Voidreff, as the curtain of time falls from some intangible height and disappears in a heap of rumpled darkness on the floor, recall Norvalor has vanquished a group of undead in the dungeons of the Mistress of Myrkul.
Norvalor did not fight this fight alone. He had help from Cath Redaxe and the young half-drow Traever, the boy from the gate. He went missing, until you found him. Undead hands pulled you and he into the ground, down through the earth, and dropped the pair of you into the chamber in which you now find yourselves trapped inside. Iron bars stretch floor to ceiling. There is no obvious way out, other than by the way you arrived.
Cath is outside the prison. Your prison is a cage for spectators and buyers who have need of the undead.
In the center of the cage you found a pit, stocked with the bones of elves. You have no idea why they are there.
The prisoners hanging by chains in the cell with you are now dead, having already taken their last breaths on Faerûn.
You have one other choice left to try. Two, if you consider starvation... to make yourself thin enough to squeeze through the bars that no one seems able to slip through, and out of the grasp from T'vul, Mistress of Myrkul.
She, you have met. Her bone-chilling voice. Her thin gossamer raiments. She is an elf, older than you think, and far more powerful than you suspect.
Benmasque, the creaks and groans of the Iron Troubadour anchored in the harbor of the Lower City in Baldur's Gate has done little to soothe Arutha's resolve.
His heart is beating fast. The battle with the drow spellcaster below deck has taken a grim turn.
Warrior has shorted the dark elf's arm. A lifeless hand has fallen to the floor. Hissing bitterly, the creature has drawn its cloak tight around its muscular wiry frame and melted into the dark.
A rush of air moves passed you, and some unseen force bumps you hard. Make a Dexterity saving throw.
"I got a different but risky idea. Cath step back from the from a bars and cover your eyes I'm gonna keep shooting fire at them till they soften. Traever you get behind me I promised to get you home to you mum didn't I!" Norvalor says as he preps his hand to cast firebolt at the bars until they get red hot. "Cath when it gets hot enough you think you can bend them bars?"
(do you want me to roll? I plan to cast it till the bars get hot enough till they're malleable.)
Traever eyes you skeptically, Norvalor. "You want to use magic? You want to cast fireball? And you," he starts to say with a wry smile, taking two steps back carefully. And then two more. "Go on. Cast your fireball spell." He takes four, then eight more steps until he runs out of space and hits the prison bars with his back. "Go on." He ducks for good measure.
Norvalor chuckles as he begins casting firebolt while saying " Traever I'm sure you've heard of the fireball spell but this is whats called a cantrip its a very small form of fireball called firebolt. It doesn't expend too much magical energy so i can cast it quite a lot." Norvalor proceeds to spam the firebolt at the bars.
It is capable of removing language barriers, forging weapons, and among many other uses, used for great affect.
A mote of fiery light launches from your outstretched hand, trailing light in the dark, and strikes the prison bars. Where the bolt struck, the cold gray metal warms, turning deep red, then brightens to orange. The one bolt itself isn't strong enough to do what you intended, but that is not what you intended when you decided to, what was it you said, Norvalor? Oh, that's right—
—spam!
You must have experience fighting goblins or swarms of insects. They attack in large numbers; they spam a target.
Your reflexes are with you today Arutha, but not enough to completely dodge the invisible force that's shouldered passed. Your invisible opponent isn't too concerned about you too much. In his blind haste, he's pushed you toward the wall.
Perhaps you can recover. How's your footwork? Roll for Athletics.
The Silver Queen glides to your side, Gramdal. Her voice rises from the roots of magic. "The point is, we are trying to decide how to proceed. No one here has done business with this Gravva." She addresses the crowd in her own way, with her own words. "I call for a respite. Let us consider this meeting carefully. We survived the Bhaalspawn. Luck was not on our side. We lost friends. We lost holdings. We were driven out of the gates and into the Outer City."
She says no more and departs. In your mind Gramdal, you hear the Silver Queen's voice. Forgive this intrusion. Please, if you would, join me and my attendants in my suite. An alliance with orcs is not as clear cut as steel. Orcs are brutish, uncivilized creatures. This Vekka—I'm not so certain—She came with words, not weapons.
From where you're standing Cath, the firebolt produces a different effect. When the fiery orb strikes the bars, its magic lights up a thread of runes. The glyphs begin to fade, however, but not before magic reveals the hidden runes up and down the length of the metal bar.
I'm waiting for everyone to gather back around...
I'm ready to start up again...
I'm ready just need a recap forgot where i am.
Oh wow.. Yeah I am down for that! I've got to recreate my character though.
Let the sulfer flare in brilliance revealing our fates at the striking of the match.
"Lord Arunduil will bring death to us all"
Arutha Lvl.2 Human Fighter: Arsenal of the Orc Lord
Milamber Lvl.1 Human Sorcerer: Curse of Strahd
Masque: Lvl.5 Gith Cleric: Age of Death
DM: League of Improbable Adventurers: Chapter 1 of Arunduil's Bane
Voidreff, as the curtain of time falls from some intangible height and disappears in a heap of rumpled darkness on the floor, recall Norvalor has vanquished a group of undead in the dungeons of the Mistress of Myrkul.
Norvalor did not fight this fight alone. He had help from Cath Redaxe and the young half-drow Traever, the boy from the gate. He went missing, until you found him. Undead hands pulled you and he into the ground, down through the earth, and dropped the pair of you into the chamber in which you now find yourselves trapped inside. Iron bars stretch floor to ceiling. There is no obvious way out, other than by the way you arrived.
Cath is outside the prison. Your prison is a cage for spectators and buyers who have need of the undead.
In the center of the cage you found a pit, stocked with the bones of elves. You have no idea why they are there.
The prisoners hanging by chains in the cell with you are now dead, having already taken their last breaths on Faerûn.
You have one other choice left to try. Two, if you consider starvation... to make yourself thin enough to squeeze through the bars that no one seems able to slip through, and out of the grasp from T'vul, Mistress of Myrkul.
She, you have met. Her bone-chilling voice. Her thin gossamer raiments. She is an elf, older than you think, and far more powerful than you suspect.
Benmasque, the creaks and groans of the Iron Troubadour anchored in the harbor of the Lower City in Baldur's Gate has done little to soothe Arutha's resolve.
His heart is beating fast. The battle with the drow spellcaster below deck has taken a grim turn.
Warrior has shorted the dark elf's arm. A lifeless hand has fallen to the floor. Hissing bitterly, the creature has drawn its cloak tight around its muscular wiry frame and melted into the dark.
A rush of air moves passed you, and some unseen force bumps you hard. Make a Dexterity saving throw.
"Norvalor, Traever, do ya think you can climb up these bars? I can't get you out but maybe we can climb back up and get out the way we came?"
Cath grabs the bars and starts to haul himself up
Athletics: 16
"I got a different but risky idea. Cath step back from the from a bars and cover your eyes I'm gonna keep shooting fire at them till they soften. Traever you get behind me I promised to get you home to you mum didn't I!" Norvalor says as he preps his hand to cast firebolt at the bars until they get red hot. "Cath when it gets hot enough you think you can bend them bars?"
(do you want me to roll? I plan to cast it till the bars get hot enough till they're malleable.)
Traever eyes you skeptically, Norvalor. "You want to use magic? You want to cast fireball? And you," he starts to say with a wry smile, taking two steps back carefully. And then two more. "Go on. Cast your fireball spell." He takes four, then eight more steps until he runs out of space and hits the prison bars with his back. "Go on." He ducks for good measure.
Cath's hands slip on the bars and he can't get a good grip. He then moves out of the way and opposite the spot Norvalor aims for.
Dex Save: 17 for Arutha
"Lord Arunduil will bring death to us all"
Arutha Lvl.2 Human Fighter: Arsenal of the Orc Lord
Milamber Lvl.1 Human Sorcerer: Curse of Strahd
Masque: Lvl.5 Gith Cleric: Age of Death
DM: League of Improbable Adventurers: Chapter 1 of Arunduil's Bane
Norvalor chuckles as he begins casting firebolt while saying " Traever I'm sure you've heard of the fireball spell but this is whats called a cantrip its a very small form of fireball called firebolt. It doesn't expend too much magical energy so i can cast it quite a lot." Norvalor proceeds to spam the firebolt at the bars.
I'm ready to go as well!
Curious energy, magic, Norvalor.
It is capable of removing language barriers, forging weapons, and among many other uses, used for great affect.
A mote of fiery light launches from your outstretched hand, trailing light in the dark, and strikes the prison bars. Where the bolt struck, the cold gray metal warms, turning deep red, then brightens to orange. The one bolt itself isn't strong enough to do what you intended, but that is not what you intended when you decided to, what was it you said, Norvalor? Oh, that's right—
—spam!
You must have experience fighting goblins or swarms of insects. They attack in large numbers; they spam a target.
Your reflexes are with you today Arutha, but not enough to completely dodge the invisible force that's shouldered passed. Your invisible opponent isn't too concerned about you too much. In his blind haste, he's pushed you toward the wall.
Perhaps you can recover. How's your footwork? Roll for Athletics.
The Silver Queen glides to your side, Gramdal. Her voice rises from the roots of magic. "The point is, we are trying to decide how to proceed. No one here has done business with this Gravva." She addresses the crowd in her own way, with her own words. "I call for a respite. Let us consider this meeting carefully. We survived the Bhaalspawn. Luck was not on our side. We lost friends. We lost holdings. We were driven out of the gates and into the Outer City."
She says no more and departs. In your mind Gramdal, you hear the Silver Queen's voice. Forgive this intrusion. Please, if you would, join me and my attendants in my suite. An alliance with orcs is not as clear cut as steel. Orcs are brutish, uncivilized creatures. This Vekka—I'm not so certain—She came with words, not weapons.
From where you're standing Cath, the firebolt produces a different effect. When the fiery orb strikes the bars, its magic lights up a thread of runes. The glyphs begin to fade, however, but not before magic reveals the hidden runes up and down the length of the metal bar.
Athletics Check: 10 for Arutha
"Lord Arunduil will bring death to us all"
Arutha Lvl.2 Human Fighter: Arsenal of the Orc Lord
Milamber Lvl.1 Human Sorcerer: Curse of Strahd
Masque: Lvl.5 Gith Cleric: Age of Death
DM: League of Improbable Adventurers: Chapter 1 of Arunduil's Bane
Cath, seeing the runes moves closer.
"Do it again Norvalor, there are runes in the bars when you heat it up. Let me see if I can read them."
He'll try to read the runes. If he can't be takes out the Rod of Many Detections and tries that.