"Well then, Dabbert Haft, welcome to... whatever this place is," the dead man says. "Do you just want any object to drop, or do you want to throw a light source into the darkness? I have a letter opener if you're just trying to gauge how deep this hole is."
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"A uh...letter opener is pretty random." Dabbert says, looking at the Lich while trying to not look at the Lich. Then he lights the torch and throws it in...
(As you approach the hole you get a general view of the interior. Thick vines and brambles have worked their way inside through broken windows. A pile of church pews block off where you would normally expect an exit. A staircase leads up to a balcony with a large circular window.)
Your torch sails downward and lands 20ft below, illuminating a dirt floor hovel which seem to be someone's living quarters A large rug looks to be swept clean and candles smoke from being quickly extinguished. Shaking in the corner is a young human with dark hair and translucent skin. The quality of his robes and the meticulous cleanliness of his hideout suggests nobility. His wobbly stance suggests he didn't earn any credentials on a battlefield. Pitifully, he hoists a ceremonial saber in your direction.
“Don't come any closer or there will be trouble!” he sputters from behind a commemorative plaque being used as a shield. “Keep your torches to yourselves and I won't be forced to attack. Tell me what planes you're from and how'd you break into my keep. And don't lie! I have a Zone of Truth set up around here that will tell me otherwise.”
"I'm a scholar, I have a variety of items related to creating and reading documents," Akkron says in response to Dabbert.
Akkron looks at the terrified man in the pit. The sight would be kind of funny if it wasn't so pitiful.
"I am the lich Akkron," he says, figuring it would be best to be upfront and reveal what he is if the man hasn't figured it out already. "My home is a place known as the Shaded Isle on the world of Abeir-Toril. As for how I arrived here, I uncovered a prophecy of an impending calamity, which concerned me enough to seek the source of this impending destruction to try to prevent the prophecy from coming to fruition. I spent a year tracking down every lead I could find which eventually lead me to open a portal here... though I will admit, in spite of all my research I am not entirely sure where 'here' is. As strange as it may sound, I really don't want to hurt you, and I don't think anyone else here does either."
(Flashback scenes! Only read your own memories, por favor.)
AKKRON
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once. On the tail of a dark book of prophecy you had found the mausoleum of an old printer who might lend one more piece of bookbinding knowledge. You knew something went wrong with your resurrection magic when coffin exploded with flowers. Startled, a roosting raven flapped around inside, its caw sounding more and more like a laugh. “A litch trying to save lives,” it mocked. “You might actually be just what I need.” Wings flapped, bones snapped, and in a flurry of feathers a slender old woman with dark black wings perched herself coyly in front of you. “I've seen you long enough to know what you're looking for. Morality, mortality, and the beginning of your end. Unfortunately my power shifting from my control. Perhaps if you restore balance for me I can bring some to you.” With great effort she lifts herself skyward in a gust of wind, flowers, and feathers. “By the way,” she calls from a distance, “It isn't polite to sleep in church.” You then woke up in a church pew with four other strangers.
LORLIN
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once. You found yourself falling. Your well-trained senses ignores the unbelievability of falling through a bottomless pit in a library and goes into survival mode. However, as you ready a lifesaving spell your decent becomes slower, as if the air itself is holding you aloft in the darkness. On the breeze a soft voice brushes past your ear. “Your diligence in looking for magic in hidden, dark places has not gone unnoticed. Unfortunately you might have to work with others. While your commitment to hermitage is admired, I frankly don't trust you to restore balance on your own.” The cold air around you grows moist and dense until you find yourself gradually floating vertically, bobbing up and down as if in the lightless pool of a cave. As your eyes adjust you start to make out the features of a stone and vegetation. More and more features come into focus until you find yourself sitting in a church pew (completely dry) among four strangers.
SLIP
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once. Your meditation sessions are considered a success when you think about nothing. Today was not a successful session. You found your mind wandering back to that cursed cave, and even though you've grown and literally reshaped into someone complete different, you still remember the pained echoes off unforgiving stone, the warmth of blood, and the the cold of death. But before you can pry your eyes open and leave such a terrible headspace, a new sensation enters your memory. Necrotic cold is replaced with a cool breeze like the refreshing gust of a rainstorm. Warmth fills your cheeks from the inside instead of the surface-level heat of blood and sweat. “What I saw happen in that cave was a surprise, even for me,” a voice on the air says as a merciful darkness obscures your mind's eye from past trauma. You're one of the few who could sort out balance from chaos; I need you to surprise me once more. As your session ends you open your eyes to four strangers, all sitting in church pews similar to yourself.
DABBERT
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once. Today had been a good day. You were deep in the woods, tracking down a Death Dog which had been terrorizing a local farm. Luring the beast with drops of your own blood, you lead it to the base of a great tree, landing a crushing blow from above. Admiring your handwork, you did not expect the tree to begin glowing. Friendly wildlife seemed to align their calls in tune as mushrooms hopped off of tree bark and did a victory dance. A playful group of bees swirled around you, landing on your sword. Surprisingly, the fuzzy creatures began to consume the death dog blood off your blade, spelling out a message. COME. THE QUEEN NEEDS HELP. A glowing green light splits a crack in the tree before you. Becoming more aggressive, the bees spin about your head and exposed skin nudging you closer to the portal. A little mushroom dude waves goodbye as you find yourself forced into a new location and onto a church pew with four other strangers.
"Oh thank goodness a fellow scholar!" the man says, dropping his weapons and affect. "And someone skilled in proper speech, no less. You don't know how uncommon in these trying times. If you came through a portal that's all I need to know. Come on down if you like," he says, using the dropped torch to relight his candles. "Or I can come up there, either way. Gentleman's etiquette says you name the place then I name the manner, right?" He laughs quietly at his own joke and about straightening his rug and clothes.
"I did tell him that I'm a lich, right?" he whispers to Slip.
He hesitates for another moment, then makes his decision.
"I can come down there," Akkron says. "From the sound of things, it would probably be for the best to keep discretion in mind. I should probably reiterate, I am a lich... so just be prepared when you get a good look at me."
The lich utters an incantation, and his body is momentarily consumed by the mists that float around his body, before he is gone... and he emerges from the mists in the room below. (Akkron casts Misty Step to teleport himself safely to the floor below, no spell slot required as it is one of his Signature Spells.)
Dabbert squeezes his hand, suddenly remembering the cut he'd administered to his thumb so he could leave a trail of blood. He zones out for a second, not rightly paying attention to what is happening, or at least not with full awareness, and then seems to snap back to reality as Akkron whispers something about being a whatever to Slip. He hadn't heard it. He reaches up with his sore hand and rubs his stubbled face, forcing himself back into the moment.
He's completely aware just in time to see Akkron fade into mists and reconstitute at the bottom of the hole, near the torch.
"He's uh...not kidding." Dabbert calls down as Akkron begins to emerge below. "He's pretty freaky lookin'. You've been warned."
He takes a moment to look around at Slip and Lorlin then shrugs.
Akkron steps aside to avoid being flattened under the weight of a falling cat person. And then takes a couple more steps aside in case the two warriors in plate armor also decide to jump into the pit.
”Pleasure to meet you good lady and gentleman,” he says, shanking hands “Baron Kenneth Evermore, at your service. At least I was a baron before all this happened.” He gestures generally around the area. “An estate with gardens, statuary, and obviously this rectory abutting my manor - all gone when those newcomers infected the area with their cancerous influence.”
Drooping onto a stool, he pulls a wine bottle from a rack of mostly empty ones. “Drink, anyone?”
Not one to wait around too long, and supposing that if this solitary individual was a threat he'd have tried something when the dead guy was alone, Dabbert begins making his way down where he can hear (and see) what is happening.
"To answer your question from earlier...Hyboria was my home. Uh...the Veil, south of the Dragontail Mountains. I uh...don't suppose that means much to you though."
He sees the bottle of wine and licks his lips but holds up a hand to abstain. For the moment.
"Pardon, Baron Evermore, but would you elaborate on what cancerous influence you speak of?"
(Oh yes- with advantage- 24 perception! Rolled really low on both first rolls)
Lorlin appears to be a young human woman clad in shining mithril half plate armor. A shield emblazoned with an eye (Holy symbol of Boccob) is on one arm. She also has a pack over her shoulder, and a quarterstaff. She’s slow to speak, listening to the others and studying them. She flies down to catch up with the others, a continual flame shining from one end of her staff.
“Lorlin. Cleric of the God of Magic, Boccob. From Oerth, near Waterdeep. But I’ve traveled. I’m here to help- if I can.”
"Ah, pleasure to actually make your acquaintance then," Akkron says as Lorlin lands next to him and announces herself, having almost forgotten that the Cleric was there since she had been silent up until that point. "And Baron, as tempting as the offer of drink is... I doubt it would do any good for one in my condition. Though if you have some tobacco I would be quite interested. Well, never mind that. I, like the good soldier Haft, am also quite curious about the nature of these newcomers you mentioned and the cancerous influence they bring with them."
Lorlin studies the lich coolly. “There was a time, in my actual youth, when I would have wanted to see you destroyed just for what you are and what I presume you did to attain that state. I’m no youth now, in spite of my appearance. I know also that we must work together to face what is coming for us. Well met, Akkron.. and everyone.” she nods to the others. “What do we know of what is expected of us?”
"Trust me, I understand the sentiment," Akkron sighs at Lorlin's comment on how she would have tried to exterminate him in her younger years. He sounds... tired. Maybe even sad, though it is hard to tell from his unmoving skull. "I know that I made many mistakes that lead me to become what I am now... I thought I had no other choices then, but the passage of the eons has shown me the folly of such thoughts..."
He pauses, realizing that he has been rambling a bit.
"I apologize, now probably isn't the best time for me to stew in my regrets. What's done cannot be undone, and it seems that there is a much more pressing matter that demands our attention, judging by what the Baron has told us."
As your perspectives are shared the baron makes his way through his bottle. At some point he packs a pipe with a glowing purple plant and offers it to Akkron "Best I can find in here. It's tobacco-like. As for your questions, I don't know how you got here, but I can share with you how I did."As Evermore takes another pull from the bottle a Minor Illusion fills the room. Black and white images swirl around displaying manicured gardens and parades of uncomfortably-clothed nobles. "During my barronship abutting Neverwinter I took pride in my estate. Through orcish raid and natural disaster I protected it with my own magical abilities. This diligence was likely the reason that I curried favor with my esteemed patron, the Matron of Ravens. What's more is the growing cemetery on my grounds made a convenient shadow crossing and the Shadowfell became like another home to me. It's why your visage didn't send me hiding, Mr. Litch I've dealt with your type before," he says, motioning to Akkron.
Emotion seeps through aristocratic sensibilities as the baron's wine disappears. The illusion of landscape becomes dark and desolate. "One day my fair patron offered me great blessing - the ability to occupy my estate in both the Material Plane and the Shadowfell. Imagine - a fortress that could disappear into the shadow realm whenever the next calamity came through and return for material pleasures! Finally I was ahead of all the other sanctimonious magicians and their magnificent mansions! For months I lived in magical and domestic superiority, until one day the unfamiliar arrived in the Shadowfell.
Living things. Blights, giants, and creatures with more magic and muscle than mere zombies. Before I could cast the spells to pull my home back home it was too late. My defenses were breached, spell components destroyed, and I fought for my life as the planes around me crashed into each other. When the dust settled I was here. In an in-between realm infected by monsters and *shudder* colors.
An image of a monster wielding a giant tree branch smashes the minor illusion to pieces. By this time the baron's head is on the table. A lone raven flutters down and pecks at his ear. "I don't what you all were doing before, but if you tried to cross the planes, this seems like the place you end up. Lucky us."
Slip says "I'm not sure if you all were traveling through portals and all but I was just swept away by some random teleportation magics..." (under his breath - "or whatever wierd magic. " He continues "Don't really understand all that magic stuff but I've lived long enough to know that things happen sometimes and rips can open. So... I get the gist. What can I... We do to help?"
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"Well then, Dabbert Haft, welcome to... whatever this place is," the dead man says. "Do you just want any object to drop, or do you want to throw a light source into the darkness? I have a letter opener if you're just trying to gauge how deep this hole is."
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"A uh...letter opener is pretty random." Dabbert says, looking at the Lich while trying to not look at the Lich. Then he lights the torch and throws it in...
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(As you approach the hole you get a general view of the interior. Thick vines and brambles have worked their way inside through broken windows. A pile of church pews block off where you would normally expect an exit. A staircase leads up to a balcony with a large circular window.)
Your torch sails downward and lands 20ft below, illuminating a dirt floor hovel which seem to be someone's living quarters A large rug looks to be swept clean and candles smoke from being quickly extinguished. Shaking in the corner is a young human with dark hair and translucent skin. The quality of his robes and the meticulous cleanliness of his hideout suggests nobility. His wobbly stance suggests he didn't earn any credentials on a battlefield. Pitifully, he hoists a ceremonial saber in your direction.
“Don't come any closer or there will be trouble!” he sputters from behind a commemorative plaque being used as a shield. “Keep your torches to yourselves and I won't be forced to attack. Tell me what planes you're from and how'd you break into my keep. And don't lie! I have a Zone of Truth set up around here that will tell me otherwise.”
These words are smaller than the other ones.
"I'm a scholar, I have a variety of items related to creating and reading documents," Akkron says in response to Dabbert.
Akkron looks at the terrified man in the pit. The sight would be kind of funny if it wasn't so pitiful.
"I am the lich Akkron," he says, figuring it would be best to be upfront and reveal what he is if the man hasn't figured it out already. "My home is a place known as the Shaded Isle on the world of Abeir-Toril. As for how I arrived here, I uncovered a prophecy of an impending calamity, which concerned me enough to seek the source of this impending destruction to try to prevent the prophecy from coming to fruition. I spent a year tracking down every lead I could find which eventually lead me to open a portal here... though I will admit, in spite of all my research I am not entirely sure where 'here' is. As strange as it may sound, I really don't want to hurt you, and I don't think anyone else here does either."
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As your minds sharpen so do your memories.
(Flashback scenes! Only read your own memories, por favor.)
AKKRON
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once.
On the tail of a dark book of prophecy you had found the mausoleum of an old printer who might lend one more piece of bookbinding knowledge. You knew something went wrong with your resurrection magic when coffin exploded with flowers. Startled, a roosting raven flapped around inside, its caw sounding more and more like a laugh. “A litch trying to save lives,” it mocked. “You might actually be just what I need.” Wings flapped, bones snapped, and in a flurry of feathers a slender old woman with dark black wings perched herself coyly in front of you. “I've seen you long enough to know what you're looking for. Morality, mortality, and the beginning of your end. Unfortunately my power shifting from my control. Perhaps if you restore balance for me I can bring some to you.” With great effort she lifts herself skyward in a gust of wind, flowers, and feathers. “By the way,” she calls from a distance, “It isn't polite to sleep in church.”
You then woke up in a church pew with four other strangers.
LORLIN
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once.
You found yourself falling. Your well-trained senses ignores the unbelievability of falling through a bottomless pit in a library and goes into survival mode. However, as you ready a lifesaving spell your decent becomes slower, as if the air itself is holding you aloft in the darkness. On the breeze a soft voice brushes past your ear. “Your diligence in looking for magic in hidden, dark places has not gone unnoticed. Unfortunately you might have to work with others. While your commitment to hermitage is admired, I frankly don't trust you to restore balance on your own.” The cold air around you grows moist and dense until you find yourself gradually floating vertically, bobbing up and down as if in the lightless pool of a cave. As your eyes adjust you start to make out the features of a stone and vegetation. More and more features come into focus until you find yourself sitting in a church pew (completely dry) among four strangers.
SLIP
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once.
Your meditation sessions are considered a success when you think about nothing. Today was not a successful session. You found your mind wandering back to that cursed cave, and even though you've grown and literally reshaped into someone complete different, you still remember the pained echoes off unforgiving stone, the warmth of blood, and the the cold of death. But before you can pry your eyes open and leave such a terrible headspace, a new sensation enters your memory. Necrotic cold is replaced with a cool breeze like the refreshing gust of a rainstorm. Warmth fills your cheeks from the inside instead of the surface-level heat of blood and sweat. “What I saw happen in that cave was a surprise, even for me,” a voice on the air says as a merciful darkness obscures your mind's eye from past trauma. You're one of the few who could sort out balance from chaos; I need you to surprise me once more. As your session ends you open your eyes to four strangers, all sitting in church pews similar to yourself.
DABBERT
Memory returns like a flame consuming parchment: very slowly then all at once.
Today had been a good day. You were deep in the woods, tracking down a Death Dog which had been terrorizing a local farm. Luring the beast with drops of your own blood, you lead it to the base of a great tree, landing a crushing blow from above. Admiring your handwork, you did not expect the tree to begin glowing. Friendly wildlife seemed to align their calls in tune as mushrooms hopped off of tree bark and did a victory dance. A playful group of bees swirled around you, landing on your sword. Surprisingly, the fuzzy creatures began to consume the death dog blood off your blade, spelling out a message. COME. THE QUEEN NEEDS HELP. A glowing green light splits a crack in the tree before you. Becoming more aggressive, the bees spin about your head and exposed skin nudging you closer to the portal. A little mushroom dude waves goodbye as you find yourself forced into a new location and onto a church pew with four other strangers.
These words are smaller than the other ones.
"Oh thank goodness a fellow scholar!" the man says, dropping his weapons and affect. "And someone skilled in proper speech, no less. You don't know how uncommon in these trying times. If you came through a portal that's all I need to know. Come on down if you like," he says, using the dropped torch to relight his candles. "Or I can come up there, either way. Gentleman's etiquette says you name the place then I name the manner, right?" He laughs quietly at his own joke and about straightening his rug and clothes.
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Akkron glances at the others
"I did tell him that I'm a lich, right?" he whispers to Slip.
He hesitates for another moment, then makes his decision.
"I can come down there," Akkron says. "From the sound of things, it would probably be for the best to keep discretion in mind. I should probably reiterate, I am a lich... so just be prepared when you get a good look at me."
The lich utters an incantation, and his body is momentarily consumed by the mists that float around his body, before he is gone... and he emerges from the mists in the room below. (Akkron casts Misty Step to teleport himself safely to the floor below, no spell slot required as it is one of his Signature Spells.)
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Dabbert squeezes his hand, suddenly remembering the cut he'd administered to his thumb so he could leave a trail of blood. He zones out for a second, not rightly paying attention to what is happening, or at least not with full awareness, and then seems to snap back to reality as Akkron whispers something about being a whatever to Slip. He hadn't heard it. He reaches up with his sore hand and rubs his stubbled face, forcing himself back into the moment.
He's completely aware just in time to see Akkron fade into mists and reconstitute at the bottom of the hole, near the torch.
"He's uh...not kidding." Dabbert calls down as Akkron begins to emerge below. "He's pretty freaky lookin'. You've been warned."
He takes a moment to look around at Slip and Lorlin then shrugs.
"We supposed to go down there too?"
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
Slip introduces himself and looks about and says guess we jump in. He then jumps down.
D&D since 1984
Akkron steps aside to avoid being flattened under the weight of a falling cat person. And then takes a couple more steps aside in case the two warriors in plate armor also decide to jump into the pit.
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”Pleasure to meet you good lady and gentleman,” he says, shanking hands “Baron Kenneth Evermore, at your service. At least I was a baron before all this happened.” He gestures generally around the area. “An estate with gardens, statuary, and obviously this rectory abutting my manor - all gone when those newcomers infected the area with their cancerous influence.”
Drooping onto a stool, he pulls a wine bottle from a rack of mostly empty ones. “Drink, anyone?”
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Not one to wait around too long, and supposing that if this solitary individual was a threat he'd have tried something when the dead guy was alone, Dabbert begins making his way down where he can hear (and see) what is happening.
"To answer your question from earlier...Hyboria was my home. Uh...the Veil, south of the Dragontail Mountains. I uh...don't suppose that means much to you though."
He sees the bottle of wine and licks his lips but holds up a hand to abstain. For the moment.
"Pardon, Baron Evermore, but would you elaborate on what cancerous influence you speak of?"
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(Sorry slow posting) perception and religion both 15 in log.
(Don't you have advantage and +12 on Perception?)
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(Oh yes- with advantage- 24 perception! Rolled really low on both first rolls)
Lorlin appears to be a young human woman clad in shining mithril half plate armor. A shield emblazoned with an eye (Holy symbol of Boccob) is on one arm. She also has a pack over her shoulder, and a quarterstaff. She’s slow to speak, listening to the others and studying them. She flies down to catch up with the others, a continual flame shining from one end of her staff.
“Lorlin. Cleric of the God of Magic, Boccob. From Oerth, near Waterdeep. But I’ve traveled. I’m here to help- if I can.”
"Ah, pleasure to actually make your acquaintance then," Akkron says as Lorlin lands next to him and announces herself, having almost forgotten that the Cleric was there since she had been silent up until that point. "And Baron, as tempting as the offer of drink is... I doubt it would do any good for one in my condition. Though if you have some tobacco I would be quite interested. Well, never mind that. I, like the good soldier Haft, am also quite curious about the nature of these newcomers you mentioned and the cancerous influence they bring with them."
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Lorlin studies the lich coolly. “There was a time, in my actual youth, when I would have wanted to see you destroyed just for what you are and what I presume you did to attain that state. I’m no youth now, in spite of my appearance. I know also that we must work together to face what is coming for us. Well met, Akkron.. and everyone.” she nods to the others. “What do we know of what is expected of us?”
"Trust me, I understand the sentiment," Akkron sighs at Lorlin's comment on how she would have tried to exterminate him in her younger years. He sounds... tired. Maybe even sad, though it is hard to tell from his unmoving skull. "I know that I made many mistakes that lead me to become what I am now... I thought I had no other choices then, but the passage of the eons has shown me the folly of such thoughts..."
He pauses, realizing that he has been rambling a bit.
"I apologize, now probably isn't the best time for me to stew in my regrets. What's done cannot be undone, and it seems that there is a much more pressing matter that demands our attention, judging by what the Baron has told us."
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As your perspectives are shared the baron makes his way through his bottle. At some point he packs a pipe with a glowing purple plant and offers it to Akkron "Best I can find in here. It's tobacco-like. As for your questions, I don't know how you got here, but I can share with you how I did." As Evermore takes another pull from the bottle a Minor Illusion fills the room. Black and white images swirl around displaying manicured gardens and parades of uncomfortably-clothed nobles. "During my barronship abutting Neverwinter I took pride in my estate. Through orcish raid and natural disaster I protected it with my own magical abilities. This diligence was likely the reason that I curried favor with my esteemed patron, the Matron of Ravens. What's more is the growing cemetery on my grounds made a convenient shadow crossing and the Shadowfell became like another home to me. It's why your visage didn't send me hiding, Mr. Litch I've dealt with your type before," he says, motioning to Akkron.
Emotion seeps through aristocratic sensibilities as the baron's wine disappears. The illusion of landscape becomes dark and desolate. "One day my fair patron offered me great blessing - the ability to occupy my estate in both the Material Plane and the Shadowfell. Imagine - a fortress that could disappear into the shadow realm whenever the next calamity came through and return for material pleasures! Finally I was ahead of all the other sanctimonious magicians and their magnificent mansions! For months I lived in magical and domestic superiority, until one day the unfamiliar arrived in the Shadowfell.
Living things. Blights, giants, and creatures with more magic and muscle than mere zombies. Before I could cast the spells to pull my home back home it was too late. My defenses were breached, spell components destroyed, and I fought for my life as the planes around me crashed into each other. When the dust settled I was here. In an in-between realm infected by monsters and *shudder* colors.
An image of a monster wielding a giant tree branch smashes the minor illusion to pieces. By this time the baron's head is on the table. A lone raven flutters down and pecks at his ear. "I don't what you all were doing before, but if you tried to cross the planes, this seems like the place you end up. Lucky us."
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Slip says "I'm not sure if you all were traveling through portals and all but I was just swept away by some random teleportation magics..." (under his breath - "or whatever wierd magic. " He continues "Don't really understand all that magic stuff but I've lived long enough to know that things happen sometimes and rips can open. So... I get the gist. What can I... We do to help?"
D&D since 1984