Yarina watches Eldrin’s spellcasting with clear interest, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as the shimmer of magic wraps briefly around him. She doesn’t interrupt, but there’s a thoughtful tilt to her head—a soldier studying an unfamiliar maneuver on the training field.
As Lyra scampers toward the shrine, Yarina follows at a slower pace. She kneels beside the halfling, her bulk casting a shadow over the small stones as she helps brush away fallen leaves and adjust a few crooked stones around the base. Her large, scaled hands are surprisingly gentle in the task.
“Tymora,”she repeats, tasting the name thoughtfully. “She sounds like a good one. Not like Bahamut, but…kind. Fierce in her own way.” She pauses, watching Lyra arrange her seven coins in a circle. “My lord teaches order and justice. Law before chance. But I think even he might admire a goddess who smiles on the brave and watches over the lost.”
Yarina stays quiet through the prayer, bowing her head in solemn respect though the words are not her own. When Lyra claps and rises, Yarina follows suit, brushing a bit of dust from her armor as she stands.
“I’ve been ready since dawn,”she says with a faint smirk. “Let’s find this midwife before the weather turns—or before that dragon gets any closer.”
Eldrin stands apart from the group as they gather at the shrine, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture composed as always. His gaze flicks between Lyra, Yarina, and Gareth as they clear the small space, arrange offerings, and speak their prayer to Tymora. He does not interrupt, nor does he sneer or scoff—only watches, the faintest crease in his brow betraying the turn of his thoughts.
Faith.It is an odd thing, he muses. A belief in something unseen, something unproven, yet held with unwavering certainty. For Lyra, it is the hand of Lady Luck that guided her fate, the goddess who smiled upon her when she was most vulnerable. For Yarina, it is Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon, the great arbiter of justice and order. He wonders if the others, too, whisper prayers to silent gods in moments of uncertainty.
To Eldrin, knowledge is the only true certainty. The fundamental principles of magic, the structured logic of the Weave—these are forces that can be studied, tested, understood. Faith in a deity, by contrast, requires a surrender to the unknowable. A trust that a being beyond comprehension takes interest in the fleeting lives of mortals. It is a faith that asks one to accept mystery rather than unravel it.
Yet, he does not dismiss it. He has seen enough to know that the divine, much like the arcane, is woven into the fabric of existence. Perhaps their gods do listen. Perhaps Tymora does smile upon the bold, Bahamut upon the just. It is not his place to say. He simply knows that he will not look to them for answers. Where others place their faith in the will of the gods, he will place his in the pursuit of understanding.
As Lyra completes her ritual, claps her hands, and steps back with satisfaction, Eldrin inclines his head slightly. “A fitting tribute,” he says, not unkindly. His voice is calm, measured. “Faith, after all, is an investment. In the divine, in fate, in the unseen. We shall see how it is repaid.”
With that, he turns smoothly, his robes shifting with the movement, and begins walking in the direction of the midwife’s home.
Gareth follows Lyra to the shrine. He does his part to neaten the structure, brushing away the accumulated dirt and debris with his hands for lack of a broom. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty and merely claps the dirt from them when he's done. He listens to Lyra's prayer with a small smile. Then he kneels down next to her, adopting her posture, placing his own silver coin down carefully.
"I hope Lady Luck doesn't mind if my prayer doesn't rhyme," Gareth remarks. "I'm not much of a poet."
He closes his eyes and says, "Mistress of Good Fortune, may your luck shine on all our endeavors."
After everyone is finished praying, the ranger stands and stretches. "All right, let's go break the bad news to Adabra."
Before she heads back to her room, Meira catches Lyra's words. "Ohh... Ty-mo-ra. Yes. A goddess that likes pranks?" She seems very intrigued by this, but knowing she needs to get her things she heads off to the inn.
Once back with the group, she seems to have missed whatever gathering Lyra and the others had had at the shrine. But the others seem ready to go and she is a well. It seems their path is to the south, but she is more than willing to follow the others.
Zephyros stands next to the high elf, and stares puzzled at the shrine. Ironheart crosses his arms and looks to the sky, wondering if there is a god out there somewhere. The gruff man stuffs a pipe in his mouth. He ever so slightly mutters to himself, "If there is a god out there, this 'Tymora' and 'Bahamut' clearly hate me. No luck, no justice... only death..." The bull of a man seems to jolt back to reality, clutching his trident tighter. "Let's move." Zephyros stiffens and stands tall. Ironheart proceeds to start heading to warn Adabra of the coming danger, unless anyone has obligations.
You head back into the Stonehill Inn to grab your gear. Toblin greets you, "Back so soon?", as you run past him up the stairs to your room. On your way back down, Tobin wishes you well once more. "Take care, bye now!"
Lyra,
You head to the shrine with the group following. It's a modest shrine made up of several large rocks stacked one on another, enclosing a small alter on three sides with a rock roof. On the alter rests several unlit candles and some dead flowers. The floor is made of dirt and has several weeds growing up all over. Being open on one side has caused fallen leaves to bunch up on the West side of the shrine. You spend some time clearing the shrine of the weeds and leaves and dust off the alter before setting your seven coins down in a circle and offering a prayer to your goddess.
As your prayer concludes you feel your goddess' presence in your mind. "Daughter, your devotion delights me. I have already blessed Phandalin through you. Your companions will need more than just your humor before this adventure is done. However, I foresee plenty of laughter in your future as well. Take this blessing as you depart. May it provide the luck you need to overcome the trials set before you. I will watch over and guide you. Be comforted in this knowledge." As Tymora's presence fades in your mind you feel her smiling down upon you.
OOC: You have been inspired. You may reroll one d20 of your choosing at anytime prior to knowing the result.
Eldrin,
You weave the magic around your body into a barrier that protects the body. Your mind sharp and calculating. You take in your surroundings with analytical precision as you think about how the weave of magic is much more structured and knowable over a deity that can withdraw their blessings with no concern for consequences. Your faith in knowledge, in the weave, just as strong as Lyra's faith in Tymora and Yarina's faith in Bahamut. More so in some ways, as you believe you control and guide the weave. You are not controlled by it. This realization inspires you to redouble your efforts to hone your mind and bring your knowledge to new heights.
OOC: You have been inspired. You may reroll one d20 of your choosing at anytime prior to knowing the result.
Yarina,
You kneel next to Lyra and help clean up the shrine, adjusting a few rocks in the process. As you shift some of them you recognize the precarious nature of their positioning. Some of them look to be crooked, but are in fact placed that way to fit together with their neighbor rocks more closely. This goes against your inherent need to bring order to chaos and distracts you a little as Lyra recites her prayer.
Gareth,
You also help clean up the shine before kneeling down and offering a coin to Tymora's alter. You recite your prayer and feel better for it, but the feeling fades quickly as you stand and brush the dust off your knees. For a brief moment you sense a curious presence in your mind, but it too fades quickly.
Zephyros,
You follow the group and take up a post next to Eldrin. You guard the party as they pray, constantly surveying your surroundings, but feel annoyed at the diversion from your objective and wait impatiently for the others as you puff on your pipe. Clouds of smoke being carried off to the West towards the small town's school yard where several kids are overheard playing kickball.
Everyone,
The group heads out of town to the South following a well used dirt road. You make good time and only after 1.5 hours travel see in the distance a windmill sitting atop a hill surrounded by an iron fence.
Gareth,
While still about 300 yards out from your objective, your keen eyes spot a large winged monster with a spikey tail near the structure trying to break the windmill's door down. You also see a woman in the second floor window of the windmill throwing things at the monster.
As you all get closer you spot a large winged monster with a spikey tail near the structure trying to break the windmill's door down. A woman in the second story window is seen throwing bottles filled with liquid at the monster, shattering as they hit the ground near it. She sees you and yells, "A little help?!”
Yarina’s eyes lock onto the creature the moment it comes into view—her pupils narrowing, posture shifting, every muscle tightening beneath her armor. The spiked tail, the wings, the sheer force of it battering the windmill’s door—it doesn’t matter what it is. The woman is in danger. Without hesitation, she reaches over her shoulder and draws her greatsword in a smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleams in the light, its edge sharp and sure, like her resolve.
“Stay behind me!” she calls to the others, already breaking into a sprint. Her heart pounds—not with fear, but with purpose. This is what she was made for.
Eldrin’s sharp eyes narrow as he takes in the scene ahead—the battered door of the windmill, the frantic woman hurling bottles from above, and the hulking winged creature raking at the wood with its claws. Its barbed tail lashes behind it, the spines glistening in the light.
He does not hesitate. With a swift, purposeful stride, he moves thirty feet forward, his dark robes sweeping behind him. As he walks, his right hand extends outward, fingers curling in a precise arcane gesture. In an instant, fire blossoms at his fingertips, a swirling ember of raw energy that he channels into a blazing bolt of flame.
With a flick of his wrist, he releases the spell. The firebolt streaks forward, bright against the sky, illuminating his sharp features for the briefest of moments. The air crackles with heat as it rushes toward its target—
And misses.
The bolt of fire veers just past the manticore’s shoulder, fizzling out as it strikes the ground in a burst of harmless sparks. Eldrin's expression does not shift—his face remains composed, impassive—but beneath the surface, irritation simmers. A wasted shot. A failure of calculation.
His fingers flex at his side, as if testing the air, searching for the minute flaw in his casting. Was it the angle? A misjudgment of distance? A shift in the wind? It does not matter. It will not happen again.
His voice is cool, clipped. "Unfortunate."
Then, with measured calm, he readies himself for the next strike.
Move:30 feet forward Action:Fire Bolt (2+5=7) to hit Inspiration: Fire Bolt (5+5=10) to hit
Zephyros Ironheart, upon seeing an innocent person in danger, roars in fury. The stout soldier takes the dash action to run 60 feet directly toward the monster, trident poised for attack.
Lyra walks happily among the taller members of her party, her previous sad mood now completely gone, as if it had never been there at all. Just as it isn't in her nature to be quiet, it isn't in her nature to stay sad for long. She had already been content simply by tidying the shrine alongside Gareth and Yarina. She'd also been cheered by Eldrin's words — all the more meaningful since the elf was not one to offer them lightly. But to have been addressed directly by Tymora herself!? Wo-hooo! That had been a truly unexpected gift.
Lost in these happy thoughts, Lyra doesn't notice the danger ahead until Gareth stops and warns them all. "Is the adventure starting so soon!? Oh! Oh wow!" she exclaims, before adding, "You've got really keen eyes, Gareth!"
The halfling moves forward and extends a small hand, ready to call on a little burst of radiant magic. But then she hesitates — if she does, only Eldrin might be able to take advantage of the opening. So, with a bright grin and a bounce in her step, she simply moves forward for now, waiting for the right moment.
Meira had given a cheery "Hello!" and wave when she got to The Stonehill Inn. She again waved to Toblin on the way out as well. "We'll be back soon. Keep the place standing for us!"
The present situation had her far less cheery. It was a really big monster! With wings! And there were Yarina and Zephyros charging at the creature. But then she starts to focus in on the situation. She grabs her bow even as she is moving forward up the hill, keeping pace with Eldrin. Knocking an arrow, she eyes the distance, knowing it would be a difficult shot. She decides to try anyhow, loosing the arrow at the creature. "Let's not get too separated here."
Gareth enjoys walking with the others toward Adabra's house. He feels much more comfortable out of doors in the fresh air and warm sunshine. He considers what he felt after placing his coin down at the shrine to Tymora. There had been another presence there, just for a moment, brushing against his mind. Could it have been the goddess herself? He'll have to check in with Lyra when he gets a chance. Before he can though, his eyes spot something alarming in the distance. There's a huge, winged monster trying to batter down the door to a windmill. This must be where Adabra lives, and she's in trouble!
"Monster up ahead!" Gareth warns the others. Despite the circumstances, he smiles at the compliment from Lyra. "Thanks! This is what I do for a living...hunt monsters. Let's go save Adabra!"
The ranger moves into a better position where he can draw a bead on the monster with his longbow. He knocks an arrow, mimicking Meira, but his bow is larger and harder to draw. He pulls the string back to his cheek in a fluid, practiced move and then releases. The arrow goes flying, but it's way too high. Gareth curses. Normally, he's better at this, but he's still quite far away. He moves as far as he can toward the monster.
The winged monster's attention snaps to the party as the arrows and bolt of fire whiz past it. However, it's Zephyros' furious roar that the monster hones in on. It ceases its assault on the windmill's front door, jumps onto the crumbling fireplace just to the North of it, and uses it to push off into the air. The ruined fireplace breaks down further under the weight of the monster. Its large wings work to lift the massive monster into the air; it flies directly at Zephyros and returns the war cry, "Meat!" as the monster's tail swings around and releases a lightning-fast quil from its spikey tail. You deftly duck under the quil without even missing a stride, the quil flying harmlessly past where your head was just moments ago and embedding into the grass behind you.
Tail attack: 12+5=17 Miss
The woman in the window throws another glass bottle out of the second-story window as the monster takes flight, but it falls well short and smashes into the ground. As the liquid releases from the smashed bottle, the grass and dirt sizzle and smoke, burning as the liquid absorbs into the ground.
Gareth,
Please provide one more attack before round 2. Your high perception and long-range give you a surprise round on the winged monster.
The winged monster, which is clearly a Manticore to the party now that they can see it up close, is about 15 feet away from Zephyros and 10 feet off the ground. It's flying straight at the armored soldier intent upon peeling his armor off and enjoying a nice brunchtime meal.
Eldrin watches as the winged beast launches into the sky, its monstrous form silhouetted against the dull afternoon light. The roar of the creature is guttural, primal—a crude, singular desire made manifest. Meat.
His fingers twitch. His mind sharpens.
No calculations now. No hesitation. Only action.
As the beast surges forward, its deadly quill missing Zephyros by mere inches, Eldrin moves with precise purpose. His hands weave through the air, tracing intricate sigils in rapid succession as embers flicker between his fingertips. Power coils at his palm, a glowing ember swelling into a streak of flame.
This time, there is no miss.
The firebolt tears through the air, bright and unwavering, striking the creatures side just as it barrels toward the group.
Eldrin does not smile. There is no satisfaction in the strike—only inevitability.
His voice is calm, measured as he watches the creatures approach.
"Better."
Move:30 feet forward Action:Fire Bolt (19+5=24) to hit Damage:Fire-4pts
Gareth's missed his first shot, but the second shot lands squarely in the monster's hide. He recognizes the creature from books he's read, studying the various types of monsters that prowl Faerun. It's a Manticore! He's never seen one before in real life, but here is another opportunity for a great trophy, if he and his new companions can manage to fell the beast. Manticores are no easy prey, after all. He knows it will be a hard fight.
"We're gonna make you work for your meal!" Gareth calls out. He releases another arrow at the Manticore.
Yarina doesn’t break stride as the manticore launches into the air—if anything, the sight of it taking flight only sharpens her focus. She charges forward, boots pounding across the earth, closing the distance with terrifying speed. As the manticore descends toward Zephyros, its cruel eyes fixed on its prey, Yarina sees her moment.
With a roar of effort, she leaps—a silver-scaled missile of steel and fury—her greatsword arcing overhead in both hands. The sun gleams off the blade’s edge as it whistles through the air, aimed to strike the beast across the shoulder and wing in a devastating blow meant to bring it crashing down before it can even touch one of her allies.
Movement: 15 ft towards manticore then high jump (7 ft + half her height=~10)
Action: Greatsword to hit 16, damage 10 slashing
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Yarina watches Eldrin’s spellcasting with clear interest, her sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as the shimmer of magic wraps briefly around him. She doesn’t interrupt, but there’s a thoughtful tilt to her head—a soldier studying an unfamiliar maneuver on the training field.
As Lyra scampers toward the shrine, Yarina follows at a slower pace. She kneels beside the halfling, her bulk casting a shadow over the small stones as she helps brush away fallen leaves and adjust a few crooked stones around the base. Her large, scaled hands are surprisingly gentle in the task.
“Tymora,” she repeats, tasting the name thoughtfully. “She sounds like a good one. Not like Bahamut, but…kind. Fierce in her own way.” She pauses, watching Lyra arrange her seven coins in a circle. “My lord teaches order and justice. Law before chance. But I think even he might admire a goddess who smiles on the brave and watches over the lost.”
Yarina stays quiet through the prayer, bowing her head in solemn respect though the words are not her own. When Lyra claps and rises, Yarina follows suit, brushing a bit of dust from her armor as she stands.
“I’ve been ready since dawn,” she says with a faint smirk. “Let’s find this midwife before the weather turns—or before that dragon gets any closer.”
Perception for travel: 7
Eldrin stands apart from the group as they gather at the shrine, hands folded neatly behind his back, posture composed as always. His gaze flicks between Lyra, Yarina, and Gareth as they clear the small space, arrange offerings, and speak their prayer to Tymora. He does not interrupt, nor does he sneer or scoff—only watches, the faintest crease in his brow betraying the turn of his thoughts.
Faith. It is an odd thing, he muses. A belief in something unseen, something unproven, yet held with unwavering certainty. For Lyra, it is the hand of Lady Luck that guided her fate, the goddess who smiled upon her when she was most vulnerable. For Yarina, it is Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon, the great arbiter of justice and order. He wonders if the others, too, whisper prayers to silent gods in moments of uncertainty.
To Eldrin, knowledge is the only true certainty. The fundamental principles of magic, the structured logic of the Weave—these are forces that can be studied, tested, understood. Faith in a deity, by contrast, requires a surrender to the unknowable. A trust that a being beyond comprehension takes interest in the fleeting lives of mortals. It is a faith that asks one to accept mystery rather than unravel it.
Yet, he does not dismiss it. He has seen enough to know that the divine, much like the arcane, is woven into the fabric of existence. Perhaps their gods do listen. Perhaps Tymora does smile upon the bold, Bahamut upon the just. It is not his place to say. He simply knows that he will not look to them for answers. Where others place their faith in the will of the gods, he will place his in the pursuit of understanding.
As Lyra completes her ritual, claps her hands, and steps back with satisfaction, Eldrin inclines his head slightly. “A fitting tribute,” he says, not unkindly. His voice is calm, measured. “Faith, after all, is an investment. In the divine, in fate, in the unseen. We shall see how it is repaid.”
With that, he turns smoothly, his robes shifting with the movement, and begins walking in the direction of the midwife’s home.
PERCEPTION CHECK: 4
Gareth follows Lyra to the shrine. He does his part to neaten the structure, brushing away the accumulated dirt and debris with his hands for lack of a broom. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty and merely claps the dirt from them when he's done. He listens to Lyra's prayer with a small smile. Then he kneels down next to her, adopting her posture, placing his own silver coin down carefully.
"I hope Lady Luck doesn't mind if my prayer doesn't rhyme," Gareth remarks. "I'm not much of a poet."
He closes his eyes and says, "Mistress of Good Fortune, may your luck shine on all our endeavors."
After everyone is finished praying, the ranger stands and stretches. "All right, let's go break the bad news to Adabra."
Perception - 25 (nat 20)
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf - Lvl. 4 Halfling Rogue (The Shattered Obelisk) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan - Lvl. 10 Half-Elf Sorcerer (Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick - Lvl. 4 Aasimar Paladin (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Selene Albion - Lvl. 12 Human Ranger (In-Person Homebrew Campaign) ♦ Phaerdra Tor'viir - Lvl. 3 Drow Wizard (Exandria Sandbox Campaign)
Before she heads back to her room, Meira catches Lyra's words. "Ohh... Ty-mo-ra. Yes. A goddess that likes pranks?" She seems very intrigued by this, but knowing she needs to get her things she heads off to the inn.
Once back with the group, she seems to have missed whatever gathering Lyra and the others had had at the shrine. But the others seem ready to go and she is a well. It seems their path is to the south, but she is more than willing to follow the others.
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 || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Zephyros stands next to the high elf, and stares puzzled at the shrine. Ironheart crosses his arms and looks to the sky, wondering if there is a god out there somewhere. The gruff man stuffs a pipe in his mouth. He ever so slightly mutters to himself, "If there is a god out there, this 'Tymora' and 'Bahamut' clearly hate me. No luck, no justice... only death..." The bull of a man seems to jolt back to reality, clutching his trident tighter. "Let's move." Zephyros stiffens and stands tall. Ironheart proceeds to start heading to warn Adabra of the coming danger, unless anyone has obligations.
Perception: 11
Meira,
You head back into the Stonehill Inn to grab your gear. Toblin greets you, "Back so soon?", as you run past him up the stairs to your room. On your way back down, Tobin wishes you well once more. "Take care, bye now!"
Lyra,
You head to the shrine with the group following. It's a modest shrine made up of several large rocks stacked one on another, enclosing a small alter on three sides with a rock roof. On the alter rests several unlit candles and some dead flowers. The floor is made of dirt and has several weeds growing up all over. Being open on one side has caused fallen leaves to bunch up on the West side of the shrine. You spend some time clearing the shrine of the weeds and leaves and dust off the alter before setting your seven coins down in a circle and offering a prayer to your goddess.
As your prayer concludes you feel your goddess' presence in your mind. "Daughter, your devotion delights me. I have already blessed Phandalin through you. Your companions will need more than just your humor before this adventure is done. However, I foresee plenty of laughter in your future as well. Take this blessing as you depart. May it provide the luck you need to overcome the trials set before you. I will watch over and guide you. Be comforted in this knowledge." As Tymora's presence fades in your mind you feel her smiling down upon you.
OOC: You have been inspired. You may reroll one d20 of your choosing at anytime prior to knowing the result.
Eldrin,
You weave the magic around your body into a barrier that protects the body. Your mind sharp and calculating. You take in your surroundings with analytical precision as you think about how the weave of magic is much more structured and knowable over a deity that can withdraw their blessings with no concern for consequences. Your faith in knowledge, in the weave, just as strong as Lyra's faith in Tymora and Yarina's faith in Bahamut. More so in some ways, as you believe you control and guide the weave. You are not controlled by it. This realization inspires you to redouble your efforts to hone your mind and bring your knowledge to new heights.
OOC: You have been inspired. You may reroll one d20 of your choosing at anytime prior to knowing the result.
Yarina,
You kneel next to Lyra and help clean up the shrine, adjusting a few rocks in the process. As you shift some of them you recognize the precarious nature of their positioning. Some of them look to be crooked, but are in fact placed that way to fit together with their neighbor rocks more closely. This goes against your inherent need to bring order to chaos and distracts you a little as Lyra recites her prayer.
Gareth,
You also help clean up the shine before kneeling down and offering a coin to Tymora's alter. You recite your prayer and feel better for it, but the feeling fades quickly as you stand and brush the dust off your knees. For a brief moment you sense a curious presence in your mind, but it too fades quickly.
Zephyros,
You follow the group and take up a post next to Eldrin. You guard the party as they pray, constantly surveying your surroundings, but feel annoyed at the diversion from your objective and wait impatiently for the others as you puff on your pipe. Clouds of smoke being carried off to the West towards the small town's school yard where several kids are overheard playing kickball.
Everyone,
The group heads out of town to the South following a well used dirt road. You make good time and only after 1.5 hours travel see in the distance a windmill sitting atop a hill surrounded by an iron fence.
Gareth,
While still about 300 yards out from your objective, your keen eyes spot a large winged monster with a spikey tail near the structure trying to break the windmill's door down. You also see a woman in the second floor window of the windmill throwing things at the monster.
As you all get closer you spot a large winged monster with a spikey tail near the structure trying to break the windmill's door down. A woman in the second story window is seen throwing bottles filled with liquid at the monster, shattering as they hit the ground near it. She sees you and yells, "A little help?!”
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Combat begins! You can post out of order your actions and I will resolve them in order.
Round one initiative:
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Yarina’s eyes lock onto the creature the moment it comes into view—her pupils narrowing, posture shifting, every muscle tightening beneath her armor. The spiked tail, the wings, the sheer force of it battering the windmill’s door—it doesn’t matter what it is. The woman is in danger. Without hesitation, she reaches over her shoulder and draws her greatsword in a smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleams in the light, its edge sharp and sure, like her resolve.
“Stay behind me!” she calls to the others, already breaking into a sprint. Her heart pounds—not with fear, but with purpose. This is what she was made for.
Action: Dash, full movement towards monster
Eldrin’s sharp eyes narrow as he takes in the scene ahead—the battered door of the windmill, the frantic woman hurling bottles from above, and the hulking winged creature raking at the wood with its claws. Its barbed tail lashes behind it, the spines glistening in the light.
He does not hesitate. With a swift, purposeful stride, he moves thirty feet forward, his dark robes sweeping behind him. As he walks, his right hand extends outward, fingers curling in a precise arcane gesture. In an instant, fire blossoms at his fingertips, a swirling ember of raw energy that he channels into a blazing bolt of flame.
With a flick of his wrist, he releases the spell. The firebolt streaks forward, bright against the sky, illuminating his sharp features for the briefest of moments. The air crackles with heat as it rushes toward its target—
And misses.
The bolt of fire veers just past the manticore’s shoulder, fizzling out as it strikes the ground in a burst of harmless sparks. Eldrin's expression does not shift—his face remains composed, impassive—but beneath the surface, irritation simmers. A wasted shot. A failure of calculation.
His fingers flex at his side, as if testing the air, searching for the minute flaw in his casting. Was it the angle? A misjudgment of distance? A shift in the wind? It does not matter. It will not happen again.
His voice is cool, clipped. "Unfortunate."
Then, with measured calm, he readies himself for the next strike.
Move: 30 feet forward
Action: Fire Bolt (2+5=7) to hit
Inspiration: Fire Bolt (5+5=10) to hit
Zephyros Ironheart, upon seeing an innocent person in danger, roars in fury. The stout soldier takes the dash action to run 60 feet directly toward the monster, trident poised for attack.
Lyra walks happily among the taller members of her party, her previous sad mood now completely gone, as if it had never been there at all. Just as it isn't in her nature to be quiet, it isn't in her nature to stay sad for long. She had already been content simply by tidying the shrine alongside Gareth and Yarina. She'd also been cheered by Eldrin's words — all the more meaningful since the elf was not one to offer them lightly. But to have been addressed directly by Tymora herself!? Wo-hooo! That had been a truly unexpected gift.
Lost in these happy thoughts, Lyra doesn't notice the danger ahead until Gareth stops and warns them all. "Is the adventure starting so soon!? Oh! Oh wow!" she exclaims, before adding, "You've got really keen eyes, Gareth!"
The halfling moves forward and extends a small hand, ready to call on a little burst of radiant magic. But then she hesitates — if she does, only Eldrin might be able to take advantage of the opening. So, with a bright grin and a bounce in her step, she simply moves forward for now, waiting for the right moment.
Lyra's Round 1:
Movement + Dash (50 feet)
Diving deep to the surface ♫ Nessa | Saxa | Auriel | Chase | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Meira had given a cheery "Hello!" and wave when she got to The Stonehill Inn. She again waved to Toblin on the way out as well. "We'll be back soon. Keep the place standing for us!"
The present situation had her far less cheery. It was a really big monster! With wings! And there were Yarina and Zephyros charging at the creature. But then she starts to focus in on the situation. She grabs her bow even as she is moving forward up the hill, keeping pace with Eldrin. Knocking an arrow, she eyes the distance, knowing it would be a difficult shot. She decides to try anyhow, loosing the arrow at the creature. "Let's not get too separated here."
(Moves forward 30 ft.)
(Shortbow Attack, Disadvantage: 9. Damage: 7)
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 || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Gareth enjoys walking with the others toward Adabra's house. He feels much more comfortable out of doors in the fresh air and warm sunshine. He considers what he felt after placing his coin down at the shrine to Tymora. There had been another presence there, just for a moment, brushing against his mind. Could it have been the goddess herself? He'll have to check in with Lyra when he gets a chance. Before he can though, his eyes spot something alarming in the distance. There's a huge, winged monster trying to batter down the door to a windmill. This must be where Adabra lives, and she's in trouble!
"Monster up ahead!" Gareth warns the others. Despite the circumstances, he smiles at the compliment from Lyra. "Thanks! This is what I do for a living...hunt monsters. Let's go save Adabra!"
The ranger moves into a better position where he can draw a bead on the monster with his longbow. He knocks an arrow, mimicking Meira, but his bow is larger and harder to draw. He pulls the string back to his cheek in a fluid, practiced move and then releases. The arrow goes flying, but it's way too high. Gareth curses. Normally, he's better at this, but he's still quite far away. He moves as far as he can toward the monster.
Longbow Attack - Nat 1 :(
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf - Lvl. 4 Halfling Rogue (The Shattered Obelisk) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan - Lvl. 10 Half-Elf Sorcerer (Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick - Lvl. 4 Aasimar Paladin (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Selene Albion - Lvl. 12 Human Ranger (In-Person Homebrew Campaign) ♦ Phaerdra Tor'viir - Lvl. 3 Drow Wizard (Exandria Sandbox Campaign)
The winged monster's attention snaps to the party as the arrows and bolt of fire whiz past it. However, it's Zephyros' furious roar that the monster hones in on. It ceases its assault on the windmill's front door, jumps onto the crumbling fireplace just to the North of it, and uses it to push off into the air. The ruined fireplace breaks down further under the weight of the monster. Its large wings work to lift the massive monster into the air; it flies directly at Zephyros and returns the war cry, "Meat!" as the monster's tail swings around and releases a lightning-fast quil from its spikey tail. You deftly duck under the quil without even missing a stride, the quil flying harmlessly past where your head was just moments ago and embedding into the grass behind you.
Tail attack: 12+5=17 Miss
The woman in the window throws another glass bottle out of the second-story window as the monster takes flight, but it falls well short and smashes into the ground. As the liquid releases from the smashed bottle, the grass and dirt sizzle and smoke, burning as the liquid absorbs into the ground.
Gareth,
Please provide one more attack before round 2. Your high perception and long-range give you a surprise round on the winged monster.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Round 2!
The winged monster, which is clearly a Manticore to the party now that they can see it up close, is about 15 feet away from Zephyros and 10 feet off the ground. It's flying straight at the armored soldier intent upon peeling his armor off and enjoying a nice brunchtime meal.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
(Forgot about the surprise attack! Here's another longbow shot.)
25 to hit for 11 damage!
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf - Lvl. 4 Halfling Rogue (The Shattered Obelisk) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan - Lvl. 10 Half-Elf Sorcerer (Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick - Lvl. 4 Aasimar Paladin (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Selene Albion - Lvl. 12 Human Ranger (In-Person Homebrew Campaign) ♦ Phaerdra Tor'viir - Lvl. 3 Drow Wizard (Exandria Sandbox Campaign)
Eldrin watches as the winged beast launches into the sky, its monstrous form silhouetted against the dull afternoon light. The roar of the creature is guttural, primal—a crude, singular desire made manifest. Meat.
His fingers twitch. His mind sharpens.
No calculations now. No hesitation. Only action.
As the beast surges forward, its deadly quill missing Zephyros by mere inches, Eldrin moves with precise purpose. His hands weave through the air, tracing intricate sigils in rapid succession as embers flicker between his fingertips. Power coils at his palm, a glowing ember swelling into a streak of flame.
This time, there is no miss.
The firebolt tears through the air, bright and unwavering, striking the creatures side just as it barrels toward the group.
Eldrin does not smile. There is no satisfaction in the strike—only inevitability.
His voice is calm, measured as he watches the creatures approach.
"Better."
Move: 30 feet forward
Action: Fire Bolt (19+5=24) to hit
Damage: Fire-4pts
Gareth's missed his first shot, but the second shot lands squarely in the monster's hide. He recognizes the creature from books he's read, studying the various types of monsters that prowl Faerun. It's a Manticore! He's never seen one before in real life, but here is another opportunity for a great trophy, if he and his new companions can manage to fell the beast. Manticores are no easy prey, after all. He knows it will be a hard fight.
"We're gonna make you work for your meal!" Gareth calls out. He releases another arrow at the Manticore.
Longbow Attack: 21 to hit for 7 damage
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf - Lvl. 4 Halfling Rogue (The Shattered Obelisk) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan - Lvl. 10 Half-Elf Sorcerer (Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick - Lvl. 4 Aasimar Paladin (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Selene Albion - Lvl. 12 Human Ranger (In-Person Homebrew Campaign) ♦ Phaerdra Tor'viir - Lvl. 3 Drow Wizard (Exandria Sandbox Campaign)
Nice! Your follow-up shot sinks deep into the monster's hindquarters mid-flight. It shrieks in pain but maintains its flight path towards Zephyros!
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights.
Yarina doesn’t break stride as the manticore launches into the air—if anything, the sight of it taking flight only sharpens her focus. She charges forward, boots pounding across the earth, closing the distance with terrifying speed. As the manticore descends toward Zephyros, its cruel eyes fixed on its prey, Yarina sees her moment.
With a roar of effort, she leaps—a silver-scaled missile of steel and fury—her greatsword arcing overhead in both hands. The sun gleams off the blade’s edge as it whistles through the air, aimed to strike the beast across the shoulder and wing in a devastating blow meant to bring it crashing down before it can even touch one of her allies.
Movement: 15 ft towards manticore then high jump (7 ft + half her height=~10)
Action: Greatsword to hit 16, damage 10 slashing