It's been a long time coming. The people of Darish scoured the countryside, searching for the right heroes to push back against the 7 Kings and their undead hordes. Contests of wit, skill, violence, stealth, all of them were held. Some failed, so triumphed, and in the end, the five heroes were selected. Those who gave Daris the best chance of destroying the 7 Kings and restoring light to the darkness.
The group has been brought together, and had a few weeks of competition, plus a couple weeks afterwards to heal, rest, and get to know their teammates. The mountains were and unfriendly place to rest, but they needed the secrecy, and the retreat from the prying eyes of spies from the surrounding Kingdoms of Falea and Harth. Can't be too sure in these trying times.
An older gentleman knocks on the door to your main hall, and steps inside. He's openly wearing a holy symbol of Lathander, marking him as either an incredibly brave, or an incredibly foolhardy person. Given his apparent age, you're inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He gives a small bow, "Greetings, I'm Harrell. I've been sent by the collected members of the priestly council with a request for you. Until recently the Kingdom of Falea has been trading with us, not much, admittedly, but enough. Enough grains and leather goods to supplement our production. This has dried up, all at once. Our most recent three envoys have come back undead, re-animated and attacking our border patrols. We need you to get in, see what happened, see if there's anyone there you can negotiate with whom can reopen these lines of trade. If not...we need a regime change." he places a small map on the table, showing a couple different "lines" of entry in to Falea.
"Your best chances to get in the country unseen, or rather, without undue hardship, are here." he traces a finger along the River Weld. It starts high up in your mountains, and flows and then branches out, crossing in to Falea in 4 or 5 different places. "There are a number of captains who are more than willing to take you across as 'cargo'. They have a vested interest in trade restarting. Once you get to Neria, we have a man inside who can help you. The Crown and Thorn tavern, Polin...if he's still alive, should be able to get you in to the keep complex."
He takes a step back from the table, gives a short bow again, "I'll take my leave. Best be prepared to leave in the morning. The river can be somewhat...treacherous this time of year, fair warning."
OOC = Setting the scene, please prepare your characters accordingly, feel free to role-play as you will. We'll pick up on the ship when you all are ready.
Biri's chair creaked as she turned to look at the man, and for a second she wished she was wearing her helm. It helped to hide her features, making her expression neutral, and, she hoped, unreadable. She wasn't sure if she should remember him, and it always took her a while to identify humans. It would help her keep her confidence if she could keep them from noticing that. The stern and stoic stereotype was a wonderful shield in social situations.
Playing to the same stereotype she inhaled slowly as he spoke, then paused as if reflecting on the content. In truth, as she saw it, there was very little to digest here. If there was any negotiating with people who kill your messengers and turn them into abominations, it would be nothing more than deciding how much they would extort. Groveling for mercy wasn't her way. She had been brought up with too much pride.
“I have no doubt go, but why do we expect there to be someone to negotiate with? What proposed when we are present to negotiation? I think lead to violence. I acceptance, but you am prepared for unwanted attention be. The need for regime change is like to be inevitable. Thank you for sending messaging. However, if you go you will make opaque this horizon road that you are wearing, for safety be well.”
Reading his expression as she spoke, she could see the momentary squint, or the impulse to ask a question suppressed by an equal desire to ferret out the meaning on his own. She'd stumbled in her wording again, obviously, but defaulted to the usual stoic, neutral, expression, feigning she had no idea of her error. It was easier to let him puzzle out what she said then to feel stupid trying to straighten out every little bit of syntax. Once again she found herself hoping that no problematic blunder occurred due to her lack of language skills.
Turning to her companions,
“Do we sail, as suggestion, or take chance on roads?”
Due to his diminutive stature, Whitley was unable to see the map properly. He went to take a chair, dragged it back to the table and climbed up on it to get a better view of what the priest of Lathander was talking about.
This first mission seemed rather complex. There was a certain element of stealth required, but also diplomatic skills. And should that route fail, certainly a bit of martial prowess would be necessary. Looking at his companions, they all seemed somewhat experienced in the latter. And though Whitley himself was no soldier, he felt confident that his goddess would shine her good fortune on them.
The large dragonborn lady did bring up a good point though. What point was there in negotiating with people who killed envoys? On three seperate occasions? Something fishy was going on.
"What do we know about this Polin person? Is he the reliable kind of guy?"
Perched in a perhaps-comfortable-looking crouch over in a far corner on top of a precarious end table during Harrell's speech, the half-elf woman who has been alternatingly unnerving and totally compelling throughout the trials unfolds, and drops to the floor to lightly step in a weaving line toward the table. A pale hand snatches a small cap from a pocket in her cloak and drops it on her head, covered in spiky black hair with a bright red stripe running down the middle, almost as a crest. With a blurring weave of magic, mid-stride, she transforms into a spitting image of Harrell. "Infiltration shouldn't be a problem," she says, in a rough approximation of his voice. Harrell's form arrives at the table, winks out, and with another cross-eyed weave of magic, becomes Balm, the half-elf from before. "But we need information. Who's running things. How long. When did things change. Who might still be allies. Share please."
She holds up a hand, palm up, and opens and closes her fingers in a "gimme" motion.
When Whitley brings up Polin, Balm nods excitedly, attending to her fingernails with an extremely sharp-looking dagger. "Exactly! Listen to that guy, he knows what he's talking about. Harrell, if there's anything you know that Polin won't, or even if Polin does, so we have it should something happen to Polin... you should tell your favorite little sparks of hope in all the realms. Right?! I'm happy to destroy anyone who's making puppets out of your envoys. Ghastly things. Had to blast my way through them just to get here. As Sharptooth over there said, negotiation's more of a backup than a Plan A, in my humble opinion."
She grins at Biri, a sincerely winning smile. Biri can see she's won over Balm with 'inevitable regime change.' She asks Harrell, cocking her head to the side and looking at the ceiling, "if trade's stopped, they why would captains be welcomed in there?"
"Not all-stopped?" she says, looking to Harrell. "Cover-story better my case. I..." she made a sweeping gesture indicating herself, "stupid for costuming. Bad on boat too. No, almost so. Ok on boat, bad in water. Swim like rock. Trian, Sage? You say what?"
Balm narrows her eyes a bit in confusion at Biri’s wording. Then she looks over at Trian and Sage as well, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Then does the same to Harrell.
"Polin is a long-time operative of Daris, who's been stationed at various places over the years. Per our last communication from him, he had identified a small group inside the local ruling caste that was interested in resetting trade relations between our nations, as well as normalizing 'other' relations." He glances at the map again, then back to the group around the table, "They can't cut off all of the ships into their duchy, as some of the captains trade with other relations around them. It would create too many enemies to fully block trade. Getting you off of the ship will be harder than getting you in there, since they more tightly control that access."
You can all hear the chiming of some bells from the distance. Harrell gives a small bow, more of a nod really; "I am sorry for the lack of information, but as you can imagine, getting said information is not easy at this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going to services."
OOC: Do we know much about Falea? Is it one of the seven kingdoms? Has it recently fallen under their sway? I'm also wondering about the people who live in the Seven Kingdoms, are they normally fine with he actions of their kings, or are most cowed by the undead hordes? Just wondering where Falea fits into everything, anything else we might know about it.
OOC: Outside of Daris, the 7 Kingdoms have been ruled by various undead Kings for a couple centuries now. There is a mostly crushed and afraid peasant class, and then a strong military (in some kingdoms a strong militant priesthood), and a tightly controlled (mostly...they think) merchant class.
Up until recently Falea was one of the more "open" of the 7 kingdoms, and as such was vital for Daris' continued survival via trade.
There have been occasional rebellions in the various kingdoms, but when the dead of the rebellion rise up as undead to eat their former companions, it's hard to get much traction.
The group rested for awhile, preparing for their journey in to Falea. Too much was unknown, but hey, those are the risks when you're trying to free the Kingdoms from an Undead reign that's lasted for centuries.
There isn't a crowd around, to watch you board the ship. Unlike the public ceremony, the Council has tried to shroud the departure in shadows and ignorance, to cut down on the chance that something would try to take out the party before they can even get started. The ship rocks slightly at the docks, a smallish boat, only 25-30 feet long and 10-15 feet wide. Perfect for the river, but obviously not made to get on anything much larger. A sailor looks down at you, and silently waves you up the gangplank and onboard.
He gestures towards the stairs down into the hold, and whispers that two chambers have been put aside for your use, noting that it should take about a week to get there, and they'd prefer if you stayed out of sight as much as possible.
Sitting on his top bunk, Withley was discussing with his companions about what they should do once they arrive at there destination. Until a noise came from the hallway. It felt out of place, like something metallic getting dragged on the floor.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Balm would have cast invisibility on herself before heading to the ship, only whispering briefly to the captain before departure that she was onboard and keeping a low profile. She moves to the darker of the two chambers in the hold, happy to have some peace and quiet and stay out of sight, even after becoming visible again. A few hours of relaxation and listening to the sounds of the river, and then quiet conversation with her fellow travelers later, and she is less cranky than she was earlier. "Anyone ever been to Falea before? We're going to have to be putting a lot fo trust into Polin. We may want to come up with a nickname for him in case we're overheard. Nilop. Polin backwards easy to remember. And then once we get there--"she stops short, hearing the sound Whitley then asks about. Her eyes peer into the door, trying to look behind it. "Been quiet out there till now, and they said they'd leave us alone. Someone want to check?"
She looks through the keyhole to see what she can see. Perception: 16
You can't see anything of note through the keyhole, it's too small. Maybe some fabric of clothing, but it's hard to tell. What you CAN tell however, is that there is a STRONG smell of brine, and rot.
It had been most of the day making running small errands. Brickhouse conferred with her retainers, a flurry of gnomish chatter that had more the feeling of family banter than orders being given to subordinates. Eventually the banal details were sorted and her donkey was stabled with the carriage and her less portable equipment. The evening had been demonstration of just why dragonborn hated boats, as she stumbled around, unable to get her sea legs, or even walk a straight line while on deck. Had she not been on a mission she'd have taken the time to help repair the minor damage her presence on the ship caused to doorways and floors. Another embarrassment to hide behind a scaled poker face. Those same ruddy red scales turned to brown in her face as she fought sea sickness, causing her to retire to bed earlier than the rest of the group. She was snoring like a buzz saw while the others listened at the door.
Balm's eyes light up, and then sort of growl-purrs. She grabs the door, grinning like mad, and opens it wide. She uses her bonus action to implement her form of dread.
You manifest an aspect of your patron’s dreadful power. As a bonus action, you transform for 1 minute. You gain the following benefits while transformed:
You gain temporary hit points equal to 1d10 + your warlock level.
Once during each of your turns, when you hit a creature with an attack, you can force it to make a Wisdom saving throw, and if the saving throw fails, the target is frightened of you until the end of your next turn.
You are immune to the frightened condition.
You can transform a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
The rest of the party sees almost a shroud of fine robes, with worn holes, settle over Balm. Over her face, a translucent image of someone else superimposes on her, making it seem as if her eyes are crying blood in a thin stream down her face.
5 temp hp added.
She looks into the hallway if she doesn't see anything right outside the door and is ready to cast a spell with her action depending on what she sees.
OOC: For clarity; I posted the part about Brickhouse sleeping before the initiative post. I'm assuming she's roused, if barely, by the time her turn comes round.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
@Bunni - Yeah, I'm assuming they roused Brickhouse before Balm opened the door.
OOC: There's a lot of simultaneous actions going on here, but I will say that Balm has opened the door and jumped in to the hallway, which means that 1 other person can stand in the door way.
Balm doesn't see anything in front of the door, so she whips it open, donning her Mantle and jumps out, throwing a screaming bolt of eldritch energy at...something that is undead. The bolt slams in to it's chest, and it rocks slightly back, then takes little step forward, reaching Attack: 19 Damage: 8 with it's hand towards her, and then following up with a mighty thrust Attack: 20 Damage: 7 of it's longsword.
Behind her, just about 10 feet down the hallway, she can hear a shuffle and scrape of something dragging a foot? down the hall towards her.
Also, apparently I'm rolling per usual here, enjoy! Trian and Whitley can go, and then Brick, I'm assuming since you were in bed, that you'll be getting up. Then the slowest monster gets to go. After this first round, our newest player will get to act in init order, from their chambers. Welcome Hilliard Freesword to the campaign!
It's been a long time coming. The people of Darish scoured the countryside, searching for the right heroes to push back against the 7 Kings and their undead hordes. Contests of wit, skill, violence, stealth, all of them were held. Some failed, so triumphed, and in the end, the five heroes were selected. Those who gave Daris the best chance of destroying the 7 Kings and restoring light to the darkness.
*************************************************************************************************************************************************
The group has been brought together, and had a few weeks of competition, plus a couple weeks afterwards to heal, rest, and get to know their teammates. The mountains were and unfriendly place to rest, but they needed the secrecy, and the retreat from the prying eyes of spies from the surrounding Kingdoms of Falea and Harth. Can't be too sure in these trying times.
An older gentleman knocks on the door to your main hall, and steps inside. He's openly wearing a holy symbol of Lathander, marking him as either an incredibly brave, or an incredibly foolhardy person. Given his apparent age, you're inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He gives a small bow, "Greetings, I'm Harrell. I've been sent by the collected members of the priestly council with a request for you. Until recently the Kingdom of Falea has been trading with us, not much, admittedly, but enough. Enough grains and leather goods to supplement our production. This has dried up, all at once. Our most recent three envoys have come back undead, re-animated and attacking our border patrols. We need you to get in, see what happened, see if there's anyone there you can negotiate with whom can reopen these lines of trade. If not...we need a regime change." he places a small map on the table, showing a couple different "lines" of entry in to Falea.
"Your best chances to get in the country unseen, or rather, without undue hardship, are here." he traces a finger along the River Weld. It starts high up in your mountains, and flows and then branches out, crossing in to Falea in 4 or 5 different places. "There are a number of captains who are more than willing to take you across as 'cargo'. They have a vested interest in trade restarting. Once you get to Neria, we have a man inside who can help you. The Crown and Thorn tavern, Polin...if he's still alive, should be able to get you in to the keep complex."
He takes a step back from the table, gives a short bow again, "I'll take my leave. Best be prepared to leave in the morning. The river can be somewhat...treacherous this time of year, fair warning."
****************************************************************
OOC = Setting the scene, please prepare your characters accordingly, feel free to role-play as you will. We'll pick up on the ship when you all are ready.
[In common, I’m assuming]
Biri's chair creaked as she turned to look at the man, and for a second she wished she was wearing her helm. It helped to hide her features, making her expression neutral, and, she hoped, unreadable. She wasn't sure if she should remember him, and it always took her a while to identify humans. It would help her keep her confidence if she could keep them from noticing that. The stern and stoic stereotype was a wonderful shield in social situations.
Playing to the same stereotype she inhaled slowly as he spoke, then paused as if reflecting on the content. In truth, as she saw it, there was very little to digest here. If there was any negotiating with people who kill your messengers and turn them into abominations, it would be nothing more than deciding how much they would extort. Groveling for mercy wasn't her way. She had been brought up with too much pride.
“I have no doubt go, but why do we expect there to be someone to negotiate with? What proposed when we are present to negotiation? I think lead to violence. I acceptance, but you am prepared for unwanted attention be. The need for regime change is like to be inevitable. Thank you for sending messaging. However, if you go you will make opaque this horizon road that you are wearing, for safety be well.”
Reading his expression as she spoke, she could see the momentary squint, or the impulse to ask a question suppressed by an equal desire to ferret out the meaning on his own. She'd stumbled in her wording again, obviously, but defaulted to the usual stoic, neutral, expression, feigning she had no idea of her error. It was easier to let him puzzle out what she said then to feel stupid trying to straighten out every little bit of syntax. Once again she found herself hoping that no problematic blunder occurred due to her lack of language skills.
Turning to her companions,
“Do we sail, as suggestion, or take chance on roads?”
Due to his diminutive stature, Whitley was unable to see the map properly. He went to take a chair, dragged it back to the table and climbed up on it to get a better view of what the priest of Lathander was talking about.
This first mission seemed rather complex. There was a certain element of stealth required, but also diplomatic skills. And should that route fail, certainly a bit of martial prowess would be necessary. Looking at his companions, they all seemed somewhat experienced in the latter. And though Whitley himself was no soldier, he felt confident that his goddess would shine her good fortune on them.
The large dragonborn lady did bring up a good point though. What point was there in negotiating with people who killed envoys? On three seperate occasions? Something fishy was going on.
"What do we know about this Polin person? Is he the reliable kind of guy?"
Perched in a perhaps-comfortable-looking crouch over in a far corner on top of a precarious end table during Harrell's speech, the half-elf woman who has been alternatingly unnerving and totally compelling throughout the trials unfolds, and drops to the floor to lightly step in a weaving line toward the table. A pale hand snatches a small cap from a pocket in her cloak and drops it on her head, covered in spiky black hair with a bright red stripe running down the middle, almost as a crest. With a blurring weave of magic, mid-stride, she transforms into a spitting image of Harrell. "Infiltration shouldn't be a problem," she says, in a rough approximation of his voice. Harrell's form arrives at the table, winks out, and with another cross-eyed weave of magic, becomes Balm, the half-elf from before. "But we need information. Who's running things. How long. When did things change. Who might still be allies. Share please."
She holds up a hand, palm up, and opens and closes her fingers in a "gimme" motion.
When Whitley brings up Polin, Balm nods excitedly, attending to her fingernails with an extremely sharp-looking dagger. "Exactly! Listen to that guy, he knows what he's talking about. Harrell, if there's anything you know that Polin won't, or even if Polin does, so we have it should something happen to Polin... you should tell your favorite little sparks of hope in all the realms. Right?! I'm happy to destroy anyone who's making puppets out of your envoys. Ghastly things. Had to blast my way through them just to get here. As Sharptooth over there said, negotiation's more of a backup than a Plan A, in my humble opinion."
She grins at Biri, a sincerely winning smile. Biri can see she's won over Balm with 'inevitable regime change.' She asks Harrell, cocking her head to the side and looking at the ceiling, "if trade's stopped, they why would captains be welcomed in there?"
"Not all-stopped?" she says, looking to Harrell. "Cover-story better my case. I..." she made a sweeping gesture indicating herself, "stupid for costuming. Bad on boat too. No, almost so. Ok on boat, bad in water. Swim like rock. Trian, Sage? You say what?"
Balm narrows her eyes a bit in confusion at Biri’s wording. Then she looks over at Trian and Sage as well, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Then does the same to Harrell.
"Polin is a long-time operative of Daris, who's been stationed at various places over the years. Per our last communication from him, he had identified a small group inside the local ruling caste that was interested in resetting trade relations between our nations, as well as normalizing 'other' relations." He glances at the map again, then back to the group around the table, "They can't cut off all of the ships into their duchy, as some of the captains trade with other relations around them. It would create too many enemies to fully block trade. Getting you off of the ship will be harder than getting you in there, since they more tightly control that access."
You can all hear the chiming of some bells from the distance. Harrell gives a small bow, more of a nod really; "I am sorry for the lack of information, but as you can imagine, getting said information is not easy at this time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going to services."
OOC: Do we know much about Falea? Is it one of the seven kingdoms? Has it recently fallen under their sway? I'm also wondering about the people who live in the Seven Kingdoms, are they normally fine with he actions of their kings, or are most cowed by the undead hordes? Just wondering where Falea fits into everything, anything else we might know about it.
OOC: Outside of Daris, the 7 Kingdoms have been ruled by various undead Kings for a couple centuries now. There is a mostly crushed and afraid peasant class, and then a strong military (in some kingdoms a strong militant priesthood), and a tightly controlled (mostly...they think) merchant class.
Up until recently Falea was one of the more "open" of the 7 kingdoms, and as such was vital for Daris' continued survival via trade.
There have been occasional rebellions in the various kingdoms, but when the dead of the rebellion rise up as undead to eat their former companions, it's hard to get much traction.
OOC: Going to push this along; also going to use the ship as the way to introduce the replacement character, assuming they respond quickly.
********************************************************************************************************
The group rested for awhile, preparing for their journey in to Falea. Too much was unknown, but hey, those are the risks when you're trying to free the Kingdoms from an Undead reign that's lasted for centuries.
There isn't a crowd around, to watch you board the ship. Unlike the public ceremony, the Council has tried to shroud the departure in shadows and ignorance, to cut down on the chance that something would try to take out the party before they can even get started. The ship rocks slightly at the docks, a smallish boat, only 25-30 feet long and 10-15 feet wide. Perfect for the river, but obviously not made to get on anything much larger. A sailor looks down at you, and silently waves you up the gangplank and onboard.
He gestures towards the stairs down into the hold, and whispers that two chambers have been put aside for your use, noting that it should take about a week to get there, and they'd prefer if you stayed out of sight as much as possible.
*********************************************************************************************
Later that night, the group, while gathered in one of the rooms, and planning strategy, hears a scraping noise in the hallway outside.
Sitting on his top bunk, Withley was discussing with his companions about what they should do once they arrive at there destination. Until a noise came from the hallway. It felt out of place, like something metallic getting dragged on the floor.
"Did you hear that?", he asked the group?
Balm would have cast invisibility on herself before heading to the ship, only whispering briefly to the captain before departure that she was onboard and keeping a low profile. She moves to the darker of the two chambers in the hold, happy to have some peace and quiet and stay out of sight, even after becoming visible again. A few hours of relaxation and listening to the sounds of the river, and then quiet conversation with her fellow travelers later, and she is less cranky than she was earlier. "Anyone ever been to Falea before? We're going to have to be putting a lot fo trust into Polin. We may want to come up with a nickname for him in case we're overheard. Nilop. Polin backwards easy to remember. And then once we get there--" she stops short, hearing the sound Whitley then asks about. Her eyes peer into the door, trying to look behind it. "Been quiet out there till now, and they said they'd leave us alone. Someone want to check?"
She looks through the keyhole to see what she can see. Perception: 16
You can't see anything of note through the keyhole, it's too small. Maybe some fabric of clothing, but it's hard to tell. What you CAN tell however, is that there is a STRONG smell of brine, and rot.
You all hear a scream echo down the hallway.
***************************************************************************
OOC: At this point, we're moving in to a combat scenario, so I'll go ahead and throw down the Init Order. Dex+Dex Modifier for the PC's.
Balm - 16
Trian - 16
Whitley - 16
Monster A - 16
Biri - 7
Monster B - 4
It had been most of the day making running small errands. Brickhouse conferred with her retainers, a flurry of gnomish chatter that had more the feeling of family banter than orders being given to subordinates. Eventually the banal details were sorted and her donkey was stabled with the carriage and her less portable equipment. The evening had been demonstration of just why dragonborn hated boats, as she stumbled around, unable to get her sea legs, or even walk a straight line while on deck. Had she not been on a mission she'd have taken the time to help repair the minor damage her presence on the ship caused to doorways and floors. Another embarrassment to hide behind a scaled poker face. Those same ruddy red scales turned to brown in her face as she fought sea sickness, causing her to retire to bed earlier than the rest of the group. She was snoring like a buzz saw while the others listened at the door.
Balm's eyes light up, and then sort of growl-purrs. She grabs the door, grinning like mad, and opens it wide. She uses her bonus action to implement her form of dread.
You manifest an aspect of your patron’s dreadful power. As a bonus action, you transform for 1 minute. You gain the following benefits while transformed:
You can transform a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
The rest of the party sees almost a shroud of fine robes, with worn holes, settle over Balm. Over her face, a translucent image of someone else superimposes on her, making it seem as if her eyes are crying blood in a thin stream down her face.
5 temp hp added.
She looks into the hallway if she doesn't see anything right outside the door and is ready to cast a spell with her action depending on what she sees.
(Okay she'll cast eldritch blast assuming there's a target there and there's no disadvantage for being up close to something.)
Ranged Spell Attack: 19 Damage: 11
OOC: For clarity; I posted the part about Brickhouse sleeping before the initiative post. I'm assuming she's roused, if barely, by the time her turn comes round.
@Bunni - Yeah, I'm assuming they roused Brickhouse before Balm opened the door.
OOC: There's a lot of simultaneous actions going on here, but I will say that Balm has opened the door and jumped in to the hallway, which means that 1 other person can stand in the door way.
****************************************************************************************************
Balm doesn't see anything in front of the door, so she whips it open, donning her Mantle and jumps out, throwing a screaming bolt of eldritch energy at...something that is undead. The bolt slams in to it's chest, and it rocks slightly back, then takes little step forward, reaching Attack: 19 Damage: 8 with it's hand towards her, and then following up with a mighty thrust Attack: 20 Damage: 7 of it's longsword.
Behind her, just about 10 feet down the hallway, she can hear a shuffle and scrape of something dragging a foot? down the hall towards her.
************************************************************************************************
Also, apparently I'm rolling per usual here, enjoy!
Trian and Whitley can go, and then Brick, I'm assuming since you were in bed, that you'll be getting up. Then the slowest monster gets to go. After this first round, our newest player will get to act in init order, from their chambers. Welcome Hilliard Freesword to the campaign!
2 Hilliard initiative
Paladin - warforged - orange
OOC: I'm running Init as Dex+Dex Modifier, to streamline combat as much as possible.