As reality warps and slips from her grasp, Gwyllen tries to hold onto Master Galu's final words and repeat them in her thoughts - Trust nothing, trust nothing, trust nothing.
Quickly rising as she makes impact, grimacing from the aches and pains, she checks her surroundings as she moves. As the precious moments tick by, she quickly shoves her belongings into the magical bag and slips on her clothing, buckling her bandolier and tossing her cloak around her shoulders. Gripping her Book of Shadows to make sure it is securely in her pouch and finding the reassuringly freezing lump next to it through the fabric, she grabs her spear and clicks her tongue to Fiachra who flies to her shoulder.
Reaching for the Magical bag, she retrieves the lute and, closing her eyes, she begins playing a melody into the energy fields around her, awaiting a notion of response.
From behind closed eyes, the sweet melancholy melody is punctuated with two other distinct thuds and clattering of stuff hitting the ground. This is quickly followed by gasps for air, then moans and groans.
Once her tune is complete, an unknown higher-pitched voice near her says, "Please keep playing. Your music makes me feel less afraid."
Another unknown voice this one deeper than the other, follows right up with, "Wait, am I dead? Are you death?"
While a third new voice with a sing-song accent sternly says next, "Neth! You freakin' bastard of a hell plane. Where am I?"
All of her belongings, old and new have followed her.
In one fluid motion Gwyllen spins around to find the source of the voices, her lute flying around her shoulder to her back on its strap as she reaches down to slide her spear from the ever-deep bag at her feet.
(OOC - If she finds the source of the voices)
In the face of the new arrivals, she raises her chin and flips her spear tip to the ground, planting it firmly, both hands around its base. She raises one foot and places it on top of her sack just to be sure there is no question...
"Welcome to my humble home, travelers." she says with mirth in her eyes.
Fiachra lets out a rolling rhythm of wet gurgles as it rolls her head around in a weird circle several times, half flapping her wings.
Whipping around, Gwyllen finds three individuals near her:
1) a young man in a leather coat sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up into his chest
2) a dwarf with war paint on her face
3) a bald elf standing with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side
None of them have time to respond to her jests, as everything changes again. What was once void of all color and form, now turns into a lush forest and what looks to be a cave entrance ahead of them. All of the newcomers take a moment to survey their surroundings, making noises of surprise and wonderment.
From somewhere behind all of you, a fourth voice appears saying, "Ah yes, the Cave of Lights. We've finally found it! Didn't take us more than a fortnight to get here. You all said you were up to the task and you've certainly proved your mettle, thus far. But, woe is you who thinks that it has been rough. More danger lies ahead."
Out from the changing mist comes an older one-armed gnome, definitely dressed for adventuring, who states happily with a twinge of authority, "Let's rest here for a bit. I'd like to survey the cave's entrance and see if my findings match up. Pheral, won't you join me?"
The young man's mouth falls open and he stammers out, "Heh-heh-how? Did you know my name?"
The gnome bursting into a belly laugh and says, "It only took me several days to get it down, I know. BUT I did! Told you I would get there in the end." He merrily walked on towards the cave entrance, spouting over his shoulder, "Aren't you coming? I need another hand." The gnome gives another hearty laugh, as he continues.
The man now known as Pheral, shakes his head in defeat and yet compiles with a shrug in the rest of the group's direction.
The dwarf woman turns to Gwyllen and says, "This is your place, Queenie?"
The elf then interjects while stomping on the ground, "No, this place is Neth. A demi-plane. - This should be fleshy, not soil. - Have either of you ever heard of it?"
Gwyllen turns to the Gnome and scowls. Calling out to young human she gives a warning - "Pheral is it? And why in the nine hells are you following a gnome, who you admittedly don't even recognize, into a dangerous cave without so much as a second thought?"
Gods below, it's happening again. More insufferable idiots!
Gripping the shaft of her spear with her right hand and spinning it around to face the tip to the "sky", she tosses her bag over her head to rest on her shoulder and adjusts the lute and bandolier to sit comfortably.
Taking a deep breath, she approaches the 4 newcomers, eyeballing them all and trying to determine if they are even really there.
"I am Gwyllen. As far as I can tell, this is, indeed a demi-plane called Neth, though I've heard around the 'verse that we'd be better off not saying that name or spending a lot of time discussing the idea of planes and demi-planes."
Giving a look around the phantom forest she focuses in on the 3 who jumped in directly after her, she makes eye contact with the dwarf. "I have no place besides where the Raven leads me. It seems that you are either a figment of my illusion or are a wanderer suffering a similar fate to mine."
"Do you all know each other?"Giving the Gnome a glance she continues, "If so, I'd say we don't trust this one or his cave and proceed carefully. We all fell from above, while this one walks from the mist like a denizen of this place. We are not the same."
"What are all of your names?"
Striding to within a spears reach of the gnome, she squints and speaks lowly, "And what of this cave?"
Gwyllen turns to the Gnome and scowls. Calling out to young human she gives a warning - "Pheral is it? And why in the nine hells are you following a gnome, who you admittedly don't even recognize, into a dangerous cave without so much as a second thought?"
Pheral looks back with big doe eyes and a little smile, answering, "It's called the Cave of Light. How scary could it really be?"
Taking a deep breath, she approaches the 4 newcomers, eyeballing them all and trying to determine if they are even really there.
"I am Gwyllen. As far as I can tell, this is, indeed a demi-plane called Neth, though I've heard around the 'verse that we'd be better off not saying that name or spending a lot of time discussing the idea of planes and demi-planes."
Giving a look around the phantom forest she focuses in on the 3 who jumped in directly after her, she makes eye contact with the dwarf. "I have no place besides where the Raven leads me. It seems that you are either a figment of my illusion or are a wanderer suffering a similar fate to mine."
"Do you all know each other?"Giving the Gnome a glance she continues, "If so, I'd say we don't trust this one or his cave and proceed carefully. We all fell from above, while this one walks from the mist like a denizen of this place. We are not the same."
"What are all of your names?"
The elf speaks up first with enthusiasm, "Great! You've met Neth then? My name is Nyree. I'm studying to be a Sentinel of the Planes, but somehow got routed to Neth. Probably some kind of joke from my classmates. Not sure who anyone is, but I'd have to agree with you about this place and him." *throws her thumb over her shoulder at the gnome*
"I have no idea what any of you are talkin' about and I'm starting to get nervous. Not a great combo," the dwarf hedges out. She goes on, "When I get nervous, I get angry and no one wants that. Trust me!" Pausing, "You can call me Kellen, though, but that's all you need to know for now. Oh, and since I have no clues and he does. *pointing at the gnome* I'm on team gnome...for now."
Striding to within a spears reach of the gnome, she squints and speaks lowly, "And what of this cave?"
When Gwyllen asks, the gnome mirrors her and speaks lowly, "Why are we whispering? The cave doesn't care how loud we are." *another belly laugh*
"Now, to answer your question. As you know, I, Dr. Ardell Heron, have found one of the greatest sources of healing in our world. After combing through ancient texts and far too many scrolls, I have finally found a source of magic that will cure anyone of anything. *patting the shoulder of his missing arm* And, to get there, we must go through this door."
He adds while writing in journal book, "I am having trouble deciphering the message on the door, though. Can you read it, Gwen?"
Pheral walks up to the door to take a rubbing, and when he steps back, everyone can see script carved into the door:
Tirm oruimd aeuims ksromsar, srara ek mu varcuka rara.
Yui kuimd srek coqa omd kruirdm's roqa cuka, muv su bocd su sra umak aeui rurd daor.
Trek vosr ek umrae ba uvamad su sra daod.
Su, ksav okeda, srara'k domsar, omd ras srak em emksaod.
Ik aeui ora kserr reqems, kserr em aeuir vreka,
Dum’s vurrae, sra coqa verr soda aeui vram esk seka.
Addressing Pheral, Gwyllen groans.“It seems you have much to learn about light and darkness.”
Turning to Nyree – “Well met, Nyree. A Sentinel, eh? How do you plan on escaping this place?”
Giving the dwarf her attention – “Kellen, is it? Glad to meet you. If you’re in the habit of trusting random spectres on planes of existence you’ve never visited before, go ahead and lead the way.” She rolls her eyes.
At least two of these seem readily expendable. Hopefully the Elf is worthwhile at least.
Her attention back on the gnome, she considers his words, and stares into his eyes, attempting to detect any Fey trickery in those mirthy globes. This entire place was obviously a test. Knowing where to start was the hard part.
“Well met, Ardell.”She’s not sure what else to do besides respond to the being from the mist. He is no less real to her than the beings that fell from above, so might as well.
“The text does seem familiar to me, though perhaps my senses are addled from the fall… Give me a few moments.” Giving him a sour look, she continues -"And it's Gwyllen, not Gwen. Maybe once we've served some sort of use to each other, you can start making pet names for me."
Standing before the entry, she spins her spear tip to the ground again, driving it into the soil. Carefully approaching the door, she places her hand against it, fingers spread wide. Dipping her left hand into the pouch at her hip, she grips the orb there and feels the ice creep up her arm, across her shoulders and through her outstretched right arm, across her hand and the door. A flame ignites across her arms and back, crackling slowly and steadily in a rich purple hue. The frost finds the recessed text and fills the cracks with cool tendrils, channeling knowledge back to her mind.
Comprehend Languages – As Ritual - For the duration, you understand the literal meaning of any spoken language that you hear. You also understand any written language that you see, but you must be touching the surface on which the words are written. It takes about 10 minutes to read one page of text (due to ritual casting).
Kellen screws her face up at Gwyllen's words, "What are you going on about? Planes of existence? Look I was sent here. They didn't tell me much about the job, except how much it was gonna line my pockets. I'm not sure what you mean by my 'habit of trust'." She looks at Gwyllen's face, then at Nyree's, "What? You both need to get your heads on right." She then walks away to stand by the gnome.
Nyree turns to Gwyllen and takes a deep breath, "Well met, Gwyllen. Neth can be reasoned with and if you have something to trade, he can even be persuaded. Nothing to it. I then find the nearest gate and pluck the fey lines, so to speak. It's quite easy once you're trained. Find the line you want, follow it to where you want to go. But first, you have to get his attention. Any ideas on that front are most welcome."
The two of you make your way over to the gnome.
That spear tip is gonna be one dull blade here soon. Got a whetstone handy?
The Gnomish Professor puffs up a bit at her snarky realignment, "Yes. Gwyllen. Right. Do continue."
As the power of her ritual takes hold the letters on the door begin to glow and bleed into the air. The light pools back into letters a couple of inches off the door's surface. Once they are all in place, the letters begin to shake and swirl around. Some catch onto each other forming new words, then sentences, and finally, completely rearrange themselves to say in Sylvan:
Turn around dear stranger, there is no welcome here. You found this cave and shouldn't have come, so go back to the ones you love. This path will only open to the dead. So, step aside and let them in instead. If you are still living, still in your prime, Don’t worry, the cave will take you when its time.
Pheral is captivated by the spell and steps up to run his fingers through the letters of the message. A note of approval emanates from the gnome, and the others give her a little clap of appreciation.
Gwyllen stands back from the door, taking in the cryptic message and reaching up to scratch the feathers under Fiachra’s chin as she thinks.
The Raven coos and leans into the attention, reaping the benefits of the strange form she inhabits on this plane and, seemingly, all the others her spirit has visited so far.
Fiachra wonders if this will be the case on all planes. :-P
Gwyllen reads the message to the others allowed and takes a deep breath before letting out a lengthy exhale.
“Here I am, playing this game I seem to have asked to play… might as well jump in feet first.”she intones under her breath, mostly speaking to Fiachra.
Fiachra lets out a sharp hoot and nips Gwyllen’s ear as if telling her to shit or get off the pot.
Seeing Pheral touching her the letters, his fingers leaving little melted puddles on the surface of the frosty surface. Maybe this one will be useful after all. She makes a mental note to discuss his interests at greater length.
Nyree seemed too easy to trust and she could already feel herself losing the grip on mistrust of everything. What exactly was life on any plane with trust or the lack there of? All things change, there is no control. If she was to play this game effectively, she would have to even release the trust of her own self and just let go.
OOC - Cue Ram Dass meditation workshop music.
She would make sure to spend some time with the elf and trade secrets of Fey lay lines, in Sylvan speech of course to make it mysterious and frustrate the Dwarf.
Considering the small hairball named Kellen, she decides to at least try and play nice… Maybe he’s hung like a donkey and I can get him to bathe.
In all reality, she had no less reason to trust Ardell than any of the rest of them. She considered how hilarious it would be to offer to shake hands, but shakes it off. Don’t be a ******* ******* to people you just met.
On that note, Fiachra croaks and flaps its wings disapprovingly. Hopping into the air and gliding to land on the less than consenting Gnome’s good shoulder. The inevitable side-eye it casts back to Gwyllen says it all.
Composing herself and surfacing from the flurry of thoughts that is threatening to drown her psyche, Gwyllen uncorks her water skin and takes a long draw, refreshing her parched throat. She wipes her lips and looks around at the group.
“Do we have a healer here?”she asks, making eye contact with Pheral first, then Kellen, Nyree and finally Professor Ardell Heron.
OOC - Great last name by the way. My best friend’s family growing up had that name. Maybe when his parents died they became Gnomes in Neth. :-\
As she awaits an answer, she crouches down and pulls the Magical bag from her shoulder. She looks inside, surveying its contents. Most are familiar to her, but she looks for one thing… where is that damned book? Perhaps it remains with the Tortles. Maybe that would be for the best!
Since Fiarcha is really just a part of Gwyllen, if she really wants to figure it out whether her soul reflects the same on different planes, then roll arcana and religion checks.
And, thanks! Your bestie's parents did have an unfortunate trip to Neth some time ago. They've never been able to make it out. *grin*
Gwyllen looks to each person, inquiring about a healer, and in turn, they all shake their heads no. Arnell puffs up a bit and turns back to the riddle, "Well done! Now, it's not too terribly hard to figure out. I may not be in my prime per se, but I think I have several more good years to go. No need to turn around now, yes! We just need to *flips through some pages* let the dead lead the way. Makes perfect sense!" He looks around to the group for affirmation.
Kellen and Pheral contemplate his words, but aren't really following. Nyree furrows her brow and asks, "What kind of dead? How would they lead the way?"
----
As she surveys her items, everything she brought with her and was given by the Tortles is there, except for the their book. Gwyllen does find a different book, however.
This one is cold to the touch and the size of a journal - much smaller than the one with the green velvet. Decorated with delicate black-blueish metalwork, which sparkles, even in the darkness of the bag. At the cover's center lies skeletal hands grasping for a large jeweled broach. Inside the gem appears to be a glistening oil of some kind that moves as the book is turned this way and that. Inside is a drawing of a raven, shot through the heart and five empty pages waiting for an image.
Fiachra's new found self awareness is slightly stunning to it. Gwyllen also feels a strange merging of consciousnesses that was not really as noticeable before. They have always had a degree of separation and the Raven, its own autonomy, but never this level of additional existential consideration.
Gwyllen caresses the strange book. Tracing a circle around the oily centerpiece and feeling the texture of the paper of the inner cover. Her nails quietly and gently scrape their way across the empty portraits and she inhales deeply. I've played hard to get my Queen... May these journeys bring me closer to your nest.
She carefully wraps the book in a scrap of cloth and places it next to her Book of Shadows and Secrets against her hip, securing the pouch tightly with a leather thong.
Gwyllen sizes Arnell up skeptically. This fool is really leading the party? I think not.
"Pheral, would you please assist me in getting this door open?" she decides to work her way into the leadership roll for this ragamuffin band.
Standing near the door, she turns to the young man, holding out her hand. "I know you wish to feel the power of the secrets that the Raven's feathers whisper through the breeze. I saw the marvel in your eyes. Trust me, you will live through this experiment."
Depending on the plane and that plane's alignment, leanings, personality, and tendencies, a soul or petitioner can react in many different ways. It may suffer, be muffled, shine brighter, grow colder, seek to escape, and/or any innumerable reactions.
Outside factors must also be taken into consideration: Is its owner dead or alive? Has it been stolen, sold to the highest bidder, or ripped away by an intelligent object? Has it been given up to a god? Do they have rules or paths for it to take?
Inside factors: Is its owner insane, under a spell, or in conflict with its owner's actions? Can they manifest separately from the body?
In this case, it can, so it takes a bit of the owner's personality and sentience along with it. That means planar dispositions also affect them directly, given their exposure.
Each layer or affect on the soul contributes to its viability, strength, and ability to reason/act on its own.
But there is also an underlying push and pull, if the owner is devout, been chosen by the gods, hunted by fiends, or targeted by devils. They too have influence and can speak through them. Souls are essentially part of a divine aspect and thus can be influenced by them.
Then, of course, there is Neth, a place where all the rules apply and none, all at the same time. This demi-plane is an unknown quantity, so divinity and its aspects are subject to Neth's whims just like everybody else.
Fiachra begins to feel a heartbeat of her own that is in step with Gwyllen's.
Gwyllen caresses the strange book. Tracing a circle around the oily centerpiece and feeling the texture of the paper of the inner cover. Her nails quietly and gently scrape their way across the empty portraits and she inhales deeply. I've played hard to get my Queen... May these journeys bring me closer to your nest.
As Gwyllen caresses the stone, the oil follows her fingers. The longer she holds her finger there, the more oil there appears to be in the stone.
"Pheral, would you please assist me in getting this door open?" she decides to work her way into the leadership roll for this ragamuffin band.
Standing near the door, she turns to the young man, holding out her hand. "I know you wish to feel the power of the secrets that the Raven's feathers whisper through the breeze. I saw the marvel in your eyes. Trust me, you will live through this experiment."
The young man looks to Professor Heron and then to Gwyllen, "Uh, sure. Wait, what? What do you mean by experiment?! Trust you to live? What?" He jaw opens and closed again in silent retort, but he follows her nonetheless.
Heron looks on excitedly, "Yes, finally we have some direction." To Pheral, "You should be fine, lad. I'm sure she knows what's she's doing. Experimentation is the path to truth!"
Fiachra becomes aware of itself in an entirely new way as an almost corporeal feeling it has never experienced pulsates within it. It hops from Gwyllen’s shoulder and wings off into a nearby tree to brood over its more self-conscious state.
Gwyllen takes Pheral’s hand and leads him to the door before putting her back to the blocked passage and turning to face the man. “I have no idea if this will work, but you must trust me. You will be fine I think… I do not know if I will survive this, but that’s kind of the point I suppose.”
She brings Pheral in closer to her and leans up to whisper in his ear “I truly mean you no harm, just breath deeply and it will all be over soon.”
Before he can react, she kisses him deeply on the lips, her eye simmering with a low purple light and a feathery hand along the side of his neck. As her lips pull away from his, she gazes deep into his eyes and gently slides Mosrael’s blade into his belly.
“Breath, just breath” she says, pulling the dagger from his flesh and laying back against the wall as light washes over him and darkness clouds her eyes. As she falls into death, she sees a flutter of wings out of the corner of her vision…
…Fiachra plummets into Gwyllen’s chest, merging with her in a puff of feathers a crackles of black lightning.
Stabbing Pharel with Mosrael – 4
Cure Wounds on Pharel – 10
Gwyllen is prone and unconscious / pretty much dead… if necessary she will choose to fail her death throws… :-\
As Fiachra merges with her host, Gwyllen can feel the rush of the river slowly rise around her feet. The water is shallow, and her now limp body sinks only slightly into the stone door then down to the ground.
Pheral enthralled by the kiss had stared doe-eyed back at her. As the blade seared his stomach, he snapped out of it and pulled two weapons from under his coat. Suddenly, two loud bangs bring her back to consciousness. The echo ringing in her head meddles with the ringing of a far away bell.
Gwyllen quickly realizes the metal objects were discharged directly against her chest and two projectiles hit her right where Fiachra entered her body.
Gwyllen’s conscious mind crashes like a tidal wave through her skull as the cool wetness of the River seeps away from the edges of her mind, replaced by hot needles into her chest. Bells and gun powder fill her ears and a high-pitched ringing ensues, dulling her perception of the world around her.
She takes a long, wheezing breath and moans in agony, her eyeballs rolling in their sockets, desperately trying to focus. As her eyes finally hone in on the world around her, she finds a bloody pit in her chest and Pheral standing above her with strange weapons in his hands.
It should have worked… it should have worked!she thinks as she begins coughing up blood in misty plumes. Rolling over on her side, she finds Mosrael and gives Pheral a blurry eyed look as blood runs freely from her wounds, puddling around her body.
“I told you not to worry.” she coughs more desperately this time as her lungs fill with blood.
Pointing to his un-wounded belly she sputters, "I think you may have overreacted." *wheeze*
“At least you’re quick with your weapons…”*wheeze*
“You could have at least finished the job...” *wheeze*
Laying down on her back, one hand on her chest, she takes dagger in her other hand and closes her eyes. This pain was overwhelming and new, but she was more than acquainted with discomfort of all kinds.
In this moment, she finds Mosrael to be more relevant than her vitae spilling from her. She lays the dagger across the hand on her bloody chest, reaching out into the depths of all she knows and does not know for hidden magicks.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Clutching the knife, the river comes up in her mind and how little of it there was. She believes that if she had caused more harm to the boy, the river would've risen higher and brought them both closer to death. See post after map for an update.
The startled Pheral blinks at her words a few times, spins the weapon in his left hand and pockets it lightening quick somewhere on him. The free hand then feels his stomach and eventually lifts his shirt. He stammers, "What? Wait? You stabbed me! What kind of hellcraft is this?" He turns to the group for help, but the right hand's aim never waivers from her.
Perception Checks:
Prof H = 2
Kellan = 12
Nyree = 9
Heron is the closest, but his attention was focused on his papers at the time. He rushes over and kneels beside Gwyllen, "How dare you, young man! Put whatever those things are away!" He then places his only hand on her shoulder and it begins to glow. The light then spreads to her chest, making the pain and bleeding ease up. "There, there. That should make things a bit better. We have got to find a way through, the light will make us both whole again."
Cure Wounds = 7
Gwyllen is still bleeding, but the wounds aren't so deep anymore.
Kellen and Nyree both gasp and look between the two of them. Both are angry and outraged, but unsure where exactly to place it.
Nyree strides over to Pheral and double-checks his stomach, "How did you do that? Fascinating magic work; he's untouched." Kellen finally bursts out, "Oh c'mon! Does it matter? What are you two playin' at?"
Pheral finally lowers his weapon, but does not put it away. "The she-devil lured me in with her womanly wiles, and then accosted me!"
Nyree cuts in, "She did tell you it was going to be ok and to trust her. A bit too quick to the draw, I think." Speaking to Gwyllen on the ground, "It may have worked a bit. I think you sunk into the door a bit. Am I correct?"
Clutching the knife, her mind shifts to a memory out of step with her own understanding of what has come before. She's walking with Arnack through a grocer's shop towards the back. He's turning the knife over in his hand and is surprisingly adept at it.
He excitedly gushes, "Our last job was such a doozy! Thank goodness you were there to help, Gwyllen. We couldn't have done it without you." Smiling up at you, his entire pack is on his back and he is deftly weaving it around all obstacles.
You both come to a halt. There on the floor, directly at your feet, in a pool of blood and mucus lies an older female halfing. Gwyllen knows it is blood, as she can smell and taste it in the air. It's also sprayed across the walls and floors in one single direction - directly away from the spot she and Arnack are standing in. The body is still twitching a bit, causing more blood to ooze out of the mangled carcass.
"Oh good!," Arnack exclaimed, "We're right on time. Did you double-check that her son has gone?" He leans down with a contraption like no other she had ever seen before. There's a sudden flash, then another and another. Her eyes start to see spots, and Gwyllen hears Arnack happily chat away, "I told you it would work! Soren is a smooth talker when he wants to be and you earned it. Did he tell you all the things your knives can do now? Did he also get all grumpy serious face guy and warn you about the effects? By all that is Tortle, that guy is nothing if not consistent!"
He then looks up at you again all smiles with his feet slipping slightly in the gore. The memory then fades and becomes fuzzy, bringing her back to a painful present with new knowledge.
She knows everything about Mosrael, The Dagger of Transference that is currently listed on her sheet.
Plus, she now understands that there was a moment where she could feel the tug of the bell on her soul and had to decide whether to fall into death or not. She declined this time due to being surprised. However, she also understands that the ringing of the bell is strong and it could possibly make the decision for her next time she uses the blade.
Let me know if anything is vague or if you have any questions.
Gwyllen’s mind twists into a knot as the strange, displaced memory floods back to her. Coupled with the pain and rining and feeling of sinking into death and matter itself, she feels as though she’ll need to practice this a few more times to get it right.
With a painful gulp, she sits up and leans against the door, wiping Mosrael’s blade and returning it to its sheath. “Yes, Nyree. Perhaps I should have asked for your help instead of this one… I may have a flair for he dramatic, and I was a bit vague. I’m not sure who would say yes to a stranger stabbing them, though, even if it did not wound.”
Addressing Pheral, “I’m not really sure what to even say to you. I guess we’ll leave it at that unless you'd like to try harder to kill me this time.”
With a grimace, she rises to a squat and cradles her wounded chest as frosty sparks and tiny feathers rain down from her face, melting away before they hit the ground. She wipes the perspiration and lacrima away and stands, shakily.
“Perhaps we should have a look around or try another idea before I go trying to murder myself again… there is also the option of one of you crossing perhaps, if anyone dares.”
Pheral's face is bright red. He's somewhere between embarrassed, pissed off, and turned on. His free hand is now on his hip and his other hand holding the gun is resting on his head. The young man is obviously not sure how to handle this and gives you another horrified look when you speak.
Nyree's hands go to her hips in mocking offense, "Yes, you probably should've. We'd still be kissing." She winks at you, laughs, and offers her hand, "Do you need some assistance? You're bleeding a bunch."
Kellen is hoppin' mad, "This is the craziest shit I've ever seen. You're willing to kill yourself to get through this damn door?!" She pulls a rabbit out of her bag, "Apparently, your momma didn't put much sense into your head. Maybe you should try killing something else first!" Taking the rabbit by the feet, she leans into the door like Gwyllen did before, and proceeds to slap the animal's head and body into the door. The closer it is to death the more she sinks in.
The air is quickly filled with "THWAPS!"from the body hitting the door and shrill screams from the desperate rabbit.
Just before it dies, Kellan says, "Dinner's on the other side folks," and falls through the door back first and feet flying up.
As reality warps and slips from her grasp, Gwyllen tries to hold onto Master Galu's final words and repeat them in her thoughts - Trust nothing, trust nothing, trust nothing.
Quickly rising as she makes impact, grimacing from the aches and pains, she checks her surroundings as she moves. As the precious moments tick by, she quickly shoves her belongings into the magical bag and slips on her clothing, buckling her bandolier and tossing her cloak around her shoulders. Gripping her Book of Shadows to make sure it is securely in her pouch and finding the reassuringly freezing lump next to it through the fabric, she grabs her spear and clicks her tongue to Fiachra who flies to her shoulder.
Reaching for the Magical bag, she retrieves the lute and, closing her eyes, she begins playing a melody into the energy fields around her, awaiting a notion of response.
Gwyllen's song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMhP5X8sQF8
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
From behind closed eyes, the sweet melancholy melody is punctuated with two other distinct thuds and clattering of stuff hitting the ground. This is quickly followed by gasps for air, then moans and groans.
Once her tune is complete, an unknown higher-pitched voice near her says, "Please keep playing. Your music makes me feel less afraid."
Another unknown voice this one deeper than the other, follows right up with, "Wait, am I dead? Are you death?"
While a third new voice with a sing-song accent sternly says next, "Neth! You freakin' bastard of a hell plane. Where am I?"
All of her belongings, old and new have followed her.
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
In one fluid motion Gwyllen spins around to find the source of the voices, her lute flying around her shoulder to her back on its strap as she reaches down to slide her spear from the ever-deep bag at her feet.
(OOC - If she finds the source of the voices)
In the face of the new arrivals, she raises her chin and flips her spear tip to the ground, planting it firmly, both hands around its base. She raises one foot and places it on top of her sack just to be sure there is no question...
"Welcome to my humble home, travelers." she says with mirth in her eyes.
Fiachra lets out a rolling rhythm of wet gurgles as it rolls her head around in a weird circle several times, half flapping her wings.
I couldn't find a vidoe of this LOL But this is amazing. https://youtu.be/POiLhy3nfWQ?t=28
"Make no mistake, there is only one Queen in this realm, and she reigns over Death..."
Looks something like this by the way, only way cooler and with more feathers. LOL I couldn't find a better one with crow feathers.
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
Whipping around, Gwyllen finds three individuals near her:
1) a young man in a leather coat sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up into his chest
2) a dwarf with war paint on her face
3) a bald elf standing with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side
None of them have time to respond to her jests, as everything changes again. What was once void of all color and form, now turns into a lush forest and what looks to be a cave entrance ahead of them. All of the newcomers take a moment to survey their surroundings, making noises of surprise and wonderment.
From somewhere behind all of you, a fourth voice appears saying, "Ah yes, the Cave of Lights. We've finally found it! Didn't take us more than a fortnight to get here. You all said you were up to the task and you've certainly proved your mettle, thus far. But, woe is you who thinks that it has been rough. More danger lies ahead."
Out from the changing mist comes an older one-armed gnome, definitely dressed for adventuring, who states happily with a twinge of authority, "Let's rest here for a bit. I'd like to survey the cave's entrance and see if my findings match up. Pheral, won't you join me?"
The young man's mouth falls open and he stammers out, "Heh-heh-how? Did you know my name?"
The gnome bursting into a belly laugh and says, "It only took me several days to get it down, I know. BUT I did! Told you I would get there in the end." He merrily walked on towards the cave entrance, spouting over his shoulder, "Aren't you coming? I need another hand." The gnome gives another hearty laugh, as he continues.
The man now known as Pheral, shakes his head in defeat and yet compiles with a shrug in the rest of the group's direction.
The dwarf woman turns to Gwyllen and says, "This is your place, Queenie?"
The elf then interjects while stomping on the ground, "No, this place is Neth. A demi-plane. - This should be fleshy, not soil. - Have either of you ever heard of it?"
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 turns to the Gnome and scowls. Calling out to young human she gives a warning - "Pheral is it? And why in the nine hells are you following a gnome, who you admittedly don't even recognize, into a dangerous cave without so much as a second thought?"
Gods below, it's happening again. More insufferable idiots!
Gripping the shaft of her spear with her right hand and spinning it around to face the tip to the "sky", she tosses her bag over her head to rest on her shoulder and adjusts the lute and bandolier to sit comfortably.
Taking a deep breath, she approaches the 4 newcomers, eyeballing them all and trying to determine if they are even really there.
"I am Gwyllen. As far as I can tell, this is, indeed a demi-plane called Neth, though I've heard around the 'verse that we'd be better off not saying that name or spending a lot of time discussing the idea of planes and demi-planes."
Giving a look around the phantom forest she focuses in on the 3 who jumped in directly after her, she makes eye contact with the dwarf. "I have no place besides where the Raven leads me. It seems that you are either a figment of my illusion or are a wanderer suffering a similar fate to mine."
"Do you all know each other?" Giving the Gnome a glance she continues, "If so, I'd say we don't trust this one or his cave and proceed carefully. We all fell from above, while this one walks from the mist like a denizen of this place. We are not the same."
"What are all of your names?"
Striding to within a spears reach of the gnome, she squints and speaks lowly, "And what of this cave?"
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
Pheral looks back with big doe eyes and a little smile, answering, "It's called the Cave of Light. How scary could it really be?"
The elf speaks up first with enthusiasm, "Great! You've met Neth then? My name is Nyree. I'm studying to be a Sentinel of the Planes, but somehow got routed to Neth. Probably some kind of joke from my classmates. Not sure who anyone is, but I'd have to agree with you about this place and him." *throws her thumb over her shoulder at the gnome*
"I have no idea what any of you are talkin' about and I'm starting to get nervous. Not a great combo," the dwarf hedges out. She goes on, "When I get nervous, I get angry and no one wants that. Trust me!" Pausing, "You can call me Kellen, though, but that's all you need to know for now. Oh, and since I have no clues and he does. *pointing at the gnome* I'm on team gnome...for now."
When Gwyllen asks, the gnome mirrors her and speaks lowly, "Why are we whispering? The cave doesn't care how loud we are." *another belly laugh*
"Now, to answer your question. As you know, I, Dr. Ardell Heron, have found one of the greatest sources of healing in our world. After combing through ancient texts and far too many scrolls, I have finally found a source of magic that will cure anyone of anything. *patting the shoulder of his missing arm* And, to get there, we must go through this door."
He adds while writing in journal book, "I am having trouble deciphering the message on the door, though. Can you read it, Gwen?"
Pheral walks up to the door to take a rubbing, and when he steps back, everyone can see script carved into the door:
Tirm oruimd aeuims ksromsar, srara ek mu varcuka rara. Yui kuimd srek coqa omd kruirdm's roqa cuka, muv su bocd su sra umak aeui rurd daor. Trek vosr ek umrae ba uvamad su sra daod. Su, ksav okeda, srara'k domsar, omd ras srak em emksaod. Ik aeui ora kserr reqems, kserr em aeuir vreka, Dum’s vurrae, sra coqa verr soda aeui vram esk seka.
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
Addressing Pheral, Gwyllen groans. “It seems you have much to learn about light and darkness.”
Turning to Nyree – “Well met, Nyree. A Sentinel, eh? How do you plan on escaping this place?”
Giving the dwarf her attention – “Kellen, is it? Glad to meet you. If you’re in the habit of trusting random spectres on planes of existence you’ve never visited before, go ahead and lead the way.” She rolls her eyes.
At least two of these seem readily expendable. Hopefully the Elf is worthwhile at least.
Her attention back on the gnome, she considers his words, and stares into his eyes, attempting to detect any Fey trickery in those mirthy globes. This entire place was obviously a test. Knowing where to start was the hard part.
“Well met, Ardell.” She’s not sure what else to do besides respond to the being from the mist. He is no less real to her than the beings that fell from above, so might as well.
“The text does seem familiar to me, though perhaps my senses are addled from the fall… Give me a few moments.” Giving him a sour look, she continues - "And it's Gwyllen, not Gwen. Maybe once we've served some sort of use to each other, you can start making pet names for me."
Standing before the entry, she spins her spear tip to the ground again, driving it into the soil. Carefully approaching the door, she places her hand against it, fingers spread wide. Dipping her left hand into the pouch at her hip, she grips the orb there and feels the ice creep up her arm, across her shoulders and through her outstretched right arm, across her hand and the door. A flame ignites across her arms and back, crackling slowly and steadily in a rich purple hue. The frost finds the recessed text and fills the cracks with cool tendrils, channeling knowledge back to her mind.
Comprehend Languages – As Ritual - For the duration, you understand the literal meaning of any spoken language that you hear. You also understand any written language that you see, but you must be touching the surface on which the words are written. It takes about 10 minutes to read one page of text (due to ritual casting).
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
Kellen screws her face up at Gwyllen's words, "What are you going on about? Planes of existence? Look I was sent here. They didn't tell me much about the job, except how much it was gonna line my pockets. I'm not sure what you mean by my 'habit of trust'." She looks at Gwyllen's face, then at Nyree's, "What? You both need to get your heads on right." She then walks away to stand by the gnome.
Nyree turns to Gwyllen and takes a deep breath, "Well met, Gwyllen. Neth can be reasoned with and if you have something to trade, he can even be persuaded. Nothing to it. I then find the nearest gate and pluck the fey lines, so to speak. It's quite easy once you're trained. Find the line you want, follow it to where you want to go. But first, you have to get his attention. Any ideas on that front are most welcome."
The two of you make your way over to the gnome.
That spear tip is gonna be one dull blade here soon. Got a whetstone handy?
The Gnomish Professor puffs up a bit at her snarky realignment, "Yes. Gwyllen. Right. Do continue."
As the power of her ritual takes hold the letters on the door begin to glow and bleed into the air. The light pools back into letters a couple of inches off the door's surface. Once they are all in place, the letters begin to shake and swirl around. Some catch onto each other forming new words, then sentences, and finally, completely rearrange themselves to say in Sylvan:
Turn around dear stranger, there is no welcome here.
You found this cave and shouldn't have come, so go back to the ones you love.
This path will only open to the dead.
So, step aside and let them in instead.
If you are still living, still in your prime,
Don’t worry, the cave will take you when its time.
Pheral is captivated by the spell and steps up to run his fingers through the letters of the message. A note of approval emanates from the gnome, and the others give her a little clap of appreciation.
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 stands back from the door, taking in the cryptic message and reaching up to scratch the feathers under Fiachra’s chin as she thinks.
The Raven coos and leans into the attention, reaping the benefits of the strange form she inhabits on this plane and, seemingly, all the others her spirit has visited so far.
Fiachra wonders if this will be the case on all planes. :-P
Gwyllen reads the message to the others allowed and takes a deep breath before letting out a lengthy exhale.
“Here I am, playing this game I seem to have asked to play… might as well jump in feet first.” she intones under her breath, mostly speaking to Fiachra.
Fiachra lets out a sharp hoot and nips Gwyllen’s ear as if telling her to shit or get off the pot.
Seeing Pheral touching her the letters, his fingers leaving little melted puddles on the surface of the frosty surface. Maybe this one will be useful after all. She makes a mental note to discuss his interests at greater length.
Nyree seemed too easy to trust and she could already feel herself losing the grip on mistrust of everything. What exactly was life on any plane with trust or the lack there of? All things change, there is no control. If she was to play this game effectively, she would have to even release the trust of her own self and just let go.
OOC - Cue Ram Dass meditation workshop music.
She would make sure to spend some time with the elf and trade secrets of Fey lay lines, in Sylvan speech of course to make it mysterious and frustrate the Dwarf.
Considering the small hairball named Kellen, she decides to at least try and play nice… Maybe he’s hung like a donkey and I can get him to bathe.
In all reality, she had no less reason to trust Ardell than any of the rest of them. She considered how hilarious it would be to offer to shake hands, but shakes it off. Don’t be a ******* ******* to people you just met.
On that note, Fiachra croaks and flaps its wings disapprovingly. Hopping into the air and gliding to land on the less than consenting Gnome’s good shoulder. The inevitable side-eye it casts back to Gwyllen says it all.
Composing herself and surfacing from the flurry of thoughts that is threatening to drown her psyche, Gwyllen uncorks her water skin and takes a long draw, refreshing her parched throat. She wipes her lips and looks around at the group.
“Do we have a healer here?” she asks, making eye contact with Pheral first, then Kellen, Nyree and finally Professor Ardell Heron.
OOC - Great last name by the way. My best friend’s family growing up had that name. Maybe when his parents died they became Gnomes in Neth. :-\
As she awaits an answer, she crouches down and pulls the Magical bag from her shoulder. She looks inside, surveying its contents. Most are familiar to her, but she looks for one thing… where is that damned book? Perhaps it remains with the Tortles. Maybe that would be for the best!
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
Since Fiarcha is really just a part of Gwyllen, if she really wants to figure it out whether her soul reflects the same on different planes, then roll arcana and religion checks.
And, thanks! Your bestie's parents did have an unfortunate trip to Neth some time ago. They've never been able to make it out. *grin*
Gwyllen looks to each person, inquiring about a healer, and in turn, they all shake their heads no. Arnell puffs up a bit and turns back to the riddle, "Well done! Now, it's not too terribly hard to figure out. I may not be in my prime per se, but I think I have several more good years to go. No need to turn around now, yes! We just need to *flips through some pages* let the dead lead the way. Makes perfect sense!" He looks around to the group for affirmation.
Kellen and Pheral contemplate his words, but aren't really following. Nyree furrows her brow and asks, "What kind of dead? How would they lead the way?"
----
As she surveys her items, everything she brought with her and was given by the Tortles is there, except for the their book. Gwyllen does find a different book, however.
This one is cold to the touch and the size of a journal - much smaller than the one with the green velvet. Decorated with delicate black-blueish metalwork, which sparkles, even in the darkness of the bag. At the cover's center lies skeletal hands grasping for a large jeweled broach. Inside the gem appears to be a glistening oil of some kind that moves as the book is turned this way and that. Inside is a drawing of a raven, shot through the heart and five empty pages waiting for an image.
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's new found self awareness is slightly stunning to it. Gwyllen also feels a strange merging of consciousnesses that was not really as noticeable before. They have always had a degree of separation and the Raven, its own autonomy, but never this level of additional existential consideration.
Fiachra's existential crisis - Arcana / Religion 21 / 22
Gwyllen caresses the strange book. Tracing a circle around the oily centerpiece and feeling the texture of the paper of the inner cover. Her nails quietly and gently scrape their way across the empty portraits and she inhales deeply. I've played hard to get my Queen... May these journeys bring me closer to your nest.
She carefully wraps the book in a scrap of cloth and places it next to her Book of Shadows and Secrets against her hip, securing the pouch tightly with a leather thong.
Gwyllen sizes Arnell up skeptically. This fool is really leading the party? I think not.
"Pheral, would you please assist me in getting this door open?" she decides to work her way into the leadership roll for this ragamuffin band.
Standing near the door, she turns to the young man, holding out her hand. "I know you wish to feel the power of the secrets that the Raven's feathers whisper through the breeze. I saw the marvel in your eyes. Trust me, you will live through this experiment."
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
Fiachra's existential crisis:
Depending on the plane and that plane's alignment, leanings, personality, and tendencies, a soul or petitioner can react in many different ways. It may suffer, be muffled, shine brighter, grow colder, seek to escape, and/or any innumerable reactions.
Outside factors must also be taken into consideration: Is its owner dead or alive? Has it been stolen, sold to the highest bidder, or ripped away by an intelligent object? Has it been given up to a god? Do they have rules or paths for it to take?
Inside factors: Is its owner insane, under a spell, or in conflict with its owner's actions? Can they manifest separately from the body?
In this case, it can, so it takes a bit of the owner's personality and sentience along with it. That means planar dispositions also affect them directly, given their exposure.
Each layer or affect on the soul contributes to its viability, strength, and ability to reason/act on its own.
But there is also an underlying push and pull, if the owner is devout, been chosen by the gods, hunted by fiends, or targeted by devils. They too have influence and can speak through them. Souls are essentially part of a divine aspect and thus can be influenced by them.
Then, of course, there is Neth, a place where all the rules apply and none, all at the same time. This demi-plane is an unknown quantity, so divinity and its aspects are subject to Neth's whims just like everybody else.
Fiachra begins to feel a heartbeat of her own that is in step with Gwyllen's.
As Gwyllen caresses the stone, the oil follows her fingers. The longer she holds her finger there, the more oil there appears to be in the stone.
The young man looks to Professor Heron and then to Gwyllen, "Uh, sure. Wait, what? What do you mean by experiment?! Trust you to live? What?" He jaw opens and closed again in silent retort, but he follows her nonetheless.
Heron looks on excitedly, "Yes, finally we have some direction." To Pheral, "You should be fine, lad. I'm sure she knows what's she's doing. Experimentation is the path to truth!"
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 becomes aware of itself in an entirely new way as an almost corporeal feeling it has never experienced pulsates within it. It hops from Gwyllen’s shoulder and wings off into a nearby tree to brood over its more self-conscious state.
Gwyllen takes Pheral’s hand and leads him to the door before putting her back to the blocked passage and turning to face the man. “I have no idea if this will work, but you must trust me. You will be fine I think… I do not know if I will survive this, but that’s kind of the point I suppose.”
She brings Pheral in closer to her and leans up to whisper in his ear “I truly mean you no harm, just breath deeply and it will all be over soon.”
Before he can react, she kisses him deeply on the lips, her eye simmering with a low purple light and a feathery hand along the side of his neck. As her lips pull away from his, she gazes deep into his eyes and gently slides Mosrael’s blade into his belly.
“Breath, just breath” she says, pulling the dagger from his flesh and laying back against the wall as light washes over him and darkness clouds her eyes. As she falls into death, she sees a flutter of wings out of the corner of her vision…
…Fiachra plummets into Gwyllen’s chest, merging with her in a puff of feathers a crackles of black lightning.
Stabbing Pharel with Mosrael – 4
Cure Wounds on Pharel – 10
Gwyllen is prone and unconscious / pretty much dead… if necessary she will choose to fail her death throws… :-\
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
As Fiachra merges with her host, Gwyllen can feel the rush of the river slowly rise around her feet. The water is shallow, and her now limp body sinks only slightly into the stone door then down to the ground.
Pheral enthralled by the kiss had stared doe-eyed back at her. As the blade seared his stomach, he snapped out of it and pulled two weapons from under his coat. Suddenly, two loud bangs bring her back to consciousness. The echo ringing in her head meddles with the ringing of a far away bell.
Gwyllen quickly realizes the metal objects were discharged directly against her chest and two projectiles hit her right where Fiachra entered her body.
Flintlock pistols dmg = 10
Roll for initiative, if you intend to retaliate
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 conscious mind crashes like a tidal wave through her skull as the cool wetness of the River seeps away from the edges of her mind, replaced by hot needles into her chest. Bells and gun powder fill her ears and a high-pitched ringing ensues, dulling her perception of the world around her.
She takes a long, wheezing breath and moans in agony, her eyeballs rolling in their sockets, desperately trying to focus. As her eyes finally hone in on the world around her, she finds a bloody pit in her chest and Pheral standing above her with strange weapons in his hands.
It should have worked… it should have worked! she thinks as she begins coughing up blood in misty plumes. Rolling over on her side, she finds Mosrael and gives Pheral a blurry eyed look as blood runs freely from her wounds, puddling around her body.
“I told you not to worry.” she coughs more desperately this time as her lungs fill with blood.
Pointing to his un-wounded belly she sputters, "I think you may have overreacted." *wheeze*
“At least you’re quick with your weapons…” *wheeze*
“You could have at least finished the job...” *wheeze*
Laying down on her back, one hand on her chest, she takes dagger in her other hand and closes her eyes. This pain was overwhelming and new, but she was more than acquainted with discomfort of all kinds.
In this moment, she finds Mosrael to be more relevant than her vitae spilling from her. She lays the dagger across the hand on her bloody chest, reaching out into the depths of all she knows and does not know for hidden magicks.
Arcana Check - 20
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
Clutching the knife, the river comes up in her mind and how little of it there was. She believes that if she had caused more harm to the boy, the river would've risen higher and brought them both closer to death.See post after map for an update.The startled Pheral blinks at her words a few times, spins the weapon in his left hand and pockets it lightening quick somewhere on him. The free hand then feels his stomach and eventually lifts his shirt. He stammers, "What? Wait? You stabbed me! What kind of hellcraft is this?" He turns to the group for help, but the right hand's aim never waivers from her.
Perception Checks:
Prof H = 2
Kellan = 12
Nyree = 9
Heron is the closest, but his attention was focused on his papers at the time. He rushes over and kneels beside Gwyllen, "How dare you, young man! Put whatever those things are away!" He then places his only hand on her shoulder and it begins to glow. The light then spreads to her chest, making the pain and bleeding ease up. "There, there. That should make things a bit better. We have got to find a way through, the light will make us both whole again."
Cure Wounds = 7
Gwyllen is still bleeding, but the wounds aren't so deep anymore.
Kellen and Nyree both gasp and look between the two of them. Both are angry and outraged, but unsure where exactly to place it.
Nyree strides over to Pheral and double-checks his stomach, "How did you do that? Fascinating magic work; he's untouched." Kellen finally bursts out, "Oh c'mon! Does it matter? What are you two playin' at?"
Pheral finally lowers his weapon, but does not put it away. "The she-devil lured me in with her womanly wiles, and then accosted me!"
Nyree cuts in, "She did tell you it was going to be ok and to trust her. A bit too quick to the draw, I think." Speaking to Gwyllen on the ground, "It may have worked a bit. I think you sunk into the door a bit. Am I correct?"
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
This where the gang has landed.
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
Arcana Roll Update
Clutching the knife, her mind shifts to a memory out of step with her own understanding of what has come before. She's walking with Arnack through a grocer's shop towards the back. He's turning the knife over in his hand and is surprisingly adept at it.
He excitedly gushes, "Our last job was such a doozy! Thank goodness you were there to help, Gwyllen. We couldn't have done it without you." Smiling up at you, his entire pack is on his back and he is deftly weaving it around all obstacles.
You both come to a halt. There on the floor, directly at your feet, in a pool of blood and mucus lies an older female halfing. Gwyllen knows it is blood, as she can smell and taste it in the air. It's also sprayed across the walls and floors in one single direction - directly away from the spot she and Arnack are standing in. The body is still twitching a bit, causing more blood to ooze out of the mangled carcass.
"Oh good!," Arnack exclaimed, "We're right on time. Did you double-check that her son has gone?" He leans down with a contraption like no other she had ever seen before. There's a sudden flash, then another and another. Her eyes start to see spots, and Gwyllen hears Arnack happily chat away, "I told you it would work! Soren is a smooth talker when he wants to be and you earned it. Did he tell you all the things your knives can do now? Did he also get all grumpy serious face guy and warn you about the effects? By all that is Tortle, that guy is nothing if not consistent!"
He then looks up at you again all smiles with his feet slipping slightly in the gore. The memory then fades and becomes fuzzy, bringing her back to a painful present with new knowledge.
She knows everything about Mosrael, The Dagger of Transference that is currently listed on her sheet.
Plus, she now understands that there was a moment where she could feel the tug of the bell on her soul and had to decide whether to fall into death or not. She declined this time due to being surprised. However, she also understands that the ringing of the bell is strong and it could possibly make the decision for her next time she uses the blade.
Let me know if anything is vague or if you have any questions.
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 mind twists into a knot as the strange, displaced memory floods back to her. Coupled with the pain and rining and feeling of sinking into death and matter itself, she feels as though she’ll need to practice this a few more times to get it right.
With a painful gulp, she sits up and leans against the door, wiping Mosrael’s blade and returning it to its sheath. “Yes, Nyree. Perhaps I should have asked for your help instead of this one… I may have a flair for he dramatic, and I was a bit vague. I’m not sure who would say yes to a stranger stabbing them, though, even if it did not wound.”
Addressing Pheral, “I’m not really sure what to even say to you. I guess we’ll leave it at that unless you'd like to try harder to kill me this time.”
With a grimace, she rises to a squat and cradles her wounded chest as frosty sparks and tiny feathers rain down from her face, melting away before they hit the ground. She wipes the perspiration and lacrima away and stands, shakily.
“Perhaps we should have a look around or try another idea before I go trying to murder myself again… there is also the option of one of you crossing perhaps, if anyone dares.”
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
Pheral's face is bright red. He's somewhere between embarrassed, pissed off, and turned on. His free hand is now on his hip and his other hand holding the gun is resting on his head. The young man is obviously not sure how to handle this and gives you another horrified look when you speak.
Nyree's hands go to her hips in mocking offense, "Yes, you probably should've. We'd still be kissing." She winks at you, laughs, and offers her hand, "Do you need some assistance? You're bleeding a bunch."
Kellen is hoppin' mad, "This is the craziest shit I've ever seen. You're willing to kill yourself to get through this damn door?!" She pulls a rabbit out of her bag, "Apparently, your momma didn't put much sense into your head. Maybe you should try killing something else first!" Taking the rabbit by the feet, she leans into the door like Gwyllen did before, and proceeds to slap the animal's head and body into the door. The closer it is to death the more she sinks in.
The air is quickly filled with "THWAPS!" from the body hitting the door and shrill screams from the desperate rabbit.
Just before it dies, Kellan says, "Dinner's on the other side folks," and falls through the door back first and feet flying up.
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