Rain spits from the sky onto the onlookers gathered at a massive cemetery on a remote hill outside Baldur's Gate's Outer City; orange and brown leaves cover the yellowing grass of mid-autumn. The trees are bare of leaves, seeming to have caught the emotions and thoughts of those of Faerun at the moment. A curse has been felt across the land, but no more so than here among the numbers gathered for this morose occasion.
A ranking member of the Flaming Fist has been slain; Ultherin Athuniano, father of Narion and friend to many within the mercenary company lost his life to a cast spear. Ultherin had been on a detail to the Jungle continent of Chult, and been laid low by an undead attack on Fort Beluarian; his body remained at the Fort, the ceremony here was in name only. Duke Ulder Ravenguard has made an appearance along with numerous members of the Fists at the ceremony. Ultherin's son Narion is present, along with some who knew Ultherin: Will Treaty, a Baldur's Gate bard who helps the Fist record their heroic events, Tyros Hyde, an aasimar , and Texas, a half-elf archaeologist who has specialized in identifying chultan artifacts.
Many others are present as well, having lost their friend.
For that is the nature of the fell curse upon the land: the Death Curse. None can be raised, be they king or beggar. It's been three days since rumors first came from Baldur's Gate of astonished clerics working together to attempt resurrections, to no avail.
Bouquets of flowers line the sides of the empty casket set before the grave. A cleric begins the proceedings and several people speak in the soldiers' honor. Eventually the ceremony is over and Narion is left alone shaking hands and giving out tight smiles to family members and friends of his father. After a time he joins the aasimar, and they are in turn joined by the bard and half elf. A few minutes pass as they catch up with one another; they're then joined by an odd pair.
"A fitting ceremony for a member of the Flaming Fist," states an imposing sun elf, female, older, with a large scar upon her face and wearing the finery of a northener over the frame of a warrior. An aura of authority seems to emanate naturally from her. "A hard time to lose lives, when they cannot be reclaimed."
The sun elf's companion, a figure shrouded in a multitude of the finest robes and sashes and covered in a deep hood obscuring their face, places a hand on the sun elf's arm and steps forward. A great frailty of build is apparent by the palsied movement.
The voice that issues forth from the hood is startling in its reedy raspiness. "It is clear that Ultherin meant much to all of you," the hood turns to Narion with meaning. Beneath the hood, the scant light of the drizzly day catches silver, denoting a mask of some kind. "Our sincerest condolences to you all. This soldier, all lost soldiers, mean much to us as well. My companion here," gesturing to the sun elf, "is called Remalia Haventree. My name is Syndra Silvane; I will be brief. We represent a group of associates who wish to do good in this world. Our current undertaking is the resolution..."
Syndra Silvane's body is wracked with spasms as a horrid cough issues from her hood; the cough gurgles and stutters, and her body shakes with the sound of sinews or joints popping.
Remalia Haventree stoops to hold her companion, a stoic concern clear upon her face. Her head turns to the three as she supports Silvane. "The resolution of this damnable Death Curse. Our order has considerable resources and already we have found all possible leads, I can assure you. Our only next step to resolving this curse, in our opinion, is before us. But we need help. The order is stretched thin and this endeavor will test all our resources..."
Silvane clears her throat. "First, an explanation for those of you unschooled in the arcane. Our scholars believe that this Death Curse has a mechanism of action similar to a Lich's phylactery; you are familiar with the concept of the Lich, yes?" She glances at the four.
"The phylactery holds a Lich's souls and lifeforces, such that if the Lich is destroyed, it can (and will) reanimate at the phylactery, drawing the stored souls, power and essences from it."
"Essentially, a reserve life kept in safety," adds Haventree, relaxing her support of Silvane.
"The Death Curse," rasps Silvane, "seems to be like a phylactery but that draws escaped souls to it, like filings to a lodestone, or flotsam into the heart of a maelstrom. And its power is affecting all of Toril, as best we can tell." She pauses. "We have not seen power the likes of this ever before."
Haventree continues. "Because of the nature of the magic, we hypothesize that a Lich could give us more information about the Death Curse, perhaps even finding a direction of origin or location." She pulls her cloak more tightly about her body as a wind adds to the drizzle. "So we must find a Lich and... 'convince' it to help us. We need a small force to infiltrate the Lich's lair and find its phylactery, while the rest of our order applies its might in a frontal attack as a diversion. Phylactery in hand, we will extort what we need from the fiend."
She looks at the ground for a moment and takes a heavy breath, crossing her arms. "These are desperate times. We would never judge your answer and I realize we are manipulating your emotions by coming here. But we are out of resources." She swallows, licks her lips. "We... are begging you. The souls of the dead, including your father," she says with a nod at Narion," are begging you. Can you help us?"
The figure dressed in a mottled green and gray cloak with light leather armor and a rapier nods to the individuals In front of him. “I will do all I can to assist he was a good man and always very kind to me.”
Although the young Goliath towered over most people, today, the day of his father's funeral it at least didn't feel that way. The message of his death on the distant continent of Chult made Narion's world collapse. His family had left the old ways of their nomadic tribe behind and thus he stood there between various dignitaries of the city, all of which mourning the deceased. After the ceremony had been finished, Narion and a few other Flaming Fist associates were approached by to mysterious women. They made condolences but more importantly these women shared a theory about the so-called death curse with them. A curse that took hold of the whole planet, a curse that made sure Narion would never talk to his father again. There offer was intriguing and the searing rage within Narion's being ached to avenge not only his father but all the lost souls that fell victim to this evil machinations. "I will help you, my lady! For my father.", Narion couldn't give them more as a solemn vow to right this universal wrong.
The Half-Elf pulls his hooded cloak in tighter, shivering a bit from the rain. As they stood there, he shifts in placing feeling the rain start to soak into his shoes, "Mr. Athuniano gave me an opportunity to follow my dream. I will provide what assistance I can to this mission. Though, might I suggest we find a more suitable location to discuss any finer details."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Be excellent to each other, and roll for initiative dudes!
The last figure in the group, the huddled man in dark, cowled cloak, nods. “I... Ultherin saved my life. I will do everything I can to return the favor.” He pushes back the hood, revealing long black hair that clumped together in soaking strings and a stern, scarred face. ”Even the Lord of the Hells himself couldn’t stop me from trying.”
"Time is of the essence, of course. You will need to move quickly," Haventree states. "We know of a Lich, Zaldara Cordress, the Duchess of Rot, who makes her lair to the south in the Cloakwood, roughly three days travel by boat. I can arrange to have you taken there tomorrow morning; be at the docks tomorrow morning at dawn. Ask for the ship Diviner, and our agent named Calibrax. He will pilot the ship and arrange for food and lodging on board; he'll also have the finer details of your mission. I would tell you more now but need to arrange our forces and logistics and don't have the information at the moment."
Syndra Silvane speaks from beneath the mask. "These may prove helpful," she hisses as she produces four, stoppered vials full of viscous, red fluid and hands one to each of you. [Potion of Healing] "Our organization will, of course, reward your bravery handsomely upon completion, should you require more motivation for the task; I imagine you do not, but gold is always useful. Five Hundred pieces should compensate the four of you. It will await at my mansion in Baldur's Gate."
She pauses a moment, sharing a glance with Remalia Haventree, the sun elf. "To be transparent, I must tell you that I am personally involved in this matter. We have not mentioned another effect of the Death Curse; not only are those who die unable to be raised, but those of us who have been previously raised," she utters, gesturing to her amorphous, robed self with both finely-gloved hands, "are wasting away. I do not know how much time we have, but each moment I feel more of my restored life slip away. This tells me that every lost person's soul has a limited amount of time to be saved."
"Are we agreed then? Tomorrow, the docks, the Diviner, Calibrax? I suggest you get what rest you can; events will move quickly starting tomorrow morning."
[Please let me know if you have any specific things you'd like to do before the morning or if you'd like to proceed to the docks.]
"We have a deal, my ladies.", Narion said. "Of course I can only speak for myself. But rest assured, I will be there at the docks tomorrow."The warrior was determined to see this through, not only because this curse was threatining the whole planet, but also because of the death of his father it became something far more personal for him. After their conversation, Narion would leave for the barracks to rest and get his gear and as promised would show up at the docks of Baldur's Gate tomorrow morning.
(ooc: I don't need anything specific done before we get under way)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“The docks at dawn it is” then to the other members of the newly arranged group “Well I have a feeling we won’t see the inside if a tavern for a bit I’m off for a good nights rest in a warm bed!” Wil will set off for the docks first making sure to find the Diviner ahead of time then he will get a room at a tavern near the docks attempting to get a free room and food and maybe some tips from performing the rest of the day.
Tyrros nods to the two women before saying farewell the rest of the crew. "It seems as if I have some preparation to do. I'll met you all in the morning." He turns and leaves, giving nods and farewells where politically appropriate. Once alone, Tyrros heads towards the nearest reputiable weapons merchant, paying to exchange his mace for a maul. He then returns to his lodgings and spends the next several hours in meditation.
DM:
While in meditation, Tyrros tries to establish some kind of connection with his patron (or some glorified fiendish clerk who takes calls from supplicants, I suppose) in order to ask what the Hells know about this "Death Curse". Whether successful or not, he remains in meditation for the rest of the night before sleeping and joining the others at the Diviner.
After only a few moments of meditation, you're surprised by a response:
"TYRROS HYDE," booms the voice in your head, accompanied by the usual nausea and splitting headache. "A MEDDLER IS AT WORK ON THE PLANES ONCE AGAIN. WE ARE AWARE OF THE SOULMONGER. IT WILL BE OF GREAT USE TO US. YOU WILL ACQUIRE IT AND BE REWARDED. FAIL, AND YOU AND EVERYONE CLOSE TO YOU WILL LIVE IN ETERNAL SUFFERING."
The voice, and the burning vision of flames ever-present, disappear, leaving you with a sudden pain in your chest; you slump to the floor face-first.
[You lose 1 HP... and regain it with the long rest when you sleep. In future to access your patron, would you agree it might be a CHA roll? LMK]
Texas will give a polite bow to the two ladies saying, "May the rest of the day see you both well." He scuttles back to his lodgings and takes the time make sure his equipment is packed up and his outfit for the next day is ready to go. Once that is completed Texas will, once again, head out into the rain in an attempt to find someone that will sell him a few flasks of oil and a bag of ball barrings. After which, he will return back to his lodgings and call it day.
Sleep is not restful as each of the heroes thinks about the impending danger they're about to put themselves in, and it's with bleary, puffy eyes that each sees the first rays of the sun peek over the edge of Toril as they arrive at the docks of Baldur's Gate.
The Diviner is a small keelboat with little protection from the elements; the four travellers are greeted by a morose halfling, introducing himself as Calabrax as he fiddles with the dock ropes. He gestures them all aboard with a wave and doesn't speak again until an hour after they've set off through the slapping waves.
"Food," says the halfling, "is in that crate in the bow. Water's in the barrel next to it." He leans on the rudder and keeps his eyes on the far off shore. "We'll talk details in a bit."
On the evening of the third day at sea, Calabrax finally speaks in earnest again; up until now he's evaded all attempts at further conversation with monosyllabic grunts or just outright muteness. The four travellers have noticed the shore growing closer, which has become a cliffside some 100 feet in height, over which the edge of the Cloakwood hangs.
The tip of a dark tower can be seen over the line of trees. A dark spot in the cliff face appears, and grows larger until it's evident that it's a cave, and the keelboat is headed for it.
Calabrax scans the horizon, looking for the descending height of the sun.
"We'll reach the entrance soon," he nods at the cave. "Once we're there, we wait for Remailia's horn; that signals the advance on the tower," he looks at each of the travelers. "That's your signal. You move quick. Every moment you're in there, Harpers like myself are dying, clear?" He lets that sink in; some of the travelers glare at the obvious condescension. "You're looking for a book bound in humanoid skin; it'll stick out. That's all the detail we have on that. You get the book, you come back here fast as you can. I'll teleport us all up to Remalia where we'll start a parley with the Lich."
The keelboat scrapes over some large rocks and bumps gently to a stop just inside the cave; the echo travels down into the darkness beyond.
Joining the howling note of wind across the cave entrance, a mournful warhorn sounds in the distance.
"Off you go. Best of luck," grunts Calabrax.
The travelers scramble out of the boat and onto the cave floor, moving in a few feet as their eyes adjust to the darkness. The cave mouth becomes a tunnel, about five feet wide and eight feet in height. There is no light apparent in the tunnel; it yawns before the adventures, pitch black inside.
[It is 7PM and the assault is underway. I will let you know as time passes at the bottom of my posts. I need marching order for moving through tunnels/doors and information regarding whether the last person in line is looking back, forward, etc.; you can discuss and post in an OOC email I'm sending. Once that's resolved, please post with your actions; also let me know if you're stealthing and include any roll results in your post]
Narion lights a torch and blows out a sigh, heading into the gloom.
The adventurers move 100 or so feet through the clammy tunnel until it opens into a wider cave. The ceiling is 20 or so feet in height, studded in stalactites. A 5 ft wide natural stone column supports the ceiling at least partially; a stairway winds around it up to a 5 ft high ledge that continues behind and along the side. Light doesn't penetrate to the ledge; it's difficult to see beyond, it's possible there are more tunnels leading out from the ledge. The ledge terminates at another stairway to the North; the stairs lead up to a door carved with a large skull.
Whispering quietly to the group "Well gentlemen time is not on our side for this venture best to get this book and get the hell out of here as fast as possible so dark and creep skull door or imposing and ominous ledge?
Although Narion was carrying a torch, he still felt rather blind navigating the dark and narrow tunnel. "You're right. We need to keep up the pace if this whole operation is to succeed.", the goliath almost whispered. Their path suddenly grew wider and they entered a wider cave. He focused his eyes as good as he could to scan the room for potential dangers. "Where to next, friends?", he asked.
Tyrros takes the quick pause as a chance to cast Armor of Agathys on himself before pointing to the ledge. “If I were to be hiding the secret to my immortality, I’d put it back in some dark and inconspicuous tunnels, not in an obvious doorway with an undead symbol on it. I may be wrong, but I’d guess that that doorway is a decoy.” The aasimar grabs a small stone on the ground and casts Light on it before tossing it over the ledge to attempt to light up the area for Narion.
The lit stone bounces onto the ledge floor with a clack and dissolves the gloom in the back area of the cave. Two tunnels, or at least, darker areas, seem to lead out from the back of the cave up on the ledge.
[All: perception checks please.]
[7:02 PM: MO: Narion, Tyrros, Wil, Texas: all full HP]
Rain spits from the sky onto the onlookers gathered at a massive cemetery on a remote hill outside Baldur's Gate's Outer City; orange and brown leaves cover the yellowing grass of mid-autumn. The trees are bare of leaves, seeming to have caught the emotions and thoughts of those of Faerun at the moment. A curse has been felt across the land, but no more so than here among the numbers gathered for this morose occasion.
A ranking member of the Flaming Fist has been slain; Ultherin Athuniano, father of Narion and friend to many within the mercenary company lost his life to a cast spear. Ultherin had been on a detail to the Jungle continent of Chult, and been laid low by an undead attack on Fort Beluarian; his body remained at the Fort, the ceremony here was in name only. Duke Ulder Ravenguard has made an appearance along with numerous members of the Fists at the ceremony. Ultherin's son Narion is present, along with some who knew Ultherin: Will Treaty, a Baldur's Gate bard who helps the Fist record their heroic events, Tyros Hyde, an aasimar , and Texas, a half-elf archaeologist who has specialized in identifying chultan artifacts.
Many others are present as well, having lost their friend.
For that is the nature of the fell curse upon the land: the Death Curse. None can be raised, be they king or beggar. It's been three days since rumors first came from Baldur's Gate of astonished clerics working together to attempt resurrections, to no avail.
Bouquets of flowers line the sides of the empty casket set before the grave. A cleric begins the proceedings and several people speak in the soldiers' honor. Eventually the ceremony is over and Narion is left alone shaking hands and giving out tight smiles to family members and friends of his father. After a time he joins the aasimar, and they are in turn joined by the bard and half elf. A few minutes pass as they catch up with one another; they're then joined by an odd pair.
"A fitting ceremony for a member of the Flaming Fist," states an imposing sun elf, female, older, with a large scar upon her face and wearing the finery of a northener over the frame of a warrior. An aura of authority seems to emanate naturally from her. "A hard time to lose lives, when they cannot be reclaimed."
The sun elf's companion, a figure shrouded in a multitude of the finest robes and sashes and covered in a deep hood obscuring their face, places a hand on the sun elf's arm and steps forward. A great frailty of build is apparent by the palsied movement.
The voice that issues forth from the hood is startling in its reedy raspiness. "It is clear that Ultherin meant much to all of you," the hood turns to Narion with meaning. Beneath the hood, the scant light of the drizzly day catches silver, denoting a mask of some kind. "Our sincerest condolences to you all. This soldier, all lost soldiers, mean much to us as well. My companion here," gesturing to the sun elf, "is called Remalia Haventree. My name is Syndra Silvane; I will be brief. We represent a group of associates who wish to do good in this world. Our current undertaking is the resolution..."
Syndra Silvane's body is wracked with spasms as a horrid cough issues from her hood; the cough gurgles and stutters, and her body shakes with the sound of sinews or joints popping.
Remalia Haventree stoops to hold her companion, a stoic concern clear upon her face. Her head turns to the three as she supports Silvane. "The resolution of this damnable Death Curse. Our order has considerable resources and already we have found all possible leads, I can assure you. Our only next step to resolving this curse, in our opinion, is before us. But we need help. The order is stretched thin and this endeavor will test all our resources..."
Silvane clears her throat. "First, an explanation for those of you unschooled in the arcane. Our scholars believe that this Death Curse has a mechanism of action similar to a Lich's phylactery; you are familiar with the concept of the Lich, yes?" She glances at the four.
"The phylactery holds a Lich's souls and lifeforces, such that if the Lich is destroyed, it can (and will) reanimate at the phylactery, drawing the stored souls, power and essences from it."
"Essentially, a reserve life kept in safety," adds Haventree, relaxing her support of Silvane.
"The Death Curse," rasps Silvane, "seems to be like a phylactery but that draws escaped souls to it, like filings to a lodestone, or flotsam into the heart of a maelstrom. And its power is affecting all of Toril, as best we can tell." She pauses. "We have not seen power the likes of this ever before."
Haventree continues. "Because of the nature of the magic, we hypothesize that a Lich could give us more information about the Death Curse, perhaps even finding a direction of origin or location." She pulls her cloak more tightly about her body as a wind adds to the drizzle. "So we must find a Lich and... 'convince' it to help us. We need a small force to infiltrate the Lich's lair and find its phylactery, while the rest of our order applies its might in a frontal attack as a diversion. Phylactery in hand, we will extort what we need from the fiend."
She looks at the ground for a moment and takes a heavy breath, crossing her arms. "These are desperate times. We would never judge your answer and I realize we are manipulating your emotions by coming here. But we are out of resources." She swallows, licks her lips. "We... are begging you. The souls of the dead, including your father," she says with a nod at Narion," are begging you. Can you help us?"
The figure dressed in a mottled green and gray cloak with light leather armor and a rapier nods to the individuals In front of him. “I will do all I can to assist he was a good man and always very kind to me.”
Although the young Goliath towered over most people, today, the day of his father's funeral it at least didn't feel that way. The message of his death on the distant continent of Chult made Narion's world collapse. His family had left the old ways of their nomadic tribe behind and thus he stood there between various dignitaries of the city, all of which mourning the deceased. After the ceremony had been finished, Narion and a few other Flaming Fist associates were approached by to mysterious women. They made condolences but more importantly these women shared a theory about the so-called death curse with them. A curse that took hold of the whole planet, a curse that made sure Narion would never talk to his father again. There offer was intriguing and the searing rage within Narion's being ached to avenge not only his father but all the lost souls that fell victim to this evil machinations. "I will help you, my lady! For my father.", Narion couldn't give them more as a solemn vow to right this universal wrong.
The Half-Elf pulls his hooded cloak in tighter, shivering a bit from the rain. As they stood there, he shifts in placing feeling the rain start to soak into his shoes, "Mr. Athuniano gave me an opportunity to follow my dream. I will provide what assistance I can to this mission. Though, might I suggest we find a more suitable location to discuss any finer details."
Be excellent to each other, and roll for initiative dudes!
The last figure in the group, the huddled man in dark, cowled cloak, nods. “I... Ultherin saved my life. I will do everything I can to return the favor.” He pushes back the hood, revealing long black hair that clumped together in soaking strings and a stern, scarred face. ”Even the Lord of the Hells himself couldn’t stop me from trying.”
Officially Joined the Expanded Signature Club
Will be on Hiatus: Currently Clear
Silvane's hood bobs at each member.
"Time is of the essence, of course. You will need to move quickly," Haventree states. "We know of a Lich, Zaldara Cordress, the Duchess of Rot, who makes her lair to the south in the Cloakwood, roughly three days travel by boat. I can arrange to have you taken there tomorrow morning; be at the docks tomorrow morning at dawn. Ask for the ship Diviner, and our agent named Calibrax. He will pilot the ship and arrange for food and lodging on board; he'll also have the finer details of your mission. I would tell you more now but need to arrange our forces and logistics and don't have the information at the moment."
Syndra Silvane speaks from beneath the mask. "These may prove helpful," she hisses as she produces four, stoppered vials full of viscous, red fluid and hands one to each of you. [Potion of Healing] "Our organization will, of course, reward your bravery handsomely upon completion, should you require more motivation for the task; I imagine you do not, but gold is always useful. Five Hundred pieces should compensate the four of you. It will await at my mansion in Baldur's Gate."
She pauses a moment, sharing a glance with Remalia Haventree, the sun elf. "To be transparent, I must tell you that I am personally involved in this matter. We have not mentioned another effect of the Death Curse; not only are those who die unable to be raised, but those of us who have been previously raised," she utters, gesturing to her amorphous, robed self with both finely-gloved hands, "are wasting away. I do not know how much time we have, but each moment I feel more of my restored life slip away. This tells me that every lost person's soul has a limited amount of time to be saved."
"Are we agreed then? Tomorrow, the docks, the Diviner, Calibrax? I suggest you get what rest you can; events will move quickly starting tomorrow morning."
[Please let me know if you have any specific things you'd like to do before the morning or if you'd like to proceed to the docks.]
"We have a deal, my ladies.", Narion said. "Of course I can only speak for myself. But rest assured, I will be there at the docks tomorrow." The warrior was determined to see this through, not only because this curse was threatining the whole planet, but also because of the death of his father it became something far more personal for him. After their conversation, Narion would leave for the barracks to rest and get his gear and as promised would show up at the docks of Baldur's Gate tomorrow morning.
(ooc: I don't need anything specific done before we get under way)
“The docks at dawn it is” then to the other members of the newly arranged group “Well I have a feeling we won’t see the inside if a tavern for a bit I’m off for a good nights rest in a warm bed!” Wil will set off for the docks first making sure to find the Diviner ahead of time then he will get a room at a tavern near the docks attempting to get a free room and food and maybe some tips from performing the rest of the day.
Performance: 18
Tyrros nods to the two women before saying farewell the rest of the crew. "It seems as if I have some preparation to do. I'll met you all in the morning." He turns and leaves, giving nods and farewells where politically appropriate. Once alone, Tyrros heads towards the nearest reputiable weapons merchant, paying to exchange his mace for a maul. He then returns to his lodgings and spends the next several hours in meditation.
DM:
While in meditation, Tyrros tries to establish some kind of connection with his patron (or some glorified fiendish clerk who takes calls from supplicants, I suppose) in order to ask what the Hells know about this "Death Curse". Whether successful or not, he remains in meditation for the rest of the night before sleeping and joining the others at the Diviner.
Officially Joined the Expanded Signature Club
Will be on Hiatus: Currently Clear
@Hydra1418 only:
After only a few moments of meditation, you're surprised by a response:
"TYRROS HYDE," booms the voice in your head, accompanied by the usual nausea and splitting headache. "A MEDDLER IS AT WORK ON THE PLANES ONCE AGAIN. WE ARE AWARE OF THE SOULMONGER. IT WILL BE OF GREAT USE TO US. YOU WILL ACQUIRE IT AND BE REWARDED. FAIL, AND YOU AND EVERYONE CLOSE TO YOU WILL LIVE IN ETERNAL SUFFERING."
The voice, and the burning vision of flames ever-present, disappear, leaving you with a sudden pain in your chest; you slump to the floor face-first.
[You lose 1 HP... and regain it with the long rest when you sleep. In future to access your patron, would you agree it might be a CHA roll? LMK]
Texas will give a polite bow to the two ladies saying, "May the rest of the day see you both well." He scuttles back to his lodgings and takes the time make sure his equipment is packed up and his outfit for the next day is ready to go. Once that is completed Texas will, once again, head out into the rain in an attempt to find someone that will sell him a few flasks of oil and a bag of ball barrings. After which, he will return back to his lodgings and call it day.
Probably just five oil (flask) if possible.
Be excellent to each other, and roll for initiative dudes!
@Sir_Karnic:
You're able to secure 5 flasks of oil and a bag of 1000 ball bearings for 1 GP, 5SP.
@everyone:
*************************************************************************************************************************************************
Sleep is not restful as each of the heroes thinks about the impending danger they're about to put themselves in, and it's with bleary, puffy eyes that each sees the first rays of the sun peek over the edge of Toril as they arrive at the docks of Baldur's Gate.
The Diviner is a small keelboat with little protection from the elements; the four travellers are greeted by a morose halfling, introducing himself as Calabrax as he fiddles with the dock ropes. He gestures them all aboard with a wave and doesn't speak again until an hour after they've set off through the slapping waves.
"Food," says the halfling, "is in that crate in the bow. Water's in the barrel next to it." He leans on the rudder and keeps his eyes on the far off shore. "We'll talk details in a bit."
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
On the evening of the third day at sea, Calabrax finally speaks in earnest again; up until now he's evaded all attempts at further conversation with monosyllabic grunts or just outright muteness. The four travellers have noticed the shore growing closer, which has become a cliffside some 100 feet in height, over which the edge of the Cloakwood hangs.
The tip of a dark tower can be seen over the line of trees. A dark spot in the cliff face appears, and grows larger until it's evident that it's a cave, and the keelboat is headed for it.
Calabrax scans the horizon, looking for the descending height of the sun.
"We'll reach the entrance soon," he nods at the cave. "Once we're there, we wait for Remailia's horn; that signals the advance on the tower," he looks at each of the travelers. "That's your signal. You move quick. Every moment you're in there, Harpers like myself are dying, clear?" He lets that sink in; some of the travelers glare at the obvious condescension. "You're looking for a book bound in humanoid skin; it'll stick out. That's all the detail we have on that. You get the book, you come back here fast as you can. I'll teleport us all up to Remalia where we'll start a parley with the Lich."
The keelboat scrapes over some large rocks and bumps gently to a stop just inside the cave; the echo travels down into the darkness beyond.
Joining the howling note of wind across the cave entrance, a mournful warhorn sounds in the distance.
"Off you go. Best of luck," grunts Calabrax.
The travelers scramble out of the boat and onto the cave floor, moving in a few feet as their eyes adjust to the darkness. The cave mouth becomes a tunnel, about five feet wide and eight feet in height. There is no light apparent in the tunnel; it yawns before the adventures, pitch black inside.
[It is 7PM and the assault is underway. I will let you know as time passes at the bottom of my posts. I need marching order for moving through tunnels/doors and information regarding whether the last person in line is looking back, forward, etc.; you can discuss and post in an OOC email I'm sending. Once that's resolved, please post with your actions; also let me know if you're stealthing and include any roll results in your post]
Narion lights a torch and blows out a sigh, heading into the gloom.
The adventurers move 100 or so feet through the clammy tunnel until it opens into a wider cave. The ceiling is 20 or so feet in height, studded in stalactites. A 5 ft wide natural stone column supports the ceiling at least partially; a stairway winds around it up to a 5 ft high ledge that continues behind and along the side. Light doesn't penetrate to the ledge; it's difficult to see beyond, it's possible there are more tunnels leading out from the ledge. The ledge terminates at another stairway to the North; the stairs lead up to a door carved with a large skull.
[Map: https://postimg.cc/3kXkMQvg]
[7:01 PM: MO: Narion, Tyrros, Wil, Texas: all full HP]
Whispering quietly to the group "Well gentlemen time is not on our side for this venture best to get this book and get the hell out of here as fast as possible so dark and creep skull door or imposing and ominous ledge?
[slowly getting the hang of this...]
Although Narion was carrying a torch, he still felt rather blind navigating the dark and narrow tunnel. "You're right. We need to keep up the pace if this whole operation is to succeed.", the goliath almost whispered. Their path suddenly grew wider and they entered a wider cave. He focused his eyes as good as he could to scan the room for potential dangers. "Where to next, friends?", he asked.
Tyrros takes the quick pause as a chance to cast Armor of Agathys on himself before pointing to the ledge. “If I were to be hiding the secret to my immortality, I’d put it back in some dark and inconspicuous tunnels, not in an obvious doorway with an undead symbol on it. I may be wrong, but I’d guess that that doorway is a decoy.” The aasimar grabs a small stone on the ground and casts Light on it before tossing it over the ledge to attempt to light up the area for Narion.
Officially Joined the Expanded Signature Club
Will be on Hiatus: Currently Clear
The lit stone bounces onto the ledge floor with a clack and dissolves the gloom in the back area of the cave. Two tunnels, or at least, darker areas, seem to lead out from the back of the cave up on the ledge.
[All: perception checks please.]
[7:02 PM: MO: Narion, Tyrros, Wil, Texas: all full HP]
Perception: 18
"I came to the same conclusion. Why place something so valuable in an easily accessible location." Texas says as he scans the newly lit area.
Perception: 15
Be excellent to each other, and roll for initiative dudes!