Silence was an afront to Air. Stone felt the atmosphere grow close as the sound fell low. Above the prevailing silence was a minute tap-tap of liquid on the roof and noticed a small red mark growing just inside the door. Waving Orel over and pointing to a spot a few feet inside the doorframe, Stone took the handle and positioned himself to use the door as cover in case anything lunged.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Orel watches the old woman as she digs through her chest. They have come, she said. Who, or what they could be was another matter. Right now he wasn't sure what her intention was, so he stood his ground at the central pillar and watched silently. Perhaps there was a curse upon Haunted Hill. That would make sense, given the name of the town. This was a good place for a night's rest, as it might prove to be a contract. Normally small towns like this couldn't afford his price, but often times you find yourself in a situation where there are no options and you just need to fight to survive. This might be one of those situations.
When the tattoo'd elf points out the doorframe, Orel moves back to his bed, hoisting his shield and flail, and returns to stand where the elf pointed. "Blood?" he asks. "Stand back a bit."
Reycaryn could hear everyone moving around, preparing for something. The old woman rummaging, people moving around and arming themselves. Then, the smell hit her. It was the smell of fresh death, of blood. She could hear something dripping, and assumed it was blood dripping. She could also smell blood pooling at the front door. Standing, Reycary pulled her shortbow to the ready, nocking an arrow. "Something, or someone, just died out there."
(Action readied, will attack when a threat presents itself)
Close to the door -- maybe ten feet around the curve of the cylindrical room -- lies a thick, generally round pile of discarded clothing. Tattered cloth, stained grey wool, nothing anyone would actually want to wear. Even if there were any colorful bits to catch the eye, the smell emanating from them is enough to dissuade you of that notion. Sweat and blood and rotgut liquor with a tang of horseshit fill the nostrils of anyone unwise enough to investigate. Any twitching or squirming within the pile, you might attribute to the white mouse that scampers out of one end of the pile, across the top and back into it again, if you wanted to waste any attention on it at all.
The "pile of rags" does pay attention, though. Keen attention. It stays quiet despite all the talking, because in and dry with a side of warm is always better than out and wet and cold.
And whatever happened outside the door... no thanks. Not my business.
The erstwhile group of travelers begins to ready themselves for action, staring at the door. The "pile of rags" can see the door from its position. It waits...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
After rejoining the elf at the door, Orel nods. He saw the old woman pulling out some sort of mechanical contraption, but his focus was on the task at hand. They had to see what awaits them outside. "Open it," he says.
An ear-shattering explosion erupts from the area in which Missus Dudley was digging through her belongings. Globs of blood, bone, and flesh spray across the room, covering most of the beds but thankfully missing those gathered by the door.
Missus Dudley slumps to the floor, the top half of her head missing and the rest a bloody, pulpy mess. A dull silver mechanical contraption tumbles from her grasp, clattering on the floor.
Missus Dudley rummaged, and Elaine peeked over her shoulder. She couldn't get a good view, nor did she really understand what she was looking at. What good would paintings do against the incoming tide of death? Three beautifully haunting paintings later, the innkeeper seemed to find what she was looking for. It's a dull silver color, cylindrical on one end. The other end bends down and appears to be white pearl. What is it?
Something explosive, apparently. The woman dead, Elaine had to fight the urge to run and hide as she was coated in gore. She turned her attention back to the door; they would all need to band together if they wanted to make it out of here. She withdrew her instrument and pointed her bow, dripping red with blood, at Stone. It was time for her to show her appreciation in a slightly more tangible way. Magic laced her voice as she began to recite a limerick. The battle hadn't begun, so it wasn't time to break out the song just yet.
The pain in Reycaryn's head was instantaneous. Dropping her bow and arrow, she held her ears, screaming in pain. Backing up into the corner, Reycaryn huddled up into a ball, waiting for the death that was sure to come.
An arm with a dagger held by its fingers reaches out from the pile of rags to hook its point through the trigger guard of the device and drag it back into the pile of rags.
From inside the pile, anyone whose ears aren't still ringing from the blast hears a soft urgent"hot hot hot!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Orel ducked slightly as the explosion rocked the room. Turning around, he sees what's left of the hostess and the noble half-elf standing in her blood. When she begins to sing, a shiver runs up his spine. He was half tempted to show her his mirror, but now was not the time.
The rags, a humanoid of some sort, scurried over to the contraption, and Orel warns him, "Be careful with that..." He doesn't want it to explode again. He has all but forgotten about the door behind him. Above all, one thought kept occurring to him; What the **** is going on here?
Stone is rocked as the explosion fills the room. A voice soon calls out and hardens his resolve. Assuming it is some attack by whatever is outside, he rips the door open, ready to fight.
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Upon opening the door, the corpse of a young man falls into the inn, his eyes glassy and his throat cut from ear to ear, the wound yawning open like a second mouth. Behind him, the town's local mercantile road is strewn with bodies and parts of bodies. Above, a body hangs half from the inn's roof, its legs dangling in your view.
The town, now bathed in crimson, appears to be devoid of all life - save for the 6 of you.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
PBP "Beregost Blues" - Dungeon Master of Gnome Slaying +5
Somehow through the ringing, through the screaming, and through the singing, Orel hears the sound of the door being opened. He whirls around to face the scene. His face is still the stern face of an Orc that has seen too much. The sight of the dead, though sad, barely fazes him. It's the threat of what killed them that concerns him now. This town is worse off than the thought, but whatever was causing so much death must be found.
He steps through the door to get a better look at the surroundings, stepping over the corpse as he does. He watches the street, checks the sky, even sniffs the air. Ready in case some aberration comes barreling toward the Inn.
Stone carefully steps out over the obviously-dead man in the doorway and begins examining corpses for causes of death. Upon examination, he reports that those near the inn died of more natural weapons due to the more numerous, more shallow lacerations. Those further out appear to be hacked and slashed from larger weapons, some having limbs cleaved off entirely.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Out of the pile of rags, a lean young man with light eyes and dark shaggy hair past his shoulders rises up and approaches the screaming elf. Black cloth wrapping covers his nose and the lower part of his face. His torso is covered with boiled leather armor, over dark supple leather breeches. Over all, he wears a tattered grey cloak and a well-work rucksack. The pearlescent grip of the silvery device sticks out of the top of his pack. He takes her hands with a gentle grip and nods his head soothingly. It looks like he might be speaking to her, but if he is, only she can hear.
"Shh...shhh... Easy now. Easy. You're alright. It's okay. You're safe, as much as any of us can be anyway. My name's Marius - what are you called?”
Only a hint of the horrible aroma follows him. Most of it is left behind in the pile of dirty bedlinens in which he'd buried himself.
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
The sudden touch of someone grabbing her hands scared Reycaryn, but it was enough to stop her screaming. She opened her eyes and sensed someone. A human. Then a voice spoke in her mind. Calming, Rey responded, perhaps a little louder than she intended. "Rey... Reycaryn." Then his smell hit her. She didn't mind, however. Living on the streets, she'd smelled worse. "What happened? My ears..."
He releases one hand and reaches up to gingerly grip the silvery device by the cylinder and the sort-of hook-shaped piece. He gently lays it in her hands.
Well, our hostess went digging in her trunk for this, and something sort of exploded out of one end of it. This end got really hot, but it didn't melt or anything!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Rey felt the metal cylinder gingerly, trying to study it as best as possible. She shook her head, almost in confusion, then looked over at the dead woman, shaking her head again. Turning back to Marius, she said, "I don't know what this is." She pushed it back into his hands, unwilling to touch it. If it had just killed that woman without warning, how did she know it wouldn't do that again?
"I... I'm sorry, I'm blind, I can't make my way around," she said, deciding to take advantage of the situation. "Please, can you help me?"
Marius smiles behind his mask, his blue eyes glinting. He stands, and grasps her forearm to let her pull herself up. "Here you go, Rey," he murmurs aloud. "Careful on your left, there. That's where the mess is."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid,Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions! I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Rey gathered her bow and arrow, then takes his hand to stand. "Thank you. You're very kind, Marius." She could hear people at the door. "What's going on?"
Silence was an afront to Air. Stone felt the atmosphere grow close as the sound fell low. Above the prevailing silence was a minute tap-tap of liquid on the roof and noticed a small red mark growing just inside the door. Waving Orel over and pointing to a spot a few feet inside the doorframe, Stone took the handle and positioned himself to use the door as cover in case anything lunged.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Orel watches the old woman as she digs through her chest. They have come, she said. Who, or what they could be was another matter. Right now he wasn't sure what her intention was, so he stood his ground at the central pillar and watched silently. Perhaps there was a curse upon Haunted Hill. That would make sense, given the name of the town. This was a good place for a night's rest, as it might prove to be a contract. Normally small towns like this couldn't afford his price, but often times you find yourself in a situation where there are no options and you just need to fight to survive. This might be one of those situations.
When the tattoo'd elf points out the doorframe, Orel moves back to his bed, hoisting his shield and flail, and returns to stand where the elf pointed. "Blood?" he asks. "Stand back a bit."
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Reycaryn could hear everyone moving around, preparing for something. The old woman rummaging, people moving around and arming themselves. Then, the smell hit her. It was the smell of fresh death, of blood. She could hear something dripping, and assumed it was blood dripping. She could also smell blood pooling at the front door. Standing, Reycary pulled her shortbow to the ready, nocking an arrow. "Something, or someone, just died out there."
(Action readied, will attack when a threat presents itself)
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Close to the door -- maybe ten feet around the curve of the cylindrical room -- lies a thick, generally round pile of discarded clothing. Tattered cloth, stained grey wool, nothing anyone would actually want to wear. Even if there were any colorful bits to catch the eye, the smell emanating from them is enough to dissuade you of that notion. Sweat and blood and rotgut liquor with a tang of horseshit fill the nostrils of anyone unwise enough to investigate. Any twitching or squirming within the pile, you might attribute to the white mouse that scampers out of one end of the pile, across the top and back into it again, if you wanted to waste any attention on it at all.
The "pile of rags" does pay attention, though. Keen attention. It stays quiet despite all the talking, because in and dry with a side of warm is always better than out and wet and cold.
And whatever happened outside the door... no thanks. Not my business.
The erstwhile group of travelers begins to ready themselves for action, staring at the door. The "pile of rags" can see the door from its position. It waits...
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
After rejoining the elf at the door, Orel nods. He saw the old woman pulling out some sort of mechanical contraption, but his focus was on the task at hand. They had to see what awaits them outside. "Open it," he says.
Site Rules & Guidelines --- Focused Feedback Mega Threads --- Staff Quotes --- Homebrew Tutorial --- Pricing FAQ
Please feel free to message either Sorce or another moderator if you have any concerns.
An ear-shattering explosion erupts from the area in which Missus Dudley was digging through her belongings. Globs of blood, bone, and flesh spray across the room, covering most of the beds but thankfully missing those gathered by the door.
Missus Dudley slumps to the floor, the top half of her head missing and the rest a bloody, pulpy mess. A dull silver mechanical contraption tumbles from her grasp, clattering on the floor.
You can see that it's smoking on one end...
Missus Dudley rummaged, and Elaine peeked over her shoulder. She couldn't get a good view, nor did she really understand what she was looking at. What good would paintings do against the incoming tide of death? Three beautifully haunting paintings later, the innkeeper seemed to find what she was looking for. It's a dull silver color, cylindrical on one end. The other end bends down and appears to be white pearl. What is it?
Something explosive, apparently. The woman dead, Elaine had to fight the urge to run and hide as she was coated in gore. She turned her attention back to the door; they would all need to band together if they wanted to make it out of here. She withdrew her instrument and pointed her bow, dripping red with blood, at Stone. It was time for her to show her appreciation in a slightly more tangible way. Magic laced her voice as she began to recite a limerick. The battle hadn't begun, so it wasn't time to break out the song just yet.
"There once was a monk named Stone,
Who I met in the Inn of a crone.
A thief took my purse,
But he retrieved it, of course.
Now stand against the tide of bone."
PBP: DM of Titans of Tomorrow
PBP: Lera Zahuv in Whispers of Dissent
PBP: Evaine Brae in Innistrad: Dark Ascension
PBP: Cor'avin in Tomb of Annihilation
The pain in Reycaryn's head was instantaneous. Dropping her bow and arrow, she held her ears, screaming in pain. Backing up into the corner, Reycaryn huddled up into a ball, waiting for the death that was sure to come.
(Action no longer readied)
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
An arm with a dagger held by its fingers reaches out from the pile of rags to hook its point through the trigger guard of the device and drag it back into the pile of rags.
From inside the pile, anyone whose ears aren't still ringing from the blast hears a soft urgent"hot hot hot!"
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Orel ducked slightly as the explosion rocked the room. Turning around, he sees what's left of the hostess and the noble half-elf standing in her blood. When she begins to sing, a shiver runs up his spine. He was half tempted to show her his mirror, but now was not the time.
The rags, a humanoid of some sort, scurried over to the contraption, and Orel warns him, "Be careful with that..." He doesn't want it to explode again. He has all but forgotten about the door behind him. Above all, one thought kept occurring to him; What the **** is going on here?
Site Rules & Guidelines --- Focused Feedback Mega Threads --- Staff Quotes --- Homebrew Tutorial --- Pricing FAQ
Please feel free to message either Sorce or another moderator if you have any concerns.
Stone is rocked as the explosion fills the room. A voice soon calls out and hardens his resolve. Assuming it is some attack by whatever is outside, he rips the door open, ready to fight.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Upon opening the door, the corpse of a young man falls into the inn, his eyes glassy and his throat cut from ear to ear, the wound yawning open like a second mouth. Behind him, the town's local mercantile road is strewn with bodies and parts of bodies. Above, a body hangs half from the inn's roof, its legs dangling in your view.
The town, now bathed in crimson, appears to be devoid of all life - save for the 6 of you.
Somehow through the ringing, through the screaming, and through the singing, Orel hears the sound of the door being opened. He whirls around to face the scene. His face is still the stern face of an Orc that has seen too much. The sight of the dead, though sad, barely fazes him. It's the threat of what killed them that concerns him now. This town is worse off than the thought, but whatever was causing so much death must be found.
He steps through the door to get a better look at the surroundings, stepping over the corpse as he does. He watches the street, checks the sky, even sniffs the air. Ready in case some aberration comes barreling toward the Inn.
Site Rules & Guidelines --- Focused Feedback Mega Threads --- Staff Quotes --- Homebrew Tutorial --- Pricing FAQ
Please feel free to message either Sorce or another moderator if you have any concerns.
Stone carefully steps out over the obviously-dead man in the doorway and begins examining corpses for causes of death. Upon examination, he reports that those near the inn died of more natural weapons due to the more numerous, more shallow lacerations. Those further out appear to be hacked and slashed from larger weapons, some having limbs cleaved off entirely.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Out of the pile of rags, a lean young man with light eyes and dark shaggy hair past his shoulders rises up and approaches the screaming elf. Black cloth wrapping covers his nose and the lower part of his face. His torso is covered with boiled leather armor, over dark supple leather breeches. Over all, he wears a tattered grey cloak and a well-work rucksack. The pearlescent grip of the silvery device sticks out of the top of his pack. He takes her hands with a gentle grip and nods his head soothingly. It looks like he might be speaking to her, but if he is, only she can hear.
"Shh...shhh... Easy now. Easy. You're alright. It's okay. You're safe, as much as any of us can be anyway. My name's Marius - what are you called?”
Only a hint of the horrible aroma follows him. Most of it is left behind in the pile of dirty bedlinens in which he'd buried himself.
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
The sudden touch of someone grabbing her hands scared Reycaryn, but it was enough to stop her screaming. She opened her eyes and sensed someone. A human. Then a voice spoke in her mind. Calming, Rey responded, perhaps a little louder than she intended. "Rey... Reycaryn." Then his smell hit her. She didn't mind, however. Living on the streets, she'd smelled worse. "What happened? My ears..."
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
He releases one hand and reaches up to gingerly grip the silvery device by the cylinder and the sort-of hook-shaped piece. He gently lays it in her hands.
Well, our hostess went digging in her trunk for this, and something sort of exploded out of one end of it. This end got really hot, but it didn't melt or anything!
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Rey felt the metal cylinder gingerly, trying to study it as best as possible. She shook her head, almost in confusion, then looked over at the dead woman, shaking her head again. Turning back to Marius, she said, "I don't know what this is." She pushed it back into his hands, unwilling to touch it. If it had just killed that woman without warning, how did she know it wouldn't do that again?
"I... I'm sorry, I'm blind, I can't make my way around," she said, deciding to take advantage of the situation. "Please, can you help me?"
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?
Marius smiles behind his mask, his blue eyes glinting. He stands, and grasps her forearm to let her pull herself up. "Here you go, Rey," he murmurs aloud. "Careful on your left, there. That's where the mess is."
Eshuvenniel Kazander Ravid, Valor Bard and Acolyte of the Goddess of Luck
Caradoc Langham, Halfling Rogue - Lost Magics - Epic of Pre-made Proportions!
I'm not looking for heaven or hell... just someone to listen to stories I tell...
Rey gathered her bow and arrow, then takes his hand to stand. "Thank you. You're very kind, Marius." She could hear people at the door. "What's going on?"
A dwarf with a canoe on his back? What could go wrong?