Vaerion catches sight of the movements twenty or so yards from the impromptu lunch stop before the rest of you - the slight shifting of the underbrush, the cloud of insects that seems to gather together moving in unison. Perhaps it's merely the forest come alive with daylight activity. Perhaps its something else...
But then Grymar takes note of what looks to be a goblin hanging upside down from a low-hanging limb in the distance. He spots the creature for just a moment before it slips back beneath the underbrush almost playfully.
Vaerion stills mid-motion, the remains of the biscuit forgotten between his fingers.
His breath slows. His focus narrows.
The movement is subtle—too subtle. A shift in the underbrush, the way the insects gather unnaturally, moving in eerie cohesion. Not the random drift of flies or gnats, but something deliberate. Something watching.
His hand shifts to the hilt of his sword, the motion smooth and unhurried, but ready.
Something is watching.
His ice-blue gaze flicks across the treeline, tracing movement where there should be stillness. A silent pulse of thought reaches Aetheris, who shifts in their perch above, abyssal-black eyes locking onto the disturbance. The owl does not take flight yet—Vaerion does not need to command them to wait.
“We are not alone.”
There is no alarm in his voice, only certainty. His sword slides free in a single, fluid motion, dark steel drinking in the light. His stance shifts subtly—balanced, prepared.
And then he waits.
Let it come. Let it show itself.
If this was merely the forest waking, they would know soon enough.......
Ely looks at Vaerion. "What do you see?"he asks, more curious than concerned. His gaze follows Vaerion's to the trees, searching for whatever had alerted him. He remains seated and his weapon remains sheathed. He chuckles silently to himself. It's been so long. You've got too comfortable over the years. Must stay alert....more alert. A small lesson but an important one.
Shae feels the tension coil in her shoulders the moment Vaerion speaks, his voice too measured, too precise. 'Not alone.' She doesn’t reach for a weapon—yet—but her posture shifts subtly, her weight settling onto the balls of her feet, her senses sharpening. Her pulse remains steady, but her mind runs through the possibilities. 'A predator? A fey trickster? A remnant of whatever haunts this valley?'
The surface calm she presents is a well-worn habit, a mask honed by necessity. Panic is a weakness, and weakness is an invitation. She has seen too many who assumed themselves the hunter only to realize—too late—that they were the prey. She does not stand immediately, instead adjusting her seating, letting her eyes drift toward where Vaerion is looking. 'Do not reveal what you know until you know more. Let it show itself first.'
But she murmurs, barely audible, to those nearest, “Be ready.” Her hand slowly approaches her staff—just in case.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
I'm away May 11 to 16 and might post sporadically (or not at all)
Without taking his eyes off the tree line, Vaerion lowers his free hand and brushes his fingertips against the forest floor.
Rising smoothly, he rubs the earth between his fingers, feeling its coarse grit before releasing it into the air. His voice is a quiet murmur, the words slipping from his lips like the hush of wind through leaves—an elven intonation, fluid and precise, the cadence of movement given form.
As he speaks, his hand moves in a deliberate, sweeping arc, tracing the of a shadow darting between trees. The magic stirs, subtle but certain, sinking into his limbs like an unseen energy. His muscles tighten, lightness settling into his frame, a whisper of swiftness waiting to be unleashed.
His breath is steady. His grip on his blade unwavering.
Whatever is out there—when it moves, he will be faster.........
Sabetha does not notice what her companions notice. But she notices their reactions. And the implication that something is out there in the forest.
As we already knew there was, she thinks chastising herself inwardly. All the more reason for me to keep more alert than some careless Watcher might on her first assignment in Waterdeep.
However the words she had just expressed to the others reassert themselves in her consciousness as well.
... Information is more valuable at this point than anything we gain by slaying these creatures if we are not forced to in self-defense...
Hoping her new friends only leap into battle if warranted, Sabetha relaxes her muscles, ready to move without moving. Watching and listening demurely.
“Wha… did you fellers see tha.. I thought a saw a Goblin for a moment.. be on guard, will ya?” Grymar says, his eyes scanning the area now. Grymar happens to speak Goblin, out of his past dealings and interactions he's picked up a good bit. His faces screws into a strange manner as he thinks and recalls a memory. Then he decides Screw it. Let's see ifn he wishes to talk...
In Goblin, Grymar calls out, "I sees ya out there, ya know. Why don'tcha come on out and we can talk for a moment. No need to be skulkin all about under the bushes like, jus come on out where we can have a bit of a chat. C'mon now. We won't hurt youns unless you tries to hurt us...."
Vaerion does not move immediately, nor does he speak. His eyes remain fixed on the shifting underbrush, his mind turning over Grymar’s words.
A goblin.
It is possible, of course. Goblins haunt the fringes of civilization, scavengers of opportunity. But there is a game at play here, and the Selang-they command illusions, seemingly masters of deception. A goblin appearing just long enough to be seen—playful, deliberate—reeks of misdirection.
A lure. A trap. Or something worse.
His gaze flickers to Grymar, sharp and demanding, “A goblin?” His grip tightens on his sword. “What exactly did you see? Its markings—its clothing. Was it armed? Did it react to you, or just vanish?”
If this is an illusion, there will be inconsistencies. If it is real, it still begs the question—why?
His eyes snap back to the underbrush, scanning for movement. If this is a lure, the trap won’t be far behind.
“Prepare yourselves, this is no mere chance encounter"
Ely's eyes narrow at that. A goblin? That's a bit of a coincidence after... He snorts a laugh and stands up calmly. Whatever this thing is could be using what we say - a gentle warning to discourage us?
"Humour me a moment," he says quietly to the others, "at the risk of making myself look very silly." He raises his voice, not excessively, but enough to be heard easily from a distance. "Goblins. They ride around on Axebeaks and have kobold servants. I hate kobolds more than I hate goblins; scared of them even." With a straight face he looks back towards the source of the disturbance.
Let's see if we have an Axe Beak and Kobold out there as well then...
Snickering and shifting of leaves drift through the damp underbrush all around the party as something, or somethings, move around in the woods nearby. A flash of teal skin zips between ferns and bushes, and a few of you notice that while it seemed the creatures may be hanging upside down from the trees, their glimpsed movements now appear quite odd if that is truly the case. The faint look at the head seems to be hanging upside down, but the movement of the body appears as if it may have both feet planted on the ground as the diminutive teal goblinoids dart around.
One voice sounds off from a short distance in the Goblin tongue (which only Grymar understands), "Twins say follow...twins say bring em. Elfs hate us...hehehehe"
Anything further than speaking will require us to get into initiative most likely (dependent on what the action really is). As best you can tell these creatures are keeping a distance of about 50 ft.
Sabetha stands up. Neither threatening, nor cowering, just standing on the balls of her feet, watching and listening. Longsword still stowed at her back.
Having heard Grymar trying to speak with the strange goblin-like creatures in their tongue, Sabetha waits to gauge the arthropod-loving dwarf's reaction.
“Teal? They don’t look like any I’ve ever seen…” Grymar stops for a second and listens, tries to gain a sense of the direction and number of these strange “goblins”, or other things with goblin speech. He rubs his chin and considers, after a couple of hand motions, an ethereal swarm of bees in the shape of a hand extends out and pulls back some of the branches and leaves, trying to get a better look at the creatures.
“Hrrrmph. They says that they want us to follow ‘em. They keep talking about the “twins” want it. I dunno who they’re talkin about there. And they says that elven folk hate them. Heh. I dunno. Should we follow and see? Somehows I feel like we are walkin into a trap, but I dunno if there is any other way…”
Grymar turns to look at everyone, trying to gauge their reaction.
Vaerion’s grip tightens on the hilt of his blade. The shifting leaves, the flashes of teal—this is wrong. Their movements are unnatural, inverted yet not. The dissonance needles at him, an itch beneath the surface of understanding.
A trap. Oh, he knows it is a trap. The only question is the shape of it.
His gaze flicks to Grymar as the dwarf relays their words, and something colder than suspicion coils in his gut. Twins say follow. Twins say bring them. His jaw sets. A flicker of memory—twin voices singing in harmony, blades glinting like moonlight on still water.His stomach turns, but he buries the thought beneath pragmatism. These creatures do not know him. This is not about him. And yet—
Aetheris perched upon a nearby branch, their abyssal eyes locked onto the underbrush. Watching. Waiting.
Vaerion exhales through his nose, steady and slow. Elves hate them. A deliberate bait. Not an answer, not a demand—just a hook, waiting to snag on someone’s temper. Clumsy. Whatever intelligence lurks behind this game is not expecting patience.
"They want a reaction,"he murmurs at last, his voice low but edged. "They are playing at something—either to test us or to draw us in. And if this is a trap, it is one they expect us to spring willingly."
He looks to Grymar again. "Describe them. Their faces, their eyes—anything distinct." A pause, calculating. "And ask them this: If the twins want us, why do they not come themselves?"
His stance shifts subtly—weight balanced, breath measured. He is waiting, but not idly. The moment something moves with intent, he will be faster.
History check to determine if Vaerion has any knowledge of teal humanoids that speak goblin and move in an unnaturally inverted manner: History Roll: 24
“I canna, they’re all messed up. Upside down like. Not natural. Like no Goblin I’ve ever seen or talked ta. Tryin to get a glimpse of ‘em.” Grymar uses his swarm of bees to pull aside brush and get a better look at their features, moving it out 30 feet, but staying where he is.
Grymar takes a chance and calls out to them in Goblin, “Who are the twins? What do they want with us? How far away is it? We mean ya no harm, if you don’t harm us.”
Vaerion catches sight of the movements twenty or so yards from the impromptu lunch stop before the rest of you - the slight shifting of the underbrush, the cloud of insects that seems to gather together moving in unison. Perhaps it's merely the forest come alive with daylight activity. Perhaps its something else...
But then Grymar takes note of what looks to be a goblin hanging upside down from a low-hanging limb in the distance. He spots the creature for just a moment before it slips back beneath the underbrush almost playfully.
Murder Court Discord OOC | Phandelver Discord OOC
Vaerion stills mid-motion, the remains of the biscuit forgotten between his fingers.
His breath slows. His focus narrows.
The movement is subtle—too subtle. A shift in the underbrush, the way the insects gather unnaturally, moving in eerie cohesion. Not the random drift of flies or gnats, but something deliberate. Something watching.
His hand shifts to the hilt of his sword, the motion smooth and unhurried, but ready.
Something is watching.
His ice-blue gaze flicks across the treeline, tracing movement where there should be stillness. A silent pulse of thought reaches Aetheris, who shifts in their perch above, abyssal-black eyes locking onto the disturbance. The owl does not take flight yet—Vaerion does not need to command them to wait.
“We are not alone.”
There is no alarm in his voice, only certainty. His sword slides free in a single, fluid motion, dark steel drinking in the light. His stance shifts subtly—balanced, prepared.
And then he waits.
Let it come. Let it show itself.
If this was merely the forest waking, they would know soon enough.......
Ely looks at Vaerion. "What do you see?" he asks, more curious than concerned. His gaze follows Vaerion's to the trees, searching for whatever had alerted him. He remains seated and his weapon remains sheathed. He chuckles silently to himself. It's been so long. You've got too comfortable over the years. Must stay alert....more alert. A small lesson but an important one.
Shae feels the tension coil in her shoulders the moment Vaerion speaks, his voice too measured, too precise. 'Not alone.' She doesn’t reach for a weapon—yet—but her posture shifts subtly, her weight settling onto the balls of her feet, her senses sharpening. Her pulse remains steady, but her mind runs through the possibilities. 'A predator? A fey trickster? A remnant of whatever haunts this valley?'
The surface calm she presents is a well-worn habit, a mask honed by necessity. Panic is a weakness, and weakness is an invitation. She has seen too many who assumed themselves the hunter only to realize—too late—that they were the prey. She does not stand immediately, instead adjusting her seating, letting her eyes drift toward where Vaerion is looking. 'Do not reveal what you know until you know more. Let it show itself first.'
But she murmurs, barely audible, to those nearest, “Be ready.” Her hand slowly approaches her staff—just in case.
I'm away May 11 to 16 and might post sporadically (or not at all)
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Without taking his eyes off the tree line, Vaerion lowers his free hand and brushes his fingertips against the forest floor.
Rising smoothly, he rubs the earth between his fingers, feeling its coarse grit before releasing it into the air. His voice is a quiet murmur, the words slipping from his lips like the hush of wind through leaves—an elven intonation, fluid and precise, the cadence of movement given form.
As he speaks, his hand moves in a deliberate, sweeping arc, tracing the of a shadow darting between trees. The magic stirs, subtle but certain, sinking into his limbs like an unseen energy. His muscles tighten, lightness settling into his frame, a whisper of swiftness waiting to be unleashed.
His breath is steady. His grip on his blade unwavering.
Whatever is out there—when it moves, he will be faster.........
Sabetha does not notice what her companions notice. But she notices their reactions. And the implication that something is out there in the forest.
As we already knew there was, she thinks chastising herself inwardly. All the more reason for me to keep more alert than some careless Watcher might on her first assignment in Waterdeep.
However the words she had just expressed to the others reassert themselves in her consciousness as well.
... Information is more valuable at this point than anything we gain by slaying these creatures if we are not forced to in self-defense...
Hoping her new friends only leap into battle if warranted, Sabetha relaxes her muscles, ready to move without moving. Watching and listening demurely.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
“Wha… did you fellers see tha.. I thought a saw a Goblin for a moment.. be on guard, will ya?” Grymar says, his eyes scanning the area now. Grymar happens to speak Goblin, out of his past dealings and interactions he's picked up a good bit. His faces screws into a strange manner as he thinks and recalls a memory. Then he decides Screw it. Let's see ifn he wishes to talk...
In Goblin, Grymar calls out, "I sees ya out there, ya know. Why don'tcha come on out and we can talk for a moment. No need to be skulkin all about under the bushes like, jus come on out where we can have a bit of a chat. C'mon now. We won't hurt youns unless you tries to hurt us...."
Vaerion does not move immediately, nor does he speak. His eyes remain fixed on the shifting underbrush, his mind turning over Grymar’s words.
A goblin.
It is possible, of course. Goblins haunt the fringes of civilization, scavengers of opportunity. But there is a game at play here, and the Selang-they command illusions, seemingly masters of deception. A goblin appearing just long enough to be seen—playful, deliberate—reeks of misdirection.
A lure. A trap. Or something worse.
His gaze flickers to Grymar, sharp and demanding, “A goblin?” His grip tightens on his sword. “What exactly did you see? Its markings—its clothing. Was it armed? Did it react to you, or just vanish?”
If this is an illusion, there will be inconsistencies. If it is real, it still begs the question—why?
His eyes snap back to the underbrush, scanning for movement. If this is a lure, the trap won’t be far behind.
“Prepare yourselves, this is no mere chance encounter"
Ely's eyes narrow at that. A goblin? That's a bit of a coincidence after... He snorts a laugh and stands up calmly. Whatever this thing is could be using what we say - a gentle warning to discourage us?
"Humour me a moment," he says quietly to the others, "at the risk of making myself look very silly." He raises his voice, not excessively, but enough to be heard easily from a distance. "Goblins. They ride around on Axebeaks and have kobold servants. I hate kobolds more than I hate goblins; scared of them even." With a straight face he looks back towards the source of the disturbance.
Let's see if we have an Axe Beak and Kobold out there as well then...
Snickering and shifting of leaves drift through the damp underbrush all around the party as something, or somethings, move around in the woods nearby. A flash of teal skin zips between ferns and bushes, and a few of you notice that while it seemed the creatures may be hanging upside down from the trees, their glimpsed movements now appear quite odd if that is truly the case. The faint look at the head seems to be hanging upside down, but the movement of the body appears as if it may have both feet planted on the ground as the diminutive teal goblinoids dart around.
One voice sounds off from a short distance in the Goblin tongue (which only Grymar understands), "Twins say follow...twins say bring em. Elfs hate us...hehehehe"
Anything further than speaking will require us to get into initiative most likely (dependent on what the action really is). As best you can tell these creatures are keeping a distance of about 50 ft.
Murder Court Discord OOC | Phandelver Discord OOC
Sabetha stands up. Neither threatening, nor cowering, just standing on the balls of her feet, watching and listening. Longsword still stowed at her back.
Having heard Grymar trying to speak with the strange goblin-like creatures in their tongue, Sabetha waits to gauge the arthropod-loving dwarf's reaction.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter2):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer4):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
“Teal? They don’t look like any I’ve ever seen…” Grymar stops for a second and listens, tries to gain a sense of the direction and number of these strange “goblins”, or other things with goblin speech. He rubs his chin and considers, after a couple of hand motions, an ethereal swarm of bees in the shape of a hand extends out and pulls back some of the branches and leaves, trying to get a better look at the creatures.
“Hrrrmph. They says that they want us to follow ‘em. They keep talking about the “twins” want it. I dunno who they’re talkin about there. And they says that elven folk hate them. Heh. I dunno. Should we follow and see? Somehows I feel like we are walkin into a trap, but I dunno if there is any other way…”
Grymar turns to look at everyone, trying to gauge their reaction.
Vaerion’s grip tightens on the hilt of his blade. The shifting leaves, the flashes of teal—this is wrong. Their movements are unnatural, inverted yet not. The dissonance needles at him, an itch beneath the surface of understanding.
A trap. Oh, he knows it is a trap. The only question is the shape of it.
His gaze flicks to Grymar as the dwarf relays their words, and something colder than suspicion coils in his gut. Twins say follow. Twins say bring them. His jaw sets. A flicker of memory—twin voices singing in harmony, blades glinting like moonlight on still water. His stomach turns, but he buries the thought beneath pragmatism. These creatures do not know him. This is not about him. And yet—
Aetheris perched upon a nearby branch, their abyssal eyes locked onto the underbrush. Watching. Waiting.
Vaerion exhales through his nose, steady and slow. Elves hate them. A deliberate bait. Not an answer, not a demand—just a hook, waiting to snag on someone’s temper. Clumsy. Whatever intelligence lurks behind this game is not expecting patience.
"They want a reaction," he murmurs at last, his voice low but edged. "They are playing at something—either to test us or to draw us in. And if this is a trap, it is one they expect us to spring willingly."
He looks to Grymar again. "Describe them. Their faces, their eyes—anything distinct." A pause, calculating. "And ask them this: If the twins want us, why do they not come themselves?"
His stance shifts subtly—weight balanced, breath measured. He is waiting, but not idly. The moment something moves with intent, he will be faster.
History check to determine if Vaerion has any knowledge of teal humanoids that speak goblin and move in an unnaturally inverted manner:
History Roll: 24
“I canna, they’re all messed up. Upside down like. Not natural. Like no Goblin I’ve ever seen or talked ta. Tryin to get a glimpse of ‘em.” Grymar uses his swarm of bees to pull aside brush and get a better look at their features, moving it out 30 feet, but staying where he is.
Grymar takes a chance and calls out to them in Goblin, “Who are the twins? What do they want with us? How far away is it? We mean ya no harm, if you don’t harm us.”