(OOC: Sorry, thought Thurodim would know the way since he grew up here.)
(That is a good point which I had managed to forget somehow, but the roll matched the narrative perfectly so we're all good!) (No need for the other two to make their perception checks.)
Thurodim confidently guides his new companions to a shop on a main road just off the market square to the north west. In its small window hang bright red drapes, with various knick knacks displayed on white sheets inlaid with silver thread. A sign hangs above the door which reads in Common "Longboot's Boutique", and above the words is indeed a painting of a very purple boot, the toes of which stretch all the way along the top of the shop's name.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Faera notices Thurodim wince as she sends him a message and reaches up, puts her hand on his forearm, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that without your permission. I won't do it again." She lets go and looks a bit more solemn as they finish their walk.
"No, it's okay Faera, I was just...surprised. Not used to hearing voices like that." Thurodim rumbles, briefly looking down at Faera before looking away again.
"Here it is." Thurodim says proudly, holding up the door for Faera and Ghurr, hoping that they might do the talking with Laurenz.
Ghurr points at the Longboot's sign and looks at Thurodim for confirmation. He raises one big eyebrow, not sure about what might be a cobbler giving them advice on magical music boxes, but then his dad didn't exactly look like the alchemist that he was.
Ghurr strides to the store, pushes open the door, making sure it doesn't slam back on the other two and looks around the shop.
"Mr Laurenz?" Ghurr asks loudly. "We need big help."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Ah yes, the symbol of Valkur, this must be it," Mala says, confidently heading into the building. She casts her gaze around the place, trying to figure out who to talk to that might direct them. (Perception: 10) "Guess you can take the lead Heran, since evidently you know stuff," she adds with a slight grin.
A wooden sign attached to the front of the door reads "Identification of Esoteric and Eldritch Items - 10 stars". As Ghurr pushes open the door, a little bell jingles, and a squeaky voice calls out from a back room. "I'll be right with you!" You have just a moment to glance around the shop and take in the displays of odd items, when you hear footsteps from behind a split level counter - one half perhaps only two feet high, the other a regular height. A Gnome in a deep purple chaperon hat, and sporting an elaborately curled moustache and chin beard, appears in the lower section of the counter, exclaims "Ah!" before walking up a few unseen steps to stand almost eye level with Faera. Thurodim and Ghurr still tower above him, and Ghurr's head in fact scrapes against some sparkling decorations hanging from the ceiling.
"Yes?" he pipes "How may I be of service? Are you perhaps interested in one of my many interesting and unusual items of a magical nature?"
Heran follows Mala into the building. She looks around in curiosity, not having been in many holy places still up and running. Let alone one dedicated to a seafaring god. "Right... well, we're all here to help."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?
Faera heads into the store, eyes looking at everything around her, trying to take it all in. As the little man approaches, she smiles, "interesting and unusual items of a magical nature? Ooh yes please!" she clasps her hands together in excitement.
Then looking to her companions, she remembers why they are there. "Oh wait sir, we were actually hoping you would be able to help us identify this object? For Commander Landgrave?" She reaches into her pack and produces the box, slowly lifting up the lid for him to see.
Entering the temple leads you into a stone room. Sailing paraphernalia is hung from every rafter and every wall - rigging drapes like spiderweb from the ceiling, sails decorate the otherwise plain walls. At the far end where an altar might be is instead a ship's wheel. Under your feet the stone is carved to look like waves, except where it is the bird's-eye view of ships in full sail, spaced like footprints down the aisle.
Your muttered conversation as you enter catches the attention of an old human man in dark robes, who is idly turning the ship's wheel and quietly singing sea shanties in low tones. Looking towards you he says in a gravelly, cracking voice "Ahoy there travellers! What brings yer to this most humble ship in Valkurs's fleet?"
Team Town
The little man leans on the counter top. "Ohoho, my identification service is it? I see, I'll add it onto the Commander's tab. Right then, what have the good Commander Landgrave's fine cohort of guards discovered this time. Is it another scroll which they thought was a spell for summoning demons but is actually a recipe for Dharbek style curry? Or perhaps another strange looking rock? Or perhaps one of the rare times they actually turn up something rather unique." He says this all very jovially, seeming to find the memories quite amusing. "And we can always come back to my other goodies for sale later."
As you open the box his eyes open wide. "My goodness, this is certainly not a rock, though it is strange looking. Let me see here..." From a pocket he takes out a pair of pince-nez and balances them on his nose. Picking up the brooch he holds it side by side with the slip of paper held in his other hand. "Ansrivarr" he reads, and immediately the harmless Harpy song starts to fill the shop. "Hmmm. Ansrivarr," and it stops. "I have an inkling," he says, "but let us make sure."
Placing the brooch down on the counter top, reaches underneath and brings up a narrow black box about a foot long. Opening it he removes a single long grey speckled feather and a large pearl. Putting the box to one side, he holds the pearl in the palm of his hand, and the feather in the fingers of the same hand. He begins the words of a spell, occasionally waving the feather over the brooch, occasionally touching it to the brooch then to his forehead. After a few minutes, he stops, and carefully puts the feather and pearl back in the box, and away under the counter.
"As I suspected, what we have here is a Brooch of Recording. At the speaking of the command word it will play a looping one minute recording of whatever sounds it it was exposed to when the command was spoken for the first time. Not a cheap endeavour, one of these - you need a fine quality gemstone, worth at least 200 stars just by itself. It's the purity of the crystalline structure, you see, that's where the recording is stored. It does mean that you can remove the gemstone and install another to record something new. The recording itself carries no magical power, so you can't record a spell, for example. Or you could, I suppose, but it wouldn't do anything. But these things do have their uses. I heard that one of the previous Justiciars wore one which carried the last words of her husband. Why someone would wish to record Harpy song however, I can't begin to guess."
Thurodim listened intently from over by the door, pondering what he heard. Who would plant this valuable object like that? The act must have had some significant importance if it was worth the loss of this magic item. Thurodim shook his head. He was not the one would find the answers to this, that much he knew.
He kept his silence as they walked in the direction of the temple, his thoughts filled with healing enchantments and how to better administer a healing potion to someone either too weak to drink by themselves or downright unconscious. In the end the elf could only hope the priests or one of his companions, knew how to do it. Only when the old priest spoke that the silver haired returned to reality.
“Forgive our intrusion.” He starts while assessing the priest. Tattared robes and shoes, long beard and scars on face. A man who choose a humble life and saw his share of danger, Ilithir decided finding respect for the human that was likely younger than himself but clearly wiser. “We are here under the request of the Commander Rannulf Landgrave to help with the treatment of the wounded soldiers recently sent for treatment. Please do not take it as a doubt about yours and the temple’s ability to heal. The Commander simply understands that, deservingly so, your expertise is beseeched by many on the city and considering the grave state of the wounded warriors it may be of use to have some other healers at your disposal.” He then gesture to his companions and nods to the priest. “I am Ilithir, master…”
His last words an invitation for the old man to introduce himself.
Faera smiles up to Ghurr as he is apparently reading her mind, "What my friend here is wondering, obviously you haven't seen this before, is there some place else in town that you can acquire such a piece?"
The little gnome answers Ghurr directly, "Yes, only a few, though there are plenty of far rarer items. Easy to get if you can afford it, I dare say, hard to get if you can't. Same with everything in life I suppose!" He then turns to Faera, "I certainly haven't seen this particular piece, although I believe I may have another in stock somewhere. I suspect that Longboot's is the only place in town where an item of this quality may be found." He gives a little wink, and an amused smile.
Looking past the two of you he sees Thurodim waiting by the door. "I say... Isn't that young Thurodim? Ohoho, come in lad, don't be shy. Just try to keep your elbows tucked in this time - you're twice as big now, so try twice as hard, hmm? If your hairy friend can manage it I dare say you can too. Where have you been gallavanting off to the past... oh I don't know how many years!"
Team Temple
The priest nods sadly. "If they were only wounded. Sadly Corporal Singer is the last survivin' victim of the attack on Angel Tower. The others had set out on their longest voyage before arrivin' here. We're keepin' 'em in the crypt until their families come to claim 'em." He nods to a room to one side of the main hall. "The Corporal's in there, keepin' comfortable. Valkur be the god of safe journeys over the sea, but illness and death are also journeys, so we try to help with both. M'lord Illithir, my name is Bastion Nickelby, and I'm no one's Master. Back in the day I was Rusty Nick, but now all the rust's moved from my hair to my knees," he says with a chuckle. "Call me Friar Nick or Friar Rusty, I get both. Let's go and see what can be done for the good Corporal shall we?" At that, he starts moving towards the door he indicated.
Assuming you all follow, you enter a small room containing a few rough wooden framed beds. Two are occupied - on one side of the room a young half-elf man is sitting up, one leg strapped and bound up with two long boards keeping it straight. When you walk in he blushes a little and tries to sit up straighter, but the Friar flaps at him gently. "Relax Tomos. And stop movin' that leg. These folk are here to help Bell, we hope." On the other side of the room lies Corporal Singer. Her armour has been removed leaving a loose undershirt, and a sheet has been pulled up to beneath her arms. She breaths in shallow breaths, so gentle you have to get very close to hear them.
"Sounds like she got quite a bump," says the Friar. "A lump of rock from the top of Angel Tower, that's a good 200 feet, long way down." He sighs. "Maybe we can mix up some herbs to reduce swelling, but if I'm honest, at this point all we can do is get her comfortable and help her on her own long voyage. But if any of you folks can help, please speak up. I'd hate to lose another guard to this tragedy."
"Umm, about ten, I think." Thurodim says shyly, awkwardly approaching the counter, almost looking like an overgrown boy in his behaviour. "I've been at sea, but I'm back now, for a while. Had to change crews and debarked here to take care of mum in the meantime. She would send her regards." He continues, keeping his elbows to his sides. "It was good of you to help us Laurenz. The person who owned this brooch is up to no good and we would need to find them."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“I am no lord, Friar Nick.”He said lowering his head in a humble reverence. His voice so gentle that the correction seemed more like a show of gratitude. “And it saddens me to know that we arrived too late.”Bitter would best describe his true feelings. If only I had thought on treating them by the tower. Their deaths were his fault and he would feel like that forever. “May the god give them a safe passage.”
The wish was the last thing he could do for those he failed or so he believed following Bastion in a solemn silence. Maybe out of respect to the departed, maybe worried about the possibility of being unable to save the corporal. Ilithir himself was not sure. He raised dispensing any formality from the half-elf. May as well treat him after the corporal, he thought while approaching the wounded soldier and resting his right hand over her forehead. With the left hand he took out the argent crystal he usually deployed as arcane focus. His eyes glowed silver and ethereal, full of concentration and melancholy.
“Take cure.” He said gently, dawning upon the pact magic to cast Cure Wounds. Would it be enough? The elf hoped with all his guilty that it would be.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"An honor meet you, Friar."Heran nods to the man. She couldn't say it was really a pleasure, given the circumstances. Her own expression dimmed, turning solemn.
"I can help mix some herbs. If we can't reduce the swelling, we could at least make things as painless as we can."The genasi sighs. She seems to stare off into space, as she tries to listen to the whisper in her ear, and figure out what might best help the Corporal.
Medicine: 18
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?
"And I send mine as well," replies Laurenz, doffing his hat. "As for finding out who may have been the owner of this fine piece, I'm afraid that is beyond my means. There are scrying magics which may be used to look in upon a person using an item of their property as a focus, but something must already be known about that person - a name or picture, at the least a fairly detailed description. Even then the thing is not guaranteed." He pushes the brooch in its box back across the countertop towards you.
"I'm sorry I can't do more, though I hope I have helped in some small way. Are there perhaps any more strange and unknown items in your possession which you would like identified? I'm afraid the Commander won't be paying for those too, but... Perhaps I can make a small concession for friends of young Thurodim," he offers with a bright smile.
Team Temple
The shadow in your ear, Heran, seems to agree with the Friar. "No hope," it whispers, as if there were someone standing right behind your shoulder, leaning in very close. It's disconcerting, but over the years you have become inured to it. Hearing the whispers is almost a comfort these days. "No hope. Damage to the brain... Too severe. No natural remedy."
As you hear the words, Illithir is making his way over to the bed. You see the glow emanate from the crystal he holds, then his eyes, and the palm of his hand pressed against her forehead. Her eyes flicker as the magic passes into her, as if she is in a wild, manic dream. And then the glow stops, and Illithir pulls away. For a few seconds tension fills the room as you wait for any effect.
Then the Corporal blinks, blearily staring up at the ceiling. She looks over to you all and asks in a quiet, confused voice, "What... What happened?"
(That is a good point which I had managed to forget somehow, but the roll matched the narrative perfectly so we're all good!) (No need for the other two to make their perception checks.)
Thurodim confidently guides his new companions to a shop on a main road just off the market square to the north west. In its small window hang bright red drapes, with various knick knacks displayed on white sheets inlaid with silver thread. A sign hangs above the door which reads in Common "Longboot's Boutique", and above the words is indeed a painting of a very purple boot, the toes of which stretch all the way along the top of the shop's name.
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos
Faera notices Thurodim wince as she sends him a message and reaches up, puts her hand on his forearm, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that without your permission. I won't do it again." She lets go and looks a bit more solemn as they finish their walk.
Perception 24
"No, it's okay Faera, I was just...surprised. Not used to hearing voices like that." Thurodim rumbles, briefly looking down at Faera before looking away again.
"Here it is." Thurodim says proudly, holding up the door for Faera and Ghurr, hoping that they might do the talking with Laurenz.
Ghurr points at the Longboot's sign and looks at Thurodim for confirmation. He raises one big eyebrow, not sure about what might be a cobbler giving them advice on magical music boxes, but then his dad didn't exactly look like the alchemist that he was.
Ghurr strides to the store, pushes open the door, making sure it doesn't slam back on the other two and looks around the shop.
"Mr Laurenz?" Ghurr asks loudly. "We need big help."
"Ah yes, the symbol of Valkur, this must be it," Mala says, confidently heading into the building. She casts her gaze around the place, trying to figure out who to talk to that might direct them. (Perception: 10) "Guess you can take the lead Heran, since evidently you know stuff," she adds with a slight grin.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Team Longboot
A wooden sign attached to the front of the door reads "Identification of Esoteric and Eldritch Items - 10 stars". As Ghurr pushes open the door, a little bell jingles, and a squeaky voice calls out from a back room. "I'll be right with you!" You have just a moment to glance around the shop and take in the displays of odd items, when you hear footsteps from behind a split level counter - one half perhaps only two feet high, the other a regular height. A Gnome in a deep purple chaperon hat, and sporting an elaborately curled moustache and chin beard, appears in the lower section of the counter, exclaims "Ah!" before walking up a few unseen steps to stand almost eye level with Faera. Thurodim and Ghurr still tower above him, and Ghurr's head in fact scrapes against some sparkling decorations hanging from the ceiling.
"Yes?" he pipes "How may I be of service? Are you perhaps interested in one of my many interesting and unusual items of a magical nature?"
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos
Thurodim, a bit reluctantly it seems, follows Faera and Ghurr inside the shoppe, staying quiet near the door, not wanting to break anything again.
Heran follows Mala into the building. She looks around in curiosity, not having been in many holy places still up and running. Let alone one dedicated to a seafaring god. "Right... well, we're all here to help."
The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?
Faera heads into the store, eyes looking at everything around her, trying to take it all in. As the little man approaches, she smiles, "interesting and unusual items of a magical nature? Ooh yes please!" she clasps her hands together in excitement.
Then looking to her companions, she remembers why they are there. "Oh wait sir, we were actually hoping you would be able to help us identify this object? For Commander Landgrave?" She reaches into her pack and produces the box, slowly lifting up the lid for him to see.
Team Temple
Entering the temple leads you into a stone room. Sailing paraphernalia is hung from every rafter and every wall - rigging drapes like spiderweb from the ceiling, sails decorate the otherwise plain walls. At the far end where an altar might be is instead a ship's wheel. Under your feet the stone is carved to look like waves, except where it is the bird's-eye view of ships in full sail, spaced like footprints down the aisle.
Your muttered conversation as you enter catches the attention of an old human man in dark robes, who is idly turning the ship's wheel and quietly singing sea shanties in low tones. Looking towards you he says in a gravelly, cracking voice "Ahoy there travellers! What brings yer to this most humble ship in Valkurs's fleet?"
Team Town
The little man leans on the counter top. "Ohoho, my identification service is it? I see, I'll add it onto the Commander's tab. Right then, what have the good Commander Landgrave's fine cohort of guards discovered this time. Is it another scroll which they thought was a spell for summoning demons but is actually a recipe for Dharbek style curry? Or perhaps another strange looking rock? Or perhaps one of the rare times they actually turn up something rather unique." He says this all very jovially, seeming to find the memories quite amusing. "And we can always come back to my other goodies for sale later."
As you open the box his eyes open wide. "My goodness, this is certainly not a rock, though it is strange looking. Let me see here..." From a pocket he takes out a pair of pince-nez and balances them on his nose. Picking up the brooch he holds it side by side with the slip of paper held in his other hand. "Ansrivarr" he reads, and immediately the harmless Harpy song starts to fill the shop. "Hmmm. Ansrivarr," and it stops. "I have an inkling," he says, "but let us make sure."
Placing the brooch down on the counter top, reaches underneath and brings up a narrow black box about a foot long. Opening it he removes a single long grey speckled feather and a large pearl. Putting the box to one side, he holds the pearl in the palm of his hand, and the feather in the fingers of the same hand. He begins the words of a spell, occasionally waving the feather over the brooch, occasionally touching it to the brooch then to his forehead. After a few minutes, he stops, and carefully puts the feather and pearl back in the box, and away under the counter.
"As I suspected, what we have here is a Brooch of Recording. At the speaking of the command word it will play a looping one minute recording of whatever sounds it it was exposed to when the command was spoken for the first time. Not a cheap endeavour, one of these - you need a fine quality gemstone, worth at least 200 stars just by itself. It's the purity of the crystalline structure, you see, that's where the recording is stored. It does mean that you can remove the gemstone and install another to record something new. The recording itself carries no magical power, so you can't record a spell, for example. Or you could, I suppose, but it wouldn't do anything. But these things do have their uses. I heard that one of the previous Justiciars wore one which carried the last words of her husband. Why someone would wish to record Harpy song however, I can't begin to guess."
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos
Faera I will drop a Brooch of Recording into your inventory.
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos
Thurodim listened intently from over by the door, pondering what he heard. Who would plant this valuable object like that? The act must have had some significant importance if it was worth the loss of this magic item. Thurodim shook his head. He was not the one would find the answers to this, that much he knew.
He kept his silence as they walked in the direction of the temple, his thoughts filled with healing enchantments and how to better administer a healing potion to someone either too weak to drink by themselves or downright unconscious. In the end the elf could only hope the priests or one of his companions, knew how to do it. Only when the old priest spoke that the silver haired returned to reality.
“Forgive our intrusion.” He starts while assessing the priest. Tattared robes and shoes, long beard and scars on face. A man who choose a humble life and saw his share of danger, Ilithir decided finding respect for the human that was likely younger than himself but clearly wiser. “We are here under the request of the Commander Rannulf Landgrave to help with the treatment of the wounded soldiers recently sent for treatment. Please do not take it as a doubt about yours and the temple’s ability to heal. The Commander simply understands that, deservingly so, your expertise is beseeched by many on the city and considering the grave state of the wounded warriors it may be of use to have some other healers at your disposal.” He then gesture to his companions and nods to the priest. “I am Ilithir, master…”
His last words an invitation for the old man to introduce himself.
Team Longboot - Town:
Ghurr listens to Laurenz's explanation of the brooch.
"Mum would like," Ghurr says finally. Then he frowns. "Are many these pieces? Easy get? Or only few? Hard get?"
Faera smiles up to Ghurr as he is apparently reading her mind, "What my friend here is wondering, obviously you haven't seen this before, is there some place else in town that you can acquire such a piece?"
Team Town
The little gnome answers Ghurr directly, "Yes, only a few, though there are plenty of far rarer items. Easy to get if you can afford it, I dare say, hard to get if you can't. Same with everything in life I suppose!" He then turns to Faera, "I certainly haven't seen this particular piece, although I believe I may have another in stock somewhere. I suspect that Longboot's is the only place in town where an item of this quality may be found." He gives a little wink, and an amused smile.
Looking past the two of you he sees Thurodim waiting by the door. "I say... Isn't that young Thurodim? Ohoho, come in lad, don't be shy. Just try to keep your elbows tucked in this time - you're twice as big now, so try twice as hard, hmm? If your hairy friend can manage it I dare say you can too. Where have you been gallavanting off to the past... oh I don't know how many years!"
Team Temple
The priest nods sadly. "If they were only wounded. Sadly Corporal Singer is the last survivin' victim of the attack on Angel Tower. The others had set out on their longest voyage before arrivin' here. We're keepin' 'em in the crypt until their families come to claim 'em." He nods to a room to one side of the main hall. "The Corporal's in there, keepin' comfortable. Valkur be the god of safe journeys over the sea, but illness and death are also journeys, so we try to help with both. M'lord Illithir, my name is Bastion Nickelby, and I'm no one's Master. Back in the day I was Rusty Nick, but now all the rust's moved from my hair to my knees," he says with a chuckle. "Call me Friar Nick or Friar Rusty, I get both. Let's go and see what can be done for the good Corporal shall we?" At that, he starts moving towards the door he indicated.
Assuming you all follow, you enter a small room containing a few rough wooden framed beds. Two are occupied - on one side of the room a young half-elf man is sitting up, one leg strapped and bound up with two long boards keeping it straight. When you walk in he blushes a little and tries to sit up straighter, but the Friar flaps at him gently. "Relax Tomos. And stop movin' that leg. These folk are here to help Bell, we hope." On the other side of the room lies Corporal Singer. Her armour has been removed leaving a loose undershirt, and a sheet has been pulled up to beneath her arms. She breaths in shallow breaths, so gentle you have to get very close to hear them.
"Sounds like she got quite a bump," says the Friar. "A lump of rock from the top of Angel Tower, that's a good 200 feet, long way down." He sighs. "Maybe we can mix up some herbs to reduce swelling, but if I'm honest, at this point all we can do is get her comfortable and help her on her own long voyage. But if any of you folks can help, please speak up. I'd hate to lose another guard to this tragedy."
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos
"Umm, about ten, I think." Thurodim says shyly, awkwardly approaching the counter, almost looking like an overgrown boy in his behaviour. "I've been at sea, but I'm back now, for a while. Had to change crews and debarked here to take care of mum in the meantime. She would send her regards." He continues, keeping his elbows to his sides. "It was good of you to help us Laurenz. The person who owned this brooch is up to no good and we would need to find them."
“I am no lord, Friar Nick.” He said lowering his head in a humble reverence. His voice so gentle that the correction seemed more like a show of gratitude. “And it saddens me to know that we arrived too late.” Bitter would best describe his true feelings. If only I had thought on treating them by the tower. Their deaths were his fault and he would feel like that forever. “May the god give them a safe passage.”
The wish was the last thing he could do for those he failed or so he believed following Bastion in a solemn silence. Maybe out of respect to the departed, maybe worried about the possibility of being unable to save the corporal. Ilithir himself was not sure. He raised dispensing any formality from the half-elf. May as well treat him after the corporal, he thought while approaching the wounded soldier and resting his right hand over her forehead. With the left hand he took out the argent crystal he usually deployed as arcane focus. His eyes glowed silver and ethereal, full of concentration and melancholy.
“Take cure.” He said gently, dawning upon the pact magic to cast Cure Wounds. Would it be enough? The elf hoped with all his guilty that it would be.
Cure Wounds Healing: 10
"An honor meet you, Friar." Heran nods to the man. She couldn't say it was really a pleasure, given the circumstances. Her own expression dimmed, turning solemn.
"I can help mix some herbs. If we can't reduce the swelling, we could at least make things as painless as we can." The genasi sighs. She seems to stare off into space, as she tries to listen to the whisper in her ear, and figure out what might best help the Corporal.
Medicine: 18
The ever growing document of character concepts can never be too long, can it?
Team Town
"And I send mine as well," replies Laurenz, doffing his hat. "As for finding out who may have been the owner of this fine piece, I'm afraid that is beyond my means. There are scrying magics which may be used to look in upon a person using an item of their property as a focus, but something must already be known about that person - a name or picture, at the least a fairly detailed description. Even then the thing is not guaranteed." He pushes the brooch in its box back across the countertop towards you.
"I'm sorry I can't do more, though I hope I have helped in some small way. Are there perhaps any more strange and unknown items in your possession which you would like identified? I'm afraid the Commander won't be paying for those too, but... Perhaps I can make a small concession for friends of young Thurodim," he offers with a bright smile.
Team Temple
The shadow in your ear, Heran, seems to agree with the Friar. "No hope," it whispers, as if there were someone standing right behind your shoulder, leaning in very close. It's disconcerting, but over the years you have become inured to it. Hearing the whispers is almost a comfort these days. "No hope. Damage to the brain... Too severe. No natural remedy."
As you hear the words, Illithir is making his way over to the bed. You see the glow emanate from the crystal he holds, then his eyes, and the palm of his hand pressed against her forehead. Her eyes flicker as the magic passes into her, as if she is in a wild, manic dream. And then the glow stops, and Illithir pulls away. For a few seconds tension fills the room as you wait for any effect.
Then the Corporal blinks, blearily staring up at the ceiling. She looks over to you all and asks in a quiet, confused voice, "What... What happened?"
DM - Storm King's Thunder
DM - Torosevia (WIP homebrew world)
Kelytha Meliamne - Matti Silverstorm - Silver - Star-Setting-In-The-East - Tor Baltos