From the cover of shadow, Riven observed events unfolding. The woman was right—the old woman was not the enemy. Not yet.
His gaze flicked back to the witch, to the way she smiled through the weight of years that had not been hers just days before. She had come before this happened. That mattered.
Riven stepped just enough into the light for his words to be heard but not so much as to draw attention. His voice was low, smooth—careful.
“She made the journey here before this began.” He let the thought settle, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Which means she may have been privy to something. So let her speak.”
The officer lifts his sword away as Vazo'yn inserts himself between the woman and the rust-pocked blade. The soldier does not stow the blade however, and watches warily. The old woman takes Vazo'yn's offered arm. She looks up at him with a near-toothless smile, then to Joy to offer the same.
"Now you're a good boy." She says while grasping at Vazo’yn’s arm a little tighter. She licks her lips and purses and moves them in an animated effort to move moisture about her mouth. She glances over at Riven, only partially revealing himself to the light of the morning sun. "No, unfortunately, I do not know. But THEY know. The Fates. They speak to me sometimes.” She cranes her neck up to give Vazo’yn a knowing look.
"Bah!" Giantstorm scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms against his chest, a physical display of rejecting her statement outright.
The old woman cackles again. "Oh me, oh my. Don't mind the mayor. He thinks that if you can't see it, it doesn't exist. A practical man and quite good at running a town on the frontier of the Empire, and without much of its resources, but a man who lacks vision."
The old woman shifts her gaze from Vazo’yn to those around her who have offered support. She nods a silent ‘thank you’ to each of them. Then from her stooped position, she regards Giantstorm again. "I am here to help, if I may. The Fates couldn't see before, but they do now. Will you hear their message?" She asks the mayor. He remains unconvinced, but does not refuse her. Instead, he looks to the unfamiliar faces who have rebuffed his dismissive position.
“The East!” One of the elders says before the other woman could answer Randa. “I felt it too. The East.”
Randa’s pleading mostly falls on deaf ears, for though elves exist in this town, their numbers are few and those who have noticed the passage of time are generally more interested in their sudden confrontation with their own mortality. However, one or two elves do answer the call to stand with the feeble of Trostenwald. They move to take her place. One that approaches notices the weapon Randa carries and the commotion at the town square. He tilts his head in that direction and fires a glance toward it with his eyes, excusing her from the mass of older people here to investigate whatever seems so important at the town square.
Vazo'yn looks deep into the frail woman's eyes and sees the wisdom that lies behind them. He nods to her, determined to hear her guidance.
Turning to the mayor, Vazo'yn fixes the man with his golden gaze and begins to implore him.
"Something brought her here right at this moment. You might deny the Fates, but you cannot deny what stands right before your eyes."
He slips his hand into the pouch slung over his shoulder where his deck rests, ever at his side. From it, he takes the fateful card he pulled only a few minutes ago. He looks down at it in quiet contemplation, tracing a thin, pale finger across the imagery and whispering a quiet call to his ancestors. He feels their undeniable presence beside him and his confidence swells. He looks up and holds the card up to show it to the others.
"This Mists. This revealed itself to me this morning, moments before the town awoke to this malady. It heralds something unseen but unavoidable..."
He pauses, letting his words settle across the crowd, though his attention is focused on the mayor.
"We have no idea what brought this on. She brings the barest glimmer of insight we have. We ignore the lady's advice at our peril."
"Go home Aunt Kristin, those people over there look like they know what's going on. I'll go have a chat, and maybe find out who's responsible for what happened to you." Ylis gives her aunt a hug then scampers off towards the town meeting in the middle of the road.
Surely somebody in this place knows what's going on. They're like adults and stuff.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The tiny invisible blonde is deeply moved by what she sees, being a quite empathic creature she in fact cries her little empathic heart out. There were worse fates than theirs though, and there were so many alive still that were confused and afraid and that needed help now. She quickly flies back to her ward and messages what she had seen. The dark-haired man simply nods, seemingly to himself as he hears the blonde in his mind.
"I'm so so sorry for your old ones. We should go and find someone who might know something about what is going on here so that we can make things right again." The young dark-haired man says in a calm and comforting tone to the old man, looking around to see where people were heading, if there was a town hall or something where people might gather in a desperate situation.
Persuasion to get the old man along: 19 Perception to notice anyone who don't seem like a scared and confused townsfolk: 13 (Help action from the tiny blonde.)
Riven remained where he was, taking in the exchange. The old woman’s claim wasn’t what caught his attention—it was her timing. She didn’t know what was coming, but she knew to be here. A distinction, small and could be construed as a coincedence.
His eyes shifted between her and the mayor. He was the type to dismiss what he didn’t understand, relying on what was in front of him rather than considering what might be missing. He lack vision, relying more on pragmatism.
And then there was him, presenting a card—The Mists—as if it could begin to offer some beginning of an explanation. Maybe it could. Maybe it was telling them what they already knew.
Either way, Riven needed more.
His voice cut through the conversation, level and direct.
“You said the Fates see now. What exactly do they see?”
Insight: To determine whether the old woman truly believes what she’s saying—or if she’s playing them: 8
Giles remains still, and quiet. Many things are happening at once, the arrival of the old woman, talk of mists, more individuals joining the conversation ...
“We’ve seen too much already to pretend nothing strange is happening,” Joy says gently, her gaze flicking to the mirror-maddened villagers nearby. “If the Fates have given you a message, I want to hear it.”
Insight to gauge the truth of the woman's answer for herself: 10
Noticing the raised voices, the still fairly young dark-haired man moves towards the town square with the old grieving man in tow, barely hearing an old woman offer her help and ask who would hear the message of the fates. "I want to hear..." He blurts out a bit too loud, then looking around a bit awkwardly. "...I mean who wouldn't want to hear about that right?" He says an a lowered voice, shrugging before making his way closer to the old woman. "Sorry for being late into this, whatever this is, but I want to help if I can. What is it that the Fates have seen, and more importantly has that anthing to do with what happened here?"He asks with both curiosity and desperation in his emerald eyes, only now taking note of the people around the old woman.
Insight to determine if she just turned senile at her quickly advanced age: 11
Mayor Giantstorm considers Vazo’yn’s words, and, finding no counterargument forming in his mind, waves his hand at the old woman to proceed just as Ylis hops into the growing crowd of people.
Encouraged more by Riven’s question spoken from the shadows and Joy’s expression of interest than by the mayor’s permission, the old woman releases her hold on Vazo’yn’s arm. She unfastens a leather mat, handing it to Vazo’yn and instructing him to lay it on the ground. As the mat unfurls, the old witch produces a leather bag, adorned with runic symbols carved into stones and bones that are stitched into the bag. Vazo’yn’s Detect Magic can see an assortment of low-level magics, which radiate from the bag like the warmth of a heated stone.
As Joy and Riven watch the old woman, however, they find that at least at this moment, she is extremely difficult to read. She appears genuine, but she could also be amazing at a game of cards.
As Jack approaches, adding to the growing interest of the crowd and townsfolk who now have gathered around the town square, the old woman struggles to hold up her runic bag above her head. One arm does not have a full range of motion now and succeeds only in raising it to shoulder height, where she releases the bag with the debilitated arm to raise the bag up to hold it triumphantly before the townsfolk.
“I have been sent!” She declares loudly for all to hear. Her voice carries supernaturally far and Ylis is reasonably certain the voice is assisted with a common, theatrical cantrip. “The Fates of this world stood as watchful sentinels at the world’s birth and can see its end. They rarely intervene in meaningful ways! For they are watchers!” Her voice booms at the last word for emphasis. Jack can tell, with reasonable certainty, that this mysterious seer is not entirely senile, though he also suspects some senility is required to speak with the Fates.
“Their vision has been clouded, obscured by some great evil! Now the veil has fallen away and they see!” She dumps the bag out onto the leather mat. Bones, some of which look like they belong to small animals, some which appear to belong to more sapient creatures, tumble out onto the mat with some polished stones of different colors. The old woman takes in the sight, interpreting the message that has been given to her through the materials cast onto the leather mat.
Joy watches as the bones and stones tumble onto the mat, the strange assortment clicking softly against the leather. Her brows furrow, not in skepticism, but in thoughtful focus. She kneels beside the old woman, pulling her worn Book of Lathander’s Teachings from her satchel with care.
She opens it reverently, flipping through the sun-kissed pages until she reaches a chapter on omens and celestial signs—passages that speak of divine messages hidden in the world’s natural patterns.
Riven remained just beyond the light, watching in silence as the old woman with practiced ease handled the bag of bones and stones.
A diviner, then. Or at least someone who wanted to be believed as one.
His gaze flicked to the crowd, noting how the townsfolk leaned in, drawn by her booming. She wanted to be heard. She wanted to be listened to.
Then came the bones. A deliberate spill, the clatter unnervingly sharp in the momentary hush that followed. Riven did not step forward, nor did he break his stillness, but he watched carefully.
What was she really seeing? And what did she want them to believe?
Vazo'yn watches on with respectful wonder, quick to follow the elder's instructions and to aid her when it was needed.
The portents she casts with the contents of her bag are unreadable to Vazo'yn, but he has come to trust the unknown and the unknowable. He is simply crouched by her side, watching, waiting for her to reveal her vision.
The fairly young dark-haired man watches attentively as the old oracle throws her bones on the leather mat, eager to hear what they say. As a young woman kneels beside the oracle and opens some old book on the ground he moves in behind her to peek. Was she the oracle's assistant and was the book needed to interpret the bones? He feels himself almost bursting with curiosity now, and then it strikes him that unless the young woman for some reason were unaffected she had been a child only moments ago, the thought hard to fathom. He looks up as there is suddenly a voice from the shadows, quietly hushing at him as these things sometimes takes time and you can't rush people, particularly old oracles, or their interpretation of their bones might be distorted.
Randa came running in and found something somewhat perplexing a diverse group of people watching an old woman cast bones, the method of divination was somewhat familiar but the circumstances were certainly not.
She nudged the young dark haired man ( Jack ) next to her, " What is she divining for? The Eastern Wind that Reaps Years?"
Her eyes widen and she falls to her knees with a worrisome crack as she impacts the floor. She pays it no mind as an inarticulate exclamation escapes her lips. Tears begin to flow freely down her cheeks. “13 days.” she says quietly, barely a whisper and some people lean in to capture what she had said. The information is visibly processed behind the old woman’s sunken eyes.
“13 Days!” She exclaims. “Until every living person on this planet is bones and dust.”
The crowd around the town square releases a shared utterance of unimaginable despair. Before allowing the crowd to get away from her, however, the old woman raises her booming voice again.“There is a way. I see it, yes, a way. The Fates have given me the way.” She picks up what appears to be part of a finger bone. She holds it before the townsfolk. “Heroes! Seven heroes, willing to rest the fate of the world on their shoulders by traveling EAST! East, to the Ashkeeper Peaks. Seven volunteers will face down the unseen danger. There, they will decide all of our fate. If they face this danger, the Fates can see a future for us all, and maybe, even for those who have already fallen. It can now be seen. Who shall volunteer?!”
The townsfolk all look around at each other with fear and uncertainty. None seem particularly enthused by the idea of risking their lives. Their sheepish glances and hand-wringing turn to shameful, downcast eyes.
Joy You scan the omen and instantly spot a lie. Whatever has delivered this message has communicated most of what the old witch has said, but they offer a far less certain outcome. There is a chance, indeed, but these volunteers are not guaranteed success by any means. Nor are any of them shielded from a very likely demise. You can also see that whatever is causing this is a great and terrible evil. The old woman has certainly read the same and intentionally withheld this information.
From the cover of shadow, Riven observed events unfolding. The woman was right—the old woman was not the enemy. Not yet.
His gaze flicked back to the witch, to the way she smiled through the weight of years that had not been hers just days before. She had come before this happened. That mattered.
Riven stepped just enough into the light for his words to be heard but not so much as to draw attention. His voice was low, smooth—careful.
“She made the journey here before this began.” He let the thought settle, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Which means she may have been privy to something. So let her speak.”
" What direction was the wind blowing from?", Randa queried the now-elders.
She looked around for other elves, they would be the least effected.....
Somewhat nervously she raised her voice above the general conversation.
" Northern Cousins! We are still mostly hale. Can you assist the others that are now aged into shelter and off the street!"
Persuasion- 9
The officer lifts his sword away as Vazo'yn inserts himself between the woman and the rust-pocked blade. The soldier does not stow the blade however, and watches warily. The old woman takes Vazo'yn's offered arm. She looks up at him with a near-toothless smile, then to Joy to offer the same.
"Now you're a good boy." She says while grasping at Vazo’yn’s arm a little tighter. She licks her lips and purses and moves them in an animated effort to move moisture about her mouth. She glances over at Riven, only partially revealing himself to the light of the morning sun. "No, unfortunately, I do not know. But THEY know. The Fates. They speak to me sometimes.” She cranes her neck up to give Vazo’yn a knowing look.
"Bah!" Giantstorm scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms against his chest, a physical display of rejecting her statement outright.
The old woman cackles again. "Oh me, oh my. Don't mind the mayor. He thinks that if you can't see it, it doesn't exist. A practical man and quite good at running a town on the frontier of the Empire, and without much of its resources, but a man who lacks vision."
The old woman shifts her gaze from Vazo’yn to those around her who have offered support. She nods a silent ‘thank you’ to each of them. Then from her stooped position, she regards Giantstorm again. "I am here to help, if I may. The Fates couldn't see before, but they do now. Will you hear their message?" She asks the mayor. He remains unconvinced, but does not refuse her. Instead, he looks to the unfamiliar faces who have rebuffed his dismissive position.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
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“The East!” One of the elders says before the other woman could answer Randa. “I felt it too. The East.”
Randa’s pleading mostly falls on deaf ears, for though elves exist in this town, their numbers are few and those who have noticed the passage of time are generally more interested in their sudden confrontation with their own mortality. However, one or two elves do answer the call to stand with the feeble of Trostenwald. They move to take her place. One that approaches notices the weapon Randa carries and the commotion at the town square. He tilts his head in that direction and fires a glance toward it with his eyes, excusing her from the mass of older people here to investigate whatever seems so important at the town square.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
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Randa nods and moves rapidly towards the square...
The Fates. She hears the whispers, too.
Vazo'yn looks deep into the frail woman's eyes and sees the wisdom that lies behind them. He nods to her, determined to hear her guidance.
Turning to the mayor, Vazo'yn fixes the man with his golden gaze and begins to implore him.
"Something brought her here right at this moment. You might deny the Fates, but you cannot deny what stands right before your eyes."
He slips his hand into the pouch slung over his shoulder where his deck rests, ever at his side. From it, he takes the fateful card he pulled only a few minutes ago. He looks down at it in quiet contemplation, tracing a thin, pale finger across the imagery and whispering a quiet call to his ancestors. He feels their undeniable presence beside him and his confidence swells. He looks up and holds the card up to show it to the others.
"This Mists. This revealed itself to me this morning, moments before the town awoke to this malady. It heralds something unseen but unavoidable..."
He pauses, letting his words settle across the crowd, though his attention is focused on the mayor.
"We have no idea what brought this on. She brings the barest glimmer of insight we have. We ignore the lady's advice at our peril."
[[Casting Enhance Ability for Charisma. Persuasion: 15.]]
"Go home Aunt Kristin, those people over there look like they know what's going on. I'll go have a chat, and maybe find out who's responsible for what happened to you." Ylis gives her aunt a hug then scampers off towards the town meeting in the middle of the road.
Surely somebody in this place knows what's going on. They're like adults and stuff.
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
The tiny invisible blonde is deeply moved by what she sees, being a quite empathic creature she in fact cries her little empathic heart out. There were worse fates than theirs though, and there were so many alive still that were confused and afraid and that needed help now. She quickly flies back to her ward and messages what she had seen. The dark-haired man simply nods, seemingly to himself as he hears the blonde in his mind.
"I'm so so sorry for your old ones. We should go and find someone who might know something about what is going on here so that we can make things right again." The young dark-haired man says in a calm and comforting tone to the old man, looking around to see where people were heading, if there was a town hall or something where people might gather in a desperate situation.
Persuasion to get the old man along: 19
Perception to notice anyone who don't seem like a scared and confused townsfolk: 13 (Help action from the tiny blonde.)
Riven remained where he was, taking in the exchange. The old woman’s claim wasn’t what caught his attention—it was her timing. She didn’t know what was coming, but she knew to be here. A distinction, small and could be construed as a coincedence.
His eyes shifted between her and the mayor. He was the type to dismiss what he didn’t understand, relying on what was in front of him rather than considering what might be missing. He lack vision, relying more on pragmatism.
And then there was him, presenting a card—The Mists—as if it could begin to offer some beginning of an explanation. Maybe it could. Maybe it was telling them what they already knew.
Either way, Riven needed more.
His voice cut through the conversation, level and direct.
“You said the Fates see now. What exactly do they see?”
Insight: To determine whether the old woman truly believes what she’s saying—or if she’s playing them: 8
Giles remains still, and quiet. Many things are happening at once, the arrival of the old woman, talk of mists, more individuals joining the conversation ...
He waits. Patient.
“We’ve seen too much already to pretend nothing strange is happening,” Joy says gently, her gaze flicking to the mirror-maddened villagers nearby. “If the Fates have given you a message, I want to hear it.”
Insight to gauge the truth of the woman's answer for herself: 10
Noticing the raised voices, the still fairly young dark-haired man moves towards the town square with the old grieving man in tow, barely hearing an old woman offer her help and ask who would hear the message of the fates. "I want to hear..." He blurts out a bit too loud, then looking around a bit awkwardly. "...I mean who wouldn't want to hear about that right?" He says an a lowered voice, shrugging before making his way closer to the old woman. "Sorry for being late into this, whatever this is, but I want to help if I can. What is it that the Fates have seen, and more importantly has that anthing to do with what happened here?" He asks with both curiosity and desperation in his emerald eyes, only now taking note of the people around the old woman.
Insight to determine if she just turned senile at her quickly advanced age: 11
Mayor Giantstorm considers Vazo’yn’s words, and, finding no counterargument forming in his mind, waves his hand at the old woman to proceed just as Ylis hops into the growing crowd of people.
Encouraged more by Riven’s question spoken from the shadows and Joy’s expression of interest than by the mayor’s permission, the old woman releases her hold on Vazo’yn’s arm. She unfastens a leather mat, handing it to Vazo’yn and instructing him to lay it on the ground. As the mat unfurls, the old witch produces a leather bag, adorned with runic symbols carved into stones and bones that are stitched into the bag. Vazo’yn’s Detect Magic can see an assortment of low-level magics, which radiate from the bag like the warmth of a heated stone.
As Joy and Riven watch the old woman, however, they find that at least at this moment, she is extremely difficult to read. She appears genuine, but she could also be amazing at a game of cards.
As Jack approaches, adding to the growing interest of the crowd and townsfolk who now have gathered around the town square, the old woman struggles to hold up her runic bag above her head. One arm does not have a full range of motion now and succeeds only in raising it to shoulder height, where she releases the bag with the debilitated arm to raise the bag up to hold it triumphantly before the townsfolk.
“I have been sent!” She declares loudly for all to hear. Her voice carries supernaturally far and Ylis is reasonably certain the voice is assisted with a common, theatrical cantrip. “The Fates of this world stood as watchful sentinels at the world’s birth and can see its end. They rarely intervene in meaningful ways! For they are watchers!” Her voice booms at the last word for emphasis. Jack can tell, with reasonable certainty, that this mysterious seer is not entirely senile, though he also suspects some senility is required to speak with the Fates.
“Their vision has been clouded, obscured by some great evil! Now the veil has fallen away and they see!” She dumps the bag out onto the leather mat. Bones, some of which look like they belong to small animals, some which appear to belong to more sapient creatures, tumble out onto the mat with some polished stones of different colors. The old woman takes in the sight, interpreting the message that has been given to her through the materials cast onto the leather mat.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
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OOC: I will allow anyone with proficiency in either Arcana or Religion to try to interpret the message with a roll of either one.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
EXTENDED SIGNATURE!
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Joy watches as the bones and stones tumble onto the mat, the strange assortment clicking softly against the leather. Her brows furrow, not in skepticism, but in thoughtful focus. She kneels beside the old woman, pulling her worn Book of Lathander’s Teachings from her satchel with care.
She opens it reverently, flipping through the sun-kissed pages until she reaches a chapter on omens and celestial signs—passages that speak of divine messages hidden in the world’s natural patterns.
Religion: nat 20+1 +5 from book= 26
Riven remained just beyond the light, watching in silence as the old woman with practiced ease handled the bag of bones and stones.
A diviner, then. Or at least someone who wanted to be believed as one.
His gaze flicked to the crowd, noting how the townsfolk leaned in, drawn by her booming. She wanted to be heard. She wanted to be listened to.
Then came the bones. A deliberate spill, the clatter unnervingly sharp in the momentary hush that followed. Riven did not step forward, nor did he break his stillness, but he watched carefully.
What was she really seeing? And what did she want them to believe?
He finally spoke, voice quiet but steady.
“Then speak.”
Vazo'yn watches on with respectful wonder, quick to follow the elder's instructions and to aid her when it was needed.
The portents she casts with the contents of her bag are unreadable to Vazo'yn, but he has come to trust the unknown and the unknowable. He is simply crouched by her side, watching, waiting for her to reveal her vision.
[[No proficiency for Vazo'yn.]]
The fairly young dark-haired man watches attentively as the old oracle throws her bones on the leather mat, eager to hear what they say. As a young woman kneels beside the oracle and opens some old book on the ground he moves in behind her to peek. Was she the oracle's assistant and was the book needed to interpret the bones? He feels himself almost bursting with curiosity now, and then it strikes him that unless the young woman for some reason were unaffected she had been a child only moments ago, the thought hard to fathom.
He looks up as there is suddenly a voice from the shadows, quietly hushing at him as these things sometimes takes time and you can't rush people, particularly old oracles, or their interpretation of their bones might be distorted.
Randa came running in and found something somewhat perplexing a diverse group of people watching an old woman cast bones, the method of divination was somewhat familiar but the circumstances were certainly not.
She nudged the young dark haired man ( Jack ) next to her, " What is she divining for? The Eastern Wind that Reaps Years?"
Her eyes widen and she falls to her knees with a worrisome crack as she impacts the floor. She pays it no mind as an inarticulate exclamation escapes her lips. Tears begin to flow freely down her cheeks. “13 days.” she says quietly, barely a whisper and some people lean in to capture what she had said. The information is visibly processed behind the old woman’s sunken eyes.
“13 Days!” She exclaims. “Until every living person on this planet is bones and dust.”
The crowd around the town square releases a shared utterance of unimaginable despair. Before allowing the crowd to get away from her, however, the old woman raises her booming voice again. “There is a way. I see it, yes, a way. The Fates have given me the way.” She picks up what appears to be part of a finger bone. She holds it before the townsfolk. “Heroes! Seven heroes, willing to rest the fate of the world on their shoulders by traveling EAST! East, to the Ashkeeper Peaks. Seven volunteers will face down the unseen danger. There, they will decide all of our fate. If they face this danger, the Fates can see a future for us all, and maybe, even for those who have already fallen. It can now be seen. Who shall volunteer?!”
The townsfolk all look around at each other with fear and uncertainty. None seem particularly enthused by the idea of risking their lives. Their sheepish glances and hand-wringing turn to shameful, downcast eyes.
Joy
You scan the omen and instantly spot a lie. Whatever has delivered this message has communicated most of what the old witch has said, but they offer a far less certain outcome. There is a chance, indeed, but these volunteers are not guaranteed success by any means. Nor are any of them shielded from a very likely demise. You can also see that whatever is causing this is a great and terrible evil. The old woman has certainly read the same and intentionally withheld this information.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
EXTENDED SIGNATURE!
Doctor/Published Scholar/Science and Healthcare Advocate/Critter/Trekkie/Gandalf with a Glock
Try DDB free: Free Rules (2024), premade PCs, adventures, one shots, encounters, SC, homebrew, more
Answers: physical books, purchases, and subbing.
Check out my life-changing