This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Føpé once again draws his now blood stained sword, no hesitation, he channels his anger at the Visanti, his fear of this dark world, and his thirst for revenge.
A pack of wolves comes streaming in from all around you, weaving in and out of your reach. They are spectral, or partly so, and the fog creatures retreat from them.
The wolves also nip at you, each one hurting you only slightly. They are not harming you, yet, but they are not being friendly, either. What do you do?
There are four of them. They all begin to bite as you try to climb the tree. Only one of them hits, but it deals 1 necrotic damage. Roll a DEX save at disadvantage to keep from falling, as it pulls on you.
You still get the sense that they were not trying to maul you; you think they probably could have, if they'd wanted. But you can't take much more of this.
You fall on your back, with 4 wolves snarling and nipping at you. By the time you get to your feet, you've taken 2 more necrotic damage. You are barely standing.
But it's easy enough, to see from their movement, which way they are leaving open to you: downhill.
They are not patient. They do not tire, they do not hesitate in the darkness or the fog. You alternate between running, stumbling, falling, and getting up again, and you make it down half of a mountainside in 45 minutes of crashing and sprinting.
You can barely see, as you stumble out of the tree line and fall in the grass. It's the middle of the night, you are barely breathing, and your tongue is exploring your mouth, checking for loose teeth. Your injuries are extreme.
You lay on your back, peering up at a few stars. Not many; it's not a perfectly clear night. But this is the clearest you've seen anything in the atmosphere in several days. You pant, and pant, and pant some more. Gathering your breath.
You hear movement. Looking up, without the energy to move, you see towering above you a very handsome man. He is magnificent in appearance, with a broad chest and refined, pale features. He dresses as a noble. The colors are muted, late at night, but you know you are looking at rich, soft fabrics, with the colors and textures you would associate with royalty. He looks at you curiously, with his red eyes. Not kindly, not unkindly. Not surprised. Just interested, and curious.
Welcome to my realm, little one. I am Strahd von Zarovich, and this is Barovia.
You are brave and foolish, and more than a little lucky, to enter Barovia through the mountain pass. I suppose I could tell you not to try to leave this way, but it is no matter. Try, or don't try; this door, like all the doors, only allows passage in one direction.
Strahd looks over his shoulders. Hold, beasts. Four slavering wolves stand behind him, three on one side and one on the other. Each is as big as a horse. Any one of these is the stuff of nightmares; any one of these barrel-chested monsters could tear you in half without the slightest effort. You are sure of it. And yet, with a word and a glance Strahd has brought them to a stop.
Strahd now turns to look down, again, at you. You need food, and rest, and medical attention. He leans over and tugs on your forehead, so as to help open your bruised right eye. You will survive this night, though.
Again, to the wolves: Back to the forest! They run away, chastened.
He looks down at you again. Remember I did you this kindness, he says, somberly. I could have let the wolves have you; I could have let you wander these woods. If I had not come to greet you, you would already be dead. Whatever these people say about me, he says, gesturing at the valley behind him, remember, only I came to meet you, only I could stand between to you and your own doom.
Now, let us get you to those who might have the skills and talent, and willingness, to heal you.
Strahd weaves his hands in the air and mutters a few words. You fall asleep.
The following morning, Barnaby, Kif, and Puddin awake, refreshed, at the Visanti camp. They brush their teeth and drink their campfire coffee and begin to make their way up to Madam Eva's tent, curious for what the day will bring.
About halfway up the rise, though, they stop in their tracks.
There, asleep in the dewy grass before them, is a familiar figure: the halfling Fope, with the backpack you left for him. Bloody, battered, and unconscious, he is alive and before you.
Fope, you have not had a long rest. Only a couple of hours have passed for you, and you have no hit dice left for a short rest. You’re still in bad shape.
Føpé once again draws his now blood stained sword, no hesitation, he channels his anger at the Visanti, his fear of this dark world, and his thirst for revenge.
11
damage: 7
Ok. That hits. Roll damage with "to hit" rolls. Then we know what happens, conditionally.
Ok. Fope gets in a nice shot!
It counterattacks. Two others come out and attack, as well.
The one Fope was facing misses, but both of the others - having come up on his sides - manage to hit. One for 5, and one for 2 HP. Good luck, Fope!
Come out to play!
attack: 19
dmg: 10
The first one is staggered, but still standing. Can Fope withstand another round of 3 attacks?
Ouch! The first one hit, for 6 damage! And they have to get pretty darned lucky to hit!
This time, the second and third miss. The wolves are getting louder. And Fope is already down 13 HP! Only 6 left!
I have much more killing to do than the likes of you! You will not divert me from my destiny!
Second wind: 2
attack: 9
dmg: 8
You fell the fog creature in front of you.
A pack of wolves comes streaming in from all around you, weaving in and out of your reach. They are spectral, or partly so, and the fog creatures retreat from them.
The wolves also nip at you, each one hurting you only slightly. They are not harming you, yet, but they are not being friendly, either. What do you do?
How many?
Climb a tree!
There are four of them. They all begin to bite as you try to climb the tree. Only one of them hits, but it deals 1 necrotic damage. Roll a DEX save at disadvantage to keep from falling, as it pulls on you.
You still get the sense that they were not trying to maul you; you think they probably could have, if they'd wanted. But you can't take much more of this.
dex save: 21
Disadvantage, bro. Just roll one more, below.
Where they trying to sheep dog me to go in a specific direction?
Animal handling: 12
Keep that animal handling check. But roll your second dex save for disadvantage.
Disadvantage on dex: 10
You fall on your back, with 4 wolves snarling and nipping at you. By the time you get to your feet, you've taken 2 more necrotic damage. You are barely standing.
But it's easy enough, to see from their movement, which way they are leaving open to you: downhill.
Føpé proceeds.
They are not patient. They do not tire, they do not hesitate in the darkness or the fog. You alternate between running, stumbling, falling, and getting up again, and you make it down half of a mountainside in 45 minutes of crashing and sprinting.
You can barely see, as you stumble out of the tree line and fall in the grass. It's the middle of the night, you are barely breathing, and your tongue is exploring your mouth, checking for loose teeth. Your injuries are extreme.
You lay on your back, peering up at a few stars. Not many; it's not a perfectly clear night. But this is the clearest you've seen anything in the atmosphere in several days. You pant, and pant, and pant some more. Gathering your breath.
You hear movement. Looking up, without the energy to move, you see towering above you a very handsome man. He is magnificent in appearance, with a broad chest and refined, pale features. He dresses as a noble. The colors are muted, late at night, but you know you are looking at rich, soft fabrics, with the colors and textures you would associate with royalty. He looks at you curiously, with his red eyes. Not kindly, not unkindly. Not surprised. Just interested, and curious.
Welcome to my realm, little one. I am Strahd von Zarovich, and this is Barovia.
You are brave and foolish, and more than a little lucky, to enter Barovia through the mountain pass. I suppose I could tell you not to try to leave this way, but it is no matter. Try, or don't try; this door, like all the doors, only allows passage in one direction.
Strahd looks over his shoulders. Hold, beasts. Four slavering wolves stand behind him, three on one side and one on the other. Each is as big as a horse. Any one of these is the stuff of nightmares; any one of these barrel-chested monsters could tear you in half without the slightest effort. You are sure of it. And yet, with a word and a glance Strahd has brought them to a stop.
Strahd now turns to look down, again, at you. You need food, and rest, and medical attention. He leans over and tugs on your forehead, so as to help open your bruised right eye. You will survive this night, though.
Again, to the wolves: Back to the forest! They run away, chastened.
He looks down at you again. Remember I did you this kindness, he says, somberly. I could have let the wolves have you; I could have let you wander these woods. If I had not come to greet you, you would already be dead. Whatever these people say about me, he says, gesturing at the valley behind him, remember, only I came to meet you, only I could stand between to you and your own doom.
Now, let us get you to those who might have the skills and talent, and willingness, to heal you.
Strahd weaves his hands in the air and mutters a few words. You fall asleep.
The following morning, Barnaby, Kif, and Puddin awake, refreshed, at the Visanti camp. They brush their teeth and drink their campfire coffee and begin to make their way up to Madam Eva's tent, curious for what the day will bring.
About halfway up the rise, though, they stop in their tracks.
There, asleep in the dewy grass before them, is a familiar figure: the halfling Fope, with the backpack you left for him. Bloody, battered, and unconscious, he is alive and before you.
Fope, you have not had a long rest. Only a couple of hours have passed for you, and you have no hit dice left for a short rest. You’re still in bad shape.