"A gift, from a secret benefactor who I will tell you more about in due time." Rasziel calmly turns and answers his companionas his deed is finished. "Now, shall we?" He continues, motioning for the massive bearded warrior to lead the way into the mountain.
The massive bearded warrior nods to Raszielwith approval as the way forward opens. He takes note of the sinister scarred man's disheveled appearance and thoroughly soaked attire, but says nothing. Zephyros knows there are things in this world best left unsaid. He knows the burdens one must carry alone all too well. "We shall." The warrior says in response as he places his fingers between the doors and pulls (or pushes) them open and enters into Axeholm.
"I await with bated breath. That was hardly the cantrip of some lowly hedge wizard." Lady Alisande looks far from satisfied by Rasziel's explanation, inwardly rueing the incineration of such a powerful incantation, when it might have made a fine addition to her deplorably barren spellbook. "What other marvels are you hiding up your sleeves, merchant?"
As Zephyros pushes open the fractionally parted gates to Axeholm, the mage's ears catch the plaintive wail reverberating through the breach. She freezes on the spot, one hand instinctively going to her blade. "Another point in favour of Tragedy of Fates, then. The rumours of stirrings within the forsaken bastion are true."
She follows the muscular warrior and the sinister scarred man into the gloom, with Ozymandias skipping behind in her wake.
"Is that how you view me, a lowly hedge wizard?" The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar says with a brief grin. "And you are welcome to check my sleeves at any time, but rest assured that I will share what is needed to accomplish our goals. If you are truly interested in knowing all about me and what is up my sleeves I suggest we take care of that over a bottle of good red wine once we are back in civilization." He adds with something of a playful tease to the young red-haired lady, then turning his attention to what is up ahead.
As the group enters the fortress, they quickly realize that there is no light within. Pitch-black darkness shrouds the ancient dwarven home. Just past the double doors, the fortress opens into a large room, its walls disappearing into darkness, including above you.
Recognizing the need, Gareth pulls a torch from his pack, illuminating the space after setting it aflame.
This great hall has a 40-foot-high ceiling supported by four thick stone pillars. A thick layer of dust covers the flagstone floor. In the middle of each wall past the entrance is a double door. Arrow slits are set high up in the north and south walls, and a small stone balcony protrudes from the wall above the east exit, 20 feet above the floor.
Once inside, the eerie song heard when the doors cracked open is more prominent. You can make out the words to the song as you get your bearings.
Silver fades and starlight dies, The mountain dreams beneath the stone. Once I danced ‘neath crystal skies, Now I sing, forever alone.
Dwarves of pride and hammers bright, Your laughter echoes still in vain. You sealed the gates to flee the blight, And left me to my song of pain.
Lyracocks her head as she watches Raszielcast the spell that unlocks the great doors, a puzzled look flickering across her face. How curious that he's been holding onto such a spell all this time ... after first suggesting they break the doors down and then letting Meirawork with her tools!
The halfling raises an index finger toward the purple-robed man, clearly about to point this out. But then, seeing the exchange between him and Alisande—ending with his playful suggestion that they further discuss over a bottle of red wine—she blinks, pauses… and lowers the finger again. Even she knows better than to meddle in someone else's flirtation!
The cleric of Tymorafollows everyone inside, thanking Garethfor bringing a little light into the eerie hall. As the haunting song grows clearer, she slows, head tilted, trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from. Does it seem to come from any particular direction? She can’t help but feel surprised that the hall is otherwise empty—she had almost expected to find bodies lying around! (Perception: 18)
Then leans toward Meiraand whispers, "Not that I want to criticize this particular singer, but honestly ... I like your music best!" Her tone is light, almost teasing—an new effort to try sound cheerful, even as a shiver runs down her spine. This place is a bit scary, and they've only just stepped into the hall!
Meira had given Rasziel a questioning look when he returned out of the rain with the scroll. And she had given Alisande a small grin as she teasingly apologized about not having the key.
She watched, a bit surprised as the man's magic scrolls just opened up the gates. "Huh, you made that look simple. Does being soaked and disheveled fuel your magic? Or does rain just bring you trinkets?"
Keeping close to Lyra, Meira also heads inside. She laughs lightly at the halfling's whisper. "Perhaps I could provide some accompaniment. Or maybe even sing harmony. Though that may not help." She does smile at the compliment though.
Moving into the dark place, she also pulls her goggles over her eyes. Glancing around, she suggests continuing on forward.
"A hedge wizard? No, not when you can pluck feats like that from the aether." Alisande scoffs dismissively, though an enigmatic smile alights on her face nonetheless. "I will hold you to that, Rasziel, but know that my inquisitiveness only ripens under the influence of a fine vintage."
The noblewoman steps deeper into the darkness, shooting Gareth a grateful look when he lights a torch. "That song... " She wonders aloud, one hand gripping her unsheathed sword, as a shiver runs up her spine. "A lament for what was lost. A remembrance of dwarven splendour at its apex, for the singer's freedom to frolic beneath moon and stars. A dirge for the loneliness that followed, and the bitterness they still feel."
The mage sends her familiar up to the balcony, to investigate the upper floor. Alisande herself turns in a circle, attempting to pinpoint the direction from which the song seems to emerge, or glean some other clue as to the best path forward.
Zephyros takes in the room with a scrutinizing gaze. The Banshee's lament causes the hairs on his neck to stand up as he steps forward. He tries to listen for the sounds inside the fortress but finds it difficult over his companions talking. The bearded warrior states, "It's not safe here. We should be cautious." He grabs his trident with both hands as he cautiously moves forward towards the southern door to listen closer for sounds of movement, before opening the door. Telepathically, Ironheart asks Felagi to fly up to the arrow slits on the southern wall and peak inside.
Azazel moves to the western double door where he finds the door unlatched and cracked open. Your accountant reports to you that it hears a low guttural growl coming from beyond the door. It sounds as if several creatures are moving closer to the door.
Lyra,
While the banshee's lament seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You believe the song originates from somewhere on the upper floor to the south.
Meira,
You move forward with Zephyros towards the southern double door.
Your goggles giving you dark vision, you notice Felagi fly up to the arrow slit overlooking the southern double door and you see a figure just past the bird grab it with spectral hands.
Alisande,
You have no idea where the Banshee's lament is coming from. It sounds as if the very walls around you sing the lament.
Ozymandias flies up to the balcony. He reports back that there is a double door partially opened. Your Tressym informs you via your telepathic link, that in the thick dust that covers the ground their are recent footprints leading into the corridor beyond.
Zephyros,
You step forward, trident at the ready. You don't hear anything from beyond the door aside from the Banshee's lament. You open the double door and see a narrow corridor with arrow slits on both sides. Another defensive passageway it seems.
Felagi flies up and perches inside the narrow arrow slit above you. Your red tailed hawk begins to report the space beyond is too dark for him to see anything, but is cut off mid report. Unusual for Felagi to go silent mid sentence.
Gareth continues to hold the torch for the group and waits for direction from his allies.
The Banshee's lament continues:
Moonlight weeps through cracks of shale, Its glow a ghost upon the wall. Hear my heart within the wail— The last elf voice in Axeholm’s hall.
Do not wake the dwarven dead, Their dreams are chains, their grief a blade. For those who enter, moonlight red, Will paint their souls, and never fade.
Meiragasps. "Something grabbed Felagi!" She looks at Zephyros. "Spectral hands. Up there." She points up to the arrow slit above the southern door, more for others' benefit than the warrior. Quickly she has her shortbow in hand, though with no target she only holds it for now.
Lyragasps too, glancing toward Meira. Poor Felagi! "Spectral hands? Hmm… I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I'm pretty sure the song's coming from that direction as well!"
Rasziel was used to hide his emotions well ever since the contract was signed, but now there is a slight twitch in his scarred face as the young red-haired lady calls his bluff. He had been almost certain she would decline the bold offer to share a bottle of wine with someone like him, even if he somehow would manage to procure one fitting her taste and station. He realized now he couldn't quite recall the last time he had even tried to enjoy himself, there had certainly been such times, but they seemed so distant now. He needed to decide what he could share with her, and what he could not. At least he had bought himself some time now to make that decision, but now the mission needed his full and undivided attention. He gives the stylish rogue a quick grin at her comment, but he understood the others would all be even more suspicious of him now.
"A requiem for the tragic union between noble races..."The young dark-haired purple-robed man with the sinister-looking scar says conteplative with a solemn nod. "...I would venture to guess that the singer is none other than the elven lady herself, lamenting her lost love, and the many victims of the dread plague." He then stops and looks to the west, warily stepping back towards the north. "We should expect company from the west, likely the restless remnants of the dwarven enclave, I suggest making our stand to the north."
Meanwhile Azazel ascends to try to spot if it was indeed the banshee that had snatched the scouting raptor.
Gareth moves to help Zephyros lift the beam from the door but before he can the burly man tosses it aside with ease. The ranger tries not to look too impressed but claps the fighter on the shoulder with a grin. "Well done."
Rasziel begins to read from a scroll, and the magic locking the door fades. Gareth won't even begin to guess where he got such a powerful magic item. The doors open with a shudder and a wailing emerges from inside, a sound so unearthly it raises the hair on the back of the ranger's neck.
As the rain pelts them with even more fury and the lightning and thunder grows ever closer, Gareth sighs and follows Zephyros inside the fortress. The hood of his cloak is almost plastered to his head with the rain. "I guess I'll take the possibility of dark spirits or catching the plague over getting struck by lightning," he says, pulling out a torch to chase away the shadows lying heavily over the abandoned fortress.
As the ranger listens to the song, he can't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over him. The song is so plaintive, so lonesome. This is a dark place, he thinks to himself. A place of death and sorrow. His apprehension grows the further they travel inside.
As the song continues, Gareth suppresses a shudder. "The last elf voice in Axeholm," he murmurs. "Could the singer be the moon elf you mentioned earlier, Alisande? What was her name again?"
The last verse is a clear warning, and it does nothing to quell the growing dread Gareth feels, which quickly turns to alarm when Meira gasps. Gareth follows Meira's pointed finger, and he moves toward the southern door, unslinging his longbow at the same time.
"Come out and show yourself, specter," the ranger calls, his voice much calmer than he actually feels inside.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
"Ozymandias has found something on the floor above. There are open doors beyond the balcony, should we need an exit. But it would appear we are not the only ones to stir in the halls of Axeholm. There are footprints up there." Lady Alisande says, gesturing to the balcony and the floor above, her signet ring glinting in the light of Gareth's torch.
When the dirge drifts to its third and fourth verses, she frowns pensively, meditating on the haunting lines and the lingering motif of moonlight.
"The elf-maiden's name was Vyldara. An ambassador to the dwarves of Axeholm, before the doom befell them. This threnody suggests that she was not interred peaceably with her beloved Lord Kithran, as the tome I read led me to believe. It would seem this blight denied them even the mercy of a shared repose." Alisande murmurs in response to Gareth's question.
The words have scarcely left her lips when Rasziel warns of undead moving from the west, followed by Meira raising the alarm about spectres assailing Zephyros' familiar. There is no time for hesitation, despite the sudden feeling of dread burbling in the pit of her stomach. The mage immediately bounds to action, rummaging around in her large backpack and drawing forth the peculiar broom that has been stuffed among her possessions.
"Tir Farahan!" Alisande cries out, a word of arcane power that causes the broom to shiver with power, wobbling into the air before her. She springs atop it at once, taking her seat side-saddle. The broom surges upward, flying the wizard to the very top of the forty foot high ceiling.
"Be careful Lady Immerwood."Rasziel says, giving the young red-haired lady a worried glance as she lets her broom carry her aloft. It was good tactics if the approaching dwarves were corporeal undead swarming them, but he feared the banshee might bring Alisande down from her lofty position and into the clutches of the approaching swarm of enemies. He hoped Azazel would lay his eyes on the banshee quickly so that they could tell if she would join the fray or not.
The Banshee's lament stops abruptly. Instead, you all hear, "I'm sorry, little bird." Just before Felagifalls to the ground and shatters into a thousand ice crystals that scatter and disappear at Zephyros' feet.
A half second later, the western double doors burst outward as several creatures rush into the room. The stench hits you — a foul mix of grave mold and rot. Six ghouls spill into the room, their movements jerky and animalistic. Torn dwarven armor still clings to some of them — remnants of the warriors who once guarded this hall. Their faces are twisted parodies of dwarven pride, mouths split too wide, teeth black with decay. One hisses as torchlight glints off its sunken eyes. Another lets out a rasping screech that echoes from pillar to pillar. Then, in a blur of motion, they rush forward, claws scraping stone, howling in hunger and hate. Their snarls drown out even the mountain wind.
Rasziel,
You take several large steps backward to the north, where the group entered, just before the monsters enter the room.
Azazel flies up and confirms your suspicions that a banshee is the one who grabbed your allies' familiar. However, the look on the banshee's face is not one of anger, but of sadness.
Gareth,
The Banshee floats through the wall 30 feet above you after your challenge, but the ghouls burst out of the western passageway before she can act or say anything.
Alisande,
You jump onto your broom and fly up to the ceiling as the room is breached by the undead.
"A gift, from a secret benefactor who I will tell you more about in due time." Rasziel calmly turns and answers his companion as his deed is finished. "Now, shall we?" He continues, motioning for the massive bearded warrior to lead the way into the mountain.
The massive bearded warrior nods to Rasziel with approval as the way forward opens. He takes note of the sinister scarred man's disheveled appearance and thoroughly soaked attire, but says nothing. Zephyros knows there are things in this world best left unsaid. He knows the burdens one must carry alone all too well. "We shall." The warrior says in response as he places his fingers between the doors and pulls (or pushes) them open and enters into Axeholm.
"I await with bated breath. That was hardly the cantrip of some lowly hedge wizard." Lady Alisande looks far from satisfied by Rasziel's explanation, inwardly rueing the incineration of such a powerful incantation, when it might have made a fine addition to her deplorably barren spellbook. "What other marvels are you hiding up your sleeves, merchant?"
As Zephyros pushes open the fractionally parted gates to Axeholm, the mage's ears catch the plaintive wail reverberating through the breach. She freezes on the spot, one hand instinctively going to her blade. "Another point in favour of Tragedy of Fates, then. The rumours of stirrings within the forsaken bastion are true."
She follows the muscular warrior and the sinister scarred man into the gloom, with Ozymandias skipping behind in her wake.
"Is that how you view me, a lowly hedge wizard?" The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar says with a brief grin. "And you are welcome to check my sleeves at any time, but rest assured that I will share what is needed to accomplish our goals. If you are truly interested in knowing all about me and what is up my sleeves I suggest we take care of that over a bottle of good red wine once we are back in civilization." He adds with something of a playful tease to the young red-haired lady, then turning his attention to what is up ahead.
As the group enters the fortress, they quickly realize that there is no light within. Pitch-black darkness shrouds the ancient dwarven home. Just past the double doors, the fortress opens into a large room, its walls disappearing into darkness, including above you.
Recognizing the need, Gareth pulls a torch from his pack, illuminating the space after setting it aflame.
This great hall has a 40-foot-high ceiling supported by four thick stone pillars. A thick layer of dust covers the flagstone floor. In the middle of each wall past the entrance is a double door. Arrow slits are set high up in the north and south walls, and a small stone balcony protrudes from the wall above the east exit, 20 feet above the floor.
Once inside, the eerie song heard when the doors cracked open is more prominent. You can make out the words to the song as you get your bearings.
Silver fades and starlight dies,
The mountain dreams beneath the stone.
Once I danced ‘neath crystal skies,
Now I sing, forever alone.
Dwarves of pride and hammers bright,
Your laughter echoes still in vain.
You sealed the gates to flee the blight,
And left me to my song of pain.
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
Lyra cocks her head as she watches Rasziel cast the spell that unlocks the great doors, a puzzled look flickering across her face. How curious that he's been holding onto such a spell all this time ... after first suggesting they break the doors down and then letting Meira work with her tools!
The halfling raises an index finger toward the purple-robed man, clearly about to point this out. But then, seeing the exchange between him and Alisande—ending with his playful suggestion that they further discuss over a bottle of red wine—she blinks, pauses… and lowers the finger again. Even she knows better than to meddle in someone else's flirtation!
The cleric of Tymora follows everyone inside, thanking Gareth for bringing a little light into the eerie hall. As the haunting song grows clearer, she slows, head tilted, trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from. Does it seem to come from any particular direction? She can’t help but feel surprised that the hall is otherwise empty—she had almost expected to find bodies lying around! (Perception: 18)
Then leans toward Meira and whispers, "Not that I want to criticize this particular singer, but honestly ... I like your music best!" Her tone is light, almost teasing—an new effort to try sound cheerful, even as a shiver runs down her spine. This place is a bit scary, and they've only just stepped into the hall!
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
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
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
Meira had given Rasziel a questioning look when he returned out of the rain with the scroll. And she had given Alisande a small grin as she teasingly apologized about not having the key.
She watched, a bit surprised as the man's magic scrolls just opened up the gates. "Huh, you made that look simple. Does being soaked and disheveled fuel your magic? Or does rain just bring you trinkets?"
Keeping close to Lyra, Meira also heads inside. She laughs lightly at the halfling's whisper. "Perhaps I could provide some accompaniment. Or maybe even sing harmony. Though that may not help." She does smile at the compliment though.
Moving into the dark place, she also pulls her goggles over her eyes. Glancing around, she suggests continuing on forward.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
"A hedge wizard? No, not when you can pluck feats like that from the aether." Alisande scoffs dismissively, though an enigmatic smile alights on her face nonetheless. "I will hold you to that, Rasziel, but know that my inquisitiveness only ripens under the influence of a fine vintage."
The noblewoman steps deeper into the darkness, shooting Gareth a grateful look when he lights a torch. "That song... " She wonders aloud, one hand gripping her unsheathed sword, as a shiver runs up her spine. "A lament for what was lost. A remembrance of dwarven splendour at its apex, for the singer's freedom to frolic beneath moon and stars. A dirge for the loneliness that followed, and the bitterness they still feel."
The mage sends her familiar up to the balcony, to investigate the upper floor. Alisande herself turns in a circle, attempting to pinpoint the direction from which the song seems to emerge, or glean some other clue as to the best path forward.
Perception: 6
Ozymandias' Perception: 13
Zephyros takes in the room with a scrutinizing gaze. The Banshee's lament causes the hairs on his neck to stand up as he steps forward. He tries to listen for the sounds inside the fortress but finds it difficult over his companions talking. The bearded warrior states, "It's not safe here. We should be cautious." He grabs his trident with both hands as he cautiously moves forward towards the southern door to listen closer for sounds of movement, before opening the door. Telepathically, Ironheart asks Felagi to fly up to the arrow slits on the southern wall and peak inside.
Perception: 12
Felagi's perception: 20
Rasziel,
Azazel moves to the western double door where he finds the door unlatched and cracked open. Your accountant reports to you that it hears a low guttural growl coming from beyond the door. It sounds as if several creatures are moving closer to the door.
Lyra,
While the banshee's lament seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You believe the song originates from somewhere on the upper floor to the south.
Meira,
You move forward with Zephyros towards the southern double door.
Your goggles giving you dark vision, you notice Felagi fly up to the arrow slit overlooking the southern double door and you see a figure just past the bird grab it with spectral hands.
Alisande,
You have no idea where the Banshee's lament is coming from. It sounds as if the very walls around you sing the lament.
Ozymandias flies up to the balcony. He reports back that there is a double door partially opened. Your Tressym informs you via your telepathic link, that in the thick dust that covers the ground their are recent footprints leading into the corridor beyond.
Zephyros,
You step forward, trident at the ready. You don't hear anything from beyond the door aside from the Banshee's lament. You open the double door and see a narrow corridor with arrow slits on both sides. Another defensive passageway it seems.
Felagi flies up and perches inside the narrow arrow slit above you. Your red tailed hawk begins to report the space beyond is too dark for him to see anything, but is cut off mid report. Unusual for Felagi to go silent mid sentence.
Gareth continues to hold the torch for the group and waits for direction from his allies.
The Banshee's lament continues:
Moonlight weeps through cracks of shale,
Its glow a ghost upon the wall.
Hear my heart within the wail—
The last elf voice in Axeholm’s hall.
Do not wake the dwarven dead,
Their dreams are chains, their grief a blade.
For those who enter, moonlight red,
Will paint their souls, and never fade.
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
Meira gasps. "Something grabbed Felagi!" She looks at Zephyros. "Spectral hands. Up there." She points up to the arrow slit above the southern door, more for others' benefit than the warrior. Quickly she has her shortbow in hand, though with no target she only holds it for now.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi || Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric
Meira Dheran, Rogue || Qirynna Thadri, Wizard || Crisaryn Melkial, Sorcerer || Bronnryn Hethgar, Cleric
Lyra gasps too, glancing toward Meira. Poor Felagi! "Spectral hands? Hmm… I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I'm pretty sure the song's coming from that direction as well!"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren
Rasziel was used to hide his emotions well ever since the contract was signed, but now there is a slight twitch in his scarred face as the young red-haired lady calls his bluff. He had been almost certain she would decline the bold offer to share a bottle of wine with someone like him, even if he somehow would manage to procure one fitting her taste and station. He realized now he couldn't quite recall the last time he had even tried to enjoy himself, there had certainly been such times, but they seemed so distant now. He needed to decide what he could share with her, and what he could not. At least he had bought himself some time now to make that decision, but now the mission needed his full and undivided attention. He gives the stylish rogue a quick grin at her comment, but he understood the others would all be even more suspicious of him now.
"A requiem for the tragic union between noble races..." The young dark-haired purple-robed man with the sinister-looking scar says conteplative with a solemn nod. "...I would venture to guess that the singer is none other than the elven lady herself, lamenting her lost love, and the many victims of the dread plague." He then stops and looks to the west, warily stepping back towards the north. "We should expect company from the west, likely the restless remnants of the dwarven enclave, I suggest making our stand to the north."
Meanwhile Azazel ascends to try to spot if it was indeed the banshee that had snatched the scouting raptor.
Gareth moves to help Zephyros lift the beam from the door but before he can the burly man tosses it aside with ease. The ranger tries not to look too impressed but claps the fighter on the shoulder with a grin. "Well done."
Rasziel begins to read from a scroll, and the magic locking the door fades. Gareth won't even begin to guess where he got such a powerful magic item. The doors open with a shudder and a wailing emerges from inside, a sound so unearthly it raises the hair on the back of the ranger's neck.
As the rain pelts them with even more fury and the lightning and thunder grows ever closer, Gareth sighs and follows Zephyros inside the fortress. The hood of his cloak is almost plastered to his head with the rain. "I guess I'll take the possibility of dark spirits or catching the plague over getting struck by lightning," he says, pulling out a torch to chase away the shadows lying heavily over the abandoned fortress.
As the ranger listens to the song, he can't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over him. The song is so plaintive, so lonesome. This is a dark place, he thinks to himself. A place of death and sorrow. His apprehension grows the further they travel inside.
As the song continues, Gareth suppresses a shudder. "The last elf voice in Axeholm," he murmurs. "Could the singer be the moon elf you mentioned earlier, Alisande? What was her name again?"
The last verse is a clear warning, and it does nothing to quell the growing dread Gareth feels, which quickly turns to alarm when Meira gasps. Gareth follows Meira's pointed finger, and he moves toward the southern door, unslinging his longbow at the same time.
"Come out and show yourself, specter," the ranger calls, his voice much calmer than he actually feels inside.
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
Pronouns: She / Her
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures
"Ozymandias has found something on the floor above. There are open doors beyond the balcony, should we need an exit. But it would appear we are not the only ones to stir in the halls of Axeholm. There are footprints up there." Lady Alisande says, gesturing to the balcony and the floor above, her signet ring glinting in the light of Gareth's torch.
When the dirge drifts to its third and fourth verses, she frowns pensively, meditating on the haunting lines and the lingering motif of moonlight.
"The elf-maiden's name was Vyldara. An ambassador to the dwarves of Axeholm, before the doom befell them. This threnody suggests that she was not interred peaceably with her beloved Lord Kithran, as the tome I read led me to believe. It would seem this blight denied them even the mercy of a shared repose." Alisande murmurs in response to Gareth's question.
The words have scarcely left her lips when Rasziel warns of undead moving from the west, followed by Meira raising the alarm about spectres assailing Zephyros' familiar. There is no time for hesitation, despite the sudden feeling of dread burbling in the pit of her stomach. The mage immediately bounds to action, rummaging around in her large backpack and drawing forth the peculiar broom that has been stuffed among her possessions.
"Tir Farahan!" Alisande cries out, a word of arcane power that causes the broom to shiver with power, wobbling into the air before her. She springs atop it at once, taking her seat side-saddle. The broom surges upward, flying the wizard to the very top of the forty foot high ceiling.
"Be careful Lady Immerwood." Rasziel says, giving the young red-haired lady a worried glance as she lets her broom carry her aloft. It was good tactics if the approaching dwarves were corporeal undead swarming them, but he feared the banshee might bring Alisande down from her lofty position and into the clutches of the approaching swarm of enemies. He hoped Azazel would lay his eyes on the banshee quickly so that they could tell if she would join the fray or not.
The Banshee's lament stops abruptly. Instead, you all hear, "I'm sorry, little bird." Just before Felagi falls to the ground and shatters into a thousand ice crystals that scatter and disappear at Zephyros' feet.
A half second later, the western double doors burst outward as several creatures rush into the room. The stench hits you — a foul mix of grave mold and rot. Six ghouls spill into the room, their movements jerky and animalistic. Torn dwarven armor still clings to some of them — remnants of the warriors who once guarded this hall. Their faces are twisted parodies of dwarven pride, mouths split too wide, teeth black with decay. One hisses as torchlight glints off its sunken eyes. Another lets out a rasping screech that echoes from pillar to pillar. Then, in a blur of motion, they rush forward, claws scraping stone, howling in hunger and hate. Their snarls drown out even the mountain wind.
Rasziel,
You take several large steps backward to the north, where the group entered, just before the monsters enter the room.
Azazel flies up and confirms your suspicions that a banshee is the one who grabbed your allies' familiar. However, the look on the banshee's face is not one of anger, but of sadness.
Gareth,
The Banshee floats through the wall 30 feet above you after your challenge, but the ghouls burst out of the western passageway before she can act or say anything.
Alisande,
You jump onto your broom and fly up to the ceiling as the room is breached by the undead.
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. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Gareth Initiative - 18 (rolling on my sheet isn't working at the moment for some reason)
"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." ~ Albert Einstein
Pronouns: She / Her
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures