A fire was roaring in the gigantic hearth. Popping and whizzing with freshly placed kindling and withered bodies, it brought a sense of warmth to her otherwise cold soul. Sitting at the banquet table, she was not enjoying the meal her servants had prepared, per usual. The courses, like everything else, tasted like dust in her mouth and devoid of anything that would satiate her. Only memories filled her at this point, but she continued this hollow ritual...for reasons she no longer remembered. The act filled her nights and kept her mind tethered to this plane, or at least that's what she hoped.
She had a knack for losing herself in memories, rooting around and finding the best ones, this habit had, of course, led her to this current predicament and to this feast. Why had she let this happen? This event might be the most boring and ever increasingly dangerous occasion she'd allowed in some time. She thought it would be thrilling, but instead, the one-eyed fool just prattled away, basking in his own monologues, and not caring to actually hold a conversation. Perhaps his trick is to bore his adversary, no ally, to death before taking their share.
She sighs and outwardly smiles at another clever quip. Ever the hostess, ever the patient audience for her guest's ramblings. He was beginning to twitch, finally. The sense that he'd gone on too long, but could not stop. It was written all across his ridiculous face. The feedback loop was precious to her and quite predictable. She should step in, really, hospitality was invoked. No matter how delicious his agony was, he had to be saved from himself. Poor little thing, once beneath her, always beneath.
Looking around her table at all of their servants, one more powerful than the next, she smiled wide and cut in when he took a slight breath. Grabbing her goblet and raising it up, "Dear guests, I am grateful for your presence here at my table and in my home. You are as always, fine company. Bringing the most captivating conversation with you and sharing it here for everyone's amusement. I could not ask for a better time."
As he gathered himself from his faux pas, she brings her goblet to face him, "To you, my most honored guest, let us be friends in this time of strife and upheaval. Together we can defeat anyone who threatens our claims in the Shadowfell. Let them be starved for knowledge and waste away into nothingness."
Waiting for him try to stand was entertainment in itself, he needed at least three servants to make the process complete. His body was nothing of substance, only the meat that supplied his brain nutrients and form. As he stood, she turned back to the horde, "Won't you raise a glass in honor of our new alliance to defeat the forces of Kas and his new master. May they know the foul taste of defeat and the abyss of powerlessness at our hands." Her audience swelled with cries of war and chants of victory.
After a time, she quiets them with a nod and turns to her main guest, "Lord Vecna, please grant us your knowledge of the time to come." And with that, she had sentenced them all to the machinations of scheming fool. He would drone on like this for some time, and the collective squirming of the room would make for a delicious treat. Someone, on his side probably, was going to die cruelly. It always happened and she always let it. At last, a tasty distraction.
Somewhere in the darkness, all hell was breaking loose. Each of you can hear angry shouts, moaning, energy crackling, and something made of wood breaking in the void.
Your senses rise towards the sounds. Gwyllen has been through this before, but for everyone else, the sensation is new and disorientating.
All of you begin to come around when a screech of pain pierces your eardrums, instinctively creating in a fight or flight response. There is a light breeze and energy prickling your skin and a bright, blinding orange light coming from somewhere close. There is a cold surface against your entire form, which is heavy and a tad foreign at the moment.
Background noises are the last thing to come into focus besides your vision. A scraping sound can be heard. Something is being dragged and it's getting closer.
Another gravelly command rings out in this moment, "ARNACK! ... MOVE! ... THE. ... BEARERS. ... MUST. ... NOT. ... BE. ... LOST!
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Init: 16 Peception: 18
Noctis (Noct for short), tries to pick himself up, luckily pain was an old friend and he didn't have as hard of a time moving his limbs because of it. That being said, the noises and darkness filled him with dread, as one place came to mind. However before the thought could pierce deeper into his mind he shook his head to clear his thoughts and began to look around for something he could use or a way to get out.
What is this, a dream? The thoughts pass through Kanrath's mind. The muffled echoes of sound emanate in his mind. The night was peaceful, yet here my mind seems to be. Perhaps a vision...
Then, the muffled dream becomes louder and clearer. The sounds of angry shouts, the crackling, it comes into his perspective. This sounds... different to normal. His thoughts continue. Then, the ear-pearcing ringing in his mind. He subconsciously reaches for his head, the humanoid part of his frame bracing for the agony that comes with the call. His lower half, the blackened hide of a powerful stallion, begins to want to move, its instincts telling Kanrath to move, yet he couldn't. What is going on?
Finally, Kanrath opens his eyes, the steel-grey irises glancing around. Where was he? Wherever it was, it was definitely not where he had laid his pack after his last day of travel. If it were something coming to attack him, the Raven Blade would have warned him. Perhaps the sentinel's ward really has disowned me, as twice this has happened, but it was not in this manner. The thought runs through Kanrath's mind as he gets to his feet.
Towering over most humanoids, the centaur reaches to his side. He checks what is strapped to his equine build. Over his body, sheets of chain links protect his strong frame, as he reaches for the shield upon his back. On a loop by the belt on his humanoid hip is a heavy hammer, which he readies to draw if these noises are a threat. A dragging noise is heard, seeming to depict that somthing, or someone, is being brought this way.
The centaur utters to himself, reaching from the warhammer to a crest upon his breast, the symbol passed to him from his mentor, a purple insignia that shows dark feathers around a metallic ring. "Blessings of the Night and Sky, ready me and guide my ways."The centaur steels himself; he is a sentinel of the dark, a guardian of the twilight. If this place is at its darkest, he is ready to march onward until dawn comes once again. This may just be a test, something that I must overcome before my duty is fulfilled.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Perception: 7 Initiative: 12
Marenos an Aquatic Half-Elf launches up grabbing at his component pouch and a flowing shadow takes over his eyes. Yelling "Who are you." to whoever the first voice came from
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P: The Traveling Ward: Natural Napalm Enthusiast. (AURYN: The Hunt For The Last Unicorn.)
Gwyllen tries to clear her aching head again, something that never seems to get easier with these surprise jaunts into the unknown. She doesn’t even bother to open her eyes, instead reaching out with her other senses as she finds her footing on the chilly ground beneath her. Her mind taps into the pathways of Fey energy and she attempts to remain vigilant in the face of the myriad sensations which flow across her mind and body. She slowly opens her eyes and allows them to remain unfocused, waiting for something worth gazing upon. S
does not bother to try and conceptualize whether or not she is clothed or has any of her personal effects. That will become relevant when it is a necessity.
The noise, while surprising and unpleasant, is not entirely disturbing. She is beginning to expect the unexpected it seems. Or, at the very least, she is broken enough to find less terror in her body’s reactions to stimuli.
Gwyllen tilts her head at the sound of that Old Voice… she was wondering if they’d show up again. That Arnack character though... she was happy to hear his name, although this was obviously no time for a catching up with old friends… He was the only person in her entire life who had ever made her a nice, warm cup of tea; she would not be forgetting that any time soon.
In times of chaos, finding an anchor was just that simple. What can be trusted besides what can be perceived? Why trust anything, if not the bearer of comforting liquids?
All of her foggy thoughts find themselves heavily grounded as a sharp pain snaps onto her earlobe and something stabs her temple. Fiachra the Spirit Raven is there and looking just as stoic, and somehow judgmental, as could be expected. The Raven lets out a rather monstrous croaking noise and digs its talons into Gwyllen’s shoulder. Its eyes cloud over with a shimmering frost and Gwyllen’s ignite with a brighter level of awareness, the edges of her vision filling with ethereal snowfall.
She rolls her shoulders back in preparation for what is to come and breathes in deeply... Almost as if in response, feathers and ice crystallize across her shoulder and down her body from Fiachra’s firmly planted claws, as if mocking her attempts to be still and warm. Squeezing her hands into fists, she reaches out with the height of her perception and stands ready.
In answer to the question hastily called out, a deep, lonesome moan fills the air and ears. The only thing greater than the sense of loss it conveys is the fact that the voice is also choking and gasping for breath.
All of you struggling for orientation can at first see two major elements: 1) an active portal is open directly in front of you. Crackling orange light is battling against black wisps of energy emanating from within its center. The light is blinding at first, but as eyes adjust, the dance between the two energies is captivating. 2) There is a large weeping monster struggling against some kind of neck binding to reach two figures directly in its path. It walks on two spikes and is bleeding all over the ground from a lost appendage. All the while, it tries to fling the freshly shorn stump in the direction of the same two figures.
For Kanarth, as his eyes and mind adjust to their new surroundings, more figures can be seen to your right, but they are unremarkable at the present.
Those with rolls twelve and higher, you are able to tear your eyes off from this scene:
Marenos, you manage to do so, after realizing that you are one of the figures of its focus. When you look to your right, there is a pale feminine form lying on the ground being pecked into consciousness by a raven. She looks decidedly unimpressed with her situation.
Noctis from your vantage point, which is behind the two figures that the creature favors. You can see a leash around the monster's neck and it is tethered to a green warhorse. The large sturdy animal is straining to keep the monstrosity in place, let alone pull it back. There is also a tortle nearby. It is dragging the harpoon-like severed limb in one hand and a very large kitchen knife in the other. The tortle has a gigantic pack on its back and is chattering away at the warhorse. When you look around you can see two more figures to your left. The one closest one to you is still unconscious on the ground, the other on the far side is a fully grown centaur who is already on his feet.
Gwyllen from your vantage point on the ground, the lumbering creature has locked in on you and the figure to your left. The masculine form has noticed your mutual admirer and is in a battle stance. Even from this prone position, you see all of what Noctis does. Plus, when looking above your head to your right, you notice the table and chairs have taken a beating. There is also no sign of Omega, the bones haven't moved, and the warring energies of the gate are about to crescendo with an energy blast.
Initiative Order:
Gwyllen 20 Kanrath 20 Monster 20
Marenos 5
Noctis 4 Tortle & Warhorse 4
Group one will act together, then Marenos, followed by the others. Hopefully, Eira will want to arise here shortly to get in on all the fun.
The scene begins to bleed into Kanrath's vision. Two travellers and an enclosing monster are what he sees. This scene is not unfamiliar to him, as he has spent many a day warding routes from large monsters that the common folk cannot fend off. Sometimes it is something he can defeat with his gifts granted, other times it is enough to simply hold them off long enough and then make a retreat back into the shadows. Kanrath sees this as another one of these scenarios. Perhaps this is another test after all. He thinks, stepping forward, and raising a hand back to the symbol upon his chest. May my thoughts be true to this fact.
"Lady of the Twilight and Dark, aid my blade and shield my form." Kanrath recites off before approaching the fray, shield raised and ready to defend against the beast.
I guess this turn, make a monster knowledge check on this creature. The teachings of the tribe may have forewarned about such monsters.
He will take a dodge action with his first turn, as he does not know the whole story yet. He then uses Shield of Faith to ward himself, taking a fully defensive turn.
If the knowledge check comes up with something along the lines of "oh yeah, this is a bad, bad thing", Kanrath will position himself between the beast and the others, attempting to lure it to focus on himself. Regardless, heading closer as to interceded on behalf of someone in case of full violence.
A young woman, early twenties maybe comes to her senses. Eira shakes the mud out of her, now actually dirty, dirty blonde hair. "Where am I, Dumeron. Did you take me here?" , she thought to herself. The young sorceress had never been teleported before. This was new, strange and unnerving.
She brushes off some dirt from her clothes and quickly pats herself down to see if she's lost anything. Her hand enters the pocket of her black, somewhat baggy pants. Thank the angels above, she still had her wand. She straightens her light blue sash and grey cloak aligned with white, fluffy fur, now dirtied from her falling to the ground. The uppermost button of her white shirt loosened in the hubbub, but it could be replaced if need be. Thankfully her beautifully embroidered vest and gold brooch were still okay. It was only after she had straightened out her clothes she noticed the area around her.
"Oh no.. Dumeron, I've a feeling were not in the tavern anymore."
Initiative: 13 Perception: 15
(OOC: Sorry for the late post. I spent most of yesterday travelling and couldn't find the time to formulate a good opening post)
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Blixanix Glitterpain, Goblin Bard - In campaign: Ravnica, City of Guilds
The Soggiest DM - In campaign: Boats, Rocks & Ruffians Eira Whitefeather, Human Sorcerer/Warlock - In campaign: Death Inspectors Expanded
Roland "THUNDER HIPPO" Wolfscribe, Human Bloodhunter - In campaign: Core City: A Play-by-post Adventure
When Eira remembers to look up, she is greeted by two major elements: 1) an open, active portal directly in front of her. Crackling orange light is battling against black wisps of energy emanating from within its center. The light is blinding at first, but as her eyes adjust, the dance between the two energies is captivating. 2) There is a large weeping monster struggling against some kind of neck binding to reach two figures directly in its path. They are directly in front of her (one is on the ground), but it is paying her no mind. The creature walks on two spikes and is bleeding all over the ground from a lost appendage. All the while, it keeps trying to fling the freshly shorn stump in the direction of the same two figures.
She can also see a leash around the monster's neck, which is tethered to a green warhorse behind it. The large sturdy animal is straining to keep the monstrosity in place, and having no luck in pulling it back.
There is nothing but silence from Dumeron.
UPDATED Initiative Order:
Gwyllen 20 Kanrath 20 Monster 20
Eira 15
Marenos 5
Noctis 4 Tortle & Warhorse 4
Group one will act together, then Eira, followed by Marenos, and finally by Noctis and the others.
The monster weeps black pitch down its face and wails in lament right before straining to move forward with renewed force. Its long, harpoon-like appendage juts out to reach for Marenos, but only the very tip of the spike reaches him. The boney protrusion scratches and yearns for the half-elf to come closer.
Slowly recognizing that its prize is just out of reach, the monstrosity moans in deepest regret, "MIIIIIINNNNNNEEEE!"
As the scene becomes apparent to Gwyllen, she gazes upon the strange, tortured thing which approaches. Glancing quickly around her, she takes note of the unlikely group of strangers. I hope they are more useful than that last bunch, she thinks to herself.
Seeing the portal bursting at the seams, she has a vivid recollection of pain and discomfort, and decides her course of action.
She turns on her heel and hurries back towards the Tiefling and Human directly behind her, nodding at them as she passes them, standing about 20 feet away from the strange monster.
“Everyone pull back unless you feel like suffering… that portal looks volatile!”she says in a loud growl.
Sliding her Orb from beneath her robe she balls her fist around it and raises it high above her head as Fiachra leaps into the air to soar out over the creature, cawing loudly at the wretched thing.
Icy blue flames erupts from Gwyllen’s eyes and her breath turns to cold mist as the orb radiates an eldritch light the color of a painful bruise. Feathers run down her forearm, quickly followed by frost and, as they reach her elbow, the light within her orb lets out a blinding flash and blinks out, leaving her to cradle her arm beneath her cloak, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily.
Between the half elf and the creature, a 5 foot area turns to mist above the thing's face, just out of arm's reach, then solidifies into a very small Beholder. It wriggles its eye-stalks and bares its teeth aggressively, its false eyes glowing as if to fire deadly beams of energy at the creature.
Minor Illusion– Not sure what you’ll allow with this spell… If the creature could jump high enough to touch the thing and investigate as action, it would need to make a DC 14 INT check or be fooled in whatever way you deem appropriate.
As the illusion appears Fiachra descends to circle and dip behind it, letting out croaking growls and attempting to sound monstrous, though maybe only sounding creepy and gross.
A cold rush of fear and confusion goes through Eiras very being. The horrible monster. She almost feels bad for it, but it is clearly dangerous, and attacking someone else in the equally as confused as her, group.
"Stop it!". As the words escape her mouth waves appear in front of her face. The very vibrations of her voice creates tremors in the air. She points her wand at the creature.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Marenos scrambles back past Kwenir feet or so "Nooo, thank you." He says as he takes out a small water decanter and whispers "Geyser" into it pointed at the beast (Dc 13 stength or 2 damage and it is knocked prone)
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P: The Traveling Ward: Natural Napalm Enthusiast. (AURYN: The Hunt For The Last Unicorn.)
DM:
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(Each of you, except Gwyllen, received the above note rolled around a black feather, bound by a blackened leather cord.)
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 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
(Fortress of Memories)
PROLOGUE
A fire was roaring in the gigantic hearth. Popping and whizzing with freshly placed kindling and withered bodies, it brought a sense of warmth to her otherwise cold soul. Sitting at the banquet table, she was not enjoying the meal her servants had prepared, per usual. The courses, like everything else, tasted like dust in her mouth and devoid of anything that would satiate her. Only memories filled her at this point, but she continued this hollow ritual...for reasons she no longer remembered. The act filled her nights and kept her mind tethered to this plane, or at least that's what she hoped.
She had a knack for losing herself in memories, rooting around and finding the best ones, this habit had, of course, led her to this current predicament and to this feast. Why had she let this happen? This event might be the most boring and ever increasingly dangerous occasion she'd allowed in some time. She thought it would be thrilling, but instead, the one-eyed fool just prattled away, basking in his own monologues, and not caring to actually hold a conversation. Perhaps his trick is to bore his adversary, no ally, to death before taking their share.
She sighs and outwardly smiles at another clever quip. Ever the hostess, ever the patient audience for her guest's ramblings. He was beginning to twitch, finally. The sense that he'd gone on too long, but could not stop. It was written all across his ridiculous face. The feedback loop was precious to her and quite predictable. She should step in, really, hospitality was invoked. No matter how delicious his agony was, he had to be saved from himself. Poor little thing, once beneath her, always beneath.
Looking around her table at all of their servants, one more powerful than the next, she smiled wide and cut in when he took a slight breath. Grabbing her goblet and raising it up, "Dear guests, I am grateful for your presence here at my table and in my home. You are as always, fine company. Bringing the most captivating conversation with you and sharing it here for everyone's amusement. I could not ask for a better time."
As he gathered himself from his faux pas, she brings her goblet to face him, "To you, my most honored guest, let us be friends in this time of strife and upheaval. Together we can defeat anyone who threatens our claims in the Shadowfell. Let them be starved for knowledge and waste away into nothingness."
Waiting for him try to stand was entertainment in itself, he needed at least three servants to make the process complete. His body was nothing of substance, only the meat that supplied his brain nutrients and form. As he stood, she turned back to the horde, "Won't you raise a glass in honor of our new alliance to defeat the forces of Kas and his new master. May they know the foul taste of defeat and the abyss of powerlessness at our hands." Her audience swelled with cries of war and chants of victory.
After a time, she quiets them with a nod and turns to her main guest, "Lord Vecna, please grant us your knowledge of the time to come." And with that, she had sentenced them all to the machinations of scheming fool. He would drone on like this for some time, and the collective squirming of the room would make for a delicious treat. Someone, on his side probably, was going to die cruelly. It always happened and she always let it. At last, a tasty distraction.
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
Chapter One - The Gathering
Somewhere in the darkness, all hell was breaking loose. Each of you can hear angry shouts, moaning, energy crackling, and something made of wood breaking in the void.
Your senses rise towards the sounds. Gwyllen has been through this before, but for everyone else, the sensation is new and disorientating.
All of you begin to come around when a screech of pain pierces your eardrums, instinctively creating in a fight or flight response. There is a light breeze and energy prickling your skin and a bright, blinding orange light coming from somewhere close. There is a cold surface against your entire form, which is heavy and a tad foreign at the moment.
Background noises are the last thing to come into focus besides your vision. A scraping sound can be heard. Something is being dragged and it's getting closer.
Another gravelly command rings out in this moment, "ARNACK! ... MOVE! ... THE. ... BEARERS. ... MUST. ... NOT. ... BE. ... LOST!
Roll Initiative and Perception Checks, pls.
(And so we begin. Have at 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
Init: 16
Peception: 18
Noctis (Noct for short), tries to pick himself up, luckily pain was an old friend and he didn't have as hard of a time moving his limbs because of it. That being said, the noises and darkness filled him with dread, as one place came to mind. However before the thought could pierce deeper into his mind he shook his head to clear his thoughts and began to look around for something he could use or a way to get out.
What is this, a dream? The thoughts pass through Kanrath's mind. The muffled echoes of sound emanate in his mind. The night was peaceful, yet here my mind seems to be. Perhaps a vision...
Then, the muffled dream becomes louder and clearer. The sounds of angry shouts, the crackling, it comes into his perspective. This sounds... different to normal. His thoughts continue. Then, the ear-pearcing ringing in his mind. He subconsciously reaches for his head, the humanoid part of his frame bracing for the agony that comes with the call. His lower half, the blackened hide of a powerful stallion, begins to want to move, its instincts telling Kanrath to move, yet he couldn't. What is going on?
Finally, Kanrath opens his eyes, the steel-grey irises glancing around. Where was he? Wherever it was, it was definitely not where he had laid his pack after his last day of travel. If it were something coming to attack him, the Raven Blade would have warned him. Perhaps the sentinel's ward really has disowned me, as twice this has happened, but it was not in this manner. The thought runs through Kanrath's mind as he gets to his feet.
Towering over most humanoids, the centaur reaches to his side. He checks what is strapped to his equine build. Over his body, sheets of chain links protect his strong frame, as he reaches for the shield upon his back. On a loop by the belt on his humanoid hip is a heavy hammer, which he readies to draw if these noises are a threat. A dragging noise is heard, seeming to depict that somthing, or someone, is being brought this way.
The centaur utters to himself, reaching from the warhammer to a crest upon his breast, the symbol passed to him from his mentor, a purple insignia that shows dark feathers around a metallic ring. "Blessings of the Night and Sky, ready me and guide my ways." The centaur steels himself; he is a sentinel of the dark, a guardian of the twilight. If this place is at its darkest, he is ready to march onward until dawn comes once again. This may just be a test, something that I must overcome before my duty is fulfilled.
Initiative (with guidance): 20
Perception: 10, comes with limitless Darkvision, if required.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
Perception: 7 Initiative: 12
Marenos an Aquatic Half-Elf launches up grabbing at his component pouch and a flowing shadow takes over his eyes. Yelling "Who are you." to whoever the first voice came from
P: The Traveling Ward: Natural Napalm Enthusiast. (AURYN: The Hunt For The Last Unicorn.)
DM:
On a side note, can the PCs see each other, or are these separate scenarios but linked in a more intrinsic fashion?
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
Gwyllen tries to clear her aching head again, something that never seems to get easier with these surprise jaunts into the unknown. She doesn’t even bother to open her eyes, instead reaching out with her other senses as she finds her footing on the chilly ground beneath her. Her mind taps into the pathways of Fey energy and she attempts to remain vigilant in the face of the myriad sensations which flow across her mind and body. She slowly opens her eyes and allows them to remain unfocused, waiting for something worth gazing upon. S
does not bother to try and conceptualize whether or not she is clothed or has any of her personal effects. That will become relevant when it is a necessity.
The noise, while surprising and unpleasant, is not entirely disturbing. She is beginning to expect the unexpected it seems. Or, at the very least, she is broken enough to find less terror in her body’s reactions to stimuli.
Gwyllen tilts her head at the sound of that Old Voice… she was wondering if they’d show up again. That Arnack character though... she was happy to hear his name, although this was obviously no time for a catching up with old friends… He was the only person in her entire life who had ever made her a nice, warm cup of tea; she would not be forgetting that any time soon.
In times of chaos, finding an anchor was just that simple. What can be trusted besides what can be perceived? Why trust anything, if not the bearer of comforting liquids?
All of her foggy thoughts find themselves heavily grounded as a sharp pain snaps onto her earlobe and something stabs her temple. Fiachra the Spirit Raven is there and looking just as stoic, and somehow judgmental, as could be expected. The Raven lets out a rather monstrous croaking noise and digs its talons into Gwyllen’s shoulder. Its eyes cloud over with a shimmering frost and Gwyllen’s ignite with a brighter level of awareness, the edges of her vision filling with ethereal snowfall.
She rolls her shoulders back in preparation for what is to come and breathes in deeply... Almost as if in response, feathers and ice crystallize across her shoulder and down her body from Fiachra’s firmly planted claws, as if mocking her attempts to be still and warm. Squeezing her hands into fists, she reaches out with the height of her perception and stands ready.
Initiative - 20
Perception with Spirit Raven's Eyes - 27
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
(OOC: That will be revealed when I post tonight. Pls stay tuned.)
(OOC: Kweinir - we're moving forward, you're just taking a bit longer to come round.)
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 answer to the question hastily called out, a deep, lonesome moan fills the air and ears. The only thing greater than the sense of loss it conveys is the fact that the voice is also choking and gasping for breath.
All of you struggling for orientation can at first see two major elements: 1) an active portal is open directly in front of you. Crackling orange light is battling against black wisps of energy emanating from within its center. The light is blinding at first, but as eyes adjust, the dance between the two energies is captivating. 2) There is a large weeping monster struggling against some kind of neck binding to reach two figures directly in its path. It walks on two spikes and is bleeding all over the ground from a lost appendage. All the while, it tries to fling the freshly shorn stump in the direction of the same two figures.
For Kanarth, as his eyes and mind adjust to their new surroundings, more figures can be seen to your right, but they are unremarkable at the present.
Those with rolls twelve and higher, you are able to tear your eyes off from this scene:
Marenos, you manage to do so, after realizing that you are one of the figures of its focus. When you look to your right, there is a pale feminine form lying on the ground being pecked into consciousness by a raven. She looks decidedly unimpressed with her situation.
Noctis from your vantage point, which is behind the two figures that the creature favors. You can see a leash around the monster's neck and it is tethered to a green warhorse. The large sturdy animal is straining to keep the monstrosity in place, let alone pull it back. There is also a tortle nearby. It is dragging the harpoon-like severed limb in one hand and a very large kitchen knife in the other. The tortle has a gigantic pack on its back and is chattering away at the warhorse. When you look around you can see two more figures to your left. The one closest one to you is still unconscious on the ground, the other on the far side is a fully grown centaur who is already on his feet.
Gwyllen from your vantage point on the ground, the lumbering creature has locked in on you and the figure to your left. The masculine form has noticed your mutual admirer and is in a battle stance. Even from this prone position, you see all of what Noctis does. Plus, when looking above your head to your right, you notice the table and chairs have taken a beating. There is also no sign of Omega, the bones haven't moved, and the warring energies of the gate are about to crescendo with an energy blast.
Initiative Order:
Kanrath 20
Monster 20
Tortle & Warhorse 4
Group one will act together, then Marenos, followed by the others. Hopefully, Eira will want to arise here shortly to get in on all the fun.
Good luck!
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 scene begins to bleed into Kanrath's vision. Two travellers and an enclosing monster are what he sees. This scene is not unfamiliar to him, as he has spent many a day warding routes from large monsters that the common folk cannot fend off. Sometimes it is something he can defeat with his gifts granted, other times it is enough to simply hold them off long enough and then make a retreat back into the shadows. Kanrath sees this as another one of these scenarios. Perhaps this is another test after all. He thinks, stepping forward, and raising a hand back to the symbol upon his chest. May my thoughts be true to this fact.
"Lady of the Twilight and Dark, aid my blade and shield my form." Kanrath recites off before approaching the fray, shield raised and ready to defend against the beast.
I guess this turn, make a monster knowledge check on this creature. The teachings of the tribe may have forewarned about such monsters.
Religion: 5 (-2 if Arcana or Nature are more viable)
He will take a dodge action with his first turn, as he does not know the whole story yet. He then uses Shield of Faith to ward himself, taking a fully defensive turn.
If the knowledge check comes up with something along the lines of "oh yeah, this is a bad, bad thing", Kanrath will position himself between the beast and the others, attempting to lure it to focus on himself. Regardless, heading closer as to interceded on behalf of someone in case of full violence.
Current Player In: The Guild as Elsara Deepmoon
A young woman, early twenties maybe comes to her senses. Eira shakes the mud out of her, now actually dirty, dirty blonde hair. "Where am I, Dumeron. Did you take me here?" , she thought to herself. The young sorceress had never been teleported before. This was new, strange and unnerving.
She brushes off some dirt from her clothes and quickly pats herself down to see if she's lost anything. Her hand enters the pocket of her black, somewhat baggy pants. Thank the angels above, she still had her wand. She straightens her light blue sash and grey cloak aligned with white, fluffy fur, now dirtied from her falling to the ground. The uppermost button of her white shirt loosened in the hubbub, but it could be replaced if need be. Thankfully her beautifully embroidered vest and gold brooch were still okay. It was only after she had straightened out her clothes she noticed the area around her.
"Oh no.. Dumeron, I've a feeling were not in the tavern anymore."
Initiative: 13
Perception: 15
(OOC: Sorry for the late post. I spent most of yesterday travelling and couldn't find the time to formulate a good opening post)
Blixanix Glitterpain, Goblin Bard - In campaign: Ravnica, City of GuildsThe Soggiest DM - In campaign: Boats, Rocks & RuffiansEira Whitefeather, Human Sorcerer/Warlock - In campaign: Death Inspectors ExpandedRoland "THUNDER HIPPO" Wolfscribe, Human Bloodhunter - In campaign: Core City: A Play-by-post Adventure
(OOC: No worries! )
When Eira remembers to look up, she is greeted by two major elements: 1) an open, active portal directly in front of her. Crackling orange light is battling against black wisps of energy emanating from within its center. The light is blinding at first, but as her eyes adjust, the dance between the two energies is captivating. 2) There is a large weeping monster struggling against some kind of neck binding to reach two figures directly in its path. They are directly in front of her (one is on the ground), but it is paying her no mind. The creature walks on two spikes and is bleeding all over the ground from a lost appendage. All the while, it keeps trying to fling the freshly shorn stump in the direction of the same two figures.
She can also see a leash around the monster's neck, which is tethered to a green warhorse behind it. The large sturdy animal is straining to keep the monstrosity in place, and having no luck in pulling it back.
There is nothing but silence from Dumeron.
UPDATED Initiative Order:
Kanrath 20
Monster 20
Tortle & Warhorse 4
Group one will act together, then Eira, followed by Marenos, and finally by Noctis and the others.
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 monster weeps black pitch down its face and wails in lament right before straining to move forward with renewed force. Its long, harpoon-like appendage juts out to reach for Marenos, but only the very tip of the spike reaches him. The boney protrusion scratches and yearns for the half-elf to come closer.
Slowly recognizing that its prize is just out of reach, the monstrosity moans in deepest regret, "MIIIIIINNNNNNEEEE!"
(OOC: Kaddock you're 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
As the scene becomes apparent to Gwyllen, she gazes upon the strange, tortured thing which approaches. Glancing quickly around her, she takes note of the unlikely group of strangers. I hope they are more useful than that last bunch, she thinks to herself.
Seeing the portal bursting at the seams, she has a vivid recollection of pain and discomfort, and decides her course of action.
She turns on her heel and hurries back towards the Tiefling and Human directly behind her, nodding at them as she passes them, standing about 20 feet away from the strange monster.
“Everyone pull back unless you feel like suffering… that portal looks volatile!” she says in a loud growl.
Sliding her Orb from beneath her robe she balls her fist around it and raises it high above her head as Fiachra leaps into the air to soar out over the creature, cawing loudly at the wretched thing.
Icy blue flames erupts from Gwyllen’s eyes and her breath turns to cold mist as the orb radiates an eldritch light the color of a painful bruise. Feathers run down her forearm, quickly followed by frost and, as they reach her elbow, the light within her orb lets out a blinding flash and blinks out, leaving her to cradle her arm beneath her cloak, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily.
Between the half elf and the creature, a 5 foot area turns to mist above the thing's face, just out of arm's reach, then solidifies into a very small Beholder. It wriggles its eye-stalks and bares its teeth aggressively, its false eyes glowing as if to fire deadly beams of energy at the creature.
Minor Illusion – Not sure what you’ll allow with this spell… If the creature could jump high enough to touch the thing and investigate as action, it would need to make a DC 14 INT check or be fooled in whatever way you deem appropriate.
https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Minor%20Illusion#content
As the illusion appears Fiachra descends to circle and dip behind it, letting out croaking growls and attempting to sound monstrous, though maybe only sounding creepy and gross.
Mimicry – Creature makes A DC 10 Wisdom Save
https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Raven#content
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
(OOC: Eira your turn next.)
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
A cold rush of fear and confusion goes through Eiras very being. The horrible monster. She almost feels bad for it, but it is clearly dangerous, and attacking someone else in the equally as confused as her, group.
"Stop it!". As the words escape her mouth waves appear in front of her face. The very vibrations of her voice creates tremors in the air. She points her wand at the creature.
"I don't want to do anything harmful to you."
She casts Command
Save: WIS 13
Blixanix Glitterpain, Goblin Bard - In campaign: Ravnica, City of GuildsThe Soggiest DM - In campaign: Boats, Rocks & RuffiansEira Whitefeather, Human Sorcerer/Warlock - In campaign: Death Inspectors ExpandedRoland "THUNDER HIPPO" Wolfscribe, Human Bloodhunter - In campaign: Core City: A Play-by-post Adventure
(OOC: Marenos, it's all you)
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
Marenos scrambles back past Kwenir feet or so "Nooo, thank you." He says as he takes out a small water decanter and whispers "Geyser" into it pointed at the beast (Dc 13 stength or 2 damage and it is knocked prone)
P: The Traveling Ward: Natural Napalm Enthusiast. (AURYN: The Hunt For The Last Unicorn.)
DM: