Thurston has been quiet, looking to his companions while the speak. He had noticed Jex’s glance the moment Vark started to talk. “Friends” he says “I think it’s enough for mistrust among us.Enough grudges. We all had fought together, bled together. We could come from different places around the world but we are together now as comrades, as friends, as a family. And we stand together. Now Vark, a loved an respected member of our family, has made a choice. You are a fool boy, but a brave fool nonetheless. “He raises a finger to cut any reply from anyone “ Taking the risk to strengthen the bond with that creature in order to obtain information that we can use is a bold, brave and fool movement. One that I respect and I trust you boy, and respect you and your decision. Now, for the rest of ya, give Jex a break will you? If my mind and will would be taken away by some devil or evil magic-user and I would start hurting innocents or you... I not only hope that all of you put me down, but I will be greatful and toast for you in Valhalla. That’s what Vark has said and that’s what Jex is offering. And make note all of you. If that would ever happens and I my soul is beyond recovery put me down. Better you than others. Now, when we were fighting the wizards down in the mines we were caught by surprise by this devil taking control of Vark. You, my friend” says to Vark “You’ve kept your word and come to us when he made contact. Proving that you are true to your word. Now we know what are we dealing with. So this will unlikely come to pass again. We need to be stronger, we need to prepare. We have hard fights ahead and a loose arrow from a stupid brigand can be our demise as well as great devils of old making pacts with young pretty boys. And I cannot go to battle asking myself if the dwarf is going to turn against the wizard or the wizard is going to slit the troath of the half-orc. We have great things to take care ahead of us and we will only succeed against the Dragonborn sisters, the colossal task of rebuilding the city, finding and stopping the Maginobi... if we do it together as friends and family. So if any of you aren’t going to trust the others just leave and may Thor guide your path but if you stay, stay alongside the others. “ He looks in the eye of the rest of them, take a sip from his, until that moment, untouched drink, emptying it, and continue
”Now let’s focus on the sisters once and for all. Now that we know they are not the reincarnation of a demigodness is time to prove it. I say that we hunt one down and put her head on a pike in front of their fortress. Let’s see how many followers they got left after that. But this time we need to have a plan to avoid them to escape. Seid do you have any means to prevent them to go invisible? Or to make them visible again?”
Val slaps her hand on the table enthusiastically following Thurston's speech. "Hear hear! I agree with Thurston! He is ever the better speaker than me. No more infighting, no more arguments. Unless you kiss me, then I'll break your jaw." She raises an eyebrow at Jex, but laughs. "Bolder men have fared far worse than you did that night, Jex!" She tips up her mug as well to Thurston.
When Seid is addressed he spends a moment thinking about Thurston's request, but ultimately shakes his head. "No, unfortunately such magic is beyond my comprehension at the moment. Vark was able to briefly touch such magic with the aid of Matthew, I am assuming, when he dispelled that magical rune in Quinton's office. Also, I do not believe I will be accompanying you all on this journey to seek out the Dragonborn sisters. I feel my place is here in Sheercleft for a time. There is much research I need to do if we are ever able to begin unraveling this mystery set before us."
Thurston laughs at Val’s words and nods at Seid’s.
”We will feel much more at easy with one of us here taking care of things. Then we are prone to more mundane methods. Remember me to get a bucket full of horse shit and mud. If we can’t see them then we can see the mud and our noses will guide to them. “ he smirks and take another drink. “And you Vark, we will start training tomorrow. The exercise will make you stronger. So eat well tonight.’you could use more meat over those bones...”
Hurrig raises is glass as Val cheers Thurston. “Wise words friend. I too think the sisters are the next target. When we are ready and get things settled. For now we head to Khaz a Grungon to better prepare Sheercleft and open more lines of trade. I know I said this coming Thorsday, but give me 3 days to make a few things in the forge. Then I will be ready to go.” Hurrig finishes his pint, slams his glass on the table, and stands up from the table, “For now, I rest. Have a busy day in that forge tomorrow.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
The next morning, after breakfast, but before the sun has fully risen in the sky, there is a commotion at the gates. A stranger has been spotted approaching the village. Their movement seems slow, they lean forward as though pulling on something that's dragging them back. A dull dented helmet adorns their head, and they shuffle as the walk. As they come more into view, it is clear they are armoured in old battered leather and wrapped in a cloak that was probably white at some point, though now it is tattered and filthy from travel. A spear is over his shoulder and a sword at his hip. The reason for the strange movement soon becomes apparent as a rope is tied around his waist attached at the other end to a shield which is dragging along the ground with a large sack inside. He calls up to the guard post. "Hey, who's in charge here?" The voice is weary and hoarse, but full of conviction and authority enough for the captain on duty to send word into the village. Meanwhile the stranger stands, leaning out of breath against the palisade. "Water. Please."
He pulls the helmet from his head, replacing it with a cap from his belt. His hair is slick with sweat, grey and long, his face dotted with stubble, also grey. The wrinkles and lines on his face show the age of the man as much as the stiffness in his movements. Clearly too old for such travel, but strong enough to have pushed through.
Hurrig wakes in the early morning the sun just beginning to peak around the moon, and prays to Moradin. He takes a quick walk past the temple. He then heads straight to the forge. He quickly lights the forge and begins getting things ready for the projects ahead. The building quickly begins to warm up and Hurrig removes his shirt, revealing the traditional Dwarven tattoos to depict a forging tradition, there are only a few, but they are very intricate. One major piece on his left pec is Moradin’s burning anvil. There are burn scars that are incorporated into the tattoos. When Thurston arrives, Hurrig says “I enjoy making the weapons the most, so I’m going to focus on those first. We can take on some of the larger projects together like Varks armor.”
The first of Hurrig’s projects, he feels need to be crafted by hand. For the majority of the morning he works a small piece of metal into a broach or clasp for a cloak, he spends much of the time shaping it just right and polishing the steel. When he is finished, a beautifully polished steel broach with a wooden inlay is produced in the shape of a half-shield. Hurrig smiles as he inspects his work, and places it aside on the table for him to take later.
Before starting his next project, Hurrig lays out 25 gp worth of metal, mostly made up of the gold pieces themselves. Kneeling before it Hurrig prepares a ritual for an hour and says a dwarvish prayer, and in a flash of hot white light, the pieces of melded together into a scimitar. The same that had been depicted by Jex’s designs. The only change is a long the blade, starting at the hilt, is the word Justifier written in Dwarven runes.
Now, about late morning, Hurrig moves right on to the next project. He pounds out a long thin blade of Damascus steel, about a foot in blade length. Adding a socket and hooked wings to the base. Hurrig holds the spear head inspecting it. When he is happy with it, he takes out a chisel, and while the blade is still warm, stamps along the spine Path Maker in Dwarvish.
He realizes it is now lunch time. “Oi it’s time for a break, I’m going to see if I can get some food and deliver some of these goods to our friends.” Hurrig then leaves the forge for a break, still shirtless, to find some food, and Brundir Jex and Vark.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Valaith was walking about enjoying a little peace and quiet after breakfast when she spots the commotion near the gates and the odd movements of the guards posted. She quickly flags down someone and informs them to rush to the inn and gather the rest of the Archarnost as she approaches the gate. She spots the armed soldier and the strange sack he drags behind him. "Tell me, traveler, what is your name and what's in the sack? Provide me those answers and I'll provide you all the water you can drink. Until I get those answers, you'll not take another step."
Bründir woke up with the dawn, dressed in his armour and strapped on his sword. Today was a day for strong impressions to strong or unsure people. First stop was the town watch garrison. Word from earlier was that some were there who had influence, but not control or ambition. When the dwarf arrived, a hustling scribe stopped and snapped straight like a statue. He tried stammering out a greeting, but Bründir waved him down, "Lad, just point me to th' Quartermaster an' Drillmaster." The former had an office on a far wing attached to an extensive armoury, the latter's quarters were often empty anyway and he could be found out back on the drill field.
The quartermaster was first. The commotion in and around the armoury was mind-boggling. As Bründir entered, the room was 15'x15' with two adjoining rooms - one bearing a plaque and coat of arms, the other with a barred door blocking a more standard wooden one. Assistants were rushing between the barred room and the more official office, so much so that the dwarf felt obliged to wait for traffic to clear. When there was a break, he let himself in and found the chaos just as bad within. Two mousey scribes at small writing stands flanked an elderly man in thick furs at a wide desk. "Y-y-you! Wh-where did you- when did you get here?" He squints deeply, wrinkles crunching his face down. He waves Bründir with a snap of his wrist and motions to a stool beside the desk. "N-n-now then, who a-are you?" If this man was ever a fighter, he was long since his prime and few humans were likely alive that remember it. His curmudgeonly mouth twisted as it sized up this newcomer, "You l-l-look like either some uppity c-c-captain, or an upstart s-s-sellsword. You aren't b-barking orders, s-so you're not a c-c-captain."
It took a long moment for Bründir to fully take in this man. Sergeant Tanner was right in that this was no suitable replacement for a guard captain. "Sir, m'name's Bründir Halfshield. I've worked th' mines all my life. Recently, I've traveled with some others an' we've made a name fer ourselves: The Archarnost." He paused for the quartermaster's reaction, but received no indication the man even knew he stopped talking. "See, we helped free Sheercleft, an' this is my home. Seein' as what's happened since, I want th' watch restored. Seems th' way it is, I'd be willin' t'take th' helm an' steer."
The old armoured scribe propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands to examine the young dwarf, "Do you kn-kn....know the mess in there?" His bony hands gestured through door and across the entry room to the barred door. "A h-hundred spears, and fifty s-swords left without hands to hold them, Mister Bründir." His finger lowered and stamped the desk to punctuate each number, "And what do we h-h-have to replace them? Ch-Ch-Children who've grown tired of m-m-mining before it could make men of them. But that is the l-l-least of my worries, that is for the Drillmaster. N-N-Now, my mess here...w-w-what is the count, scribe?"
One of the mice to the side flips a few sheaves of paper and pulls out a long list, "Six hundred blades, four hundred spears, two hundred bows, one hundred and fifty jacks, one hundred helmets, and two hundred shields. This doesn't include pieces either too damaged, worn, or improperly sized for use. That list I have somewhere here, but it's the same size. We've made arrangements with the smiths and traders to move surplus out or refit it, but they can't keep up. We're bringing in more than they can handle."
The old Quartermaster pursed his lips and folded his hands on the desk, "I s-s-suppose you'll just sweep in, mak-k-ke it all go away, and thing will be b-b-b-beautiful?!"
Bründir settled into his stool and swung Dumdrengi's scabbard around to his lap. "I can'ot say I like hearin' yer...situation, but I may 'ave options. When we were sent out from 'ere, th' elves were needin' ore fer weapons - bandits, ye see. Bandits're gone, but they pro'bly still need arms. Dwarves're always good fer metal, but ye've got their forges set fer months. Got a friend with us, priest name o'Hurrig, styles himself a real wizard with a hammer an' fire. I could go on, but there's about a half-dozen more just rollin' off my tongue."
The Quartermaster nods slowly, "It will still take m-m-months, years even, to clear this with your h-h-help."
Bründir's diplomatic, mercantile demeanor washed away as he stood and rested an arm on the desk, "Then I've got my cherry right 'ere fer ya: I wanna raise th' watch. Ye've got more'n enough fer a guard, sure. What I want, though, is triple the men. Those ye've got who kicked them green n'orange skins out, they're good people. They're who'll stay 'ere an' man th' walls. They'll be th' crusty ol' ones who hold th' damn mountain storms out. What I want are these green kiddos." The dwarf gives a few raucous thumbs on the desk that shakes the quartermaster, "These kids want t'fight, that's why they're comin' out from th' mine. Ye've got goblin shit t'dress an army, so lemme raise that army with th' watch. What d'ye say?"
There's a long, uncomfortable pause as the old man chews over the offer and rubs his chin while Bründir keeps a fire in his eyes, "T-t-take half the s-s-s-shit from my armoury, raise your upstarts, and you w-w-will be half a com-m-m-mander we need. Quartermaster K-K-Kelton, at y-y-your service, Hopeful-Commander Bründir."
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Within an hour of their agreement and initial planning, Bründir left Quartermaster Kelton's office in search of the Drillmaster. His presence was heard before seen as shouting could be heard through the outer walls. The dwarf stepped outside and found a long yard littered with training dummies and obstacles. Three dozen green recruits in thick, padded jackets, thin plank shield, and wooden swords or spears, ran and drilled about the field. Armoured guards chased and barked at groups of six to ten recruits, but a solitary figure commanded them all. The man wasn't nearly as old as Quartermaster Kelton, but his white beard and bald head could've made him father to anyone out there, and grandfather to a few.
The dwarf smiled wide and strode across the field. His presence drew several confused and curious looks which, in turn, drew shouts from the sergeants. The statuesque figure in the center turned to regard Bründir as though the dwarf were half the size at the foot of a great pedestal. The man was arrogant, and the bard could smell the tension he manifested on the air. Before anything could be said, he spoke out to the newcomer, "You have stepped out onto my drill field, so you will understand my rules, is this clear?" He didn't even wait for a response before continuing, "First, you will address me as Drillmaster Flynn. This is as much a matter of respect for station; all guard commanders have observed as such. Second, no one steps onto this field without my consent. Third, everything and everyone you see here belong to me; I am the voice of authority short of the Commander who we are truly saddened to be without in such times. Is this understood?"
Bründir gave a wide smile, followed by a chuckle, "Now you I like! Yer time's valuable, Drillmaster Flynn, as we can both see, so I'll be quick. Name's Bründir Halfshield, born'n raised in th' mine 'ere. I want t'raise th' guard t'make a fightin' force. I need yer 'elp, an' I hear there's a discipline problem out there." Bründir's gives a nod toward town, but Drillmaster Flynn remains resolute.
"Master Bründir, I trained many of the men and women you see on the walls and streets. I held the line here and watched as green recruits were butchered or taken hostage by hobgoblins. I was thrown in a shanty with others in the same shit, and we all thought we were dead. Didn't stop me, though, every day, I kept thinking of how to break out and retake the city." The Drillmaster gives a beckoning nod and begins walking around the yard, "I heard of you and your ragtag group. I heard you all swept in, started cutting down goblins in droves, then mounted their warlord's head on a spike while we were dying in the street pushing back the hordes."
"Yeah...about that. Look, we weren't gonna be killin' no army with jus' us. We figured hit th' big man an' throw'em all out of sorts."
"I wasn't criticizing. You made a strategic choice based on your tactical resources. Never let anyone fault you for such. I will say this: If you have aspirations of becoming our new commander, you have a long way to go. Only a handful have ever attained such without coming through the watch first, so you have to prove that you are more than a pretty face with a nice story. I don't care either way, just don't be a politician or a fool. I am here to train, and train I will. Earn the trust of the men, and you'll have your force in time." Drillmaster Flynn turns to resume his review of training without further regard to his visitor.
His business tenuously complete, Bründir left the garrison to walk the city and mingle with whatever guard patrols he came across. He figured it was best to start with those he knew first, he returned to the gate he'd visited before to update Sergeant Tanner. When he arrived, there was a small gathering murmuring about something the dwarf couldn't make out. When he'd finally made it to the front, Bründir saw Valaith with a strange man, "Ev'rythin' alright?"
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Val nods and tosses her own waterskin over towards this Marks fellow and allows him to drink deeply before addressing him again. “So, what brings you to Sheercleft, Markus?” She glances over her shoulder as Brundir comes up to her. “Not sure, this fellah wandered up to the gate like this and wants to know who’s in charge here. So… Brundir who is in charge here anyway?”
She directs her gaze back over the wandering, disheveled warrior as she scans the horizon for any other movement, fully expecting this to be some sort of wizard trap nonsense...
"Thank you. Much appreciated." He pours a little more over his face and hair, cleaning off some of the dirt from the road, placing his cap carefully back on his head when he's done.
"I'm travelling. Making most of my retirement away from the memories. Hoping to pick up some work. I heard you had goblin troubles and was hoping you'd be looking for experienced hands to rebuild. Part time like."
Val shares a look with Brundir and shrugs. "You are not wrong there, Markus. We have had much trouble in these parts, which makes us a little untrusting of strangers. You are welcome to come into the town, but I ask you leave your weapons at the gate for now until those in charge get a moment to speak with you. I swear to you as a warrior of the southern wastes that none shall touch your belongings while they wait for you. If you agree to this, you're welcome to come in."
Hurrig makes his way with his new items in a sack. Looking for his friends. He is stopped by a guard who tells him he is being requested by Val at the gates. He makes his way over, and pulls a shirt blackened with soot out of the sack and tosses it on. He arrives to find Brundir and Val, and a strange man dragging around a sack. “I guess tadays sack dragging day,” he gestures at the mans sack of gear and his own. “Good aftanoon Val. Brundir! Just the dwarf I was looking for! When we’re finished here I have something for ya.”
Turning to Markus, “Well we most certainly have a lot to build. How did ya hear of our troubles? If ya don’t mind... us mountain folk are a wee bit suspicious of strangers at our doorsteps right now...”
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Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Markus shrugs and hands over a spear and simple shortsword.
"Mind if I keep the shield?" He hefts the sack up and offers it to the group to look inside. There are some clothes, heavily worn, and some general belongings.
"I was leaving Quenlan, walked through the mountains, was hoping to find some mercenary work or perhaps something guarding caravans around the dwarven lands. When I got there I heard trade had stalled. I rested a little, then decided to head this way, see if I couldn't find some work securing trade lines. Got attacked by goblins on the way, they killed my horse but a group of elves was already chasing them, overran them and killed them before I had really even got involved. Couldn't spare me a horse though, but they told me what was going on. A few days later I ran into some traders, said things had opened back up but that things were still disorganised here. Thought about joining them but didn't fancy going home yet. Thought you might need some expertise in setting things in order here though."
Bründir perks a bit when he hears the other dwarf behind him, "Seems like a party now, eh? Fella 'ere came through th' mountains, says goblins're still wanderin' around, but there's elves helpin'. Ye say yer 'expertise', what was it again?"
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vark spends the early morning mulling over the previous day’s discussion. Despite Jex’s cynicism, he felt the rest of the Acharnost had stuck up for him. Even if they didn’t understand his decision, they at least respected his agency. Now Vark feels he has something to prove, and figuring out a way to combat the sisters’ penchant for invisibility seems like the perfect challenge to test his new power. After a quick breakfast he heads northwest out of Sheercleft, walking along the edge of the ravine. He finds a rocky outcropping about a half mile outside of the town and sits there on the edge, staring into the darkness below before closing his eyes. For awhile he just sits and meditates. Though he can now feel Matthew’s infernal gift in his veins like a searing fever, the magic of elemental air is still strong in his core. It feels boundless and free, cold but in a way that is refreshing and exhilarating, the adrenaline of flight, of distant rumbling thunder and the sudden crack of lightning. He remembers the last time he meditated like this, surrounded by cumulus clouds atop the bandits’ wall. He remembers the stinging blizzard gales of his home on Endelfjell. He even thinks of the near-death freefall he took in this very ravine; the wind whipping past his face was the only sensation he could feel before he miraculously caught himself. He feels that same wind now, whirling around his form. He opens his eyes and finds that this sensation is reality: Vark hovers nearly sixty feet above the ravine aloft on a swirling updraft of his own creation. The sorcerer grins and floats steadily higher, simply enjoying the freedom and familiar feeling of being attuned to the sky. Eventually he drifts back down, but the gentle cyclone remains.
Now that he is feeling far more in touch with his own primal magic than he has over the last several days, he tries to focus on the problem at hand. “Invisibility is illusion based magic. It alters what people see, changes how they perceive reality.” Seid had explained over breakfast. “I suppose foiling that would require abjuration to simply dispel the effect, or perhaps divination to see through it.” The latter half of this seems far more complicated to Vark, so he decides to focus on the first part. He had used his elemental magic to conceal himself and his friends several times before, masking them with rolling banks of cloud. Perhaps he could mask someone simply with the air. Most often the element was invisible itself, and the phrase ‘vanish into thin air’ springs to mind. He starts with what he knows, calling the billowing winds around him to gather water and dust and it’s only a moment before clouds blossom around the half-orc. Immediately he notices the dramatic shift in color that his magic has taken on. His clouds are no longer a whimsical white, instead the’ve darkened into little storms of charcoal. Matthew. Vark hadn’t known before that warlock patrons tended to leave marks on their protégés. Between the red streaks through his hair and now this, Vark wonders what other ways his new hellish power might take. Like a mental breeze the sorcerer pushes these thoughts from his mind and focuses once more. The clouds expand and swirl around him, concealing him in a grey vortex. Now Vark closes his eyes and allows the clouds to roll away. In his mind he imagines it as the end of a storm, winds pushing away the overcast darkness and revealing nothing but clear, empty skies behind them. When he first opens his eyes, he is disappointed to find that he sees nothing has happened. But then he realizes it... he sees nothing! He has cracked it, and the newly invisible sorcerer jumps up and runs along the side of the ravine back towards Sheercleft. He spends a while just walking through the streets with a giant grin on his face, unseen by the people around him. They are lucky Vark isn’t much of a wonton prankster, though he does consider giving Jex a good scare. Of course the half-elf is never easily found, and Vark has second thoughts when he considers the fact his would-be target is a trained assassin.
So he treks back to his meditation spot and returns to his arcane experimentation. He’s figured out how to become invisible by warping the air around him, but now he needs to figure out how to see through the illusion. His thoughts drift back to when he learned how to sense waves of arcane energy: seeing, hearing, and feeling them like crackling static electricity. Perhaps he could apply the same approach to searching for invisible dragonborn mages. Instead of opening his senses to all magical energy, he could focus in on the innate elemental magic in the air itself. It would be like watching the ripples in a pond as creatures swim across the surface. He looks down at his own body and allows his senses to open up. At first it seems as if his eyes are playing tricks as his visual range begins to swim with movement. But then he realizes he is looking at the breeze. Like a current the air slips past him, bending around his form and revealing it to his magical vision. But it only lasts a minute, as his concentration slips from the invisibility to the divination spell. Vark is visible again, with a very visible smile as he reflects on his new abilities and runs off to tell the others.
"Oh, sorry I didn't tell you." He reaches into his coat and pulls out a badge and a letter. "I was a guard captain in Quenlan, and Shamley before that. I organised the men on the gates, enforced taxes, all sorts. In later years I was more used for scheduling, hiring, training, looking for corruption within the guards. They didn't trust my bones on the wall so much with my age I guess. But look at me rambling." He hands over the warrant badge and letter. The letter unroll to show the official Quenlan seal and a neatly written letter addressed to Markus.
To Captain Markus Black,
We thank you on your retirement for so many years of service to the guards of Quenlan. Your experience, expertise and selfless bravery will be sorely missed. We wish you all the best in your retirement and present you with the enclosed token as of our gratitude.
We remember you for your valuable part in:
Catching the killer of Tymon
The capture of several corrupt guards
The chasing of many thieves across roovescand wall.
...
The letter continues to list exploits, some specific, some general, the list is in a different, much less beautiful hand. Clearly written by someone not used to handling ink. It is signed at the bottom and stamped with wax again.
Markus looks expectantly at Brundir once he has finished reading and holds out his hand for it's return.
"A silly formality of a bit of paper really. Person who signed it probably didn't even know my name, but the people who filled in that list did so I like to keep it close. Might be good for recommending me some small jobs in my retirement I hope."
Thurston waves his hand to the dwarven cleric as he goes in search for his companions to deliver the weapons they had just forged. He rest for a while, taking a horn of mead sitting at a wooden table enjoying the sun. Then he stands and puts more wood on the forge. “Better to start working on that armor. The sooner we go to that cave the sooner we go to hunt the Sisters. Don’t you worry my friend “he says looking at the warhammer that is close “you’ll see action pretty soon.”
Bründir scans the letter Markus holds up, not taking great time to read it in-depth, but enough to skim the gist. "Well, can't say as we don't need yer help. Been a bad spot with these goblins, an' our last captain fell when we kicked'em out. But ye say ye're retired? So happens I'm lookin' t'bring our guard back an' could use some help."
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Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
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Thurston has been quiet, looking to his companions while the speak. He had noticed Jex’s glance the moment Vark started to talk.
“Friends” he says “I think it’s enough for mistrust among us.Enough grudges. We all had fought together, bled together. We could come from different places around the world but we are together now as comrades, as friends, as a family. And we stand together. Now Vark, a loved an respected member of our family, has made a choice. You are a fool boy, but a brave fool nonetheless. “He raises a finger to cut any reply from anyone “ Taking the risk to strengthen the bond with that creature in order to obtain information that we can use is a bold, brave and fool movement. One that I respect and I trust you boy, and respect you and your decision. Now, for the rest of ya, give Jex a break will you? If my mind and will would be taken away by some devil or evil magic-user and I would start hurting innocents or you... I not only hope that all of you put me down, but I will be greatful and toast for you in Valhalla. That’s what Vark has said and that’s what Jex is offering. And make note all of you. If that would ever happens and I my soul is beyond recovery put me down. Better you than others. Now, when we were fighting the wizards down in the mines we were caught by surprise by this devil taking control of Vark. You, my friend” says to Vark “You’ve kept your word and come to us when he made contact. Proving that you are true to your word. Now we know what are we dealing with. So this will unlikely come to pass again. We need to be stronger, we need to prepare. We have hard fights ahead and a loose arrow from a stupid brigand can be our demise as well as great devils of old making pacts with young pretty boys. And I cannot go to battle asking myself if the dwarf is going to turn against the wizard or the wizard is going to slit the troath of the half-orc. We have great things to take care ahead of us and we will only succeed against the Dragonborn sisters, the colossal task of rebuilding the city, finding and stopping the Maginobi... if we do it together as friends and family. So if any of you aren’t going to trust the others just leave and may Thor guide your path but if you stay, stay alongside the others. “
He looks in the eye of the rest of them, take a sip from his, until that moment, untouched drink, emptying it, and continue
”Now let’s focus on the sisters once and for all. Now that we know they are not the reincarnation of a demigodness is time to prove it. I say that we hunt one down and put her head on a pike in front of their fortress. Let’s see how many followers they got left after that. But this time we need to have a plan to avoid them to escape. Seid do you have any means to prevent them to go invisible? Or to make them visible again?”
PbP Character: A few ;)
Val slaps her hand on the table enthusiastically following Thurston's speech. "Hear hear! I agree with Thurston! He is ever the better speaker than me. No more infighting, no more arguments. Unless you kiss me, then I'll break your jaw." She raises an eyebrow at Jex, but laughs. "Bolder men have fared far worse than you did that night, Jex!" She tips up her mug as well to Thurston.
When Seid is addressed he spends a moment thinking about Thurston's request, but ultimately shakes his head. "No, unfortunately such magic is beyond my comprehension at the moment. Vark was able to briefly touch such magic with the aid of Matthew, I am assuming, when he dispelled that magical rune in Quinton's office. Also, I do not believe I will be accompanying you all on this journey to seek out the Dragonborn sisters. I feel my place is here in Sheercleft for a time. There is much research I need to do if we are ever able to begin unraveling this mystery set before us."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Thurston laughs at Val’s words and nods at Seid’s.
”We will feel much more at easy with one of us here taking care of things. Then we are prone to more mundane methods. Remember me to get a bucket full of horse shit and mud. If we can’t see them then we can see the mud and our noses will guide to them. “ he smirks and take another drink.
“And you Vark, we will start training tomorrow. The exercise will make you stronger. So eat well tonight.’you could use more meat over those bones...”
PbP Character: A few ;)
Hurrig raises is glass as Val cheers Thurston. “Wise words friend. I too think the sisters are the next target. When we are ready and get things settled. For now we head to Khaz a Grungon to better prepare Sheercleft and open more lines of trade. I know I said this coming Thorsday, but give me 3 days to make a few things in the forge. Then I will be ready to go.” Hurrig finishes his pint, slams his glass on the table, and stands up from the table, “For now, I rest. Have a busy day in that forge tomorrow.”
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Iznik Sylnithas - Half Drow Blood Hunter Level 2 Precipice of Voids
The next morning, after breakfast, but before the sun has fully risen in the sky, there is a commotion at the gates. A stranger has been spotted approaching the village. Their movement seems slow, they lean forward as though pulling on something that's dragging them back. A dull dented helmet adorns their head, and they shuffle as the walk. As they come more into view, it is clear they are armoured in old battered leather and wrapped in a cloak that was probably white at some point, though now it is tattered and filthy from travel. A spear is over his shoulder and a sword at his hip. The reason for the strange movement soon becomes apparent as a rope is tied around his waist attached at the other end to a shield which is dragging along the ground with a large sack inside. He calls up to the guard post. "Hey, who's in charge here?" The voice is weary and hoarse, but full of conviction and authority enough for the captain on duty to send word into the village. Meanwhile the stranger stands, leaning out of breath against the palisade. "Water. Please."
He pulls the helmet from his head, replacing it with a cap from his belt. His hair is slick with sweat, grey and long, his face dotted with stubble, also grey. The wrinkles and lines on his face show the age of the man as much as the stiffness in his movements. Clearly too old for such travel, but strong enough to have pushed through.
Hurrig wakes in the early morning the sun just beginning to peak around the moon, and prays to Moradin. He takes a quick walk past the temple. He then heads straight to the forge. He quickly lights the forge and begins getting things ready for the projects ahead. The building quickly begins to warm up and Hurrig removes his shirt, revealing the traditional Dwarven tattoos to depict a forging tradition, there are only a few, but they are very intricate. One major piece on his left pec is Moradin’s burning anvil. There are burn scars that are incorporated into the tattoos. When Thurston arrives, Hurrig says “I enjoy making the weapons the most, so I’m going to focus on those first. We can take on some of the larger projects together like Varks armor.”
The first of Hurrig’s projects, he feels need to be crafted by hand. For the majority of the morning he works a small piece of metal into a broach or clasp for a cloak, he spends much of the time shaping it just right and polishing the steel. When he is finished, a beautifully polished steel broach with a wooden inlay is produced in the shape of a half-shield. Hurrig smiles as he inspects his work, and places it aside on the table for him to take later.
Before starting his next project, Hurrig lays out 25 gp worth of metal, mostly made up of the gold pieces themselves. Kneeling before it Hurrig prepares a ritual for an hour and says a dwarvish prayer, and in a flash of hot white light, the pieces of melded together into a scimitar. The same that had been depicted by Jex’s designs. The only change is a long the blade, starting at the hilt, is the word Justifier written in Dwarven runes.
Now, about late morning, Hurrig moves right on to the next project. He pounds out a long thin blade of Damascus steel, about a foot in blade length. Adding a socket and hooked wings to the base. Hurrig holds the spear head inspecting it. When he is happy with it, he takes out a chisel, and while the blade is still warm, stamps along the spine Path Maker in Dwarvish.
He realizes it is now lunch time. “Oi it’s time for a break, I’m going to see if I can get some food and deliver some of these goods to our friends.” Hurrig then leaves the forge for a break, still shirtless, to find some food, and Brundir Jex and Vark.
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Iznik Sylnithas - Half Drow Blood Hunter Level 2 Precipice of Voids
Valaith was walking about enjoying a little peace and quiet after breakfast when she spots the commotion near the gates and the odd movements of the guards posted. She quickly flags down someone and informs them to rush to the inn and gather the rest of the Archarnost as she approaches the gate. She spots the armed soldier and the strange sack he drags behind him. "Tell me, traveler, what is your name and what's in the sack? Provide me those answers and I'll provide you all the water you can drink. Until I get those answers, you'll not take another step."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
The man looks at Val with a nod, but no fear.
"Name's Markus. Sack has my belongings, nothing more. Lost my horse a few days back. Been dragging it since."
He kicks his lips. "Now the water."
Bründir woke up with the dawn, dressed in his armour and strapped on his sword. Today was a day for strong impressions to strong or unsure people. First stop was the town watch garrison. Word from earlier was that some were there who had influence, but not control or ambition. When the dwarf arrived, a hustling scribe stopped and snapped straight like a statue. He tried stammering out a greeting, but Bründir waved him down, "Lad, just point me to th' Quartermaster an' Drillmaster." The former had an office on a far wing attached to an extensive armoury, the latter's quarters were often empty anyway and he could be found out back on the drill field.
The quartermaster was first. The commotion in and around the armoury was mind-boggling. As Bründir entered, the room was 15'x15' with two adjoining rooms - one bearing a plaque and coat of arms, the other with a barred door blocking a more standard wooden one. Assistants were rushing between the barred room and the more official office, so much so that the dwarf felt obliged to wait for traffic to clear. When there was a break, he let himself in and found the chaos just as bad within. Two mousey scribes at small writing stands flanked an elderly man in thick furs at a wide desk. "Y-y-you! Wh-where did you- when did you get here?" He squints deeply, wrinkles crunching his face down. He waves Bründir with a snap of his wrist and motions to a stool beside the desk. "N-n-now then, who a-are you?" If this man was ever a fighter, he was long since his prime and few humans were likely alive that remember it. His curmudgeonly mouth twisted as it sized up this newcomer, "You l-l-look like either some uppity c-c-captain, or an upstart s-s-sellsword. You aren't b-barking orders, s-so you're not a c-c-captain."
It took a long moment for Bründir to fully take in this man. Sergeant Tanner was right in that this was no suitable replacement for a guard captain. "Sir, m'name's Bründir Halfshield. I've worked th' mines all my life. Recently, I've traveled with some others an' we've made a name fer ourselves: The Archarnost." He paused for the quartermaster's reaction, but received no indication the man even knew he stopped talking. "See, we helped free Sheercleft, an' this is my home. Seein' as what's happened since, I want th' watch restored. Seems th' way it is, I'd be willin' t'take th' helm an' steer."
The old armoured scribe propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands to examine the young dwarf, "Do you kn-kn....know the mess in there?" His bony hands gestured through door and across the entry room to the barred door. "A h-hundred spears, and fifty s-swords left without hands to hold them, Mister Bründir." His finger lowered and stamped the desk to punctuate each number, "And what do we h-h-have to replace them? Ch-Ch-Children who've grown tired of m-m-mining before it could make men of them. But that is the l-l-least of my worries, that is for the Drillmaster. N-N-Now, my mess here...w-w-what is the count, scribe?"
One of the mice to the side flips a few sheaves of paper and pulls out a long list, "Six hundred blades, four hundred spears, two hundred bows, one hundred and fifty jacks, one hundred helmets, and two hundred shields. This doesn't include pieces either too damaged, worn, or improperly sized for use. That list I have somewhere here, but it's the same size. We've made arrangements with the smiths and traders to move surplus out or refit it, but they can't keep up. We're bringing in more than they can handle."
The old Quartermaster pursed his lips and folded his hands on the desk, "I s-s-suppose you'll just sweep in, mak-k-ke it all go away, and thing will be b-b-b-beautiful?!"
Bründir settled into his stool and swung Dumdrengi's scabbard around to his lap. "I can'ot say I like hearin' yer...situation, but I may 'ave options. When we were sent out from 'ere, th' elves were needin' ore fer weapons - bandits, ye see. Bandits're gone, but they pro'bly still need arms. Dwarves're always good fer metal, but ye've got their forges set fer months. Got a friend with us, priest name o'Hurrig, styles himself a real wizard with a hammer an' fire. I could go on, but there's about a half-dozen more just rollin' off my tongue."
The Quartermaster nods slowly, "It will still take m-m-months, years even, to clear this with your h-h-help."
Bründir's diplomatic, mercantile demeanor washed away as he stood and rested an arm on the desk, "Then I've got my cherry right 'ere fer ya: I wanna raise th' watch. Ye've got more'n enough fer a guard, sure. What I want, though, is triple the men. Those ye've got who kicked them green n'orange skins out, they're good people. They're who'll stay 'ere an' man th' walls. They'll be th' crusty ol' ones who hold th' damn mountain storms out. What I want are these green kiddos." The dwarf gives a few raucous thumbs on the desk that shakes the quartermaster, "These kids want t'fight, that's why they're comin' out from th' mine. Ye've got goblin shit t'dress an army, so lemme raise that army with th' watch. What d'ye say?"
There's a long, uncomfortable pause as the old man chews over the offer and rubs his chin while Bründir keeps a fire in his eyes, "T-t-take half the s-s-s-shit from my armoury, raise your upstarts, and you w-w-will be half a com-m-m-mander we need. Quartermaster K-K-Kelton, at y-y-your service, Hopeful-Commander Bründir."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Within an hour of their agreement and initial planning, Bründir left Quartermaster Kelton's office in search of the Drillmaster. His presence was heard before seen as shouting could be heard through the outer walls. The dwarf stepped outside and found a long yard littered with training dummies and obstacles. Three dozen green recruits in thick, padded jackets, thin plank shield, and wooden swords or spears, ran and drilled about the field. Armoured guards chased and barked at groups of six to ten recruits, but a solitary figure commanded them all. The man wasn't nearly as old as Quartermaster Kelton, but his white beard and bald head could've made him father to anyone out there, and grandfather to a few.
The dwarf smiled wide and strode across the field. His presence drew several confused and curious looks which, in turn, drew shouts from the sergeants. The statuesque figure in the center turned to regard Bründir as though the dwarf were half the size at the foot of a great pedestal. The man was arrogant, and the bard could smell the tension he manifested on the air. Before anything could be said, he spoke out to the newcomer, "You have stepped out onto my drill field, so you will understand my rules, is this clear?" He didn't even wait for a response before continuing, "First, you will address me as Drillmaster Flynn. This is as much a matter of respect for station; all guard commanders have observed as such. Second, no one steps onto this field without my consent. Third, everything and everyone you see here belong to me; I am the voice of authority short of the Commander who we are truly saddened to be without in such times. Is this understood?"
Bründir gave a wide smile, followed by a chuckle, "Now you I like! Yer time's valuable, Drillmaster Flynn, as we can both see, so I'll be quick. Name's Bründir Halfshield, born'n raised in th' mine 'ere. I want t'raise th' guard t'make a fightin' force. I need yer 'elp, an' I hear there's a discipline problem out there." Bründir's gives a nod toward town, but Drillmaster Flynn remains resolute.
"Master Bründir, I trained many of the men and women you see on the walls and streets. I held the line here and watched as green recruits were butchered or taken hostage by hobgoblins. I was thrown in a shanty with others in the same shit, and we all thought we were dead. Didn't stop me, though, every day, I kept thinking of how to break out and retake the city." The Drillmaster gives a beckoning nod and begins walking around the yard, "I heard of you and your ragtag group. I heard you all swept in, started cutting down goblins in droves, then mounted their warlord's head on a spike while we were dying in the street pushing back the hordes."
"Yeah...about that. Look, we weren't gonna be killin' no army with jus' us. We figured hit th' big man an' throw'em all out of sorts."
"I wasn't criticizing. You made a strategic choice based on your tactical resources. Never let anyone fault you for such. I will say this: If you have aspirations of becoming our new commander, you have a long way to go. Only a handful have ever attained such without coming through the watch first, so you have to prove that you are more than a pretty face with a nice story. I don't care either way, just don't be a politician or a fool. I am here to train, and train I will. Earn the trust of the men, and you'll have your force in time." Drillmaster Flynn turns to resume his review of training without further regard to his visitor.
His business tenuously complete, Bründir left the garrison to walk the city and mingle with whatever guard patrols he came across. He figured it was best to start with those he knew first, he returned to the gate he'd visited before to update Sergeant Tanner. When he arrived, there was a small gathering murmuring about something the dwarf couldn't make out. When he'd finally made it to the front, Bründir saw Valaith with a strange man, "Ev'rythin' alright?"
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Val nods and tosses her own waterskin over towards this Marks fellow and allows him to drink deeply before addressing him again. “So, what brings you to Sheercleft, Markus?” She glances over her shoulder as Brundir comes up to her. “Not sure, this fellah wandered up to the gate like this and wants to know who’s in charge here. So… Brundir who is in charge here anyway?”
She directs her gaze back over the wandering, disheveled warrior as she scans the horizon for any other movement, fully expecting this to be some sort of wizard trap nonsense...
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Markus takes a long deep drink from the skin.
"Thank you. Much appreciated." He pours a little more over his face and hair, cleaning off some of the dirt from the road, placing his cap carefully back on his head when he's done.
"I'm travelling. Making most of my retirement away from the memories. Hoping to pick up some work. I heard you had goblin troubles and was hoping you'd be looking for experienced hands to rebuild. Part time like."
Val shares a look with Brundir and shrugs. "You are not wrong there, Markus. We have had much trouble in these parts, which makes us a little untrusting of strangers. You are welcome to come into the town, but I ask you leave your weapons at the gate for now until those in charge get a moment to speak with you. I swear to you as a warrior of the southern wastes that none shall touch your belongings while they wait for you. If you agree to this, you're welcome to come in."
Valaith "Rimehand" Kalukavi - Chronicles of Arden
Hurrig makes his way with his new items in a sack. Looking for his friends. He is stopped by a guard who tells him he is being requested by Val at the gates. He makes his way over, and pulls a shirt blackened with soot out of the sack and tosses it on. He arrives to find Brundir and Val, and a strange man dragging around a sack. “I guess tadays sack dragging day,” he gestures at the mans sack of gear and his own. “Good aftanoon Val. Brundir! Just the dwarf I was looking for! When we’re finished here I have something for ya.”
Turning to Markus, “Well we most certainly have a lot to build. How did ya hear of our troubles? If ya don’t mind... us mountain folk are a wee bit suspicious of strangers at our doorsteps right now...”
Mavi Göz Mal - Half Orc Monk Level 1 Not Another Lost Mine of Phandelver
Drita - Aasimar Hexblade Warlock Lvl 3 Tomb of Annhilation
Iznik Sylnithas - Half Drow Blood Hunter Level 2 Precipice of Voids
Markus shrugs and hands over a spear and simple shortsword.
"Mind if I keep the shield?" He hefts the sack up and offers it to the group to look inside. There are some clothes, heavily worn, and some general belongings.
"I was leaving Quenlan, walked through the mountains, was hoping to find some mercenary work or perhaps something guarding caravans around the dwarven lands. When I got there I heard trade had stalled. I rested a little, then decided to head this way, see if I couldn't find some work securing trade lines. Got attacked by goblins on the way, they killed my horse but a group of elves was already chasing them, overran them and killed them before I had really even got involved. Couldn't spare me a horse though, but they told me what was going on. A few days later I ran into some traders, said things had opened back up but that things were still disorganised here. Thought about joining them but didn't fancy going home yet. Thought you might need some expertise in setting things in order here though."
Bründir perks a bit when he hears the other dwarf behind him, "Seems like a party now, eh? Fella 'ere came through th' mountains, says goblins're still wanderin' around, but there's elves helpin'. Ye say yer 'expertise', what was it again?"
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
Vark spends the early morning mulling over the previous day’s discussion. Despite Jex’s cynicism, he felt the rest of the Acharnost had stuck up for him. Even if they didn’t understand his decision, they at least respected his agency. Now Vark feels he has something to prove, and figuring out a way to combat the sisters’ penchant for invisibility seems like the perfect challenge to test his new power. After a quick breakfast he heads northwest out of Sheercleft, walking along the edge of the ravine. He finds a rocky outcropping about a half mile outside of the town and sits there on the edge, staring into the darkness below before closing his eyes. For awhile he just sits and meditates. Though he can now feel Matthew’s infernal gift in his veins like a searing fever, the magic of elemental air is still strong in his core. It feels boundless and free, cold but in a way that is refreshing and exhilarating, the adrenaline of flight, of distant rumbling thunder and the sudden crack of lightning. He remembers the last time he meditated like this, surrounded by cumulus clouds atop the bandits’ wall. He remembers the stinging blizzard gales of his home on Endelfjell. He even thinks of the near-death freefall he took in this very ravine; the wind whipping past his face was the only sensation he could feel before he miraculously caught himself. He feels that same wind now, whirling around his form. He opens his eyes and finds that this sensation is reality: Vark hovers nearly sixty feet above the ravine aloft on a swirling updraft of his own creation. The sorcerer grins and floats steadily higher, simply enjoying the freedom and familiar feeling of being attuned to the sky. Eventually he drifts back down, but the gentle cyclone remains.
Now that he is feeling far more in touch with his own primal magic than he has over the last several days, he tries to focus on the problem at hand. “Invisibility is illusion based magic. It alters what people see, changes how they perceive reality.” Seid had explained over breakfast. “I suppose foiling that would require abjuration to simply dispel the effect, or perhaps divination to see through it.” The latter half of this seems far more complicated to Vark, so he decides to focus on the first part. He had used his elemental magic to conceal himself and his friends several times before, masking them with rolling banks of cloud. Perhaps he could mask someone simply with the air. Most often the element was invisible itself, and the phrase ‘vanish into thin air’ springs to mind. He starts with what he knows, calling the billowing winds around him to gather water and dust and it’s only a moment before clouds blossom around the half-orc. Immediately he notices the dramatic shift in color that his magic has taken on. His clouds are no longer a whimsical white, instead the’ve darkened into little storms of charcoal. Matthew. Vark hadn’t known before that warlock patrons tended to leave marks on their protégés. Between the red streaks through his hair and now this, Vark wonders what other ways his new hellish power might take. Like a mental breeze the sorcerer pushes these thoughts from his mind and focuses once more. The clouds expand and swirl around him, concealing him in a grey vortex. Now Vark closes his eyes and allows the clouds to roll away. In his mind he imagines it as the end of a storm, winds pushing away the overcast darkness and revealing nothing but clear, empty skies behind them. When he first opens his eyes, he is disappointed to find that he sees nothing has happened. But then he realizes it... he sees nothing! He has cracked it, and the newly invisible sorcerer jumps up and runs along the side of the ravine back towards Sheercleft. He spends a while just walking through the streets with a giant grin on his face, unseen by the people around him. They are lucky Vark isn’t much of a wonton prankster, though he does consider giving Jex a good scare. Of course the half-elf is never easily found, and Vark has second thoughts when he considers the fact his would-be target is a trained assassin.
So he treks back to his meditation spot and returns to his arcane experimentation. He’s figured out how to become invisible by warping the air around him, but now he needs to figure out how to see through the illusion. His thoughts drift back to when he learned how to sense waves of arcane energy: seeing, hearing, and feeling them like crackling static electricity. Perhaps he could apply the same approach to searching for invisible dragonborn mages. Instead of opening his senses to all magical energy, he could focus in on the innate elemental magic in the air itself. It would be like watching the ripples in a pond as creatures swim across the surface. He looks down at his own body and allows his senses to open up. At first it seems as if his eyes are playing tricks as his visual range begins to swim with movement. But then he realizes he is looking at the breeze. Like a current the air slips past him, bending around his form and revealing it to his magical vision. But it only lasts a minute, as his concentration slips from the invisibility to the divination spell. Vark is visible again, with a very visible smile as he reflects on his new abilities and runs off to tell the others.
Chronicles of Arden: Sheercleft - Vark Galestone | Half-Orc | Storm Sorcerer
Chronicles of Arden: Hunters - Caio Cypherien | Shadar-Kai | Inquisitor Ranger
Markus looks at Brundir for a second.
"Oh, sorry I didn't tell you." He reaches into his coat and pulls out a badge and a letter. "I was a guard captain in Quenlan, and Shamley before that. I organised the men on the gates, enforced taxes, all sorts. In later years I was more used for scheduling, hiring, training, looking for corruption within the guards. They didn't trust my bones on the wall so much with my age I guess. But look at me rambling." He hands over the warrant badge and letter. The letter unroll to show the official Quenlan seal and a neatly written letter addressed to Markus.
To Captain Markus Black,
We thank you on your retirement for so many years of service to the guards of Quenlan. Your experience, expertise and selfless bravery will be sorely missed. We wish you all the best in your retirement and present you with the enclosed token as of our gratitude.
We remember you for your valuable part in:
Catching the killer of Tymon
The capture of several corrupt guards
The chasing of many thieves across roovescand wall.
...
The letter continues to list exploits, some specific, some general, the list is in a different, much less beautiful hand. Clearly written by someone not used to handling ink. It is signed at the bottom and stamped with wax again.
Markus looks expectantly at Brundir once he has finished reading and holds out his hand for it's return.
"A silly formality of a bit of paper really. Person who signed it probably didn't even know my name, but the people who filled in that list did so I like to keep it close. Might be good for recommending me some small jobs in my retirement I hope."
Thurston waves his hand to the dwarven cleric as he goes in search for his companions to deliver the weapons they had just forged.
He rest for a while, taking a horn of mead sitting at a wooden table enjoying the sun. Then he stands and puts more wood on the forge.
“Better to start working on that armor. The sooner we go to that cave the sooner we go to hunt the Sisters. Don’t you worry my friend “he says looking at the warhammer that is close “you’ll see action pretty soon.”
PbP Character: A few ;)
Bründir scans the letter Markus holds up, not taking great time to read it in-depth, but enough to skim the gist. "Well, can't say as we don't need yer help. Been a bad spot with these goblins, an' our last captain fell when we kicked'em out. But ye say ye're retired? So happens I'm lookin' t'bring our guard back an' could use some help."
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero