Talion will listen appreciatively to the music, and applaud at the end, then settle down in front of the fire listening to whatever conversations occur, but clearly lost in thought. After a while he will gather more logs if needed for the rest of the night, then settle down to sleep.
"That is a shame but the offer shall stand for any of you. But yes I know that one and several dwarven drinking and battle songs. Most of the songs I know in Elvish are ones that I would prefer to have others playing alongside me. But that should not be to hard of a request." Bertolt carefully takes his lute from a strap on his pack, making sure that it is strung and ready to play. He stands up, moving so he can be seen by the light of the fire. He wants for silence before he begins to play the song for Erven.
Performance: 20
(I have been having terrible rolls lately... I may scream if I roll another low one as it has been several days since I have rolled above a ten...)
Bertolt deftly plucks the strings as he weaves the recognizable tale, known to many children for whom growing up a part of two races was a reality painted on their skin with bruises and scars, and often left bitter memories in their minds. It turns a few heads at the nearby campfires and people stop to listen. The most memorable part is before the chorus, where the tension builds - even the most world-weary and crusty of wizards could not help but tap his foot at the cadence. The song leaves an indelible mark, as it always does in the company of those with mixed blood - the tragic tale of the doomed love between the human woodsman and the elf maiden a well-known (and well-loved) song. But it is a hopeful tune and you all feel more at ease. At the last strum of the lute strings, there is some clapping and "cheers-ing" before a long howl cuts through the merriment. The first is joined by a few others and though they seem far off, it serves as a reminder of the wild, untamed lands that surround you...
Talion will rouse himself briefly, walk to the edge of the light of their campfire, and walk a circle around the camp, peering into the darkness for signs of trouble.
Perception: 22 (if dark, then 120' range, like daylight)
Talion will rouse himself briefly, walk to the edge of the light of their campfire, and walk a circle around the camp, peering into the darkness for signs of trouble.
Perception: 22 (if dark, then 120' range, like daylight)
Nothing out of the ordinary, people talking, singing, in various stages of debauchery. Merchants talk low over their drinks, shiny rings on their fingers waggling. You see many you don't know - maybe hangers on that have joined the caravan as it passed through their town. Nothing suspicious. It's a beautiful night, albeit a bit of a chill wind. Clouds continue to move in, obscuring the light of the moon...
Erven laughs and smiles at the song, cheering with the others and tapping his feet. “Well played! I haven’t heard anything like that .... in a long time.” He reaches out and touches Bertolt’s knee as he sits down. “Thank you. That was just right. You learned to play like that in Candlekeep? Do you know how to play any other instruments?” Erven is obviously animated and smiling, like he is remembering better times in his life, when there was music and merriment, it seemed so long ago ....
"Yes I can play several but have spent most of my time with the lute, drums and when demanded I can play a dwarvish instrument called bag pipes in the common tongue. As for learning to play that was more in taverns when I traveled into the cities. Though there was a master bard I trained under for a time, a halfling that went by the monicker Mockingbird. He had a problem with angering nobles with some of his more shall we say satirical performances so he would hide amongst the scholars of Candlekeep." Bertolt explains, turning a curious eye as the wolves start to bowl in greater number.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Despite his best efforts, the sounds of the wolves prevents Talion from sleeping. "Is that sound normal in the mountains?" he asks, poking the fire again.
He glances at his companions to see if they have insights. "I looked, but could see nothing that was making it. They sound like dogs that miss their masters. Mournful and lost."
Onyx listens closely to the words and songs of the rest of the party. They seemed a miserable and lonely bunch, each with some dark past to avoid – except Berholt, perhaps, but nobody gets that old without tragedy.
Like the others, he listens politely – though he has trouble following the lyrics, he gets lost in the sound of the lute as sparks and embers dance from the campfire towards the sky. At its conclusion, he raps his shield in appreciation with the fingertips of his gauntlets. Spirits were a little higher now, and it seemed a few people were trying to bed down for the night. At a lull in the conversation, he tilts his head back and studies the stars.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
When Bertolt picks up his flute, everyone around him falls quiet in tacit agreement, melding into the dark silence of the night. Singing is a language that sweetens the world, but powerless to stop it from moving forward. The harder the world is, the softer the language of song becomes, until finally the words become a beautiful, gentle rumination. The pauses between clauses, the plausible connection, the voice always hidden behind the feeling of words. The pain and sweet bewilderment in each word tells the tale of a time before them. Sho Zuan was immersed in the song, the breeze blowing his hair, and Bertolt's voice was like a breeze looking for wind. And finally he applauded with the gathered crowd.
In the distance came the howling of wolves, which seemed extraordinarily imminent in the open wilderness. "I don't know much about the habits of wolves," Sho Zuan replies as the pale moonlight is obscured by heavy clouds, and the outline of distant peaks could only be faintly seen in the darkness, "but perhaps it's time for us to rest." He greets the guards, before turning in for the night.
Bertolt nods in agreement as he sets his lute down carefully, reaching down to pull his pack onto his shoulders. "Rest sounds like a fine idea, I shall find a quiet place and read from the light of a latern if any one is in need of me."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
You prepare your areas for sleep, some inch a bit closer to the fire, some a bit further back. Restless, Talion puts another couple logs on the fire. The darkness is complete now and the moon cannot be seen. You know it's full however, due to the time of the month, and is merely hiding behind the clouds. Several campfires dot the pass to either side of you, like lighthouses along the coastline. Eventually, the laughter, voices, and movement die down and calm overtakes the camped caravan. Every so often, the guards come by quietly to check on things and the silence is sometimes pierced by snores but otherwise the time passes uneventful.
As you sleep, your minds drift to different times in your lives - youth, your families, adolescence, first loves, deaths. Throughout the dreams, you feel as though someone is watching you have the dream, sharing it with you and when you sense this uninvited entity, the memory turns....wrong. In fact, you all squirm and flinch, and begin to sweat as your mind reacts to the unfamiliar memories - like your body trying to expel a splinter.
The foreign images flash in your heads, unwelcome intruders - there for a second and then gone. They wrack your bodies as they come in waves and disjointed, chaotic bursts...
Flash! Skin on fire curling like paper - fire, pain, suffering! Flash! Pustules bursting, drooling blood, terrible laughter! Flash! People eating at a feast, eating humans! They pick at the captive tied up in the center of the table - she's alive!
Flash! A man offering his eyes - his own - to you as he laughs madly! Flash! A tall, dark, gaunt male - smiling, sharp teeth, intense black eyes - they cut their necks in front of him... Flash! A body decomposing rapidly, maggots skeletonizing the corpse... Flash! A body roasting over a spit like a pig, mouths sewed up, the man smiling a baleful, toothy, bloody grin. Your mind focuses on this last image and you get closer and closer, until your right in front of him. His face crunches as he opens his mouth and.....
.....you are falling. Falling into nothingness, white, shapeless, formless...you look down - or maybe it's up? The white mist swirls around you. You hear screams - metal being drawn, wolves howling and growling, bones being broken, a cruel laughter, sickening crunches and gasps as the last bit of life is torn from someone or something...you keep floating or falling or drifting. Then, you see a dark spot below you - it's getting closer! It looks like ground, there are some trees around...the ground gets closer, closer! closer! it's not slowing down! it's rushing up to meet you at an impossible speed! you brace for impact and grit your teeth! You scream in your head............
You all awake with a start, sweating, fear in your eyes, panting for breath. Your heart is beating so fast it can be seen moving your shirt. You look around and you see each other. You're in a small clearing just off a path but, as you look more carefully, the fire - your campfire - is gone. Gone too are your bedrolls. In fact, everything seems to be gone! You panic, a tightness beginning to radiate from your mid-section, as you being searching for that one item that has brought you comfort throughout your travels.
[OOC - choose one non-weapon, non-armor item that you had in inventory to keep - everything else is gone! (i've kept a record of all your possessions - DM)
You look around you and notice a white roiling mist not far off. It's definitely getting closer to you. There is a copse of trees not far from you, some sturdy branches on the grounds with some rocks littering the area. You see a dagger near the rocks.
Erven is pouring sweat, heart is pounding, he is having flash backs and very jumpy. A snap of a twig sends him jumping, and finally he is able to calm down and settle his mind. He reaches into a pocket in his pants and pulls out an antler, approximately 12 inches long, polished, with the word "fara arasse" carved into it. The tip is sharp. Seeing that all his possessions are gone, he instinctively pulls it out and puts it in his hand. It could service as a crude weapon, but only in desperation. He looks around for his companions and tries to get his bearings. "Whaaat happened...." A sense of horror and dread fills his voice.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Talion's eyes flick open. He is sweating and his heart is pounding, but he remains very still. Life on the streets had taught him that. When he is sure there is no immediate danger, he looks around more carefully, still trying to feign sleep. The fire's gone! Then he realizes that his armour is gone, and reaches for his dagger, and it too is gone! As is is pack, which he was using as a pillow. Finally, he checks for his ring, and it relieved to find it still present. Small mercies, at least.
Feeling a little more sure of himself, he stands and looks around at his companions, all similarly afflicted. "Is this still a dream?"
He glances around at his companions as he gathers up a few rocks.
(( More if we have not yet completed a full rest ))
They say you can't die in a dream, whereas the pain is real. But this pain, the tyrannical scorching, the searing skin sizzling, burning, withering, the fractured bones poking into the membrane of the heart. Shattering images flash before his eyes, painful, nightmarish, hypocritical, twisted, remorseful, ceasing to exist, until he awakes with a gasp.
Sho Zuan is on his knees, hands on the ground, struggling to breathe, drenched in cold sweat, and he clutches at his chest, holding onto something hard. He reaches in and pulls out the amulet of a curious eye - the symbol of Vecna, lies in his palm. He holds it tight until it hurts, waiting for consciousness comes back to him. "If Your vision heralds death," he murmurs, "let it be true."
Catching his breath, he gathers himself up, glances at others, seeing the same disheveled, frightened look on everyone, stripped of armour and belongings. He picks up a small twig and cast light, helping Talion get a better look around. “Do you see that?” He asks, refers to the cloud of mist rolling close.
Bertolt shakes his head as he wakes up, reaching for his rapier only to find that they only thing he had on him other then the clothes on his back was his lute. Seeing the strange way he is laying, the bard sits up to quickly look over his instrument. Finding that nothing is wrong he stands up, looking to the others.
"Did we partake in drink last night? I feel as though I am recovering from such an experience..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Rekuberk Onc Level 8 | Half Orc | Barbarian (The Tales of the Fellowship of the White Cloaks)
Talion will listen appreciatively to the music, and applaud at the end, then settle down in front of the fire listening to whatever conversations occur, but clearly lost in thought. After a while he will gather more logs if needed for the rest of the night, then settle down to sleep.
(( assuming we get that far! ))
Bertolt deftly plucks the strings as he weaves the recognizable tale, known to many children for whom growing up a part of two races was a reality painted on their skin with bruises and scars, and often left bitter memories in their minds.
It turns a few heads at the nearby campfires and people stop to listen. The most memorable part is before the chorus, where the tension builds - even the most world-weary and crusty of wizards could not help but tap his foot at the cadence. The song leaves an indelible mark, as it always does in the company of those with mixed blood - the tragic tale of the doomed love between the human woodsman and the elf maiden a well-known (and well-loved) song. But it is a hopeful tune and you all feel more at ease.
At the last strum of the lute strings, there is some clapping and "cheers-ing" before a long howl cuts through the merriment. The first is joined by a few others and though they seem far off, it serves as a reminder of the wild, untamed lands that surround you...
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
Talion will rouse himself briefly, walk to the edge of the light of their campfire, and walk a circle around the camp, peering into the darkness for signs of trouble.
Perception: 22 (if dark, then 120' range, like daylight)
Nothing out of the ordinary, people talking, singing, in various stages of debauchery. Merchants talk low over their drinks, shiny rings on their fingers waggling. You see many you don't know - maybe hangers on that have joined the caravan as it passed through their town. Nothing suspicious. It's a beautiful night, albeit a bit of a chill wind. Clouds continue to move in, obscuring the light of the moon...
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
(( Was looking for wolves or other things in the darkness, especially now the damned moon is obscured! ))
Yup, you hear the wolves but don't see them around.
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
Talion smiles and waves to the people he recognizes, then slowly heads back to the camp to rest.
Erven laughs and smiles at the song, cheering with the others and tapping his feet. “Well played! I haven’t heard anything like that .... in a long time.” He reaches out and touches Bertolt’s knee as he sits down. “Thank you. That was just right. You learned to play like that in Candlekeep? Do you know how to play any other instruments?” Erven is obviously animated and smiling, like he is remembering better times in his life, when there was music and merriment, it seemed so long ago ....
"Yes I can play several but have spent most of my time with the lute, drums and when demanded I can play a dwarvish instrument called bag pipes in the common tongue. As for learning to play that was more in taverns when I traveled into the cities. Though there was a master bard I trained under for a time, a halfling that went by the monicker Mockingbird. He had a problem with angering nobles with some of his more shall we say satirical performances so he would hide amongst the scholars of Candlekeep." Bertolt explains, turning a curious eye as the wolves start to bowl in greater number.
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)
Despite his best efforts, the sounds of the wolves prevents Talion from sleeping. "Is that sound normal in the mountains?" he asks, poking the fire again.
He glances at his companions to see if they have insights. "I looked, but could see nothing that was making it. They sound like dogs that miss their masters. Mournful and lost."
Onyx listens closely to the words and songs of the rest of the party. They seemed a miserable and lonely bunch, each with some dark past to avoid – except Berholt, perhaps, but nobody gets that old without tragedy.
Like the others, he listens politely – though he has trouble following the lyrics, he gets lost in the sound of the lute as sparks and embers dance from the campfire towards the sky. At its conclusion, he raps his shield in appreciation with the fingertips of his gauntlets. Spirits were a little higher now, and it seemed a few people were trying to bed down for the night. At a lull in the conversation, he tilts his head back and studies the stars.
Attending Academy until November, slowdown in posts continue.
Erven takes out his bedroll and makes himself comfortable for the night, by the fire. After staring at the fire for a long time, he starts to nod off.
When Bertolt picks up his flute, everyone around him falls quiet in tacit agreement, melding into the dark silence of the night. Singing is a language that sweetens the world, but powerless to stop it from moving forward. The harder the world is, the softer the language of song becomes, until finally the words become a beautiful, gentle rumination. The pauses between clauses, the plausible connection, the voice always hidden behind the feeling of words. The pain and sweet bewilderment in each word tells the tale of a time before them. Sho Zuan was immersed in the song, the breeze blowing his hair, and Bertolt's voice was like a breeze looking for wind. And finally he applauded with the gathered crowd.
In the distance came the howling of wolves, which seemed extraordinarily imminent in the open wilderness. "I don't know much about the habits of wolves," Sho Zuan replies as the pale moonlight is obscured by heavy clouds, and the outline of distant peaks could only be faintly seen in the darkness, "but perhaps it's time for us to rest." He greets the guards, before turning in for the night.
Bertolt nods in agreement as he sets his lute down carefully, reaching down to pull his pack onto his shoulders. "Rest sounds like a fine idea, I shall find a quiet place and read from the light of a latern if any one is in need of me."
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)
You prepare your areas for sleep, some inch a bit closer to the fire, some a bit further back. Restless, Talion puts another couple logs on the fire. The darkness is complete now and the moon cannot be seen. You know it's full however, due to the time of the month, and is merely hiding behind the clouds. Several campfires dot the pass to either side of you, like lighthouses along the coastline. Eventually, the laughter, voices, and movement die down and calm overtakes the camped caravan. Every so often, the guards come by quietly to check on things and the silence is sometimes pierced by snores but otherwise the time passes uneventful.
Flash! Pustules bursting, drooling blood, terrible laughter!
Flash! People eating at a feast, eating humans! They pick at the captive tied up in the center of the table - she's alive!
Flash! A tall, dark, gaunt male - smiling, sharp teeth, intense black eyes - they cut their necks in front of him...
Flash! A body decomposing rapidly, maggots skeletonizing the corpse...
Flash! A body roasting over a spit like a pig, mouths sewed up, the man smiling a baleful, toothy, bloody grin. Your mind focuses on this last image and you get closer and closer, until your right in front of him. His face crunches as he opens his mouth and.....
.....you are falling. Falling into nothingness, white, shapeless, formless...you look down - or maybe it's up? The white mist swirls around you. You hear screams - metal being drawn, wolves howling and growling, bones being broken, a cruel laughter, sickening crunches and gasps as the last bit of life is torn from someone or something...you keep floating or falling or drifting. Then, you see a dark spot below you - it's getting closer! It looks like ground, there are some trees around...the ground gets closer, closer! closer! it's not slowing down! it's rushing up to meet you at an impossible speed! you brace for impact and grit your teeth! You scream in your head............
[OOC - choose one non-weapon, non-armor item that you had in inventory to keep - everything else is gone! (i've kept a record of all your possessions - DM)
DM - And In The Darkness, Rot: The Sunless Citadel
DM - Our Little Lives Kept In Equipoise: Curse of Strahd
DM - Misprize Thou Not These Shadows That Belong: The Lost Mines of Phandelver
PC - Azzure - Tyranny of Dragons
Erven is pouring sweat, heart is pounding, he is having flash backs and very jumpy. A snap of a twig sends him jumping, and finally he is able to calm down and settle his mind. He reaches into a pocket in his pants and pulls out an antler, approximately 12 inches long, polished, with the word "fara arasse" carved into it. The tip is sharp. Seeing that all his possessions are gone, he instinctively pulls it out and puts it in his hand. It could service as a crude weapon, but only in desperation. He looks around for his companions and tries to get his bearings. "Whaaat happened...." A sense of horror and dread fills his voice.
Talion's eyes flick open. He is sweating and his heart is pounding, but he remains very still. Life on the streets had taught him that. When he is sure there is no immediate danger, he looks around more carefully, still trying to feign sleep. The fire's gone! Then he realizes that his armour is gone, and reaches for his dagger, and it too is gone! As is is pack, which he was using as a pillow. Finally, he checks for his ring, and it relieved to find it still present. Small mercies, at least.
Feeling a little more sure of himself, he stands and looks around at his companions, all similarly afflicted. "Is this still a dream?"
He glances around at his companions as he gathers up a few rocks.
(( More if we have not yet completed a full rest ))
Perception for general awareness: 14 (passive 14)
They say you can't die in a dream, whereas the pain is real. But this pain, the tyrannical scorching, the searing skin sizzling, burning, withering, the fractured bones poking into the membrane of the heart. Shattering images flash before his eyes, painful, nightmarish, hypocritical, twisted, remorseful, ceasing to exist, until he awakes with a gasp.
Sho Zuan is on his knees, hands on the ground, struggling to breathe, drenched in cold sweat, and he clutches at his chest, holding onto something hard. He reaches in and pulls out the amulet of a curious eye - the symbol of Vecna, lies in his palm. He holds it tight until it hurts, waiting for consciousness comes back to him. "If Your vision heralds death," he murmurs, "let it be true."
Catching his breath, he gathers himself up, glances at others, seeing the same disheveled, frightened look on everyone, stripped of armour and belongings. He picks up a small twig and cast light, helping Talion get a better look around. “Do you see that?” He asks, refers to the cloud of mist rolling close.
Second Perception roll for general awareness after help from Sho Zuan (prior was 5!): 13(passive 14)
He frowns at the words of the priest, "My vision heralded far too many deaths to count! I would that none were true!"
Bertolt shakes his head as he wakes up, reaching for his rapier only to find that they only thing he had on him other then the clothes on his back was his lute. Seeing the strange way he is laying, the bard sits up to quickly look over his instrument. Finding that nothing is wrong he stands up, looking to the others.
"Did we partake in drink last night? I feel as though I am recovering from such an experience..."
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)