Fiefdoms in a Broken Land

Quote from BDaddLy >>

(Between Long Rests would be fine. We need short rests from time to time.)

(We'll rest off shore on the boat in the middle of the water, unless that appears, in fact, to be a bad idea.)

(Survival? (2)7)

(What could go wrong?)

"Aio, if there's time, warn Valzu and Bruja. There is no sense in having more innocent blood on our hands. And besides, they know which way we went!" 

Erdan will look for a broken wall or outcropping they can anchor on to take a short rest, possibly be somewhat hidden with as well.

perception 15

Dahme'dre peers through the darkness to find a suitable partially submerged structure to moor in. One in bad enough shape that no one will be squatting in it. 

(Edit: nice timing. Erdan is better at that than Dee)

Aio heard Erdan's call and turned toward the halfling to warn him. She called out a warning as she made a pass over the halfling's head and made her way back to the others. 

With slow, methodical strokes of the oars Haseren and Valen row the small boat away from the peer. Erdan's keen eyes pierce the darkness, guiding the way down what was once a street and is now a canal. The remnants of buildings loom in the darkness to either side, looking to all those whose gaze cannot pierce the gloom like ominous mountains. The only sounds are the oars hitting the water and the creak of the ancient boat as it moves. Overhead, Aio flies in low circles, barely visible except for the patches of sky she periodically blocks out. 

Turning a corner, Erdan, you spot a likely looking mooring spot. Ahead, one wall of a three floor building has collapses, leaving the other three walls intact and the ceiling of the second floor also more or less intact. Dahme'dre makes a number of abortive attempts to tie secure the boat, until you find an old meat-hanging hook embedded deep in a wall. A coil of rotten but still secure rope lying in the bottom of the boat does the rest, and the vessel is secured. 

With the ceiling above blocking out the stars and moon, and no torches or lamps lit the party finds itself in near total darkness. Hidden on three sides by walls and from above by what remains of the ceiling, this position could be defensible should you wish to rest briefly. 

Valen, a persistent disquiet hangs over you, a gnawing sense of something unpleasant. You cannot place it, but it is as if you have bitten into a rotten apple from the still wholesome side, some instinct warning you that all is not as it should be. It is very faint, but you believe you are not imagining it. 

((If you decide to short rest here, please specify how. Who will be doing what, etc. ))  

(Is there a way to reach the remnants of the 2nd floor for a better vantage point?)

Valen will find some small, expendable item in the raft, imbue it with Light, the throw it out to the middle of the ruined structure. There was no surface danger, but the risk of dangers below was a constant dread.

(How did you know one of my biggest IRL fears? Terrifies me to be in deep/dark water and know that something is nearby. Even just little fish. If I can't touch ground or and swimming with things I can't see, I could take gold at the olympics.)

(Just in case as well, Perception: 8)

(Should the party go in to rest, Aio will do the following.)

Aio saw the others enter the dilapidated building and continued to fly overhead, keeping an eye out for anything that might be suspicious. She wasn't sure why they were entering the structure, but assumed they knew what they were doing. She was partaking in her own form of rest and meditation, however. Flight was the closest one could come to true peace and freedom. 

(If they keep going, Aio will continue to direct them to the obvious danger that lurks beneath the waves near the structure with the green brazier.)

Should we rest here, Dahme'dre will tend to her wounds as she sings a song in a foreign language discussing a love of life and defying death. (As she seeks power to recover spell slots from her patron)

However, with that anxious look on Valen's face she will certainly consider finding another location should he wish.

 "We've been running since we've left the tavern. Rest if you need it, I can keep watch." Erdan will also look to see if there is any stairs to the second story.

Once they are secure, he will cast minor illusion to make it look like there is a 5ft section of wall right in the middle of where they just came through, hopefully making it look like a boat can't pass through it. For the time being, he will recast it every minute, so the illusion doesn't drop. 

Should we rest now, Dahme'dre will recover 8 hit points

Aio, seeing your comrades disappear into the building you circle around it and land on the 'roof' which is actually the second floor of the building, the thing having largely collapsed. From there, you are able to lend assistance to the rest of the party, helping them clamber up with you, where the slope of the floor hides them from sight. 

Erdan, leaning over the edge of the floor, you are able to periodically cast your illusion. To the casual observer, it appears a portion of wall rises out of the water where the fourth wall should be, as if it had only partially collapsed. You position it so that the boat is completely hidden by a combination of this illusion and the darkness this hideout. 

Dahme'dre, you spend the first hour slumped against the wall, recuperating and tending your wounds. You manage to restore yourself to fighting trim, but the effort leaves you drained and tired. With your wounds tended, you begin your uplifting hymn singing of the power of life in the face of death, the inherent joy of simply being alive. It is a defiant, potent anthem, made more so by the experiences you are able to inject into it. The feeling of being so recently close to death, and of having dealt death in turn.

The fading light, need not bring sorrow
For the dawn, will come again
The grave, it cannot claim us
Those who truly live, cannot be slain 

In the darkest, midnight hour.
Beneath the thunder, and the rain.
The warmth of life, it flow through us, 
Bright in joy, a balm in pain. 

Valen, as Dahme'dre sings her haunting tune, the aura of discomfort grows near overwhelming. You can't help but look around frantically, seeking the source of the bile at the back of your throat. 

A mist begins to rise around the building, obscuring everything in a haze even Erdan's darkvision is powerless to pierce. 

Haseren, your keen sense of smell causes you to almost gag, as the sense of rot and decay reaches your nostrils. 

 

Her strength returned Dahme'dre and grips her staff. "Let's get moving, quickly!" She hums her guiding tune, and moves for the boat.

(You guys are quiet today.)

(OOC: Aio is not very smart. She just follows along with what other people are doing. Also, the DM grounded me. I assume there was a reason Aio didn't keep flying overhead as I said she would, so I'm waiting for one of you to start the trouble. )

(Very few creatures can maintain flight for that long without a pause on land ;) )

"I don't like this; we need to move now. Who's on oars? Magic would hit harder if something attacks, but Hasaren and I may be better-suited against an impending attack." Valen seems somewhat frantic, like a trapped beast, "I dont care either way, but we need to move fast. Something knows we're here and the longer we stay, the harder it will be to escape."

(Ah, your best bet is always to land after each action. In my campaign I treat flying characters as sitting ducks. No cover in the sky.

Start trouble? Avoid it. Let's get outta here.)

(  Nowhere are the aarakocra more comfortable than in the sky. They can spend hours in the air, and some go as long as days, locking their wings in place and letting the thermals hold them aloft. In battle, they prove dynamic and acrobatic fliers, moving with remarkable speed and grace, diving to lash opponents with weapons or talons before turning and flying away.

Once airborne, an aarakocra leaves the sky with reluctance. On their native plane, they can fly for days or months, landing only to lay their eggs and feed their young before launching themselves back into the air. Those that make it to a world in the Material Plane find it a strange place. They sometimes forget or ignore vertical distances, and they have nothing but pity for those earthbound people forced to live and toil on the ground.  )

Aio reacted to the others' distress and beat her wings to help disperse the mist and give them a bit more visibility.

((Sorry, crazy busy at work today, no chance to check in))

"I'll take the prow and be a lookout. I think we should have the muscle at the oars so we can move quickly! I'll let you know if there's anything to cut!"

perception 3

(( On the Aarakocra's native plane, the thermals make cruising around indefinitely more viable. On the Prime Material, you might be able to do it but you'd have to be super high up and the conditions would have to be favorable. Also, I grounded you because you saw your friends needed a leg up to get up onto the roof. )) 

Descending rapidly, the party clambers back into the boat. Aio perches on the stern, flapping her wings mightily to try and shift the mist. The shadowy fog moves strangely, unnaturally. It is as if it is sluggish, slightly disconnected from the reality of the gusts pulsing against it. 

The boat moves forward, toward the mist, until despite the best efforts of Aio's frantically beating wings, it soon envelopes the party completely. The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, the very mist suffused with the smell of rotting, withered meat. The mist brushes across your flesh, wet, dank touches sending chills up your spines. 

After a few strokes, the boat clears the illusiory obstruction maintaned by Erdan and enters into the flooded alleyway. The mist is now so thick that even discerning other members of the party, sitting in the same boat is difficult. It seems to smother some sounds while amplifying others, the whisper of armor on cloth loud while your breathing is nigh silenced.

Ahead, a dark shape looms, somehow visible even through the mist. Roughly the size of your own boat, it sits unmoving in the water with an equally dark shape sitting equally still at its tiller.  

A low rasp, as if parchment were being dragged across sand reaches you, somehow clear despite the distance and the smothering mist, "Would you stand in the way of justice?"