Smiling as Mal attempts to fade into the background. "Buy Yuno, I have no desire to attack you." She will then concentrate on Trythia and Haluth speaking into their minds, "Sorry for the intrusion, the three of us can now speak telepathically."
Stealth: 19
Psionic Power: Psychic Whispers - 2 hour duration
Trythia gives no indication of this unexpected...situation. She responds in kind. "Interesting. Why us and why now?"
Hopefully slinking in the shadows Mal responds, "Haluth because I have known him the longest and I trust. You because, well, to be blunt, you have a matter of fact attitude and from the look of you, you can handle yourself in a fight." Mal pauses a moment, "As to why now, the forest around us seems very unwelcoming and better have it and not need the ability than need it and not have it."
The ruined forest gave way in fits and starts as Gedyr pressed on, the pull in his chest guiding him with steady certainty. He crossed broken ground where roots split cobbles and vines coiled through shattered stone, each step bringing him deeper into the heart of what was once a proud place. The southeastern wall of the ruin lay in pieces, more rubble than fortification, and through the gaps the courtyard beyond waited, still and heavy with age.
The air here was different. The strange echoes that had haunted his march through the forest grew sharper, more insistent. His footsteps rang back to him a fraction too late, each sound clipped and distorted. Shadows leaned in odd directions, and light itself seemed to bend across broken stone, as though the ruin refused to align with the world around it. The metallic tang on his tongue thickened until it felt as though he were breathing sparks.
The pull within him was stronger now—so close it felt as though the source pressed just beyond the next crumbling wall. Twenty minutes, no more, and he would stand before it. The thought brought with it no relief, only a deep weight, as if the ruin itself judged his approach.
Gedyr drew the brass rod, the familiar hum of its presence grounding him against the warped air. Words of power slipped from his lips, and necromantic energy coiled briefly about him before fading from sight. A thin sheen of protection clung unseen to his skin, a quiet ward against the dangers he knew must lie ahead. Still, the distortion pressed at the edge of his senses, as though the ruin itself whispered for him to turn back.
The forest closes in as you press onward. The air is heavy, damp with the scent of moss and rot, but beneath it lurks something sharper — the faint tang of metal on your tongue, as though the air itself has been cut with iron. Your footsteps echo strangely, a half-beat late, as though the forest is replaying your sounds just out of sync. Now and then a shadow moves where none should, or a flicker of light winks at the corner of your vision, gone the instant you try to catch it.
Trythia’s glaive hums faintly in her grip, her senses thrown wide. Once again she reaches with her inner gift, but no celestial, no fiend, no undead answer her call. Instead, she feels only the forest itself, twisted and unsettled — not consecrated, not desecrated, but strained, as though reality here frays at the edges. Her watchful eyes catch the small things others miss: a tree with bark that shifts color like old embers when she looks too long, stones cracked with veins of faint purple glow, and roots that curl against the soil as though resisting the weight above them.
Yuno keeps pace at the front, blades loose and ready, her words flippant but her steps firm. If the forest means to frighten her, it will need to try harder. Mal vanishes into the undergrowth with a grin, her presence barely a whisper, her thoughts now touching Haluth and Trythia with easy confidence. Haluth gives his reply in kind, flask put away as his fists flex and settle in readiness. Volkanica walks ahead, her stride untroubled by roots or briar, as if the woods themselves part enough to let her pass. Cygnan trails with quiet intensity, his mind racing with the possibilities of what lies ahead.
The pull in your chest is stronger now than ever, taut as a bowstring. Whatever calls you lies close — perhaps less than an hour’s march ahead. The forest itself resists, but cannot bar your way. And then, at last, through the dense weave of trunks and bramble, the land ahead begins to open. You catch the first signs of stone half-buried in earth and ivy, the broken edge of walls swallowed by time, the silhouette of structures rising faintly above the treeline.
The ruins are near. The pull tightens with every step.
"Be ready to act. I sense nothing but the forest is straining against...something. Us...what pulls us...something," Trythia sends telepathically as she moves up besides Volkanica. Her glaive is ready, as is she herself.
Mal will continue to creep forward to the wall, keeping to as much darkness as she can, looking for a crumbling break in the wall hoping to get glance inside. Broadcasting her movements silently to Trythia and Haltuh.
Gedyr continues to advance, but with more caution this time, carefully watching his footsteps. He whispers a quiet prayer to the Great Unknown under his breath and advances towards the call
Cygnan, noticing the others moving stealthfully, tries to move quietly as well, but is not very successful. He is entirely focused on seeking the source..
6 stealth, 15 investigation.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Trythia gives no indication of this unexpected...situation. She responds in kind. "Interesting. Why us and why now?"
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
Hopefully slinking in the shadows Mal responds, "Haluth because I have known him the longest and I trust. You because, well, to be blunt, you have a matter of fact attitude and from the look of you, you can handle yourself in a fight." Mal pauses a moment, "As to why now, the forest around us seems very unwelcoming and better have it and not need the ability than need it and not have it."
Volkanica walks ahead of the group, not concerned with the path. Only the pull and the nature around her. She keeps within sight.
Gedyr
The ruined forest gave way in fits and starts as Gedyr pressed on, the pull in his chest guiding him with steady certainty. He crossed broken ground where roots split cobbles and vines coiled through shattered stone, each step bringing him deeper into the heart of what was once a proud place. The southeastern wall of the ruin lay in pieces, more rubble than fortification, and through the gaps the courtyard beyond waited, still and heavy with age.
The air here was different. The strange echoes that had haunted his march through the forest grew sharper, more insistent. His footsteps rang back to him a fraction too late, each sound clipped and distorted. Shadows leaned in odd directions, and light itself seemed to bend across broken stone, as though the ruin refused to align with the world around it. The metallic tang on his tongue thickened until it felt as though he were breathing sparks.
The pull within him was stronger now—so close it felt as though the source pressed just beyond the next crumbling wall. Twenty minutes, no more, and he would stand before it. The thought brought with it no relief, only a deep weight, as if the ruin itself judged his approach.
Gedyr drew the brass rod, the familiar hum of its presence grounding him against the warped air. Words of power slipped from his lips, and necromantic energy coiled briefly about him before fading from sight. A thin sheen of protection clung unseen to his skin, a quiet ward against the dangers he knew must lie ahead. Still, the distortion pressed at the edge of his senses, as though the ruin itself whispered for him to turn back.
You can have Mage Armor recast now as well.
Cygnan, Haluth, Mal, Trythia, Yuno, and Volkanica
DM Post: The Forest Warps
The forest closes in as you press onward. The air is heavy, damp with the scent of moss and rot, but beneath it lurks something sharper — the faint tang of metal on your tongue, as though the air itself has been cut with iron. Your footsteps echo strangely, a half-beat late, as though the forest is replaying your sounds just out of sync. Now and then a shadow moves where none should, or a flicker of light winks at the corner of your vision, gone the instant you try to catch it.
Trythia’s glaive hums faintly in her grip, her senses thrown wide. Once again she reaches with her inner gift, but no celestial, no fiend, no undead answer her call. Instead, she feels only the forest itself, twisted and unsettled — not consecrated, not desecrated, but strained, as though reality here frays at the edges. Her watchful eyes catch the small things others miss: a tree with bark that shifts color like old embers when she looks too long, stones cracked with veins of faint purple glow, and roots that curl against the soil as though resisting the weight above them.
Yuno keeps pace at the front, blades loose and ready, her words flippant but her steps firm. If the forest means to frighten her, it will need to try harder. Mal vanishes into the undergrowth with a grin, her presence barely a whisper, her thoughts now touching Haluth and Trythia with easy confidence. Haluth gives his reply in kind, flask put away as his fists flex and settle in readiness. Volkanica walks ahead, her stride untroubled by roots or briar, as if the woods themselves part enough to let her pass. Cygnan trails with quiet intensity, his mind racing with the possibilities of what lies ahead.
The pull in your chest is stronger now than ever, taut as a bowstring. Whatever calls you lies close — perhaps less than an hour’s march ahead. The forest itself resists, but cannot bar your way. And then, at last, through the dense weave of trunks and bramble, the land ahead begins to open. You catch the first signs of stone half-buried in earth and ivy, the broken edge of walls swallowed by time, the silhouette of structures rising faintly above the treeline.
The ruins are near. The pull tightens with every step.
"Be ready to act. I sense nothing but the forest is straining against...something. Us...what pulls us...something," Trythia sends telepathically as she moves up besides Volkanica. Her glaive is ready, as is she herself.
Perception 4
Tandor the White, Human Life Cleric
Mal will continue to creep forward to the wall, keeping to as much darkness as she can, looking for a crumbling break in the wall hoping to get glance inside. Broadcasting her movements silently to Trythia and Haltuh.
Stealth: 22
Perception: 4
Gedyr continues to advance, but with more caution this time, carefully watching his footsteps. He whispers a quiet prayer to the Great Unknown under his breath and advances towards the call
stealth 25
Cygnan, noticing the others moving stealthfully, tries to move quietly as well, but is not very successful. He is entirely focused on seeking the source..
6 stealth, 15 investigation.