You sit in the dilapidated basement of a general goods store. The room partially caved in at at the north east corner, now empty barrels air next to the rubble. A fallen bookshelf to disguise the entrance to your makeshift abode. Luckily there is a hole in the roof that leads through to the upstairs allowing for fire to keep warm without filling the room with smoke. Still the smell of the crackling wood and embers fill the room. It’s enough to not smell the damp pile of furs you’ve been sleeping on, until you roll over and your nose grazes your blanket once more. The piles of cloth offer little comfort from the cold hard floor, but you’re used to it. The taste of your last meal sticks to your teeth as it accompanies the perpetual cramp in your stomach that you are never actually full. Rats and mushrooms never tend to be the feast you only have in your memories now.
The orange glow flickers and dances across yourself and the walls. These walls you’ve called home for weeks. These walls you know you will have to leave soon, whether far away or another basement in the city. The nerves begin to creep in about the possibility of not being safe again, like you were here.... because of these walls, these walls...
Maybe a hint of sadness, knowing the the long deceased shop keeper will be left behind upstairs. A dwarven elderly man - Boris Dawnhammer Will now be stuck alone now. You remember before the Sundering he was always fair, a cranky old curmudgeon, but fair. You might think about saying a prayer, but don’t really know if there is anything to pray to. Sleep takes you.
OOC: Welcome everyone, glad you made it. Feel free to write an intro for your character, description and then we will get this show on the road!
Fouder watches the glowing embers at the base of the fire. This is the latest object he is fixing his eyes on. Each day and a half he choose something else to watch, something new to observe doing nothing, something else to take his mind off the situation he is currently in.
How did it get like this? How did he end up here, in this basement, with these people?
Fouder dips his head, fondles the amulet hanging around his neck, breathes in the smoky haze that fills the room and wills to hear from his deity. He knows he is being tested, he knows they all are. He presses his fingers into the grooves of the metal amulet, recalling the good fortune he has been afforded in the past.
Things will change. They have to. And surely, surely, they can't get much worse?
Fingolin has white hair, long and straight, pale skin and steel grey eyes with black sclera. He's wearing simple grey clothing, but perfectly clean in spite of the circumstances.
Close to the fire, hugging his lute, Fingolin plucks timid notes, barely audible over the crackling and popping of the firewood. He could lift spirits with his music, but what good whould that do? He was tired. Maybe tomorrow.
Telenzaz is strange even for a tiefling as his ancestor was a demon of no small power, being a Balor which is almost at the top of the demon kind. His horns are curved end in wicked sharp points that appear as if they would make good daggers. His eyes are the same crimson color as his leathery skin with two reptile like slits for pupils. Finally his tail ends in what looks to be like a barbed spear head. His most human feature is his once well kept hair that had grown into a long mess. His clothing consists of a black cloak worn over well made studded leather armor and ragged travel clothing. On his belt he carries a fine rapier and a quiver for the bolts of his hand crossbow.
Telenzaz tends to be a rather quiet person and always keeps at least one of his hands near his weapons. He his spot in the room the group is held up in is a corner that gives him a good view of the entire room and the entrance. What may be the strangest part of his actions is that he eats all his food face, including the rat he had cooked over the fire the night before.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Stroking his wiry black beard, Solomon ponders its growth, and decides to keep it. It would certainly help ward off the cold if the fire was left to die, again. Lying on his back, his tarnished chain mail feels uncomfortable, but he dares not take it off, lest they have to move suddenly. His sword (notched) and shield (dented) prop each other up against the wall. He notes a spot of blood on the blade of the sword and promises to himself that he will clean it when he gets up. He scratches the ear of his familiar, a weasel named Skink, curled up into his neck, and tries to suppress the pangs of hunger that keep him awake.
Arell lets his head fall against the wall, the short jab of pain reminding him that yes, he was still alive. Another day. He opens his eyes, looks around at the others, here, crouched in the darkness. It had been many days since he had last shivered at the sight of the guy with the weasel, the Eladrin with the pitch-black eyes, or even the demon sitting in the corner. It had become normal. Or what passed as normal, at least.
"O'er the misty forests of old," he begins to sing to the tune Fingolin was so wistfully playing by the fire, his voice melodic but carrying a rumble that hadn't been there before the Sundering. It was an old song, one he'd heard several times when he was still a child,"Where the Maker mused on flowers gold. Where the wind played softly with the boughs, 'ere the maiden may be ours. One day, one day, upon the fields. One day, my friends..." he trails off, letting the tune carry in the half-darkness for a few moments before that, too, died.
With a groan he pushes himself to his feet, his baggy breeches and shirt stained with old age. He'd traded his finer clothing for food, early on, but he isn't sure now if it had been the right call. His locks of dark hair are dusty, and more than a few gray hairs had sprouted despite his young age, likely due to the stress of simply surviving. His face is still handsome, as if that is worth anything, and he's made a point of keeping his beard trimmed. One of the few things he has not let go to chaos.
Slow, dragging steps take him past Fouder, and he simply pats him on the shoulder twice, a simple, wordless sign of assurance that they would make it through, somehow. He lifts his chin, then says to nobody in particular, "What is the plan today? Anybody going out for food, or have we decided today is the day we leave this place?"
After Arell quietly bellows his tune and asks questions about the day. There can be rustling heard upstairs. Louder than the normal rats or vermin. Muffled crashing of wood and debris begins to be shuffled around. Scraping of the table legs being pushed out of the way. Definitely scavengers looking for something upstairs. At the same time you begin to hear the same debris being lifted and moved around from Wooden pallet that has been acting as your door into the basement. Several footsteps upstairs... small but quick. Definitely something larger by the front door.
chatter begins to be whispered from upstairs as movement begins. “Chelak tuvak doreth enferlo apa Tudeh.”
anyone who speaks undercommon:
“You see? Smoke, others here... look around.
It’s just a matter of moments until the door gets lifted up and whoever is upstairs looks down. What would you like to do?
Tennezaz will draw his crossbow out and load it quickly, pointing it towards the door as he hears the strange voices from above. Once it is loaded and ready to fire, the tiefling will motion for the others to get there own weapons ready.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Arell moves quickly to stand just underneath the door leading up, beseeching his Fae patron to help him scare off whomever is upstairs by causing the illusion of some wild beast hiding in this room rather than a few straggling refugees.
Mechanics & OOC:
OOC: I dislike writing one-sentence posts, but it's 3 AM and I have an early appointment tomorrow.
Granted the door is 'adjacent', I will use Fey Presence: Once per short rest, as an action, you can cause each creature in a 10-ft. cube from you to make a WIS saving throw (DC 14) or become charmed or frightened by you (your choice) until the end of your next turn.
Fingolin stands and begins to slowly circle away from the fire towards the darker side of the room. At the same time, he picks a few muted notes on the lute then strikes a chord that turns into the wail of a banshee he heard in the Feywild and still gave him nightmares.
Fouder rises to his feet, the deep ache in his bones slowing the process. He listens for the footsteps, trying to ascertain how many intruders are up there.
Observing his companions decisions, Fouder reaches into his pocket to pull out the tiny strip of formerly white cloth, turned grubby and grey over time. Rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, he mutters in Dwarvish under his breath.
Fouder casts Aid on Fingolin, Tennezaz and himself, raising their hit point maximum by 5 for the next 8 hours.
Sighing quietly, Solomon moves to a crouching position and readies his own crossbow; his sword and shield within arms reach. He listens to the chattering of voices, words unintelligible, looking at his assortment of companions for any hints that they know what is being said upstairs.
The screams of the imaginary Banshee and shaking of the door are enough to stop the shuffling around of the items outside. You hear screaming of a man “Oh gods, what the hell is in there? We need to run!” As you here the screams begin to fade. Hearing this a ruckus is heard upstairs in reaction. As a goblin trips and falls through the hole and lands in the fire bouncing off the wood as embers fly into the air, disturbing the dancing orange glow. You here more talking upstairs (anyone speak undercommon?)
You see two more goblins jump down after their companion (goblins 1-3) down into your living area. While the shadows of (goblins 4-6) line up around the hole with crossbows ready.
The screams have disappears for now from outside the door. But some rustling has continued.
Through the scattering of ash and ember the first bolt misses by and inch in the left side of the tiny elusive goblin. The second one after Telanazz takes a breath and strikes true. Caving in the face of the goblin as it dies on impact.
Goblin 2 and 3 respond in kind shooting one bolt towards Telanazz and one towards Fingolin.
G2 vs Tel - Attack: 18 Damage: 4
G3 vs Fin - Attack: 15 Damage: 4
After that they scatter to the corner and dive under some loose debris and soiled blanket.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The fight erupting inside the home is echoing within the walls. Arell heats the shuffling stop outside, a brief moment of relief comes over but it is harshly interrupted by a Dark brown Minotaur crashing through the wooden barrier and charging through the doorway , charging through with its silver tipped horns leading through as it attempts to gore anything in its path. A braided beard hangs from its chin and its battle axe glimmers in the light between the flying shards of wood.
Minotaur Gore Attack vs Arell - Attack: 7 Damage: 18
on a hit Arell has to make a dc 14 strength save or be pushed prone.
Arell dives out of the doorway as they hear the trudging footstomps of whatever is coming. Standing within melee range of the towering figure as it has trouble standing upright in the confined space.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Well dodged, Arell. I'm not sure you're a match for it, but you can surely try." Despite the words and how little emotion Fingolin puts into them, Arell feels inspired.
Turning towards the minotaur, Fingolin starts to whisper long syllables in sylvan, too silent for anyone to hear, except the minotaur who seems to flinch in rhythm to Fingolin's moving lips.
You sit in the dilapidated basement of a general goods store. The room partially caved in at at the north east corner, now empty barrels air next to the rubble. A fallen bookshelf to disguise the entrance to your makeshift abode. Luckily there is a hole in the roof that leads through to the upstairs allowing for fire to keep warm without filling the room with smoke. Still the smell of the crackling wood and embers fill the room. It’s enough to not smell the damp pile of furs you’ve been sleeping on, until you roll over and your nose grazes your blanket once more. The piles of cloth offer little comfort from the cold hard floor, but you’re used to it. The taste of your last meal sticks to your teeth as it accompanies the perpetual cramp in your stomach that you are never actually full. Rats and mushrooms never tend to be the feast you only have in your memories now.
The orange glow flickers and dances across yourself and the walls. These walls you’ve called home for weeks. These walls you know you will have to leave soon, whether far away or another basement in the city. The nerves begin to creep in about the possibility of not being safe again, like you were here.... because of these walls, these walls...
Maybe a hint of sadness, knowing the the long deceased shop keeper will be left behind upstairs. A dwarven elderly man - Boris Dawnhammer Will now be stuck alone now. You remember before the Sundering he was always fair, a cranky old curmudgeon, but fair. You might think about saying a prayer, but don’t really know if there is anything to pray to. Sleep takes you.
OOC: Welcome everyone, glad you made it. Feel free to write an intro for your character, description and then we will get this show on the road!
Fouder watches the glowing embers at the base of the fire. This is the latest object he is fixing his eyes on. Each day and a half he choose something else to watch, something new to observe doing nothing, something else to take his mind off the situation he is currently in.
How did it get like this? How did he end up here, in this basement, with these people?
Fouder dips his head, fondles the amulet hanging around his neck, breathes in the smoky haze that fills the room and wills to hear from his deity. He knows he is being tested, he knows they all are. He presses his fingers into the grooves of the metal amulet, recalling the good fortune he has been afforded in the past.
Things will change. They have to. And surely, surely, they can't get much worse?
Zydalia Quexx - Level 2 - Tiefling/Barbarian
Fouder Amberbreaker - Level 4 - Mountain Dwarf/Tempest Cleric
DM - The Children of Hadal
Fingolin has white hair, long and straight, pale skin and steel grey eyes with black sclera. He's wearing simple grey clothing, but perfectly clean in spite of the circumstances.
Close to the fire, hugging his lute, Fingolin plucks timid notes, barely audible over the crackling and popping of the firewood. He could lift spirits with his music, but what good whould that do? He was tired. Maybe tomorrow.
Telenzaz is strange even for a tiefling as his ancestor was a demon of no small power, being a Balor which is almost at the top of the demon kind. His horns are curved end in wicked sharp points that appear as if they would make good daggers. His eyes are the same crimson color as his leathery skin with two reptile like slits for pupils. Finally his tail ends in what looks to be like a barbed spear head. His most human feature is his once well kept hair that had grown into a long mess. His clothing consists of a black cloak worn over well made studded leather armor and ragged travel clothing. On his belt he carries a fine rapier and a quiver for the bolts of his hand crossbow.
Telenzaz tends to be a rather quiet person and always keeps at least one of his hands near his weapons. He his spot in the room the group is held up in is a corner that gives him a good view of the entire room and the entrance. What may be the strangest part of his actions is that he eats all his food face, including the rat he had cooked over the fire the night before.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Solomon
Stroking his wiry black beard, Solomon ponders its growth, and decides to keep it. It would certainly help ward off the cold if the fire was left to die, again. Lying on his back, his tarnished chain mail feels uncomfortable, but he dares not take it off, lest they have to move suddenly. His sword (notched) and shield (dented) prop each other up against the wall. He notes a spot of blood on the blade of the sword and promises to himself that he will clean it when he gets up. He scratches the ear of his familiar, a weasel named Skink, curled up into his neck, and tries to suppress the pangs of hunger that keep him awake.
Arell lets his head fall against the wall, the short jab of pain reminding him that yes, he was still alive. Another day.
He opens his eyes, looks around at the others, here, crouched in the darkness. It had been many days since he had last shivered at the sight of the guy with the weasel, the Eladrin with the pitch-black eyes, or even the demon sitting in the corner. It had become normal. Or what passed as normal, at least.
"O'er the misty forests of old," he begins to sing to the tune Fingolin was so wistfully playing by the fire, his voice melodic but carrying a rumble that hadn't been there before the Sundering. It was an old song, one he'd heard several times when he was still a child, "Where the Maker mused on flowers gold. Where the wind played softly with the boughs, 'ere the maiden may be ours. One day, one day, upon the fields. One day, my friends..." he trails off, letting the tune carry in the half-darkness for a few moments before that, too, died.
With a groan he pushes himself to his feet, his baggy breeches and shirt stained with old age. He'd traded his finer clothing for food, early on, but he isn't sure now if it had been the right call. His locks of dark hair are dusty, and more than a few gray hairs had sprouted despite his young age, likely due to the stress of simply surviving. His face is still handsome, as if that is worth anything, and he's made a point of keeping his beard trimmed. One of the few things he has not let go to chaos.
Slow, dragging steps take him past Fouder, and he simply pats him on the shoulder twice, a simple, wordless sign of assurance that they would make it through, somehow. He lifts his chin, then says to nobody in particular, "What is the plan today? Anybody going out for food, or have we decided today is the day we leave this place?"
Lynn-Marie Verine-Wintercleaver, Human Bloodhunter - Adventures in Esyldien
Finan Caible, Human Bard - Joys of Balance
Yroc Grumbak, Orc Fighlock - Pizazz's ToA
Arell Peroan, Half-Elf Warlonk - Scattered Gods
ESC! | 10|33|5~
After Arell quietly bellows his tune and asks questions about the day. There can be rustling heard upstairs. Louder than the normal rats or vermin. Muffled crashing of wood and debris begins to be shuffled around. Scraping of the table legs being pushed out of the way. Definitely scavengers looking for something upstairs. At the same time you begin to hear the same debris being lifted and moved around from Wooden pallet that has been acting as your door into the basement. Several footsteps upstairs... small but quick. Definitely something larger by the front door.
chatter begins to be whispered from upstairs as movement begins. “Chelak tuvak doreth enferlo apa Tudeh.”
anyone who speaks undercommon:
“You see? Smoke, others here... look around.
It’s just a matter of moments until the door gets lifted up and whoever is upstairs looks down. What would you like to do?
Tennezaz will draw his crossbow out and load it quickly, pointing it towards the door as he hears the strange voices from above. Once it is loaded and ready to fire, the tiefling will motion for the others to get there own weapons ready.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Arell moves quickly to stand just underneath the door leading up, beseeching his Fae patron to help him scare off whomever is upstairs by causing the illusion of some wild beast hiding in this room rather than a few straggling refugees.
Mechanics & OOC:
OOC: I dislike writing one-sentence posts, but it's 3 AM and I have an early appointment tomorrow.
Granted the door is 'adjacent', I will use Fey Presence:
Once per short rest, as an action, you can cause each creature in a 10-ft. cube from you to make a WIS saving throw (DC 14) or become charmed or frightened by you (your choice) until the end of your next turn.
Lynn-Marie Verine-Wintercleaver, Human Bloodhunter - Adventures in Esyldien
Finan Caible, Human Bard - Joys of Balance
Yroc Grumbak, Orc Fighlock - Pizazz's ToA
Arell Peroan, Half-Elf Warlonk - Scattered Gods
ESC! | 10|33|5~
Fingolin stands and begins to slowly circle away from the fire towards the darker side of the room. At the same time, he picks a few muted notes on the lute then strikes a chord that turns into the wail of a banshee he heard in the Feywild and still gave him nightmares.
Minor Illusion
Fouder rises to his feet, the deep ache in his bones slowing the process. He listens for the footsteps, trying to ascertain how many intruders are up there.
Observing his companions decisions, Fouder reaches into his pocket to pull out the tiny strip of formerly white cloth, turned grubby and grey over time. Rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, he mutters in Dwarvish under his breath.
Fouder casts Aid on Fingolin, Tennezaz and himself, raising their hit point maximum by 5 for the next 8 hours.
Zydalia Quexx - Level 2 - Tiefling/Barbarian
Fouder Amberbreaker - Level 4 - Mountain Dwarf/Tempest Cleric
DM - The Children of Hadal
? Wisdom save: 13
(Work is busy, will update on lunch hour)
Sighing quietly, Solomon moves to a crouching position and readies his own crossbow; his sword and shield within arms reach. He listens to the chattering of voices, words unintelligible, looking at his assortment of companions for any hints that they know what is being said upstairs.
Ready crossbow as an action.
The screams of the imaginary Banshee and shaking of the door are enough to stop the shuffling around of the items outside. You hear screaming of a man “Oh gods, what the hell is in there? We need to run!” As you here the screams begin to fade. Hearing this a ruckus is heard upstairs in reaction. As a goblin trips and falls through the hole and lands in the fire bouncing off the wood as embers fly into the air, disturbing the dancing orange glow. You here more talking upstairs (anyone speak undercommon?)
Initiative:
Arell - 11
Fingolin - 18
Fouder - 4
Solomon - 7
Telenazz - 24
Goblins 1-3 - 22
Goblins 4-6 - 10
? - 21
? - 8
You see two more goblins jump down after their companion (goblins 1-3) down into your living area. While the shadows of (goblins 4-6) line up around the hole with crossbows ready.
The screams have disappears for now from outside the door. But some rustling has continued.
Telenazz’s initiative
Telenzaz will fire his hand crossbow once and then reload it quickly to hit the goblin that fell into the fire.
Handcrossbow 1: Attack: 9 Damage: 7
Bonus Action Handcrossbow: Attack: 18 Damage: 9
If anyone is close enough I will do Sneak Attack just incase.
Sneak Attack: 8
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Through the scattering of ash and ember the first bolt misses by and inch in the left side of the tiny elusive goblin. The second one after Telanazz takes a breath and strikes true. Caving in the face of the goblin as it dies on impact.
Goblin 2 and 3 respond in kind shooting one bolt towards Telanazz and one towards Fingolin.
G2 vs Tel - Attack: 18 Damage: 4
G3 vs Fin - Attack: 15 Damage: 4
After that they scatter to the corner and dive under some loose debris and soiled blanket.
G2,G3 bonus action - hide: 15, 8
The fight erupting inside the home is echoing within the walls. Arell heats the shuffling stop outside, a brief moment of relief comes over but it is harshly interrupted by a Dark brown Minotaur crashing through the wooden barrier and charging through the doorway , charging through with its silver tipped horns leading through as it attempts to gore anything in its path. A braided beard hangs from its chin and its battle axe glimmers in the light between the flying shards of wood.
Minotaur Gore Attack vs Arell - Attack: 7 Damage: 18
on a hit Arell has to make a dc 14 strength save or be pushed prone.
Fingolin and Arell initiative
Arell dives out of the doorway as they hear the trudging footstomps of whatever is coming. Standing within melee range of the towering figure as it has trouble standing upright in the confined space.
"Well dodged, Arell. I'm not sure you're a match for it, but you can surely try." Despite the words and how little emotion Fingolin puts into them, Arell feels inspired.
Turning towards the minotaur, Fingolin starts to whisper long syllables in sylvan, too silent for anyone to hear, except the minotaur who seems to flinch in rhythm to Fingolin's moving lips.
Dissonant Whispers 7 (DC 14 wis save)
If he can, Fingolin will move behind Fouder or Solomon, whichever is closer.