You are currently separated at the moment, with yourself moving at their own speed and pace than the others. The road is long, but the path is well-used, and weaves through many villages and small towns along the way. It gives you ample supplies and shelter to make the travel easier.
As you travel closer and closer to the towering mountain region, where the shadows grow long like spears in the ground, the ground grows flatter and flatter, and the trees begin to die out. After your last stop in Yogar Valley, a modest fishing town built on the side of a river, you begin the ascent up into the mountains.
After two days however, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Dark storm clouds circle above like vultures before pouring down a torrential rain. A blinding, disorienting wind whips all about you, and a thick fog settles in the land around them like thick oil. When night falls and darkness pours over the land, it only makes things worse.
Your clothes and gear are soaked, and your body is cold and shivering. Being out here exposed to the elements quickly seems like a bad idea.
Almost like a response to your thoughts however, a town emerges from the distance. Tiny houses dot the ridgeline above like decorations on your metaphorical cake, and you can see lights coming from some of them. The path you are taking winds higher and higher, and appears to take you straight to the town.
You are currently by yourself, alone on this mountain pass.
What do you do?
Hiya everyone!
Welcome to the IC thread of The Mountain Tavern! Thanks for sticking along this far! I am confident that we're going to have an AMAZING game.
A Separated Party. You are currently NOT with the others. Until the DM says you meet someone, assume that you are alone, even if you are in a location where you might be reasonably seen (such as the main road).
The Mountain Town. The lights appear to be coming off from the far distance. Judging from the path and how it bends, it appears to be roughly 900 feet away if you take the path, or 500 directly from you to it. It will take you 4.5 minutes to reach by moving at a slow pace, 3 minutes at a normal pace, and 2.25 minutes at a fast pace if you follow the path. You can refer to the Travel Pace table.
Strong Wind. A strong wind imposes disadvantage on ranged weapon attack rolls and Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing. A strong wind also extinguishes open flames , disperses fog, and makes flying by nonmagical means nearly impossible. A flying creature in a strong wind must land at the end of its turn or fall. A strong wind in a desert can create a sandstorm that imposes disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight.
Heavy Precipitation. Everything within an area of heavy rain or heavy snowfall is lightly obscured, and creatures in the area have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight. Heavy rain also extinguishes open flames and imposes disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing.
Torrential Storm. The storm's might weans on your strength and leaves you prone to sickness. You must make a Constitution saving throw for every 10 minutes you spend in the storm. The DC is 9 plus 1 for every 10 minutes you have spent in it. Your travel here does not count against this, making your first save DC 10 if you spend 10 minutes here.
If you fail your saving throw, you will gain a level of exhaustion. You can spend an hour of short rest to reduce a level of exhaustion gained in this way, provided you have also ingested some food and drink.
Night Falls. It is complete darkness around. You can make your way on the path without light, but you are essentially blinded if you do not have a light source active and do not have darkvision. You can attempt to light a light source if you cannot see.
The sound of a single beating drum echoes on the mountain pass, sounding much like what thunder might sound like in this horrible storm. The sound must belong to a mighty giant striking a house sized drum with the leg bone of a titanic creature, surely. The sound carries far further than any normal drum.
A small figure, no more than three and a half feet tall, marches down the mountain pass leading towards the unassuming mountain village. Even in the torrential downpour, the bright red material of his costume is visible. The costume looks to be straight out of a theater performance. His pants are made of a silken red material, ending in sewn on clawed feet. A cape circles his bare chest, split into two parts with comically sewn on claw mittens. Finishing the bizarre attire is an oversize plush hood modeled in the shape of a dragon, with the maw forming the opening. The costume overall is covered in sparkling sequins that resemble scales, while a large stuffed tail drags behind the figure haphazardly.
A flash of lightning illuminates the little creature for a moment, revealing the face within the plush dragon. He is a small goblin with the standard olive green skin and wide, toothy mouth. His nose is mashed onto his face like a creative afterthought centered between two bright eyes. The mottled watermelon head of the goblin is adorned with two pointed ears that are far too large for the rest of his body.
Among the rest of his gear, most prevalent is the little hand drum the goblin carries in his claws, on hand banging on the surface in tune with his marching steps. Thunderous booms echo from the goblin's drum with each strike. Komoi the goblin marches with a puffed out chest, the plush hood flopping about upon his head due to all of the water soaked into the material. Despite the miserable conditions he finds himself in, the goblin is completely undaunted in his march towards the town lights and thanks to his especially keen eyes, the darkness surrounding him poses little hindrance.
Komoi is using the Thunderclap cantrip in his march, creating loud booms to ward away wild animals that might otherwise attempt to attack him. He doesn't possess any light source either, relying on his Darkvision and the distant lights of the town as a guide to his destination.
The concussive booms of his drum radiates far and wide. He doesn't spot any creatures wary enough to approach, but he can reasonably assume that his tactic is working.
The marching goblin approaches the bend in the trail ahead. His eyes spot the distant lights of the houses in the distance, like fireflies in the night. There's another crash, then a second resonating boom of lighting and thunder, as if replying back to Komoi's tune. Another curtain of rain pours down the slope, washes over the goblin like he was slapped in the face by a water elemental, before continuing on down the slope.
Komoi doubles his pace towards the town, his eagerness carrying him quickly along the path. As he approaches, he ceases his thunderous drumbeat, settling for a more reasonable volume for the size of the drum. He didn't want to rouse the town with his upeat music after all. He glances up towards the sky, wondering how late it was. What he gets instead is a hood full of water.
The goblin doesn't let up his pace, headed for the town no matter how long it took to get to its gates.
"Damnable rain, damnable cold. And damn that thundering. Are you watching, Tyrant? Are you enjoying as I suffer?" The pale Elvish woman pulls her robes tighter around herself as she continues cursing under her breath, her eyes piercing through the night as much as they can in this torrential rain. She shivers, pulling her robes tighter around her in a poor attempt to warm herself. Lucette pushes forward toward the town in the distance, keeping to the safety of the road and glancing around, keeping an eye out for any threats. Lucky thing my pack is water-proof, I don't want to explain to Dionades why the book is soaked through and the ink has run off.
She'd found herself in torrential downpour countless times before; they seemed most suited for clandestine encounters, but she knew better. She knew the wind and the rain and the thunder couldn't be trusted. She places a hand over her abdomen, a brief flash of lightning illuminating her pained expression at the memory of what had happened. She couldn't tell whether it was the pain of that memory or the the wind that made her feel more numb.
She carries a gnarled white wand in one hand, and a snake-shaped staff in the other as she walks. Others would come looking for it, he'd said, and so she made sure she was ready. When she reached the town, she was going to find the nicest, warmest room she could find and sleep away this frustration.
Lucette is moving toward the town along the path at a Normal speed, using her darkvision to give her as much of a benefit as possible.
Perception roll (at disadvantage from the weather effects) to see any nearby threats:
Komoi quickly rushes up to the town, his nimble goblin feet carrying him up quite easily. He soon finds the path up is quite muddy and slick however, with several large footprints that turned into puddles from all this rain washing down. The mud pulls at his feet, threatens to suck him in like shallow quicksand, and potentially slows his journey upward.
Muddy Trail. Anyone traveling on this path must succeed on a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw or the ground acts as difficult terrain, as the slippery mud slows your ascent.
Komoi begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. He has a +1 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Komoi's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if he decides to keep on the trail.
Komoi makes a Dexterity saving throw! 1d20 + 1 = 2
The mud does prove too much for the little goblin, and he slips and falls over several times. The earthen slush covers his chest, his hands, his cheeks. It takes him considerably longer to reach the town, and when he does, he's an absolute mess.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and he gains his first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. He immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction he was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but he sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
A shiver runs through Komoi as the rain continues to pour down ontop of him. He has a feeling that sickness is prying at his front door.
Komoi's trip takes 4 minutes, 30 seconds. He has 5 minutes, 30 seconds before he is required to make his first saving throw.
Lucette begins scaling up the trail, heading for the lights in the distance. The sight gives a small warmth to her bosom at the thought of warm food, a hot bath, and a crackling fireplace. She is reminded of a faint memory of home, when she would press close to Dionades next to the fireplace in the library lounge. The only question is if the memory inspired her to press on or if it simply made her more annoyed and frustrated she was here instead of there.
The elf peers out from the trail, stares out into the darkness around her. The torrential rain and the thunderous lightning makes it hard to hear, but perhaps she can make out something.
A Creature has a +4 bonus to Dexterity (Stealth) checks.
A Creature makes a Dexterity (Stealth) check! 1d20 + 4 = 7
Lucette stares out into the night, her eyes scanning all that was out there. She sees darkness, darkness, black, darkness... The elf shifts and looks back, looks again at the odd patch of black. When she returns her eyes, the odd off-shade of the shadows was gone, blended back with the rest of night. Were it not for the sight of thick, soaked, but rustled fur, she might've thought it was a trick of the light.
A man donned in a suit of metal dauntlessly weathers the storm, searching for not only answers but also respite. Respite from the thoughts that cloud his mind, and from the sky's seemingly endless torrent. There seemed to be no end to the storm's malefic embrace, and it only seemed to be getting worse. The young man was at the precipice of becoming one with the surrounding nature, until suddenly, he saw a glimmer of light off in the distance. It would have just been passed off as a desparate trick on the mind if it didn't show itself again a minute after. Before long, the glimmers turned into a solid shimmer. Knowing everythig was sopping wet, he forgoes the light sources in his bag and marches onward toward the source, hope resurging in his soul.
"Is this it? This has to be the place."
He speeds along the terrain, following the path to reduce complications along the march, as any unforseen mishap could eventually lead to his downfall.
Warren plans on following Since perception in general is out of the question, I'm gonna make his pace quick. He might light a torch, but knowing the outcome, I might as well save it for another situation.
In a fleeting flash, Tamara's tempo was anything but slow or at a normal pace. She had no intention of being slowed down by rain, mud, hazards, monsters or even the gods themselves. Her task had no intention of being stopped now - especially at a dire time such as this. But she was tired. So, so - so, tired. The poison had done a number on her body's stamina, but as it faded over the days where she laid in bedrest - puking her guts out - raged had replaced it instead.
With her goggles pulled down and the hood up, cords of the cape drawn tightly - her hood was made sure not to fall off from the fast sprint of the tanned skin human, water dripping down the glass of the goggles much like a window pane, her combat boots sloshing against the thick mud with each step.
Upon seeing the town in the distance - it was like a siren's song in visualised form, painted right before her eyes. "Was this it? Was this the place? No - it couldn't be... could it?" she thought to herself.
Whether it was the place she was running for her life towards or not, she did not care. Her muscles were screaming at her. Stomache churning and growling at her to feed it which she had neglected. Running and eating would have slowed her down, possibly made her throw up more which was not something she looked forward to. But more importantly - stopping in the middle of her chase without having gotten far? That would have been scandalous for her.
Luckily... she has made it quite far. And now... she needs to regain her strength.
With the last ounce of her strength, a playful yet somewhat angry grin spreads along her face as she begins bolting towards the town at a fast pace, stumbling a little upon the way before catching herself and continuing forwards, looking for a warm inn or tavern.
"I am coming for you. And when I find you... I will make sure you regret everything."She thinks to herself again, as her sprint begins carrying her forward towards the flickering lights of the town.
The elf frowns, pressing forward and continuing toward the town. She feels a familiar, friendly warmth as she touches on her connection to her devil, focusing the warmth through her hands and into her wand. If something wished to come at her, she would be ready for it.
Lucette is continuing toward the town, and readies an action to cast Burning Hands if an obvious, hostile threat makes itself known.
Otherwise, she simply continues going until she reaches the town.
Warren strives forward, power in his stride and intention burning bright in his eyes. Despite the long and weary journey, his eyes do not deceive him indeed, and he ventures forward toward the town. His thoughts scatter and flee like the rain and the wind around him, and he finds it hard to concentrate from how much that has happened since the Temple. Perhaps he simply needed time to process it all.
As he begins traversing up the slope, he finds it wet, soggy, and slippery. It threatens to trip him several times on his journey upward.
Muddy Trail. Anyone traveling on this path must succeed on a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw or the ground acts as difficult terrain, as the slippery mud slows your ascent.
Warren begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. He has a +0 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Warren's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if he decides to keep on the trail.
Warren Hammond makes a Dexterity saving throw! 1d20 + 0 = 11
Warren maintains his balance and his stride however. Although proving treacherous, he is able to scale up all the way to the town.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and he gains his first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. He immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction he was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but he sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
Hammond feels rather cold, and likely miserable, but he does not feel exhaustion seeping in yet.
Warren's trip takes 2 minutes, 15 seconds. He has 7 minutes, 45 seconds before he is required to make his first saving throw.
Tamara's anger fuels her greatly throughout her journey, like wood to a burning fire. Like the storm and the water falling around her however, she finds it was soon being quenched, and that she wouldn't be able to continue at this pace without doing herself harm. The poison was intended to put her out for a week, she remembers hearing from the doctor. It was quite the selection; small enough dose to be far from nonlethal, but big enough to incapacitate her for a period of time. When she left after three days, the doctor believed she wouldn't be able to make it a day, yet alone a month.
And yet here she was.
The lights emerge from the ridgeline, twinkles back to her as if they were responding, "Yes". They only grow in intensity as she approaches, scaling up the trail to the town. Her feet burns more and her stomach does loop-de-loops from the hunger and the pain. She persists on anyways.
As she comes up however, the rain and the water makes the trail slick, wet, slippery. She discovers that it's a far greater endeavor to scale up than she thought.
Muddy Trail. Anyone traveling on this path must succeed on a DC 10 Dexterity saving throw or the ground acts as difficult terrain, as the slippery mud slows your ascent.
Tamara begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. She has a +5 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Tamara's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if she decides to keep on the trail.
Tamara makes a Dexterity saving throw! 1d20 + 5 = 16
Her quick, nimble feet and skill in finesse however keeps her moving, and she's able to reach the town in no time.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and she gains her first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. She immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction she was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but she sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
Tamara feels rather cold, and likely miserable, but he does not feel exhaustion seeping in yet.
Tamara's trip takes 2 minutes, 15 seconds. She has 7 minutes, 45 seconds before she is required to make her first saving throw.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Step after tiny step, Orryn persists. His light frame barely leaves an indention in muddy earth, but each step feels like the ground may swallow his foot whole. The downpour nearly blinds the gnome, as wicked winds attempt to remove his large and egregiously eccentric hat. At times Orryn even feels his heels lift off the ground, even if only for a moment. He remembers hearing tales from his father about the brutal gales of the Northern Lands, and how they picked up a much younger Calben and scattered his belongings for miles. As the severity of the storm begins to dawn on Orryn, a row of buildings reveals itself in the distance. The sight is enough to light touches of hope in his eyes. The thought creeps through his mind that the buildings, look like beautiful smokey Onyx stone set in a black gold ring. Orrin, elated, lifts his legs to bound toward the town, but as soon as he lifts his leg, the wind sweeps him and he lands face down on the mud. It is there, with his curly moustache limp with caked in mud, that he remembers something his father said after Sanctuary.
"My boy, remember this: all that glitters isn't Glittergold."
"right you are pops." Orryn thinks to himself, as he turns to find shelter, and wait out the storm.
Orryn begins to back track, trying to find any type of cover from the storm. He knows that crouched he is no more that 1 1/2 feet tall, and could cover himself with his bedroll, it's not ideal, but it's better than getting blown away. Orryn rolls a survival check with disadvantage to find a place to anchor down until the storm passes.
Orynn finds the winds sweep down upon him again, blowing so hard that his back began to sting as if a thousand tiny wasps had struck at it. That is when the wind seeps him again, and blows him upward, carrying him up to splat solidly on the ground. The journey from Yogar Valley to here was long, tiring. The cold, yet comforting, nature of the mud feels seductive in an odd way. It's almost as if it wants him to lay down and fall into a long and hearty slumber.
This solid splat did not go unheard however, as the elf nearly 50 feet ahead hears. Lucette sees the short man face-down into the ground, unmoving for a long moment. She then sees him rise up and struggle away from the trail.
Orynn goes to the far western side of the trail, finds a spot with less mud and more rock against the face of it. The rock is far colder than the mud, biting through his clothes and numbing at his back and shoulders. As he slips inside the bedroll, it's far better, but he's not quite sure if this would last him the night. There's no other visible cover around unless he begins exploring.
Taking Shelter.Orynn has advantage on Constitution saving throws to stay warm or dry while inside his bedroll, such as against Torrential Storm.
Orynn and Lucette spot each other and are able to roleplay with each other.
He scales the path undeterred, and nears the source. However, his expression of confidence suddenly turns to worry as he passes by the damaged houses. Seeing as how the houses seem to be taking damage from an unknown source (likely malevolent), Warren heads up the western path, rushing forth to ask the denizens where the nearest tavern coul be found. From there he could collect himself and begin asking for information. But first things first, he has to know the whereabouts of the tavern. After traveling up the western path toward the stone houses, he approaches a nearby house, knocking on the door.
"I seek refuge, do you know where the tavern can be found around here?"
His voice carries through the wind and rain, hoping to catch the attention of anyone inside. Every second is precious, and tarrying has never been on the agenda of a Solacean Knight.
Warren is still traveling through the rain at a swift speed, making use of his fortitude to carry himself through the storm. He only stops to listen to what the commoner has to say before either moving on to the next house, or to the pointed direction of the tavern, saying "Thank you." either way as a response before heading off.
The small goblin tries to let the rain wash off the mud staining his costume, but he doesn't spend too much mind. The fabric of his costume through all odds had never sustained a rip or tear in all time he had worn it. A miracle of craftmanship, he had always assumed. Looking down each path, the goblin takes a stance at the fork in the road. His small chest puffs out with his shoulders thrown back. Chin up, with rain seeping passed the teeth of his plush hood, Komoi begins the ritual to pick a path.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe." He murmurs to himself as he moves a finger between the paths with each word. His finger lands on the Western path and with a shrug, the goblin continues on his way. He looks for a building that might serve as a tavern or inn for him to shelter from the storm.
As Warren jogs up the western path, he actually does find people around. A dozen or so commoners are slowly walking throughout the streets, carrying half or full buckets of water in their hands. Their clothes are soaked as well, but from their sunken eyes, low shoulders, and distant gazes, they don't seem to care very much. They're wearing rather ragged clothing, even for commoners. A lot of it seems roughly homemade or old with patches sewed over it.
The door opens up, and a man look up with the same blank, distant gaze. His eyes then narrow at the sight of Warren. "Eh'... yer' an adventurer, right?" he says, then crosses his arms over his chest.
Komoi proceeds up the western path. As he likely discovered earlier, he doesn't find any town gates or walls of any sort. In-fact, he doesn't see any guards or guardhouses either, as usually he'd be harassed by them the moment he steps in a town. Perhaps they were inside from the storm.
As he walks on by, he spots a tall man decked in gleaming iron armor. The polish of his suit shines cleanly even through the rain, and his shield is as bright as a mirror.
The man is currently talking to another man inside of a house. The man inside the house is wearing rough commoners' clothes, has his arms across his chest, and a scowl on his face. He recognizes this look from the circus troupe owner, who appeared to have it on all the time. It usually wasn't a good sign in his case.
Komoi and Warren are free to roleplay with each other.
"A traveler is apt enough. I just need to know where the local tavern is located."
Concern clouded his voice. Warren was relieved at the sight of a denizens of a dozen, but their quality of life was extremely questionable, but he could ot tarry. The cold was getting to him, but even with his ridiculous optimism, he knew he couldn't help everyone here. Not now anyway.
The commoner laughs, then leans out the door. He points up the slope further north up the western trail. "You'll want to go to Auntie Beth's. Last tavern owner in this hellhole of a town who serves adventurers. Wench's got more greed than a dragon and a pile of gold."
"You should've stayed home, boy," he says, then stares back to Warren. "You don't know what you got yourself in here."
OOC Thread | Posting Format
Your character sets off for the Fabled Heights.
You are currently separated at the moment, with yourself moving at their own speed and pace than the others. The road is long, but the path is well-used, and weaves through many villages and small towns along the way. It gives you ample supplies and shelter to make the travel easier.
As you travel closer and closer to the towering mountain region, where the shadows grow long like spears in the ground, the ground grows flatter and flatter, and the trees begin to die out. After your last stop in Yogar Valley, a modest fishing town built on the side of a river, you begin the ascent up into the mountains.
After two days however, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Dark storm clouds circle above like vultures before pouring down a torrential rain. A blinding, disorienting wind whips all about you, and a thick fog settles in the land around them like thick oil. When night falls and darkness pours over the land, it only makes things worse.
Your clothes and gear are soaked, and your body is cold and shivering. Being out here exposed to the elements quickly seems like a bad idea.
Almost like a response to your thoughts however, a town emerges from the distance. Tiny houses dot the ridgeline above like decorations on your metaphorical cake, and you can see lights coming from some of them. The path you are taking winds higher and higher, and appears to take you straight to the town.
You are currently by yourself, alone on this mountain pass.
What do you do?
Welcome to the IC thread of The Mountain Tavern! Thanks for sticking along this far! I am confident that we're going to have an AMAZING game.
A Separated Party. You are currently NOT with the others. Until the DM says you meet someone, assume that you are alone, even if you are in a location where you might be reasonably seen (such as the main road).
The Mountain Town. The lights appear to be coming off from the far distance. Judging from the path and how it bends, it appears to be roughly 900 feet away if you take the path, or 500 directly from you to it. It will take you 4.5 minutes to reach by moving at a slow pace, 3 minutes at a normal pace, and 2.25 minutes at a fast pace if you follow the path. You can refer to the Travel Pace table.
Strong Wind. A strong wind imposes disadvantage on ranged weapon attack rolls and Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing. A strong wind also extinguishes open flames , disperses fog, and makes flying by nonmagical means nearly impossible. A flying creature in a strong wind must land at the end of its turn or fall. A strong wind in a desert can create a sandstorm that imposes disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight.
Heavy Precipitation. Everything within an area of heavy rain or heavy snowfall is lightly obscured, and creatures in the area have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight. Heavy rain also extinguishes open flames and imposes disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing.
Torrential Storm. The storm's might weans on your strength and leaves you prone to sickness. You must make a Constitution saving throw for every 10 minutes you spend in the storm. The DC is 9 plus 1 for every 10 minutes you have spent in it. Your travel here does not count against this, making your first save DC 10 if you spend 10 minutes here.
If you fail your saving throw, you will gain a level of exhaustion. You can spend an hour of short rest to reduce a level of exhaustion gained in this way, provided you have also ingested some food and drink.
Night Falls. It is complete darkness around. You can make your way on the path without light, but you are essentially blinded if you do not have a light source active and do not have darkvision. You can attempt to light a light source if you cannot see.
The sound of a single beating drum echoes on the mountain pass, sounding much like what thunder might sound like in this horrible storm. The sound must belong to a mighty giant striking a house sized drum with the leg bone of a titanic creature, surely. The sound carries far further than any normal drum.
A small figure, no more than three and a half feet tall, marches down the mountain pass leading towards the unassuming mountain village. Even in the torrential downpour, the bright red material of his costume is visible. The costume looks to be straight out of a theater performance. His pants are made of a silken red material, ending in sewn on clawed feet. A cape circles his bare chest, split into two parts with comically sewn on claw mittens. Finishing the bizarre attire is an oversize plush hood modeled in the shape of a dragon, with the maw forming the opening. The costume overall is covered in sparkling sequins that resemble scales, while a large stuffed tail drags behind the figure haphazardly.
A flash of lightning illuminates the little creature for a moment, revealing the face within the plush dragon. He is a small goblin with the standard olive green skin and wide, toothy mouth. His nose is mashed onto his face like a creative afterthought centered between two bright eyes. The mottled watermelon head of the goblin is adorned with two pointed ears that are far too large for the rest of his body.
Among the rest of his gear, most prevalent is the little hand drum the goblin carries in his claws, on hand banging on the surface in tune with his marching steps. Thunderous booms echo from the goblin's drum with each strike. Komoi the goblin marches with a puffed out chest, the plush hood flopping about upon his head due to all of the water soaked into the material. Despite the miserable conditions he finds himself in, the goblin is completely undaunted in his march towards the town lights and thanks to his especially keen eyes, the darkness surrounding him poses little hindrance.
Komoi is using the Thunderclap cantrip in his march, creating loud booms to ward away wild animals that might otherwise attempt to attack him. He doesn't possess any light source either, relying on his Darkvision and the distant lights of the town as a guide to his destination.
Komoi's Appearance
Komoi:
The concussive booms of his drum radiates far and wide. He doesn't spot any creatures wary enough to approach, but he can reasonably assume that his tactic is working.
The marching goblin approaches the bend in the trail ahead. His eyes spot the distant lights of the houses in the distance, like fireflies in the night. There's another crash, then a second resonating boom of lighting and thunder, as if replying back to Komoi's tune. Another curtain of rain pours down the slope, washes over the goblin like he was slapped in the face by a water elemental, before continuing on down the slope.
The storm shows no signs of stopping.
Komoi doubles his pace towards the town, his eagerness carrying him quickly along the path. As he approaches, he ceases his thunderous drumbeat, settling for a more reasonable volume for the size of the drum. He didn't want to rouse the town with his upeat music after all. He glances up towards the sky, wondering how late it was. What he gets instead is a hood full of water.
The goblin doesn't let up his pace, headed for the town no matter how long it took to get to its gates.
"Damnable rain, damnable cold. And damn that thundering. Are you watching, Tyrant? Are you enjoying as I suffer?" The pale Elvish woman pulls her robes tighter around herself as she continues cursing under her breath, her eyes piercing through the night as much as they can in this torrential rain. She shivers, pulling her robes tighter around her in a poor attempt to warm herself. Lucette pushes forward toward the town in the distance, keeping to the safety of the road and glancing around, keeping an eye out for any threats. Lucky thing my pack is water-proof, I don't want to explain to Dionades why the book is soaked through and the ink has run off.
She'd found herself in torrential downpour countless times before; they seemed most suited for clandestine encounters, but she knew better. She knew the wind and the rain and the thunder couldn't be trusted. She places a hand over her abdomen, a brief flash of lightning illuminating her pained expression at the memory of what had happened. She couldn't tell whether it was the pain of that memory or the the wind that made her feel more numb.
She carries a gnarled white wand in one hand, and a snake-shaped staff in the other as she walks. Others would come looking for it, he'd said, and so she made sure she was ready. When she reached the town, she was going to find the nicest, warmest room she could find and sleep away this frustration.
Lucette is moving toward the town along the path at a Normal speed, using her darkvision to give her as much of a benefit as possible.
Perception roll (at disadvantage from the weather effects) to see any nearby threats:
14
Komoi:
Komoi quickly rushes up to the town, his nimble goblin feet carrying him up quite easily. He soon finds the path up is quite muddy and slick however, with several large footprints that turned into puddles from all this rain washing down. The mud pulls at his feet, threatens to suck him in like shallow quicksand, and potentially slows his journey upward.
Komoi begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. He has a +1 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Komoi's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if he decides to keep on the trail.
Komoi makes a Dexterity saving throw!
1d20 + 1 = 2
The mud does prove too much for the little goblin, and he slips and falls over several times. The earthen slush covers his chest, his hands, his cheeks. It takes him considerably longer to reach the town, and when he does, he's an absolute mess.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and he gains his first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. He immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction he was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but he sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
A shiver runs through Komoi as the rain continues to pour down ontop of him. He has a feeling that sickness is prying at his front door.
Lucette:
Lucette begins scaling up the trail, heading for the lights in the distance. The sight gives a small warmth to her bosom at the thought of warm food, a hot bath, and a crackling fireplace. She is reminded of a faint memory of home, when she would press close to Dionades next to the fireplace in the library lounge. The only question is if the memory inspired her to press on or if it simply made her more annoyed and frustrated she was here instead of there.
The elf peers out from the trail, stares out into the darkness around her. The torrential rain and the thunderous lightning makes it hard to hear, but perhaps she can make out something.
A Creature makes a Dexterity (Stealth) check!
1d20 + 4 = 7
Lucette stares out into the night, her eyes scanning all that was out there. She sees darkness, darkness, black, darkness... The elf shifts and looks back, looks again at the odd patch of black. When she returns her eyes, the odd off-shade of the shadows was gone, blended back with the rest of night. Were it not for the sight of thick, soaked, but rustled fur, she might've thought it was a trick of the light.
A man donned in a suit of metal dauntlessly weathers the storm, searching for not only answers but also respite. Respite from the thoughts that cloud his mind, and from the sky's seemingly endless torrent. There seemed to be no end to the storm's malefic embrace, and it only seemed to be getting worse. The young man was at the precipice of becoming one with the surrounding nature, until suddenly, he saw a glimmer of light off in the distance. It would have just been passed off as a desparate trick on the mind if it didn't show itself again a minute after. Before long, the glimmers turned into a solid shimmer. Knowing everythig was sopping wet, he forgoes the light sources in his bag and marches onward toward the source, hope resurging in his soul.
"Is this it? This has to be the place."
He speeds along the terrain, following the path to reduce complications along the march, as any unforseen mishap could eventually lead to his downfall.
Warren plans on following Since perception in general is out of the question, I'm gonna make his pace quick. He might light a torch, but knowing the outcome, I might as well save it for another situation.
In a fleeting flash, Tamara's tempo was anything but slow or at a normal pace. She had no intention of being slowed down by rain, mud, hazards, monsters or even the gods themselves. Her task had no intention of being stopped now - especially at a dire time such as this. But she was tired. So, so - so, tired. The poison had done a number on her body's stamina, but as it faded over the days where she laid in bedrest - puking her guts out - raged had replaced it instead.
With her goggles pulled down and the hood up, cords of the cape drawn tightly - her hood was made sure not to fall off from the fast sprint of the tanned skin human, water dripping down the glass of the goggles much like a window pane, her combat boots sloshing against the thick mud with each step.
Upon seeing the town in the distance - it was like a siren's song in visualised form, painted right before her eyes. "Was this it? Was this the place? No - it couldn't be... could it?" she thought to herself.
Whether it was the place she was running for her life towards or not, she did not care. Her muscles were screaming at her. Stomache churning and growling at her to feed it which she had neglected. Running and eating would have slowed her down, possibly made her throw up more which was not something she looked forward to. But more importantly - stopping in the middle of her chase without having gotten far? That would have been scandalous for her.
Luckily... she has made it quite far. And now... she needs to regain her strength.
With the last ounce of her strength, a playful yet somewhat angry grin spreads along her face as she begins bolting towards the town at a fast pace, stumbling a little upon the way before catching herself and continuing forwards, looking for a warm inn or tavern.
"I am coming for you. And when I find you... I will make sure you regret everything." She thinks to herself again, as her sprint begins carrying her forward towards the flickering lights of the town.
The elf frowns, pressing forward and continuing toward the town. She feels a familiar, friendly warmth as she touches on her connection to her devil, focusing the warmth through her hands and into her wand. If something wished to come at her, she would be ready for it.
Lucette is continuing toward the town, and readies an action to cast Burning Hands if an obvious, hostile threat makes itself known.
Otherwise, she simply continues going until she reaches the town.
Warren:
Warren strives forward, power in his stride and intention burning bright in his eyes. Despite the long and weary journey, his eyes do not deceive him indeed, and he ventures forward toward the town. His thoughts scatter and flee like the rain and the wind around him, and he finds it hard to concentrate from how much that has happened since the Temple. Perhaps he simply needed time to process it all.
As he begins traversing up the slope, he finds it wet, soggy, and slippery. It threatens to trip him several times on his journey upward.
Warren begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. He has a +0 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Warren's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if he decides to keep on the trail.
Warren Hammond makes a Dexterity saving throw!
1d20 + 0 = 11
Warren maintains his balance and his stride however. Although proving treacherous, he is able to scale up all the way to the town.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and he gains his first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. He immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction he was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but he sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
Hammond feels rather cold, and likely miserable, but he does not feel exhaustion seeping in yet.
Tamara:
Tamara's anger fuels her greatly throughout her journey, like wood to a burning fire. Like the storm and the water falling around her however, she finds it was soon being quenched, and that she wouldn't be able to continue at this pace without doing herself harm. The poison was intended to put her out for a week, she remembers hearing from the doctor. It was quite the selection; small enough dose to be far from nonlethal, but big enough to incapacitate her for a period of time. When she left after three days, the doctor believed she wouldn't be able to make it a day, yet alone a month.
And yet here she was.
The lights emerge from the ridgeline, twinkles back to her as if they were responding, "Yes". They only grow in intensity as she approaches, scaling up the trail to the town. Her feet burns more and her stomach does loop-de-loops from the hunger and the pain. She persists on anyways.
As she comes up however, the rain and the water makes the trail slick, wet, slippery. She discovers that it's a far greater endeavor to scale up than she thought.
Tamara begins traveling at a fast pace up to town, moving at 400 feet per minute. She has a +5 to Dexterity saving throws. On a failure, Tamara's trip will be at 200 feet per minute instead, and take 4 minutes, 30 seconds instead, if she decides to keep on the trail.
Tamara makes a Dexterity saving throw!
1d20 + 5 = 16
Her quick, nimble feet and skill in finesse however keeps her moving, and she's able to reach the town in no time.
The path comes to a deep fork in the road, and she gains her first glimpse upon the town.
The village consists of forty or fifty dark wood and stone buildings, some built on sturdier, solid foundations, with others little more than wood planks shoved in the ground. She immediately sees that many if not all of these houses have been damaged. Some of them have deep scratches and slashes in the walls and in the stone. Others have collapsed in on themselves to turn into piles of wooden debris.
The fork divides the trail into a western and an eastern trail. The western trail continues north, in the same direction she was walking, and ascends further up the mountain. The eastern trail dips down and spirals into what appears to be a small quarry. Both trails have houses and buildings all along it, but she sees that the western trail has more sturdier, stone built houses.
Tamara feels rather cold, and likely miserable, but he does not feel exhaustion seeping in yet.
Step after tiny step, Orryn persists. His light frame barely leaves an indention in muddy earth, but each step feels like the ground may swallow his foot whole. The downpour nearly blinds the gnome, as wicked winds attempt to remove his large and egregiously eccentric hat. At times Orryn even feels his heels lift off the ground, even if only for a moment. He remembers hearing tales from his father about the brutal gales of the Northern Lands, and how they picked up a much younger Calben and scattered his belongings for miles. As the severity of the storm begins to dawn on Orryn, a row of buildings reveals itself in the distance. The sight is enough to light touches of hope in his eyes. The thought creeps through his mind that the buildings, look like beautiful smokey Onyx stone set in a black gold ring. Orrin, elated, lifts his legs to bound toward the town, but as soon as he lifts his leg, the wind sweeps him and he lands face down on the mud. It is there, with his curly moustache limp with caked in mud, that he remembers something his father said after Sanctuary.
"My boy, remember this: all that glitters isn't Glittergold."
"right you are pops." Orryn thinks to himself, as he turns to find shelter, and wait out the storm.
Orryn begins to back track, trying to find any type of cover from the storm. He knows that crouched he is no more that 1 1/2 feet tall, and could cover himself with his bedroll, it's not ideal, but it's better than getting blown away. Orryn rolls a survival check with disadvantage to find a place to anchor down until the storm passes.
10
||PbP: Tarvyn's World... DM||
Orynn and Lucette:
Orynn finds the winds sweep down upon him again, blowing so hard that his back began to sting as if a thousand tiny wasps had struck at it. That is when the wind seeps him again, and blows him upward, carrying him up to splat solidly on the ground. The journey from Yogar Valley to here was long, tiring. The cold, yet comforting, nature of the mud feels seductive in an odd way. It's almost as if it wants him to lay down and fall into a long and hearty slumber.
This solid splat did not go unheard however, as the elf nearly 50 feet ahead hears. Lucette sees the short man face-down into the ground, unmoving for a long moment. She then sees him rise up and struggle away from the trail.
Orynn goes to the far western side of the trail, finds a spot with less mud and more rock against the face of it. The rock is far colder than the mud, biting through his clothes and numbing at his back and shoulders. As he slips inside the bedroll, it's far better, but he's not quite sure if this would last him the night. There's no other visible cover around unless he begins exploring.
Orynn and Lucette spot each other and are able to roleplay with each other.
He scales the path undeterred, and nears the source. However, his expression of confidence suddenly turns to worry as he passes by the damaged houses. Seeing as how the houses seem to be taking damage from an unknown source (likely malevolent), Warren heads up the western path, rushing forth to ask the denizens where the nearest tavern coul be found. From there he could collect himself and begin asking for information. But first things first, he has to know the whereabouts of the tavern. After traveling up the western path toward the stone houses, he approaches a nearby house, knocking on the door.
"I seek refuge, do you know where the tavern can be found around here?"
His voice carries through the wind and rain, hoping to catch the attention of anyone inside. Every second is precious, and tarrying has never been on the agenda of a Solacean Knight.
Warren is still traveling through the rain at a swift speed, making use of his fortitude to carry himself through the storm. He only stops to listen to what the commoner has to say before either moving on to the next house, or to the pointed direction of the tavern, saying "Thank you." either way as a response before heading off.
The small goblin tries to let the rain wash off the mud staining his costume, but he doesn't spend too much mind. The fabric of his costume through all odds had never sustained a rip or tear in all time he had worn it. A miracle of craftmanship, he had always assumed. Looking down each path, the goblin takes a stance at the fork in the road. His small chest puffs out with his shoulders thrown back. Chin up, with rain seeping passed the teeth of his plush hood, Komoi begins the ritual to pick a path.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe." He murmurs to himself as he moves a finger between the paths with each word. His finger lands on the Western path and with a shrug, the goblin continues on his way. He looks for a building that might serve as a tavern or inn for him to shelter from the storm.
Warren:
As Warren jogs up the western path, he actually does find people around. A dozen or so commoners are slowly walking throughout the streets, carrying half or full buckets of water in their hands. Their clothes are soaked as well, but from their sunken eyes, low shoulders, and distant gazes, they don't seem to care very much. They're wearing rather ragged clothing, even for commoners. A lot of it seems roughly homemade or old with patches sewed over it.
The door opens up, and a man look up with the same blank, distant gaze. His eyes then narrow at the sight of Warren. "Eh'... yer' an adventurer, right?" he says, then crosses his arms over his chest.
Komoi and Warren:
Komoi proceeds up the western path. As he likely discovered earlier, he doesn't find any town gates or walls of any sort. In-fact, he doesn't see any guards or guardhouses either, as usually he'd be harassed by them the moment he steps in a town. Perhaps they were inside from the storm.
As he walks on by, he spots a tall man decked in gleaming iron armor. The polish of his suit shines cleanly even through the rain, and his shield is as bright as a mirror.
The man is currently talking to another man inside of a house. The man inside the house is wearing rough commoners' clothes, has his arms across his chest, and a scowl on his face. He recognizes this look from the circus troupe owner, who appeared to have it on all the time. It usually wasn't a good sign in his case.
"A traveler is apt enough. I just need to know where the local tavern is located."
Concern clouded his voice. Warren was relieved at the sight of a denizens of a dozen, but their quality of life was extremely questionable, but he could ot tarry. The cold was getting to him, but even with his ridiculous optimism, he knew he couldn't help everyone here. Not now anyway.
The commoner laughs, then leans out the door. He points up the slope further north up the western trail. "You'll want to go to Auntie Beth's. Last tavern owner in this hellhole of a town who serves adventurers. Wench's got more greed than a dragon and a pile of gold."
"You should've stayed home, boy," he says, then stares back to Warren. "You don't know what you got yourself in here."