Listening to Torrin, Meira asks, "Was Don-Jon just complaining? Or did he actually change into one of those rat people?"
She also takes a closer look at the door, trying to figure out where it's most likely to fall. Then try to suggest a way to reinforce it. (Investigation: 23). "Ideas on making the door stronger?" she asks the others.
Gareth accepts the longbow from Meira with gratitude. "I wear regular leather armor. If no one else wants to use that armor, I can, but I'm sure we could also get it tailored," he says.
The ranger gives Big Al Kalazorn a hug. Big Al squeezes him so tightly he's afraid his bones might break, but the rancher releases him before that can happen. "Good luck. I'm sure we'll see each other around, and we'll make sure to post that notice for you."
Things seem dire at the Mountain Toe Gold Mine. Gareth frowns at the splintering door. "It looks like you've already reinforced it with planks. No matter what we do he's going to break it down eventually," the ranger predicts. "I think the best course of action would be to try and calm him down somehow."
Gareth turns toward Eldrin, who they've been escorting back to Phandalin. "I don't suppose your spells keep people asleep for very long, but maybe if you were able to knock Don Jon out for a bit, we could tie him up, at least bind his hands so he can't pummel the door."
The ranger isn't too fond of the idea of restraining Don Jon, but if the man is close to turning, it would be for his own safety as well as for others.
(ooc: Abishai, would Charm Person work here to calm him down? If it succeeds, we could potentially restrain him safely and avoid being bitten. The risk is high, though. Lyra's DC isn't super hight, and Don-Jon shouldn't be engaged in combat before I cast the spell, or he'd roll at advantage.)
Great question. You can certainly try it or another spell if you've prepared it, Calm Emotions! Also, there might be some things that would work to secure the door a bit longer. Feel free to get creative!
I would have to sleep to prepare Calm Emotions, I'm afraid. Charm Person, on the other hand, is one of the spells Lyra has permanently prepared.
@all: if we manage to secure the door for 8 hours, we could sleep and Lyra could prepare Calm Emotions. If we can't do that, then Charm Person is all she can offer regarding "control spells".
Eldrin's Mind Sliver + Silvery Barbs would very helpful to make Don-Jon fail the ST of either spell.
I'd say we should still prepare a fallback plan. Don-Jon could still roll above 13 even substracting a d4 and re-rolling to pick the lower result!
You notice the hinges on the door buckling. It appears the door will likely fail at the hinges very soon. You surmise that wedging something against the door on this side might buy the group some time before the door fails in some other way. However, looking around this hallway offers no apparent options. You remember seeing some of the mine's support beams staged for later use near the mine entrance.
Eldrin responds matter-of-factly, "I'm confident I can put Mr. Raskin to sleep for one minute." He folds his arms so that his hands disappear into his robe. He asks the group, "Should we try talking to him?"
Meanwhile,
The banging at the door intensifies. From the opposite side you hear Don Jon yelling, "Please! Let me out! I need to get out!."
"Perhaps we could grab some of the beams that were staged back by the entrance to reinforce the door. Looks like the hinges will break, but that might just keep the door on place a bit longer," Meira says.
She then looks at Eldrin. "Talking first isn't a bad idea. If you did put him to sleep, how long would that last?"
While you all debate the best course of action, you hear some dwarven voices coming from the entrance to the mine. Five more humanoids enter the cramped hallway inside the mine. You recognize two of them immediately. Boggin and Finlie have returned from Phandalin with the help Torrin requested. The dwarves greet each other heartily and move further into the mine to make room. Behind them, a tall, slender elf woman with long golden hair, dressed in simple travel clothes, wearing an amulet necklace, follows the dwarves, but remains silent for the moment. Behind her are two others...
Rasziel and Alisande,
Please describe your characters as you enter the mine.
Coming up behind the two dwarves and the golden-haired elf is a fairly tall but quite slender man clad in form-fitting high-quality deep purple robes and a blood-red mantle with a deep purple jewel adorning his chest. He has short dark hair but his most significant feature is clearly a vicious-looking red scar across the side of his pale face, giving him a somewhat sinister appeareance. He also carries a high quality black leather shoulder bag but is seemingly unarmed. The scarred young man stays silent as he enters the gold mine, with the exception of an occasional bad-sounding cough, at one point making him reach for a blood red handkerchief to wipe away something at the edge of his thin-lipped mouth. He gives those present a scrutinizing look as if sizing them each and all up, his curiosity seemingly piqued as he realizes there are not only dwarves here but a group that gives the impression of bravery and heroics, just the kind of people he needed now.
"Yes, definitely!"Lyra exclaims to Eldrin's suggestion that they should speak to Don-Jon, taking a few steps toward the door blocking the cowboy—but not too many, since she's worried it might collapse right as she's speaking to him. "Don-Jon? It's Lyra! We've just returned, as promised. But we still need you to remain calm so we can figure out how to help you. I know it's difficult, but you need to try! Have you... have you transformed yet?" she asks, trying to sound as calm as possible despite the situation.
The sudden appearance of Boggin and Finlie, along with three other people, catches her attention while she waits for Don-Jon to respond. Wait... might that elf be the cleric they were supposed to find in Phandalin? Seeing this, Lyra quickly walks up to the group.
"Hi!! Thank Tymora for your arrival. I'm hoping that you can help us with our friend there. He was bitten by a wererat a few days ago. I'm afraid we don’t have the means to remove his curse." She falls quiet, realizing that she's just blurted everything at once without an introduction. "Oh! Uhmmm... sorry! My name is Lyra Brightspark. May Lady Luck be with you."
As the halfling finishes, she waves her hand toward them, half happily, half awkwardly at her rushed introduction.
Lyra Brightspark is a young halfling—just twenty-two years old—with warm brown eyes and light brown hair gathered into a messy side braid you'll probably catch her toying with often. She looks at the newcomers with a kind smile, her turned-up nose and freckled, sun-kissed skin rounding out her friendly appearance. She wears white robes, and from her neck hangs the widely known silver coin depicting a woman's face, surrounded by shamrocks: the holy symbol of the goddess Tymora.
Don Jon stops banging momentarily as he responds, "Ms. Lyra! Thank goodness! These dwarves won't listen to me! You've got to let me out of here! I can smell it...Transformed? Not completely, but you have to help me! Please! Someth...!" You walk away to greet the newcomers before understanding his last words.
The golden-haired elf woman gives you a huge smile as you introduce yourself. "Hello Lyra Brightspark. I've heard much about you. Yes, I'm here to help. I'm Sister Garaele, and I too have the pleasure of serving our Lady Luck, Tymora." She bends down and offers her hand in greeting. "Now, where is our patient? Behind that door I take it. None too happy about it either, from the sounds of it. I will need to touch him for Tymora's power to heal him. Is he dangerous?"
Zephyros calmly walks right beside Lyra, intending to protect her should the door fall or Don-Jon attack her.
Upon seeing the five figures enter, Ironheart tenses up, but softens slightly when he recognizes two of the dwarves.
"Greetings," The bear of a man places his right hand on his chest and bows his head slightly. "I surmise you are the ones Bogin and Finlie brought to assist us?"Zephyros' gruff voice booms throughout the cavern as a red-tailed hawk flocks to his right shoulder.
The man has short, slicked back brown hair accompanied by a long, full beard. His soft brown eyes carefully glance at each member of the entering group, minus the dwarves.
Realizing the dark, scarred figure seems to size him up, Zephyros simply strokes his beard slowly and narrows his eyes. Rather than this gesture appearing condescending, it seems the burly man is in deep thought.
Currently, he wields his beautiful trident in his left hand, and his round shield in his right hand. His clearly-worn and battered chainmail hangs from his shoulders, and a red cloak lies thrown behind his back.
(OOC - Not sure why my posts are "marked as spam". On my phone I tried posting and the posts just totally disappeared! Which is why there are two separate posts. Anyhow... here's to hoping the next one will work!)
Meirastarts to smile slightly as Lyraspeaks to Don-Jon and seems to get a positive response. She then turns to see the new arrivals. When Sister Garaele introduces herself, she seems relieved. "It is very good that you made it. Hopefully you will be able to help Don-Jon."She then steps aside to let her go to do her work.
She takes in the other two newcomers, stepping a bit closer to them just as Zephyrosgreets them. "While you traveled with Sister Garaele, I presume you are not her acolyte companions?" she says with a tiny bit of a grin. After she speaks, she looks intently at each, seeming to study them while weighing what sort of response they might make.
Meirais a young human woman, about five-and-a-half feet tall, with lightly tanned skin and dark brown eyes. Her black hair is swept to one side, looking a tiny bit unkempt (unlike the picture). She is dressed in a dark grey tunic covered by a dark brown leather armor jacket and black pants. All are well-tailored to her slight figure. At her hip is a rapier and on her back is a pack, bow, and her dulcimer.
Lyra blushes as she answers Sister Garaele. "You heard much about me? From… from the High Priest? Uhhhhm…"She chuckles nervously. "I miiiight have done a couple of stupid things there, but… but I promise it was only meant as jokes. You know, sometimes life in the temple can be a bit ..."
Don't say boring, don't say BORING
"...uhm, uneventful." The halfling laughs nervously again while she tugs at a strand of her side braid. "Aaaanyway. Where were we? Oh! Don-Jon. Yeah, we think he might be dangerous, but—"
Lyra freezes. What was Don-Jon actually saying before she moved away from the door? That he smelled something? Oh, Tymora help them. What if he wasn't entirely alone in there? She blurts out, "He said he hasn't transformed yet! And that he smelled something!" Without waiting for a reply, the halfling dashes back toward the door. "Don-Jon, what is it? Is something with you !? What is it !?"
(ooc: leaving an Insight check just in case. I take it Don-Jon is not exaggerating just so that we open the door, but...
A tall human woman lingers at the rear of the company. She stands just shy of six feet, with a rich mane of bright red hair that falls unbound across her shoulders. She possesses a very pale complexion, full lips, a patrician nose, and striking gray eyes. She appears to be in her early-to-mid twenties, and there is something in her bearing that is suggestive of nobility, some assuredness about the way she moves that implies breeding and poise.
The woman is dressed in dark, supple leather armour of fine craftsmanship, betraying significant expense despite the simple design. One hand rests on the pommel of a shortsword resting in an ornate scabbard whose inlay is wrought in the likeness of a silver sphinx rampant. Those familiar with the aristocracy of Neverwinter may recognise the heraldic crest as belonging to House Immerwood, an ancient noble house whose power and fortunes have dwindled over the last few centuries.
On the other hip, tied to a simple loop on her belt, hangs a wand of elder wood, its gnarled shaft ending in an ivory dragon's head. On her shoulders she bears a traveller's pack, fit to bursting with much of the expected essentials - bedroll, a cloak, torches and sundry - yet also burdened with the weight of far too many books and the rather incongruous sight of a broom-handle.
Like the curious man bedecked in violet robes, she studies the new faces with an appraising eye. Her gray gaze flicks across the tell-tale signs of vocation - the Tymoran coin, the dulcimer, the trident, the longbow - but she also makes mental note of the expressions that range from amiability to guardedness.
When at last she speaks, her accent immediately carries the clarity of the high-born. If not as plummy as a royal, the inflection is nonetheless suggestive of deep history and old money. "I am Alisande of House Immerwood. My companion and I have lately travelled in the company of Garaele." She says, inclining her head graciously, though the smile on her face is suffused with easy geniality.
"Acolytes? Oh, no! Between my colleague's voracious appetite for mercantile expansion and my utterly pestiferous bibliophilia, I suspect Rasziel and I are rather ill-suited to the life of the clergy. No, the good Sister petitioned our aid as guards in a matter concerning a curious case of lycanthropy... And unless I am mistaken, it seems we have at last stumbled upon the unfortunate afflicted."
Gareth is about to say something to Lyra when two dwarves walk in, accompanied by an elven woman and two other strangers, one of whom is a dark, almost brooding human man and the other a striking human woman with the bearing and demeanor of the nobility. The ranger eyes them with curiosity but little alarm. These must be the reinforcements from Phandalin. It's confirmed when Sister Garaele introduces herself.
"He isn't dangerous usually," Gareth explains to the cleric. "But if he has transformed already...even partially, all bets may be off."
Gareth turns to the newcomers as a whole and introduces himself. "Gareth Blackwood, pleasure to meet you. You have excellent timing."
Gareth is a half-elven man with chestnut brown hair, lightly tanned skin, green eyes, and a full beard, standing around 5'9'' and leanly built. His pointed ears are the only sign of his elven heritage. He wears leather armor and a long, forest green cloak. He carries a longbow on his back and two short swords strapped to his belt. There's a golden band on his left ring finger, and he wears a locket around his neck, although it is usually tucked out of sight.
Sister Garaele smiles as Lyra continues the conversation. "Yes, life at the temple is extremely boring. That's why I upkeep Tymora's shrine in Phandalin. Small town life is much more to my liking. The High Priest lacks a sense of humor, doesn't he." Her tone warm and agreeable. The sister turns to Meira to respond to her, "Yes, I believe I'll be able to help."
Moving back to the door, Don-Jon has begun banging on the door with more urgency than before, "LYRA! HELP ME! HELP ANYONE! PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR! IT'S COMING THROUGH THE WALL!"
Lyra,
You sense genuine fear from the cowboy.
Zephyros,
You put a restraining hand on the door, helping to hold it in place as Don Jon continues his assault on the door. Please give me a strength athletics check.
Sister Garaele says to the group, "Yes well, I'm glad to be surrounded by so many strong individuals. These two..." She motions to Alisande and Rasziel as she continues, "...ensured my travels remained safe. I'm confident I'm in good hands."
Eldrin walks up to Alisande with a face made of stone and says, "Curious. Do you prefer 'The Book of Inner Alchemy' or 'The Annals of Karsus'?
Meanwhile, Don Jon's banging becomes more frantic. The dwarves move away further down the hall, but not before Torrin says, "Oh for the love of all things peaceful, would you please deal with him?"
"Ah,"Meirasays to Alisande, "I guess with all your bombastic prose the sarcasm eluded you. I'm Meira Dheran." Her gaze momentarily shifts to the purple-robed man. "Merchant?" she mutters under her breath, but with the banging and yelling from Don-Jon, she swiftly turns to move to where Zephyros stands bracing the door.
"I think we need to just get the door open," she says. Raising her voice, she then calls out to Don-Jon. "This is Meira! We'll open the door. But we need you to calm down a bit. We have someone here to help you!" She then looks to locate Eldrin, catching his gaze. She motions to him and mouths the word 'SLEEP?' to him and gives him an exaggerated questioning look.
Listening to Torrin, Meira asks, "Was Don-Jon just complaining? Or did he actually change into one of those rat people?"
She also takes a closer look at the door, trying to figure out where it's most likely to fall. Then try to suggest a way to reinforce it. (Investigation: 23). "Ideas on making the door stronger?" she asks the others.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Gareth accepts the longbow from Meira with gratitude. "I wear regular leather armor. If no one else wants to use that armor, I can, but I'm sure we could also get it tailored," he says.
The ranger gives Big Al Kalazorn a hug. Big Al squeezes him so tightly he's afraid his bones might break, but the rancher releases him before that can happen. "Good luck. I'm sure we'll see each other around, and we'll make sure to post that notice for you."
Things seem dire at the Mountain Toe Gold Mine. Gareth frowns at the splintering door. "It looks like you've already reinforced it with planks. No matter what we do he's going to break it down eventually," the ranger predicts. "I think the best course of action would be to try and calm him down somehow."
Gareth turns toward Eldrin, who they've been escorting back to Phandalin. "I don't suppose your spells keep people asleep for very long, but maybe if you were able to knock Don Jon out for a bit, we could tie him up, at least bind his hands so he can't pummel the door."
The ranger isn't too fond of the idea of restraining Don Jon, but if the man is close to turning, it would be for his own safety as well as for others.
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
Pronouns: She / Her
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures
I would have to sleep to prepare Calm Emotions, I'm afraid. Charm Person, on the other hand, is one of the spells Lyra has permanently prepared.
@all: if we manage to secure the door for 8 hours, we could sleep and Lyra could prepare Calm Emotions. If we can't do that, then Charm Person is all she can offer regarding "control spells".
Eldrin's Mind Sliver + Silvery Barbs would very helpful to make Don-Jon fail the ST of either spell.
I'd say we should still prepare a fallback plan. Don-Jon could still roll above 13 even substracting a d4 and re-rolling to pick the lower result!
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Meira,
You notice the hinges on the door buckling. It appears the door will likely fail at the hinges very soon. You surmise that wedging something against the door on this side might buy the group some time before the door fails in some other way. However, looking around this hallway offers no apparent options. You remember seeing some of the mine's support beams staged for later use near the mine entrance.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Gareth,
Eldrin responds matter-of-factly, "I'm confident I can put Mr. Raskin to sleep for one minute." He folds his arms so that his hands disappear into his robe. He asks the group, "Should we try talking to him?"
Meanwhile,
The banging at the door intensifies. From the opposite side you hear Don Jon yelling, "Please! Let me out! I need to get out!."
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
"Perhaps we could grab some of the beams that were staged back by the entrance to reinforce the door. Looks like the hinges will break, but that might just keep the door on place a bit longer," Meira says.
She then looks at Eldrin. "Talking first isn't a bad idea. If you did put him to sleep, how long would that last?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
While you all debate the best course of action, you hear some dwarven voices coming from the entrance to the mine. Five more humanoids enter the cramped hallway inside the mine. You recognize two of them immediately. Boggin and Finlie have returned from Phandalin with the help Torrin requested. The dwarves greet each other heartily and move further into the mine to make room. Behind them, a tall, slender elf woman with long golden hair, dressed in simple travel clothes, wearing an amulet necklace, follows the dwarves, but remains silent for the moment. Behind her are two others...
Rasziel and Alisande,
Please describe your characters as you enter the mine.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Rasziel
Coming up behind the two dwarves and the golden-haired elf is a fairly tall but quite slender man clad in form-fitting high-quality deep purple robes and a blood-red mantle with a deep purple jewel adorning his chest. He has short dark hair but his most significant feature is clearly a vicious-looking red scar across the side of his pale face, giving him a somewhat sinister appeareance. He also carries a high quality black leather shoulder bag but is seemingly unarmed. The scarred young man stays silent as he enters the gold mine, with the exception of an occasional bad-sounding cough, at one point making him reach for a blood red handkerchief to wipe away something at the edge of his thin-lipped mouth. He gives those present a scrutinizing look as if sizing them each and all up, his curiosity seemingly piqued as he realizes there are not only dwarves here but a group that gives the impression of bravery and heroics, just the kind of people he needed now.
"Yes, definitely!" Lyra exclaims to Eldrin's suggestion that they should speak to Don-Jon, taking a few steps toward the door blocking the cowboy—but not too many, since she's worried it might collapse right as she's speaking to him. "Don-Jon? It's Lyra! We've just returned, as promised. But we still need you to remain calm so we can figure out how to help you. I know it's difficult, but you need to try! Have you... have you transformed yet?" she asks, trying to sound as calm as possible despite the situation.
The sudden appearance of Boggin and Finlie, along with three other people, catches her attention while she waits for Don-Jon to respond. Wait... might that elf be the cleric they were supposed to find in Phandalin? Seeing this, Lyra quickly walks up to the group.
"Hi!! Thank Tymora for your arrival. I'm hoping that you can help us with our friend there. He was bitten by a wererat a few days ago. I'm afraid we don’t have the means to remove his curse." She falls quiet, realizing that she's just blurted everything at once without an introduction. "Oh! Uhmmm... sorry! My name is Lyra Brightspark. May Lady Luck be with you."
As the halfling finishes, she waves her hand toward them, half happily, half awkwardly at her rushed introduction.
Lyra Brightspark is a young halfling—just twenty-two years old—with warm brown eyes and light brown hair gathered into a messy side braid you'll probably catch her toying with often. She looks at the newcomers with a kind smile, her turned-up nose and freckled, sun-kissed skin rounding out her friendly appearance. She wears white robes, and from her neck hangs the widely known silver coin depicting a woman's face, surrounded by shamrocks: the holy symbol of the goddess Tymora.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Lyra,
Don Jon stops banging momentarily as he responds, "Ms. Lyra! Thank goodness! These dwarves won't listen to me! You've got to let me out of here! I can smell it...Transformed? Not completely, but you have to help me! Please! Someth...!" You walk away to greet the newcomers before understanding his last words.
The golden-haired elf woman gives you a huge smile as you introduce yourself. "Hello Lyra Brightspark. I've heard much about you. Yes, I'm here to help. I'm Sister Garaele, and I too have the pleasure of serving our Lady Luck, Tymora." She bends down and offers her hand in greeting. "Now, where is our patient? Behind that door I take it. None too happy about it either, from the sounds of it. I will need to touch him for Tymora's power to heal him. Is he dangerous?"
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Zephyros calmly walks right beside Lyra, intending to protect her should the door fall or Don-Jon attack her.
Upon seeing the five figures enter, Ironheart tenses up, but softens slightly when he recognizes two of the dwarves.
"Greetings," The bear of a man places his right hand on his chest and bows his head slightly. "I surmise you are the ones Bogin and Finlie brought to assist us?" Zephyros' gruff voice booms throughout the cavern as a red-tailed hawk flocks to his right shoulder.
The man has short, slicked back brown hair accompanied by a long, full beard. His soft brown eyes carefully glance at each member of the entering group, minus the dwarves.
Realizing the dark, scarred figure seems to size him up, Zephyros simply strokes his beard slowly and narrows his eyes. Rather than this gesture appearing condescending, it seems the burly man is in deep thought.
Currently, he wields his beautiful trident in his left hand, and his round shield in his right hand. His clearly-worn and battered chainmail hangs from his shoulders, and a red cloak lies thrown behind his back.
(OOC - Extra post!)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
(OOC Extra post!)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
(OOC - Not sure why my posts are "marked as spam". On my phone I tried posting and the posts just totally disappeared! Which is why there are two separate posts. Anyhow... here's to hoping the next one will work!)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Meira starts to smile slightly as Lyra speaks to Don-Jon and seems to get a positive response. She then turns to see the new arrivals. When Sister Garaele introduces herself, she seems relieved. "It is very good that you made it. Hopefully you will be able to help Don-Jon." She then steps aside to let her go to do her work.
She takes in the other two newcomers, stepping a bit closer to them just as Zephyros greets them. "While you traveled with Sister Garaele, I presume you are not her acolyte companions?" she says with a tiny bit of a grin. After she speaks, she looks intently at each, seeming to study them while weighing what sort of response they might make.
Meira is a young human woman, about five-and-a-half feet tall, with lightly tanned skin and dark brown eyes. Her black hair is swept to one side, looking a tiny bit unkempt (unlike the picture). She is dressed in a dark grey tunic covered by a dark brown leather armor jacket and black pants. All are well-tailored to her slight figure. At her hip is a rapier and on her back is a pack, bow, and her dulcimer.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Lyra blushes as she answers Sister Garaele. "You heard much about me? From… from the High Priest? Uhhhhm…" She chuckles nervously. "I miiiight have done a couple of stupid things there, but… but I promise it was only meant as jokes. You know, sometimes life in the temple can be a bit ..."
Don't say boring, don't say BORING
"...uhm, uneventful." The halfling laughs nervously again while she tugs at a strand of her side braid. "Aaaanyway. Where were we? Oh! Don-Jon. Yeah, we think he might be dangerous, but—"
Lyra freezes. What was Don-Jon actually saying before she moved away from the door? That he smelled something? Oh, Tymora help them. What if he wasn't entirely alone in there? She blurts out, "He said he hasn't transformed yet! And that he smelled something!" Without waiting for a reply, the halfling dashes back toward the door. "Don-Jon, what is it? Is something with you !? What is it !?"
(ooc: leaving an Insight check just in case. I take it Don-Jon is not exaggerating just so that we open the door, but...
Ouch, I rolled an 8)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
A tall human woman lingers at the rear of the company. She stands just shy of six feet, with a rich mane of bright red hair that falls unbound across her shoulders. She possesses a very pale complexion, full lips, a patrician nose, and striking gray eyes. She appears to be in her early-to-mid twenties, and there is something in her bearing that is suggestive of nobility, some assuredness about the way she moves that implies breeding and poise.
The woman is dressed in dark, supple leather armour of fine craftsmanship, betraying significant expense despite the simple design. One hand rests on the pommel of a shortsword resting in an ornate scabbard whose inlay is wrought in the likeness of a silver sphinx rampant. Those familiar with the aristocracy of Neverwinter may recognise the heraldic crest as belonging to House Immerwood, an ancient noble house whose power and fortunes have dwindled over the last few centuries.
On the other hip, tied to a simple loop on her belt, hangs a wand of elder wood, its gnarled shaft ending in an ivory dragon's head. On her shoulders she bears a traveller's pack, fit to bursting with much of the expected essentials - bedroll, a cloak, torches and sundry - yet also burdened with the weight of far too many books and the rather incongruous sight of a broom-handle.
Like the curious man bedecked in violet robes, she studies the new faces with an appraising eye. Her gray gaze flicks across the tell-tale signs of vocation - the Tymoran coin, the dulcimer, the trident, the longbow - but she also makes mental note of the expressions that range from amiability to guardedness.
When at last she speaks, her accent immediately carries the clarity of the high-born. If not as plummy as a royal, the inflection is nonetheless suggestive of deep history and old money. "I am Alisande of House Immerwood. My companion and I have lately travelled in the company of Garaele." She says, inclining her head graciously, though the smile on her face is suffused with easy geniality.
"Acolytes? Oh, no! Between my colleague's voracious appetite for mercantile expansion and my utterly pestiferous bibliophilia, I suspect Rasziel and I are rather ill-suited to the life of the clergy. No, the good Sister petitioned our aid as guards in a matter concerning a curious case of lycanthropy... And unless I am mistaken, it seems we have at last stumbled upon the unfortunate afflicted."
Gareth is about to say something to Lyra when two dwarves walk in, accompanied by an elven woman and two other strangers, one of whom is a dark, almost brooding human man and the other a striking human woman with the bearing and demeanor of the nobility. The ranger eyes them with curiosity but little alarm. These must be the reinforcements from Phandalin. It's confirmed when Sister Garaele introduces herself.
"He isn't dangerous usually," Gareth explains to the cleric. "But if he has transformed already...even partially, all bets may be off."
Gareth turns to the newcomers as a whole and introduces himself. "Gareth Blackwood, pleasure to meet you. You have excellent timing."
Gareth is a half-elven man with chestnut brown hair, lightly tanned skin, green eyes, and a full beard, standing around 5'9'' and leanly built. His pointed ears are the only sign of his elven heritage. He wears leather armor and a long, forest green cloak. He carries a longbow on his back and two short swords strapped to his belt. There's a golden band on his left ring finger, and he wears a locket around his neck, although it is usually tucked out of sight.
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
Pronouns: She / Her
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures
Lyra and Meira,
Sister Garaele smiles as Lyra continues the conversation. "Yes, life at the temple is extremely boring. That's why I upkeep Tymora's shrine in Phandalin. Small town life is much more to my liking. The High Priest lacks a sense of humor, doesn't he." Her tone warm and agreeable. The sister turns to Meira to respond to her, "Yes, I believe I'll be able to help."
Moving back to the door, Don-Jon has begun banging on the door with more urgency than before, "LYRA! HELP ME! HELP ANYONE! PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR! IT'S COMING THROUGH THE WALL!"
Lyra,
You sense genuine fear from the cowboy.
Zephyros,
You put a restraining hand on the door, helping to hold it in place as Don Jon continues his assault on the door. Please give me a strength athletics check.
Sister Garaele says to the group, "Yes well, I'm glad to be surrounded by so many strong individuals. These two..." She motions to Alisande and Rasziel as she continues, "...ensured my travels remained safe. I'm confident I'm in good hands."
Eldrin walks up to Alisande with a face made of stone and says, "Curious. Do you prefer 'The Book of Inner Alchemy' or 'The Annals of Karsus'?
Meanwhile, Don Jon's banging becomes more frantic. The dwarves move away further down the hall, but not before Torrin says, "Oh for the love of all things peaceful, would you please deal with him?"
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
"Ah," Meira says to Alisande, "I guess with all your bombastic prose the sarcasm eluded you. I'm Meira Dheran." Her gaze momentarily shifts to the purple-robed man. "Merchant?" she mutters under her breath, but with the banging and yelling from Don-Jon, she swiftly turns to move to where Zephyros stands bracing the door.
"I think we need to just get the door open," she says. Raising her voice, she then calls out to Don-Jon. "This is Meira! We'll open the door. But we need you to calm down a bit. We have someone here to help you!" She then looks to locate Eldrin, catching his gaze. She motions to him and mouths the word 'SLEEP?' to him and gives him an exaggerated questioning look.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric