I hope they didn't see me...maybe they will think me still back in the alleyway, but I do need to re-group before my companions do something silly.
OOC: my stealth roll results won't change my action unless they decide to attack me for some unknown reason. :)
Feldinor uses the crowd to his advantage to make his way back to ACC just in time to see Casta turn and walk away from the group. "Hey! Casta! Waaaaaiiiit! I don't like to give intel twice." Feldinor will look to see if Casta comes back. If not, he will pick up a rock from the street and toss it at the fool girl's back to get her attention.
Basic Dex check:
19
If the pebble fails to connect, then I guess I will have to give intel twice when Casta returns. In either case Feldinor provides his interpretation of what he learned from leaving the group....
OOC: in which he will be much more precise in describing his activities in the future. Oh and @GM I am not intending to find a rock that will damage Casta...just a pebble...don't get any ideas about me taking out the paladin on her last legs ;)
"I got close enough to determine the brutes are more likely guarding that building and just happen to be blocking the alleys around their guarded building. I don't think they are going to do any mischief as long as no one bothers them. I recommend we leave them alone and continue as planned to get second breakfast. AAANNDD recuperate from this morning's goings on that seem to be spiraling out of control."
Casta is intent to follow her heart and watches carefully the path before her and to the side. She does not hear Feldinor calling from the rear but when a small missile impacts her armor just over her left kidney, (random hit table) she spins around with alarm, grip tightening on the pick at her right side. She anxiously scans her surroundings and the street, deeply concious of the thinness of her mortal tie. Should she die in her current status, what then? Will she be welcomed into the Celestial Choir? Will she be damned by her tainted blood? Without a glorious sacrifice to her name, how can she be redeemed? Gripped by this existential fear, her eyes come to rest on the gathered Cuspide Corona and she makes out a tiny hand waving as high as it can reach, barely clearing the shoulders of the intervening street population. She gathers it must belong to the diminutive but brave Feldinor.
Recon. He went for recon. Lapsu you twice damned idiot. You follow your heart but you ignore your brain. If the cut-purse scouts, wait for more information. Go back and hear what he has to say. It may change your mind. . . or even your heart.
Casta returns to the gathered party and listens to the halfling with deep relief. As he finishes his report, she accepts his assessment. Her helmed head crumples forward and a deep breath escapes her pursed lips. The plumage adorning her helmet sways back and forth as her brow crinkles and head shakes with self-recriminization.
Without a further word, she ducks south into the alleyway to the Blade and Stars, leaving behind an invisible cloud of begonia.
As the Paladin of Helm and her companions in close proximity share their perceptions of the threat and the risks in separation, Feldinor emerges stealthily from the alleyway, this time moving slowly among the large crowds, and falling into rhythm with the movements of their strides and numbers to obscure his passage from the thugs. The halfling again succeeds in eluding the enforcers’ gazes, which start to transition between their alerted anger from his former deception and the demands for their attention to whatever situation evolves within their perimeter. With the distance covered by the rogue in stealth, Feldinor separates from the masses into A Cuspide Corona’s midst less than a minute after Casta’s departure...
14, 13, 1
5
Feldinor's quick reaction to the situation upon his arrival successfully results in Casta's return. Even as the company turns their attention from the broad cobblestone crossroads, the gang of eight menacing warriors begin their own movements, a rapid and quiet redeployment that returns their crowd-clearing spiked maces to all hands as they collapse their perimeter with the second re-emergence of one of them from the reinforced door of the stone edifice at their backs. With ruthless, practiced ease, the danger of their perceived focus shifts to the northernmost of the two streets that they previously blocked, and the intimidation from their presence and intent prove more than enough to send fearful commonfolk scurrying from their path.
Nearly all upon the streets are given cause to abruptly pause in whatever actions they pursue, however, by a gout of black smoke that launches silently some seventy feet or more into the air, from the southwest perhaps two or three blocks distant, high over the slate roofs of the surrounding buildings...and suddenly followed by a second surge of reaching darkness just as ominous. The chill winds quickly shred the gouts of smoking blackness, but not before their grasping, claw-like shapes are readily perceived...and upon the dissipation of the second surge, a flash of brilliant white light soaring and reflected against the low roiling clouds, in an instant of transient wonder, then fading away into the grayness of day. An unsettled murmuring rises among the masses as the throngs upon the streets breathe once again, and perhaps begin to move with ever more fear driving their steps...
OOC: Hail and well-met, Adventurers! I hope this finds everyone with an excellent New Years these past days, and in good health and spirits. Thanks to all involved for resolving the narrative threads that occupied the company over the holidays. As you may also observe, other threads have also been concurrently active, with dice roll results now converging from the above to as far back as entry #404, with matters of the passage of response timing now determined...
OOC: I'll continue this tomorrow (today, now) with the assumption that you are continuing upon the final leg of your return to the Blade and Stars, unless you (and the "other" part of the dice results above, of course) guide me otherwise.
A Cuspide Corona's movement away from the congestion of the broad, cobblestone street into the comparative quiet of the backstreet leading to the rear entrance of the Blade and Stars is short-lived, with the eruption of the claw-like gouts of black smoke high into the air, followed swiftly by the flash of white brilliance. Holding her ground, Casta watches intently and considers their implications, as many of the streetfolk around the company are similarly compelled.
The Paladin of Helm judges the likely distance to their points of origin as near to three blocks, and in close proximity to each other, perhaps approaching half the distance down to the waters of the harbor. She discerns no other sounds emanating from their ominous rise, beyond the gasps and murmuring of the commonfolk multitudes bearing witness, and can think of no Gate landmarks of significance at that bearing. Still, dwelling upon the loose form of the claws of smoke before the cold winds shredded them to dark tatters, Casta is troubled by the sense of some profane connection to the divine in her remembrance; if those claws of black vapors were perhaps more tightly bound, and skeletal, they would have resembled past variant icons or manifestations of the Lord of Bones...
Rigor stares hard at the claws of smoke. He looks to Casta with some surprise, realizing that she voices much of his own dark thoughts. Rigor clenches his own fist ever tighter around the black longbow in his hand and turns his back on the evil sight, and strides out for the Blade and Stars.
The company of adventurers takes up the return to the Blade and Stars once more, their steps more grim than ever with the sighting of the black gouts of ominous smoke now torn asunder in the cold winds above the Gate. Their journey through the less-traveled backstreets surrounded by stone and slate passes without further incident, and eventually the stables and then the four high stories of the massive old inn come into view around the final corner, still towering over the other stone structures surrounding it after all its years.
A Cuspide Corona finally arrives at the Blade and Stars through the rear entrance, passing the concerned guard on staff at the doors. Their path takes them past the large kitchens dominating much of the ground floor, even now preparing the last of the morningfeast and the first of the highsunfeast meals, by the blend of enticing aromas and emanating warmth, for the three floors above of apartments, bedrooms, and meeting rooms where guests lodge and dine. Eventually the hallway ends in the entrance lobby, and the companions assemble in the familiar gathering lounge beside its large stone fireplace, the flames banked low now with the passage of the morning.
The guards and the few other patrons within the inn's lobby look upon the adventurers and their bloodied wariness with still greater concern, some bordering on alarm, and one of the former steps away once he's certain no threat is imminent. Within a moment, the guard returns with Mistress Lupin, reluctant Innkeeper of the Blade and Stars with the recent disappearance of her husband Aurayaun. Her normally welcoming, careworn features are overcome by worry as she lays eyes upon A Cuspide Corona.
"Not quite yet highsun, dears, and what's the damned Flaming Fist tasked you to that would spend your lives so swift? It's quick to rooms with you come back to us here, before the half of you bleed out on the carpets before my eyes, to be sure! Mayhap we're sending for a healer or cleric, dears?"
Awaiting a response, Mistress Lupin nonetheless begins motioning to the companions to follow her up the great old wooden stairs to the upper levels of the inn, looking back perhaps to see if the bloodiest among them can even make the gentle climb, and for the truth of their apparently dire straits...
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Ahhh Missy. I'm not feeling as bad as some of them. And I definitely couldn't go to bed before having second breakfast. Where's those tasty honey dipped biscuits?!"
Feldinor will take up a spot near the stairs the more injured companions are going up to rest. enough to see the door for new patrons and the stairs for any person attempting to ascend. And if possible, a corner that isn't very well lit so that he might blend in shall we say.
Someone needs to stay on guard and maybe even watch for Yokai to meander back in. And lord knows most of ACC needs a rest and so the duty of the first watch becomes mine.
Sorore nods to Feldinor and moves closer to Lupin as they climb. She speaks to her in a low voice that will not carry far.
"Mistress Lupin, our thanks. We'll not need another healer or cleric, but we really do need more than one of your meeting rooms this time, if you please. We also need to remain together, if at all possible, in whatever lodging space you might have that can hold us, to continue planning on our mission from the Fist. As you heard from Feldinor, I think we're also ready to break our fast again. It has been a hard morning, even by these troubled times."
Murdoch spares the innkeeper a rueful smile as he tracks the grime of the Gate's sewers into the inn. He begins limping up the stairs without further delay, pausing only to ponder where he might find a bath... a problem for tomorrow.
Through her weary stride, Casta allows a quiet chuckle at Feldinor’s untamable appetite. How like a vole or shrew Halflings are. She follows Murdoch up the stairs to the room Mistress Lupine points out. She offers a strained “Thank you, Mistress.” Casta then lifts her head as though a new idea rises, and catches Mistress Lupin’s eye, “Perhaps some warm water and bandages for our wounds. Whether earned in victory or defeat, they bleed the same.”
She turns to Sorore. "We shall worship at the feet of the Broken God this afternoon, buoyed by your hands and Rigor’s ministrations. Pray that we find quick healing so we might enact righteous vengeance upon the detestable mongrels of the Dead Three. Those lives spent invite our Holy retribution."
Casta laboriously doffs her armor, grateful for Feldinor on watch even in the relative safety of the Blade and Stars. Once her carapace is free and her sweat glistens on the internal padding in the filtered light, she assists Belmort, if he wishes the assistance, best as she can. Once complete, she settles onto an bunk, keeping her wounded side toward Sorore. While the clerics and monk work, she recounts a story to the wooden beams in the rafters.
The Book of Accountability may it ever guide our souls, Twenty Fifth chapter, tells a story from before the Time of Troubles. The Twenty Fifth chapter reminds us of a time when many faithful of Torm in the land of Faerun were being led astray by the worship of Loviatar. They were being led to bow down to Loviatar and her idols, worshiping her, making sacrifices to her, eating her foods, practicing her rites. Helm burned in righteous anger at his wayward peoples and sent a cleansing persecution upon them. While in the midst of this persecution, the followers of Helm cried out in their suffering in the Cathedral of Vigilance. While wailing for release, one follower led a priestess of Loviatar through the cathedral in full sight of everyone afflicted and into his home to continue their immoral, sexual, worshiping.
The second son of the First Priest pulled a spear down from the cathedral wall and followed this defiler into his home. Incensed with rage and zeal, he thrust the spear through the man and through the woman with one blow, killing them both. At that same moment, the cleansing curse was lifted.
The name of the second son of the first priest was Philehas. Helm saw that Philehas protected his people with the same zeal as he protected them and Helm blessed him. Helm transformed Philehas into a Paladin and set him upon a blessed Pegasus. He then vowed to make his children and children’s children into Paladins to protect the people from being led astray. Philehas showed zeal, vigilance and jealousy for the people of Helm and it was credited to him as righteousness.
Mistress Lupin’s pensive demeanor is broken for fleeting seconds by Feldinor’s question, waving gently for patience at his words. She nods at Sorore’s low voice as the slow climb up the broad, softly creaking staircase begins, seemingly lost again in her worried thoughts, but at the foot of the wooden stairs leading up to the third floor she pauses with a considered response.
“Ah, mayhap you shouldn’t be thanking me overmuch yet, priestess. What with the siege of the Gate, the swell of outlander refugees, and the dire troubles you’ve seen, we’re near to full of any folk still with coin, seeking what we all hope remains a safe place here. Of course you dears will always have a place if we can spare you one, and anyhail you’re like as not to want to save some coin while about this terrible Fist business of yours – oh, how they make me proper darburl, hrast them! I think we can keep you together, and most folks away from your bloody doings, if you can make do with four close beds and some bedrolls for the open floors. Let’s see about this now, it’s to the top for us, dears.”
With a grimace of apology at the effort of the continued climb, the innkeeper leads the companions to the third floor, and then down a long hallway to one of the multiple narrow staircases leading to the fourth. At its top, the adventurers find themselves upon a small landing, a stout wooden door immediately upon the right, and a second some few steps away to the left, with nothing else to be found within the closed hallway beyond a couple empty barrels, a storage chest, and a clean chamberpot. Mistress Lupin removes two old keys from a large ring secured in a leather pouch at her belt, and opens both doors to reveal two simple rooms, one slightly larger than the other, with four beds among them.
“They’re not to be the most comfortable, dears, and overlooking the stables roof at that, but they’re clean and private, and warmed by the chimney between them, and I’ll not be charging you for more than the four beds a night. I hope you can manage, and heal your hurts while you can. We’ll send up warm water and towels to clean yourselves up a bit, and then see about this “break-fast” notion of second morningfeasts before highsun that your Feldinor gets on about, but he’s a hungry one for his size! Knows his biscuits, he does though.”
“You’re right welcome, Casta. We’ll send what bandages we might have up with the warm water, then, and trust you’ll manage the rest, lest we hear of your need.”
With those words, Mistress Lupin leaves the two keys with A Cuspide Corona and turns to depart, the weight of her grave worries returning to her features as she descends the wooden stairs, keeper of an inn she never thought to run alone, without Aurayaun at her side.
OOC: Hail and well-met, adventurers! My apologies again for the delays in response, but I’ve at last completed a significant deliverable after working much of the weekend with seven different technical teams for the Joint Artificial Intelligence Center. Glad to be on the other side of that work, and to write once again. Looking forward to your planning and activities, and also to the results of your LEVELING, with the completion of a long rest, as the result of your adventures to-date, with A Cuspide Corona having started, if you recall, possessing some initial experience as first-level characters. Hope you enjoyed (and understood!) the use of actual Greenwood-approved canon Realmspeak. Cheers!
Feldinor sudden feels a strange sense of additional inspiration and power. In fact during second breakfast he will explore his new found speed to gather up more honey dipped biscuits.
OOC: Move, Action Dash, BONUS ACTION Dash!!
"Mistress Lupin!? I think your second breakfast has really hit the spot. Can you give me the recipe for these fine, delicious biscuits? or perhaps it is a special honey blend?"
Armor removed for the medical attentions of Sorore and others, Casta lays down mostly wearing just her loosened gambeson. As the cleric leads the healing ministrations, Casta inexplicably falls off into a haunted dream sleep.
In her mind’s eye, she stands on a small hill of broken basalt and crushed quartz. Some of the fractured stones at her feet seem vaguely like faces frozen in eternal anguish. She looks up and stares across a bleak expanse. Desolate, unending plains distorted by waves of billowing heat. Charred ashen wasteland broken by red pits of glowing, flowing rivers. Sky is nothing but red cinder clouds as far as the eye can see. The loose gambeson is drenched in sweat.
In the far distance, legions of what can only be devils stand ready in countless columns, braced for the constant invasion of what must be devils in a blood fight lasting beyond human epochs.
Two voices cry out in pain and fear distantly behind her, nearly inhuman in their desperation and loss. Before she can turn around to stare, the voices grow in volume and proximity then are whisked mid-wail from behind to momentarily on both sides then rocketing away to her front into the far distance. Two voices of doom are borne along a fell wind at impossible speeds by two smoky, oily claws. She knows she has heard at least one of them before. She falls to her knees overcome with chagrin as she feels again the price of her failure. Her gambeson is too short to protect her knees from the cutting stone. Blood seeps slowly from her knee caps. It is too dark and thick. The ground below is utterly inveterate and yet quivers slightly as it drinks in her curse.
In a blink of dream space, she is hovering above the desolation. She does not see behind her, but knows it is her own will and body that keep her aloft. In the far distance, a flash of green with an undertone of blue, again repeated. Is it jade, emerald, chartreuse? The flash is calling to her... beckoning … beaconing. Communicating! She stares into the distance, unable to make out any details, even from the heights. Suddenly, in a voice that clearly belongs in the celestial choir, she hears a clear command.
“COME TO ME.”
Her eyes snap open accompanied by a powerful flash and an audible snap. Inhales with a start, trying to fill her lungs. Her rapid inhalation is cut short by an involuntary contraction. Emerald lighting plays for an instant close about her form, inviting the dry bedding to alight like so much straw tinder. The lighting scorches her visible shoulders and other areas under the thin sheets and dissipates as quickly as it erupted. The flash of neon green leaves behind an after image. Echoing in the memory of the eye is not the paladins shape outlined by lighting but a remnant of an object floating above her bed. Blinking twice rapidly reveals the object to be an ornate floating longsword.
She sits up rapidly and clumsily, disrupting the after image while unconsciously barely protecting her modesty. Her eyes dart about to gain her bearings while she reaches her left hand for her right forearm. The forearm is raw red and seems to still be possibly steaming. She rubs it in attempt to soothe the charred skin, but pulls her hand away rapidly as though stung. This aggravation is only made worse with contact. She raises her arm to examine a fresh burn.
Inside her right forearm is not a random char but a clear raw and fresh tattoo on aggravated red skin.
A gauntlet emblazoned with a single staring eye but wielding an ornate, glowing longsword.
Rigor nods and bows his head in silent appreciation before Mistress Lupin departs. He recognizes that one of his fists remains clenched around the black longbow, and loosens his grip. The monk assesses the weapon with a detached curiosity, then looks to his companions.
”I am pleased with a blanket upon the floor to rest in the smaller room, and I plan to hold my fast for the time. It’s clear to me that I must first meditate in silence, and reflect upon our experiences, within the context of Ilmater’s teachings and wisdom. I am glad to take a turn at watch afterwards while others rest, however - we may have a long night ahead of us.”
Rigor nods again to his friends, and walks quietly to the other, smaller room.
The trouble-worn Innkeeper of the Blade and Stars is as good as her word, and a small multitude of pails containing hot water, accompanied by many towels and a comparably modest, if sufficient, amount of bandaging are brought up the long stairs by her dedicated staff. Soon thereafter, a most satisfactory measure of the earlier morningfeast follows, with the noteworthy absence of most of Mistress Lupin’s biscuits among the other breads, judging by their near-empty platter and the lack of a honey jar, as they’re all placed upon the open tables within the rooms, which soon waft with the comforting aromas of melted cheeses, baked bread and eggs, and spiced fish. The meal passes in exhausted, mostly quiet companionship among A Cuspide Corona, with Feldinor at his watch and Yokai not returned. At last, however, the adventurers turn to further considerations of their mission, the twisted path ahead to gather knowledge, and the dire threat that awaits them with its revealing…
OOC: Well-met again, adventurers. Other than a couple of you engaged in other pursuits, this would be now be the time to interact and determine the extent of your current stay. If you intend a Long Rest, which lasts at least eight hours, you need to spend at least six hours of it truly resting, and thus at least three others need to relieve Feldinor at his watch, starting at the two-hour mark, or he won’t benefit from it. I note that Rigor spoke up first about taking a turn at watch, and seem to remember something from Casta in the PM notes more recently, so please coordinate that in talk among yourselves…it may well matter, given what has already been set in motion by your hands outside of the main narrative. Very exciting…potentially!
OOC: Feldinor, we’ll also need to know at what point you do come up, as part of that coordinated activity and others. Please roll a Perception Check for me, if you would. The others I’ll still keep handling via other PMs for the moment. Look forward to your planning, adventurers!
Feldinor will await a relief before coming upstairs to capture his Long Rest. I suspect it will be 6 hours later so that someone can get a long rest in to relieve me.
EDIT: zzzzzzz....Wake up you idiot! you are on watch. hopefully nobody saw that. now stay awake. OOC: a 4 on perception seems a bit low for someone who's job it is to keep watch. :)
I hope they didn't see me...maybe they will think me still back in the alleyway, but I do need to re-group before my companions do something silly.
OOC: my stealth roll results won't change my action unless they decide to attack me for some unknown reason. :)
Feldinor uses the crowd to his advantage to make his way back to ACC just in time to see Casta turn and walk away from the group. "Hey! Casta! Waaaaaiiiit! I don't like to give intel twice." Feldinor will look to see if Casta comes back. If not, he will pick up a rock from the street and toss it at the fool girl's back to get her attention.
Basic Dex check:
19
If the pebble fails to connect, then I guess I will have to give intel twice when Casta returns. In either case Feldinor provides his interpretation of what he learned from leaving the group....
OOC: in which he will be much more precise in describing his activities in the future. Oh and @GM I am not intending to find a rock that will damage Casta...just a pebble...don't get any ideas about me taking out the paladin on her last legs ;)
"I got close enough to determine the brutes are more likely guarding that building and just happen to be blocking the alleys around their guarded building. I don't think they are going to do any mischief as long as no one bothers them. I recommend we leave them alone and continue as planned to get second breakfast. AAANNDD recuperate from this morning's goings on that seem to be spiraling out of control."
Casta is intent to follow her heart and watches carefully the path before her and to the side. She does not hear Feldinor calling from the rear but when a small missile impacts her armor just over her left kidney, (random hit table) she spins around with alarm, grip tightening on the pick at her right side. She anxiously scans her surroundings and the street, deeply concious of the thinness of her mortal tie. Should she die in her current status, what then? Will she be welcomed into the Celestial Choir? Will she be damned by her tainted blood? Without a glorious sacrifice to her name, how can she be redeemed? Gripped by this existential fear, her eyes come to rest on the gathered Cuspide Corona and she makes out a tiny hand waving as high as it can reach, barely clearing the shoulders of the intervening street population. She gathers it must belong to the diminutive but brave Feldinor.
Recon. He went for recon. Lapsu you twice damned idiot. You follow your heart but you ignore your brain. If the cut-purse scouts, wait for more information. Go back and hear what he has to say. It may change your mind. . . or even your heart.
Casta returns to the gathered party and listens to the halfling with deep relief. As he finishes his report, she accepts his assessment. Her helmed head crumples forward and a deep breath escapes her pursed lips. The plumage adorning her helmet sways back and forth as her brow crinkles and head shakes with self-recriminization.
Without a further word, she ducks south into the alleyway to the Blade and Stars, leaving behind an invisible cloud of begonia.
As the Paladin of Helm and her companions in close proximity share their perceptions of the threat and the risks in separation, Feldinor emerges stealthily from the alleyway, this time moving slowly among the large crowds, and falling into rhythm with the movements of their strides and numbers to obscure his passage from the thugs. The halfling again succeeds in eluding the enforcers’ gazes, which start to transition between their alerted anger from his former deception and the demands for their attention to whatever situation evolves within their perimeter. With the distance covered by the rogue in stealth, Feldinor separates from the masses into A Cuspide Corona’s midst less than a minute after Casta’s departure...
14, 13, 1
5
Feldinor's quick reaction to the situation upon his arrival successfully results in Casta's return. Even as the company turns their attention from the broad cobblestone crossroads, the gang of eight menacing warriors begin their own movements, a rapid and quiet redeployment that returns their crowd-clearing spiked maces to all hands as they collapse their perimeter with the second re-emergence of one of them from the reinforced door of the stone edifice at their backs. With ruthless, practiced ease, the danger of their perceived focus shifts to the northernmost of the two streets that they previously blocked, and the intimidation from their presence and intent prove more than enough to send fearful commonfolk scurrying from their path.
Nearly all upon the streets are given cause to abruptly pause in whatever actions they pursue, however, by a gout of black smoke that launches silently some seventy feet or more into the air, from the southwest perhaps two or three blocks distant, high over the slate roofs of the surrounding buildings...and suddenly followed by a second surge of reaching darkness just as ominous. The chill winds quickly shred the gouts of smoking blackness, but not before their grasping, claw-like shapes are readily perceived...and upon the dissipation of the second surge, a flash of brilliant white light soaring and reflected against the low roiling clouds, in an instant of transient wonder, then fading away into the grayness of day. An unsettled murmuring rises among the masses as the throngs upon the streets breathe once again, and perhaps begin to move with ever more fear driving their steps...
OOC: Hail and well-met, Adventurers! I hope this finds everyone with an excellent New Years these past days, and in good health and spirits. Thanks to all involved for resolving the narrative threads that occupied the company over the holidays. As you may also observe, other threads have also been concurrently active, with dice roll results now converging from the above to as far back as entry #404, with matters of the passage of response timing now determined...
OOC: I'll continue this tomorrow (today, now) with the assumption that you are continuing upon the final leg of your return to the Blade and Stars, unless you (and the "other" part of the dice results above, of course) guide me otherwise.
Feldinor quickly follows Casta. I can almost taste the honey now. Feldinor's mouth begins to water.
Casta pauses and marvels at the rising, silent, claw-like smoke and the flash of white soaring overhead.
Feeling the need to rush to whatever aid is needed, Casta remembers her most recent, ever mounting failure.
Did Casta make out any additional visual details? Any sounds at all? Relationships, to each other, nearby landmarks?
Perception 18
"By my mothers wings, what was that? Are they related to each other? Have any of you seen anything the like?"
OOC: Select the most appropriate skill check to see what she knows about anything like this?
Religion 13
Insight 7
Arcana 1
History 19
Investigation12
A Cuspide Corona's movement away from the congestion of the broad, cobblestone street into the comparative quiet of the backstreet leading to the rear entrance of the Blade and Stars is short-lived, with the eruption of the claw-like gouts of black smoke high into the air, followed swiftly by the flash of white brilliance. Holding her ground, Casta watches intently and considers their implications, as many of the streetfolk around the company are similarly compelled.
The Paladin of Helm judges the likely distance to their points of origin as near to three blocks, and in close proximity to each other, perhaps approaching half the distance down to the waters of the harbor. She discerns no other sounds emanating from their ominous rise, beyond the gasps and murmuring of the commonfolk multitudes bearing witness, and can think of no Gate landmarks of significance at that bearing. Still, dwelling upon the loose form of the claws of smoke before the cold winds shredded them to dark tatters, Casta is troubled by the sense of some profane connection to the divine in her remembrance; if those claws of black vapors were perhaps more tightly bound, and skeletal, they would have resembled past variant icons or manifestations of the Lord of Bones...
Casta hangs her head in despair and mutters through clenched teeth, nearly spitting the words.
See our failure writ true upon the sky. Myrkul revels while we helplessly bleed.
She clenches her fist and stamps heavily toward the pseudo-safety of the inn.
Rigor stares hard at the claws of smoke. He looks to Casta with some surprise, realizing that she voices much of his own dark thoughts. Rigor clenches his own fist ever tighter around the black longbow in his hand and turns his back on the evil sight, and strides out for the Blade and Stars.
The company of adventurers takes up the return to the Blade and Stars once more, their steps more grim than ever with the sighting of the black gouts of ominous smoke now torn asunder in the cold winds above the Gate. Their journey through the less-traveled backstreets surrounded by stone and slate passes without further incident, and eventually the stables and then the four high stories of the massive old inn come into view around the final corner, still towering over the other stone structures surrounding it after all its years.
A Cuspide Corona finally arrives at the Blade and Stars through the rear entrance, passing the concerned guard on staff at the doors. Their path takes them past the large kitchens dominating much of the ground floor, even now preparing the last of the morningfeast and the first of the highsunfeast meals, by the blend of enticing aromas and emanating warmth, for the three floors above of apartments, bedrooms, and meeting rooms where guests lodge and dine. Eventually the hallway ends in the entrance lobby, and the companions assemble in the familiar gathering lounge beside its large stone fireplace, the flames banked low now with the passage of the morning.
The guards and the few other patrons within the inn's lobby look upon the adventurers and their bloodied wariness with still greater concern, some bordering on alarm, and one of the former steps away once he's certain no threat is imminent. Within a moment, the guard returns with Mistress Lupin, reluctant Innkeeper of the Blade and Stars with the recent disappearance of her husband Aurayaun. Her normally welcoming, careworn features are overcome by worry as she lays eyes upon A Cuspide Corona.
"Not quite yet highsun, dears, and what's the damned Flaming Fist tasked you to that would spend your lives so swift? It's quick to rooms with you come back to us here, before the half of you bleed out on the carpets before my eyes, to be sure! Mayhap we're sending for a healer or cleric, dears?"
Awaiting a response, Mistress Lupin nonetheless begins motioning to the companions to follow her up the great old wooden stairs to the upper levels of the inn, looking back perhaps to see if the bloodiest among them can even make the gentle climb, and for the truth of their apparently dire straits...
"Ahhh Missy. I'm not feeling as bad as some of them. And I definitely couldn't go to bed before having second breakfast. Where's those tasty honey dipped biscuits?!"
Feldinor will take up a spot near the stairs the more injured companions are going up to rest. enough to see the door for new patrons and the stairs for any person attempting to ascend. And if possible, a corner that isn't very well lit so that he might blend in shall we say.
Stealth 18
Someone needs to stay on guard and maybe even watch for Yokai to meander back in. And lord knows most of ACC needs a rest and so the duty of the first watch becomes mine.
Sorore nods to Feldinor and moves closer to Lupin as they climb. She speaks to her in a low voice that will not carry far.
"Mistress Lupin, our thanks. We'll not need another healer or cleric, but we really do need more than one of your meeting rooms this time, if you please. We also need to remain together, if at all possible, in whatever lodging space you might have that can hold us, to continue planning on our mission from the Fist. As you heard from Feldinor, I think we're also ready to break our fast again. It has been a hard morning, even by these troubled times."
Murdoch spares the innkeeper a rueful smile as he tracks the grime of the Gate's sewers into the inn. He begins limping up the stairs without further delay, pausing only to ponder where he might find a bath... a problem for tomorrow.
Through her weary stride, Casta allows a quiet chuckle at Feldinor’s untamable appetite. How like a vole or shrew Halflings are. She follows Murdoch up the stairs to the room Mistress Lupine points out. She offers a strained “Thank you, Mistress.” Casta then lifts her head as though a new idea rises, and catches Mistress Lupin’s eye, “Perhaps some warm water and bandages for our wounds. Whether earned in victory or defeat, they bleed the same.”
She turns to Sorore. "We shall worship at the feet of the Broken God this afternoon, buoyed by your hands and Rigor’s ministrations. Pray that we find quick healing so we might enact righteous vengeance upon the detestable mongrels of the Dead Three. Those lives spent invite our Holy retribution."
Casta laboriously doffs her armor, grateful for Feldinor on watch even in the relative safety of the Blade and Stars. Once her carapace is free and her sweat glistens on the internal padding in the filtered light, she assists Belmort, if he wishes the assistance, best as she can. Once complete, she settles onto an bunk, keeping her wounded side toward Sorore. While the clerics and monk work, she recounts a story to the wooden beams in the rafters.
The Book of Accountability may it ever guide our souls, Twenty Fifth chapter, tells a story from before the Time of Troubles. The Twenty Fifth chapter reminds us of a time when many faithful of Torm in the land of Faerun were being led astray by the worship of Loviatar. They were being led to bow down to Loviatar and her idols, worshiping her, making sacrifices to her, eating her foods, practicing her rites. Helm burned in righteous anger at his wayward peoples and sent a cleansing persecution upon them. While in the midst of this persecution, the followers of Helm cried out in their suffering in the Cathedral of Vigilance. While wailing for release, one follower led a priestess of Loviatar through the cathedral in full sight of everyone afflicted and into his home to continue their immoral, sexual, worshiping.
The second son of the First Priest pulled a spear down from the cathedral wall and followed this defiler into his home. Incensed with rage and zeal, he thrust the spear through the man and through the woman with one blow, killing them both. At that same moment, the cleansing curse was lifted.
The name of the second son of the first priest was Philehas. Helm saw that Philehas protected his people with the same zeal as he protected them and Helm blessed him. Helm transformed Philehas into a Paladin and set him upon a blessed Pegasus. He then vowed to make his children and children’s children into Paladins to protect the people from being led astray. Philehas showed zeal, vigilance and jealousy for the people of Helm and it was credited to him as righteousness.
May we all heed the story of Philehas.
Mistress Lupin’s pensive demeanor is broken for fleeting seconds by Feldinor’s question, waving gently for patience at his words. She nods at Sorore’s low voice as the slow climb up the broad, softly creaking staircase begins, seemingly lost again in her worried thoughts, but at the foot of the wooden stairs leading up to the third floor she pauses with a considered response.
“Ah, mayhap you shouldn’t be thanking me overmuch yet, priestess. What with the siege of the Gate, the swell of outlander refugees, and the dire troubles you’ve seen, we’re near to full of any folk still with coin, seeking what we all hope remains a safe place here. Of course you dears will always have a place if we can spare you one, and anyhail you’re like as not to want to save some coin while about this terrible Fist business of yours – oh, how they make me proper darburl, hrast them! I think we can keep you together, and most folks away from your bloody doings, if you can make do with four close beds and some bedrolls for the open floors. Let’s see about this now, it’s to the top for us, dears.”
With a grimace of apology at the effort of the continued climb, the innkeeper leads the companions to the third floor, and then down a long hallway to one of the multiple narrow staircases leading to the fourth. At its top, the adventurers find themselves upon a small landing, a stout wooden door immediately upon the right, and a second some few steps away to the left, with nothing else to be found within the closed hallway beyond a couple empty barrels, a storage chest, and a clean chamberpot. Mistress Lupin removes two old keys from a large ring secured in a leather pouch at her belt, and opens both doors to reveal two simple rooms, one slightly larger than the other, with four beds among them.
“They’re not to be the most comfortable, dears, and overlooking the stables roof at that, but they’re clean and private, and warmed by the chimney between them, and I’ll not be charging you for more than the four beds a night. I hope you can manage, and heal your hurts while you can. We’ll send up warm water and towels to clean yourselves up a bit, and then see about this “break-fast” notion of second morningfeasts before highsun that your Feldinor gets on about, but he’s a hungry one for his size! Knows his biscuits, he does though.”
“You’re right welcome, Casta. We’ll send what bandages we might have up with the warm water, then, and trust you’ll manage the rest, lest we hear of your need.”
With those words, Mistress Lupin leaves the two keys with A Cuspide Corona and turns to depart, the weight of her grave worries returning to her features as she descends the wooden stairs, keeper of an inn she never thought to run alone, without Aurayaun at her side.
OOC: Hail and well-met, adventurers! My apologies again for the delays in response, but I’ve at last completed a significant deliverable after working much of the weekend with seven different technical teams for the Joint Artificial Intelligence Center. Glad to be on the other side of that work, and to write once again. Looking forward to your planning and activities, and also to the results of your LEVELING, with the completion of a long rest, as the result of your adventures to-date, with A Cuspide Corona having started, if you recall, possessing some initial experience as first-level characters. Hope you enjoyed (and understood!) the use of actual Greenwood-approved canon Realmspeak. Cheers!
OOC: Ok, one bonus surprise...:-)
Feldinor sudden feels a strange sense of additional inspiration and power. In fact during second breakfast he will explore his new found speed to gather up more honey dipped biscuits.
OOC: Move, Action Dash, BONUS ACTION Dash!!
"Mistress Lupin!? I think your second breakfast has really hit the spot. Can you give me the recipe for these fine, delicious biscuits? or perhaps it is a special honey blend?"
Stealth 24 Back to the watch.
Armor removed for the medical attentions of Sorore and others, Casta lays down mostly wearing just her loosened gambeson. As the cleric leads the healing ministrations, Casta inexplicably falls off into a haunted dream sleep.
In her mind’s eye, she stands on a small hill of broken basalt and crushed quartz. Some of the fractured stones at her feet seem vaguely like faces frozen in eternal anguish. She looks up and stares across a bleak expanse. Desolate, unending plains distorted by waves of billowing heat. Charred ashen wasteland broken by red pits of glowing, flowing rivers. Sky is nothing but red cinder clouds as far as the eye can see. The loose gambeson is drenched in sweat.
In the far distance, legions of what can only be devils stand ready in countless columns, braced for the constant invasion of what must be devils in a blood fight lasting beyond human epochs.
Two voices cry out in pain and fear distantly behind her, nearly inhuman in their desperation and loss. Before she can turn around to stare, the voices grow in volume and proximity then are whisked mid-wail from behind to momentarily on both sides then rocketing away to her front into the far distance. Two voices of doom are borne along a fell wind at impossible speeds by two smoky, oily claws. She knows she has heard at least one of them before. She falls to her knees overcome with chagrin as she feels again the price of her failure. Her gambeson is too short to protect her knees from the cutting stone. Blood seeps slowly from her knee caps. It is too dark and thick. The ground below is utterly inveterate and yet quivers slightly as it drinks in her curse.
In a blink of dream space, she is hovering above the desolation. She does not see behind her, but knows it is her own will and body that keep her aloft. In the far distance, a flash of green with an undertone of blue, again repeated. Is it jade, emerald, chartreuse? The flash is calling to her... beckoning … beaconing. Communicating! She stares into the distance, unable to make out any details, even from the heights. Suddenly, in a voice that clearly belongs in the celestial choir, she hears a clear command.
“COME TO ME.”
Her eyes snap open accompanied by a powerful flash and an audible snap. Inhales with a start, trying to fill her lungs. Her rapid inhalation is cut short by an involuntary contraction. Emerald lighting plays for an instant close about her form, inviting the dry bedding to alight like so much straw tinder. The lighting scorches her visible shoulders and other areas under the thin sheets and dissipates as quickly as it erupted. The flash of neon green leaves behind an after image. Echoing in the memory of the eye is not the paladins shape outlined by lighting but a remnant of an object floating above her bed. Blinking twice rapidly reveals the object to be an ornate floating longsword.
She sits up rapidly and clumsily, disrupting the after image while unconsciously barely protecting her modesty. Her eyes dart about to gain her bearings while she reaches her left hand for her right forearm. The forearm is raw red and seems to still be possibly steaming. She rubs it in attempt to soothe the charred skin, but pulls her hand away rapidly as though stung. This aggravation is only made worse with contact. She raises her arm to examine a fresh burn.
Inside her right forearm is not a random char but a clear raw and fresh tattoo on aggravated red skin.
A gauntlet emblazoned with a single staring eye but wielding an ornate, glowing longsword.
Rigor nods and bows his head in silent appreciation before Mistress Lupin departs. He recognizes that one of his fists remains clenched around the black longbow, and loosens his grip. The monk assesses the weapon with a detached curiosity, then looks to his companions.
”I am pleased with a blanket upon the floor to rest in the smaller room, and I plan to hold my fast for the time. It’s clear to me that I must first meditate in silence, and reflect upon our experiences, within the context of Ilmater’s teachings and wisdom. I am glad to take a turn at watch afterwards while others rest, however - we may have a long night ahead of us.”
Rigor nods again to his friends, and walks quietly to the other, smaller room.
The trouble-worn Innkeeper of the Blade and Stars is as good as her word, and a small multitude of pails containing hot water, accompanied by many towels and a comparably modest, if sufficient, amount of bandaging are brought up the long stairs by her dedicated staff. Soon thereafter, a most satisfactory measure of the earlier morningfeast follows, with the noteworthy absence of most of Mistress Lupin’s biscuits among the other breads, judging by their near-empty platter and the lack of a honey jar, as they’re all placed upon the open tables within the rooms, which soon waft with the comforting aromas of melted cheeses, baked bread and eggs, and spiced fish. The meal passes in exhausted, mostly quiet companionship among A Cuspide Corona, with Feldinor at his watch and Yokai not returned. At last, however, the adventurers turn to further considerations of their mission, the twisted path ahead to gather knowledge, and the dire threat that awaits them with its revealing…
OOC: Well-met again, adventurers. Other than a couple of you engaged in other pursuits, this would be now be the time to interact and determine the extent of your current stay. If you intend a Long Rest, which lasts at least eight hours, you need to spend at least six hours of it truly resting, and thus at least three others need to relieve Feldinor at his watch, starting at the two-hour mark, or he won’t benefit from it. I note that Rigor spoke up first about taking a turn at watch, and seem to remember something from Casta in the PM notes more recently, so please coordinate that in talk among yourselves…it may well matter, given what has already been set in motion by your hands outside of the main narrative. Very exciting…potentially!
OOC: Feldinor, we’ll also need to know at what point you do come up, as part of that coordinated activity and others. Please roll a Perception Check for me, if you would. The others I’ll still keep handling via other PMs for the moment. Look forward to your planning, adventurers!
Perception 15
Feldinor will await a relief before coming upstairs to capture his Long Rest. I suspect it will be 6 hours later so that someone can get a long rest in to relieve me.
EDIT: zzzzzzz....Wake up you idiot! you are on watch. hopefully nobody saw that. now stay awake. OOC: a 4 on perception seems a bit low for someone who's job it is to keep watch. :)