Korbiña prepares Winter's Warts the same way they had ... how many days ago? ... prepared the blue moss ... and waits with lighting it until Kreas is out of reach and everyone else is in close around.
She holds Sceilie's hand, feeling her heart beat heavily, so she keeps her close to reassure her... then lights the Winter's Warts, making sure she has enough left for later for camps at which warmth will be vitals.
The party's memories of Asher lighting powder on fire seems to have over-written their memories of the moss's warm haze and sweet spice. Regardless, the situation truly isn't the same. Even as the party watch, the very air feels tense, as if electric...
...no, it definitely feels electric. Even as Korbiña grips Sceilie's hand, the static between them delivers quite a shock. Those who have hair feel every last one standing on end. A sharp metallic smell fills the air. It's almost like the scent of lightning in a sto--
In a sudden flash of light and sound, the hunter turns back 'round, but finds only empty space.
'May His shield guard them.' the young man prays. With that, he turns once more, ready to face what comes next. The woods have gone silent. No crickets chirp, no mice scurry. Another rumble is heard in the distance.
...then, a twig snap. The hunter quietly shifts his aim. He closes his eyes, listening... there. He pulls the bow taut, angles it upwards, and releases...!
The arrow flies true, quiet in the dark of night. There's a sharp yelp. A body quite suddenly slumps forward, it's bloody maw exposed to the moonlight: a gnoll, dead as dead can be, with Kreas arrow pierced through one of it's eyes. The reprisal is quick, as two more gnolls quickly burst through into the clearing. But the lithe Dragonborn is quicker. He's been thumbing a clump of soil against his palm for some time. Even as these beasties charge him, he's finished the incantation, blitzing between them at incredible speed. He stops for a moment, loosing another arrow into the nearest monster, before taking off, back for the village. Sights and spells pass his vision as he runs. Gnolls and kobolds combing the woods, the smell of smoke and blood, the rumbling of that devil's magic with every strike. He quickly breaches the clearing of the fresco, ignoring countless kobolds as he passes. A few of them are good shots, and he feels warm blood begin to trickle down the side of his face as pointed stones pierce into his flesh.
But he keeps going. The others. The children. The women. He needed to help. To do... something! 'Why? Why were they being punished? What action did they take, what crime did they commit that cost the lives of the children?!' Now something else streams down his face. Hot tears, salty and steady. He can't see. He has to stop, if only for a moment. He does. His chest heaves as he comes to a stop. His blood pounds in his ears and pours down his face. His breath. He can't catch his breath... It's... it's as if everything around him is coming down. He can't stop breathing... so... fast... why...?! His pulse pounds in his ear louder still, as the weight of Kreas' stress bears down on him, locking his legs, binding his breath. He can't... can't breath...! The hunter whimpers, a voice not unlike a child facing the weight of the world's troubles. He cannot calm down...!
Even as he lays there, body heaving, mind swimming, he cannot help but think of them. Korbiña. Lelantus. Asher. Quartz. He wants to curse them. To cry. To beg of them answers. Why do his people need suffer for protecting them?!Why does his chest hurt and his lungs refuse air for them?! Why?! Whywhywhywhywhy?! He hates them! He wishes they'd just died! He wishes they'd turned them over, just like that dwarf weeks earlier! He wishes... No... no, he... h-he can't. Even as he thinks these things, even as he blames them for the state of everything, he feels regret in every word. He doesn't hate them. They did nothing wrong. He was wrong. He deserved it. 'We all do. So many lives over the years. How many did we give them? How much blood is on our hands? And for what? Fear? Loathing? Faith? Why?'
The hunter awakens from his trance to further sounds of suffering. Screams in the distance, the sound of thunder now audible blasts of magic. He slowly pulls himself to his feet, the pounding in his ears subsiding. He draws a deep breath, the first in what perhaps feels like ages, and starts loping once more in the direction of the village. He drops his bow, but draws his sword. Whatever else might happen, let it be said he at least fought. The walls of the village begin to loom larger in the darkness. Or perhaps it's better described as 'in the bloody glow of his burning home,' rather than simply darkness.
Kreas grimaces, at the sight, but continues on. Picking up speed, he starts running with purpose for the nearest entrance. If he's quick --! If he's quick, maybebe he can can, maybe he can can take a-a fe fe few... be... befo... re...
As quick as he is, a claw strikes out from the shadow of the wall. With little effort, it severs Kreas' head from his shoulders, gripping his skull between it's thick bloody fingers. His last thoughts are of hope, of being some use to someone, of finding love.
His very last thought, as his body crumples and the light fades from his eyes, is a single regret. A wish for an adventure, like what Sceilie herself would be soon to experience. A fleeting wish that every child dreams for -- something new.
[Yeah, but you're also Mr "friends, friends! I love my friends! I have to protect them!," which can definitely throw people off. Anyway... I know I said I'd pick up the next leg of your journey tonight, but I might have to push that back until tomorrow (busy day tomorrow morning). On a completely unrelated note, would tentacles and a poison swamp be considered too much for a 2nd-level team? Just wondering... for reasons].
[Korbiña's not the least bit ok with that kind of destruction, but the elder wanted us away, and wanted Sceilie safe, and that is what Korbiña will adhere to now. Even if it makes her eyes flare up in pure hatred, making her weep hot acidic tears that hiss with menace when they hit the ground...
About swamp and tentacles... it really depends on the toughness of the tentacles and the swamp 🤔]
Everything comes into frame gradually. The last thing the party had experienced was a great light and deafening noise, a thunderous bolt in endless night. Now they find themselves in dim white light and cold lonesome air, a thin veil of mist swirling just above where they all lay prone in thick squelching mud.
To the others, it's as if waking from a warm dream to finding cold reality. To Thaux, who'd only left this hellious land momentarily, it's a return to form, though he'd still very much appreciate clothes. To Sceilie, this is a dream, a new world privvy to her wildest imagination.
Only Korbiña's reaction is truly instantaneous. She feels hot tears stream down her face. The village, and all who lived with, were likely dead. The looks on both Serescal and Kreas' face said as much.
It's just not right.
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Korbiña prepares Winter's Warts the same way they had ... how many days ago? ... prepared the blue moss ... and waits with lighting it until Kreas is out of reach and everyone else is in close around.
She holds Sceilie's hand, feeling her heart beat heavily, so she keeps her close to reassure her... then lights the Winter's Warts, making sure she has enough left for later for camps at which warmth will be vitals.
Lelantus steps in front of thaux in case of a blast. He lost his friend once it will not happen again.
Asher wraps his robes around himself and shields his eyes with his arms Incase anything happens " bite me once shame on me...."
Quartz finds his shield and holds it at the ready, bracing for whatever approaches.
The party's memories of Asher lighting powder on fire seems to have over-written their memories of the moss's warm haze and sweet spice. Regardless, the situation truly isn't the same. Even as the party watch, the very air feels tense, as if electric...
...no, it definitely feels electric. Even as Korbiña grips Sceilie's hand, the static between them delivers quite a shock. Those who have hair feel every last one standing on end. A sharp metallic smell fills the air. It's almost like the scent of lightning in a sto--
KROOM!
In a sudden flash of light and sound, the hunter turns back 'round, but finds only empty space.
'May His shield guard them.' the young man prays. With that, he turns once more, ready to face what comes next. The woods have gone silent. No crickets chirp, no mice scurry. Another rumble is heard in the distance.
...then, a twig snap. The hunter quietly shifts his aim. He closes his eyes, listening... there. He pulls the bow taut, angles it upwards, and releases...!
The arrow flies true, quiet in the dark of night. There's a sharp yelp. A body quite suddenly slumps forward, it's bloody maw exposed to the moonlight: a gnoll, dead as dead can be, with Kreas arrow pierced through one of it's eyes. The reprisal is quick, as two more gnolls quickly burst through into the clearing. But the lithe Dragonborn is quicker. He's been thumbing a clump of soil against his palm for some time. Even as these beasties charge him, he's finished the incantation, blitzing between them at incredible speed. He stops for a moment, loosing another arrow into the nearest monster, before taking off, back for the village. Sights and spells pass his vision as he runs. Gnolls and kobolds combing the woods, the smell of smoke and blood, the rumbling of that devil's magic with every strike. He quickly breaches the clearing of the fresco, ignoring countless kobolds as he passes. A few of them are good shots, and he feels warm blood begin to trickle down the side of his face as pointed stones pierce into his flesh.
But he keeps going. The others. The children. The women. He needed to help. To do... something! 'Why? Why were they being punished? What action did they take, what crime did they commit that cost the lives of the children?!' Now something else streams down his face. Hot tears, salty and steady. He can't see. He has to stop, if only for a moment. He does. His chest heaves as he comes to a stop. His blood pounds in his ears and pours down his face. His breath. He can't catch his breath... It's... it's as if everything around him is coming down. He can't stop breathing... so... fast... why...?! His pulse pounds in his ear louder still, as the weight of Kreas' stress bears down on him, locking his legs, binding his breath. He can't... can't breath...! The hunter whimpers, a voice not unlike a child facing the weight of the world's troubles. He cannot calm down...!
Even as he lays there, body heaving, mind swimming, he cannot help but think of them. Korbiña. Lelantus. Asher. Quartz. He wants to curse them. To cry. To beg of them answers. Why do his people need suffer for protecting them?!Why does his chest hurt and his lungs refuse air for them?! Why?! Whywhywhywhywhy?! He hates them! He wishes they'd just died! He wishes they'd turned them over, just like that dwarf weeks earlier! He wishes... No... no, he... h-he can't. Even as he thinks these things, even as he blames them for the state of everything, he feels regret in every word. He doesn't hate them. They did nothing wrong. He was wrong. He deserved it. 'We all do. So many lives over the years. How many did we give them? How much blood is on our hands? And for what? Fear? Loathing? Faith? Why?'
...Why didn't they deserve punishment?
The hunter awakens from his trance to further sounds of suffering. Screams in the distance, the sound of thunder now audible blasts of magic. He slowly pulls himself to his feet, the pounding in his ears subsiding. He draws a deep breath, the first in what perhaps feels like ages, and starts loping once more in the direction of the village. He drops his bow, but draws his sword. Whatever else might happen, let it be said he at least fought. The walls of the village begin to loom larger in the darkness. Or perhaps it's better described as 'in the bloody glow of his burning home,' rather than simply darkness.
Kreas grimaces, at the sight, but continues on. Picking up speed, he starts running with purpose for the nearest entrance. If he's quick --! If he's quick, maybebe he can can, maybe he can can take a-a fe fe few... be... befo... re...
As quick as he is, a claw strikes out from the shadow of the wall. With little effort, it severs Kreas' head from his shoulders, gripping his skull between it's thick bloody fingers. His last thoughts are of hope, of being some use to someone, of finding love.
His very last thought, as his body crumples and the light fades from his eyes, is a single regret. A wish for an adventure, like what Sceilie herself would be soon to experience. A fleeting wish that every child dreams for -- something new.
'I wish I had gone with them...'
Will continue tomorrow with the party returning to the Vale.
Here's a bittersweet song to help you think about all the dead.
[Oh wow... I feel... urgs... but well... it is as it is now...]
As long as the party's fine I'm on board with the torturous destruction of an entire village.
[Cold. I love it.]
Might I remind you that my two favorite things are chaos and mischief? An entire village burning to ashes sounds pretty chaotic.
[Yeah, but you're also Mr "friends, friends! I love my friends! I have to protect them!," which can definitely throw people off. Anyway... I know I said I'd pick up the next leg of your journey tonight, but I might have to push that back until tomorrow (busy day tomorrow morning). On a completely unrelated note, would tentacles and a poison swamp be considered too much for a 2nd-level team? Just wondering... for reasons].
Friends are THe most important thing in the world and chaos and mischief are delicious. Most things are a dark shade of gray.🖤
[Korbiña's not the least bit ok with that kind of destruction, but the elder wanted us away, and wanted Sceilie safe, and that is what Korbiña will adhere to now. Even if it makes her eyes flare up in pure hatred, making her weep hot acidic tears that hiss with menace when they hit the ground...
About swamp and tentacles... it really depends on the toughness of the tentacles and the swamp 🤔]
Tentacles sound fun
[Define fun. Be specific, so I know what joke to use here.]
Depends on what kind of tentacles. Large ones? Small ones? Giant squid? Mimic? Some of them would be fun to fight. others would be fun to FIGHT🖤.
Everything comes into frame gradually. The last thing the party had experienced was a great light and deafening noise, a thunderous bolt in endless night. Now they find themselves in dim white light and cold lonesome air, a thin veil of mist swirling just above where they all lay prone in thick squelching mud.
To the others, it's as if waking from a warm dream to finding cold reality. To Thaux, who'd only left this hellious land momentarily, it's a return to form, though he'd still very much appreciate clothes. To Sceilie, this is a dream, a new world privvy to her wildest imagination.
Only Korbiña's reaction is truly instantaneous. She feels hot tears stream down her face. The village, and all who lived with, were likely dead. The looks on both Serescal and Kreas' face said as much.
It's just not right.