into a frenzy... the rage soon to follow.
As Duquesse enters the arena she sees another woman similarly armed atop a nearby structure, not wishing to cede the high ground the genasi harnesses her control over the winds themselves to gently carry her up into the air 20' above the ground. As he does she sheathes her sword and draws her longbow in preparation for the upcoming battle "Well met" , she calls over to the other woman, "Let us see who else is coming to this party."
Casts Levitate from Mingle with the Wind racial power.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales