Did you shave the sides of your head after Lyra butchered the trim? Lol
(OOC - Yep! :) )
Meirathanks Linene then leaves the Lionshield Coster to rejoin the others. She smiles brightly at Zephyros' comment, running a hand through the longer part of her hair to flop over partly covering the right side of her face. "Thanks!"
Rasziel appreciates the company to Barthen's Provisions, offering the young red-haired lady a grateful nod, glancing over at the winged feline with a small amused smile. Perhaps he would introduce his accountant to the others at some point. For now he wanted to have them all staying focused on the business at hand though and let him show his worth before delving deeper into the details of his past.
While Alisande makes pleasant conversation with the proprietor, the young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scarefficiently collects the gear he expects to have need of until they return to civilization, placing it in turn on the counter. As the counter finally holds a sturdy backpack, a bedroll, a warm grey wool blanket, a waterskin and rationed food for five days he turns to the proprietor with an expectant but polite smile while holding his pouch of coins.
Barthen smiles as you present the items for purchase, he makes some quick calculations in his mind and says, "Fine choices, fine choices. Staples for any adventurer I'd say. That'll be 3gp and 32sp."
The group regathers near the southern edge of town and sets off towards Axeholm.
Alisande turns a deep shade of pink when Elmar Barthen offers her the flask of holy water. After settling finances for the family estate back home in Neverwinter - paying the servants' wages, renovating the crumbling west wing, and paying taxes owed to the city - the noblewoman was perfectly aware of how light her own coin-purse now felt. House Immerwood was once counted among the most wealthiest and powerful in the Jewel of the North, yet here I am, unable to afford the most basic supplies. A fitting atonement for the sins of my House.
She folds her hands neatly and straightens her spine, as if good posture could make up for the embarrassment she was feeling. "A tempting offer, Master Barthen. But I must decline for the present. Perhaps when my enquiries bear fruit, I shall return and hope to trade with you properly. Good day to you." She gives the storekeeper a graceful nod, and makes a brisk departure before his manner turns to pity, or worse, charity.
Meanwhile, Ozymandias frolics across Phandalin without a care in the world, chasing after butterflies and basking in the attention of laughing children as he dances for them. As Alisande returns from her errands with Rasziel, she catches Lyra looking at her winged cat. "Where are my manners? This is a dear companion of mine. Uh... Duke Ozymandias Khelben Reginald Fluffington the Third." Alisande announces with as much dignity as she can muster.
"It was one of the first spells I mastered as a child." She offers as explanation for the absurd name, but her blushes turn to laughter as the kitten lands gracefully beside her boots and executes a perfect bow for the entire party, extending one wing in grand formality. Alisande shakes her head at the cat's theatrics, but the fondness in her smile is unmistakable.
A light rain begins to fall as you leave town. Ushered on by the darkening cloud cover overhead. Your boots sink deep into the damp earth of the lowlands that stretch like a green sea before the looming gray of the Sword Mountains.
The cold and ceaseless drizzle wears down morale as the storm grows in tempo with every step closer to Axeholm. The closer you get to the mountain, the more vegetation retreats. Sparcly located trees and rolling grasslands give way to rocky soil and rotting husks of fallen timber. The journey passes without threat or ambush, and after five hours of miserable marching, you finally arrive at Axeholm.
Cold and wet, you see thrust out from the base of a dark gray mountain is the entrance to the dwarven fortress — a dark, fifteen-foot-wide passageway flanked by forty-foot-high bulwarks of smooth, seamless stone. An iron portcullis covered with rust blocks the entrance. Arrow slits carved into the bulwarks are dark, revealing no hint of occupation. The clouds above are growing darker by the minute. A crack of thunder is heard in the distance.
"That one I actually have read," Gareth smiles at Lady Alisande. Before he can speak more, he notices Zephyros charge over to the old man talking of a lighthouse. There's an intensity to the warrior's eyes that raises the ranger's eyebrows. He wonders what that is all about and why lighthouses seem to hold a special significance for the fighter.
Gareth is pleased when it is decided that Alisande and Rasziel will join their company. "The more the merrier," he grins. He also has no qualms with Zephyros' choice in mission. Securing a safer location for the townsfolk of Phandalin should definitely be their priority. He is curious though what the gnomes of Gnomengarde may have in stock for them and this dragon-slaying sword sounds extremely promising as well.
When talk turns to more personal matters, the ranger explains that he was born and raised in Neverwinter. Although he's spoken of his wife Sylvie before, he tells the newcomers about her. "I don't know why she puts up with me," he jokes. "Although some would say I'm the best sort of husband. One that's gone all the time."
Gareth enjoys a restful sleep, untroubled by nightmares unlike the unfortunate Zephyros. In the morning, he compliments Meira's new look. He can't help but notice the way Lyra had rushed into the common room, the blush in her cheeks just beginning to fade.
"If you don't mind, Meira, I suppose I'll wear this new armor we found. Doesn't hurt to be prepared, especially if we're going up against dragons," Gareth says, taking the proffered armor.
As the rain begins to fall, Gareth pulls the hood of his green cloak over his head. By the time they reach Axeholm, the cold and damp has done much to sour the ranger's enthusiasm for the day. They approach the dwarven fortress, blocked by a rusting portcullis. Thunder crackles overhead.
"Lovely. I wonder if there will be more oozes inside," Gareth grouses, his mood uncharacteristically soured by the weather. "This portcullis looks rusty enough. We should be able to break it down."
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"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
With the hairdressing incident out behind their backs (and Lyra is almost glad it happened, seeing how nicely Meira's new hairstyle looks on her!), Lyra follows everyone towards their new destination.
The drizzle is surely annoying, but the cleric of Tymora doesn't seem to be especially affected by it. Perhaps it is because she very much prefers water raining down on them, as opposed to the very big, very scary dragon that rained down on them the last time they embarked on a journey from Phandalin. Perhaps it is also due to the fact that she's still fascinated with Ozymandias. The cleric laughed happily when Alisande introduced the full name of the winged feline, and just as she jokingly approached a hand to the familiar as a way of greeting him, she changed that into the finest bow the halfling could perform. "An honor to make your acquaintance, your lordship!"
Upon arriving at Axeholme, Lyra's demeanor shifts, growing more alert . "I guess we should expect trouble. There's this spell that I learned the other day... I'm afraid it won't cover all of us, but just three. But better that than none at all!"
With that, the cleric holds the silver coin depicting her goddess and calls upon her to bestow some aid upon the party. Unsure who to help initially, she decides on Zephyros and Meira, since they are bound to come close to whatever enemy they might meet. Then, unsure who else to touch with her spell, she thinks of choosing between Alisande and Rasziel, as a little way to welcome the newcomers to the party. She decides to go for Rasziel, whose constitution seems to be a bit less sturdy than Alisande's.
(ooc: Lyra casts Aid on Zephyros, Meira and Rasziel)
Seeing Lyramake the formal bow to the winged-cat, Meiragives her a slight grin. "Gee, you never give me such a greeting!" She chuckles briefly, clearly just being silly about it. As the group travels, she pulls out a dark brown hooded cloak to help keep off some of the rain. The color would have matched her previous armor jacket, but it's not precisely a match for her new studded leather. The weather though does not seem to change her mood. She still seems ready to joke with anyone she talks to. "Just bad luck those dragons aren't fire breathing. Surely with all this rain they'd be at disadvantage!" Later she remarks how the rain means they all won't have to worry about bathing.
At some point during their travel, Meira would walk close with Lyra. "Hey, why'd you run off so quickly this morning? Were you just really hungry?" she asks, pretending as though she doesn't have any idea what the cause might have been. She manages to not make any little smile or grin and looks to actually be serious about the question.
Arriving at Axeholm, she takes in the place. Listening to Gareth'scomments, she retorts. "Or... maybe we'll find a lost pantry full of delicious fruit jellies! You never know!" She laughs to herself, suspecting the grumpy man is not going to find her humor that funny. A little more seriously she says, "If this is going to be a shelter for the people of Phandalin, it might be nice if that portculis were still intact and useable." She starts to walk slowly down the wide passageway, looking about very carefully. "I guess if we can push our way throguh though it wouldn't be of much help. But shouldn't they have had some way to get in going around that thing?" she muses. "I guess it might not be right here."
She tries to see if she can find any indication of a way around or a way to get the portcullis open. (Perception: 17)
Back at Barthen's Provisions, Rasziel would hand the proprietor coins for his purchase but notice the apparently embarrasing predicament of the red-haired lady beside him. "Considering the holy water likely will be used in the interest of the good people of Phandalin, what would be the price for what you offer."He asks with a polite tone. He would the pay what is asked and hand the flask to his companion. "You should keep this for when it is needed." He says simply, but adding a small smile...and then a few coughs.
(Persuasion if relevant: 11 Another roll if help action is provided: 25)
The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scarwould walk in brooding silence, seeming fairly unbothered by the precipitation. As the team reaches the gates of Axeholm he finds himself quite impressed with what he sees. If what was within in any way matched the imposing exterior it would be a prize for anyone who needed a safe base of operations in the region. Perhaps after the threat of the dragons had been properly dealt with these halls could find other lucrative use.
Rasziel would quickly send his unseen accountant inside to find the mechanism that would raise the portcullis.
The young dark-haired man seems a bit wary as the halfling is about to cast a spell on him, but gives her a small grateful nod as he feels the novel but bolstering warmth of Tymora's blessing. He was indeed frail, even more lately, but had no intention of standing shoulder to shoulder with the massive bearded soldier. Still, he could hardly expect to stay fully out of harm's reach once inside these halls, he was an adventurer now after all, giving the thought an amused smile and wonder what his father would have thought if he had seen him now.
Before leaving Phandalin, Alisande takes the holy water with all the grace she can muster. "Thank you, Rasziel." She says tightly, deeply chagrined by the humiliation of receiving charity. "The depths of your kindness shall not go unremembered." As he barks another few coughs, she briefly considers suggesting that he imbibe some of the flask's contents to cure the devilish case of lunger he seems to be permanently afflicted with. Recognising that such a proposal might sound churlish, she instead smiles with stiff courtesy and swiftly rejoins the company in front of the Stonehill Inn.
Upon reaching Axeholm, Alisande wrings out her long hair - now a dark russet after being soaked through by the rain, and far removed from the fashionable cut newly sported by Meira.
"An imposing edifice, and a testament to the peerless craftsmanship of dwarvenkind." The noble remarks, studying the structure. She looks to her kitten, who has been periodically sneezing against the cold. As has been her wont through their voyage from Phandalin, she warms the ground on which he stands with a quick flick of her wand, and he shakes water free of his fur and feathers. "Ozymandias, if you would, dearest. Up there. Quietly."
The winged cat springs into the air and sails upward, climbing higher and higher until he has a good overhead view of the fortress. If the bulwarks are not enclosed by roofs, Ozymandias scouts them from above, else he glides downward to investigate the arrow slits for enemies concealed in the darkness. If the way ahead is all clear, he studies the area around the portcullis barring the way ahead. For the next few moments, Alisande stands motionless, her gray eyes glassy and distant as her familiar's senses become her own.
Ozymandias' Stealth: 10 Ozymandias' Perception: 25 (with a nat 20!)
Before heading out from Phandalin, you find Eldrin at Adabra's home. The elven wizard is helping Adabra create a batch of healing potions. He gratefully accepts his share of the payment and tells you to come back later to purchase some healing potions if interested.
Lyra,
Your spell takes hold and bolsters your allies fortitude, invigorating them and lifting their spirits.
Meira,
While walking up to the mountain, you noticed several chimneys dotting the mountainside above the fortress. You also recognize that a small person or creature could fit through the narrow arrow slits carved into the bulwarks.
Rasziel,
Barthen offers you the flask of holy water at a discount of 20gp. "Thank you for your business, good sir. Tell yer friends about Barthen's Provisions. The best and only place in Phandalin fer all yer adventurin needs."
At Axeholm, your tiny accountant easily fits through the arrow slits and flies over a ballista as it begins to look around for the mechanism to raise the portcullis. Having no trouble seeing in the dark, it finds a winch almost immediately upon entering the room. The winch is in line with the portcullis and is just as rusty as the portcullis is.
Alisande,
Ozymandias flies above the fortress and finds the bulwarks enclosed. The only openings from above are found with several chimneys dotting the mountainside. Most of them have crumbled and only allow tiny creatures to pass through, but Ozymandias does spot two still intact on opposite sides of the fortress. The last thing Ozymandias notices is that several handholds and footholds might allow someone to scale the mountain if they were athletic enough.
Does Ozymandias fly into a chimney or come back down to the arrow slits?
Gareth,
While you do see the the portcullis is rusted, a closer inspection suggests it may be difficult to break down.
Zephyros grumpily trudged on through the stormy weather. Silent and alone at the head of the column. Grateful no threats had slowed their progress as the weather was already against them. As they arrive a Axeholm, the armored warrior was grateful at the prospect of getting out of the rain.
Seeing Alisande's flying cat made Zephyros worry for Felagi, but soon found the two were not bothered by the proximity. His red tailed hawk had been scouting the terrain ahead and to the sides to ensure their safety from the moment they left Phandalin. When they'd arrived, he'd called his familiar back to perch upon his shoulder.
Suddenly a warmness enters his body, a comforting feeling he'd never felt before. Looking to Lyra, the bear of a man nods his appreciation. It wasn't long ago he may have been angered to know divine energy had been directed to him, but he'd grown to trust Lyra and knew she had his best interest at heart.
Running a hand along the bulwark until he arrives in front of the portcullis, Ironheart attempts to lift the mighty door with his brute strength. Straining under the tension, he grunts as he gives it all he's got. Felagi jumps to the portcullis as the warrior began lifting, offering the warrior encouragement for the task.
"As we were approaching, there were chimney's dotting the mountainside above,"Meirasays. "Perhaps that would allow for a way in. Unless someone or something small could get through the arrow slits." She then watches skeptically, but quietly, as Zephyrostries to lift the portcullis.
"Hey, why'd you run off so quickly this morning? Were you just really hungry?" she asks, pretending as though she doesn't have any idea what the cause might have been. She manages to not make any little smile or grin and looks to actually be serious about the question.
Lyra fidgets nervously with her side braid as she answers, "Uhhh, was I really hungry? Well... maybe?" She pauses. It's completely possible she was thinking a little about what Toblen might offer for breakfast while she was trimming Meira's hair. But then adds, "But I just... felt embarrassed, you know? I was trying so hard to give you a nice trim, and then I messed it up completely. I'm sorry. But you definitely fixed that perfectly. You look stunning with that new haircut."
Lyra extends one of her small hands toward one of the shaved sides and giggles at the touch. "Not that you didn't look stunning before the haircut, though!"
Lyra smiles happily when her companions express their thanks for her bolstering spell, and she watches as they each investigate—each in their own way—how to enter Axeholme. Seeing Alisande's eyes go blank as she sends Ozymandias flying, the halfling can't help but wave a hand in front of her face. Is she really not seeing through her own eyes right now, but through her winged cat's? Amazing! Of course, being so small while the other woman is so tall, the halfling has to jump a few times to manage that.
Then, seeing Zephyros straining to lift the portcullis with all his might, Lyra hurries over to lend a little help. (ooc: at the very least, we could turn that 24 into a 25)
Alisande is oblivious to Lyra bouncing in front of her, waving her hands and testing the extent of the noblewoman's sensory deprivation. Alisande's self-imposed blindness is unassailable, yet it happens in that moment that she speaks aloud, abruptly reporting on her familiar's findings.
"The Duke has observed vents emerging from the mountainside. Undoubtedly exhaust shafts through which the dwarves of this subterranean stronghold once released the by-products of their fires and forges. The majority have disintegrated, but a handful yet persist... providing a potential means of ingress for tiny creatures." She says, still blind to the world around her person and the halfling cleric bobbing up and down around her. The rain continues to spatter her face, drenching her with the precipitation of the coming storm.
"There also appears to be a natural route up the mountain - a series of footholds and handholds for those blessed with an athletic constitution, and an excellent opportunity to test the reliability of any climbing gear we possess for everyone else."
Alisande senses Ozymandias' desire to abandon the mission and play with the red-tailed hawk that shadows the bull-like soldier, but the mage telepathically steers the mischievous winged kitten towards one of the intact chimneys that jut out of the mountain slopes. The calico cat spirals gracefully as he makes his quiet descent on the far side of the dwarven fortress, until at last tiny claws connect with stone. Ozymandias sniffs at the unfamiliar entrance uncertainly before the fluffy feline ferrets down the chimney.
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(OOC - Yep! :) )
Meira thanks Linene then leaves the Lionshield Coster to rejoin the others. She smiles brightly at Zephyros' comment, running a hand through the longer part of her hair to flop over partly covering the right side of her face. "Thanks!"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard ||
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Rasziel appreciates the company to Barthen's Provisions, offering the young red-haired lady a grateful nod, glancing over at the winged feline with a small amused smile. Perhaps he would introduce his accountant to the others at some point. For now he wanted to have them all staying focused on the business at hand though and let him show his worth before delving deeper into the details of his past.
While Alisande makes pleasant conversation with the proprietor, the young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar efficiently collects the gear he expects to have need of until they return to civilization, placing it in turn on the counter. As the counter finally holds a sturdy backpack, a bedroll, a warm grey wool blanket, a waterskin and rationed food for five days he turns to the proprietor with an expectant but polite smile while holding his pouch of coins.
Rasziel,
Barthen smiles as you present the items for purchase, he makes some quick calculations in his mind and says, "Fine choices, fine choices. Staples for any adventurer I'd say. That'll be 3gp and 32sp."
The group regathers near the southern edge of town and sets off towards Axeholm.
17
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
Alisande turns a deep shade of pink when Elmar Barthen offers her the flask of holy water. After settling finances for the family estate back home in Neverwinter - paying the servants' wages, renovating the crumbling west wing, and paying taxes owed to the city - the noblewoman was perfectly aware of how light her own coin-purse now felt. House Immerwood was once counted among the most wealthiest and powerful in the Jewel of the North, yet here I am, unable to afford the most basic supplies. A fitting atonement for the sins of my House.
She folds her hands neatly and straightens her spine, as if good posture could make up for the embarrassment she was feeling. "A tempting offer, Master Barthen. But I must decline for the present. Perhaps when my enquiries bear fruit, I shall return and hope to trade with you properly. Good day to you." She gives the storekeeper a graceful nod, and makes a brisk departure before his manner turns to pity, or worse, charity.
Meanwhile, Ozymandias frolics across Phandalin without a care in the world, chasing after butterflies and basking in the attention of laughing children as he dances for them. As Alisande returns from her errands with Rasziel, she catches Lyra looking at her winged cat. "Where are my manners? This is a dear companion of mine. Uh... Duke Ozymandias Khelben Reginald Fluffington the Third." Alisande announces with as much dignity as she can muster.
"It was one of the first spells I mastered as a child." She offers as explanation for the absurd name, but her blushes turn to laughter as the kitten lands gracefully beside her boots and executes a perfect bow for the entire party, extending one wing in grand formality. Alisande shakes her head at the cat's theatrics, but the fondness in her smile is unmistakable.
"Are we ready to journey to Axeholm?"
A light rain begins to fall as you leave town. Ushered on by the darkening cloud cover overhead. Your boots sink deep into the damp earth of the lowlands that stretch like a green sea before the looming gray of the Sword Mountains.
The cold and ceaseless drizzle wears down morale as the storm grows in tempo with every step closer to Axeholm. The closer you get to the mountain, the more vegetation retreats. Sparcly located trees and rolling grasslands give way to rocky soil and rotting husks of fallen timber. The journey passes without threat or ambush, and after five hours of miserable marching, you finally arrive at Axeholm.
Cold and wet, you see thrust out from the base of a dark gray mountain is the entrance to the dwarven fortress — a dark, fifteen-foot-wide passageway flanked by forty-foot-high bulwarks of smooth, seamless stone. An iron portcullis covered with rust blocks the entrance. Arrow slits carved into the bulwarks are dark, revealing no hint of occupation. The clouds above are growing darker by the minute. A crack of thunder is heard in the distance.
What do you do?
L
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
"That one I actually have read," Gareth smiles at Lady Alisande. Before he can speak more, he notices Zephyros charge over to the old man talking of a lighthouse. There's an intensity to the warrior's eyes that raises the ranger's eyebrows. He wonders what that is all about and why lighthouses seem to hold a special significance for the fighter.
Gareth is pleased when it is decided that Alisande and Rasziel will join their company. "The more the merrier," he grins. He also has no qualms with Zephyros' choice in mission. Securing a safer location for the townsfolk of Phandalin should definitely be their priority. He is curious though what the gnomes of Gnomengarde may have in stock for them and this dragon-slaying sword sounds extremely promising as well.
When talk turns to more personal matters, the ranger explains that he was born and raised in Neverwinter. Although he's spoken of his wife Sylvie before, he tells the newcomers about her. "I don't know why she puts up with me," he jokes. "Although some would say I'm the best sort of husband. One that's gone all the time."
Gareth enjoys a restful sleep, untroubled by nightmares unlike the unfortunate Zephyros. In the morning, he compliments Meira's new look. He can't help but notice the way Lyra had rushed into the common room, the blush in her cheeks just beginning to fade.
"If you don't mind, Meira, I suppose I'll wear this new armor we found. Doesn't hurt to be prepared, especially if we're going up against dragons," Gareth says, taking the proffered armor.
As the rain begins to fall, Gareth pulls the hood of his green cloak over his head. By the time they reach Axeholm, the cold and damp has done much to sour the ranger's enthusiasm for the day. They approach the dwarven fortress, blocked by a rusting portcullis. Thunder crackles overhead.
"Lovely. I wonder if there will be more oozes inside," Gareth grouses, his mood uncharacteristically soured by the weather. "This portcullis looks rusty enough. We should be able to break it down."
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
Pronouns: She / Her
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures
With the hairdressing incident out behind their backs (and Lyra is almost glad it happened, seeing how nicely Meira's new hairstyle looks on her!), Lyra follows everyone towards their new destination.
The drizzle is surely annoying, but the cleric of Tymora doesn't seem to be especially affected by it. Perhaps it is because she very much prefers water raining down on them, as opposed to the very big, very scary dragon that rained down on them the last time they embarked on a journey from Phandalin. Perhaps it is also due to the fact that she's still fascinated with Ozymandias. The cleric laughed happily when Alisande introduced the full name of the winged feline, and just as she jokingly approached a hand to the familiar as a way of greeting him, she changed that into the finest bow the halfling could perform. "An honor to make your acquaintance, your lordship!"
Upon arriving at Axeholme, Lyra's demeanor shifts, growing more alert . "I guess we should expect trouble. There's this spell that I learned the other day... I'm afraid it won't cover all of us, but just three. But better that than none at all!"
With that, the cleric holds the silver coin depicting her goddess and calls upon her to bestow some aid upon the party. Unsure who to help initially, she decides on Zephyros and Meira, since they are bound to come close to whatever enemy they might meet. Then, unsure who else to touch with her spell, she thinks of choosing between Alisande and Rasziel, as a little way to welcome the newcomers to the party. She decides to go for Rasziel, whose constitution seems to be a bit less sturdy than Alisande's.
(ooc: Lyra casts Aid on Zephyros, Meira and Rasziel)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Seeing Lyra make the formal bow to the winged-cat, Meira gives her a slight grin. "Gee, you never give me such a greeting!" She chuckles briefly, clearly just being silly about it. As the group travels, she pulls out a dark brown hooded cloak to help keep off some of the rain. The color would have matched her previous armor jacket, but it's not precisely a match for her new studded leather. The weather though does not seem to change her mood. She still seems ready to joke with anyone she talks to. "Just bad luck those dragons aren't fire breathing. Surely with all this rain they'd be at disadvantage!" Later she remarks how the rain means they all won't have to worry about bathing.
At some point during their travel, Meira would walk close with Lyra. "Hey, why'd you run off so quickly this morning? Were you just really hungry?" she asks, pretending as though she doesn't have any idea what the cause might have been. She manages to not make any little smile or grin and looks to actually be serious about the question.
Arriving at Axeholm, she takes in the place. Listening to Gareth's comments, she retorts. "Or... maybe we'll find a lost pantry full of delicious fruit jellies! You never know!" She laughs to herself, suspecting the grumpy man is not going to find her humor that funny. A little more seriously she says, "If this is going to be a shelter for the people of Phandalin, it might be nice if that portculis were still intact and useable." She starts to walk slowly down the wide passageway, looking about very carefully. "I guess if we can push our way throguh though it wouldn't be of much help. But shouldn't they have had some way to get in going around that thing?" she muses. "I guess it might not be right here."
She tries to see if she can find any indication of a way around or a way to get the portcullis open. (Perception: 17)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard ||
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Back at Barthen's Provisions, Rasziel would hand the proprietor coins for his purchase but notice the apparently embarrasing predicament of the red-haired lady beside him. "Considering the holy water likely will be used in the interest of the good people of Phandalin, what would be the price for what you offer." He asks with a polite tone. He would the pay what is asked and hand the flask to his companion. "You should keep this for when it is needed." He says simply, but adding a small smile...and then a few coughs.
(Persuasion if relevant: 11 Another roll if help action is provided: 25)
The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar would walk in brooding silence, seeming fairly unbothered by the precipitation. As the team reaches the gates of Axeholm he finds himself quite impressed with what he sees. If what was within in any way matched the imposing exterior it would be a prize for anyone who needed a safe base of operations in the region. Perhaps after the threat of the dragons had been properly dealt with these halls could find other lucrative use.
Rasziel would quickly send his unseen accountant inside to find the mechanism that would raise the portcullis.
The young dark-haired man seems a bit wary as the halfling is about to cast a spell on him, but gives her a small grateful nod as he feels the novel but bolstering warmth of Tymora's blessing. He was indeed frail, even more lately, but had no intention of standing shoulder to shoulder with the massive bearded soldier. Still, he could hardly expect to stay fully out of harm's reach once inside these halls, he was an adventurer now after all, giving the thought an amused smile and wonder what his father would have thought if he had seen him now.
Before leaving Phandalin, Alisande takes the holy water with all the grace she can muster. "Thank you, Rasziel." She says tightly, deeply chagrined by the humiliation of receiving charity. "The depths of your kindness shall not go unremembered." As he barks another few coughs, she briefly considers suggesting that he imbibe some of the flask's contents to cure the devilish case of lunger he seems to be permanently afflicted with. Recognising that such a proposal might sound churlish, she instead smiles with stiff courtesy and swiftly rejoins the company in front of the Stonehill Inn.
Upon reaching Axeholm, Alisande wrings out her long hair - now a dark russet after being soaked through by the rain, and far removed from the fashionable cut newly sported by Meira.
"An imposing edifice, and a testament to the peerless craftsmanship of dwarvenkind." The noble remarks, studying the structure. She looks to her kitten, who has been periodically sneezing against the cold. As has been her wont through their voyage from Phandalin, she warms the ground on which he stands with a quick flick of her wand, and he shakes water free of his fur and feathers. "Ozymandias, if you would, dearest. Up there. Quietly."
The winged cat springs into the air and sails upward, climbing higher and higher until he has a good overhead view of the fortress. If the bulwarks are not enclosed by roofs, Ozymandias scouts them from above, else he glides downward to investigate the arrow slits for enemies concealed in the darkness. If the way ahead is all clear, he studies the area around the portcullis barring the way ahead. For the next few moments, Alisande stands motionless, her gray eyes glassy and distant as her familiar's senses become her own.
Ozymandias' Stealth: 10
Ozymandias' Perception: 25 (with a nat 20!)
Zephyros,
Before heading out from Phandalin, you find Eldrin at Adabra's home. The elven wizard is helping Adabra create a batch of healing potions. He gratefully accepts his share of the payment and tells you to come back later to purchase some healing potions if interested.
Lyra,
Your spell takes hold and bolsters your allies fortitude, invigorating them and lifting their spirits.
Meira,
While walking up to the mountain, you noticed several chimneys dotting the mountainside above the fortress. You also recognize that a small person or creature could fit through the narrow arrow slits carved into the bulwarks.
Rasziel,
Barthen offers you the flask of holy water at a discount of 20gp. "Thank you for your business, good sir. Tell yer friends about Barthen's Provisions. The best and only place in Phandalin fer all yer adventurin needs."
At Axeholm, your tiny accountant easily fits through the arrow slits and flies over a ballista as it begins to look around for the mechanism to raise the portcullis. Having no trouble seeing in the dark, it finds a winch almost immediately upon entering the room. The winch is in line with the portcullis and is just as rusty as the portcullis is.
Alisande,
Ozymandias flies above the fortress and finds the bulwarks enclosed. The only openings from above are found with several chimneys dotting the mountainside. Most of them have crumbled and only allow tiny creatures to pass through, but Ozymandias does spot two still intact on opposite sides of the fortress. The last thing Ozymandias notices is that several handholds and footholds might allow someone to scale the mountain if they were athletic enough.
Does Ozymandias fly into a chimney or come back down to the arrow slits?
Gareth,
While you do see the the portcullis is rusted, a closer inspection suggests it may be difficult to break down.
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 grumpily trudged on through the stormy weather. Silent and alone at the head of the column. Grateful no threats had slowed their progress as the weather was already against them. As they arrive a Axeholm, the armored warrior was grateful at the prospect of getting out of the rain.
Seeing Alisande's flying cat made Zephyros worry for Felagi, but soon found the two were not bothered by the proximity. His red tailed hawk had been scouting the terrain ahead and to the sides to ensure their safety from the moment they left Phandalin. When they'd arrived, he'd called his familiar back to perch upon his shoulder.
Suddenly a warmness enters his body, a comforting feeling he'd never felt before. Looking to Lyra, the bear of a man nods his appreciation. It wasn't long ago he may have been angered to know divine energy had been directed to him, but he'd grown to trust Lyra and knew she had his best interest at heart.
Running a hand along the bulwark until he arrives in front of the portcullis, Ironheart attempts to lift the mighty door with his brute strength. Straining under the tension, he grunts as he gives it all he's got. Felagi jumps to the portcullis as the warrior began lifting, offering the warrior encouragement for the task.
Athletics 24
"As we were approaching, there were chimney's dotting the mountainside above," Meira says. "Perhaps that would allow for a way in. Unless someone or something small could get through the arrow slits." She then watches skeptically, but quietly, as Zephyros tries to lift the portcullis.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard ||
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Lyra fidgets nervously with her side braid as she answers, "Uhhh, was I really hungry? Well... maybe?" She pauses. It's completely possible she was thinking a little about what Toblen might offer for breakfast while she was trimming Meira's hair. But then adds, "But I just... felt embarrassed, you know? I was trying so hard to give you a nice trim, and then I messed it up completely. I'm sorry. But you definitely fixed that perfectly. You look stunning with that new haircut."
Lyra extends one of her small hands toward one of the shaved sides and giggles at the touch. "Not that you didn't look stunning before the haircut, though!"
Lyra smiles happily when her companions express their thanks for her bolstering spell, and she watches as they each investigate—each in their own way—how to enter Axeholme. Seeing Alisande's eyes go blank as she sends Ozymandias flying, the halfling can't help but wave a hand in front of her face. Is she really not seeing through her own eyes right now, but through her winged cat's? Amazing! Of course, being so small while the other woman is so tall, the halfling has to jump a few times to manage that.
Then, seeing Zephyros straining to lift the portcullis with all his might, Lyra hurries over to lend a little help. (ooc: at the very least, we could turn that 24 into a 25)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Alisande is oblivious to Lyra bouncing in front of her, waving her hands and testing the extent of the noblewoman's sensory deprivation. Alisande's self-imposed blindness is unassailable, yet it happens in that moment that she speaks aloud, abruptly reporting on her familiar's findings.
"The Duke has observed vents emerging from the mountainside. Undoubtedly exhaust shafts through which the dwarves of this subterranean stronghold once released the by-products of their fires and forges. The majority have disintegrated, but a handful yet persist... providing a potential means of ingress for tiny creatures." She says, still blind to the world around her person and the halfling cleric bobbing up and down around her. The rain continues to spatter her face, drenching her with the precipitation of the coming storm.
"There also appears to be a natural route up the mountain - a series of footholds and handholds for those blessed with an athletic constitution, and an excellent opportunity to test the reliability of any climbing gear we possess for everyone else."
Alisande senses Ozymandias' desire to abandon the mission and play with the red-tailed hawk that shadows the bull-like soldier, but the mage telepathically steers the mischievous winged kitten towards one of the intact chimneys that jut out of the mountain slopes. The calico cat spirals gracefully as he makes his quiet descent on the far side of the dwarven fortress, until at last tiny claws connect with stone. Ozymandias sniffs at the unfamiliar entrance uncertainly before the fluffy feline ferrets down the chimney.