Giles watches the other changing shape and form but shows no reaction to it, thinking to himself, "We all have secrets."
After returning from his room to grab is gear, which is really just a traveling pack, a sword and a hand crossbow, he approaches his horse cautiously. "Always preferred my feet on the ground then dangling in the air" he says, but accepts the horse graciously, patting it on the rump.
"I am Giles, a monk of the Order of the Nineteen. Well, I was, the Order is now... gone. So I guess that makes me a monk of the Fellowship of the Wind now. I maybe quiet, but I am wise" he says, not boasting, just expressing a fact. "When it comes to trouble, which I believe we are about to head directly into, I can handle myself, don't you worry."
"It is nice to meet you all, fellow Fellowshipers."
"Trust me, black and green are my true colours."The young dark-haired man says with a small playful smile. "As for belief, true faith in the gods is a gift I have yet to recieve, in fact I sometimes envy those like you who has, perhaps you will show us all the light during this quest, meeting a hexblood that has been blessed with his light certainly gives me a new perspective on the morninglord." He says with a warm and reassuring smile.
"Good to have you along Giles, we are an unlikely fellowship aren't we?" The young dark-haired man says in a good-natured way as he looks around at everyone once they are all mounted. "Fate has really played a trick on as all with this quest, I say we trick fate right back and write our own destiny."He exclaims with a chuckle, possibly to chase away his own doubts about this endeavour.
Vazo'yn greets Ylis and Giles with quiet politeness as they both introduce themselves, and finally the Fellowship is gathered. He takes a silent moment to regard them all, each individually and then finally as a whole. They are so so different, yet united by this common purpose. None shall return the same person that leaves Trostenwald today; each shall be changed by their journey, for better or worse.
"A trick of fate or not, we have a mighty task ahead of us and much ground to cover before we get there. If there are any final preparations, we should make them, otherwise the road awaits us."
He gives his horse a firm rub on its forehead and it leans into it. Then he lifts himself into the saddle and guides his horse towards the road out of town. He looks back to the witch who set them on this path.
"Thirteen days. The task will be done and the curse lifted," he promises solemnly.
She gives the witch a friendly wave on the way out of town. "Yeah, Fellowship of the Wind sounds pretty fancy like." she gives each of her companions a once over while scratching Kichu between the ears. Two fighting ladies, a holy man, a singer man, a gloomy man, a hungry man, and a bunny. More excitement in one day than she has had in her whole life!
Ylis tries to ride next to whoever might be in the middle of the line. She's not a grown up so shouldn't lead, and being at the tail end is just dust and dodging droppings.
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?"
The Fellowship set out, first heading north until hitting the Ustalock Lake, then following the northern rim around until breaking off to travel east. After briefly discussing the possibility of traveling farther north, along the Rillway Road to the crossing of the Eisfus River, it was instead decided that this was too diversionary north, taking the party too far from the Ashkeeper Peaks. Instead, they would have to find another way to cross the river and have chosen to travel to the southern fields of Marrow Valley. Six-day travel to the river by horse, another four through the small forest before the Ashkeeper Peaks (or three days to circumvent it and enter the peaks from the north), and that should leave the party with three or four days to find exactly what they are looking for at the Peaks.
OOC: Please enjoy a long rest.
The first four days are mainly uneventful. Three of the four days were bright and warm, and they carried a gentle westward wind that, while pleasant, carried some sense of future threat. The fourth day, however, was a dreary mess of a day, with rain that pelted your backs relentlessly, dimmed your view, and slowed your pace to help ensure the horses maintained sure footing over the fields; hard rain obscured vision and while there are no cliffs over the wild grass fields, there are loose stones and gopher holes that could snap the legs of the party horses with ease.
Then the wave came.
On the fifth day, a purplish orb is seen from the Ashkeeper Peaks, at some point deep within, directly east of your position. Giles, Randa, Riven, and Vazo’yn see it first, heads snapping up to the east almost in unison as they watch this purple wave dwarf even the mountains. It rushes toward the group, rolling over everything in its path as it stretches from earth to the heavens, battering aside even the clouds high above. There is no escape. There is no point in running.
It carries with it the wind. The wind whips over the group in one powerful gust, followed immediately by the purple wave, which itself feels eerily like nothing at all. Expecting it now, you all are aware of the changes the moment they happen. Another relative 10 years passed and now, everyone has some noticeable effect, even the elves. More barely perceptible, undefinable memories flood your minds and a torrent of emotional experiences momentarily overwhelm you as your brain works rapidly to catch up. This change feels more physically, emotionally, and spiritually violent than the last, and…
OOC: Con Save first. DC 13. On a failure, you experience something akin to the Butterfly Effect, which you can RP as you see fit. After which, you advance to level 9. Enjoy building your character up to this. You may choose 1 common and 1 uncommon item of your choosing to add to your inventory.
In addition, your clothes, any armor you are wearing, keepsakes, and many other things have changed. You know these are yours and have been for years, though the specifics still escape you. Further, anyone with a strong spiritual nature would sense that the old witch has not survived, along with a great many people throughout the world. The hard rain has gone, dispelled by the wave, and the day seems more bleak. It almost seems like the sun doesn’t feel like shining today.
Randa does her best as they ride to keep them heading eastwards when/if they must leave the road to do so, she is still very unsteady on the animal but keeps her bow at her side ready to take advantage of any game they see.......she already knows from her earlier travels northward that some of the folks get extremely angry if you shoot one of the wooly herbivores that are common in the fields, so tries to restrict herself to deer and small game.
As she rides she tries to win over her horse....
In between she asks everyone in turn where they are from and if they would like to know anything further about herself.
Survival-14
Animal Handling- 13
And then the wave hits and her head is split with jarring pain as if she sees many different realities at once.......she is back home, no on the road and far further north or was that something she already did....the future? But it feels like a memory.....she screams at the top of her lungs as the green closes around her fate rushing at her through a tunnel of trees....she pitches off her horse and onto the ground and lays there unmoving as her body writhes as if in stop-motion when her muscles finally unlocked she is panting hard and whimpering as deaths, pain and traumas impact her mind like meteors of happenstance......
Eventually she rolls over onto her back, " I am going to murder whoever is in charge of that light......."
"... and then the chorus of voices reaches a harmonious resonance, echoing around the chamber and filling it with the most hauntingly beautiful sound you've ever heard. It continues on long after the Veilchoir have stopped their song."
Vazo'yn finishes describing one of his clan's rituals, Randa having asked the group to share information and stories about themselves. As he explained it, this rite is performed at the turning of the seasons from fall to winter, marking a time of shortened days and long, cold nights.
Then the battering wind and its following purple wave crashes over them, nearly knocking Vazo'yn from his seat. The periphery of his vision blurs as his mind is filled with unbidden memories; events and experiences that he has not had yet, but which he feels intimately connected to. They careen through his mind like a herd of ankheg through a nomadic drow camp, tossing his thoughts around the chaos of his consciousness. But worse than that is the cacophany of whispers, a decade of communion from his ancestors all flooding back to him at once. Each on its own is only a quick, quiet utterance, but together they rise to a defeaning crescendo. He clamps his hands over his ears as if that would keep the thundering voices out.
When finally the visions end and the voices quieten, he sits stunned in his saddle, a trickle of crimson blood running from each ear down his pale neck. He pulls his hands away and looks at them in confusion, some of the blood staining them as well.
"The witch..." he whispers as he feels the knowledge of her death seep into his bones. "So many dead..."
He looks ahead to the where the pulse of energy had first appeared, grim determination apparent on his gaunt features.
"It will just keep happening. We must make haste."
"Well this is just crazy!" the bunny girl exclaims with her hands on her hips. "I'm 11! and I have all this...this stuff going on in my mind!" her ears fold down and she shakes her head.
"I mean, I remember or think I remember being with you all when we went to Darktow and fought frog people, then Jack thought he was pregnant! But it was an infection!" she rubs her head, "And I remember going to Feolinn because Randa wanted to learn how to make wine...and and...Oh my head..."
The wave crashes over them, and Riven does not fall. [Con Save 18]
The force of it bends the trees and bows the grasses. His hair lashes behind him, and Hollow stamps and whinnies, but he does not move. Eyes narrowed. Breathing even.
He feels it—time folding, doubling back, knotting itself into unkind shapes. But he holds fast.
Instead, he watches.
Randa’s scream pierces the wind like a blade. Riven’s head snaps toward her just as she pitches sideways from her horse. The half-elf writhes in the grass, her body jerking in strange, broken rhythms, as if her soul is catching up to itself one frame at a time.
Riven’s fingers tighten on the reins. He dismounts with smooth economy, stepping over to her without alarm. He does not interrupt. He watches her struggle to breathe through phantom pain, haunted eyes gazing at ghosts only she can see.
“She’s seen too many doors at once,”he murmurs
When she finally speaks, he almost smiles.
Vazo’yn is next.
He does not fall, but the wave hollows him. His knuckles go white around the reins, and Riven sees his jaw tighten as whispers ripple through him like a plague of voices. The drow’s eyes are wide and distant, not with fear, but with the sound of too many truths all at once.
Riven takes a single step toward him but halts when he sees blood.
“It will just keep happening. We must make haste.”
Riven nods once, silent agreement passes between them.
Then he turns his attention to the rest of the group to see who else is being affected.
"I'm not gloomy!" the dwarf says to Ylis, "I think the word your looking for is stoic. Its an adult word."
Giles takes an instant liking to the young Harengon and her youthful energy. What he appreciates most, is the way she says what she feels. It refreshing and delightful.
The trip has been pleasant for the dwarf, it has been awhile since he has spent time this close to people, and is thoroughly, until he is not.
He feels it before he see's it, a great wave coming towards them. For a second he thinks how he could shield the others from the oncoming rush, but it is too large, it is everywhere. And then things are dark.
Giles Con: 11 20 (luck point)
As his vision returns, he is looking up at the sky, lying on his back. The face of his horse looking down at him, somehow looking much older, touches of grey on her muzzle. As he stands, he feels again, that the world has changed, and so has he. Once again he feels wiser, but the memories, the knowledge seems ill-earned, like it was given to him instead of earned.
Ooc: So apparently Hexbloods can live for centuries at least, depending on what race they were originally. Googling it got me answers ranging from 100 to 1000 O.O
Con save: nat 1 + 2
Joy feels it before she sees it—her breath catches in her throat as the unnatural wind hits, thick with a pressure that makes her bones ache. She turns just in time to see the purple wave crest the peaks and barrel toward them like a silent avalanche. There’s no time to run. No time to pray. Only time to brace.
And then it hits.
The scream that tears from her throat is unlike anything she’s ever made before—raw, involuntary, almost inhuman. The sensation of time ripping through her soul is violent. Every nerve in her body lights up as memories not her own—and yet very much her own—shove themselves into her mind with brutal force. She sees herself as a knight of the Dawnfather, clad in gilded plate, kneeling at the Temple of Light as children crowd around her with offerings of flowers. Then the same temple, cracked and burning, her arms heavy with the body of someone she cannot name. A name, a face, a love lost in war. She remembers kneeling and feeling nothing. Not despair. Not rage. Just silence.
She stumbles from her horse with a cry, falling to her knees, fingers clawing at the earth as the agony of it all presses down on her. Her armor—no longer the plain, patched chain of her youth—gleams with silver-trimmed sunbursts. It fits her like it always has, though she doesn’t remember ever receiving it. The old wooden holy symbol she once wore is now a polished disc of carved gold and pink opal. She clutches it hard, seeking comfort—but Lathander’s warmth feels distant, like sunlight through stained glass.
She gasps as the final surge fades. Her hair is longer and wilder. Her hands stronger. And yet her heart feels more fragile than ever.
During the journey so far Jack would have shared quite a bit about himself, so much so that the others in the fellowship soon realizes he is not one to be particularly careful about the truth and in the end they don't really know anything about him at all, yet.
As the purple wave washes over the fellowship his mind is flooded by a multitude of distant memories of a life he hadn't really lived, and yet he feels himself changed again. He quickly snaps out of his thoughts as he hears the hexblood scream, getting off his aging steed to kneel by the latahnderite's side, looking around to see that the others seem okay, realizing they had all changed too, before leaning in and whispering gently to her. "Joy, are you okay?" On his shoulder Lily appears, looking worried too.
Once Vazo'yn comes back to his senses, he wipes his bloody hands on his pants. Although, are they his pants? They are, but they aren't the pants he was wearing a moment ago. These a more weathered and worn. His tunic and jacket are different, too. They've seen similar use, and are more suited to a life of danger than his previous vestments. He decides now is not the time to ponder these changes.
Instead, he swings himself out of his saddle and shakily lands on the ground. He reaches a hand out to steady himself against his horse's flank. Flecks of grey are dotted amongst the bay's dark brown fur and he prays that she will last the journey.
"Good girl," he says quietly.
Then he turns to see how the rest of the Fellowship have faired. He moves beside Jack to help Joy to her feet.
"I'm all right," he calls to Giles. "My head is ringing, though."
Joy gasps, the earth spinning beneath her as she clutches at the opal sunburst on her chest like an anchor in a storm. The torrent in her mind doesn’t stop—it twists. Faces blur, voices echo, laughter turns to screams—and it hurts. It feels longer than last time...decades? The pain lances through her skull until her vision blurs, warm blood trickling from her ears and nose. She leans forward, heaving, trying to ground herself, when Jack’s voice cuts through the fog. A whisper. A lifeline.
Her eyes snap toward him, wild and glistening. It takes a moment for his words to make sense, but she nods faintly, blinking back more than just pain.
“She’s gone…”Joy breathes. “The witch…she’s dead. No—no help coming.”
She leans heavily on her new yet unfamiliar shield as Jack and Vazo'yn help her stand, “But we’re still here. We have to be enough.”
Jack, now a middle-aged man, his clothes still shades of green, new to him and yet not, stands together with the hexblood. The old woman was dead, it was all up to them, to him, and yet it had always been, somehow he had always known there was a price for his bargain, and now his debt was due. "Yes, we have to..." He says, not quite finding the encouraging tone he had had hoped to. The weight of the world's fate on his shoulders, at least there were others to share the burden.
"Not counting the lost years I guess we're all right then."He calls over to Giles. "And yes, definitely no more time to lose, let's ride." He continues as he saddles up again, ready to journey on. "I believe you were describing one of your clan's rituals..." He calls over to Vazo'yn as they all start riding again.
The party arrives at the river on the night of the sixth day, being delayed by the heavy rain a couple of days before. The river is strong and wide, but there are no crashing rapids that would give pause to the layman. Riven, ever watchful and prepared to the point of frustration for any god of mischief, has investigated the river. It is deceptive in its appearance. The calm surface belies the mighty pull of the river, and it is deep. A simple stick test revealed that it was too deep for the horses and strong enough to pull a person quickly out of reach and possibly, beneath the water, should any be separated. Some of you are exceptionally capable; Riven might dare to navigate the treacherous waters, yet others would likely find it challenging to keep pace with the relentless currents and to resist the pull into the dark depths.
Giles watches the other changing shape and form but shows no reaction to it, thinking to himself, "We all have secrets."
After returning from his room to grab is gear, which is really just a traveling pack, a sword and a hand crossbow, he approaches his horse cautiously. "Always preferred my feet on the ground then dangling in the air" he says, but accepts the horse graciously, patting it on the rump.
"I am Giles, a monk of the Order of the Nineteen. Well, I was, the Order is now... gone. So I guess that makes me a monk of the Fellowship of the Wind now. I maybe quiet, but I am wise" he says, not boasting, just expressing a fact. "When it comes to trouble, which I believe we are about to head directly into, I can handle myself, don't you worry."
"It is nice to meet you all, fellow Fellowshipers."
"Trust me, black and green are my true colours." The young dark-haired man says with a small playful smile. "As for belief, true faith in the gods is a gift I have yet to recieve, in fact I sometimes envy those like you who has, perhaps you will show us all the light during this quest, meeting a hexblood that has been blessed with his light certainly gives me a new perspective on the morninglord." He says with a warm and reassuring smile.
"Good to have you along Giles, we are an unlikely fellowship aren't we?" The young dark-haired man says in a good-natured way as he looks around at everyone once they are all mounted. "Fate has really played a trick on as all with this quest, I say we trick fate right back and write our own destiny." He exclaims with a chuckle, possibly to chase away his own doubts about this endeavour.
Vazo'yn greets Ylis and Giles with quiet politeness as they both introduce themselves, and finally the Fellowship is gathered. He takes a silent moment to regard them all, each individually and then finally as a whole. They are so so different, yet united by this common purpose. None shall return the same person that leaves Trostenwald today; each shall be changed by their journey, for better or worse.
"A trick of fate or not, we have a mighty task ahead of us and much ground to cover before we get there. If there are any final preparations, we should make them, otherwise the road awaits us."
He gives his horse a firm rub on its forehead and it leans into it. Then he lifts himself into the saddle and guides his horse towards the road out of town. He looks back to the witch who set them on this path.
"Thirteen days. The task will be done and the curse lifted," he promises solemnly.
She gives the witch a friendly wave on the way out of town. "Yeah, Fellowship of the Wind sounds pretty fancy like." she gives each of her companions a once over while scratching Kichu between the ears. Two fighting ladies, a holy man, a singer man, a gloomy man, a hungry man, and a bunny. More excitement in one day than she has had in her whole life!
Ylis tries to ride next to whoever might be in the middle of the line. She's not a grown up so shouldn't lead, and being at the tail end is just dust and dodging droppings.
"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 Fellowship set out, first heading north until hitting the Ustalock Lake, then following the northern rim around until breaking off to travel east. After briefly discussing the possibility of traveling farther north, along the Rillway Road to the crossing of the Eisfus River, it was instead decided that this was too diversionary north, taking the party too far from the Ashkeeper Peaks. Instead, they would have to find another way to cross the river and have chosen to travel to the southern fields of Marrow Valley. Six-day travel to the river by horse, another four through the small forest before the Ashkeeper Peaks (or three days to circumvent it and enter the peaks from the north), and that should leave the party with three or four days to find exactly what they are looking for at the Peaks.
OOC: Please enjoy a long rest.
The first four days are mainly uneventful. Three of the four days were bright and warm, and they carried a gentle westward wind that, while pleasant, carried some sense of future threat. The fourth day, however, was a dreary mess of a day, with rain that pelted your backs relentlessly, dimmed your view, and slowed your pace to help ensure the horses maintained sure footing over the fields; hard rain obscured vision and while there are no cliffs over the wild grass fields, there are loose stones and gopher holes that could snap the legs of the party horses with ease.
Then the wave came.
On the fifth day, a purplish orb is seen from the Ashkeeper Peaks, at some point deep within, directly east of your position. Giles, Randa, Riven, and Vazo’yn see it first, heads snapping up to the east almost in unison as they watch this purple wave dwarf even the mountains. It rushes toward the group, rolling over everything in its path as it stretches from earth to the heavens, battering aside even the clouds high above. There is no escape. There is no point in running.
It carries with it the wind. The wind whips over the group in one powerful gust, followed immediately by the purple wave, which itself feels eerily like nothing at all. Expecting it now, you all are aware of the changes the moment they happen. Another relative 10 years passed and now, everyone has some noticeable effect, even the elves. More barely perceptible, undefinable memories flood your minds and a torrent of emotional experiences momentarily overwhelm you as your brain works rapidly to catch up. This change feels more physically, emotionally, and spiritually violent than the last, and…
OOC: Con Save first. DC 13. On a failure, you experience something akin to the Butterfly Effect, which you can RP as you see fit. After which, you advance to level 9. Enjoy building your character up to this. You may choose 1 common and 1 uncommon item of your choosing to add to your inventory.
In addition, your clothes, any armor you are wearing, keepsakes, and many other things have changed. You know these are yours and have been for years, though the specifics still escape you. Further, anyone with a strong spiritual nature would sense that the old witch has not survived, along with a great many people throughout the world. The hard rain has gone, dispelled by the wave, and the day seems more bleak. It almost seems like the sun doesn’t feel like shining today.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
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Randa does her best as they ride to keep them heading eastwards when/if they must leave the road to do so, she is still very unsteady on the animal but keeps her bow at her side ready to take advantage of any game they see.......she already knows from her earlier travels northward that some of the folks get extremely angry if you shoot one of the wooly herbivores that are common in the fields, so tries to restrict herself to deer and small game.
As she rides she tries to win over her horse....
In between she asks everyone in turn where they are from and if they would like to know anything further about herself.
Survival-14
Animal Handling- 13
And then the wave hits and her head is split with jarring pain as if she sees many different realities at once.......she is back home, no on the road and far further north or was that something she already did....the future? But it feels like a memory.....she screams at the top of her lungs as the green closes around her fate rushing at her through a tunnel of trees....she pitches off her horse and onto the ground and lays there unmoving as her body writhes as if in stop-motion when her muscles finally unlocked she is panting hard and whimpering as deaths, pain and traumas impact her mind like meteors of happenstance......
Eventually she rolls over onto her back, " I am going to murder whoever is in charge of that light......."
Randa Con Save- 3
OOC: Holy Moly, I almost rolled a Jerbeen for this adventure. Their life span tops at 30.
"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
Ylis CON save 22
"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
"... and then the chorus of voices reaches a harmonious resonance, echoing around the chamber and filling it with the most hauntingly beautiful sound you've ever heard. It continues on long after the Veilchoir have stopped their song."
Vazo'yn finishes describing one of his clan's rituals, Randa having asked the group to share information and stories about themselves. As he explained it, this rite is performed at the turning of the seasons from fall to winter, marking a time of shortened days and long, cold nights.
Then the battering wind and its following purple wave crashes over them, nearly knocking Vazo'yn from his seat. The periphery of his vision blurs as his mind is filled with unbidden memories; events and experiences that he has not had yet, but which he feels intimately connected to. They careen through his mind like a herd of ankheg through a nomadic drow camp, tossing his thoughts around the chaos of his consciousness. But worse than that is the cacophany of whispers, a decade of communion from his ancestors all flooding back to him at once. Each on its own is only a quick, quiet utterance, but together they rise to a defeaning crescendo. He clamps his hands over his ears as if that would keep the thundering voices out.
When finally the visions end and the voices quieten, he sits stunned in his saddle, a trickle of crimson blood running from each ear down his pale neck. He pulls his hands away and looks at them in confusion, some of the blood staining them as well.
"The witch..." he whispers as he feels the knowledge of her death seep into his bones. "So many dead..."
He looks ahead to the where the pulse of energy had first appeared, grim determination apparent on his gaunt features.
"It will just keep happening. We must make haste."
[[Con save: 12. This is quite the development!]]
"Well this is just crazy!" the bunny girl exclaims with her hands on her hips. "I'm 11! and I have all this...this stuff going on in my mind!" her ears fold down and she shakes her head.
"I mean, I remember or think I remember being with you all when we went to Darktow and fought frog people, then Jack thought he was pregnant! But it was an infection!" she rubs her head, "And I remember going to Feolinn because Randa wanted to learn how to make wine...and and...Oh my head..."
"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 wave crashes over them, and Riven does not fall.
[Con Save 18]
The force of it bends the trees and bows the grasses. His hair lashes behind him, and Hollow stamps and whinnies, but he does not move. Eyes narrowed. Breathing even.
He feels it—time folding, doubling back, knotting itself into unkind shapes. But he holds fast.
Instead, he watches.
Randa’s scream pierces the wind like a blade. Riven’s head snaps toward her just as she pitches sideways from her horse. The half-elf writhes in the grass, her body jerking in strange, broken rhythms, as if her soul is catching up to itself one frame at a time.
Riven’s fingers tighten on the reins. He dismounts with smooth economy, stepping over to her without alarm. He does not interrupt. He watches her struggle to breathe through phantom pain, haunted eyes gazing at ghosts only she can see.
“She’s seen too many doors at once,” he murmurs
When she finally speaks, he almost smiles.
Vazo’yn is next.
He does not fall, but the wave hollows him. His knuckles go white around the reins, and Riven sees his jaw tighten as whispers ripple through him like a plague of voices. The drow’s eyes are wide and distant, not with fear, but with the sound of too many truths all at once.
Riven takes a single step toward him but halts when he sees blood.
“It will just keep happening. We must make haste.”
Riven nods once, silent agreement passes between them.
Then he turns his attention to the rest of the group to see who else is being affected.
"I'm not gloomy!" the dwarf says to Ylis, "I think the word your looking for is stoic. Its an adult word."
Giles takes an instant liking to the young Harengon and her youthful energy. What he appreciates most, is the way she says what she feels. It refreshing and delightful.
The trip has been pleasant for the dwarf, it has been awhile since he has spent time this close to people, and is thoroughly, until he is not.
He feels it before he see's it, a great wave coming towards them. For a second he thinks how he could shield the others from the oncoming rush, but it is too large, it is everywhere. And then things are dark.
Giles Con:
1120 (luck point)As his vision returns, he is looking up at the sky, lying on his back. The face of his horse looking down at him, somehow looking much older, touches of grey on her muzzle. As he stands, he feels again, that the world has changed, and so has he. Once again he feels wiser, but the memories, the knowledge seems ill-earned, like it was given to him instead of earned.
"Is everyone alright?"
Ooc: So apparently Hexbloods can live for centuries at least, depending on what race they were originally. Googling it got me answers ranging from 100 to 1000 O.O
Con save: nat 1 + 2
Joy feels it before she sees it—her breath catches in her throat as the unnatural wind hits, thick with a pressure that makes her bones ache. She turns just in time to see the purple wave crest the peaks and barrel toward them like a silent avalanche. There’s no time to run. No time to pray. Only time to brace.
And then it hits.
The scream that tears from her throat is unlike anything she’s ever made before—raw, involuntary, almost inhuman. The sensation of time ripping through her soul is violent. Every nerve in her body lights up as memories not her own—and yet very much her own—shove themselves into her mind with brutal force. She sees herself as a knight of the Dawnfather, clad in gilded plate, kneeling at the Temple of Light as children crowd around her with offerings of flowers. Then the same temple, cracked and burning, her arms heavy with the body of someone she cannot name. A name, a face, a love lost in war. She remembers kneeling and feeling nothing. Not despair. Not rage. Just silence.
She stumbles from her horse with a cry, falling to her knees, fingers clawing at the earth as the agony of it all presses down on her. Her armor—no longer the plain, patched chain of her youth—gleams with silver-trimmed sunbursts. It fits her like it always has, though she doesn’t remember ever receiving it. The old wooden holy symbol she once wore is now a polished disc of carved gold and pink opal. She clutches it hard, seeking comfort—but Lathander’s warmth feels distant, like sunlight through stained glass.
She gasps as the final surge fades. Her hair is longer and wilder. Her hands stronger. And yet her heart feels more fragile than ever.
| Kaelen - Shadar-kai Gloom Stalker Ranger - Old Keep | Lira - Half-elf Thief Rogue/Druid - Allansia | Teryn - High Elf Archfey Warlock - Runewarren | Zoveldra - Kalashtar Open Hand Monk - Eberron | Mavilius - Tiefling Eloquence Bard - Golden Vault | Vannithos - Shadar-kai Astral Self Monk - Von Nichts | Cassian - Human Paladin - Dragonlance |
Jack con save: 21
During the journey so far Jack would have shared quite a bit about himself, so much so that the others in the fellowship soon realizes he is not one to be particularly careful about the truth and in the end they don't really know anything about him at all, yet.
As the purple wave washes over the fellowship his mind is flooded by a multitude of distant memories of a life he hadn't really lived, and yet he feels himself changed again. He quickly snaps out of his thoughts as he hears the hexblood scream, getting off his aging steed to kneel by the latahnderite's side, looking around to see that the others seem okay, realizing they had all changed too, before leaning in and whispering gently to her. "Joy, are you okay?" On his shoulder Lily appears, looking worried too.
Once Vazo'yn comes back to his senses, he wipes his bloody hands on his pants. Although, are they his pants? They are, but they aren't the pants he was wearing a moment ago. These a more weathered and worn. His tunic and jacket are different, too. They've seen similar use, and are more suited to a life of danger than his previous vestments. He decides now is not the time to ponder these changes.
Instead, he swings himself out of his saddle and shakily lands on the ground. He reaches a hand out to steady himself against his horse's flank. Flecks of grey are dotted amongst the bay's dark brown fur and he prays that she will last the journey.
"Good girl," he says quietly.
Then he turns to see how the rest of the Fellowship have faired. He moves beside Jack to help Joy to her feet.
"I'm all right," he calls to Giles. "My head is ringing, though."
Joy gasps, the earth spinning beneath her as she clutches at the opal sunburst on her chest like an anchor in a storm. The torrent in her mind doesn’t stop—it twists. Faces blur, voices echo, laughter turns to screams—and it hurts. It feels longer than last time...decades? The pain lances through her skull until her vision blurs, warm blood trickling from her ears and nose. She leans forward, heaving, trying to ground herself, when Jack’s voice cuts through the fog. A whisper. A lifeline.
Her eyes snap toward him, wild and glistening. It takes a moment for his words to make sense, but she nods faintly, blinking back more than just pain.
“She’s gone…” Joy breathes. “The witch…she’s dead. No—no help coming.”
She leans heavily on her new yet unfamiliar shield as Jack and Vazo'yn help her stand, “But we’re still here. We have to be enough.”
| Kaelen - Shadar-kai Gloom Stalker Ranger - Old Keep | Lira - Half-elf Thief Rogue/Druid - Allansia | Teryn - High Elf Archfey Warlock - Runewarren | Zoveldra - Kalashtar Open Hand Monk - Eberron | Mavilius - Tiefling Eloquence Bard - Golden Vault | Vannithos - Shadar-kai Astral Self Monk - Von Nichts | Cassian - Human Paladin - Dragonlance |
Jack, now a middle-aged man, his clothes still shades of green, new to him and yet not, stands together with the hexblood. The old woman was dead, it was all up to them, to him, and yet it had always been, somehow he had always known there was a price for his bargain, and now his debt was due. "Yes, we have to..." He says, not quite finding the encouraging tone he had had hoped to. The weight of the world's fate on his shoulders, at least there were others to share the burden.
"Not counting the lost years I guess we're all right then." He calls over to Giles. "And yes, definitely no more time to lose, let's ride." He continues as he saddles up again, ready to journey on. "I believe you were describing one of your clan's rituals..." He calls over to Vazo'yn as they all start riding again.
The party arrives at the river on the night of the sixth day, being delayed by the heavy rain a couple of days before. The river is strong and wide, but there are no crashing rapids that would give pause to the layman. Riven, ever watchful and prepared to the point of frustration for any god of mischief, has investigated the river. It is deceptive in its appearance. The calm surface belies the mighty pull of the river, and it is deep. A simple stick test revealed that it was too deep for the horses and strong enough to pull a person quickly out of reach and possibly, beneath the water, should any be separated. Some of you are exceptionally capable; Riven might dare to navigate the treacherous waters, yet others would likely find it challenging to keep pace with the relentless currents and to resist the pull into the dark depths.
DM mostly, Player occasionally | Session 0 form | He/Him/They/Them
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