Nestled in the rugged foothills of the Sword Mountains, south of Phandalin, the dwarven stronghold of Axeholm once stood as a proud bastion of craftsmanship and defense. Built nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan, Axeholm served both as a fortress and a refuge for dwarves who mined the rich veins of ore that ran beneath the mountains. Its heavy gates of Iron and steel, reinforced with runic wards, were said to be unbreakable—crafted to withstand any siege from orc or dragon alike.
For generations, Axeholm prospered. Dwarven caravans moved between the fortress and Neverwinter, trading fine weapons, armor, and gemstones. Its warriors kept the roads safe, and its masons were sought across the North for their skill.
However, you don't remember reading what happened to the dwarves or why they abandoned their home.
The stout warrior turns to the rogue. His face grim, he says, "To flee from a pursuing danger... I haven't known dwarves to leave such masterful architecture behind like this. Maybe this is abandoned for good cause."
Meiranods to Zephyros. "Given the stark warning, plus the fact they left in the first place, it must have been quite a danger. We can only hope that with time that danger has lessened some with time." She hopes perhaps it even just went away. "We at least should give it a look." She glances back to the others, waving them to come join them. "I suppose I could try to help you lift the beam if you've recovered enough to try it. Well, once everyone's here of course."
Alisande telepathically commands Ozymandias to inspect the ruined room, and if there is nothing of interest beyond the broken furniture, she has him swiftly return. When her sight and hearing is restored to her, she looks mildly startled and impressed by the fact the war veteran has already managed to breach the portcullis with the aid of Lyra and Felagi. "Well, that will do too."
The tall woman sweeps over to the portcullis with long strides and stoops under the gap. Unable to hear Meira's earlier questions due to her absorption in her familiar's senses, Alisande nonetheless updates the company. "While reconnoitring the far side of the bastion, our intrepid little pathfinder has uncovered a potential avenue of escape, should we need it, via one of the chimneys. The chamber itself is in a state of curious disrepair - there are all manner of broken cots and splintered tables in there, as if it were the site of great disaster or considerable violence. Two fortified and locked doors remain, leading south and west."
Alisande ponders Rasziel's query as to whether she knows anything about the fortress of Axeholm, whilst also studying the arrow slits and holes in the ceiling above for potential dangers. She regards the beam barring their progress deeper into the stronghold, and cocks a brow at the dwarven script. "Ah, how splendid. Why settle for a genuinely informative warning, when you can commit to a theatrically foreboding message rendered in blood instead?"
"Oh! Zephyros did all the hard work,"Lyrareplies with a chuckle, then adds, "I literally only lifted a finger." She waits for Meirato translate the message written in red, but even before the rogue can speak, the cleric is already fidgeting nervously with her side braid. That message won't be a welcoming one, right? And no, as it turns out, it isn't. "Oooookay,"she muses. "I'm not worried. Not even a little bit. No. Nope, nope."
Still, she nods when Meirasays they have to give the place a look. This is what they came here to do, after all. Looking around, the halfling asks, "So it's either using the chimneys or lifting this beam? No other options to enter? Wouldn't it be lovely if there were some kind of secret little back door that would let us in without having to climb the chimneys or go through the front door?" she asks, laughing nervously.
(OOC: Just in case—there isn't some kind of back door, or service door, or something, right? Perception: 14)
Ozymandias doesn't find anything of value or use in the stone room with ruined furniture. When returning to the group, Ozymandias does peak inside the arrow slits that dot the upper floor of the fortress and lets you know the area above you is covered in webbing.
Thinking back on the wide variety of books you've read, one does come to mind regarding Axeholm. The book is called, 'Axeholm A Tragedy of Fates'
Nestled in the rugged foothills of the Sword Mountains, south of Phandalin, the dwarven stronghold of Axeholm once stood as a proud bastion of craftsmanship and defense. Built nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan, Axeholm served both as a fortress and a refuge for dwarves who mined the rich veins of ore that ran beneath the mountains. Its heavy gates of mithril and steel, reinforced with runic wards, were said to be unbreakable—crafted to withstand any siege from orc or dragon alike.
For generations, Axeholm prospered. Dwarven caravans moved between the fortress and Neverwinter, trading fine weapons, armor, and gemstones. Its warriors kept the roads safe, and its masons were sought across the North for their skill.
But about a century ago, disaster struck. A mysterious plague—believed by some to have been carried by goblins from the Underdark—swept through the stronghold. The disease spread swiftly, claiming nobles and miners alike. Fearing the contagion would reach neighboring dwarven settlements, the surviving Stonefury's sealed the gates with magic, iron, and steel. Then abandoned their ancestral home, leaving the dead and dying entombed within.
Since that grim day, Axeholm has remained sealed, its halls silent except for the occasional echo of stone shifting or the whisper of wind through the mountains. Locals near Phandalin speak of restless dwarven spirits and the clang of ghostly forges that ring out on moonless nights. The book tells a legend about a dwarven Paladin of Bahamut named Lord Kithran Emberforge who was sealed inside with the dead and dying, choosing to stay with his dying love, a moon elf woman named Vyldara who was an ambassador to the dwarves.
Lyra,
You perceive that you could enter the fortress through one of the many arrow slits, but your companions wouldn't be able to follow unless they shrunk to your small size.
Ozymandias returns to the group, so thoroughly covered in soot he could pass for a famous drow's onyx figurine. Alisande laments the kitten's grimy condition, but decides to leave him be as he investigates the vicinity to their mutual satisfaction. When she is finished peering through the winged feline's superior eyes, she reports her findings to the group.
"There is a mass of webbing on the floor above - which suggests no-one has been through these halls in some time, and that we may have an infestation of arachnids to contend with." She muses aloud, one hand resting on the pommel of the sword bearing the emblem of the silver sphinx.
"As to your earlier question, Rasziel, there are several fascinating histories penned about Axeholm, but the most reliable was a volume named 'Axeholm: A Tragedy of Fates'. The author possessed a pleasingly voluble style, and detailed much about the fallen bastion at length." She says to her colleague, a reverential look in her gray eyes, as her gaze drifts over the stone walls and gate ahead.
"This fortress was founded nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan. The settlement grew immensely prosperous as a result of mining of ore and gemstones, as well as the forging of peerless arms and armor, all of which were traded with Neverwinter. Its warriors and masons grew in acclaim across the northern realms, while Axeholm itself seemed unassailable. It is said the gates were erected from fabled mithril and steel, inscribed with ineffaceable runes and wards rendering Axeholm impregnable, be it from the assault of dragons or the siege of orc-kind."
She turns her attention to the rest of the group, particularly those gathered nearest the beam.
"Yet there came a day when Beshaba's Black Antlers pierced the good fortune the folk had enjoyed, for a plague befell the great fortress. The provenance of the malady was unknown, but some speculated that it was transmitted by filthy goblins who emerged from the Underdark. The pestilence took root in all, noble and commoner, soldiers and miners, all succumbed alike. It was feared that the illness might become an epidemic, spreading to nearby settlements, and so the courageous and difficult decision was taken - to abandon the fortress that had, for nearly four centuries, been a home and sanctuary to the dwarves of the Sword Mountains."
"The dead and dying were abandoned within its walls, the gates sealed with spells and steel. None have walked freely in Axeholm since, but rumours abound. Locals speak of the echoes of shifting stone and the whisper of wind through the mountains. Myths thrive where truth is buried, yet it must be said that the common folk tell tale of restless dwarven spirits and the clang of ghostly forges that ring out on moonless nights. The final chapters of the book detail the legend of one Lord Kithran Emberforge, a dwarven paladin of the king of goodly dragons, Bahamut. He was entombed in Axeholm as it was abandoned to the darkness, refusing to leave his dying beloved, a moon elven woman named Vyldara who served as ambassador to the dwarves. Thus the forges of Axeholm grew quiet, its fires guttered out."
The wizard takes a moment or two to reflect on the chronicle she relayed, before striding towards the gate. She studies the barrier carefully, attempting to uncover some arcane signature or lingering wards that might block their entry.
Meiralistens attentively to Alisande'sdescription of Axeholm. Quite the wealth of information. "The gates were sealed with steel and spells?" she says, echoing the words. "We've seen the steel I suppose but not the spells. Perhaps can you..." She actually looks for Eldrin but then shifts to Alisandeand Rasziel. "Are one of you two able to detect magic by any chance?"
She's happy to see the woman has already advanced forward, seeming to study the beam. She gives her a moment, then continues.
"I'm no expert on diseases but could we be at risk from this plague after all this time?" she asks. "If everyone died, then it could have died out right? Though seems like I've heard tales of diseases somehow lingering dormant for long periods. I'm not sure what precautions we might take."
Alisande takes a moment to consider Meira's suggestion and nods in agreement. "Regrettably, this is an incantation which belongs to that category of enchantments which insists on ceremony." She says, drawing the gnarled elder wood wand from the loop on her hip. "Feel free to get comfortable."
The mage spends the next ten minutes murmuring and tracing glowing sigils in the air with graceful flicks of her wand - some of them of draconic origin, others alien hieroglyphs and mathematical symbols composed from the very language of creation itself. Ozymandias watches as she works, the now blackened cat mimicking her movements with a raised paw, almost as if he were aiding in the effort. To those gifted with an eye for the arcane, she pens a vast manuscript of magical formulae, until at last the luminous script converges and streams towards Alisande, absorbed through her eyes, ears and mouth.
"It is done." The wizard says at last, taking a deep breath as her senses open to a new dimension of reality.
The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scarnods grimly and ponders over the history lesson from his companion. He wondered what fate the dwarven paladin met with, and he doubted there was anything but tragedy there, but that was what could be expected from emotional attachment.
"Neither am I particularly knowledgeable regarding pathology but I agree, it would be unlikely for a disease to survive for very long without a host. Any precautions would depend on how it transmits I believe but at the very least we should probably avoid coming in contact with any corpses inside, whether they would still be walking or not."He calmly answers the girl with the stylish haircut. As his collegue commences her magical ritual, Rasziel stands back but studies her attentively. Perhaps he would take on learning some rituals of his own in time. They certainly had their practical uses.
Lyragiggles a bit when Ozymandiasreappears covered in soot, and — if feline and wizard allow — she attempts to remove a bit of it with her hand. This only results in her own fingers getting smudged, though she doesn't seem to mind: it's a small price to pay for the chance to touch the tressym.
She listens attentively as Alisanderelays the history of Axeholm, her expression turning sad at first, then apprehensive as the wizard finishes. She, too, feels worried about the possibility that the disease might still linger.
"I could help a bit with that, in case the disease still exists," she says softly. "But only if a couple of us, at best, fell ill. If we all fell for it, then… that would be a problem."
Lyra falls silent, trying to recall her lessons at the temple. Had she ever heard anything about the illness that befell Axeholm? Perhaps something about old plagues or divine protections against them? She searches her memory for anything that might help them — what signs they should watch for, or what precautions they could take. Sometimes even simple, mundane measures can help people avoid —or at least reduce the chance of— falling ill. The cleric calls for a little divine guidance as she does that, in case that helps her remember a bit better. (ooc: Medicine 14 — or 13 if it has to be Religion — plus 4 from Guidance = 18 or 17)
While inspecting the barred double doors using your knowledge of the arcane, you do notice the subtle clues telling you this door has been warded with a powerful magic. However, just studying the ancient runes is unfruitful in telling you what magic persists. A few moments later you decide to cast detect magic. Once the ritual is complete you recognize three runes covering the entire door to the fortress. The first rune is a pretty basic, and you understand its purpose as an arcane lock reinforcing the door and locking it. The second and third are similar in design and function. They both appear to be a variant of the antipathy You surmise one of the runes would effect creatures outside of the fortress, while the other is inwardly focused. Lastly, the entire area you stand seems to shimmer with a divine magical force. Though the reason for the divine energy eludes you.
Lyra,
You don't recall any specific lessons regarding Axeholm or what disease lies therein, but you do remember learning about various epidemics where proper quarantine efforts worked and the virus died out as a result or not having living hosts to proliferate in. You remember learning that fire was an effective means of destroying infected bodies and objects.
Assuming the winged feline is around to be petted by the curious and mirthful halfling, Rasziel would, after hesitating for a moment, decide to join them, and as he slowly moves his slender hand over the tressym's fur, the soot is removed and it's fur is clean. "Better than a nasty bath right?" He says with a small friendly smile to the magical creature, then turning to the merry hafling, his hand briefly touching hers to remove the soot there too. "Not quite the blessing you bestowed upon me I suppose." He says with another uncharacteristic smile.
Rasziel would follow the young erudite lady closer to the gate, curious to hear what kind of magical wards were protecting the halls of Axeholm.
Zephyros strokes his beard for a long moment, slowly approaching the eerie inscription. His deep voice gruff but quiet, he mentions to the party,
"Well, it certainly is not too late to turn back and update the job board that none should venture here. While I don't necessarily condemn or condone that course of action, I wouldn't throw it out just yet."The veteran states, his words slow, as if in deep thought.
Ironheart,not certain his words speak truth, cautiously adds, "If anything, I'm more worried about the dead... The local's myths included ghosts and spirits? It also included a certain 'Lord Kithran Emberforge'. Now I don't know a thing about paladins, but I've heard they're supposedly the god's champions? If that guy is an undead enemy now, who's to say we could stop him from escaping?"
Alisande is an indulgent mistress - she gives Ozymandias free rein to do as he pleases for the most part, to explore and make friends as he sees fit. The kitten is as sociable an extroverted debutante at a Waterdhavian manor ball, so he wastes no time ingratiating himself with Lyra and Rasziel by purring and brushing up against them as they shower him with attention. Meanwhile, the noblewoman stands rapt before the imposing gate, her brows arching higher as she gazes into the lattice of arcane power that cascades from the runes affixed to its surface.
"As expected, the runes endure - three in number. The first renders portals such as these significantly harder to breach by conventional means such as lock-picks, unless the proper word of passage is spoken before it. The others..." She looks awed by the might of the spells imprinted on the doors. "... are the cousins of extremely powerful enchantments that would strike terror in a select category of creatures. Together, these dual wards repel both intruders and denizens of Axeholm who meet those grim definitions from approaching the gate. Fortunately, it would seem we are not subject to either of these greater wards."
"However, the very region we now stand within coruscates with some divine power beyond my ken. One can only speculate as to its origin and function - another mysterious ward, a scrying spell, the very font of the misfortune that befouled the ancient folk of Axeholm?" She murmurs pensively, before turning to regard Zephyros, a look of surprise on her face. "Undead? Yes, given the rumours of restless spirits and the containment ward, that seems quite plausible."
"As I see it, we can attempt to undo the wards by dispelling the magic, if one among our number knows the spell. But it seems unlikely to prevail, given the potency of these runes. We might also attempt to the gates somehow - but that seems even more improbable, and rather counter-productive, given that we are seeking a refuge to reclaim against the dragons that endanger the people of Phandalin."
She smiles affectionately as she watches Ozymandias licking himself clean, aiding in Lyra and Rasziel's efforts to rid him of the soot. "Unless someone finds themselves inspired by a more graceful stratagem, I suggest we travel up the mountainside to the chimney my flirtatious little friend over here discovered earlier. There is a way in through there."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Rasziel,
Nestled in the rugged foothills of the Sword Mountains, south of Phandalin, the dwarven stronghold of Axeholm once stood as a proud bastion of craftsmanship and defense. Built nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan, Axeholm served both as a fortress and a refuge for dwarves who mined the rich veins of ore that ran beneath the mountains. Its heavy gates of Iron and steel, reinforced with runic wards, were said to be unbreakable—crafted to withstand any siege from orc or dragon alike.
For generations, Axeholm prospered. Dwarven caravans moved between the fortress and Neverwinter, trading fine weapons, armor, and gemstones. Its warriors kept the roads safe, and its masons were sought across the North for their skill.
However, you don't remember reading what happened to the dwarves or why they abandoned their home.
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
The stout warrior turns to the rogue. His face grim, he says, "To flee from a pursuing danger... I haven't known dwarves to leave such masterful architecture behind like this. Maybe this is abandoned for good cause."
Meira nods to Zephyros. "Given the stark warning, plus the fact they left in the first place, it must have been quite a danger. We can only hope that with time that danger has lessened some with time." She hopes perhaps it even just went away. "We at least should give it a look." She glances back to the others, waving them to come join them. "I suppose I could try to help you lift the beam if you've recovered enough to try it. Well, once everyone's here of course."
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
Alisande telepathically commands Ozymandias to inspect the ruined room, and if there is nothing of interest beyond the broken furniture, she has him swiftly return. When her sight and hearing is restored to her, she looks mildly startled and impressed by the fact the war veteran has already managed to breach the portcullis with the aid of Lyra and Felagi. "Well, that will do too."
The tall woman sweeps over to the portcullis with long strides and stoops under the gap. Unable to hear Meira's earlier questions due to her absorption in her familiar's senses, Alisande nonetheless updates the company. "While reconnoitring the far side of the bastion, our intrepid little pathfinder has uncovered a potential avenue of escape, should we need it, via one of the chimneys. The chamber itself is in a state of curious disrepair - there are all manner of broken cots and splintered tables in there, as if it were the site of great disaster or considerable violence. Two fortified and locked doors remain, leading south and west."
Alisande ponders Rasziel's query as to whether she knows anything about the fortress of Axeholm, whilst also studying the arrow slits and holes in the ceiling above for potential dangers. She regards the beam barring their progress deeper into the stronghold, and cocks a brow at the dwarven script. "Ah, how splendid. Why settle for a genuinely informative warning, when you can commit to a theatrically foreboding message rendered in blood instead?"
Ozymandias' Perception: 15
History: 22
Perception: 13
"Oh! Zephyros did all the hard work," Lyra replies with a chuckle, then adds, "I literally only lifted a finger." She waits for Meira to translate the message written in red, but even before the rogue can speak, the cleric is already fidgeting nervously with her side braid. That message won't be a welcoming one, right? And no, as it turns out, it isn't. "Oooookay," she muses. "I'm not worried. Not even a little bit. No. Nope, nope."
Still, she nods when Meira says they have to give the place a look. This is what they came here to do, after all. Looking around, the halfling asks, "So it's either using the chimneys or lifting this beam? No other options to enter? Wouldn't it be lovely if there were some kind of secret little back door that would let us in without having to climb the chimneys or go through the front door?" she asks, laughing nervously.
(OOC: Just in case—there isn't some kind of back door, or service door, or something, right? Perception: 14)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Alisande,
Ozymandias doesn't find anything of value or use in the stone room with ruined furniture. When returning to the group, Ozymandias does peak inside the arrow slits that dot the upper floor of the fortress and lets you know the area above you is covered in webbing.
Thinking back on the wide variety of books you've read, one does come to mind regarding Axeholm. The book is called, 'Axeholm A Tragedy of Fates'
Nestled in the rugged foothills of the Sword Mountains, south of Phandalin, the dwarven stronghold of Axeholm once stood as a proud bastion of craftsmanship and defense. Built nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan, Axeholm served both as a fortress and a refuge for dwarves who mined the rich veins of ore that ran beneath the mountains. Its heavy gates of mithril and steel, reinforced with runic wards, were said to be unbreakable—crafted to withstand any siege from orc or dragon alike.
For generations, Axeholm prospered. Dwarven caravans moved between the fortress and Neverwinter, trading fine weapons, armor, and gemstones. Its warriors kept the roads safe, and its masons were sought across the North for their skill.
But about a century ago, disaster struck. A mysterious plague—believed by some to have been carried by goblins from the Underdark—swept through the stronghold. The disease spread swiftly, claiming nobles and miners alike. Fearing the contagion would reach neighboring dwarven settlements, the surviving Stonefury's sealed the gates with magic, iron, and steel. Then abandoned their ancestral home, leaving the dead and dying entombed within.
Since that grim day, Axeholm has remained sealed, its halls silent except for the occasional echo of stone shifting or the whisper of wind through the mountains. Locals near Phandalin speak of restless dwarven spirits and the clang of ghostly forges that ring out on moonless nights. The book tells a legend about a dwarven Paladin of Bahamut named Lord Kithran Emberforge who was sealed inside with the dead and dying, choosing to stay with his dying love, a moon elf woman named Vyldara who was an ambassador to the dwarves.
Lyra,
You perceive that you could enter the fortress through one of the many arrow slits, but your companions wouldn't be able to follow unless they shrunk to your small size.
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
Ozymandias returns to the group, so thoroughly covered in soot he could pass for a famous drow's onyx figurine. Alisande laments the kitten's grimy condition, but decides to leave him be as he investigates the vicinity to their mutual satisfaction. When she is finished peering through the winged feline's superior eyes, she reports her findings to the group.
"There is a mass of webbing on the floor above - which suggests no-one has been through these halls in some time, and that we may have an infestation of arachnids to contend with." She muses aloud, one hand resting on the pommel of the sword bearing the emblem of the silver sphinx.
"As to your earlier question, Rasziel, there are several fascinating histories penned about Axeholm, but the most reliable was a volume named 'Axeholm: A Tragedy of Fates'. The author possessed a pleasingly voluble style, and detailed much about the fallen bastion at length." She says to her colleague, a reverential look in her gray eyes, as her gaze drifts over the stone walls and gate ahead.
"This fortress was founded nearly five centuries ago by the Stonefury clan. The settlement grew immensely prosperous as a result of mining of ore and gemstones, as well as the forging of peerless arms and armor, all of which were traded with Neverwinter. Its warriors and masons grew in acclaim across the northern realms, while Axeholm itself seemed unassailable. It is said the gates were erected from fabled mithril and steel, inscribed with ineffaceable runes and wards rendering Axeholm impregnable, be it from the assault of dragons or the siege of orc-kind."
She turns her attention to the rest of the group, particularly those gathered nearest the beam.
"Yet there came a day when Beshaba's Black Antlers pierced the good fortune the folk had enjoyed, for a plague befell the great fortress. The provenance of the malady was unknown, but some speculated that it was transmitted by filthy goblins who emerged from the Underdark. The pestilence took root in all, noble and commoner, soldiers and miners, all succumbed alike. It was feared that the illness might become an epidemic, spreading to nearby settlements, and so the courageous and difficult decision was taken - to abandon the fortress that had, for nearly four centuries, been a home and sanctuary to the dwarves of the Sword Mountains."
"The dead and dying were abandoned within its walls, the gates sealed with spells and steel. None have walked freely in Axeholm since, but rumours abound. Locals speak of the echoes of shifting stone and the whisper of wind through the mountains. Myths thrive where truth is buried, yet it must be said that the common folk tell tale of restless dwarven spirits and the clang of ghostly forges that ring out on moonless nights. The final chapters of the book detail the legend of one Lord Kithran Emberforge, a dwarven paladin of the king of goodly dragons, Bahamut. He was entombed in Axeholm as it was abandoned to the darkness, refusing to leave his dying beloved, a moon elven woman named Vyldara who served as ambassador to the dwarves. Thus the forges of Axeholm grew quiet, its fires guttered out."
The wizard takes a moment or two to reflect on the chronicle she relayed, before striding towards the gate. She studies the barrier carefully, attempting to uncover some arcane signature or lingering wards that might block their entry.
Arcana/Investigation (both the same): 24
Meira listens attentively to Alisande's description of Axeholm. Quite the wealth of information. "The gates were sealed with steel and spells?" she says, echoing the words. "We've seen the steel I suppose but not the spells. Perhaps can you..." She actually looks for Eldrin but then shifts to Alisande and Rasziel. "Are one of you two able to detect magic by any chance?"
She's happy to see the woman has already advanced forward, seeming to study the beam. She gives her a moment, then continues.
"I'm no expert on diseases but could we be at risk from this plague after all this time?" she asks. "If everyone died, then it could have died out right? Though seems like I've heard tales of diseases somehow lingering dormant for long periods. I'm not sure what precautions we might take."
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
Alisande takes a moment to consider Meira's suggestion and nods in agreement. "Regrettably, this is an incantation which belongs to that category of enchantments which insists on ceremony." She says, drawing the gnarled elder wood wand from the loop on her hip. "Feel free to get comfortable."
The mage spends the next ten minutes murmuring and tracing glowing sigils in the air with graceful flicks of her wand - some of them of draconic origin, others alien hieroglyphs and mathematical symbols composed from the very language of creation itself. Ozymandias watches as she works, the now blackened cat mimicking her movements with a raised paw, almost as if he were aiding in the effort. To those gifted with an eye for the arcane, she pens a vast manuscript of magical formulae, until at last the luminous script converges and streams towards Alisande, absorbed through her eyes, ears and mouth.
"It is done." The wizard says at last, taking a deep breath as her senses open to a new dimension of reality.
Casting Detect Magic as a ritual spell.
The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar nods grimly and ponders over the history lesson from his companion. He wondered what fate the dwarven paladin met with, and he doubted there was anything but tragedy there, but that was what could be expected from emotional attachment.
"Neither am I particularly knowledgeable regarding pathology but I agree, it would be unlikely for a disease to survive for very long without a host. Any precautions would depend on how it transmits I believe but at the very least we should probably avoid coming in contact with any corpses inside, whether they would still be walking or not." He calmly answers the girl with the stylish haircut. As his collegue commences her magical ritual, Rasziel stands back but studies her attentively. Perhaps he would take on learning some rituals of his own in time. They certainly had their practical uses.
Lyra giggles a bit when Ozymandias reappears covered in soot, and — if feline and wizard allow — she attempts to remove a bit of it with her hand. This only results in her own fingers getting smudged, though she doesn't seem to mind: it's a small price to pay for the chance to touch the tressym.
She listens attentively as Alisande relays the history of Axeholm, her expression turning sad at first, then apprehensive as the wizard finishes. She, too, feels worried about the possibility that the disease might still linger.
"I could help a bit with that, in case the disease still exists," she says softly. "But only if a couple of us, at best, fell ill. If we all fell for it, then… that would be a problem."
Lyra falls silent, trying to recall her lessons at the temple. Had she ever heard anything about the illness that befell Axeholm? Perhaps something about old plagues or divine protections against them? She searches her memory for anything that might help them — what signs they should watch for, or what precautions they could take. Sometimes even simple, mundane measures can help people avoid —or at least reduce the chance of— falling ill. The cleric calls for a little divine guidance as she does that, in case that helps her remember a bit better. (ooc: Medicine 14 — or 13 if it has to be Religion — plus 4 from Guidance = 18 or 17)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Alisande,
While inspecting the barred double doors using your knowledge of the arcane, you do notice the subtle clues telling you this door has been warded with a powerful magic. However, just studying the ancient runes is unfruitful in telling you what magic persists. A few moments later you decide to cast detect magic. Once the ritual is complete you recognize three runes covering the entire door to the fortress. The first rune is a pretty basic, and you understand its purpose as an arcane lock reinforcing the door and locking it. The second and third are similar in design and function. They both appear to be a variant of the antipathy You surmise one of the runes would effect creatures outside of the fortress, while the other is inwardly focused. Lastly, the entire area you stand seems to shimmer with a divine magical force. Though the reason for the divine energy eludes you.
Lyra,
You don't recall any specific lessons regarding Axeholm or what disease lies therein, but you do remember learning about various epidemics where proper quarantine efforts worked and the virus died out as a result or not having living hosts to proliferate in. You remember learning that fire was an effective means of destroying infected bodies and objects.
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
Assuming the winged feline is around to be petted by the curious and mirthful halfling, Rasziel would, after hesitating for a moment, decide to join them, and as he slowly moves his slender hand over the tressym's fur, the soot is removed and it's fur is clean. "Better than a nasty bath right?" He says with a small friendly smile to the magical creature, then turning to the merry hafling, his hand briefly touching hers to remove the soot there too. "Not quite the blessing you bestowed upon me I suppose." He says with another uncharacteristic smile.
Rasziel would follow the young erudite lady closer to the gate, curious to hear what kind of magical wards were protecting the halls of Axeholm.
Zephyros strokes his beard for a long moment, slowly approaching the eerie inscription. His deep voice gruff but quiet, he mentions to the party,
"Well, it certainly is not too late to turn back and update the job board that none should venture here. While I don't necessarily condemn or condone that course of action, I wouldn't throw it out just yet." The veteran states, his words slow, as if in deep thought.
Ironheart, not certain his words speak truth, cautiously adds, "If anything, I'm more worried about the dead... The local's myths included ghosts and spirits? It also included a certain 'Lord Kithran Emberforge'. Now I don't know a thing about paladins, but I've heard they're supposedly the god's champions? If that guy is an undead enemy now, who's to say we could stop him from escaping?"
Alisande is an indulgent mistress - she gives Ozymandias free rein to do as he pleases for the most part, to explore and make friends as he sees fit. The kitten is as sociable an extroverted debutante at a Waterdhavian manor ball, so he wastes no time ingratiating himself with Lyra and Rasziel by purring and brushing up against them as they shower him with attention. Meanwhile, the noblewoman stands rapt before the imposing gate, her brows arching higher as she gazes into the lattice of arcane power that cascades from the runes affixed to its surface.
"As expected, the runes endure - three in number. The first renders portals such as these significantly harder to breach by conventional means such as lock-picks, unless the proper word of passage is spoken before it. The others..." She looks awed by the might of the spells imprinted on the doors. "... are the cousins of extremely powerful enchantments that would strike terror in a select category of creatures. Together, these dual wards repel both intruders and denizens of Axeholm who meet those grim definitions from approaching the gate. Fortunately, it would seem we are not subject to either of these greater wards."
"However, the very region we now stand within coruscates with some divine power beyond my ken. One can only speculate as to its origin and function - another mysterious ward, a scrying spell, the very font of the misfortune that befouled the ancient folk of Axeholm?" She murmurs pensively, before turning to regard Zephyros, a look of surprise on her face. "Undead? Yes, given the rumours of restless spirits and the containment ward, that seems quite plausible."
"As I see it, we can attempt to undo the wards by dispelling the magic, if one among our number knows the spell. But it seems unlikely to prevail, given the potency of these runes. We might also attempt to the gates somehow - but that seems even more improbable, and rather counter-productive, given that we are seeking a refuge to reclaim against the dragons that endanger the people of Phandalin."
She smiles affectionately as she watches Ozymandias licking himself clean, aiding in Lyra and Rasziel's efforts to rid him of the soot. "Unless someone finds themselves inspired by a more graceful stratagem, I suggest we travel up the mountainside to the chimney my flirtatious little friend over here discovered earlier. There is a way in through there."