Lan presses a fist lightly to his chest in greeting, staff angled harmlessly along his forearm. “Good day to you, sir,” he says, voice low but carrying over the wind-rippled river. “I pass this way as a wandering healer and had word of a street performer—one whose tricks drift like mist across the water. No name, only rumor enough to spark curiosity, and the road has granted me a short detour. I hoped to find a splash of music and color here before continuing downstream.”
He tilts his head, taking in the man’s weather-creased hat, the spear haft peeking over one shoulder, and the stone cottages clustered like river-worn pebbles behind him. “If such wonders grace your lanes only at certain hours, I am content to wait—or lend my hands should any in the village ail while I do.” A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth, inviting conversation yet offering no pressure beyond simple hospitality.
Zheng, a student of all knowledge, seems very excited at the man's response. This turns to a little disappointment when Lan’s words remind him that they have a different purpose for this visit. As Lan talks, Zheng will focus on the man attempting to gain any insight by how he reacts to Lan’s words. (Insight Roll: 12)
“After you are finished answering my friend I would love to hear information on any of the things you just mentioned. What wizard tower? GHOSTS? In my old age I find each village has small interesting differences worth learning about.”
Lan presses a fist lightly to his chest in greeting, staff angled harmlessly along his forearm. “Good day to you, sir,” he says, voice low but carrying over the wind-rippled river. “I pass this way as a wandering healer and had word of a street performer—one whose tricks drift like mist across the water. No name, only rumor enough to spark curiosity, and the road has granted me a short detour. I hoped to find a splash of music and color here before continuing downstream.”
He tilts his head, taking in the man’s weather-creased hat, the spear haft peeking over one shoulder, and the stone cottages clustered like river-worn pebbles behind him. “If such wonders grace your lanes only at certain hours, I am content to wait—or lend my hands should any in the village ail while I do.” A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth, inviting conversation yet offering no pressure beyond simple hospitality.
Zheng:
The man, upon Lan's words, begins to grow angrier immediately, although he stays calm for most of his words.
"Ah..." The man ponders for a moment, before his brow furrows into a look of distaste. "I may know something of what you speak, but I fear that the rumors you have heard do not paint the picture correctly. I have heard of one who matches your description. He - " and here he spits onto the ground, " - has caused us much suffering in the recent. His ghosts of mist patrol our town at night, and his tower has emanated strange, eldritch magics. Shang soldiers have begun to show up in our town without warning, searching for magic that our citizens do not have." He looks down. "If you seek this mage, tell him to stop his devilry. We would like a peaceful life."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
Lan’s fingers drift across Stone-whorl’s ridges as he listens, each groove a silent tally of new worries: mist-wrought spirits, a tower pulsing arcana, soldiers sniffing for contraband qi. “Strange that a tavern conjurer would trade coin for fear,” he muses aloud, amber eyes narrowing on the distant treeline. —Or perhaps our rumor chased its own tail, Shí-Guāng whispers in the hollow of his thoughts. Lan nods once, acknowledging both spirit and man. “Still, mist-bound phantoms match the stories that led us here. Best learn truth at the source before blades or bureaus do.”
He bows to the villager, palms together. “Your candor lights our path. Point us to this tower and we will at least carry your grievances to its door—mayhap pry a clearer tale from its master.” Should the man offer direction, Lan gestures for his companions to follow, stride already angling toward the rise where old stones are said to scrape the clouds. “If words fail, a healer’s eyes and honest staff may speak louder,” he adds quietly, more to the gathering fog than to the group, and sets off toward the looming edifice of rumor.
"Go if you wish," the man says, "but I would not ask that of such kind travelers as you. I say you must wait. Do not go now, for tonight is the night of the full moon, where the magic of the tower is at its fullest. I cannot stop you, but I would wish that you lived rather than died." As he says this, he cocks his ear, listening for some eldritch noise, perhaps the whispering of a mist-creature floating through the grass. "All clear!" he shouts loudly, disturbing the village's zen, a loud disruption in your hushed conversation. The sound echoes around the valley, and you hear another shout it at some other entrance. "All clear! ...all clear! ...all clea! ...a cle!"
"I must take my leave," he says, bowing to you all. "If you wish to come with me and see the town, you may. I hope you all do, but I should not intrude on your decision." He walks away, his footsteps beating a clockwork clang upon the stones of the road.
Lan inclines his head, palms together in gratitude. “Your warning is a candle in fog—thank you. Yet our time is thin; we hope to reach the tower while daylight still banks the moon’s fiercer tide.” He shifts Stone-whorl to his shoulder and falls in beside the sentry, boots matching the measured clang of the man’s steps.
“To see the village first is no intrusion,” he adds, glancing back to his companions in silent invitation. “Lead on, and when we part ways we’ll go for the tower before dusk. If fortune favors haste, we may see enough before nightfall.”
“May we find the source of the magic before tonight so that we can end it before the magic is at its strongest. In the process we might find the man behind all of this.”
Zheng will also follow the villager, taking in all of the sights and sounds.
The man leads you into town, the clanks of his boots beating a rhythmic pattern upon the cobbles of the street. Few people walk the streets right now; you have no idea why, but guess they may be in hiding in fear of the attacks of these elemental wildlings.
The moon shines high, not bright, above the town this mid-afternoon, but peaceful, rolling clouds begin to obscure your view as you travel. Eventually, the man stops in the center of the town. Cobblestones slowly create concentric circles of slightly angled, cracked rocks around a small fountain - these stones were not placed well - and you step carefully to avoid a twist or sprain.
The fountain depicts a large, golden fish (which has, since its creation, rusted, turning its golden sheen into silver) shooting water up (and then down, as gravity takes its effect) in parabolic arches to a small, smooth stone bowl, perhaps five feet off of the surface of the ground. That bowl pours into another, which pours into another, which pours into another - you count ten in all. Cool water splashes loudly as the man dunks his head under a bowl, cooling himself after a hot day.
"This is, rather evidently, our fountain," he says. "You may drink and wash here, for it is kept clean. Do you know the story of the man who made it, the Wizard of a Hundred Streams? Some call him Shuǐ-Zhànshì, Warrior of the Water."
(OOC: I'm trying to get over this habit so see OOC chat)
Lan’s gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing at the pale disc ghosting through afternoon cloud. “Your moon keeps curious hours,” he murmurs, voice pitched low. “Is it the habit here for her to climb so early before dusk?”
He turns to the fountain, letting the mist cool his slate-hued cheeks. Fingers brush the carved scales of the rust-silver fish as he silently searches memory for tales of the Warrior of Water—names, deeds, forgotten prayers (Religion 20). Whatever recollection stirs, he folds it behind a measured smile. “Legends drift like rivers, changing with every bend,” he says. “How does your village tell the story of Shuǐ-Zhànshì?”
Lan’s gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing at the pale disc ghosting through afternoon cloud. “Your moon keeps curious hours,” he murmurs, voice pitched low. “Is it the habit here for her to climb so early before dusk?”
He turns to the fountain, letting the mist cool his slate-hued cheeks. Fingers brush the carved scales of the rust-silver fish as he silently searches memory for tales of the Warrior of Water—names, deeds, forgotten prayers (Religion 20). Whatever recollection stirs, he folds it behind a measured smile. “Legends drift like rivers, changing with every bend,” he says. “How does your village tell the story of Shuǐ-Zhànshì?”
Many of you have heard tell of this man, who once fought off an invading army with his aquatic powers, who learned his magic from the great Triton Hǎidǐ-Wáng (Under Sea King). But the man tells you a different story, to your surprise - one that involves this village and the people in it...
"I heard this story from my father, long ago," the man tells you, breathing deeply as if invoking some old memory from the dust-filled libraries of storage. "This is his telling of the tale."
Shuǐ-Zhànshì, Monsoon-Fighter
Long, long ago, when dragons still graced mortals with their blessings and the gods roamed the world, there was a boy, whose name was Shuǐ-Zhànshì. His name was not that given to him, but when he was ten years in age, a seer saw him playing in the waters of a nearby lake and gave him this name. Shuǐ-Zhànshì was a playful child, rowdy with his fellows and disliked and beloved by many throughout the village for his antics.
For years, Shuǐ-Zhànshì grew, becoming nearly a man - with most of the wisdom and learnings to back it. But he forever retained his sense of curiosity, which forever drove him to seek more. One fateful day, during the monsoon season, he left the village, walking through deep puddles and forests-turned-to-marshes to seek something strange.
And he found something strange. A small, wooden hut, thatched with leaves, which he had never seen before in his travels through the forest. He regularly came this way, but this was a new sight. Cautiously, he opened the door without knocking, and saw an old woman, sitting on a chair reading an ancient tome. She turned around to look at him.
"Why, young man, what are you doing here?" she asked him.
Shuǐ-Zhànshì had heard of many witches who would boil a child's blood and then eat their bones, and although he knew that most of these tales were those of old wives, he was still cautious. "Why, I saw your home through the trees. I was walking along and decided to see who was in here, for I have never seen this house before."
"Well, perhaps you weren't looking hard enough. Where do you come from?"
"Why, I come from the nearby village of Te."
And the woman gasped in horror. "Te? No! It cannot be!"
"What, have we wronged you over the years? I am sure we can fix our wrongs."
"No! I have seen - in my visions - a horrible wave engulfing the town! And I know - that that day must be today!"
Shuǐ-Zhànshì stood there in horror, her words sinking in to him. "What must I do to save them - my friends, my family?" he asked.
"You will know what to do," the old woman said. And then, the house disappeared, his vision blurring.
He had a dream - a dream of a fish. He was the fish, swimming through river and lake, through stream and sea. He swam with no destination, no plan for the future. Then, all of a sudden, he looked up and stared up towards the surface of the water and the sun. In a hazy reflection, which he somehow saw, he saw himself, the boy.
He awoke in his bed, in his house, in his village. A steady rain pattered the windows - the monsoon was starting. He ran out of his bed into the center of the village, (right where the fountain is today), and began shouting to anyone who would listen - about what would happen.
"Why should we believe you?" the village asked him - he had been known to lie before.
He stuttered and stumbled for a moment, unresponsive to their inquiry. Then, the great noise of rushing waters came.
They believed him then - water came ankle-high, then knee-high, then people were floundering as water rushed over them. And still Shuǐ-Zhànshì did not know what to do. He floundered and sputtered with them. And he thought, as he drifted unconscious, with the screams of villagers around him.
He remembered...his birth, somehow - many years ago. His childhood. And, then, him, playing in the water with a fish. And then he had an idea. Praying harder than he ever had before...
And his skin shifted, golden scales overwhelming his mortal flesh. He had transformed.
Grabbing the drowning villagers, he saved them from the water.
He raced back to the old woman's house as soon as he could, ready to thank her for her aid. But nothing was there, nothing remained - except for a small statue of a goldfish, reminding him of what he had done.
"That goldfish sits atop this statue today."
(OOC: Lol, that was a lot of writing. The storytelling quality kind of deteriorated as it went (sorry, all))
"We have many more tales in this town," the man says, gesturing around him. You see a tear in his eye as he speaks to you, most likely from digging up memories. "I hope that one will help you all in your journeys, and I hope you stay for longer once your quest is complete. The sun will fall from the sky soon - you must go before it gets dark."
“Thank you for telling us such an interesting story. With such a beautiful village and history I hope we have the opportunity to return when we are done and hear more. May the sun always shine upon your village.”
The tip of the tower shines brightly in the sun, poking just above the trees to reveal its metallic structure. You use this emanating light as a guide - even in the day, the tower lies deep within the woods. Making your way through bracken and bramble, you are forced to turn to your blades to pass through these thorns. Leaves crunch loudly - you feel as if too loudly - under your feet, and although it is daytime, you feel as if every step is giving you away. You see no creatures save the occasional bird and rabbit, so perhaps the mistfolk aren't out yet.
You pass over a small creek, perhaps ten feet wide and covered with rocks, slowly sloping downhill towards the river, and your climb begins to get steeper. You've been walking for about now, and the sky is slowly getting darker - and the terrain is getting foggier. It's harder to find your way - you can no longer spy the glint of the tower's spire, and the trees seem as if they are closing in on you in the dark. You walk in silence, hoping nothing gives you away to the mist-folk.
Lan presses a fist lightly to his chest in greeting, staff angled harmlessly along his forearm. “Good day to you, sir,” he says, voice low but carrying over the wind-rippled river. “I pass this way as a wandering healer and had word of a street performer—one whose tricks drift like mist across the water. No name, only rumor enough to spark curiosity, and the road has granted me a short detour. I hoped to find a splash of music and color here before continuing downstream.”
He tilts his head, taking in the man’s weather-creased hat, the spear haft peeking over one shoulder, and the stone cottages clustered like river-worn pebbles behind him. “If such wonders grace your lanes only at certain hours, I am content to wait—or lend my hands should any in the village ail while I do.” A faint smile touches the corners of his mouth, inviting conversation yet offering no pressure beyond simple hospitality.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Zheng, a student of all knowledge, seems very excited at the man's response. This turns to a little disappointment when Lan’s words remind him that they have a different purpose for this visit. As Lan talks, Zheng will focus on the man attempting to gain any insight by how he reacts to Lan’s words. (Insight Roll: 12)
“After you are finished answering my friend I would love to hear information on any of the things you just mentioned. What wizard tower? GHOSTS? In my old age I find each village has small interesting differences worth learning about.”
(OOC: Who's all in the village?)
Zheng:
The man, upon Lan's words, begins to grow angrier immediately, although he stays calm for most of his words.
"Ah..." The man ponders for a moment, before his brow furrows into a look of distaste. "I may know something of what you speak, but I fear that the rumors you have heard do not paint the picture correctly. I have heard of one who matches your description. He - " and here he spits onto the ground, " - has caused us much suffering in the recent. His ghosts of mist patrol our town at night, and his tower has emanated strange, eldritch magics. Shang soldiers have begun to show up in our town without warning, searching for magic that our citizens do not have." He looks down. "If you seek this mage, tell him to stop his devilry. We would like a peaceful life."
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
"Mist ghosts?" Xi interjects before anyone can speak.
"Have they attacked anyone? Why haven't the townsfolk pointed the soldiers to the wizard's tower?"
(Arcana 14 rolled on cha sheet)
"I wonder if they're necromantic or Elemental in origin?" she whispers to herself.
"They have attacked a few wanderers, but they have not slain anyone yet. And we have told the soldiers to go to the tower, but they haven't."
Xi:
From the descriptions and your arcane knowledge, you believe that they are elemental, most likely (as the description lends) made of water and mist.
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
Zheng looks at the others in our group.
“To the tower then? It seems like the epicenter of all of this magic and the most likely place to find the magic man.”
If it is not obvious where the tower is Zheng will look at the villager.
“Can you show us where the tower is located? I can not promise we will solve your town's problems but I will try.”
Lan’s fingers drift across Stone-whorl’s ridges as he listens, each groove a silent tally of new worries: mist-wrought spirits, a tower pulsing arcana, soldiers sniffing for contraband qi. “Strange that a tavern conjurer would trade coin for fear,” he muses aloud, amber eyes narrowing on the distant treeline. —Or perhaps our rumor chased its own tail, Shí-Guāng whispers in the hollow of his thoughts. Lan nods once, acknowledging both spirit and man. “Still, mist-bound phantoms match the stories that led us here. Best learn truth at the source before blades or bureaus do.”
He bows to the villager, palms together. “Your candor lights our path. Point us to this tower and we will at least carry your grievances to its door—mayhap pry a clearer tale from its master.” Should the man offer direction, Lan gestures for his companions to follow, stride already angling toward the rise where old stones are said to scrape the clouds. “If words fail, a healer’s eyes and honest staff may speak louder,” he adds quietly, more to the gathering fog than to the group, and sets off toward the looming edifice of rumor.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
"Go if you wish," the man says, "but I would not ask that of such kind travelers as you. I say you must wait. Do not go now, for tonight is the night of the full moon, where the magic of the tower is at its fullest. I cannot stop you, but I would wish that you lived rather than died." As he says this, he cocks his ear, listening for some eldritch noise, perhaps the whispering of a mist-creature floating through the grass. "All clear!" he shouts loudly, disturbing the village's zen, a loud disruption in your hushed conversation. The sound echoes around the valley, and you hear another shout it at some other entrance. "All clear! ...all clear! ...all clea! ...a cle!"
"I must take my leave," he says, bowing to you all. "If you wish to come with me and see the town, you may. I hope you all do, but I should not intrude on your decision." He walks away, his footsteps beating a clockwork clang upon the stones of the road.
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
Lan inclines his head, palms together in gratitude. “Your warning is a candle in fog—thank you. Yet our time is thin; we hope to reach the tower while daylight still banks the moon’s fiercer tide.” He shifts Stone-whorl to his shoulder and falls in beside the sentry, boots matching the measured clang of the man’s steps.
“To see the village first is no intrusion,” he adds, glancing back to his companions in silent invitation. “Lead on, and when we part ways we’ll go for the tower before dusk. If fortune favors haste, we may see enough before nightfall.”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Zheng nods to Lan.
“May we find the source of the magic before tonight so that we can end it before the magic is at its strongest. In the process we might find the man behind all of this.”
Zheng will also follow the villager, taking in all of the sights and sounds.
Xi follows, curiosity over the "Mist Ghosts" burning inside her.
The man leads you into town, the clanks of his boots beating a rhythmic pattern upon the cobbles of the street. Few people walk the streets right now; you have no idea why, but guess they may be in hiding in fear of the attacks of these elemental wildlings.
The moon shines high, not bright, above the town this mid-afternoon, but peaceful, rolling clouds begin to obscure your view as you travel. Eventually, the man stops in the center of the town. Cobblestones slowly create concentric circles of slightly angled, cracked rocks around a small fountain - these stones were not placed well - and you step carefully to avoid a twist or sprain.
The fountain depicts a large, golden fish (which has, since its creation, rusted, turning its golden sheen into silver) shooting water up (and then down, as gravity takes its effect) in parabolic arches to a small, smooth stone bowl, perhaps five feet off of the surface of the ground. That bowl pours into another, which pours into another, which pours into another - you count ten in all. Cool water splashes loudly as the man dunks his head under a bowl, cooling himself after a hot day.
"This is, rather evidently, our fountain," he says. "You may drink and wash here, for it is kept clean. Do you know the story of the man who made it, the Wizard of a Hundred Streams? Some call him Shuǐ-Zhànshì, Warrior of the Water."
(OOC: I'm trying to get over this habit so see OOC chat)
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
Lan’s gaze flicks upward, brow furrowing at the pale disc ghosting through afternoon cloud. “Your moon keeps curious hours,” he murmurs, voice pitched low. “Is it the habit here for her to climb so early before dusk?”
He turns to the fountain, letting the mist cool his slate-hued cheeks. Fingers brush the carved scales of the rust-silver fish as he silently searches memory for tales of the Warrior of Water—names, deeds, forgotten prayers (Religion 20). Whatever recollection stirs, he folds it behind a measured smile. “Legends drift like rivers, changing with every bend,” he says. “How does your village tell the story of Shuǐ-Zhànshì?”
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant - Runewarren || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute || Arista - Frost Sorcerer - Old Keep || Zephirah - Demonic Bard - Sands || Merry - Gifted Surgeon - Short || Marasatra - Blood Mage - Avernus || Lan - Dwarf Dragon - Wuxian ||
Many of you have heard tell of this man, who once fought off an invading army with his aquatic powers, who learned his magic from the great Triton Hǎidǐ-Wáng (Under Sea King). But the man tells you a different story, to your surprise - one that involves this village and the people in it...
"I heard this story from my father, long ago," the man tells you, breathing deeply as if invoking some old memory from the dust-filled libraries of storage. "This is his telling of the tale."
Shuǐ-Zhànshì, Monsoon-Fighter
Long, long ago, when dragons still graced mortals with their blessings and the gods roamed the world, there was a boy, whose name was Shuǐ-Zhànshì. His name was not that given to him, but when he was ten years in age, a seer saw him playing in the waters of a nearby lake and gave him this name. Shuǐ-Zhànshì was a playful child, rowdy with his fellows and disliked and beloved by many throughout the village for his antics.
For years, Shuǐ-Zhànshì grew, becoming nearly a man - with most of the wisdom and learnings to back it. But he forever retained his sense of curiosity, which forever drove him to seek more. One fateful day, during the monsoon season, he left the village, walking through deep puddles and forests-turned-to-marshes to seek something strange.
And he found something strange. A small, wooden hut, thatched with leaves, which he had never seen before in his travels through the forest. He regularly came this way, but this was a new sight. Cautiously, he opened the door without knocking, and saw an old woman, sitting on a chair reading an ancient tome. She turned around to look at him.
"Why, young man, what are you doing here?" she asked him.
Shuǐ-Zhànshì had heard of many witches who would boil a child's blood and then eat their bones, and although he knew that most of these tales were those of old wives, he was still cautious. "Why, I saw your home through the trees. I was walking along and decided to see who was in here, for I have never seen this house before."
"Well, perhaps you weren't looking hard enough. Where do you come from?"
"Why, I come from the nearby village of Te."
And the woman gasped in horror. "Te? No! It cannot be!"
"What, have we wronged you over the years? I am sure we can fix our wrongs."
"No! I have seen - in my visions - a horrible wave engulfing the town! And I know - that that day must be today!"
Shuǐ-Zhànshì stood there in horror, her words sinking in to him. "What must I do to save them - my friends, my family?" he asked.
"You will know what to do," the old woman said. And then, the house disappeared, his vision blurring.
He had a dream - a dream of a fish. He was the fish, swimming through river and lake, through stream and sea. He swam with no destination, no plan for the future. Then, all of a sudden, he looked up and stared up towards the surface of the water and the sun. In a hazy reflection, which he somehow saw, he saw himself, the boy.
He awoke in his bed, in his house, in his village. A steady rain pattered the windows - the monsoon was starting. He ran out of his bed into the center of the village, (right where the fountain is today), and began shouting to anyone who would listen - about what would happen.
"Why should we believe you?" the village asked him - he had been known to lie before.
He stuttered and stumbled for a moment, unresponsive to their inquiry. Then, the great noise of rushing waters came.
They believed him then - water came ankle-high, then knee-high, then people were floundering as water rushed over them. And still Shuǐ-Zhànshì did not know what to do. He floundered and sputtered with them. And he thought, as he drifted unconscious, with the screams of villagers around him.
He remembered...his birth, somehow - many years ago. His childhood. And, then, him, playing in the water with a fish. And then he had an idea. Praying harder than he ever had before...
And his skin shifted, golden scales overwhelming his mortal flesh. He had transformed.
Grabbing the drowning villagers, he saved them from the water.
He raced back to the old woman's house as soon as he could, ready to thank her for her aid. But nothing was there, nothing remained - except for a small statue of a goldfish, reminding him of what he had done.
"That goldfish sits atop this statue today."
(OOC: Lol, that was a lot of writing. The storytelling quality kind of deteriorated as it went (sorry, all))
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
"We have many more tales in this town," the man says, gesturing around him. You see a tear in his eye as he speaks to you, most likely from digging up memories. "I hope that one will help you all in your journeys, and I hope you stay for longer once your quest is complete. The sun will fall from the sky soon - you must go before it gets dark."
Religious frisbee player, writer, goofball, and nerd. Some may say professional for the latter two.
Extended sig here. Send me a PM if you want to chat.
DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
Zheng bows to the man.
“Thank you for telling us such an interesting story. With such a beautiful village and history I hope we have the opportunity to return when we are done and hear more. May the sun always shine upon your village.”
Zheng will start to walk towards the tower.
The tip of the tower shines brightly in the sun, poking just above the trees to reveal its metallic structure. You use this emanating light as a guide - even in the day, the tower lies deep within the woods. Making your way through bracken and bramble, you are forced to turn to your blades to pass through these thorns. Leaves crunch loudly - you feel as if too loudly - under your feet, and although it is daytime, you feel as if every step is giving you away. You see no creatures save the occasional bird and rabbit, so perhaps the mistfolk aren't out yet.
You pass over a small creek, perhaps ten feet wide and covered with rocks, slowly sloping downhill towards the river, and your climb begins to get steeper. You've been walking for about now, and the sky is slowly getting darker - and the terrain is getting foggier. It's harder to find your way - you can no longer spy the glint of the tower's spire, and the trees seem as if they are closing in on you in the dark. You walk in silence, hoping nothing gives you away to the mist-folk.
(OOC: Everyone roll a Perception check.)
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DM: Westeros - A Homebrew D&D Campaign, Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign
Player: Marcus Aquillus Arcade (Quil) - 1st Rogue - Pax Romana
14 perception
Zheng Perception Roll: 19 (with Guidance: 22)
If aloud Zheng will cast Guidance on himself for Perception Roll.