With Strange Aeons Even Death May Die

Game Master Synxol

We each dwell upon an island forged by our ignorance amidst the black seas of infinity. Should your feeble mind correlate the seemingly disassociated contents of your skull, thus affording you an opportunity to leave your island behind, terrifying vistas of reality will entomb you and you will never know peace.

It was only a matter of time...every species can smell its own extinction. The last ones left won't have a pretty time of it.


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We each dwell upon an island forged by our ignorance amidst the black seas of infinity.

Should your feeble mind correlate the seemingly disassociated contents of your skull, thus affording you an opportunity to leave your island behind, terrifying vistas of reality will entomb you and you will never know peace.

It was only a matter of time...every species can spell its own extinction. The last ones left wont have a pretty time of it.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Judge me not by my name, nor by my skin, nor by my dress. Judge me only by my actions.

When evil reigns, the loudest scream is silence.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Grendel looks about the new place he has found himself in.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal glances around certain that the last thing he can remember is giving a rousing tale at a tavern a few moments before the second fight of the evening begins.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal Gives an inward sigh at his earnings so far from the evening, while the tavern's room had been paid for as part of his earnings the start of this evening hadn't been great. Still it was early as he keeps working on his meal while taking a few minutes of respite, letting his voice rest for a little bit.
The half-orc was dressed in clothes that were in darker colors, as he tended to favor the simple black and dark grey's of the port city that he had spent a number of years living in. His skin held the color of emeralds, as was true to his orc heritage, while is eye's held the grey color of an overcast day at sea. His 'entertainment' clock held a multitude of colors, designed to catch the eye, while he kept a close on on his pack that held his everyday attire. His pack was sitting behind his stool at the 'stage' which, was just a bit of raised wood in the center of this bar.
Everything he was wearing, looked like it was in good condition expect for the permanent dirt that seemed to be caked onto his boots from all of his traveling with caravans. With a grunt, he had traveled with 'Giles and Co' and ended up here in Milonor, a small city/keep that stood out from the forest as whomever was in charge of this place had people traveling too and from ever few days.
The Half-orc washes down his meal with a small ale, while he was at best average sized for a half-orc, Calvoric was slender, he didn't seem to have the corded muscles that many others carried, an old faded scar that started at the base of his neck and while buried by his shirt, looked like someone had thought about peeling his skin. Cal kept his hair long and tied back into a topknot, honoring his adopted father, who had kept the same style.
Seeing his crowd of 'fans' the Half-orc gave a wry smile, finishing his drink, Cal walks to his stage giving a wink he starts with a tale of lost travelers, in search of treasure, keeping things light enough, showing that the man and the woman, might have found riches, the true treasure was the friendship that had blossomed into love for each other.

Performance:
Bardic performance 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15 DC 13 will save vs Fascinate (Su) If they fail, the targets (At 1st level, a bard can use his performance to cause one or more creatures to become fascinated with him. Each creature to be fascinated must be within 90 feet, able to see and hear the bard, and capable of paying attention to him. The bard must also be able to see the creatures affected. The Distraction of a nearby combat or other dangers prevents the ability from working. For every three levels a bard has attained beyond 1st, he can target one additional creature with this ability.

Each creature within range receives a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 the bard’s level + the bard’s Cha modifier) to negate the effect. If a creature’s saving throw succeeds, the bard cannot attempt to fascinate that creature again for 24 hours. If its saving throw fails, the creature sits quietly and observes the performance for as long as the bard continues to maintain it. While fascinated, a target takes a –4 penalty on skill checks made as reactions, such as Perception checks. Any potential threat to the target allows the target to make a new saving throw against the effect. Any obvious threat, such as someone drawing a weapon, casting a spell, or aiming a weapon at the target, automatically breaks the effect.
I.E. using this ability to draw more people to the bar,


Half-orc Druid level 1

Snorting in amusement at the new tale the bard had started up, Grendel looks at his half full mug of ale, swirling the contents. Considering it was the first ale to pass his lips since the Storm, the druid was hoping for something a bit better. Still, somewhat watered down ale was a nice change of pace. It certainly beat ocean water. Ichi chatters in Grendel's ear and scampers down his arm to the plate sitting in front of the half-orc.

The little monkey's black fur is randomly dotted with small patches of white fur. Ichi's small monkey's face is surrounded by a sea of white fur, his intelligent brown eyes look around at all the new peoples. Snatching up a bit fruit from the plate. Ichi uses the druid's loose, tan colored robe to climb back up to his shoulder perch. It isn't long before the monkey is only focused on the food he "stole" from Grendel. Listening to the monkey more or less congratulate himself for finding food, the half-orc grins. The intricate craving wrapping around his tusks seem to shift about in the torch light.

Glancing down, Grendel saw that Nagrish had finished the large chuck of meat that he had purchased for the desert cat. The druid watches the sand colored feline lick his paw clean for a moment, thinking he was lucky the tavern owner didn't hate cats. The lean looking cougar's bright blue are half open, completely uninteresting in the all the noise. For which the druid was grateful for, Nagrish was not the friendliest of cats. The druid and hunting cat both shared the same lean, angled look of a hunter. The half-orc was decently tall for a half breed, reaching almost six and half feet tale, but he clearly wasn't weighted down with extra bulk (215lbs).

Looking back at the stage as the bard continues, Grendel runs a hand through his spiky, short hair. He swore he could still feel the gritty salt from dried ocean in his multi hued red hair. The half-breeds head almost looked as if it was the source of a fierce fire. Having recently chopped it short, Grendel was still adjusting to the newness of the breeze on his pointed ears.

Going back to his meal, the prince was quick to noticed that the humans here looked and sounded a bit different then those of the desert. Given a few of the looks that had been sent his way, Grendel knew he wasn't going to be blending in anytime soon. His green skin had been darkened significantly by a lifetime under the desert sun, leaving it mix of Kahve (desert coffee) and green.

The prince's odd pair of eyes sweep over the room as he soaks a bit of hard bread in stew. Grendel's left iris is a rich golden color, and his right, a brilliant emerald green. As if to help further the druid somewhat odd, almost exotic appearance, were the loose fitting robes that covered his hide. The linen robe was made of many lengths of a worn tan color, lending it a almost the appearance of damp sand. It looked as though it might have been of fine garment, several thousand leagues ago.

Most of the druid's possessions fit a person whom had lived almost their entire life in a harsh desert environment. Worn leather armor is barely visible under the robe, but it shares the same well weathered look that the loose robes do. A small wooden shield leans against his beat up backpack. The shield doesn't look much better, and looks like it has salt crusted in a few of the lines running down the shield.

Chuckling, Grendel taps his new friend's arm to get his attention.

"I'm glad you insisted that we stop at the inn first for a drink. Good idea," Grendel says with a huge grin.

In truth, he had all but had to drag the other half-orc into the inn. The prince didn't see what the deal was, if the bard was terrible, at least Dandelion wouldn't be able to hear it, and had made the comment to his newest traveling companion. Grendel remembered the confused talk that had happened when other half-orc had found after he had washed up on the shore. Once Grendel realized that Dandelion could understand him, as long as he could see him talking things went much better.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

At the edge of the forest is the shore line. Dandelion had heard his father and mother talk of the sea, but had never taken him. The forest had been both friend and foe all their lives, and they had had to work hard to survive, and harder to thrive and carve out little pieces of contentment. After several weeks in the forest, moving gradually but continually away from Cruor River, the only town he had ever known, and the town where he had been falsely accused of negligence that caused a significant fire.

The shore is where the current chain of events had started. He had been heading toward the water, and he finally saw it, from a high point in a hillside meadow, where he could see a vast flat grey plane he knew to be made entirely of salty water. He had stood, transfixed at the sight, and then had wanted to see it up close, touch it, taste the salt. So he had hurried, foolishly wondering if a whale or a shark would attack him when he got there.

Instead, he had found endless water, separated from endless forest by an endless stretch of sand and rock. But something else was there. He would normally notice such things, but his fascination with the water blinded him to it for several minutes. It was a large cat, like a mountain lion only larger, and with different markings, and wetter. It had been curled up, in feline fashion, on a large floating section of flat wood, a device that looked to Dandelion as if a human house wall had been taken down and floated on the water. It had taken another moment to notice the monkey, sitting on a lump of something aboard another piece of floating debris.

After some pulling of the wood ashore, and some investigation, Dandelion had discovered the lump was another person - another half-orc, in fact, a little smaller than himself. He had been resting, after a harrowing experience at sea in which the ship he had been on was wrecked. Dandelion had recalled the violent storm from the night before - his clothes had still been somewhat damp from that...

It had taken several tries to pronounce Grendel's name right, but the two seemed to hit it off reasonably well. Grendel was both of civilization, and of the desert, and Dandelion was a little confused by that but didn't question it further. Everyone has their own story.

Now, after a short trek down the beach and having entered a new town and keep, Dandelion sat with Grendel in a tavern, very much like the two taverns in Cruor River. He had told Grendel he was the first other Half-Orc he had ever met; and then they had found yet another, much smaller one, performing in this tavern.

When they had entered, all heads had turned. For if Grendel was large, Dandelion was nearly a giant, a half-hand taller than his companion; and larger - fatter, if truth be told. But Grendel had known how to behave, and Dandelion followed his lead, and the two had not been run out of town, just yet. They did not look too much alike - where Grendel's skin was a tanned green, Dandelion was more of a grey shade, greenish in some spots and brownish in some others. He had an intricate tattoo on his neck, all in black, which brought him luck, and it matched his jet hair. The eyes were the color of a boiled pus-root, a greenish yellow. A small flail hung on his belt, and a full backback was in his hand.

Now here he was, somewhat content, enjoying an ale that was colder and much clearer than his father's concoctions. The performer was making him laugh by doing a comedy routine, something with no words, which Dandelion therefore had little trouble understanding. And he was fairly funny. He had come to the table for a quick introduction, but Dandelion had been unable to fully catch his name. Tal or Cal, most likely. He would likely wait until he saw him say it again, if need be.

Grendel says something to him, and he quickly sees it and nods. Dandelion is not one of many words.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion wonders what is next for him.

He has no plan, no purpose, aside from protecting the forest when possible. He would enjoy his night here, and maybe spend the night, and then head back to the forest in the morning. Perhaps he should go to the shore and spend some time there.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Half listening to the bard, Grendel mulls over the last few days in his head. He still had no clue as to what shore he had washed up upon. The young prince wasn't overly concerned as to his location. He had set out to explore the world, and Desert Winds had blown favorably at his back, propelling him forward.

With barely a glance around the room, Grendel knew he had little desire to spend any real time in the tavern. Long enough for a couple of meals, a few pints, and a bed that didn't sway, that was about it for the young half-orc. The druid was curious to do a little exploration of the forest. He had heard of them of course, but the largest oasis that he could think was tiny compared to the woodlands he had seen, and that was just from the ship.

"Let's find out what has been going on around this area," Grendel says, half speaking to Dandelion, and half to himself. The next time the bard takes a short break, Grendel points at him and then makes a single beckoning motion to the other. The gesture has more of a "You, get over here," feeling, as opposed to a "Hey, I'm your biggest fan and you should come over and talk to us," vibe. Clearly, the unusual looking half-orc was used to giving orders.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal takes note of the two half-orcs walking into the inn, which was named " The Gilded Wyvern". Taking another glance Cal's eyes widen slightly at the monkey on yhe half-orc dressed in a strange garb. Looks like he has a few stories Cal thinks to himself.
The other one seems to not understand what Cal was saying, so Cal decides to make his next act non verbal. Saying to the crowd "Now folks this will be a comedy act with no words, I'll need to give my voice a resting break.". He gives a wink to one of the serving lasses as she passes by.
Humming a tune Cal taps into the magic of music, bringing a ghostly figure out of the last tale who, in turn smacks the bard in the face with a ghost pie. Cal reacts as if he had been hit. Collapsing to the ground, mortally wounded.

comedy show:
performance check 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10 Taking a liberty with Presidition.

After his act, Cal notes the imperial gesture the desert half-orc makes, grabbing his pack from the stage, Cal makes his way over to the two's table, carrying a tankard of ale.
" Now what can ah Talker of tales do for yah gents." His accent thick from a southern hemisphere, drawling his R's around.


Half-orc Druid level 1

The young prince nods at the other half-orc when he arrives and sits down.

"A few things, to start with, what country I have landed in? I've been at sea for several months and the ship was wrecked almost two weeks ago. Floating around on a chuck of the ship with this brute was not greatest time of my life," Grendel says, pointed at the big desert cat lying under the table. His accent was hard to place, but was clearly not from around the area.

The young druid pauses for a few moments, as if waiting for someone else to proceed with introductions.

"This is my newest traveling companion, goes by the name of Dandelion. He's a good sort, not big on talking, pretty certain that he is deaf. Good at reading lips though. I am.., Grendel." the druid caught himself. He had just been about to say "Prince Grendel," which was a bit odd, considering that he had almost never referred to himself that way after completing his training. "Good show, by the way."

Mis-matched eyes looking at the bard, Grendel waits for the other's response.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Realizing that he had never asked Dandelion where Grendel had landed, the druid almost slaps his forehead. Glancing at the larger half-orc grins slightly.

"Sorry, I completely forgot ask you what the name of the kingdom or landmass, " Grendel says, still facing the big half-orc so rhag he was certaon that Dandelion could understand him.

The young price takes a swig off of his mug of ale.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion sees Grendel's question directed at him, and replies in his awkward Orc accent, "The area is called Dewsdam, but honestly, I know not if it is a kingdom, duchy or something otherwise."

He had been laughing at the performer's antics, and was still smiling a little. This reminded him of his time in the last town, before he was exiled from it. He had adjusted to town life, but had always been drawn to the forest - only his own fears had kept him away for a while, and when they dwindled he had gone back in earnest. But he had forgotten how pleasant it could be to be with others.


Half-orc Druid level 1

"Dewsdam, sounds..., peaceful," Grendel nods his thanks to Dandelion. "Hmm," the druid thinks for a few moments, handy Ichi a piece of fruit.

"Well, teller of tales, I have a deal for you. Tell the tale of how you ended up in this.., town. In return, I will speak of the tale that brought me from the desert," the odd looking half-orc grins. Glancing at the room fairly full of patrons, Grendel chuckles.

"When your taking breaks that is, seems that your still singing for your supper," the young prince says with a bit of a smirk.


Male Half-Orc bard

Town of Dewsdam:
Okay so I have no idea if this is an actual city in pathfinder, here is what I've made up for it so far:
Town of Dewsdam
Total population:2417
Humans:1813
Sylvari (elves) :242
Half-syls (half-elves):121
Khords (dwarves):73
Cids (halflings):48
Other (kender, etc):121
Total guard: 16
In addition, 30 clergy tend to the spiritual needs of the Town , and are overseen by 1 ordained priests.

Weaponsmiths:1
Armorers: 1
Bowyers: 2
Magic Shops: 1 *
Merchants: 2
Leatherworkers: 4
Tailors: 7
Jewelers:1
Cobblers: 7
Fishmongers:2
Farriers: 5
Carpenters:5
Masons: 3

* - Magic Shops typically sell components, scroll paper, and such minor items - no "off the shelf" wands, staves, etc!

Also, while you may get a high result for a given service, that does not necessarily mean there are that many businesses in a given settlement. For instance, your town may show 15 tailors, but the DM may rule that there are only 6 clothiers in the town... the rest serve as assistants/apprentices:

Inn/tavern that we are currently at is called " The Gilded Wyvern "
two stories tall, enough to hold 15 singles, or enough to hold 30 doubles. Rooms have enough room for a bed and a small dresser, not of the best quality but average. Caravans show up once a week, a small port that ships use once a month. Ruler of the Keep is named Jerith Almorvon Human retired fighter Level 10

Cal gives a grin at Grendal's words " Ah'll hold yah to that! Name's Calvoric Tsador, call me Cal, as for this lil' spot on the map, it's a small tradin' city, people are mostly passin' through sellin' or looking for folks to hire on as guards, sailors, an' the like." Cal pauses to take a sip of ale, trying to remember what else he had heard on his caravan ride here.

bardic knowledge:
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion watches the Ichi, fascinated. He had never seen another creature that looked so ... human before, though not human. So much smaller, and furry, but with hands - animals don't have hands! - and feet that also have look like hands. And obviously pretty smart compared to other animals.

It reminds Danelion that the world is a big place, and he had thus seen only a slice of it, only a tiny glimpse. Perhaps Grendel had the right idea, traveling around for no reason other than to see other places. Much could be learned by doing that, no doubt.

He reaches out and grabs a piece of fruit, showing it to the creature Ichi. "What kind of animal Ichi is?" he asks Grendel, tossing the morsel into the air to the creature, to see if he can catch it.

Satisfied, he takes out a chunk of wood, a gnarled branch that resembles a small club with an arm, and also he takes out a small set of knives and other implements; and starts to carve it, the small chips of wood falling on the table. He does not yet know what he is going to carve. He does know his special inspiration is not with him today, for, with the excitement of meeting and escorting another, he had forgot his morning ritual from which the inspiration is reborn.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Grinning, Grendel watches Ichi land on the table with a "thump." He had dived from his shoulder to snag the piece of fruit in mid-air. Chittering at Dandelion, Ichi scampers back up the young prince arm to his shoulder perch, piece of fruit clutched tightly in one hand.

"Ichi is a monkey. They tend to live in warm, wet forests where it rain several times a day, if I remember correctly. I stole him from one of my princeling brothers when I left," Grendel smiles at the memory.

"A moment, and I'll share a little bit of my tale to these lands," the druid takes a pull off of his mug of ale.


Stories end as they begin.

A wide-eyed and panting traveler slams the wooden portal into The Gilded Wyvern open begging for assistance. His hand leaves its impression in blood where his flesh touched the wood. Clutched tightly against his side is a babbling woman pale from blood loss, and garbed in her own life fluids. Glancing past the man and the woman you notice that there is another shape in the man's cart; unmoving.

There is something about the woman that you cannot place, but it is unnatural.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Turning his head to look at the slammed door with a look of slight annoyance on his face (he had just started his tale). The expression fades almost instantly, replaced by one of surprise. The druid hadn't really gotten the impression that this was a sleepy little town. Apparently, that was not the case.

Getting to his feet, Grendel quickly makes his way over to the wounded pair that had almost fallen into the inn.

"What happened?" the odd looking half-ork asks as he gets close to the bloody pair. "I can help with your wounds, I follow a healers path," which was not quite a lie, he was a druid. Ichi chitters in his left ear as the young prince runs a quick eye over the pair trying to figure out which needed healing magics. "And whose is in the cart?"

While he might not have been able to hear Nagrish, the young druid could feel the cats presence as he ghosted after the half-orc.

Ooc:
Heal check to try and get a quick guesstimate as to who needs zee orc hands of healing. Heal:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion looks to see why Grendel suddenly got up and ran to the door.

The sight is a surprise to him, as he had never seen anything like this. The man and woman were obviously injured, and Grendel had immediately gone to help. Dandelion is a bit more cautious, first looking at the man and woman to see if he knew them, and what they looked like under all that blood; and then looking around the tavern to see what reaction the humans and others, and Cal, had.

He looks out the door to the cart, and seeing another person in it, decides to act finally. He stands and starts moving toward the door.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal gives a slight jump in his seat at the door slams open, he had been getting ready to commit Grendel's words to memory. With the man's words at needing help, groaning at the loss of the rest of the nights' tips, Cal leaves the rest of his ale in the tankard.
Cal walks over to where Grendal was tending to the wounded, saying the man that is standing " Take a few breaths, now what happened to yah two, an' who's in the cart?" He asks, projecting attitude towards the man. " My friend here is helping but you need to collect yourself do we can help."
Cal wonders why the town guard hand,'t stopped the cart and the people at the gate. Something felt wrong at the whole thing and the woman was odd, enough that the hair on the back of Cal's neck was trying to stand up.

diplomacy check:
1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9


The young traveler, small of stature and thin-boned, releases his burden into the trio’s care. His sits down right in the doorway, back pressed against the solidity of the frame, and fights to recover his nerve. Though his threadbare cloth tunic and woollen trousers are awash with arterial spray you find no apparent injuries on his body. Shaking fingers drag across the sweat that clings to his brow, leaving behind rusted streaks. The crack of his voice identifies him as little more than a stripling as he speaks to Calvoric, “They simply appeared out of nothingness a mile and more from here. Like apparitions.” With these words his eyes open wider and his breath quickens once more.

The Gilded Wyvern can be approached from directions innumerable, including angles that would avoid all contact with the guardians of Dewsdam.

A number of horrific wounds bedeck the dying woman who passes in and out of consciousness. Her flesh has been flayed in places, pierced, lacerated, burned…all manner of abuses have been inflicted on this woman. She weakly whispers in a string of liquid syllables in a tongue none of you can understand, “Edh…for…rob…mola…conn…zed.” The words appear important to her, as she weakly grabs whoever gets close and tries to force the words forth. Grendel’s ministrations halt her slide into infinity, leaving his hand and knees caked in her blood by the time he is confident that she will survive to see morning.

Summer remains young, and like all youth it is unpredictable. The warmth of this night is unseasonably hot, and though it is early evening it feels like midday outside. Within the simple cart, drawn by a disinterested mule, are the partially digested pieces of what was once a man. Bones lay broken…flesh torn, and it appears that he died screaming.

The young traveler’s eyes follow Dandelion out to the cart. It takes a moment for the scene to register, and once it does he empties the contents of his stomach onto his trousers.

Some eyes remain on the scene, but the majority of the human patrons turn their attention elsewhere, and the din of The Gilded Wyvern returns in full within less than a minute. Death is commonplace, especially as of late. Conflicting rumours abound, in multiple locales, attempting to explain the unexplained disappearances and other strange events that have occurred over the past few weeks.

All cast long shadows in the room save one. The woman has no shadow no matter how the source of light is adjusted.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Wiping the blood from his hands, Grendel looks down at the woman that he had managed to stop from bleeding out. His teacher would be almost impressed with the half-orc's ministrations, and then find a half a dozen things that he had done incorrectly. Glancing down, he can see that his robes carry a bloody handprint from when the woman grabbed him whilst while he had been administering aid.

"Edh, for, rob, mola, conn, zed," the druid repeats the words a couple of times. Looking around, he notes that Cal and Dandelion had been close by the whole time. "She said: Edh for rob mola conn zed. Does that mean anything too the two of you? It didn't sound like common, or any of the admitted few other languages that I speak." The half-orc looks at the woman once more. "Some bastard tortured her, none of her wounds were accidental..." Grendel voice trails off as he finally notices what had been bothering him.

The woman had no shadow. The young prince grabbed a nearby lantern and moved it around. Not one thing that resembled the woman's missing shadow.

"Oooookay," Grendel draws out the word as he stands back up and hands back the lantern. The young druid's stomach knots up almost instantly, and he has to force himself to not back away. "So, uh, any reason as to why she wouldn't have a shadow?" the half-orc asks Cal and Dandelion. "And did you see anything unusual in the cart?" the druid asks Dandelion, turning to face him so that the other could read his lips. Grendel had been to focused on stopping the bleeding.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion looks at the remains of the person in the cart, and almost loses his recently eaten meal and ale after the young man does. He is surprised to see the other folks in the bar barely paying notice to the whole scene, but is glad that his new acquaintances are showing concern and interest.

When Grendel mouths a repeat of the words the woman was mouthing, and asks if it meant anything, he merely shakes his head. He is too preoccupied with the strange woman without a shadow. Everything has a shadow; of that he is certain. He tries to remember if he has ever seen anything, aside from a light source, which cast no shadow; and he fails. His conclusion is it must be some kind of magic - perhaps she is a child of some goddess of light, and thus eschews shadows?

"The light goes through her. She is impossible," says Dandelion.

Shaking his head in wonder, he looks to the man/boy and woman and asks, "Are three of you related?" He recalls his mother talking to him to distract him when he had hurt himself, or been upset by something, and his father had done it too, though to a lesser extent. "Do you have names?" And suddenly he realizes what a stupid question it is - of course they have names - but it is too late to revoke it, so he says nothing further to them.

It occurs to him that these two half-orcs may also speak the language of this father. He tries, speaking in Orcish quietly, "The cart is unusual. It has body parts from a man. Do you understand me?"


Male Half-Orc bard

"Tempus Fugit." Cal mutters to himself, his eyes shine slightly at the woman's words, her words didn't sound like any he had heard. Shaking his head at Grendal's words, trying to remember any scraps of information about a person having no shadow.

Bardic lore:
no shadow 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Looking at Dandelion's words Cal responds back in Orcish " Of course." Looking at Dandelion so he could read his lips, he nods as well getting his point across.
Glancing at Grendal he says " I've got a room here, it would be a squeeze but you could take her up there and keep an eye on her. Or the other thing we could do is her to another healer and the boy to the guards. Either way holds merit, Ah'd say to get a healer however the no shadow thing... " he trails off thinking again on her words.


Dandelion gleans an interesting fact as Grendel moves the lantern around the woman in search of a shadow: the pieces of the dead man in the cart also does not cast a shadow.

There is nothing in cart, save for produce stained red and crushed under the man, and the partially-digested body. Glancing at the two shadow-less individuals reveals tight musculature, and wiping the blood from the woman reveals tattered leather armour.

The traveler provides his name, and assures the group that he had never seen the two before. The man had called himself Xelien and had been alive, though heavily wounded, when the duo had hailed him.

Calvoric has never heard reference to people with no shadows. Either this is a unique situation, the tales have not traveled to his ears as of yet, or no one has noticed this anomaly.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Looking at the tavern full of people whom have returned to their business, Grendel mulls over what has just happened. Looking back at the heavily wounded woman, a frown tugs at his tusked lips. Hearing orcish, he looks over at Dandelion and blinks a couple of times before nodding slowly, his gaze moving to the cart.

"Nagrish, guard," the druid says pointing at the woman. Ichi scampers off of his shoulder, to climb onto of the big cats front shoulders. Slowly, he makes his way over to the cart. In the bloody thing lay the parts of what where formerly people.

Closing his eyes to the sight, Grendel forces his stomach to keep the freshly chewed contents internal. The druid barely succeeds, coughing a few times. Letting out a slow breath, he opens his oddly mis-matched eyes and looks at the bloody, ruined contents. He was trying to gauge what might have done this. Be it tooth and claw of some large creature, of a savagely wielded blade of some type.

Returning to the other two Grendel grins suddenly.

"Well, looks like this isn't such a sleepy little town after all. Good, I was looking for a little excitement and here one landed right in our laps. Floating around for a week in the ocean on a piece of ship gets rather boring. The sharks where interesting. Polite creatures, sharks," Grendel says as he runs a hand through his spiky, flame colored hair, mis-matched eyes far away as he thinks about the ocean. Shaking his head slightly, Grendel continues on.

"Alright, so, let's get her up to your room, I'm not confident in my healing skill to move here any real distance," the young druid sounds a more focused then a few seconds ago. "Then, Cal, why don't you take the lad to the guards so that he can tell them what happened. And perhaps see if they're have been a lot of these," the druid gestures at the cart, "attacks. In case they want to do some guard related about it. I would hope something like that would stand out." A slight shudder runs down his spine. Grendel looks between Dandelion and Cal.

"Dandelion, would you go with them? If, and this might be a big if, something is hunting after the occupants of the cart, it might be disinclined to strike with you around," Grendel looks up at the bigger half-orc and grins. It had been a while since he had to look up to see a person's face. "When you two get back, we might want to entertain the idea of poking around the cart. It might have some sort of clue as to what killed them. And I'm sure someone will want to do something with..., the pieces."

Ooc:
Heal check to attempt to determine what cause the damage. 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal nods at Grendel's words " second floor last one on the left." Digging into his belt for his room key, passing over the small brass key that Earik the owner had given Cal earlier that day


An aged human woman cautiously picks a path through the sea of apparent impassivity. She had quietly observed Grendel for a time before offering moving to help. Ignoring the pooled blood she leans her knotted cane against the doorframe and kneels down to applies pressure to the worst of the wounds with painfully twisted hands that had been ravaged by arthritis.

Her tone is caustic as she hisses for someone named "Jyr" to lend a hand in getting the bloodstained woman up to Calvoric's room. There is no immediate response apparent, though a few heads turn towards a human male across the room. Hateful words are exchanged by those around you, though none say it directly to the young man. He either does not hear the old woman, or does not care as he continues to drink alone at a table with placings for two.

Explanations are not apparent, since there is so much damage to both individuals, and it appears to stem from a number of different implements and methods for inflicting maximum damage. Something cut Xelien down and it looks to be an acid of some sort, considering the state of what is left of the corpse in a little of a mile's travel. Then again, the young traveler could simply be wrong, or lying...though you do not get either impression from his words.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion nods at Grendel's suggestion, but pauses to watch the old woman work. When it becomes apparent she needs help, he holds onto the injured woman, lifting her to her feet, and starts up to the room.

He hopes someone else brings the key - locks are still little known to him, and so their workings are akin to magic to him yet.


A steely-eyed veteran of the guard lifts the traveler’s chin and mercilessly questions him seemingly without any concern for the distress the interrogation is causing. Tears cut jagged paths along the youth’s dirt-stained cheeks as he repeats what he had said previously. Heavy boots echo heavily and thick armour plates rattle as the man moves from the youth to the babbling woman, and finally the cart. The guard, with grey hair climbing up his temples, answers that many are attacked on the roads, but he has never heard of anything like this. Words are thrown over his armoured shoulder as he departs a short while later, "Clean up this mess."

You are afforded the gruesome opportunity to search the cart and body more thoroughly. Macabre strips of the ravaged skin peels back revealing the musculature underneath. Nothing obvious stands out to further explain his death, other than he shares a number of the same injuries as the woman, though that it is difficult to corroborate due to the damage the acid has wrought.

The young man follows orders, and though pale, starts the process of departing with the partially-digested body. The corpse jounces about in the back of the cart as the traveler seeks a location to dump the shadowless meat once named Xelien.

Moving creakily back to her feet, the old woman makes way for the group to carry the woman to the second floor. Her cloudy orbs follow the group's progress as she seeks out her cane and hobbles back to the man named Jyr.

It is late and the grievously wounded woman continues to babble, and tell you tales in the gibberish she spouts. Each time she drifts off to sleep in Calvoric's room she wakes shortly thereafter screaming. It takes all of Grendel's skills to get all of her wounds closed again, but he is confident that she will likely not bleed to death. As she is cleaned you see the torn meat that is her hands, which look to have been burned rapidly sliding on a rope, and that her left leg is badly broken. Neither wound is life-threatening though.

Buckets of water erase the bloodstains, and all evidence of what had just transpired in the doorway of The Gilded Wyvern.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal gives a grunt at the guards words, not thrilled at the lack of compassion that the guard gives out. Still Cal assumed that the man had a hard enough job assisting Dandelion with the task with helping the traveler with the corpse. Washing his hands in a bucket of clean water, the bard tells the half-orc that he must get back to the stage. " Stay at the table when you get back in, I'll see if I can get yah a room for the night."
Cal goes back to the stage, depositing his back pack behind the chair, whispering to Victoria one of the wenches about getting another room for his friends, dropping a gold coin and a few silver pieces for her trouble at passing the message to Arthur the owner that Cal would need an additional room.
Cal knew that Arthur would grumble but Cal had spent enough time here and
He would agree, although now, more then half of his tips for the night would have been spent. With an inward sigh Cal thought that it was only money, he could always make more.
Clearing his throat, Cal's velvet voice rings out. " Sorry about that folks, perhaps a tale of better times would lighten' our evenin'."
" Now our story begin' with a noble King who loved to hunt, one day while he was out with his hunters an' the nobles, he found a wounded wolf. The king could feel the animals pain, taking pity on the noble wolf, he ordered that it be tended too, treated with the respect that his physician would tend to the king. The wolf didn't snap at any of the men treating it's wounds. The wolf white as the first snowfalls, eyes the color of the sky, followed the king everywhere. Testing the king's food for poison, joining with the king on his hunts, acting like a true companion. Then after chasing after a stag for a number of days, the king had long emptied his water skins. Finding a stream he bent to slake his thirst, the wolf bowled him over, standin' 'tween the water and the king. "
Cal pauses letting this part of the tale sink in, " The king shouted 'I've tended to your wounds, treated you like an equal and this is how you act!'. The king went to the stream again, and the wolf bowled the king over again. Angered the king drew his bow and fired at the wolf striking the noble animal, the wolf ran off, enranged the king took off in pursuit."
" The king went up a mountain finding the remains of a giant snake and the wolf biting it's throat, the snake had been looting venom into the water to poison any being that had drinking the water further down the stream. Other remains were surrounding the snake."

perform:
1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23


Half-orc Druid level 1

Sitting back down in his chair with a sigh, Grendel looks at the shadowless, wounded woman. He had the magic to help heal here wounds much faster, but the young druid didn't want to use them until her leg was set. Sleep didn't seem to bring any relief to the woman, as she was probably dreaming about whatever attacked them. Short cat naps where about all that the half-orc could manage.

Earlier, after thanking the old woman for her help, the young druid had asked about a healer in town that he could take the woman to in the morning. Grendel was pretty certain that she would survive any lengthy travel at the moment. He had glanced at "Jyr," curious to see what all the hated words that had been mumbled about the man, when the old woman had called for his denied assistance. Nothing had seemed to stand.

Checking the bandages one more time as he thinks about the turn the evening had taken, he shakes his head with a smile. Petting the head of a sleeping Nagrish, the half-orc listens to the deep rumble as the big cat begins to purr. Or friendly growling, it was a bit hard to tell with the desert cat.

"Well, after three plus months on the ocean surrounded by men, this is not how I expected to spend my first night in town with a woman," he comments quietly to the sleep cat with a quiet chuckle. Ichi had curled up on the desert cats side. "Ah well, such is life."

Grendel wonders if the other two had any luck finding out any details of the attack on the travelers.


Dandelion "overhears" snippets of conversation between the steely-eyed veteran and another guard. The woman is known as she stayed in Dewsdam for a few days perhaps two weeks prior. She was an adventurer in the company of another woman and a man. They had supplies for a long journey before they left. They are remembered because of the large quantity of climbing gear that they had purchased; an anomaly considering there were no mountains within many many miles.

Calvoric plies his trade, providing entertainment to the masses, and earning enough to cover the lion's share of his lodging, drink and supper. Spending time intertwined closely with the people affords him a unique position to overhear the conversations around him, which consist mainly of rumours as to the impenetrable events as of late, which he combines with things he has overhead before:

  • Those that destroy the despoil the natural order have pushed the spirits of the Wyld to fight back
  • A blight has destroyed animals and crops, though only in a localized manner, which turns brother against brother, and neighbour against neighbour
  • All manner of blame cast upon different races, or groups, depending on who the speaker is (e.g. humans blaming elves, while northerners blaming those who dwell in the south)
  • Disappearances and deaths abound, which is a punishment for man's wickedness
  • Wizard's experimentation is the root cause, as they seek out immortality, or delve into things best left alone
  • Unseen horrors walk the realms supping upon flesh and drinking blood

The words are contradictory for the most part, and mostly 5th hand information at best, or simple speculation at worst. Something that is common is that the source appears to be towards the coastline a just shy of a tenday journey north.

It turns out that Jyr is the town's healer, but eschews such labour when the sun grows heavy in the sky. You deduce that the older woman is his mother, though she makes no such claims, presumedly by the lack of pride in her voice when she speaks of him. She agrees to check on the woman in the morning and arrange for her to be taken to Jyr.

The woman does not survive to see the small hours. It is in a nightmare that she is taken. Despite all of Grendel's actions she stops breathing, her tormented eyes wide, ravaged hands clutching at an unseen assailant, and face frozen in the fright of a voiceless scream. All that remains in meat made tough by fear, and spoiled by a flood of terror hormones.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion follows Grendel's lead and gets a room for the night. He's unused to such practices, having lived only in his cave, the forest, and more recently, in a wooden box at the edge of the town next to this one. He finds that the bed very spacious, and that the room is closed-in to a far greater extent than he is comfortable with. He leaves the door and window open, until Cal mentions he should keep the door closed, at least.

His clothes are dirty but he does not notice. People in Cruor River had called him dirty, until one day one of the teenagers he had called a friend told him he should clean his clothes and himself now and then.

After moving the bed to just below the window, Dandelion is able to feel a degree of comfort on the soft, covered pile of hay used as a bed.

Sleep does not come easily, though, for thoughts of the woman with no shadow haunt him, and the air coming in the window has an unfamiliar smell to it. Finally, late it seems, he must have dozed off, but the tweeting birds and cool air wake him while it is still almost dark outside.

He rises, and, before breakfast, goes out and finds a quiet spot to sit and meditate, and observe the Mother and what she has in store for him today. It is different than in the forest, but he is still able to find the Mother in the air, in the few trees about, in the wood making up the buildings, and in the birds, always the birds, flying overhead. A tamed dog approaches and Dandelion lets it smell him. The Mother has been largely removed from the dog, likely by people who claim to own the animal, but some core essence of Her marrow cannot be taken from any beast that lives.

Finished his ritual, he heads back inside to the inn, and only then notices how dirty he and his clothing must seem to the others. He asks the serving girl in his low and stilted speech, "Is there a bath? And a place to clean clothes?" He watches her lips closely for her answer.

Later, at breakfast, Dandelion hears of the fate of the woman. He tells Cal and Grendel of what he heard the guard saying. And adds, "If she was climbing, it might have been in caves. Can be dangerous."


Male Half-Orc bard

Blinking sleepy eyes as he spent little time last night asleep. Cal had spent last night telling tales and trying to find out more information about the woman and her other friends.
Nodding at Dandelion's words " Yah that's what I gathered still it's such a comfort find that the healers here subscribe to sunup to sundown work."


Half-orc Druid level 1

Sitting at the table, Grendel ate in silence. He looked both angry and annoyed, Ichisat on his shoulder, nibbling on a piece of bread. The druid had already told them that the shadowless woman had succumbed to her wounds early in the morning.

"We should go look at the spot where they were attacked. I believe it was only a mile or so away. Also, we should talk to the general store that sold them there stuff, help narrow down what they were doing," the ypund druid pauses. "I'm not wild about the idea of crawling through caves to be honest." Grendel grins faintly.


The elderly helper is true to her word, says a few words over the lifeless corpse, and agrees to make arrangements for the disposal of the body.

Needs are tended to in the morn, as bellies are filled, washing performed, and bills are settled. Blood lingers in the pores of the wood, as if it retrains a memory of events past, giving the wood by the door a darker hue.

It is Jyr himself that removes the corpse after fasts are broken. While he does not quite commit to looking sheepish, he is far from the dispassionate figure that you saw scant hours prior. His arrogant demeanour suggests he does not suffer fools or questions, and he ignores all words thrown his way as he thoroughly examines the woman's wounds. Her glassy eyes issue nothing but accusations as she is stripped and her wounds are probed.

Jyr stumbles backwards, falling in the process and painfully biting his cheek. His eyes are as wide as the woman's as he pronounces with a burble of buccal blood, "What - still ALIVE!?" The last word comes out in a squeak. Shaking his head in complete disbelief he stares at the woman with confusion playing over his every breath. "She does not breathe, and her heart is still, but she flinched away from me probing her deeper wounds....twice!"

Grendel is able to confirm that pain causes the woman to flinch away, despite having absolutely no other sign that she is anything but rotting flesh, marrow and bone.

It is a confusing time as Jyr calls his men in to carry her away so he can tend to her further, and to locate the room of the young traveler. Jyr's last words are haunted, "Not fully alive, yet not dead either. She has been denied her rest and still feels pain. She appears to be a prisoner in her own flesh."

Tying together what Calvoric had learned, along with what was gleaned from the shopkeeper that had sold the rope, corroborates the guard's words. Dimqu, the woman, had been in company of a man named Bragh. They had pitched camp outside of Dewsdam as they gathered supplies and awaited the arrival of the charismatic Xelien. Though they had purchased large quantities of rope, they had not sought out any pitons, or anything else to affix the rope to a wall. The adventurers were heading northward with large quantities of food and drink.

As the young man, and the corpse of Xelien is raised from its shallow grave, so are your directions northward to where the traveler had picked up the duo. It should be easy to find, due to the spilled produce, the blood, and the utter desolation of the area nearby.


Male Half-Orc bard

Cal's eyes widen at Jrys words, wondering if there was some way to either let her pass on to the next life or yo bring her back to the realms of the 'life'. Still with no new ideas, tracking their camp was the three's best choice to find out what had happened.
Purchasing rope with no pitons purchased as well, meant that they had no need for them. " I know that there are caves, still if they only purchased rope, food, and drink perhaps there was another reason for all the rope. Perhaps checking out their camp might be a good course of action." Cal says to Grendal and Dandelion at the table.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

Dandelion watches the humans' death rituals with interest. Nature is cruel, both to its living and its dead, and this Jyr was doing what he was doing out of curiosity and a true desire to uncover the truth of the woman's death. So it is not so bad.

The fact that the woman was still moving, even in death, confuses him. He has never heard of such a thing, though some could be brought back from death via drowning or sudden trauma - but only if their bodies are intact. This woman should be dead.

Confusion convinces him to speak again to his new friends. "Confused. Is normal for dead to move? Not in the forest. Dead means dead there." He wishes the Mother had given him a way to know for certain whether this was death or not; natural or some kind of aberration. But she had not. Perhaps he was put here to learn what this was. What had killed her. And what had kept her from true death.

When both Grendel and Cal suggest investigating, Dandelion nods in agreement, if only to learn what this is all about.


Half-orc Druid level 1

"No, the dead are dead, they should never move. Only decompose," the young druid shakes his head. "Something is really not alright here. Something very unnatural."

"Campsite sounds like a good lead, we might some kind of clue as to what they where looking for. I not sure I want to find it," he adds with a grunt. "But I don't want to allow anything that traps a person in a dead body to spread." Grendel shudders as a flash of the woman dead accusing eyes flashes in his mind's eye.


The area where Dimqu and Bragh had camped, while waiting for Xelien, reveals little, other than their respect for the Wyld, and the passage over over a tenday. Their campsite is clean of nearly all evidence that they were present. A low mound of dirt lies over their fire, a few small holes show where tent spikes were driven into the sod, and broken grass blades show where someone had walked. A distance of several hundred feet separates the camp from the outskirts of Dewsdam, moving them far enough away from the protection of civilization that it would suggest that they can handle themselves should trouble seek them out.


Half-orc Druid level 1

"Well, since we are out here, we might as well check out where they where attacked," Grendel speaks up after they see the campsite.


True to the traveler's word a mile and more is an area of utter desolation. Erratic sections of flora look to have been affected by a most insidious blight. There is an unseasonable chill in the air, and you spot not animal, or insect at all, save for dozens of corpses and chitinous husks that lay strewn haphazardly around. As you move about you realize that the desolation is not erratic, but about twice the size of a man tall, and half that wide. Each section leads to the next, as if death is growing forth as a worm would ungulate. This is a zone of unspeakable evil, and you feel it right in your bones. It is as if all happiness has left the world.

There are no obvious cave systems, or any means of entering the ground, save for prairie dog and ant holes.

Within the area of destruction, not far from the cobblestone path that lead you to this place, is a mound of produce, which looks to have been hastily dumped onto the ground. No animal has chewed on the mouldering leaves, though it has been sitting there for more than a day.

Blood stains the ground, as well as a small section that looks to have been burned by fire or acid. There is not evidence that a fight, or torture happened here, just bleeding and burning. You find a man's boot, coat, rope, and backpack, all having been ravaged by acid. Within the backpack is various sundries, and typical items for adventurers, all destroyed: iron rations, candles, flint and steel, quills, lantern, wizard's spell component bag, bedroll, spare clothing, dagger, et cetera. All but completely obliterated are papers that are written in a strange tongue that none of you speak. Strange sketches can be found, and though made incomplete by the damage, they show horrifying vistas, immense chains, and darkness only broken by lightning.


Dandelion (Half-Orc Oracle of Nature)

After a quiet survey of the scene of the campsite, Dandelion thinks and says, "So, two people are missing. Bragh, a man, and another woman. Both had much rope." He recalls whether the woman who died had any rope.

Dandelion takes a look at the disturbed grass to see if that leads somewhere.

Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5


Half-orc Druid level 1

Hugging his desert robes around his frame, Grendel glares at the desolate areas, offended at the very presence of the blight. The chill was unseasonable, but it was what was causing it that made his stomach churn.

Once they neared any of the large spots of blight, he felt wrong somehow. Grendel felt putridfearangrymadhatekilllustdeath all at once. And he didn't like it one sodding bit. Ichi cling to his shoulder, one little monkey hand clenched in the spike fire colored mess Grendel called hair. The little monkey was hiding his face, staying silent . Nagrish's ears were folded back, and his lips were pulled back in a silent snarl, as the desert cat glared around.

"I wish I were powerful enough to cleanse these tainted spots," Grendel says, mostly to himself. "Alright, this is it." The druid looks at the patches of blight. Slowly, he walks it outline, looking between the one the attack occurred in and the others.

"Crazy thought. Could these be some sort of footprint. They look pretty evened out, not just randomly growing death," Grendel looks at the other two.


The babbling woman had no arms, or equipment upon her person, save for her tattered leather armour.

You notice that there is a definite start and ending point within the space of several hundred feet where it abruptly ends, one end being half as long as the others, and the other end much wider than the previous, tapering to the same sinuously line of death that winds along its length. As you move closer you notice that there is an impression in the ground, deepest in the middle, as if some immensely heavy segmented snake had slithered along the grass and then simply had disappeared.

The blood and destroyed gear is found nearest the end of the trail that is half as long as the others. All dead animals and insects are found within very close proximity to the affected areas.


Half-orc Druid level 1

"I think it was just one woman and the two males," Grendel says quietly. "I think there were enough parts in the cart to be one of them, the other looked like he had been eaten." The half-orc looks a little greener than normal.

The druid looks between the starting point and the rather sudden abrupt stopping point.

"Some type of massive summoned snake monster that attacked? Backfired evil giant snake spell?" Grendel muses out loud, trying to take his mind of standing in a blighted spot. He leans down to get a better look at the sketches. While he was looking, his mis-matched eyes sweep the area, looking for where the acid might have come from.

Ooc:
Perception check on the attack site, looking primarily for the source of the acid (broken vial/urn or splash/spray effect) and fire:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16


There is evidence of acid in a very localized area, near where the most blood can be found, and spatters a short distance away from that place, though you find small burns in a large area around that epicentre as well. The droplets splash out from the middle.

You find no bits of glass to suggest that a phial of acid was thrown.


Half-orc Druid level 1

Grendel relays what he sees concerning the acid and fire being localized .

"I'm guessing some kind of magic spell or explosion. Well, at least here where all the blood is," Grendel looks at the spots of blight. "As for those, still no clue. What be the two of you thinking?"

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