After a journey you eventually arrive at the designated location at the edge the forest in monster territory. You needed to be careful, as signs of fighting start from the Rockgrinder pass and only get more intense. Fights over gold, fights over territory, fights over resouces, fights over basic food. Monsters fighting monsters, monsters fighting huumans, wild beasts hunting them both. Signs of adventurers parties charring a goblin camp. Remains from the same adventurers and incomplete massive paw marks 1 foot across. Broken cheap iron daggers and fragments of priceless magical gems. Tree branches chipped from arrows and entire cliff faces melted by magic. The border between the "civilised realms" and the northlands is hostile to all life.
There could hardly be a greater contrast with the area you have reached. It is a small clearing, around 100 feet across, in the middle of the forest. The area seems calm and serene. A soft morning mist covers the area, the undergrowth feels soft an comfortable under your feet, numerous flowers and herbs appear in bloom and even the animals in the area seem unafraid, calmly moving aside, rather than running away at full speed.
There appears to be no one, except wildlife at the location. Your host, whoever he is, is not present. As visitors pass the edge of the forest, a small message made of dancing lights forms in the center of the clearing:
More interested than alarmed, Nasaar settles down to one side of the clearing where he can watch the others as they approach. He is a wiry, and small, hobgoblin, with black hair and reddish skin. There are an assortment of tools tucked into pockets and the pack he wears. At his side hangs a heavy crossbow.
Gathrik approaches the clearing with a careful step, fully aware that he can be attacked or ambushed at any time. The message was intriguing but not to the extent of it blinding his sharpened senses. He puts one on his hands on the handle of his thin curved blade and tenses the other, ready to pull his small leather shield. There is also a longbow dangling from his back alongside with a guided attached to his backpack. He wears loose clothes that blend with the green of the envioroment and are tucked in his loose trousers. He’s feet are protected by soft boots that allow him to sneak easily. His skin is reminiscent of a bog-green colour, and his eyes contrast it like 2 yellow lanterns in the dark. Noticing the hobgoblin he nods slightly, revealing his sharp teeth with a predatory smile. He glances at the light form in the center of the clearing,and shrugs, continuing to look around and wait. He pulls out a strip of jerky from some animal and chews on it for the moment.
Yarvem lets out an unimpressed snort as he makes his way into the clearing. Like most of his kind the young minotaur stands over six feet tall with large foot and a half long horns adorning the top of his head. His clothing is rather simple, consisting of only a pair of pants and wrappings that are tan in color, matching well with the lighter shade of the hair that covers is body. On his side he carries a shortsword and several darts put through loops on his belt. In his hands though he carries a strangely shaped spear that looks to be made for the main purpose of melee combat.
"The dreams showed me nothing of others being here..." He says in a deep baritone, his voice seemingly very serious.
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
"Must be quite the undertaking..." Nasaar says with a shrug of his slender shoulders. The scrawny hobgoblin glances towards the forest. "Wonder how many more we are to wait for..."
Jardor was the next to step into the clearing, eyes blinking at the sun as he cleared the treeline, vision resolving to rest on the others already there.
There in the sunlight stands a tall minotaur, from hooves to the tips of his horns glinting in the air easily over 7', and likely weighing in at 300-400 lbs before the armor that adorns his frame. A crude chainmail slinks across his frame, creating a slight rustling sound as he walks. A thick bladed pommel of a great sword peaks over his left shoulder and his great meaty grip holds a cross bow, not actively aiming at anyone, but ready to defend himself.
His eyes briefly scan the other three that have already arrived in the valley, coming to a rest on Yarvem as he shouts with surprise and happiness.
"Is that you foolish calf? How long has it been? Your horns have finally grown in at least!" Jardor rushes forward to embrace his clan brother in greeting.
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Founding Member of the High Roller Society.(Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
"You will release me or I shall be forced to show you just what these horns can do to you." Yarvem says as he pushes the larger minotaur back with an annoyed grunt. He dusts himself off and makes sure that none of his hair had gotten caught up in the armor of the other minotaur.
"How did you manage to survive this long? I was sure the chief would have out you to death for trying to mate with his daughter." He asked crossing his arms as he then turned to regard others. "That may be true. Did any of you have a dream of this place and then know how to get here?"
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Gathrik nodded, sniffing the air to get the sense out of the mist. “Yes. Exactly that. I hope we get to hunt something fun. It’s been very boring these past few days. I’m Gathrik by the way. I imagine we will work together.”, his voice was surprisingly pleasant for a goblin.
Jardor chuckled, "All a misunderstanding, as I explained to chief. I have nothing but respect for his daughter. I respect her her horns, and her mind, and her....other attributes. So long as I stayed one step ahead of his watchers I was fine. After that, well, I had to stay one step of Tordang, the chief's executioner. That was a little harder. That's why I left."
"Well, that and the dream. It came 2 weeks ago. I dreamnt I was in chief's tent looking at a map of a raid he had planned, but it didn't make any sense. The instructions for the raid showed the clan attacking this clearing. There's nothing here! Nothing for days and days but the dead, dying, and eating. But in the dream I was named raid scout. I was supposed to come here and check it out ahead of the clan. When I woke up it stayed with me. This feeling that I couldn't shake that I had to come to the clearing. Since I had to flee Tordang anyway, I figured this was as good a direction as any."
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Founding Member of the High Roller Society.(Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
"So the chief gave up trying to be civilized then. Probably got tired of so many of the strongest runts beint sent off to the monasteries. It makes us strong but if you actually care enough to learn all of it then you aren't the best at giving into your anger to fight." Yarvem says as he crosses his arms and then turns to regard him more. "If this guy comes after us here you are on your own."
"Rumor has it if a bull self-exiles that is due for execution Tordang just let's him go. So long as they don't come back it is as good as being dead anyway. Fits his lazy nature to boot. I imagine we won't be seeing him. But if we do I know together we can take him down."
Jardor comepletely ignores what Yarvem says about having to face the consequences of his actions alone. What are clan brothers for after all.
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Founding Member of the High Roller Society.(Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
Serit had dragged himself to the clearing finally and slithered in with a rocking gait, his large arms dangling from side to side. His fur was a dark red and he was dressed in darkened patchwork hides, a flail looped through his belt and a small shield strapped to his forearm. A leather unclean mask covered the lower half of his mouth.
He pulled the mask down and looked over the group, "Well look at this group of miscreants before me. You all will make this a lot easier than won't you?"
"Seems to be more interesting all the time." The scrawny hobgoblin says with a nod to the group assembling. "I am Nasaar if any of you wish to know, and I think this is going to be a very interesting job, if we are suppose to work together on it..." He chuckles softly as he continues waiting for either more to join them or for their strange patron to show up.
"So you mean you ran off because you were scared of him." Yarvem says with a snort as he shakes his head slowly. With that said he turns his attention to the rest of those that are slowly assembling in the clearing.
"I am called Yarvem. Don't do anything foolish and we will get along well."
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Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
"Well then we are off to a bad start." Nasaar says with a shake of his head. "We all can be considered foolish for coming here based on vague dreams and nothing more..."
Serit perks up at the sight of the tortle, "Oh, at least they delivered lunch. Looks chewy but tasty." He leers at the turtle though doesn't move aggressively at it, seeing as it's first action is to contemplate the glowing magics in the center of the clearing.
"I didn't run. I made a strategic retreat while I I decided on my next best course of action. See, that was always your problem calf. You let what your enemy thought of you dictate what actions you took. That's why they sent you to that horn-dulling monastery. I'll go back to the clan when I am good and ready. And when the chief sees me next he will be so overjoyed with the trophies I bring back that he will ask me to take both of his daughters out to pasture. All this nonsense with Tordang will be forgotten."
Jardor sighs and scuffs his hooves in the grass of the clearing. Addressing the whole group, "Well this is dull and boring. What shall we do to pass the time while we wait? Nasaar you said? You can call me Jardor. You heard my dream of how I came to travel this path. What brought you to the clearing?"
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Founding Member of the High Roller Society.(Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
As you talk with each other, a 5 feet small Tortle enters the clearing, ignores you and approaches the glowing words.
Do i understand by who or how those words were written?
Arcana 13
There is a number of magical ways to leave simple messages, a few of them belonging to simple spells.You can tell the message is in some way tied to land it's on. You are unable to discern more than that.
You do however note that there is a faint magic permeating the entire forest clearing.
Shortly after the last you arrives, there's movement in the clearing. Vines and shrubs move and entwine with a faint glow, continuously rearranging themselves with a faint crackling of branches. After a minute of movement, the branches settle, and you see the product of their work. A solid green wood table, with six crude, but soft looking seats at the sides, seemingly growing out of the ground. There is an empty space at the head of the table. Three of the seats are large, one of the seats is small, but aside from size they appear identical. A small platter, made of bark, is in front of each seat, with some nuts and berries on it. A small deer herd near the egde of the clearing moves closer with a curiosity.
Finally, a figure appears at the edge of the clearing. A humanoid wearing a cloak that was once green, but is now closer to grey in color. A man, if the great bushy beard on his face is any indication. His frame appears very broad and strong, but the slow gait, and his leaning on a staff seems to show he is not in his prime. The person's face is mostly humanoid, but you would not say he is human, as something looks off. Maybe you need to have a better look.
The man gestures you all towards the table.
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After a journey you eventually arrive at the designated location at the edge the forest in monster territory. You needed to be careful, as signs of fighting start from the Rockgrinder pass and only get more intense. Fights over gold, fights over territory, fights over resouces, fights over basic food. Monsters fighting monsters, monsters fighting huumans, wild beasts hunting them both. Signs of adventurers parties charring a goblin camp. Remains from the same adventurers and incomplete massive paw marks 1 foot across. Broken cheap iron daggers and fragments of priceless magical gems. Tree branches chipped from arrows and entire cliff faces melted by magic. The border between the "civilised realms" and the northlands is hostile to all life.
There could hardly be a greater contrast with the area you have reached. It is a small clearing, around 100 feet across, in the middle of the forest. The area seems calm and serene. A soft morning mist covers the area, the undergrowth feels soft an comfortable under your feet, numerous flowers and herbs appear in bloom and even the animals in the area seem unafraid, calmly moving aside, rather than running away at full speed.
There appears to be no one, except wildlife at the location. Your host, whoever he is, is not present. As visitors pass the edge of the forest, a small message made of dancing lights forms in the center of the clearing:
"Wait for others"
More interested than alarmed, Nasaar settles down to one side of the clearing where he can watch the others as they approach. He is a wiry, and small, hobgoblin, with black hair and reddish skin. There are an assortment of tools tucked into pockets and the pack he wears. At his side hangs a heavy crossbow.
Gathrik approaches the clearing with a careful step, fully aware that he can be attacked or ambushed at any time. The message was intriguing but not to the extent of it blinding his sharpened senses. He puts one on his hands on the handle of his thin curved blade and tenses the other, ready to pull his small leather shield. There is also a longbow dangling from his back alongside with a guided attached to his backpack. He wears loose clothes that blend with the green of the envioroment and are tucked in his loose trousers. He’s feet are protected by soft boots that allow him to sneak easily. His skin is reminiscent of a bog-green colour, and his eyes contrast it like 2 yellow lanterns in the dark. Noticing the hobgoblin he nods slightly, revealing his sharp teeth with a predatory smile. He glances at the light form in the center of the clearing,and shrugs, continuing to look around and wait. He pulls out a strip of jerky from some animal and chews on it for the moment.
Yarvem lets out an unimpressed snort as he makes his way into the clearing. Like most of his kind the young minotaur stands over six feet tall with large foot and a half long horns adorning the top of his head. His clothing is rather simple, consisting of only a pair of pants and wrappings that are tan in color, matching well with the lighter shade of the hair that covers is body. On his side he carries a shortsword and several darts put through loops on his belt. In his hands though he carries a strangely shaped spear that looks to be made for the main purpose of melee combat.
"The dreams showed me nothing of others being here..." He says in a deep baritone, his voice seemingly very serious.
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
"Must be quite the undertaking..." Nasaar says with a shrug of his slender shoulders. The scrawny hobgoblin glances towards the forest. "Wonder how many more we are to wait for..."
Jardor was the next to step into the clearing, eyes blinking at the sun as he cleared the treeline, vision resolving to rest on the others already there.
There in the sunlight stands a tall minotaur, from hooves to the tips of his horns glinting in the air easily over 7', and likely weighing in at 300-400 lbs before the armor that adorns his frame. A crude chainmail slinks across his frame, creating a slight rustling sound as he walks. A thick bladed pommel of a great sword peaks over his left shoulder and his great meaty grip holds a cross bow, not actively aiming at anyone, but ready to defend himself.
His eyes briefly scan the other three that have already arrived in the valley, coming to a rest on Yarvem as he shouts with surprise and happiness.
"Is that you foolish calf? How long has it been? Your horns have finally grown in at least!" Jardor rushes forward to embrace his clan brother in greeting.
Founding Member of the High Roller Society. (Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
"You will release me or I shall be forced to show you just what these horns can do to you." Yarvem says as he pushes the larger minotaur back with an annoyed grunt. He dusts himself off and makes sure that none of his hair had gotten caught up in the armor of the other minotaur.
"How did you manage to survive this long? I was sure the chief would have out you to death for trying to mate with his daughter." He asked crossing his arms as he then turned to regard others. "That may be true. Did any of you have a dream of this place and then know how to get here?"
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
Gathrik nodded, sniffing the air to get the sense out of the mist. “Yes. Exactly that. I hope we get to hunt something fun. It’s been very boring these past few days. I’m Gathrik by the way. I imagine we will work together.”, his voice was surprisingly pleasant for a goblin.
Jardor chuckled, "All a misunderstanding, as I explained to chief. I have nothing but respect for his daughter. I respect her her horns, and her mind, and her....other attributes. So long as I stayed one step ahead of his watchers I was fine. After that, well, I had to stay one step of Tordang, the chief's executioner. That was a little harder. That's why I left."
"Well, that and the dream. It came 2 weeks ago. I dreamnt I was in chief's tent looking at a map of a raid he had planned, but it didn't make any sense. The instructions for the raid showed the clan attacking this clearing. There's nothing here! Nothing for days and days but the dead, dying, and eating. But in the dream I was named raid scout. I was supposed to come here and check it out ahead of the clan. When I woke up it stayed with me. This feeling that I couldn't shake that I had to come to the clearing. Since I had to flee Tordang anyway, I figured this was as good a direction as any."
Founding Member of the High Roller Society. (Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
"So the chief gave up trying to be civilized then. Probably got tired of so many of the strongest runts beint sent off to the monasteries. It makes us strong but if you actually care enough to learn all of it then you aren't the best at giving into your anger to fight." Yarvem says as he crosses his arms and then turns to regard him more. "If this guy comes after us here you are on your own."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
"Rumor has it if a bull self-exiles that is due for execution Tordang just let's him go. So long as they don't come back it is as good as being dead anyway. Fits his lazy nature to boot. I imagine we won't be seeing him. But if we do I know together we can take him down."
Jardor comepletely ignores what Yarvem says about having to face the consequences of his actions alone. What are clan brothers for after all.
Founding Member of the High Roller Society. (Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
Serit had dragged himself to the clearing finally and slithered in with a rocking gait, his large arms dangling from side to side. His fur was a dark red and he was dressed in darkened patchwork hides, a flail looped through his belt and a small shield strapped to his forearm. A leather unclean mask covered the lower half of his mouth.
He pulled the mask down and looked over the group, "Well look at this group of miscreants before me. You all will make this a lot easier than won't you?"
"Seems to be more interesting all the time." The scrawny hobgoblin says with a nod to the group assembling. "I am Nasaar if any of you wish to know, and I think this is going to be a very interesting job, if we are suppose to work together on it..." He chuckles softly as he continues waiting for either more to join them or for their strange patron to show up.
"So you mean you ran off because you were scared of him." Yarvem says with a snort as he shakes his head slowly. With that said he turns his attention to the rest of those that are slowly assembling in the clearing.
"I am called Yarvem. Don't do anything foolish and we will get along well."
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Kayassa Level 3 | Satyr | Warlock (Cleath13's LMoP)
Bertolt Silentlash Level 3 | Variant Human | Bard (Our Little Lives Kept in Equipoise: Death House)
Daerthe Narcion Level 4 | Drow | Rogue (Karmoli's Great Upheaval)
"Well then we are off to a bad start." Nasaar says with a shake of his head. "We all can be considered foolish for coming here based on vague dreams and nothing more..."
As you talk with each other, a 5 feet small Tortle enters the clearing, ignores you and approaches the glowing words.
Do i understand by who or how those words were written?
Arcana 8
Serit perks up at the sight of the tortle, "Oh, at least they delivered lunch. Looks chewy but tasty." He leers at the turtle though doesn't move aggressively at it, seeing as it's first action is to contemplate the glowing magics in the center of the clearing.
"I didn't run. I made a strategic retreat while I I decided on my next best course of action. See, that was always your problem calf. You let what your enemy thought of you dictate what actions you took. That's why they sent you to that horn-dulling monastery. I'll go back to the clan when I am good and ready. And when the chief sees me next he will be so overjoyed with the trophies I bring back that he will ask me to take both of his daughters out to pasture. All this nonsense with Tordang will be forgotten."
Jardor sighs and scuffs his hooves in the grass of the clearing. Addressing the whole group, "Well this is dull and boring. What shall we do to pass the time while we wait? Nasaar you said? You can call me Jardor. You heard my dream of how I came to travel this path. What brought you to the clearing?"
Founding Member of the High Roller Society. (Currently trying to roll max on 4d6)
There is a number of magical ways to leave simple messages, a few of them belonging to simple spells.You can tell the message is in some way tied to land it's on. You are unable to discern more than that.
You do however note that there is a faint magic permeating the entire forest clearing.
Shortly after the last you arrives, there's movement in the clearing. Vines and shrubs move and entwine with a faint glow, continuously rearranging themselves with a faint crackling of branches. After a minute of movement, the branches settle, and you see the product of their work. A solid green wood table, with six crude, but soft looking seats at the sides, seemingly growing out of the ground. There is an empty space at the head of the table. Three of the seats are large, one of the seats is small, but aside from size they appear identical. A small platter, made of bark, is in front of each seat, with some nuts and berries on it. A small deer herd near the egde of the clearing moves closer with a curiosity.
Finally, a figure appears at the edge of the clearing. A humanoid wearing a cloak that was once green, but is now closer to grey in color. A man, if the great bushy beard on his face is any indication. His frame appears very broad and strong, but the slow gait, and his leaning on a staff seems to show he is not in his prime. The person's face is mostly humanoid, but you would not say he is human, as something looks off. Maybe you need to have a better look.
The man gestures you all towards the table.