You settle in for the night and rest in Mountain's Toe Gold Mine. Do you wish to do anything else before your long rest? Feel free to post it.
The morning comes early as you're stirred awake in the hushed stillness of the mine. A faint earthy scent of dust and old metal hangs in the air, causing your throat to feel parched as you rise. The sound of snoring dwarves finds your ears. Somewhere deeper in the mine, a drop of water echoes with an eerie regularity. The armored among you begin to don it in preparation for the day's trials. As you step out into the cold morning air, frost crunches beneath your feet. The world beyond is cloaked in fog and pale moonlight. Rolling hills lie in shadow, and the looming snowcapped mountain to your south and east gives you all a sense of foreboding in its enormity.
The cold bites through your cloaks, sharp and clean, waking you up completely. Felagi lets out a squawk, beating his wings from his perch atop Zephyros' heavily armored shoulder. The horizon to the east glows faintly, a thin ribbon of pale gold where the sun has yet to rise.
What do you do? Do you set out back to Phandalin to find a cure for Don-Jon? Or do you make haste to Buttleskull Ranch to deal with the growing Orcish threat?
As her final task before sleeping, Meirasettles into a spot near the wall where she can prop herself up. She takes her dulcimer in hand and starts to pluck the strings. Soon she starts a light melody, then switches to accompanying chords as she softly sings:
'Hey Ho to my resting I go To heal my heart and drown my woe Rain may fall and wind may blow but there'll still be Many miles to go
Sweet is the sound of falling rain, and the brook that leaps from hill to plain; but better than rain or rippling streams is Water Hot that smokes and steams.'
The next morning, she gets her things together and prepares to leave. "On to Butterskull Ranch?"
There is a moment of sheer tension in which Lyratruly believes Torrin is going to murder Don-Jon. She holds her breath, heart racing ... but fortunately, Boggin restrains his companion before anything rash can happen. The halfling exhales in relief as the moment passes, and when the situation is finally sorted out, she allows herself to relax.
Lyra finds a spot to sit with her friends and listens as Meira begins to play. The melody is soft and soothing, and Lyra can't help but smile. "Your new goggles look amazing on you!" she says cheerfully, before turning her attention to Felagi, curious about the impressive bird. It's rather amusing to realize that while Felagi only reaches about thigh-height on the others, he nearly comes up to her waist!
When the time comes to lie down and sleep, Lyra brushes her fingers against the lucky moonstone and closes her eyes. She offers a quiet prayer: for her friends to be safe. For those who died—dwarves, ratfolk, or otherwise—to find peace. For Don-Jon's safety. Even for the orcs they found on the road... and for the dragon that may have killed them to stay hidden. At least a little longer. She knows she's asking a lot, but she keeps her hopes up. It wouldn't be Lyra Brightspark if she didn’t.
The next day, the little cleric wakes up fully rested, bids farewell to Don-Jon and the dwarves, and nods to Meira. "To Butterskull Ranch!", she replies.
Gareth falls asleep to the sound of Meira's clear voice and soft dulcimer. He dreams of Sylvie, back home in Neverwinter. Their home is a small but tidy townhouse in the city's Protector's Enclave. In the dream, Sylvie is in the kitchen kneading dough and humming softly to herself. The ranger tries to get her attention, but he's formless in the dream, like he's looking in at Sylvie from the outside. He's looking at her from behind so he approaches, but it isn't like walking, more like gliding along on an unseen track. As he nears his wife, he notices a slight swell underneath her apron, her belly just starting to round. As if she can sense his presence or read his mind, Sylvie presses a hand to her stomach, rubbing it absently and still humming to herself.
Gareth awakens with a jerk, nearly falling off the cot. He swipes a hand across his face. It was just a dream. Dreams don't mean anything. Still, he's feeling a bit off-kilter as he gathers his pack and slings his longbow on his back. Distracted, he forgets to bid farewell to the dwarves and Don Jon. He tells himself to focus. The people at Butterskull Ranch need their help.
"To Butterskull Ranch!" he agrees. "I just hope we're not too late."
While resting, you dream about your ship crashing against the rocks and breaking apart. You fall into the water with your wife, Silvara, a beautiful Sea Elf. While sinking into the ocean, you see the ship crew being carried off by several merrow. One such monster attacks you. Before you lose consciousness, you see Silvara throw a trident at the monster, killing it.
In the next scene of your dream, you wake up on the beach alone amongst the rubble of your ship that was torn apart, and several dead bodies you recognize as your former crew. As you lift your head, you see a trident lying next to you, your wife's trident. The trident that she used to save your life. You grab the trident. Gripping it tightly, you rush to your feet only to feel faint and fall back to the ground. A moment passes as your head spins. You look around... your wife nowhere to be seen. You look up and see dark clouds swirling above you unnaturally. The focal point is a nearby lighthouse.
You set out early in the morning for Butterskull Ranch. Even as the sun rises and provides light, the air remains frigid cold and bites to the bone. You travel fifteen miles north before you come to a well-worn road called the Tribor Trail. While the sun is overhead, you turn east and continue traveling under the canopy of thick cloud cover. A light snow begins to fall. It is odd at this elevation and time of year as the trees leaves are just starting to change color.
Eldrin stirs from his meditation just inside the mine entrance, adjusting the clasp of his cloak against the creeping cold. The early morning frost clings to his boots, and for a moment, he just watches the others preparing to leave, Meira adjusting her new goggles, Gareth quietly lost in thought, Lyra beaming with cautious hope, and Zephyros already steeling himself for the journey ahead.
The elf steps forward, his expression calm but purposeful, pale eyes fixed on the pale gold thread of sunrise on the horizon. His voice is low but clear, carrying easily in the quiet air.
“We made the right call,” he says, glancing back toward the mine where Don-Jon now rests behind a locked door. “He may be cursed, or he may not be. Time will tell. But if we can return with an answer before the worst takes root, we may yet spare him, and the dwarves, a greater tragedy.”
He shifts, and begins walking, boots crunching lightly in the frost.
As he walks, he speaks just loud enough for the others to hear. “When this is done, we go to Phandalin. We find a cure. One way or another. But for today…”
He looks toward the snowy path ahead, eyes narrowing as the wind picks up slightly.
“…we make sure no more lives are lost while we still have the chance to act.”
Pausing a moment longer to take in his surroundings, Eldrin presses forward into the light snowfall, quiet and resolved.
You continue your journey for another 30 minutes when Zephyros' trident begins to glow with a bright radiant light. It sends out a pulse of divine energy and provides Zephyros with a brief vision of leathery wings of silent death diving towards the group from above. Zephyros recognizes this as real imminent danger and yells for his companions to take cover. As you all dive out of the way a wave of Ice cold breath blasts the ground you stood a fraction of a second prior, killing all vegetation on and near the roadside. The blast is so intense, chunks of the road, now frozen in ice, break off and fly in all directions, peppering everyone with icy shards of shrapnel.
A huge white dragon circles back around and lands just ahead with a earthshaking BOOM. It says, "I'm surprised I missed. No matter... you will still be my breakfast." It's voice growls the words in a deep, menacing manner.
Eldrin had been the last to drop to the ground, his eyes were fixed skyward.
There it was.
All his readings, all the dusty tomes and hand-copied marginalia, all the illustrations rendered in charcoal or watercolor, the old stories whispered over flickering lanternlight… none of it had prepared him.
The dragon’s presence was overwhelming. Not simply in size or power, but in reality. It shouldn't exist, and yet it did, more real than anything he had ever seen. Every movement was a study in lethal grace. Its pale eyes swept across the party with slow, knowing menace. Its breath still steamed from its nostrils.
Eldrin’s thoughts were scattered, not fear. Just awe. The kind that leaves you hollow and small, like staring up at a storm too vast to outrun or understand.
He stood there, motionless, not out of courage but because he had simply forgotten how to move. The cold no longer bit; the danger no longer mattered.
His lips parted, barely.
“…Magnificent,” he whispered, a breath stolen by the wind.
Lyralets out a shriek as the dragon swoops into view, its icy breath nearly freezing the entire party in place. She silently thanks Zephyros—without his warning, they'd all be icicles now! Then, her mind flashes back to the prayer she made that morning ... staying away from the dragon might be off the table now, but maybe the rest of her wishes will still hold up...
Panicking but trying to think fast, the cleric focuses on protection. If the dragon has a harder time hitting her, maybe she can help the others more afterward. She's never actually done this before, but now seems like a great time to try. Heart racing, she reaches out to Tymora and pleads: Please—make it harder for this big icy dragon to see me!!
Then she bolts away from the rest of the group, glancing back at the spot where the breath had struck. Being clumped together suddenly feels like a very bad idea.
Action:Mirror Image Movement: 25 feet away north. Right next to those rocks, for example. (They don't offer cover, do they?)
"Yes, we need to spread out,"Meirasays softly, her words echoing what she saw Lyradoing. She hesitates, looking as though she might follow the halfling, but she turns to move southward. As she is moving, she takes out her shortbow and fires it at the white dragon. (Shortbow Attack: 16, Damage: 7 piercing)
Then if there is a rock or change in terrain she might use for cover, she will attempt to hide. (Cunning Action - Stealth: 20)
(OOC - Not sure if the things that look like rocks are enough to hide. If they are, she'll stop at 20' movement to hide. If she can go the full 30' - which is off the map - to get to cover or because there is no cover, she will do that.)
Gareth's reverie is violently interrupted by the shouting of Zephyros and then a barrage of ice raining down from the heavens. The ranger throws himself out of the way, dodging and rolling, the breath almost getting knocked out of him in the process. He turns around to face the dragon, and his mouth drops open. He's never seen anything so majestic and so utterly terrifying at the same time. This beast would be the crown jewel of his collection if he managed to take a trophy. Of course, he has to survive first in order to do that.
"Nine bloody hells!" Gareth scrambles backward and to the north a bit, trying to spread out from the rest of his companions. Then he turns and unleashes an arrow. As the arrow hits the dragon's body, it explodes into a rain of thorns which pelt the creature's hide.
Action: Longbow Attack - 19 to hit for 5 piercing damage
Bonus Action: Hail of Thorns - DC 13 Dex save or take 1 (wow) piercing damage (half on success)
You recover nearly instantly as the dragon lands near the group. Your hunting instincts take over, and you're quick to engage the alpha predator. Your arrow hits the creature in the left wing, tearing a hole as it passes through the soft skin. Unfortunately, the magically imbued arrow activates just after passing through the wing, sending a hail of thorns past the creature, with one thorn bouncing off the tough scales that cover the dragon's backside.
Lyra,
Fear mingles with adrenaline as you quickly pray to your divine, asking for protection. Your prayer is answered, and three exact replicas appear around you, following your every move. You move north, looking for some cover, but only find large chunks of frozen rock and dirt. [[OOC: Sorry, no cover this fight.]]
Meira,
You call to your companions, urging them to spread out as you sprint southward. You shoot an arrow from your shortbow, but the arrow hits the dragon's armored scales and harmlessly deflects off it. You look around for a hiding place, but only find rocks and dirt. The nearest cover seems too far away to be of any use this fight.
The dragon snarls as Gareth's arrow tears a hole in its wing. With a growl of contempt, the dragon beats its wings and lifts off from the ground, flying over Zephyros [Sorry, no AOO this time] and landing next to Gareth and Lyra. At first, the dragon appears to target the ranger, but seeing four tasty halflings standing there is too tempting a target. It bites at Lyra, but finds only illusory air as one of the mirror images disappears in a puff of pink smoke. Enraged by this, the dragon strikes with two clawed hands. One claw causes another mirror image to fade into pink smoke. Unfortunately, the third attack hits the real halfling, cutting a deep gouge from left shoulder to right thigh: attack 19, damage 15 slashing. The dragon's maw smiles as it sees the blood on its claws, "There you are."
Lyra,
I hope you don't mind. I rolled your d20s for your mirror image spell to expedite the dragon's turn and add descriptions. FYI, mirror image doesn't usually work on creatures that have blindsight, but your PC probably wouldn't know that anyway. Plus, white dragons are not terribly bright, so it stands to reason the dragon could be fooled by the spell.
"Coward!"Zephyros shouts at the creature he's never seen before, let alone heard very much about.
Ironheartwatches in awe as the vast monster hovers over him, but snaps into rage as he perceives Lyra's blood.
"Is that truly a dragon?" The bear of a man ponders, then returns to reality.
"I expected you to be bigger! You're a pathetic little worm, aren't ya?! DIE!" The practiced veteran spews out of his bearded mouth, hoping to catch the very ire of the legendary being.
Zephyrosrushes over to the beast, and attacks it from behind.
Attack: 13
Damage: 10
Action surge attack: 26
Damage: 10
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Adventurers,
You settle in for the night and rest in Mountain's Toe Gold Mine. Do you wish to do anything else before your long rest? Feel free to post it.
The morning comes early as you're stirred awake in the hushed stillness of the mine. A faint earthy scent of dust and old metal hangs in the air, causing your throat to feel parched as you rise. The sound of snoring dwarves finds your ears. Somewhere deeper in the mine, a drop of water echoes with an eerie regularity. The armored among you begin to don it in preparation for the day's trials. As you step out into the cold morning air, frost crunches beneath your feet. The world beyond is cloaked in fog and pale moonlight. Rolling hills lie in shadow, and the looming snowcapped mountain to your south and east gives you all a sense of foreboding in its enormity.
The cold bites through your cloaks, sharp and clean, waking you up completely. Felagi lets out a squawk, beating his wings from his perch atop Zephyros' heavily armored shoulder. The horizon to the east glows faintly, a thin ribbon of pale gold where the sun has yet to rise.
What do you do? Do you set out back to Phandalin to find a cure for Don-Jon? Or do you make haste to Buttleskull Ranch to deal with the growing Orcish threat?
You all benefit from a long rest!
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
As her final task before sleeping, Meira settles into a spot near the wall where she can prop herself up. She takes her dulcimer in hand and starts to pluck the strings. Soon she starts a light melody, then switches to accompanying chords as she softly sings:
'Hey Ho to my resting I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe
Rain may fall and wind may blow but there'll still be
Many miles to go
Sweet is the sound of falling rain,
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.'
The next morning, she gets her things together and prepares to leave. "On to Butterskull Ranch?"
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
There is a moment of sheer tension in which Lyra truly believes Torrin is going to murder Don-Jon. She holds her breath, heart racing ... but fortunately, Boggin restrains his companion before anything rash can happen. The halfling exhales in relief as the moment passes, and when the situation is finally sorted out, she allows herself to relax.
Lyra finds a spot to sit with her friends and listens as Meira begins to play. The melody is soft and soothing, and Lyra can't help but smile. "Your new goggles look amazing on you!" she says cheerfully, before turning her attention to Felagi, curious about the impressive bird. It's rather amusing to realize that while Felagi only reaches about thigh-height on the others, he nearly comes up to her waist!
When the time comes to lie down and sleep, Lyra brushes her fingers against the lucky moonstone and closes her eyes. She offers a quiet prayer: for her friends to be safe. For those who died—dwarves, ratfolk, or otherwise—to find peace. For Don-Jon's safety. Even for the orcs they found on the road... and for the dragon that may have killed them to stay hidden. At least a little longer. She knows she's asking a lot, but she keeps her hopes up. It wouldn't be Lyra Brightspark if she didn’t.
The next day, the little cleric wakes up fully rested, bids farewell to Don-Jon and the dwarves, and nods to Meira. "To Butterskull Ranch!", she replies.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Gareth falls asleep to the sound of Meira's clear voice and soft dulcimer. He dreams of Sylvie, back home in Neverwinter. Their home is a small but tidy townhouse in the city's Protector's Enclave. In the dream, Sylvie is in the kitchen kneading dough and humming softly to herself. The ranger tries to get her attention, but he's formless in the dream, like he's looking in at Sylvie from the outside. He's looking at her from behind so he approaches, but it isn't like walking, more like gliding along on an unseen track. As he nears his wife, he notices a slight swell underneath her apron, her belly just starting to round. As if she can sense his presence or read his mind, Sylvie presses a hand to her stomach, rubbing it absently and still humming to herself.
Gareth awakens with a jerk, nearly falling off the cot. He swipes a hand across his face. It was just a dream. Dreams don't mean anything. Still, he's feeling a bit off-kilter as he gathers his pack and slings his longbow on his back. Distracted, he forgets to bid farewell to the dwarves and Don Jon. He tells himself to focus. The people at Butterskull Ranch need their help.
"To Butterskull Ranch!" he agrees. "I just hope we're not too late."
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak) ♦ Karys Velthune (Out of the Abyss) ♦ Surina Xarith (Simple, Heroic Adventure)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus
Zephyros,
While resting, you dream about your ship crashing against the rocks and breaking apart. You fall into the water with your wife, Silvara, a beautiful Sea Elf. While sinking into the ocean, you see the ship crew being carried off by several merrow. One such monster attacks you. Before you lose consciousness, you see Silvara throw a trident at the monster, killing it.
In the next scene of your dream, you wake up on the beach alone amongst the rubble of your ship that was torn apart, and several dead bodies you recognize as your former crew. As you lift your head, you see a trident lying next to you, your wife's trident. The trident that she used to save your life. You grab the trident. Gripping it tightly, you rush to your feet only to feel faint and fall back to the ground. A moment passes as your head spins. You look around... your wife nowhere to be seen. You look up and see dark clouds swirling above you unnaturally. The focal point is a nearby lighthouse.
You startle awake in a cold sweat.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Zephyros startles awake in cold sweat, strangely getting up after his allies have.
The warrior grumbles as he sluggishly crawls off his cot, hoping no one has caught him sleeping in, let alone suspecting something wrong has happened.
His Red-Tailed Hawk, Felagi screeches beside him, waiting for his master to arise. Zephyros is grateful to have this interruption.
Ironheart quietly mutters, his low voice strained, "To the ranch."
Zephyros' eyes are fully stocked with great sorrow, though it's easy to mistake it for exhaustion.
Having much practice, the veteran quickly shakes off his demeanor, grips his trident, and prepares to set out.
10
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Adventurers,
You set out early in the morning for Butterskull Ranch. Even as the sun rises and provides light, the air remains frigid cold and bites to the bone. You travel fifteen miles north before you come to a well-worn road called the Tribor Trail. While the sun is overhead, you turn east and continue traveling under the canopy of thick cloud cover. A light snow begins to fall. It is odd at this elevation and time of year as the trees leaves are just starting to change color.
Everyone, please give me a perception check.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Lyra's perception: 7
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
(Meira Perception: 15)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Gareth Perception - 7 (He's still distracted by his dream, haha)
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak) ♦ Karys Velthune (Out of the Abyss) ♦ Surina Xarith (Simple, Heroic Adventure)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus
Eldrin stirs from his meditation just inside the mine entrance, adjusting the clasp of his cloak against the creeping cold. The early morning frost clings to his boots, and for a moment, he just watches the others preparing to leave, Meira adjusting her new goggles, Gareth quietly lost in thought, Lyra beaming with cautious hope, and Zephyros already steeling himself for the journey ahead.
The elf steps forward, his expression calm but purposeful, pale eyes fixed on the pale gold thread of sunrise on the horizon. His voice is low but clear, carrying easily in the quiet air.
“We made the right call,” he says, glancing back toward the mine where Don-Jon now rests behind a locked door. “He may be cursed, or he may not be. Time will tell. But if we can return with an answer before the worst takes root, we may yet spare him, and the dwarves, a greater tragedy.”
He shifts, and begins walking, boots crunching lightly in the frost.
As he walks, he speaks just loud enough for the others to hear. “When this is done, we go to Phandalin. We find a cure. One way or another. But for today…”
He looks toward the snowy path ahead, eyes narrowing as the wind picks up slightly.
“…we make sure no more lives are lost while we still have the chance to act.”
Pausing a moment longer to take in his surroundings, Eldrin presses forward into the light snowfall, quiet and resolved.
Perception check: 12
Perception: 16
Adventurers,
You continue your journey for another 30 minutes when Zephyros' trident begins to glow with a bright radiant light. It sends out a pulse of divine energy and provides Zephyros with a brief vision of leathery wings of silent death diving towards the group from above. Zephyros recognizes this as real imminent danger and yells for his companions to take cover. As you all dive out of the way a wave of Ice cold breath blasts the ground you stood a fraction of a second prior, killing all vegetation on and near the roadside. The blast is so intense, chunks of the road, now frozen in ice, break off and fly in all directions, peppering everyone with icy shards of shrapnel.
A huge white dragon circles back around and lands just ahead with a earthshaking BOOM. It says, "I'm surprised I missed. No matter... you will still be my breakfast." It's voice growls the words in a deep, menacing manner.
Combat begins, round one initiative:
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Eldrin had been the last to drop to the ground, his eyes were fixed skyward.
There it was.
All his readings, all the dusty tomes and hand-copied marginalia, all the illustrations rendered in charcoal or watercolor, the old stories whispered over flickering lanternlight… none of it had prepared him.
The dragon’s presence was overwhelming. Not simply in size or power, but in reality. It shouldn't exist, and yet it did, more real than anything he had ever seen. Every movement was a study in lethal grace. Its pale eyes swept across the party with slow, knowing menace. Its breath still steamed from its nostrils.
Eldrin’s thoughts were scattered, not fear. Just awe. The kind that leaves you hollow and small, like staring up at a storm too vast to outrun or understand.
He stood there, motionless, not out of courage but because he had simply forgotten how to move. The cold no longer bit; the danger no longer mattered.
His lips parted, barely.
“…Magnificent,” he whispered, a breath stolen by the wind.
He wasn’t sure if he meant it as praise or fear.
Lyra lets out a shriek as the dragon swoops into view, its icy breath nearly freezing the entire party in place. She silently thanks Zephyros—without his warning, they'd all be icicles now! Then, her mind flashes back to the prayer she made that morning ... staying away from the dragon might be off the table now, but maybe the rest of her wishes will still hold up...
Panicking but trying to think fast, the cleric focuses on protection. If the dragon has a harder time hitting her, maybe she can help the others more afterward. She's never actually done this before, but now seems like a great time to try. Heart racing, she reaches out to Tymora and pleads: Please—make it harder for this big icy dragon to see me!!
Then she bolts away from the rest of the group, glancing back at the spot where the breath had struck. Being clumped together suddenly feels like a very bad idea.
Action: Mirror Image
Movement: 25 feet away north. Right next to those rocks, for example. (They don't offer cover, do they?)
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
"Yes, we need to spread out," Meira says softly, her words echoing what she saw Lyra doing. She hesitates, looking as though she might follow the halfling, but she turns to move southward. As she is moving, she takes out her shortbow and fires it at the white dragon.
(Shortbow Attack: 16, Damage: 7 piercing)
Then if there is a rock or change in terrain she might use for cover, she will attempt to hide. (Cunning Action - Stealth: 20)
(OOC - Not sure if the things that look like rocks are enough to hide. If they are, she'll stop at 20' movement to hide. If she can go the full 30' - which is off the map - to get to cover or because there is no cover, she will do that.)
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard
Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer
Gareth's reverie is violently interrupted by the shouting of Zephyros and then a barrage of ice raining down from the heavens. The ranger throws himself out of the way, dodging and rolling, the breath almost getting knocked out of him in the process. He turns around to face the dragon, and his mouth drops open. He's never seen anything so majestic and so utterly terrifying at the same time. This beast would be the crown jewel of his collection if he managed to take a trophy. Of course, he has to survive first in order to do that.
"Nine bloody hells!" Gareth scrambles backward and to the north a bit, trying to spread out from the rest of his companions. Then he turns and unleashes an arrow. As the arrow hits the dragon's body, it explodes into a rain of thorns which pelt the creature's hide.
Action: Longbow Attack - 19 to hit for 5 piercing damage
Bonus Action: Hail of Thorns - DC 13 Dex save or take 1 (wow) piercing damage (half on success)
Movement: 30 feet northwest
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak) ♦ Karys Velthune (Out of the Abyss) ♦ Surina Xarith (Simple, Heroic Adventure)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus
Gareth,
You recover nearly instantly as the dragon lands near the group. Your hunting instincts take over, and you're quick to engage the alpha predator. Your arrow hits the creature in the left wing, tearing a hole as it passes through the soft skin. Unfortunately, the magically imbued arrow activates just after passing through the wing, sending a hail of thorns past the creature, with one thorn bouncing off the tough scales that cover the dragon's backside.
Lyra,
Fear mingles with adrenaline as you quickly pray to your divine, asking for protection. Your prayer is answered, and three exact replicas appear around you, following your every move. You move north, looking for some cover, but only find large chunks of frozen rock and dirt. [[OOC: Sorry, no cover this fight.]]
Meira,
You call to your companions, urging them to spread out as you sprint southward. You shoot an arrow from your shortbow, but the arrow hits the dragon's armored scales and harmlessly deflects off it. You look around for a hiding place, but only find rocks and dirt. The nearest cover seems too far away to be of any use this fight.
The dragon snarls as Gareth's arrow tears a hole in its wing. With a growl of contempt, the dragon beats its wings and lifts off from the ground, flying over Zephyros [Sorry, no AOO this time] and landing next to Gareth and Lyra. At first, the dragon appears to target the ranger, but seeing four tasty halflings standing there is too tempting a target. It bites at Lyra, but finds only illusory air as one of the mirror images disappears in a puff of pink smoke. Enraged by this, the dragon strikes with two clawed hands. One claw causes another mirror image to fade into pink smoke. Unfortunately, the third attack hits the real halfling, cutting a deep gouge from left shoulder to right thigh: attack 19, damage 15 slashing. The dragon's maw smiles as it sees the blood on its claws, "There you are."
Lyra,
I hope you don't mind. I rolled your d20s for your mirror image spell to expedite the dragon's turn and add descriptions. FYI, mirror image doesn't usually work on creatures that have blindsight, but your PC probably wouldn't know that anyway. Plus, white dragons are not terribly bright, so it stands to reason the dragon could be fooled by the spell.
Zephyros & Eldrin are up!
Updated map:
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
"Coward!" Zephyros shouts at the creature he's never seen before, let alone heard very much about.
Ironheart watches in awe as the vast monster hovers over him, but snaps into rage as he perceives Lyra's blood.
"Is that truly a dragon?" The bear of a man ponders, then returns to reality.
"I expected you to be bigger! You're a pathetic little worm, aren't ya?! DIE!" The practiced veteran spews out of his bearded mouth, hoping to catch the very ire of the legendary being.
Zephyros rushes over to the beast, and attacks it from behind.
Attack: 13
Damage: 10
Action surge attack: 26
Damage: 10