Ottaker Silivan, a half elven merchant of little repute, has graciously allowed a ragtag group of wanderers and vagrants to share his food and the warmth of his campfire while accompanying his caravan of three carts and a small team of wranglers between the northern frontier cities of Hamschtutt and Berdragand, about a four day journey in fair weather. The weather has been anything but, however, and not two days out from Hamschtutt, disaster approaches. As evening falls, dark clouds cover the horizon in every direction, approaching by the minute. Ottaker whips the cart horses into a last mighty effort, aiming to reach the nearby town of Dalben before the light fails. Trailing behind the last wagon, four figures doggedly follow the rolling carts. A bronzed and wild-looking dwarf, leading a lean horse by the reins, leads the group, followed by a human woman wearing thick chainmail. Behind her strides a fierce looking half-orc, quickly followed by a tired-looking elf in well made clothes, clutching a jumble of pipes and airsacs in an effort to prepare them for the coming rain.
As you have traveled away from Hamschtutt, the road wound it's way over gentle fields and calm valleys, still relatively well populated with a scattering of small towns and hamlets. You all did notice, however, an increasing number of signs warning of goblin raids, monstrous infestations, and even a few hanging trees well populated with the remains of criminals. While the disturbances wracking the kingdom have not been felt as deeply here, their affects manifest regardless. This morning, the caravan began to climb significantly, making for a mountain pass located in a broad, u-shaped valley. The road, normally in good repair, was unexpectedly rugged and progress slowed to a crawl for most of the day. While you should have been back in the relative safety of the lowlands by nightfall, you are instead approaching the first signs of civilization you have seen all day.
Bringing up the back of the group, the elf notices small flashes of light in the corners of his eyes, emanating from the nearby treelines on both sides of the road, about 25 ft away from the path.
Bristen will quicken his pace to catch up with the half orc and say "hope we don't have much more of this, I'll don't think I'll ever be dry again" Raising his voice he'll ask Ottaker "How much longer?"
Ottaker glances over his shoulder, seemingly out of breath from the effort of whipping the horses. "Just. huh. Over. huh. Hill." He turns back with a grimace. "Faster!" He shouts.
The lights on either side of the road strengthen, keeping pace with the rushing caravan and strengthening in brightness. The horses of the caravan begin to neigh with fear, alerting the dwarf and chain-mailed woman of the ethereal lights. The half-orc, sensing the disturbances among the animals and his fellow travelers, takes notice of the lights as well. Between the nervous horses and the sound of rain beginning to fall, you can just make out the sound of whispers stealing towards you on the wind, the words lost and incomprehensible.
The shifting nature of the lights makes them difficult to discern, weaving between the trees and changing constantly. They bear some similarity to a few common illusion spells of which you have heard, but do not themselves seem to be any instance of them. As you attempt to focus on one of the lights in particular, you hear a sound ripple through the night - crying. A tearful child, lost and alone in a dark place beyond the road.
The others do not hear this same sound, only the whispers overlapping one another in a sibilant cacophony.
What you see are the backs of your comrades, bobbing up and down as you all struggle to keep up with the fast pace set by the caravan. On either side of the rugged road, dark trees make the lights seem to wink in and out of existence at will. Golds, pinks, greens, blues - a constantly changing series of hues slowly brightening in a colorful crescendo. Undoubtedly from the lights, whispers seem to cascade on the rising wind, accompanied by the beginnings of a rain storm.
What you hear is the voice of a small child calling out. You see no child, but you hear it's voice, tearful and crying out for help.
The elf and the human woman now hear the same sound of crying as well.
As the horses let their fear show the powerfully built young human woman lifts her head immediately from her own thoughts. Looking around she suddenly realises what is startling the horses and brings herself completely out of her reverie. Removing her shield from her back she secures it to her right arm all the while looking out at the strange lights.
As the sounds change and she too hears the child calling out she speaks up “I hear the child too.”. Looking around she grips her long sword in its scabbard ready to draw it. “A strange place for a child...” she voices suspiciously.
Either oblivious to the warning signs or incapable of feeling the emotion of fear, Ghengis stomps along the path, boots sinking into the fresh mud as he searches for the child.
Ghengis Grimbutcher is of average size, for a dwarf, and he wears his thick black hair in a ponytail which reaches almost to his boots. His wild black beard and moustaches obscure the better half of his face. He wears studded leather armor, with a tundra yeti pelt draped over his shoulders. A battleaxe, shield, longbow, mammoth tusk hunting trophy, and an assortment of other traveling equipment is stuffed into the pack across his shoulders. He walks with a steady stomping tread.
Thunder rolls through the sky dramatically, and the rain begins to fall in heavy, fat droplets, instantly soaking everything. The clouds overhead, still faintly aglow with twilight, have taken on an ugly purple color through which small veins of lightning occasionally flash. One of the cart hands, a halfling boy, notices you all beginning to slow your pace. He shouts in alarm, getting Ottaker's attention from the front. "Don't stop! Keep going! It's the wi-." The sky unleashes a throaty rumble drowning out his words. From the path ahead, you notice that the lights have raced on, and are now leaving the protection of the treeline. Floating spheres of golden light, somehow malicious in the way they drift and suddenly dark forward, approach the charging front cart. With a hair-raising twang and an enormous flash of light, lightning arcs down from the low clouds above, weaving around and through the floating globules of light before striking the first cart in the line. You can dimly make out Ottaker screaming before the blast connects.
Ghengis, his attention on the roadside indicated by his fellow travelers as the source of the crying sound, narrows his keen eyes towards the trees. Suddenly making out the crying sound, he steps forward, only to be surprised when the crying suddenly cuts off, replaced by a low growling laughter. Just then, the lightning flashes from the front of the caravan, and he immediately recognizes the smell of burned flesh.
The tall half-elf looks up at the sound. He's wearing once fine clothing, that though worn out a bit has been taken care of and mended when needed. He turns his head to the screams and on one quick motion draws his rapier, scanning the forest for what he can find of the attackers.
Rapier familiar in his hand, Bristen enjoys a moment of clarity among the gestalt of moving, running, and diving figures. The lights have concentrated near the front of the caravan near the lightning strike, where they seem to be pulsating rhythmically in dull flashes of sickly yellow. The front cart seems to be smoldering, clearly shattered by the impact of the strike. A horse bolts for the treeline to the left, now empty of the shifting lights. Caravan hands attempt to hold the other horses in check, being too few in number to restrain the horses and to check on their fellows near the front.
As far as he can see, the attackers are not corporeal. By focusing on one of them, he can just make out the woods and the road behind it - seeing right through it as it were. Despite this, it seems that lightning has no problem attaching itself to it, sparking off of them occasionally in haphazard arcs. There are at least three distinct globules near the front of the caravan, but the way their luminescence shifts and pulses makes it difficult to tell if there are more hiding behind the others.
As the thunder comes and the rain turns heavier Marion pauses and looks up to the sky, the heavy droplets running down her soft, youthful face and fair skin and through her reddish-brown hair which is slung over her back in a tight braid that reaches down to the middle of her back. As she stands there her white tabard, which is adorned with the obvious iconography of a large blue eight-pointed star of Mystra at it's centre, begins to whip around in the wind as it picks up yet she remains utterly calm, composed and steady despite the growing tumult of the weather.
As she takes the briefest of moments to whisper to the sky "Guide me" but the moment is suddenly interrupted as lightning violently flashes down further up the road. As the bolt illuminates the road any looking towards her would see the elaborate eight-pointed star on her shield, made from carefully embedded blue gemstones, glisten and sparkle in a dazzling fashion as the light catches it. So too would they see the large twin scars that run down either side of her right ear, cutting across her jaw and down to the bottom of her neck.
Her attention suddenly drawn to the carts at the front Marion immediately breaks into a sprint towards the caravan, driving herself to get there as quick as possible with the dim scream of Ottaker echoing through her mind.
Dajur attempts to conceal himself in the shadows (stealth 8 ) as he works his way up following Marion. Naturally strong by most standards he was viewed as physically weak in the horde, and their aversion to magic meant he was largely untrained. Simple clothes and weapons adorn a simple person. His previous jobs has been easy or he had gotten lucky.
Ghengis narrows his eyes and blocks out all outside noise. The chaos ensuing behind him is a distant dream. Though the sky falls down around him, his heart and mind are calm. He turns from his current quarry with a whispered, "I ain't done with you yet," adjusts his equipment, and runs like the legions of Hell are at his heels. Diving into the wreckage, the sturdy dwarf attempts to drag the survivors to safety. Through the howling wind and torrential wind, his voice rises above the elements in a dwarven war song.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Btristen
"Ghosts, Spirits, Something, At least three of them" He shouts to the rest of the group. Mentally steadying himself he mutters "It's always something" as he dives for the wagon unsure how well his rapier will do against the monsters in front of him. He silently curses the mud he's getting on his clothes and tries to remember if he's heard anything of these creatures.
OOC
not sure what kind of check this would be so I'll just roll a d20 and +/- whatever I need to
As you approach from the back of the carriage, the disarray of the caravan slows your approach. It takes you a few moments to dodge around panicked horses and cart hands, and by the time you arrive at the front the pulsating of the orbs has evened out into an unnatural constant glow. As you step past the wreckage of the cart, weapons held at the ready, you catch a glimpse of the three orbs as they seem to extend tendrils of golden mist towards and into shapes now lying on the ground around the cart.
With a snapping jerk, all lights fade. In the sudden darkness of the renewed rainstorm, punctuated by rolling thunder and a convenient flash of lightning, you see that the orbs have disappeared. The whispers are gone, and only a fading malicious chuckle passing into the woods on the right reveal some kind of paranormal presence. The forms of Ottaker and the two forward cart hands lie limp and cold on the ground by the now-doused cart. Their eyes are open, mouths strained into a rictus of death. The second cart in the caravan moves out from the road, passing the first cart without pausing to search it. The figures on the cart watch you intently as they pass you by, unsure of your intentions.
As Ghengis moves towards the cart, he is able to see the exact point of contact with the lightning strike, still smoldering with rapidly cooling embers and shrouded in a bit of steam. Within the cart, he finds dozens of shattered bottles, whatever contents they once had spilled as the cart was struck.
Ottaker Silivan, a half elven merchant of little repute, has graciously allowed a ragtag group of wanderers and vagrants to share his food and the warmth of his campfire while accompanying his caravan of three carts and a small team of wranglers between the northern frontier cities of Hamschtutt and Berdragand, about a four day journey in fair weather. The weather has been anything but, however, and not two days out from Hamschtutt, disaster approaches. As evening falls, dark clouds cover the horizon in every direction, approaching by the minute. Ottaker whips the cart horses into a last mighty effort, aiming to reach the nearby town of Dalben before the light fails. Trailing behind the last wagon, four figures doggedly follow the rolling carts. A bronzed and wild-looking dwarf, leading a lean horse by the reins, leads the group, followed by a human woman wearing thick chainmail. Behind her strides a fierce looking half-orc, quickly followed by a tired-looking elf in well made clothes, clutching a jumble of pipes and airsacs in an effort to prepare them for the coming rain.
As you have traveled away from Hamschtutt, the road wound it's way over gentle fields and calm valleys, still relatively well populated with a scattering of small towns and hamlets. You all did notice, however, an increasing number of signs warning of goblin raids, monstrous infestations, and even a few hanging trees well populated with the remains of criminals. While the disturbances wracking the kingdom have not been felt as deeply here, their affects manifest regardless. This morning, the caravan began to climb significantly, making for a mountain pass located in a broad, u-shaped valley. The road, normally in good repair, was unexpectedly rugged and progress slowed to a crawl for most of the day. While you should have been back in the relative safety of the lowlands by nightfall, you are instead approaching the first signs of civilization you have seen all day.
Bringing up the back of the group, the elf notices small flashes of light in the corners of his eyes, emanating from the nearby treelines on both sides of the road, about 25 ft away from the path.
Bristen
Bristen will quicken his pace to catch up with the half orc and say "hope we don't have much more of this, I'll don't think I'll ever be dry again" Raising his voice he'll ask Ottaker "How much longer?"
Ottaker glances over his shoulder, seemingly out of breath from the effort of whipping the horses. "Just. huh. Over. huh. Hill." He turns back with a grimace. "Faster!" He shouts.
The lights on either side of the road strengthen, keeping pace with the rushing caravan and strengthening in brightness. The horses of the caravan begin to neigh with fear, alerting the dwarf and chain-mailed woman of the ethereal lights. The half-orc, sensing the disturbances among the animals and his fellow travelers, takes notice of the lights as well. Between the nervous horses and the sound of rain beginning to fall, you can just make out the sound of whispers stealing towards you on the wind, the words lost and incomprehensible.
Arcana 18
Dajur quickens his pace and attempts to determine what the lights are.
The shifting nature of the lights makes them difficult to discern, weaving between the trees and changing constantly. They bear some similarity to a few common illusion spells of which you have heard, but do not themselves seem to be any instance of them. As you attempt to focus on one of the lights in particular, you hear a sound ripple through the night - crying. A tearful child, lost and alone in a dark place beyond the road.
The others do not hear this same sound, only the whispers overlapping one another in a sibilant cacophony.
Insight 20
It sounds like a child or it is a child?
What you see are the backs of your comrades, bobbing up and down as you all struggle to keep up with the fast pace set by the caravan. On either side of the rugged road, dark trees make the lights seem to wink in and out of existence at will. Golds, pinks, greens, blues - a constantly changing series of hues slowly brightening in a colorful crescendo. Undoubtedly from the lights, whispers seem to cascade on the rising wind, accompanied by the beginnings of a rain storm.
What you hear is the voice of a small child calling out. You see no child, but you hear it's voice, tearful and crying out for help.
The elf and the human woman now hear the same sound of crying as well.
I hear a child. We shouldn't leave it out in this.
Ghengis Grimbutcher shifts the position of his axe, slung across his broad back. He grimaces. "Alright, alright." He grunts.
The dwarf hops down from his position atop his sturdy steppe pony and strides in the direction of the child, muttering darkly to himself.
Perception: 18
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Marion
As the horses let their fear show the powerfully built young human woman lifts her head immediately from her own thoughts. Looking around she suddenly realises what is startling the horses and brings herself completely out of her reverie. Removing her shield from her back she secures it to her right arm all the while looking out at the strange lights.
As the sounds change and she too hears the child calling out she speaks up “I hear the child too.”. Looking around she grips her long sword in its scabbard ready to draw it. “A strange place for a child...” she voices suspiciously.
Either oblivious to the warning signs or incapable of feeling the emotion of fear, Ghengis stomps along the path, boots sinking into the fresh mud as he searches for the child.
Ghengis Grimbutcher is of average size, for a dwarf, and he wears his thick black hair in a ponytail which reaches almost to his boots. His wild black beard and moustaches obscure the better half of his face. He wears studded leather armor, with a tundra yeti pelt draped over his shoulders. A battleaxe, shield, longbow, mammoth tusk hunting trophy, and an assortment of other traveling equipment is stuffed into the pack across his shoulders. He walks with a steady stomping tread.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Thunder rolls through the sky dramatically, and the rain begins to fall in heavy, fat droplets, instantly soaking everything. The clouds overhead, still faintly aglow with twilight, have taken on an ugly purple color through which small veins of lightning occasionally flash. One of the cart hands, a halfling boy, notices you all beginning to slow your pace. He shouts in alarm, getting Ottaker's attention from the front. "Don't stop! Keep going! It's the wi-." The sky unleashes a throaty rumble drowning out his words. From the path ahead, you notice that the lights have raced on, and are now leaving the protection of the treeline. Floating spheres of golden light, somehow malicious in the way they drift and suddenly dark forward, approach the charging front cart. With a hair-raising twang and an enormous flash of light, lightning arcs down from the low clouds above, weaving around and through the floating globules of light before striking the first cart in the line. You can dimly make out Ottaker screaming before the blast connects.
Ghengis, his attention on the roadside indicated by his fellow travelers as the source of the crying sound, narrows his keen eyes towards the trees. Suddenly making out the crying sound, he steps forward, only to be surprised when the crying suddenly cuts off, replaced by a low growling laughter. Just then, the lightning flashes from the front of the caravan, and he immediately recognizes the smell of burned flesh.
Bristen
The tall half-elf looks up at the sound. He's wearing once fine clothing, that though worn out a bit has been taken care of and mended when needed. He turns his head to the screams and on one quick motion draws his rapier, scanning the forest for what he can find of the attackers.
Perception 23
Rapier familiar in his hand, Bristen enjoys a moment of clarity among the gestalt of moving, running, and diving figures. The lights have concentrated near the front of the caravan near the lightning strike, where they seem to be pulsating rhythmically in dull flashes of sickly yellow. The front cart seems to be smoldering, clearly shattered by the impact of the strike. A horse bolts for the treeline to the left, now empty of the shifting lights. Caravan hands attempt to hold the other horses in check, being too few in number to restrain the horses and to check on their fellows near the front.
As far as he can see, the attackers are not corporeal. By focusing on one of them, he can just make out the woods and the road behind it - seeing right through it as it were. Despite this, it seems that lightning has no problem attaching itself to it, sparking off of them occasionally in haphazard arcs. There are at least three distinct globules near the front of the caravan, but the way their luminescence shifts and pulses makes it difficult to tell if there are more hiding behind the others.
Marion
As the thunder comes and the rain turns heavier Marion pauses and looks up to the sky, the heavy droplets running down her soft, youthful face and fair skin and through her reddish-brown hair which is slung over her back in a tight braid that reaches down to the middle of her back. As she stands there her white tabard, which is adorned with the obvious iconography of a large blue eight-pointed star of Mystra at it's centre, begins to whip around in the wind as it picks up yet she remains utterly calm, composed and steady despite the growing tumult of the weather.
As she takes the briefest of moments to whisper to the sky "Guide me" but the moment is suddenly interrupted as lightning violently flashes down further up the road. As the bolt illuminates the road any looking towards her would see the elaborate eight-pointed star on her shield, made from carefully embedded blue gemstones, glisten and sparkle in a dazzling fashion as the light catches it. So too would they see the large twin scars that run down either side of her right ear, cutting across her jaw and down to the bottom of her neck.
Her attention suddenly drawn to the carts at the front Marion immediately breaks into a sprint towards the caravan, driving herself to get there as quick as possible with the dim scream of Ottaker echoing through her mind.
Athletics:22
Dajur attempts to conceal himself in the shadows (stealth 8 ) as he works his way up following Marion. Naturally strong by most standards he was viewed as physically weak in the horde, and their aversion to magic meant he was largely untrained. Simple clothes and weapons adorn a simple person. His previous jobs has been easy or he had gotten lucky.
Ghengis narrows his eyes and blocks out all outside noise. The chaos ensuing behind him is a distant dream. Though the sky falls down around him, his heart and mind are calm. He turns from his current quarry with a whispered, "I ain't done with you yet," adjusts his equipment, and runs like the legions of Hell are at his heels. Diving into the wreckage, the sturdy dwarf attempts to drag the survivors to safety. Through the howling wind and torrential wind, his voice rises above the elements in a dwarven war song.
Athletics: 13
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Btristen
"Ghosts, Spirits, Something, At least three of them" He shouts to the rest of the group. Mentally steadying himself he mutters "It's always something" as he dives for the wagon unsure how well his rapier will do against the monsters in front of him. He silently curses the mud he's getting on his clothes and tries to remember if he's heard anything of these creatures.
OOC
not sure what kind of check this would be so I'll just roll a d20 and +/- whatever I need to
20
As you approach from the back of the carriage, the disarray of the caravan slows your approach. It takes you a few moments to dodge around panicked horses and cart hands, and by the time you arrive at the front the pulsating of the orbs has evened out into an unnatural constant glow. As you step past the wreckage of the cart, weapons held at the ready, you catch a glimpse of the three orbs as they seem to extend tendrils of golden mist towards and into shapes now lying on the ground around the cart.
With a snapping jerk, all lights fade. In the sudden darkness of the renewed rainstorm, punctuated by rolling thunder and a convenient flash of lightning, you see that the orbs have disappeared. The whispers are gone, and only a fading malicious chuckle passing into the woods on the right reveal some kind of paranormal presence. The forms of Ottaker and the two forward cart hands lie limp and cold on the ground by the now-doused cart. Their eyes are open, mouths strained into a rictus of death. The second cart in the caravan moves out from the road, passing the first cart without pausing to search it. The figures on the cart watch you intently as they pass you by, unsure of your intentions.
As Ghengis moves towards the cart, he is able to see the exact point of contact with the lightning strike, still smoldering with rapidly cooling embers and shrouded in a bit of steam. Within the cart, he finds dozens of shattered bottles, whatever contents they once had spilled as the cart was struck.
Ghengis scratches his head. "This is not the work of any earthly creature. " He says, bending over the lifeless body of his late employer.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash