News of Mordok's honorable death spread through Empress Yasei's vast empire like wildfire. But that didn't matter to Yasei, as the other tidbit of news on the wings of messenger crows that arrived was a million lives worth more devastating. Misha Praskovia, her confidant, her friend, her idol ... had passed on.
Empress Yasei declared a year of mourning in the kingdom, and declared that 1,000 slaves should be sacrificed in Misha's name, on the anniversary of her death, for all eternity to come. Blood would be spilled in her honor, until the sun set on her kingdom.
Merely days after the news of dread and doom arrived on the shores of the kingdom, Akihiro (Mordok's slave owner) sent a crow across the vast Ethereal Plane, through the Shadowfell, until finally reaching Acheron with a simple request. News of Acheronian's wondrous Genesis Chambers tickled the curiosities of those who dabbled in the slave trade far and wide. Akihiro's message was a simple request. For a large sum of money or in-kind donation of weapons of war, would Acheronian agents be willing to gather up Mordok's remains, run them through a Genesis Chamber, and, mayhaps, create a clone of Mordok? And to also keep his data file on record, in case any further gold were to curiously make their way to the aforementioned Acheronian agents with a request for more copies of Mordok to be produced? Akihiro impatiently awaited the reply from Acheron....but that's another story, for another time.
She should have died when she first was injected with that testing serum. She should have definitely died at the second, another experimental dose, but instead it only made her more adaptable to colder or hotter temperatures despite the unimaginable pain she had to endure to obtain just that. The third made her skin turn blue, made her angier, made her want more. She was proving to be a good test subject for them, so they indulged her, kept giving her more testing, more drugs to calm her down had she gotten too out of hand. In her subconscious, she knew she should have turned down her offer. She should have said no, but she loved her. Wholeheartedly loved the woman she would be doing it for. So she said yes to it all.
And because of it she lost her crew, where she definitely should have died then. She lost everything that was graciously given to her for a love that would never be more than it was. It hurt her to her very core, it pained her to know she could have lived a normal life had she simply said no.
But love makes people do crazy things.
Such as now. She was fighting a war she didn't have to fight for the woman she loved. She watched all of her teammates fall for what felt like the second time. Carrhae. Sana. Misha... Everyone she had the privilege to fight alongside, new and old, each one having a place in her now dying heart.
At least now, she could be free of those pains.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
Sana's body lay crumpled on the bridge, scored by burns and gashes. Around her, her friends waged battle against Ianius, fire and lasers firing around her.
Thump.
From somewhere in the Outer Planes, a golden thread wound its way along the River Styx, remaining as the waters lightened and it wound its way up to the Upper Planes. The thread flickered and pulsed.
Thump.
They fell. One after another, whether to bombs, lasers, or glaive, they were felled by the Praxian.
Thump.
Among the forests of Arborea, a woman with golden hair knelt by a trickling river. As she cupped the holy water in her hands, she frowned as a flicker of gold made itself known in the water, in time with a tug at the edge of her mind.
...Thump.
Sana's breath rasped in her lungs as her body slowly stabilized, her blood continuing to trickle away.
...Thump.
The woman stared into the water cupped in her hand and focused, extending her power along the usually thin line that connected her to...Sana. That was who this was, this flickering, pulsing thread of energy. An image appeared. Sana's body, lying on a bridge in Acheron, body limp and bloody.
...Thump.
Another round of bombs dropped, and the bridge was destroyed. Sana fell...
...Thump...
The woman considered the image in her hands. She took a moment to think, stretching time with a thought to properly decide...no. She smiled. Who was she, Ioun, constant considerer? No, she was fortune, and fortune was to be seized.
...
Sana's heart stopped as her body fell, and her soul departed her physical form. The golden energy pulsed and grew, turning from a thread, to a ribbon, to a blazing river of gold.
"Sana."
Sana gradually became aware of her surroundings. She lay in a quiet glade beside a trickling river. Kneeling beside her was a woman with hair of pure gold, and eyes like coins. "Sana...there you are."
Sana sat up slowly, looking down. No longer did she wear the scarred plate armor and shining helm she last remembered. Instead, she was in the sailing clothes she was most comfortable in. The only thing remaining from her trip to Acheron was the gold-flecked stone around her neck and the shining blade in the woman's hands. Her eyes widened as she remembered the events of the last battle. "Ianius...he...it all went dark." She looked down at her unharmed body again. "...This isn't a medical bay, is it?"
"No," the woman replied softly. "Your physical body died, and your soul came to me."
Realization struck Sana like a bolt of lightning. "Tymora," she breathed. A nod from the woman was all it took to confirm her suspicion. "What now?"
"You lived a good life, Sana. A long, good life, in which you added much to the world. You have fulfilled my mandates to the highest order, and truly left the world better than you found it. And thus, you have a choice. You may pass on to a quiet afterlife here in Arborea. Your family will join you as they, too, pass from the Material, and you may stay here with them for all of time. Or..." Tymora held up the sword in her hands. "You may continue to serve me as you did in life. You have always been one of my Luckbringers, but should you accept my offer, you can spread my luck and light across not only the Planes, but the Multiverse. You will return here only rarely, but you will also go to incredible new worlds. Athas, Greyhawk, Ravnica, Theros, Wildemount...you will see them all, and spread good fortune wherever you step. But you will also see battle once more, and if Beshaba truly frowns upon you, you may die again...and this time your soul will truly be destroyed." Tymora bowed her head. "It is your choice."
It was the same choice Sana had faced all her life. To lay down her blade, to retire happily, or to keep fighting. After she and Chandor married, they'd talked, for they both suspected she would face that choice again during their marriage, and they had agreed. Sana breathed in, breathed out. There was always only ever one choice for her. "I choose to fight."
Tymora's smile was a century of fortune. A shower of gold, an eon of sunlight. She extended the blade, now a sword blazing with golden light, towards Sana. "Then rise, Sana. Rise and come into the fullness of your power."
Sana took the blade and her goddess's hand, and divine power blazed through her. The denizens of Arborea would talk about the golden beacon that exploded from the forests for years to come.
Sana took a slow, deep breath. Carefully, cautiously, she fluttered her new wings for the first time, looked down at her new form. She looked much the same, her skin white and pale, but her hair was a blaze of gold that matched her eyes. She could feel Tymora's divine power coursing through her body, empowering her strikes and senses.
Tymora smiled at her newest angel. "Come. It is time to begin our work once more."
And with a sigh, Surus Anaximander II died. He tried to gather his fleeting, fragmented thoughts for some last burst of power or insight that might carry him through and... nothing. Not even the perfect nothing of null logic, nor the seeming-nothing of the Void-which-Binds. A nothing of experience, of thought itself.
As the frail body twists and gives up its life beneath a torment of hellfire and shrapnel, the soul moves on, unshackled by the restraints of physical form. For the first time, he could remember those who had come before, not as thought, or memory, but as emotion. They hold out their hands to him, beckoning, calling back to the iron embrace of Mechanus. In that moment, he realizes that his soul remained bound by chains of calculation and dogma, of the Grand End of Eternity unwound by the foolish choices of mortal and immortal beings. He would, as those who came before, serve again as emissary of Mechanus. He would always answer the call. As he always had.
None of these things were new to Yarog. You did not get to live the life he had, and for as long as he had without learning to endure such things. Which is why he felt no longer tasted ash and blood on his tongue, and both old aches and new no longer played every step of the aged centaur, he could not help but come to conscious all the more confused.
"Whell, whell, whell! If it isn't Yarog! Finally grew tired of adventure I see."
His eyes snapped open fully, and in a rush of movement he'd soon come to regret, Yarog got to his feet, looking frantically around, shield arm raised and hand fishing blindly around for a blade. The whole event elicits a laugh from someone behind, spurring him once more into turn, only to trip over himself, and hitting the ground hard. The laughter grows into a full blown episode as he tries to blink past the stars. This time Yarog would wait and just focus on catching his breathe.
That was when he realize somethign was wrong. His breathing... his voice... it wasn't right. Where was the-....
"You done laying around old friend? I might be kind, but the others won't hesitate to have a bit of sport with newcomer." A shadowed figured moved to block out the sun, and extended callused hand down to Yarog. A hand all too familiar, as it was the same to have helped him during his first foray into the many realms beyond his home. The hand of one long dead from a heroic challenging of a fire giant to distract and spare the lives of all other party members. Two other shadows soon stepped into view.
As his eyes finally cleared enough to see the shadows for what they were, Yarog couldn't help but chuckle as he accepted the hand. The grass beneath his feet... the crisp air... the distant sounds of some far off duel taking place in one direction, and in the other bestial roars and cheers....
Yarog the storyteller's journey had not quite ended the way he expected. But now, it was time for Yarog the Storymaker to rise to his hooves, and embrace the glory and wonders of Ysgard in full.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
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News of Mordok's honorable death spread through Empress Yasei's vast empire like wildfire. But that didn't matter to Yasei, as the other tidbit of news on the wings of messenger crows that arrived was a million lives worth more devastating. Misha Praskovia, her confidant, her friend, her idol ... had passed on.
Empress Yasei declared a year of mourning in the kingdom, and declared that 1,000 slaves should be sacrificed in Misha's name, on the anniversary of her death, for all eternity to come. Blood would be spilled in her honor, until the sun set on her kingdom.
Merely days after the news of dread and doom arrived on the shores of the kingdom, Akihiro (Mordok's slave owner) sent a crow across the vast Ethereal Plane, through the Shadowfell, until finally reaching Acheron with a simple request. News of Acheronian's wondrous Genesis Chambers tickled the curiosities of those who dabbled in the slave trade far and wide. Akihiro's message was a simple request. For a large sum of money or in-kind donation of weapons of war, would Acheronian agents be willing to gather up Mordok's remains, run them through a Genesis Chamber, and, mayhaps, create a clone of Mordok? And to also keep his data file on record, in case any further gold were to curiously make their way to the aforementioned Acheronian agents with a request for more copies of Mordok to be produced? Akihiro impatiently awaited the reply from Acheron....but that's another story, for another time.
Last to know and first to be blamed...
As a free action, can I regret my life choices?
Kali should have died years ago.
She should have died when she first was injected with that testing serum. She should have definitely died at the second, another experimental dose, but instead it only made her more adaptable to colder or hotter temperatures despite the unimaginable pain she had to endure to obtain just that. The third made her skin turn blue, made her angier, made her want more. She was proving to be a good test subject for them, so they indulged her, kept giving her more testing, more drugs to calm her down had she gotten too out of hand. In her subconscious, she knew she should have turned down her offer. She should have said no, but she loved her. Wholeheartedly loved the woman she would be doing it for. So she said yes to it all.
And because of it she lost her crew, where she definitely should have died then. She lost everything that was graciously given to her for a love that would never be more than it was. It hurt her to her very core, it pained her to know she could have lived a normal life had she simply said no.
But love makes people do crazy things.
Such as now. She was fighting a war she didn't have to fight for the woman she loved. She watched all of her teammates fall for what felt like the second time. Carrhae. Sana. Misha... Everyone she had the privilege to fight alongside, new and old, each one having a place in her now dying heart.
At least now, she could be free of those pains.
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
Final d20 analysis for this entire campaign:
Even though @CrispyDM managed to TPK us, he was the worst roller in the campaign! Strange how that works out...
Last to know and first to be blamed...
As a free action, can I regret my life choices?
Thump.
Sana's body lay crumpled on the bridge, scored by burns and gashes. Around her, her friends waged battle against Ianius, fire and lasers firing around her.
Thump.
From somewhere in the Outer Planes, a golden thread wound its way along the River Styx, remaining as the waters lightened and it wound its way up to the Upper Planes. The thread flickered and pulsed.
Thump.
They fell. One after another, whether to bombs, lasers, or glaive, they were felled by the Praxian.
Thump.
Among the forests of Arborea, a woman with golden hair knelt by a trickling river. As she cupped the holy water in her hands, she frowned as a flicker of gold made itself known in the water, in time with a tug at the edge of her mind.
...Thump.
Sana's breath rasped in her lungs as her body slowly stabilized, her blood continuing to trickle away.
...Thump.
The woman stared into the water cupped in her hand and focused, extending her power along the usually thin line that connected her to...Sana. That was who this was, this flickering, pulsing thread of energy. An image appeared. Sana's body, lying on a bridge in Acheron, body limp and bloody.
...Thump.
Another round of bombs dropped, and the bridge was destroyed. Sana fell...
...Thump...
The woman considered the image in her hands. She took a moment to think, stretching time with a thought to properly decide...no. She smiled. Who was she, Ioun, constant considerer? No, she was fortune, and fortune was to be seized.
...
Sana's heart stopped as her body fell, and her soul departed her physical form. The golden energy pulsed and grew, turning from a thread, to a ribbon, to a blazing river of gold.
"Sana."
Sana gradually became aware of her surroundings. She lay in a quiet glade beside a trickling river. Kneeling beside her was a woman with hair of pure gold, and eyes like coins. "Sana...there you are."
Sana sat up slowly, looking down. No longer did she wear the scarred plate armor and shining helm she last remembered. Instead, she was in the sailing clothes she was most comfortable in. The only thing remaining from her trip to Acheron was the gold-flecked stone around her neck and the shining blade in the woman's hands. Her eyes widened as she remembered the events of the last battle. "Ianius...he...it all went dark." She looked down at her unharmed body again. "...This isn't a medical bay, is it?"
"No," the woman replied softly. "Your physical body died, and your soul came to me."
Realization struck Sana like a bolt of lightning. "Tymora," she breathed. A nod from the woman was all it took to confirm her suspicion. "What now?"
"You lived a good life, Sana. A long, good life, in which you added much to the world. You have fulfilled my mandates to the highest order, and truly left the world better than you found it. And thus, you have a choice. You may pass on to a quiet afterlife here in Arborea. Your family will join you as they, too, pass from the Material, and you may stay here with them for all of time. Or..." Tymora held up the sword in her hands. "You may continue to serve me as you did in life. You have always been one of my Luckbringers, but should you accept my offer, you can spread my luck and light across not only the Planes, but the Multiverse. You will return here only rarely, but you will also go to incredible new worlds. Athas, Greyhawk, Ravnica, Theros, Wildemount...you will see them all, and spread good fortune wherever you step. But you will also see battle once more, and if Beshaba truly frowns upon you, you may die again...and this time your soul will truly be destroyed." Tymora bowed her head. "It is your choice."
It was the same choice Sana had faced all her life. To lay down her blade, to retire happily, or to keep fighting. After she and Chandor married, they'd talked, for they both suspected she would face that choice again during their marriage, and they had agreed. Sana breathed in, breathed out. There was always only ever one choice for her. "I choose to fight."
Tymora's smile was a century of fortune. A shower of gold, an eon of sunlight. She extended the blade, now a sword blazing with golden light, towards Sana. "Then rise, Sana. Rise and come into the fullness of your power."
Sana took the blade and her goddess's hand, and divine power blazed through her. The denizens of Arborea would talk about the golden beacon that exploded from the forests for years to come.
Sana took a slow, deep breath. Carefully, cautiously, she fluttered her new wings for the first time, looked down at her new form. She looked much the same, her skin white and pale, but her hair was a blaze of gold that matched her eyes. She could feel Tymora's divine power coursing through her body, empowering her strikes and senses.
Tymora smiled at her newest angel. "Come. It is time to begin our work once more."
Stella Diamant, Human Rogue 17 (Swashbuckler), The Exploits of Misfit Company
Kat, Medtech, Cyberpunk: Red
Shi, Changeling Bard 4 (College of Spirits), Tyrant's Grasp
Dani, Human Artificer 9 (Armorer), Skulls and Starships
DM, Project Point (Teams Scimitar and Longsword)
Everything Else!
And with a sigh, Surus Anaximander II died. He tried to gather his fleeting, fragmented thoughts for some last burst of power or insight that might carry him through and... nothing. Not even the perfect nothing of null logic, nor the seeming-nothing of the Void-which-Binds. A nothing of experience, of thought itself.
As the frail body twists and gives up its life beneath a torment of hellfire and shrapnel, the soul moves on, unshackled by the restraints of physical form. For the first time, he could remember those who had come before, not as thought, or memory, but as emotion. They hold out their hands to him, beckoning, calling back to the iron embrace of Mechanus. In that moment, he realizes that his soul remained bound by chains of calculation and dogma, of the Grand End of Eternity unwound by the foolish choices of mortal and immortal beings. He would, as those who came before, serve again as emissary of Mechanus. He would always answer the call. As he always had.
Pain. Ache. Breathelessness.
None of these things were new to Yarog. You did not get to live the life he had, and for as long as he had without learning to endure such things. Which is why he felt no longer tasted ash and blood on his tongue, and both old aches and new no longer played every step of the aged centaur, he could not help but come to conscious all the more confused.
"Whell, whell, whell! If it isn't Yarog! Finally grew tired of adventure I see."
His eyes snapped open fully, and in a rush of movement he'd soon come to regret, Yarog got to his feet, looking frantically around, shield arm raised and hand fishing blindly around for a blade. The whole event elicits a laugh from someone behind, spurring him once more into turn, only to trip over himself, and hitting the ground hard. The laughter grows into a full blown episode as he tries to blink past the stars. This time Yarog would wait and just focus on catching his breathe.
That was when he realize somethign was wrong. His breathing... his voice... it wasn't right. Where was the-....
"You done laying around old friend? I might be kind, but the others won't hesitate to have a bit of sport with newcomer." A shadowed figured moved to block out the sun, and extended callused hand down to Yarog. A hand all too familiar, as it was the same to have helped him during his first foray into the many realms beyond his home. The hand of one long dead from a heroic challenging of a fire giant to distract and spare the lives of all other party members. Two other shadows soon stepped into view.
As his eyes finally cleared enough to see the shadows for what they were, Yarog couldn't help but chuckle as he accepted the hand. The grass beneath his feet... the crisp air... the distant sounds of some far off duel taking place in one direction, and in the other bestial roars and cheers....
Yarog the storyteller's journey had not quite ended the way he expected. But now, it was time for Yarog the Storymaker to rise to his hooves, and embrace the glory and wonders of Ysgard in full.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.