The smaller one clears his throat and raises his tiny arms in a flourish, "May I present to you Master Lanu Galu, Wiseman of the Western Planes, Shaman of Jaci, Shogun of Shadows, and Chief Handshaker of the 7 Moons. And, I am his apprentice, Arnack."*bowing*
Unleashing the ropes to the very well organized pack and lowering it to the ground, he continues at a clipped pace, "We do apologize, My Lady. We honestly thought you were dead, as we could find no air and you did not move when prodded." He searches through the assortment of luggage, bags, and cases to make a pile of equipment. "Allow me a few moments to get it all sorted for you."
Moving with purpose, but at a tortle pace, "We haven't seen another living being in some time. Isn't this place amazing! So many wonders to behold. Tricky, though, I should warn you. Very tricky. Luckily, I haved the Master to guide me. We are, actually, on a quest to meet your Queen. So far, we've had no luck getting to her realm, but we are patient. Oh so, very patient. We've been through different planes and at least three demiplanes to get here. Each one teaching us something different. Honestly, I have no idea where or what this place is, but it plays host to a major gate to the Shadow Realm. That much I do know." He gestures towards the gate.
"We've been watching it for some time now for the chance, or rather acceptance, of an audience with the Queen. The only thing we found was you, so we travelled on, until we saw the gate light up. It was brilliant, no? The master was in the middle of telling me a story about your queen, when we turned around not far from here." He continues on with describing their journey while he works.
Once done, each carrying case is repacked, closed up, and put back into place. The elaborate pulley system is reengaged, which slides everything right back up onto his back like it never left. "You'll find every item you were carrying. Unfortunately, we are not merchants, but we are willing to share information and perhaps an item or two. If, my master agrees, that it is?" He looks at you with a wink, and then to the larger tortle.
"Greetings," says Master Galu, holding out his front appendages and pausing.
"Umm, yes," says Arnack, "He will now present to you, Devotee of the Raven Queen, a handshake of Sorrowful Deference."*bows again*
The older tortle, gracefully raises the back of his hands to his eyes and moves his head back in a swaying motion. His fingers wave to the beat of the movement.
Lowering them, he then looks to you and nods. "Touched by the Queen, yes?"Pause"Take a moment. Collect yourself and your things."Pause.
He then turns towards the gate. His apprentice following after, but not before he lays a bag alongside the pile.
All of your items are returned, along with a few others. Refer to your character sheet for more.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Master Lanu Galu"Gwyllen says, raising her hands about face level and wiggling her fingers and giving a slight bow, totally lost on the customs of Tortles. "Is this right...?"she mouths to Arnack before lowering her hands and giving him a nod.
"Thank you for being willing to return my things"she says digs through the items, finding a beautiful bag that somehow seems to hold, well everything she piles into it. "Well met, Arnack. These gifts are wonderful."She sees that he has sewn her cloak up with a delicate hand and glances up at his fingers quizzically. "That's a fine stitch!"she smiles as she pulls off the old piece of fabric the Raven had provided, Fiachra hopping from her shoulder to land on the ground next to her. She quickly dresses in her own clothes and sighs with relief. Reassuring feelings of good will ripple around her toward the Tortles.
A look of dread momentarily crosses her face for a moment before she finds the frosty orb and her book of Shadows. She and quickly stashes the orb in her belt pouch and runs her fingers across the spine of the book before placing it in an unseen cloak pocket, visibly relaxing.
Fiachra caws and hops onto the equipment, digging around with its beak for the shiny things. It rolls a metal spyglass towards Gwyllen, cocking its head to give her the "take my advice"side eye. Fi' keeps digging and also finds a strange item and croaks at lowly in a contemplative tone.
Gwyllen, who had been strapping the sheaths of her twin daggers back to her bandoleer, catches a glimpse of Fi's finds and reaches over, picking up the spyglass in one hand and the strange artifact in the other. Turning the mystery over a few times in her palm, she squints at it, trying to decipher the details and sense if it is magic in origin. "What's this here?" she asks Arnack in a hushed tone as the Tortles begin turning away. She focuses intently on the item, opening her mind to feel its power.
Arcana 14
Investigation 4
Beginning to find herself back in-tune with her Fey senses...
Clearing his throat, Arnack says with a soft intensity, "Memories for your Mistress. We've been collecting them from all over." He then turns and follows his master towards the table and dais.
In her hands lies a rectangle book. Hard covered and loosely bound, both ends are wrapped in a soft, green jewel-toned fabric with decorative metal edging at the corners. In the middle of the front cover is an oval mirror, surrounded by more fancy metal work. As her spell takes hold, there is magic radiating towards the back of the book, necromantic in origin and powerful, but she is unable to discern what the spell(s) are without further study or assistance. The book itself holds no magic.
There is also magic surrounding both of the Tortles, as they slowly walk. Arnack has so much on his back, it's hard to see if he himself is magical or not. Both of their staffs are most definitely magic and so is Master Galu himself, but it is inky black and rolling off of him.
Back to the book, inside there are palm-sized portraits that bare no sign of markings or paint, but show images of humans mostly in repose with their eyes closed. Many infants, but some older children and adults in layered fancy dress. It only occurs to Gwyllen, as she flips through, that they are all dead.
The very last page of the book is another image that bares no ink, watercolor, or paint, but this one is different. It is an image of a heavy looking metal object, shaped like a triangle left opened at one corner. There is another slender metal length pictured with it. A far amount of magic is emanating from the page, which is sending out waves of energy that raises the hairs on the back of her neck.
Roll a WIS Save at a disadvantage (ongoing effects from gate)
Basking in the waves of necromantic energy, Gwyllen begins to hear a faint, otherworldly bell ringing from all around her.
Moment by moment, it begins to creep closer. At the same time, the slender metal length in the photo beings to shake, lifting itself with an unseen hand inside the framed image in front of her.
To her right, another noise appears. At first, it is a kind of scraping sound, then morphing into something like dried, hollow reeds rustling in the wind. Right when the echo grows loud enough to be full recognized, the skeleton sits up.
One of the tortles, most likely Arnack by the pitch, yelps as the skeleton's head turns in Gwyllen's direction, mouth gaping.
Suddenly, Master Galu speaks over his shoulder, "Close"..."The"..."Book!"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The bells tolling in her ears are as disorienting as the strange image seems to hypnotize her with its power… Is that picture moving? What the hell? she thinks, turning the book at a slight angle.
As the skeleton’s ghastly structure begins to appear in her peripheral, she suddenly hears the Chief Handshaker speak with his words with an undeniably commanding tone. She snaps out of her stupor and slams the book shut, laying it solidly on its back next to the pile of items she had yet to retrieve.
Fiachra takes to the sky, cawing shrilly as it eyes the scene below, sending Gwyllen images of the foe from above.
Gwyllen moves swiftly, coming up next to the Tortles as she pulls her hand from her cloak, punching outward towards the skeleton. She exhales deeply in a raspy hiss as thick frost pours from her nose, mouth and eyes. She falls to one knee but somehow maintains her grip on the orb as thick ice crystals run their way up to her elbow.
A freezing cloud of mist puffs forward a boney appendage tears itself from her knckles, careening towards the animated bones.
Chill TouchTo hit- 19 / Damage - 5
On a hit, the target takes 1d8 necrotic damage, and it can’t regain hit points until the start of your next turn. Until then, the hand clings to the target. If you hit an undead target, it also has disadvantage on attack rolls against you until the end of your next turn.
Master Galu looks down at the young human, then to the skeleton, and back again.
"Your"..."Form"..."Needs"..."Work," he says with a hint of amusement in his tone. Adding, "Come"..."Sit"..."With"..."Us."..."It's"..."Not"..."Going"..."Anywhere."
Gwyllen could see, as the misty freeze barrelled towards the bones, that it had become lifeless again. Falling over and spilling bones in all directions.
Arnack was suppressing a giggle near her and turned to continue on their table travels, saying, *snicker* "Yes, do join us. You asked us where you are, and we'd like to show you."*snort*
Gwyllen sucks in deep gasps of air."You've got to be ******* kidding me... give me a moment and I will come sit with you."
She turns and flings her cloak wide, slicing the air with the side of her hand. "Suak kontsumitzen utzi!"A firebolt roars from her fingertips, toward the bones, exhibiting her frustration. Her eyes blaze with orange flames, sparking and popping and the sickening wave of skin-prickling Fey energy rolls off of her momentarily.
Upon impact, the bones should ignite...
Finding her way back to her feet, she slowly her way back to the pile of equipment, tossing a few necessities into the small backpack for quick access and the rest into the magical bag. She stashes the spyglass in her belt pouch and slings the lyre over her back with the 2 bags, before finally crouching to retrieve her beloved weapons.
Squatting on the balls of her feet, she retrieves her trusty spear, touching her forehead against the cool wood before resting it against her clavicle. Slowly retrieving her Daggers from the dust, she notices that they resonate with a new energy... there is something very different about them and they emanate a faint ringing. Turning each over a few times, she opens her mind to the new feeling that the weapons hold. She has known them all these years, but they have a resonance now. Her aura glows with a snowy sheen as she concentrates and she feels at peace for the moment of contemplation.
Gwyllen reaches out with her Fey senses while she feels the blades, trying to decipher what power they hold.
Meanwhile, Fiachra has decided to go dig through the pile of rags one last time... It hops around them in a circle, before digging its beak right in, tossing the rags all around to figure out just what the hell is going on with them.
Mimicking Gwyllen's mood, the RotR dances atop the gate, cawing in triumph as flames consume the bone pile.
The raven comes down off the gate, while Gwyllen collects her items and weapons to inspect the scene with interest. Spending a bit of time on anything shiny. It is particularly interested when Gwy takes a moment to commune with her daggers.
With Gwy's Fey senses now outstretched, they are a buzz with the crackling energy of the gate, the sudden smell of staleness in the air, and the sound of a dirge accompanying the faint bells. At this moment, the RotR jumps to her free shoulder and touches its beak to her ear.
A familiar-ish voice, smooth and airy, whispers to her, "My sweet icy child...the bells are calling for you. Ranna will now truly bring sleep to a foe, while Mosrael will bring about your demise through healing, if you let it. Be wary, once rung others will be drawn to their music." At that, the moment passes, and the raven flies back up to the gate, cawing with laughter along the way.
The rag pile's potential is apparently too much for Fiachra, and she begins to pilfer. Not finding much of note until end. On the ground is a magnificently woven rug with gold fiber tassels and intricate geometric designs.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Rug - 20
Gwyllen - 9 Faichra - 3 Tortles are busy and don't pay attention
Faichra is mesmerized by the shiny gold tassles. She can't take her eyes off of them and caws at Gwyllen with excitement. Not able to hold back, she begins to peck and pull on the tassels closest to her.
This is when Gwyllen notices the carpet begin to lift off the ground.
Faichra is caught totally unaware, as the rug twists up suddenly in the air and lunges at the bird.
Attack roll = 10
The rug is trying to grapple (escape DC 13). If she fails, then until this grapple ends, the target is restrained, blinded, and at risk of suffocating.
It scoops up Faichra with one fluid motion and envelopes her within its folds. Twisting and turning to try and entomb her.
Grapple Escape Check on her turn (Str or Dex, whichever is higher)
Gwyllen finds herself decidedly unsettled by the Raven’s whispers, and turns a side-eye to give it a look, eyebrow cocked.
Giving her daggers one last once over, she whispers back to the Raven -“I will find a way to use the Sisters in your service, my Queen.”
She sheaths them reverently as she comes back to a standing position, giving the Raven’s smooth feathers a soft caress with her cheek and palming her spear as it angles away from its propped position against her collarbone.
Her meditation complete, she begins slowly pacing to the table to join the Tortles.
Meanwhile, Fiachra skirms and flaps, trying to escape the animated carpet’s grasp desperately.
Dexterity Save - 4
Gwyllen groans as the strange sight catches her eye, hearing her little Friend’s strangled squawks.“We must help our fellow Raven.”
Gwyllen carefully approaches the scene, baffled by the moving carpeting. She taps her foot in contemplation briefly before glancing down at Ranna’s pommel. The designs engraved there pulse a calming energy, almost drawing her to find a place to relax.
Shrugging, and not sure what other options she has, she pulls Ranna from its sheath. Not wanting to risk stabbing Fiachra (even though it wouldn’t really make a difference), she raises the blunt end of the weapon and strikes down on the strange fabric anomaly.
"Guide my hand, my Queen, I could use at least one victory today" she pleads.
To Hit - 12
Upon Success - Sleep
This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber. Roll 5d8; the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect. Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures).
Rolling for HP Total 5d8 + 2nd Level Caster Bonus - Additional 2d8 = 24
Just as Gwyllen arrives at the scene, the rug twists in on itself and becomes a ball, trapping Fiachra inside.
The RotR caws softly at the mention of the Queen and looks on inquisitively, as the pommel strikes true, but with a thud, on the rug. The fibers shiver for a moment, splaying the tassels out like a sudden yawn, only to tighten it's grip a moment later. Then, with just that little movement, there is a sudden emptiness in the space where Fiachra usually resides in Gwyllen.
The RotR begins to physically mimic Gwyllen's earlier outburst, but its caws are pure laughter.
Now having finished it's purpose, the rug begins to slowly unravel itself. Just as it's about to settle back down on the ground, it rears up back and lunges for Gwyllen.
Attack roll = 9
The rug fails its one purpose in life.
Bouncing off her armor, the rug recoils up and waits. Swaying ever so slightly, as if reevaluating its plan of attack.
Gwyllen scoffs at the tapestry, as it smacks her in the chest and falls back. She feels her rage boil as Fiachra is snuffed out, and her eyes go inky black as she raises her hand and thunders -"Garaia da zurea, hiltzeko ehuna!"
Firebolt -
To Hit - 18
Damage - 6
I assume the rug is flammable, but I'm not in charge. I can't find anything besides the oil item that describes the effects of being lit on fire though.
"burns for 2 rounds and deals 5 fire damage"
As she casts the Bolt at the thready horror, she turns and runs back toward the Tortles
(OOC - Max movement 30 feet, not sure where that puts me, but she'll move around anything crazy, like stepping into a portal...)
The rug moves like a cobra, sensing the air for any movement. The both of you move in tandem, one with fickle flame and the one with sparkly tassels.
The bolt shoots straight from Gwyllen's hand with the force of her emotions, and the rug takes a direct hit to what would be its head area. Lighting a patch on fire that burns into a slow, silent scream. With its right tassel, the rug makes an effort to put out the flames and with the other, it takes one last swipe at the warlock. Extending itself and forgoing the fire fighting to reach its prey.
Attack Roll: 25
Encircling her arm with a tassel, the rug flings itself onto Gwyllen and tries to engulf her in its folds. Fabric is everywhere, the smell is musty, old, and earthy. The feel of the cloth is rougher and heavier than it appears, as it brings the firey patch down upon her head to finish the job.
Athletics or Acrobatic Check, your choice. (escape DC 13)
Meanwhile, Master Galu and Arnack were just about to reach the table when they look over to see the rug engulf Fiarcha and Gwyllen heading over to the pile. They look at each other, at Gwyllen, and back to each other. "Should we help her, Master?," Arnack says. "We probably should, given everything we know about her, " he continues, nodding along to his own statement for emphasis.
"Punishment."..."Is." ... "Why." ... "She's." ... "Here." States the elder tortle, shaking his head. He adds as he finally makes his way to a table chair, "We." ... "Have." ... "Done." ... "More" ... "Than." ... "Enough."
Following a bit behind his mentor, Arnack stumbles out, "Bbbbut, Master, surely we could help oooone last time? It's jjjjust a rug."
"Exactly."..."Young."..."One."..."It's."..."Only."..."A."..."Rug."..."The."..."Queen."..."Deserves."..."Excellence." The now sitting Wiseman states, smugly, and waits to be attended by Arnack.
The pupil reluctantly begins to release his pack and prepare his Master's papers. Looking over at Gwyllen just as the burning rug pulls itself on the human. Eyes wide and fretting, he pleads, "Please, Master! It would only take a flick of my staff."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The weight of the rug is too much for Gwyllen when she starts to tumble. Just as she falls to her knees, the rug whips around her and brings her into a slow, crushing hug.
Completely enveloped by the rug's uncanny strength, there is only blackness and smoke. The fire has caught her cloak and some of her hair on fire, but it too is struggling from lack of air.
She is now Restrained, Blinded, at risk of Suffocating, and has taken 4 fire damage (on your sheet). She can only hold her breath for up to 2 minutes and survive for only 1 round once she runs out.
Suffocating
A creature can hold its breath for a number of minutes equal to 1 + its Constitution modifier (minimum of 30 seconds).
When a creature runs out of breath or is choking, it can survive for a number of rounds equal to its Constitution modifier (minimum of 1 round). At the start of its next turn, it drops to 0 hit points and is dying, and it can't regain hit points or be stabilized until it can breathe again. For example, a creature with a Constitution of 14 can hold its breath for 3 minutes. If it starts suffocating, it has 2 rounds to reach air before it drops to 0 hit points.
While grappled and on fire, at the start of each of her turns, she'll take 12 bludgeoning damage and 6 fire damage (fire = one more round only).
An urgent gurgle escapes Arnack's beak when Gwyllen succumbed to the rug's embrace. He tugs at his master's sleeve as he pleads to help, "She has no air in there. This is not how it ends for her, you've seen it!"
"Then." ... "Let." ... "Her." ... "Prove. ... "It," snides the Grand Handshaker.
The RotR flys down from the top of the gate to the table, staring at the Master and Arnack in silence.
"SSSSee! Evvvvven the Ravvvvven thinks we shhhhould help," says the now completely flustered young tortle.
"It." ... "Is." ... "Only." ... "Observing," Galu says with a dark edge.
The smaller one clears his throat and raises his tiny arms in a flourish, "May I present to you Master Lanu Galu, Wiseman of the Western Planes, Shaman of Jaci, Shogun of Shadows, and Chief Handshaker of the 7 Moons. And, I am his apprentice, Arnack." *bowing*
Unleashing the ropes to the very well organized pack and lowering it to the ground, he continues at a clipped pace, "We do apologize, My Lady. We honestly thought you were dead, as we could find no air and you did not move when prodded." He searches through the assortment of luggage, bags, and cases to make a pile of equipment. "Allow me a few moments to get it all sorted for you."
Moving with purpose, but at a tortle pace, "We haven't seen another living being in some time. Isn't this place amazing! So many wonders to behold. Tricky, though, I should warn you. Very tricky. Luckily, I haved the Master to guide me. We are, actually, on a quest to meet your Queen. So far, we've had no luck getting to her realm, but we are patient. Oh so, very patient. We've been through different planes and at least three demiplanes to get here. Each one teaching us something different. Honestly, I have no idea where or what this place is, but it plays host to a major gate to the Shadow Realm. That much I do know." He gestures towards the gate.
"We've been watching it for some time now for the chance, or rather acceptance, of an audience with the Queen. The only thing we found was you, so we travelled on, until we saw the gate light up. It was brilliant, no? The master was in the middle of telling me a story about your queen, when we turned around not far from here." He continues on with describing their journey while he works.
Once done, each carrying case is repacked, closed up, and put back into place. The elaborate pulley system is reengaged, which slides everything right back up onto his back like it never left. "You'll find every item you were carrying. Unfortunately, we are not merchants, but we are willing to share information and perhaps an item or two. If, my master agrees, that it is?" He looks at you with a wink, and then to the larger tortle.
"Greetings," says Master Galu, holding out his front appendages and pausing.
"Umm, yes," says Arnack, "He will now present to you, Devotee of the Raven Queen, a handshake of Sorrowful Deference." *bows again*
The older tortle, gracefully raises the back of his hands to his eyes and moves his head back in a swaying motion. His fingers wave to the beat of the movement.
Lowering them, he then looks to you and nods. "Touched by the Queen, yes?" Pause "Take a moment. Collect yourself and your things." Pause.
He then turns towards the gate. His apprentice following after, but not before he lays a bag alongside the pile.
All of your items are returned, along with a few others. Refer to your character sheet for more.
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
"It's a pleasure to meet you Master Lanu Galu" Gwyllen says, raising her hands about face level and wiggling her fingers and giving a slight bow, totally lost on the customs of Tortles. "Is this right...?" she mouths to Arnack before lowering her hands and giving him a nod.
"Thank you for being willing to return my things" she says digs through the items, finding a beautiful bag that somehow seems to hold, well everything she piles into it. "Well met, Arnack. These gifts are wonderful." She sees that he has sewn her cloak up with a delicate hand and glances up at his fingers quizzically. "That's a fine stitch!" she smiles as she pulls off the old piece of fabric the Raven had provided, Fiachra hopping from her shoulder to land on the ground next to her. She quickly dresses in her own clothes and sighs with relief. Reassuring feelings of good will ripple around her toward the Tortles.
A look of dread momentarily crosses her face for a moment before she finds the frosty orb and her book of Shadows. She and quickly stashes the orb in her belt pouch and runs her fingers across the spine of the book before placing it in an unseen cloak pocket, visibly relaxing.
Fiachra caws and hops onto the equipment, digging around with its beak for the shiny things. It rolls a metal spyglass towards Gwyllen, cocking its head to give her the "take my advice" side eye. Fi' keeps digging and also finds a strange item and croaks at lowly in a contemplative tone.
Gwyllen, who had been strapping the sheaths of her twin daggers back to her bandoleer, catches a glimpse of Fi's finds and reaches over, picking up the spyglass in one hand and the strange artifact in the other. Turning the mystery over a few times in her palm, she squints at it, trying to decipher the details and sense if it is magic in origin. "What's this here?" she asks Arnack in a hushed tone as the Tortles begin turning away. She focuses intently on the item, opening her mind to feel its power.
Arcana 14
Investigation 4
Beginning to find herself back in-tune with her Fey senses...
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Clearing his throat, Arnack says with a soft intensity, "Memories for your Mistress. We've been collecting them from all over." He then turns and follows his master towards the table and dais.
In her hands lies a rectangle book. Hard covered and loosely bound, both ends are wrapped in a soft, green jewel-toned fabric with decorative metal edging at the corners. In the middle of the front cover is an oval mirror, surrounded by more fancy metal work. As her spell takes hold, there is magic radiating towards the back of the book, necromantic in origin and powerful, but she is unable to discern what the spell(s) are without further study or assistance. The book itself holds no magic.
There is also magic surrounding both of the Tortles, as they slowly walk. Arnack has so much on his back, it's hard to see if he himself is magical or not. Both of their staffs are most definitely magic and so is Master Galu himself, but it is inky black and rolling off of him.
Back to the book, inside there are palm-sized portraits that bare no sign of markings or paint, but show images of humans mostly in repose with their eyes closed. Many infants, but some older children and adults in layered fancy dress. It only occurs to Gwyllen, as she flips through, that they are all dead.
The very last page of the book is another image that bares no ink, watercolor, or paint, but this one is different. It is an image of a heavy looking metal object, shaped like a triangle left opened at one corner. There is another slender metal length pictured with it. A far amount of magic is emanating from the page, which is sending out waves of energy that raises the hairs on the back of her neck.
Roll a WIS Save at a disadvantage (ongoing effects from gate)
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Gwyllen attempts to roll higher than her passive Wisdom score and wonders if it will never work.
Wisdom Save -15
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Basking in the waves of necromantic energy, Gwyllen begins to hear a faint, otherworldly bell ringing from all around her.
Moment by moment, it begins to creep closer. At the same time, the slender metal length in the photo beings to shake, lifting itself with an unseen hand inside the framed image in front of her.
To her right, another noise appears. At first, it is a kind of scraping sound, then morphing into something like dried, hollow reeds rustling in the wind. Right when the echo grows loud enough to be full recognized, the skeleton sits up.
One of the tortles, most likely Arnack by the pitch, yelps as the skeleton's head turns in Gwyllen's direction, mouth gaping.
Suddenly, Master Galu speaks over his shoulder, "Close"... "The" ... "Book!"
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
The bells tolling in her ears are as disorienting as the strange image seems to hypnotize her with its power… Is that picture moving? What the hell? she thinks, turning the book at a slight angle.
As the skeleton’s ghastly structure begins to appear in her peripheral, she suddenly hears the Chief Handshaker speak with his words with an undeniably commanding tone. She snaps out of her stupor and slams the book shut, laying it solidly on its back next to the pile of items she had yet to retrieve.
Fiachra takes to the sky, cawing shrilly as it eyes the scene below, sending Gwyllen images of the foe from above.
Gwyllen moves swiftly, coming up next to the Tortles as she pulls her hand from her cloak, punching outward towards the skeleton. She exhales deeply in a raspy hiss as thick frost pours from her nose, mouth and eyes. She falls to one knee but somehow maintains her grip on the orb as thick ice crystals run their way up to her elbow.
A freezing cloud of mist puffs forward a boney appendage tears itself from her knckles, careening towards the animated bones.
Chill Touch To hit - 19 / Damage - 5
On a hit, the target takes 1d8 necrotic damage, and it can’t regain hit points until the start of your next turn. Until then, the hand clings to the target.
If you hit an undead target, it also has disadvantage on attack rolls against you until the end of your next turn.
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Master Galu looks down at the young human, then to the skeleton, and back again.
"Your"..."Form"..."Needs"..."Work," he says with a hint of amusement in his tone. Adding, "Come"..."Sit"..."With"..."Us."..."It's"..."Not"..."Going"..."Anywhere."
Gwyllen could see, as the misty freeze barrelled towards the bones, that it had become lifeless again. Falling over and spilling bones in all directions.
Arnack was suppressing a giggle near her and turned to continue on their table travels, saying, *snicker* "Yes, do join us. You asked us where you are, and we'd like to show you." *snort*
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Gwyllen sucks in deep gasps of air. "You've got to be ******* kidding me... give me a moment and I will come sit with you."
She turns and flings her cloak wide, slicing the air with the side of her hand. "Suak kontsumitzen utzi!" A firebolt roars from her fingertips, toward the bones, exhibiting her frustration. Her eyes blaze with orange flames, sparking and popping and the sickening wave of skin-prickling Fey energy rolls off of her momentarily.
Upon impact, the bones should ignite...
Finding her way back to her feet, she slowly her way back to the pile of equipment, tossing a few necessities into the small backpack for quick access and the rest into the magical bag. She stashes the spyglass in her belt pouch and slings the lyre over her back with the 2 bags, before finally crouching to retrieve her beloved weapons.
Squatting on the balls of her feet, she retrieves her trusty spear, touching her forehead against the cool wood before resting it against her clavicle. Slowly retrieving her Daggers from the dust, she notices that they resonate with a new energy... there is something very different about them and they emanate a faint ringing. Turning each over a few times, she opens her mind to the new feeling that the weapons hold. She has known them all these years, but they have a resonance now. Her aura glows with a snowy sheen as she concentrates and she feels at peace for the moment of contemplation.
Gwyllen reaches out with her Fey senses while she feels the blades, trying to decipher what power they hold.
Meanwhile, Fiachra has decided to go dig through the pile of rags one last time... It hops around them in a circle, before digging its beak right in, tossing the rags all around to figure out just what the hell is going on with them.
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Mimicking Gwyllen's mood, the RotR dances atop the gate, cawing in triumph as flames consume the bone pile.
The raven comes down off the gate, while Gwyllen collects her items and weapons to inspect the scene with interest. Spending a bit of time on anything shiny. It is particularly interested when Gwy takes a moment to commune with her daggers.
With Gwy's Fey senses now outstretched, they are a buzz with the crackling energy of the gate, the sudden smell of staleness in the air, and the sound of a dirge accompanying the faint bells. At this moment, the RotR jumps to her free shoulder and touches its beak to her ear.
A familiar-ish voice, smooth and airy, whispers to her, "My sweet icy child...the bells are calling for you. Ranna will now truly bring sleep to a foe, while Mosrael will bring about your demise through healing, if you let it. Be wary, once rung others will be drawn to their music." At that, the moment passes, and the raven flies back up to the gate, cawing with laughter along the way.
The rag pile's potential is apparently too much for Fiachra, and she begins to pilfer. Not finding much of note until end. On the ground is a magnificently woven rug with gold fiber tassels and intricate geometric designs.
Roll Initiative, including Fiachra
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Fiachra Initiative - 3
Gwyllen Initiative - 9
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Rug - 20
Gwyllen - 9
Faichra - 3
Tortles are busy and don't pay attention
Faichra is mesmerized by the shiny gold tassles. She can't take her eyes off of them and caws at Gwyllen with excitement. Not able to hold back, she begins to peck and pull on the tassels closest to her.
This is when Gwyllen notices the carpet begin to lift off the ground.
Faichra is caught totally unaware, as the rug twists up suddenly in the air and lunges at the bird.
Attack roll = 10
The rug is trying to grapple (escape DC 13). If she fails, then until this grapple ends, the target is restrained, blinded, and at risk of suffocating.
It scoops up Faichra with one fluid motion and envelopes her within its folds. Twisting and turning to try and entomb her.
Grapple Escape Check on her turn (Str or Dex, whichever is higher)
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Gwyllen finds herself decidedly unsettled by the Raven’s whispers, and turns a side-eye to give it a look, eyebrow cocked.
Giving her daggers one last once over, she whispers back to the Raven - “I will find a way to use the Sisters in your service, my Queen.”
She sheaths them reverently as she comes back to a standing position, giving the Raven’s smooth feathers a soft caress with her cheek and palming her spear as it angles away from its propped position against her collarbone.
Her meditation complete, she begins slowly pacing to the table to join the Tortles.
Meanwhile, Fiachra skirms and flaps, trying to escape the animated carpet’s grasp desperately.
Dexterity Save - 4
Gwyllen groans as the strange sight catches her eye, hearing her little Friend’s strangled squawks. “We must help our fellow Raven.”
Gwyllen carefully approaches the scene, baffled by the moving carpeting. She taps her foot in contemplation briefly before glancing down at Ranna’s pommel. The designs engraved there pulse a calming energy, almost drawing her to find a place to relax.
Shrugging, and not sure what other options she has, she pulls Ranna from its sheath. Not wanting to risk stabbing Fiachra (even though it wouldn’t really make a difference), she raises the blunt end of the weapon and strikes down on the strange fabric anomaly.
"Guide my hand, my Queen, I could use at least one victory today" she pleads.
To Hit - 12
Upon Success - Sleep
This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber. Roll 5d8; the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect. Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures).
Rolling for HP Total 5d8 + 2nd Level Caster Bonus - Additional 2d8 = 24
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
Just as Gwyllen arrives at the scene, the rug twists in on itself and becomes a ball, trapping Fiachra inside.
The RotR caws softly at the mention of the Queen and looks on inquisitively, as the pommel strikes true, but with a thud, on the rug. The fibers shiver for a moment, splaying the tassels out like a sudden yawn, only to tighten it's grip a moment later. Then, with just that little movement, there is a sudden emptiness in the space where Fiachra usually resides in Gwyllen.
The RotR begins to physically mimic Gwyllen's earlier outburst, but its caws are pure laughter.
Now having finished it's purpose, the rug begins to slowly unravel itself. Just as it's about to settle back down on the ground, it rears up back and lunges for Gwyllen.
Attack roll = 9
The rug fails its one purpose in life.
Bouncing off her armor, the rug recoils up and waits. Swaying ever so slightly, as if reevaluating its plan of attack.
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Gwyllen scoffs at the tapestry, as it smacks her in the chest and falls back. She feels her rage boil as Fiachra is snuffed out, and her eyes go inky black as she raises her hand and thunders - "Garaia da zurea, hiltzeko ehuna!"
Firebolt -
To Hit - 18
Damage - 6
I assume the rug is flammable, but I'm not in charge. I can't find anything besides the oil item that describes the effects of being lit on fire though.
"burns for 2 rounds and deals 5 fire damage"
As she casts the Bolt at the thready horror, she turns and runs back toward the Tortles
(OOC - Max movement 30 feet, not sure where that puts me, but she'll move around anything crazy, like stepping into a portal...)
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
The rug moves like a cobra, sensing the air for any movement. The both of you move in tandem, one with fickle flame and the one with sparkly tassels.
The bolt shoots straight from Gwyllen's hand with the force of her emotions, and the rug takes a direct hit to what would be its head area. Lighting a patch on fire that burns into a slow, silent scream. With its right tassel, the rug makes an effort to put out the flames and with the other, it takes one last swipe at the warlock. Extending itself and forgoing the fire fighting to reach its prey.
Attack Roll: 25
Encircling her arm with a tassel, the rug flings itself onto Gwyllen and tries to engulf her in its folds. Fabric is everywhere, the smell is musty, old, and earthy. The feel of the cloth is rougher and heavier than it appears, as it brings the firey patch down upon her head to finish the job.
Athletics or Acrobatic Check, your choice. (escape DC 13)
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Meanwhile, Master Galu and Arnack were just about to reach the table when they look over to see the rug engulf Fiarcha and Gwyllen heading over to the pile. They look at each other, at Gwyllen, and back to each other. "Should we help her, Master?," Arnack says. "We probably should, given everything we know about her, " he continues, nodding along to his own statement for emphasis.
"Punishment." ... "Is." ... "Why." ... "She's." ... "Here." States the elder tortle, shaking his head. He adds as he finally makes his way to a table chair, "We." ... "Have." ... "Done." ... "More" ... "Than." ... "Enough."
Following a bit behind his mentor, Arnack stumbles out, "Bbbbut, Master, surely we could help oooone last time? It's jjjjust a rug."
"Exactly." ... "Young." ... "One." ... "It's." ... "Only." ... "A." ... "Rug." ... "The." ... "Queen." ... "Deserves." ... "Excellence." The now sitting Wiseman states, smugly, and waits to be attended by Arnack.
The pupil reluctantly begins to release his pack and prepare his Master's papers. Looking over at Gwyllen just as the burning rug pulls itself on the human. Eyes wide and fretting, he pleads, "Please, Master! It would only take a flick of my staff."
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
Gwyllen's pushes against the pressure of the rug with all her might, attempting to roll away before it can land the firey "appendage" upon her.
Acrobatics - 6
Gwyllen Øyvund - Level 4 / Human Variant / Warlock, Fey Touched Archanist of the Raven Queen - Death Inspectors
Torment Malichar - Level 8 / Tiefling / Druid of the Underdark, Cleric of Mielikki - Knights of the Hanging Chicken (Team 3)
Master Shovel of the Sandbox - Bane of Kerakys
The weight of the rug is too much for Gwyllen when she starts to tumble. Just as she falls to her knees, the rug whips around her and brings her into a slow, crushing hug.
Completely enveloped by the rug's uncanny strength, there is only blackness and smoke. The fire has caught her cloak and some of her hair on fire, but it too is struggling from lack of air.
She is now Restrained, Blinded, at risk of Suffocating, and has taken 4 fire damage (on your sheet). She can only hold her breath for up to 2 minutes and survive for only 1 round once she runs out.
Suffocating
A creature can hold its breath for a number of minutes equal to 1 + its Constitution modifier (minimum of 30 seconds).
When a creature runs out of breath or is choking, it can survive for a number of rounds equal to its Constitution modifier (minimum of 1 round). At the start of its next turn, it drops to 0 hit points and is dying, and it can't regain hit points or be stabilized until it can breathe again. For example, a creature with a Constitution of 14 can hold its breath for 3 minutes. If it starts suffocating, it has 2 rounds to reach air before it drops to 0 hit points.
While grappled and on fire, at the start of each of her turns, she'll take 12 bludgeoning damage and 6 fire damage (fire = one more round only).
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods
An urgent gurgle escapes Arnack's beak when Gwyllen succumbed to the rug's embrace. He tugs at his master's sleeve as he pleads to help, "She has no air in there. This is not how it ends for her, you've seen it!"
"Then." ... "Let." ... "Her." ... "Prove. ... "It," snides the Grand Handshaker.
The RotR flys down from the top of the gate to the table, staring at the Master and Arnack in silence.
"SSSSee! Evvvvven the Ravvvvven thinks we shhhhould help," says the now completely flustered young tortle.
"It." ... "Is." ... "Only." ... "Observing," Galu says with a dark edge.
Tamlynn [Pic] | Half-Elf | Ranger, Horizon Walker - Lvl 6 | Talaveroth (sub-campaign 3)
Hadar Ilkin [Pic] | Half-Orc | Ranger, Gloom Stalker - Lvl 4 | Bane of Kerakys
Mistress of Game | Death Inspectors
Mistress of Game | Into the Werewoods