Wolf

DM - Tareth's page

4,789 posts. Alias of Tareth.


RSS

1 to 50 of 4,789 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>

To the those seeking shelter, warmth, and most of all the comforts of a well stocked inn the man's lips curl into a smile even as he shakes his head.

"You'll not find the likes of a fine inn here in poor Levoca." The man says barely able to stifle a chuckle. "Travelers are few and far between and the rest of us see little reason to pay for food and drink we grow, hunt or brew ourselves." A pause to as he points out a slightly larger wattle and daub house on the far side of the meadow. "I think old Karl still rents out his spare room and barn whenever a merchant or some other decides to come traveling through."

When Gunnar mentions Blandezig, the man's eyebrow quirks upward and he turns to one of his fellow citizens. "Doesn't Anna have family from Blandezig?"

"Aye, I believe that's where she hailed from afore marrying young Walt." Comes the reply.

"I'd be that family!" Calls the young woman from among the village refugees. "Anna's my cousin and I visited for her wedding. Tell me, where's her farm?"

Realizing that in some distant way, one of their own was tied to the newcomers, the village men seem to relax and quiet the barking dogs.

"It is just over yonder." The woodsman says gesturing toward a tidy, well kept building of similar make as the one he pointed to earlier. Only this one has a large brightly painted red barn and the snuffle and snort of hogs can be heard along with the smell. Turning back to the rest of the group, the leader of the group breaks into a welcome smile.

"Tis a bit unusual for so many to arrive at once, but be welcome." He says warmly. "We'll do our best to find a warm, dry place for everyone to sleep. You'll forgive our caution, this foul weather has got everyone a bit on edge, and the wood has been acting strange of late."[/b] He adds turning to start walking back along a snow packed track.

Ingryd quickly discovers that the woodsman, Olaf, also dabbles in brewing meade from the dark berries that fill the thorn riddled vines that seem to grow everywhere around the outskirts of the village.


With the immediate danger gone, those huddled inside breath a welcome sigh of relief. Although the villagers had gathered several clubs from pile of firewood, it is clear by the looks upon their faces that none wished to face the snapping jaws and ripping claws of the assassin's wargs or the ravenkin's own blade. It seems a triple debt is owed to their rescuers and guardians as once again they continue to dwell upon the mortal plain thanks to the bravery and skill of bearkin, dwarf, halfling, prophet and the newly arrived priestess.

Some listen to the conversation brewing between their hardy companions. A mixture of curiosity and worry as questions by some delve into areas not welcomed by others. To those without the abilities of Null or the first hand knowledge of Ingryd, Gunnar, Luthael, and Scramsax, the mystery is soon a growing murmur of speculation. What great power does the prophet of Khors protect or hold in check? Will it draw danger? What could cause such concern, perhaps even fear, among such strong hearted folk as the dwarf and priest? So the whispers of the evening continue even as tea is passed around, sweetened with honey much to a certain bearkin's delight.

The remainder of the cold night slowly passes. More snow fall arrives to cover much of the evidence of the evening's travail. Of the fallen beasts, nothing remains but partially filled shapes in the snow.

Three days pass. Finally midday on the fourth since the encounter with the hunter, the welcome smell of smoke and fresh bread drift through the dense forest. Like a beckoning spirit, the scent draws everyone forward with its promise of shelter, warmth, and perhaps an inn with a bed, bath, and stout pint for weary travelers. A mile further on and the trees soon give way to a large clearing. A scattering of cabins dot the open landscape, most surrounded by rough cut wooden fences penning in sheep, pigs, or the occasional milk cow. Chickens strut about digging at the snow while dogs keep watch for foxes and wolves. It is those furry guardians that sound the first alarm of the travelers arrival. A cacophony of barking dogs erupts across the village quickly bringing their owners out into the wind and snow to investigate the reason for the trouble. Seeing such a large band, and well armed, arriving several duck back into their cabins leaving only the most brave, or most foolish, to confront the strangers.

One such, is a big man wearing a long red beard, thick checkered coat, and large woodsman's axe resting upon a broad shoulder. "Welcome to Levoca strangers." The man says with a smile, below watchful eyes. "Treacherous weather for traveling the forest. What might bring so many to our small hamlet during such times?"


"Contract accepted then." The ravenkin says.

With the compensation offer accepted, Null tosses the jingling bag of coins to Ingryd and nudges his mount with a bony knee. Like any good scoundrel, Scramsax has her doubts about the other scoundrel, but she can't get a good sense of whether the skulker is on the up and up or not. She does realize that the creature now turning away to slip back into the forest is real. Neither illusion or other sorcery conjured apparition.

"Farewell travelers." Null says, the voice slipping back to a friendly feminine. "Perhaps we shall meet again some day." Their eyes glitter in the flickering light. "I've a sense you've made enemies over your passing days, perhaps one will be willing to hire my house. Then, well, perhaps then we'll learn what the Priest of Light carries in that box of emptiness."

He whistles again and the remaining warg turns and follows its master into the looming shadows of the Margreve.


The ravenkin's eyes sparkle at Gunnar's words and a hissing laugh slips through his parted beak like air slowly leaving a balloon.

"Death is my constant companion." A sultry feminine voice replies. "He is to all of us. Ever lurking. Ever caressing our souls. Ever striving to wrap his arms around our breast to carry us all away into the dark. Perhaps today he will come for me." His eyes take in the scene. "Perhaps he will come for you." A shrug of feathered shoulders.

A moment's pause as the creature shakes its head slightly, feathers rustling in the sudden quiet. The shadow warg mount and the one next to him shift their weight back and forth slightly.

"But I will not be the one to initiate such a test of Death's will today." The crimson crow adds in a decidedly more masculine and professional voice. "The contract is for the hunted only. Had they continued to accompany you, then no blood price would be owed or paid for the harm caused by my pack." A hand reaches to its belt. "However, since they are not. I offer recompense for the error, per the rules of my House." The small bag he pulls forth jingles with coin. Quite a bit of coin judging by the bulging sides of the bag. "One hundred per non-contracted injured. I see four with recent wounds, so that would be four-hundred of your gold crowns."

It holds the bag in his hand clearly waiting for an acceptance or denial of his offer.


The corvid leans over to run a feathered hand along the back of the flaming shadow warg. The elemental energy swirls into the outstretched limb leaving the six legged hound once again nothing more than a storm gray mass of muscle and fang. For a moment a small whirlwind of flame spins in the ravenkin's hand before Null closes his fist and the power is extinguished with a simple *POP* of air filling the sudden vacuum of the fire's termination. Null's tongue runs along his beak and his eyes momentarily dilate. His head tilts at Luthael's question.

"A name is unnecessary." He says in a deep baritone which reminds Scramsax of Judge Qwuint back in Barsella. Otherwise known as Bloody Qwuint or the Headsman's Judge because almost anyone who ended up before the ruthless villain was sure to suddenly find themselves missing a head at the end of the day. "A scent. The rippling traces of the hunted's energetic signature upon the flows of power. They are identification enough. Traces of the quarry have intermingled with you gathered here for many days. Beginning at the site of the attack, into the hills and the Goat's Hovel, then south into the Margreve."

Null pauses, its eldritch lit eyes peering around the clearing and even up toward the hidden Scramsax. Fingers drum upon the ruffled back of his mount.

"And yet..." The voice is different, almost feminine in nature. "...the scent is no longer here. All trace has vanished without conjuration of portal, gateway, or other arcane or esoteric means. The quarry still lives, else..." It holds up a tiny gold lantern on a chain hanging from his neck. It glows with a light of deep crimson. "Else this would no longer burn."

The voice again turns masculine. But is more mid tone than before and suffers from a bit of a Zobecker Alley accent. "You vere zee last vones to attend to zee quarry, therefore you vill have the most relevant information to vhat has happened. Answer zee question and I vill be on my vay."

A feathery eyebrow arcs above its right eye. "Or perhaps vee should see vhat is hidden vithin the most unusual case you vear upon your back." Null adds his keen interest and gaze peering at Luthael.


Ingryd sinks her jaws into the flailing neck of the beast she has grappled. Slowly it's struggles grow weaker and weaker even as the bearkin's flesh continues to burn in the aura of flame ignited by Luthael's fiery blast. Seeing an opening, Raseri lunges forward. Her short blade slips past ribs to pierce the things heart and moments later the struggling beast go limp in the bearkin's arms.

The snap of a sling echoes through the woods followed by the slap of stone upon flesh. Holy light flares across the clearing and suddenly the hunter harassing Luthael falls dead at the prophet's feet as spear, stone, and pure holy light are too much for the shadow beast to withstand.

Blind and wounded, Gunnar places his burning shield between himself and the now burning beast. The creature seems intent to throw itself into the arcane fire but suddenly Luthael's light washes over the beast and snarls in fury and pain even as the light shatters its mortal visage and sends it back into the shadow realm.

The second beast, having sustained fewer injuries weathers the blast of holy power. Snarling, it starts to lunge once again at the wounded dwarf, but a high pitched, ear piercing whistle emerges from the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

Striding into the flickering fire light is yet another of the six legged shadow wargs, this one a bit bigger a bit broader of shoulder. Upon its back is a ravenfolk, but one unlike any encountered before. Instead of coal black feathers, this ravenkin's are a deep crimson with a streak of white feathers running along the right side of its head. An eldritch light fills golden eyes and sparks with power as its long black beak drifts back and forth as if drawing in the various scents in the air.

Another whistle, sharp and short causes the remaining beast to disengage and scuttle to the ravenkin's side to lay down next to its master and his mount.

"I am Null of the House of Ten Thousand Daggers." The corvid says in a high, scratchy voice. "Where is the one that smells of forests, black powder, and the magic of the shadow roads? The one who stinks of roses and elven blood. The one who dances with death and who by its actions earned the enmity of a goddess?"

INT(History):
The House of Ten Thousand Daggers. A name whispered in dark places by dark minded folk in need of a task completed that would most likely end in blood and death. The residents of that grim shadow house are among the most dangerous and deadly mage assassins, hunters, and killers in a shadow realm that has turned such things into art forms. It is said that only the wealthiest or most powerful can even get an audience with a member of the house. To hire one would require resources well beyond any but the most notable.

GM Rolls:

SW1 CON vs DC18: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15
SW4 CON vs DC18: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Shadow Warg One: 0/100 (Gunnar) (Fire 3)
Shadow Warg Two: 0/100 (Luthael)

Shadow Warg Three: 0/100
Shadow Warg Four: 65/100 (Fire 3)(Gunnar)

Shadow Warg Five: 0/100 (Not Engaged)
Sahdow Warg Six: 0/100 (Ingryd) (Fire 3) (Grappled)


Gunnar's fiery shield adds its fire to the gnawing shadow warg's own fiery aura. As it does a few of the creature's wounds seal themselves. Raseri feels welcome relief as more of her own pains are eased by the healing power of Thor. Feeling better recovered the priestess directs her holy disapproval at the creature so recently familiar with Ingryd's hammer. But somehow Raseri telegraphs her intent and the beast is already moving by the time she finishes the final syllable of her spell. The burning light does little more that melt the snow and ice where the enemy was standing moments earlier.

Despite the dancing blotches of red in his eyes, Gunnar lashes out with his war hammer. There is a satisfying *thunk* and crackle of arcing electrical energy that signifies he did the beast harm. This is followed by a series of nearby thumps, thunks, and thuds as Ingryd's hammer becomes a whirling mass of deadly steel. Fire and iron pummel the beast harassing the bearkin. Curiously, having lost its electrical charge a few seconds earlier, when the bearkin's flaming maul strikes, it is like a match to dry tinder. Suddenly the beast is once again engulfed in elemental power only this time it burns with red hot flames. The smell of burning fur fills the air as Ingryd grabs at the burning warg and engulfs it in a crushing grip.

In the trees above, Scramsax can only rub at her eyes and try the clear her vision of the never ending starburst of colors that continue to flash and flare in her eyes. Her sling stone cracks harmlessly off the side of the stone hut, inches away from Luthael's foot.

The prophet, having stared into the sun more than once or twice over the years is unaffected by the burst of holy light. The holy spear of Khors pierces the flesh of the beast harassing his lower half. But the prophet focuses the bulk of his wrath upon the lone warg on the ground below before it can rejoin the battle. Another blast of fire erupts upon the field of battle. The air fills with steam as snow is instantly turned to vapor, low hanging needles wither and brown, the warg is engulfed and consumed by the fire. A second, now burning warg howls with fury and takes out its frustration by renewing its assault upon the dwarven wizard.

The first beast is thwarted as Gunnar manages to summon his arcane shield just before a claw would have nearly removed the wizard's arm. The second, eyes gleaming with hungry intelligence takes advantage of its companions strike. Slipping just a little further to the dwarf's side, the warg lunges forward. Tooth and claw catch Gunnar all along his leg leaving the limb bloody and torn. The only saving grace is the searing heat of the burning fire seals the worst of the wounds to prevent the wizard from bleeding out on the snow.

On top of the hut, Luthael is able to duck and dodge away from the continued assault. Down below, Ingryd wrestles with her own burning beast. She manages to keep free of the snapping teeth, but the warg rakes her belly with its claws creating several lines of bleeding cuts.

Luthael: I shifted your target away from the warg that Ingryd had grappled and set on fire to prevent 1)Ingryd being caught in the blast 2) the warg from being healed now that it was attuned to fire.

Gunnar: Take 14 (6 normal/8 fire) from a bite and 16 (11 normal/5 fire) from a claw attack.

Ingryd: Take 20 (13 normal/7 fire) from a claw attack.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

SW5 DEX vs DC14: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

SW6 Grapple Avoid: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11

SW5 DEX vs DC18: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14
SW1 Dex vs DC18: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

SW1 Bite vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Adv vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (8) + 5 + (3) = 16
SW1 Claw vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Adv vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 1) + 5 + (2) = 12

SW2 Bite vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (1) = 10
SW2 Claw vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 1) + 5 + (2) = 10

SW4 Bite vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
Adv vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (1) + 5 + (8) = 14
SW4 Claw vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Adv vs GUnnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 2) + 5 + (5) = 16

SW6 Bite vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (5) = 14
SW1 Claw vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 4) + 5 + (7) = 20

Shadow Warg One: 44/100 (Gunnar) (Fire 3)
Shadow Warg Two: 36/100 (Luthael)

Shadow Warg Three: 0/100
Shadow Warg Four: 84/100 (Fire 3)(Gunnar)

Shadow Warg Five: 0/100 (Not Engaged)
Sahdow Warg Six: 26/100 (Ingryd) (Fire 3) (Grappled)


With the aide and benefit of Gunnar's ward, Raseri survives long enough to slip away from the beasts. Getting in behind Ingryd she uses the big bearkin as a raging, fur covered, and lethal heavy shield. The brief respite offers the cleric enough time to heal the worst of her wounds while Gunnar steps in to fill the gap.

Above and behind the trio Luthael fends off the illuminated beast currently nipping at his ankles. Fire and force lash at the shadow creature although it manages to duck aside from the worst of the fiery blast. Moments later yet another stone flies from the forest canopy and slams into the beast's side with a resounding *thump*.

Tired of being an oversized chew toy, Ingryd counterstrikes and catches one of the wolf-like brute right in the shoulder. Bones break and the beast goes tumbling to the side at the force of the blow knocks it back several paces. A fortunate blow for not more than a heartbeat later the crackling energy that surrounded the beast sudden overcharges and bursts with a thunderclap. Fortunately the bearkin's blow pushed it back far enough, the blast had no effect on her or her companions. The dark gray, wide shouldered creature slowly picks itself off the ground.

The two other creatures near Ingryd and Gunnar suddenly suffer the same effect. One, the second infused with lightning, emits a burst of electrical energy that catches dwarf and bearkin in its blast. The second, merely releases a brilliant blinding burst of radiant light. This is quickly followed by a second burst from the creature fighting Luthael on top of the stone hut.

The two on the ground, also back to their original gray shadow selves, continue to press the attack against Ingryd and Gunnar, along with the third that still burns with the fiery power of Luthael's holy magic. The wizard fends off multiple blows as tooth and claw seems to snap and rend from every direction. Arcane wards flash and glimmer in the night, but then the creature still imbued with Khors power slips past Gunnar's mighty defense. It's jaws snap and rip flesh leaving a bloody patch of torn and blackened flesh behind.

Ingryd fairs little better, but benefits from the lack of electrical charge jumping from each swipe of claw and ripping bite. On top of the hut, Luthael struggles against the beast fending off one blow only to feel the pain of a second as a claw shreds his flesh and pushes him back a step.

Gunnar and Ingryd: CON Save vs DC13 or take 2d6 ⇒ (5, 1) = 6 electrical damage. No damage on a success.

All: Make 2 CON Saves vs DC13 or become blinded for 1d4 ⇒ 3 rounds. On a fail, you may save again at the end of the next round. No effect on a success.

Luthael takes 11 damage from a claw hit.

Gunnar takes 8 normal and 4 fire from a critical hit.

Ingryd takes 8 and 7 normal damage from two hits.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

SW2 DEX Save vs DC18: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

SW1 Bite Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
SW1 Claw Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Damage: 2d4 + 5 ⇒ (3, 4) + 5 = 12

SW2 Bite Attack vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
SW2 Claw Attack vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26
Damage: 2d4 + 5 ⇒ (2, 2) + 5 = 9

SW4 Bite Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Damage: 2d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 1) + 5 + (4) = 12
SW4 Claw Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (1, 1) + 5 + (7) = 14

SW6 Bite Attack vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
SW6 Claw ATtack vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Damage: 2d4 + 5 ⇒ (1, 3) + 5 = 9

Shadow Warg One: 60/100 (Radiant 1)(Gunnar)
Shadow Warg Two: 43/100 (Radiant 1)(Luthael)

Shadow Warg Three: 0/100
Shadow Warg Four: 76/100 (Fire 4)(Gunnar)

Shadow Warg Five: 10/100 (Lightning 1)(Not Engaged)
Sahdow Warg Six: 52/100 (Lightning 1) (Ingryd)


No worries. I've had a mind numbing day today myself, so likely won't update until tomorrow.


1 person marked this as a favorite.
Gunnar wrote:
Also wanting to check on what beast is glowing with which energy type on his next turn, and if any are clustered together in a line.

Beast 1: Engaged with Raseri(Radiant)

Beast 2: Engaged with Luthael(Radiant)

Beast 3: Dead

Beast 4: Engaged with Gunnar(Fire)

Beast 5&6: Engaged with Ingryd(Lightning)

All of them are in melee with a PC so any AOE spell will also affect the engaged PC. The only ones that could be affected together by a linear AOE would be 5&6. Getting any of the others would require a cone or circle.


Actually, the fire damage healed them. So a little worse than just being immune.


Ingryd: 8 points of lightning for the first hit; 6 points of lightning on the second. The rest is all normal.


Thunder rumbles through the clearing as Gunnar steps away from Ingryd's side and summons forth the power of Thor. The booming blast rattles both beasts harassing the wizard. A moment later another sling stone zips from the foliage above and slams into the most wounded of the creatures. It tumbles to the ground and dissipates in a whirl of fire and feathery shadow.

Ingryd slams her hammer into the first creature biting and slashing at her, but her follow up strike is off balance and weak. A blow easily avoided by the quick moving shadow creature.

Raseri's strike lands true. A large wound opens along one of the glowing beast's shoulders. But as she makes a move to join up with her allies she cannot avoid both creature's swiping claws. Ducking from the first leaves her vulnerable to the second and once again she feels the pain of her flesh being torn open and seared with holy light.

Stumbling up to the area in front of the stone hut, Raseri and everyone else quickly shade their eyes as the blinding brilliance of dawn bursts forth from Luthael. Unlike the gloomy gray dawns of recent days, the prophet's power is unhindered by cloud, tree, or mountain. Pure holy light of Khors turns night into day for several seconds and sears shadow flesh.

Gunnar's wards hold firm against the beast attacking him, while Ingryd cannot avoid the flurry of snarling fangs and slashing, burning claws. Following Raseri, the first of the illuminated beasts comes in low and snaps at the cleric's leg. She feels the teeth punch through her armor.

The second leaps upon the roof of the hut and slashes at Luthael. The blow is dead on but much weaker than it could have been.

Raseri takes 17 from an AOO and another 17 from an attack.

Ingryd takes 20 and 19 from two hits.

Luthael takes 11 from a critical hit.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

SW4 CON vs DC17: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

SW4 CON vs DC18: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
SW5 CON vs DC18: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15
SW6 CON vs DC18: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

AOO Claw vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 3) + 5 + (7) = 19
AOO Claw vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3, 2) + 5 + (7) = 17

SW4 Bite vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
SW4 DisAd Bite vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3) + 5 + (5) = 13
SW4 Claw vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 2) + 5 + (1) = 12

SW5 Bite vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (7) = 16
SW5 Claw vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3, 4) + 5 + (8) = 20

SW6 Bite vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3) + 5 + (6) = 14
SW6 Claw vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 4) + 5 + (6) = 19

SW1 Acrobatics: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

SW1 Bite vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (6) + 5 + (4) = 15
SW1 Claw vs Luthael: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Damage: 4d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (1, 1, 1, 1) + 5 + (2) = 11

SW2 Bite vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (5) + 5 + (7) = 17
SW2 Claw vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3, 3) + 5 + (2) = 13

Shadow Warg One: 60/100 (Radiant 1)
Shadow Warg Two: 87/100 (Radiant 1)

Shadow Warg Three: 0/100
Shadow Warg Four: 76/100 (Fire 4)

Shadow Warg Five: 39/100 (Lightning 1)
Sahdow Warg Six: 52/100 (Lightning 1)


While Gunnar's eyes suddenly lose focus and go a bit blank, Raseri imbue her magnificently crafted sword with furious amounts of holy power. With grace and poise befitting her elven blood she feints, twists, pivots, and ducks inside the defenses of the two radiant wargs. It is quite the display of prowess, dexterity and sword craft that would make any northern warrior proud. Until that is, she just misses the final blow. The bright steel catches nothing but air and leaves the two wargs, who seem barely able to stifle wicked grins as they growl in stereophonic unity.

Thor's cleric generates a slight bit of revenge when she unleashes the power of the storm against the two catch the first beast by surprise and turning the growl into a yip of shocked pain. The moment gives Raseri just enough time to reset her defenses as the shadow creatures strike. She deftly avoids the first completely, but a claw of the second catches her leg once again drawing blood and infusing the blow with her own radiant energy.

On the opposite side of the clearing, Khors holy fire once again bursts upon the two charging from the north. Flames engulf the already flaming creatures and the flesh blackened and burnt by the previous attack quickly heal. Even the beast dazed by Scramsax's sneaky sling stone emerges from the roiling fire looking healthier and stronger. Fortunately the hidden halfling's aim is spot on and the beast suffers another lump upon the back of its head as a second stone strikes from somewhere up above.

Finally breaking out of his trance, Gunnar rapidly alters his initial targets for his lightning blast. Pivoting away from the crackling duo coming in from the east, he turns to the north and blasts the two elevated by Luthael's fire. It just isn't the first creature's day as it zigs directly into the oncoming bolt of electrical energy. Already charged with a different element, the beast's defenses can do nothing but take the blow. Muscles spasm and fur burns away in an instant. The second of the pair guesses correctly as it zags and while frazzled by the blast suffers much less harm.

With Gunnar dropping to her side, Ingryd waits for the inevitable. She does not have long to wait as the two crackling with electrical energy race forward only moments ahead of the two aflame. The first times its attack perfectly using its partner as a foil. Ingryd completely buys the feint and leaves herself exposed. Jaws snap and rip as the canid briefly treats the bearkin's arm like a caught coney and shakes the limb with flesh rending ferocity. Adding to the bearkin's misery is the charge of electrical energy that crackles through the blow burning flesh and leaving muscles tingling. A raking claw adds to her pain.

The other pair focus on the wizard. Infused with fire, both creatures attempt to force their way past the dwarf's initial defenses. Only the first appears to be successful landing a glancing blow with a slashing, fire infused claw.

Raseri takes 10 plus 5 radiant.

Ingryd takes 11 plus 7 lightning and another 10 plus 8 lightning.

Gunnar takes 8 plus 4 fire on a hit of 24.

Raseri is engaged with 2 to the south. Ingryd and Gunnar are engaged with 4 at the doorway.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

DEX Save vs DC13: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
DEX Save vs DC13: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Dex Save vs DC17 Lightning: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Dex Save vs DC17 Lightning: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Bite Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (8) = 17
Claw Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 4) + 5 + (6) = 17

Bite Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (8) + 5 + (6) = 19
Claw Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (1, 4) + 5 + (5) = 15

Bite Attacke vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Damage: 2d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 2) + 5 + (7) = 18 Plus Crit Damage
Claw Attack vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 3) + 5 + (8) = 18
Bite Attacke vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4) + 5 + (5) = 14
Claw Attack vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 4) + 5 + (3) = 14

Bite Attacke vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (5) + 5 + (6) = 16
Claw Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 1) + 5 + (4) = 12
Bite Attacke vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2) + 5 + (8) = 15
Claw Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (4, 4) + 5 + (8) = 21

Shadow Warg One: 76/100 (Radiant 2)
Shadow Warg Two: 87/100 (Radiant 2)

Shadow Warg Three: 11/100 (Fire 5)
Shadow Warg Four: 76/100 (Fire 5)

Shadow Warg Five: 77/100 (Lightning 2)
Sahdow Warg Six: 77/100 (Lightning 2)


Gunnar:
You quickly try to assess the beasts and their abilities as then charge toward you and your companions. It is, of course, immediately clear that they are no mere warg or wolf. Appearance alone would give that away what with the extra set of legs and larger size. In addition, a beast of such size would typically struggle in the deep snow, yet these practically float across the powder covered forest floor. It takes approximately 453 million nanoseconds for your mind to cogitate that these entities are only partially present on this plane of existence. Your immediate guess is that they originated in, and are still tethered to, the shadow realm.

However, even their origin within that dangerous realm does not explain their ability to seemingly take on some properties or aspects of elemental forces used against them. Your cognitive mind burns through another 657 billion nanoseconds reviewing the visual data. (Unfortunately, precious time was lost do to a recurring image of kittens playing with a ball of yarn that Scramsax shared with you a day ago. Ever since, you've been unable to push the block print from your mind.) Still, you finally are able to analyze the visual and see the burned and electrocuted flesh, wounds dripping a viscous gray fluid you can only guess to be blood. They are not immune. Or at least they weren't. You can't be sure now. Fortunately, Luthael unleashes another ball of fire which should quickly add more data to your analysis.

In the meantime, it is quite clear that the creatures do become 'charged' with elemental energies when attacked with such and that the charge then harms any they come into contact with as evidenced by the radiant burns and reddened flesh marring Raseri following her initial encounter with the beasts.


Raseri races forward calling forth the weapons and magic of her faith. The radiant hammer lashes out against the first charge beast and strikes with a flare of holy light. The creature shimmers, its flesh rippling as a stone disrupts a pond. A moment passes and the gray shadow skin of the beast begins to glow with an equally radiant power as it continues it race ahead. The second creatures almost appears to welcome the priestesses second blast of holy energy. A moment later it too radiates the same brilliant ivory glow.

The two quickly close the distance on Raseri. The first flanking to her left the other to her right. The first catches Raseri in its jaws sinking into her flesh brilliant radiant light sears and burns the wound causing more pain even as she twists away to avoid a secondary rake of it claw. Unfortunately, she dodges right into the path of the second glowing creature. Jaws rend and sear flesh even as claws rip at her armor to find the soft meat beneath all the while the burning light cooks her flesh and boils her blood away.

From atop the stone hut Gunnar and Luthael unleash fire and lightning upon the two other groups of charging creatures. Luthael's fire erupts like an inferno among the two coming from the north. Neither seem intent on avoiding the oncoming blast. Oddly, these two both ripple as the others and then begin to burn, the fiery red glow illuminating the northern part of the clearing.

In contrast, those charges from the east crackle and spark with electricity as the race toward the front of the hut where Ingryd stands ready to keep anything from breaching the doorway and reaching her defenseless charges inside.

From his perch in the trees, Scramsax fires a sling stone that catches the first beast dead center in its forehead. The blow stops the beast momentarily as it shakes off the blow. Burning eyes glance about searching for the source of stone but it cannot locate the hidden halfling. So instead, it follows its partner toward the hut.

************

Ahhh...the pack has engaged. We are late to the banquet. We must hurry and see how they fare against the quarry. His thought-speech is answered by a rumble of hunger from his mount's throat.

************

Raseri takes three hits for 11, 19, and 13 points of damage. 3, 7 and 4 other that is radiant. She is engaged with the two creatures to the south.

The pair to the north and east move within 20' of the hut.

Scramsax: These do not appear to be undead or ghosts.

Party is up.

GM Rolls:

SW1 DEX Save vs DC14 Radiant: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
SW1 Bite Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (3) + 5 + (3) = 11
SW1 Claw Attack VS Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (2, 2) + 5 + (6) = 15

SW2 Bite Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Damage: 1d8 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (7) + 5 + (7) = 19
SW2 Claw Attack vs Raseri: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Damage: 2d4 + 5 + 1d8 ⇒ (1, 3) + 5 + (4) = 13

SW3 DEX Save vs DC18 Fire: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
SW4 Dex Save vs DC18 Fire: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

SW5 Dex Save vs DC17 Lightning: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
SW6 Dex Save vs DC17 Lightning: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

SW3 Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14

Shadow Warg One: 84/100 (Radiant 3)
Shadow Warg Two: 91/100 (Radiant 3)

Shadow Warg Three: 46/100 (Fire 3)
Shadow Warg Four: 71/100 (Fire 3)

Shadow Warg Five: 77/100 (Lightning 3)
Sahdow Warg Six: 77/100 (Lightning 3)


Sorry for the delay all. Busier than anticipated weekend. Will get an update posted tomorrow.


Scramsax ascends into one of the massive sequoias that mark the outer edge of the small clearing where the stone hut sits. The soft stabbing of the spiked foot gear grabbing the bark and rubbing scrape of rope drift on the wind. The noise stops when the halfing seems to disappear among the heavy ice coated greenery of the tree's lower branches. The sounds of the halfling's climb are soon joined by Luthael's familiar prayers to the sun god as the prophet prepares for the forthcoming violence. This time he is joined by Raseri's less familiar northlands prayers. The newcomer's words end with the crackle and spark of electricity dancing along her steel blade.

The whoosh of flames whirling upon Ingryd's hammer comes from just outside the hut's doorway where the bearkin stands. Her deadly maul a beacon of promised pain to any who would try to force their way by the mighty guardian. Atop the stone structure, Gunnar stands. His dwarven features flickering between light and shadow with each passing whirl of his companion's maul. The changing light doesn't affect the stoic wizard's concentration or sight as he gazes out into the still, cold silence of the frozen wood.

Time passes. Sand slips through the hourglass. Beyond the thick clouds the stars continue their passage through the infinite void of night. Some begin to wonder if perhaps the concern was all for naught. A false alarm. Nerves stretched too taught. Then the wizard's head swivel's north.

From his perch atop the stone hut and with his arcane enhanced vision, he is the first to spot the pair of crimson eyes gleaming in the night. They eyes slowly resolve into the wolf's head and features of huge warg. But this is no warg, for it moves upon six thickly muscled legs that move with a mesmerizing grace and ease across the deep snow. Wide shouldered and with thick fur ranging from void black to an icy storm gray along its belly and at the tip of its thick tail. It stands as tall as a war pony, it's sharp canine teeth gleaming in the firelight that bursts forth from the wizard in his watch post.

No sooner does the first beast appear in the north than another appears just behind. Two more appear from the east while another pair creep forward from the south. Six of the beast in all. Silent except for a few soft rumbling growls from deep in their throats as they slowly stalk forward.

There are six enemies. 2 each in the north, south and east. The round begins with each of them being 50' away from the stone hut.

Scramsax is in his tree covering the nouthern group. They are 35' from the halfling's position. Ingyrd covering the door is facing the eastern group. Luthael and Raseri are free to choose whichever direction they'd like to face. Gunnar is essentially in the center atop the hut.

Party is up.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

In the woods...

The cold air struck wrapped around his body like a lovers arms as he rode silently through the depths of the Margreve. He had slept for too long. To feel the wind, taste snow upon his tongue, hear the wind howl across the plain, all reminded him of what it was to live. To embrace this mortal realm. To feed upon its very soul of existence. That is what send his own blood pumping and caused his own ancient flesh to tingle with anticipation.

He breathes deep of the air. Let's the air flow out in a long sigh of longing and desire. Even under a blanket of snow, he was surrounded by a feast that made his hungry mouth water. Made him salivate over the bountiful harvest of energy circulating through so much life. The slowly beating heart of a slumbering mother bear, a new family growing within. The flow of rich sap through the towering veins of pine, fir, and oak. The scuttle and churn of a thousand, thousand insects working the loamy soils and thick layers of centuries of fallen leaves and needles. So much, so close, yet, forbidden to him.

Forbidden. A term for which he has little experience. It's meaning a foreign concept to one used to simply taking what he wished from the world. But his mistress, her skin still showing the effects of her recent explosive and fiery experience, her pale, supple flesh red, blistered, puckered and peeling away had made it quite clear. He was not to touch the forest with his power. A bargain had been made. A price paid. Fortunately, there were plenty more priestesses filling the temples. Their lustful loins soon to produce even more fodder for the alters. This time, he would not go against his mistresses wishes. He could sense that doing so would lead to disaster. Would lead to his trying to devour the entire mass of the ancient Margreve. A task beyond even his abilities. For he strong and his appetites were quite deep, but he is not one of the mighty Dreadwalkers. Not one of the great gods from the void who nearly devoured all of Midgard.

Yet, to be surrounded by such plenty and unable to feed, well, it made him more eager than ever to reach his quarry. For that quarry was even richer in energy and power. So much gathered into so few, and yet, within all that power a great emptiness. A small void of nothing. A black boil among the juicy feast. A void which his mistress promised held so very much more.

Cracking his whip over the great six legged hound's head, he spurs it forward. A howl erupting from the beast's wide jaw. A call answered by multiple others. It had been too long since they'd all hunted.

At the camp...

Once again the deep resonant calls echo through the shadows and darkness of the thick forest. The wandering homeless of Blandezig huddle and clutch at each other within the confines of the stone hut. Despite the confident words of their heroic patrons, their eyes snap closed, their hearts race, and prayers for deliverance are offered to Khors, Lada, and Perun.

Outside the arcane dwelling, the most recent incarnation of the Narg Nasty Six stand ready. Eager eyes watch into the night, earnest ears strain to be the first to hear a betraying snap of twig by an approached foe. Clouds of chilled breath gather about each as they wait. But it is not sight or sound that warns them of approaching danger. Instead after several long moments it is a smell born upon the wind. The smell of cinnamon, incense, and rose. The scent of fresh blood still dripping from a warm kill. The scent of a night's pleasure fulfilled and spent.

Silence reigns. The only sound is the breathing and shuffle of the six, the soft mutters and worried sobs of those huddled inside the shelter, the gentle hiss of falling snow.


Scramsax: Yes, you did get a long rest in thanks to Gunnar's shelter and stopping early.


Ingryd Honeyhair wrote:
Question does Ingryds Cold Resistance help?

Not really necessary given your roll, but I think it would give you advantage on the saving throw.


The stone shelter proves to be a life-saving boon for the old villager and maybe even a few of the others. The ability to get out of the cold wind and actually feel the warmth of a fire and surrounding companions brings the old tanner back from the brink. The extended delay needed for everyone to recover their strength, takes up the rest of the day and well into the night hours.

INT(Arcana) DC15:
You can just taste the unnaturalness of this storm on the very wind. The blizzard's lasting strength, deep cold, and dumbfounding amounts of snow falling. None of it feels normal or natural. You step out of the warmth and light of the stone shelter and begin taking a few measurements. Gathering snow into a bottle, looking at it through the light of the moon. Tracking the nearest ley lines, only to find them still in a state of agitated flux, trembling like constantly plucked and out of tune harp strings. Curiously, you seem to stand at the center of that very source of agitation. It does not emanate from your band, but it hovers over you like some arctic minded sense of doom. For whatever reason, the storm appears to be following you.

WIS(Perception) DC15:
With night's fall you step outside for a quick breath of air. Gazing through the darkness, you see the various shapes of the surrounding trees and the clouds swirling overhead as they continue to cover the land in snow. In the distance, back along your trail, you hear the long, low howl of a wolf. Close, but not so close as to be a threat. You shrug off any real concern. That is, until another answering howl comes from the opposite direction. From the direction you are going. The concern grows deeper when another grim call comes from the east. North, South, and East. Coincidence? Possibly. Possibly not. Fortunately, all are still a mile or two away.


Leaving behind the little clearing and the petaled figure slowly blowing away with each passing gust of wind, the large group continues along the winding path. Travel along the path is easier than before. It seems this passage manages to miss the deep drifts of snow, the tangled hollows of thorn and nettle, the sudden bone freezing bogs just beneath a thin layer of ice and snow. Where ever the elf's or the forest's magic took her, it seems Arianna bargained well for her friends.

The day passes without incident. A small ring of soot blackened stones tucked against an outcrop of granite signals a spot well suited to stopping for the night. An icy rimmed spring bubbles from the ground just a few feet away. Tucked within the rocks a stash of dry wood waits for weary travelers, a welcome gift from those who came before.

Another night passes. This time no ghostly armies march through, but in the distance a scream echoes and is quickly cut short. The sound of large beating wings whooshes by. Their owner enveloped in the low, snow filled clouds hanging overhead. The Margreve can be a dangerous place.

Another gray morning dawns with snow falling. The path remains open, but even with the forest's blessing, the winter storm makes travel difficult. Several days have passed since leaving the cursed manor house. Days of exposure to snow, wind, cold, ice start to take their toll upon everyone, even with the brightly colored, thick down coats provided by Scramsax's magical paints.

The first to stumble is old Joshua, the former tanner of the ghoul devoured village. Midday is just passing when a startled shout from the other plodding villagers interrupts the march. Turning to see the trouble all quickly spot the handful of villagers struggling to lift up the shivering, bulk of the older man.

All CON save vs. DC14 or gain two levels of exhaustion. Only one level on a success.


Gunnar:
You carefully examine the area around the floral Arianna and are quite certain it isn't the woman herself, but a representation left in her place. Why? You've know idea. How? That takes a bit more examination. Gazing upon the natural web of arcane energies drifting through the area, you recognize the residual signature of a potent casting. Not Arianna's simpler spell, which you also see the ripples drifting through the aether. No this was something much more powerful. But curiously, the magic did not emerge from some outside source as if you or Arianna or even Luthael through his god had cast it. Instead this appears to have been generated from the very forest itself. Not a single tree, but through every tree, shrub, weed, and bit of moss within the glade. All contributed some minute portion of power, control, and....intellect of the casting. It is all quite interesting and unheard of. In fact you are just on the verge of a major arcane breakthrough when Raseri completely interrupts your train of thought asking about some kind of spider or vine or something called a Peruvian.

The thought immediately vanishes like a sweet roll in a halfing hostile. Gone. Forever lost. Such are the whims of inspiration.

You do your best to try and answer the newcomers question. The only thing you can think of is the deadly white bloomed, carnivorous spider plants of Kush. The vines can grow as thick as a human's leg and as tall as an oliphant. Spawn of the Green Walker that haunts the jungle of the central southlands, the plants are terribly deadly. Poisonous and active hunters, a pod of spider vines can devour an entire expedition in a matter of minutes. In fact, that is what most historians believed happened to Sir Chester Waterbury of Malana and his entire entourage nearly twenty five years ago when he went to find the Lost City of Kanjacomore once known for its streets of silver and a grand ruby statue of Ptah.

As Scramsax points to the west, a clear and obvious trail appears among the trees. Whether it has anything to actually do with the halfling, none can truly decide. Nevertheless, it is there and all along its length the snow is packed and much easier to travel upon.


Raseri Whitescale wrote:
Right?

Oh sure. She'll be able to get back there...eventually. But in the meantime she is able to converse with one of, if not the, oldest living being in Midgard. The consciousness of an entire forest even. It likely has some stories to tell that an elf bard would find quite interesting. Assuming she can get it to focus long enough. :)


Heh...problem resolved.

Arianna is now a 'guest' of the Margreve.


Arianna:
The sound of bird song rings in your ears. The smell of meadow flowers and pine fills your nose. The taste of sweet spring sap sits on your tongue. Your hands and back feel the soft loamy soil beneath you. Your eyes flutter open. They are immediately filled with greens, bright and dark. Thick, dense foliage belonging to the ring of enormous sequoia trees that surround you. Their tops disappear far beyond the reach of your earth bound eyes. The bright sun shines above, a few yellow rays filter down through the thick branches.

The next thing you notice is the warmth. Or rather the lack of freezing cold. It is like a mild spring afternoon. Bees fly past loaded with pollen. Squinting through the green you can make out the bright yellows, reds, and purples of a meadow full of flowers. Somewhere far above in the tree tops a raven croaks, a squirrel chatters.

Voices still rattle and dance in your mind, but now they are more distant. A background cacophony rather than a mind ripping barrage. Then you feel the presence of another. Or is it many? You can't quit be sure.

"It has been long since a mortal has wished to speak with me." The voice booms within the glade. "It has been much longer since I have desired to respond. Let us discover together why that might be..."

Back in the snow covered camp, Gunnar is the first to notice that Arianna has not moved. Notice that she has remained utterly motionless in the small patch beneath the tree for quite some time. A unusually long period of time for the elf.

Stepping closer, the dwarf frowns. Something is certainly not right. This concern is quickly confirmed when he reaches out to the sitting elf and instead of finding flesh and blood, a flower petal drops away from what should have been the elf's shoulder. A pale daisy petal if the wizard believes. Getting closer until his nose is only inches from the sitting figure, Gunnar can see every bit of what sits beneath the tree is nothing more than a delicate construct of flowers, moss, leaves, and pine needles.


As others douse the fire, finish up their morning meal, and prepare for the day's journey, Arianna settles a short distance from the camp and begins to call forth her elven magic. Her breathing slows, her pulse beats ever slower until reaching a constant resonating rhythm that could easily lead someone to wonder if she even still lives. Elven eyes gaze upward into the branches of the massive, snow covered conifers. Her question forms within her mind and drifts out to the silent, listening, waiting wood.

Arianna:
Unlike in other forests, gardens, lonely places where only a single stubby tree growing beneath a withering sun, your mind does not encounter a single entity as your open it to hear the response to your question. Instead you find yourself hearing a thousand, thousand voices.

"The snow chills my needles."
"I'm not sure I can hold on with this wind."
"A fire burns near the well of spiders."
"I don't mind the eagle's nesting in my boughs, but must they always..."
"What is this passage of days? What does it all..."
"Men with axes!"
"The Long Retreat continues, but for how much longer?"
"I abide by the ancient blessing, you have not. The price will be paid."
"This cold is unusual. The wind tastes of mortal machinations."
"The butchers and thieves of the twisted pine groove are no more."
"Will the sun bring warmth today?"
"Send forth the Hunt."
"So many lost. So many to mourn. I shall remember."
"Blood falls upon the Meadow of Bluebells. Mortal flesh feeds our roots."

And on and on and on. A vast ocean of voices that threaten to drown you in its seemingly endless depths. Among so many, you find your mind stretched, twisted, pulled in every direction. You can feel it slowly shattering as the ancient, massive weight of a thousand different viewpoints a thousand different scenes and thousand different experiences all quickly overwhelm your singular mortal consciousness. Yet, intertwined and underlying the myriad voices and perceptions is a single interconnected entity of nearly unfathomable proportion. It is this consciousness that turns its attention toward you. Toward the thing that is separate. The thing that is not part of the mass collective of its existence. It is this thrumming, cascading voice that truly threatens madness or complete assimilation as it draws you into its entwining embrace.

WIS Save vs DC15


Feeling well within her element, Ingryd takes over much of the responsibility for the camp as the group sets up beneath the looming eaves of the Margreve. After she offers a bit of honeyed water and a simple blessing, the trees seem to relax and the energy of the woods becomes less immediately adversarial and more cautiously watchful.

A soup boils on the fire. The conversation turns to the value of promises or debts made, kept, broken, or ignored. Items are begrudgingly returned as the newcomer slowly settles into the group. Eventually peace settles over the sheltered camp as the days toils quickly make themselves felt and sleep overtakes most suspicions.

While stepping away from camp for her regular constitutional, Scramsax manages discovers a small patch of Demon's Wing growing near the base of a nearby hemlock tree. The fragile dark brown fungus with its streaks of crimson and yellow seems to have survived the cold well enough to still be viable. The rogue carefully gathers a trio of the delicate 'wings' from the colony.

Much of the evening passes. Silence fills the night. Nothing but the varying snores of the travelers breaks the still quiet within the wood. even the soft, gentle hiss of snowfall abates and the clouds break to reveal a nearly full moon.

It is Raseri, who first catches a glimpse of the movement through the trees. Sitting up, her eyes peer through the moonlit wood and watch as less than a hundred paces away she sees several hundred battle dressed warriors marching northward through the night. A gentle tap on Luthael's shoulder alerts the prophet to the sudden incursion.

But as the two watch, they both notice not a sound emanates from the passing army. No creak of leather. No steel clattering on steal. No marching songs. No chatter. More noticeable, no complaining. The parade continues heedless of trees or underbrush. In fact, as priestess and prophet observe the passing warriors, several simply walk directly through trees or obstacles, their feet marching some ancient long disappeared road. Neither recognize the white dragonhead upon dark green background that is worn by most of the ghostly warriors. The symbol appears again when a banner sporting the heraldry is carried past in the hands of a massive, broad shouldered, heavily armored man.

For twenty minutes the troop passes thought the trees. Marching some long forgotten ancient march to a place where only the gods may recall or foretell their final fate.

Hours later the first soft rays of dawn begin to light the eastern horizon.


The Hag's Great Hoarfrost of '51 continues the following morning snow falls and streams freeze in the frigid temperatures. With the decision made to head south toward the eastern edges of the Margreve, the companions of the Narg Nasty Six set out through the foul weather. Travel is slow, cold and wet but uneventful for the two days as the band makes the descent out of the mountainous foothills and onto the more open grasslands of the western Rothenian Plain.

Unfortunately, the low country provides little relief from the cold. In fact, it may be even worse as high winds rush down from the mountains and across the wide open plain. Blowing snow and wind chills bite through even the heaviest of clothing. The utter absence of firewood and passable shelter beyond the mystical conjurings of Gunnar and Luthael forces a quick decision to veer west toward the sheltering eaves of the ancient Margreve.

And indeed, the group is rewarded when they reach the more sheltered confines of the forest. The winds calm. Wood is plentiful. And the massive, ancient trees provide a bit more shelter. Still it doesn't take long for the mood to darken. For eyes to glance over shoulder's wondering it they are being watched. When it is time to stop for the night, it is young Marta who stops the building of a big bonfire. Responding to any outcry, she simply shakes her head and glances up and out into the trees.

"The forest doesn't care for fires." She says simply. "Best to keep our small and well confined." Her words resonate easily with the village folk. Nods and muttering about a 'girl with a bit of good sense' or 'smart child to pay the old ones respect' can be heard whispered about the camp.

INT(Nature) DC12 or WIS(Survival) DC15:
The Old Margreve Forest. Most scholars and storytellers call this ancient forest the First Forest. Believed to be as old, if not older, than the very gods that currently sit upon their thrones and places of power. There are stories of grottos and groves deep within the heart of the forest that haven't seen the light of Khors for millennia. Of spirits and eldar beasts that started walking the land only moments after Aurgelmir's dark murder, or Veles and Khespotan finished singing the world into being, depending on what myth you believe. It is a place of secrets and dangers. A place that has devoured armies and brought succor to those seeking peace.

Nations have tried to conquer the Margreve. All have failed. Others have tried to exploit its riches and resources. Those have failed harder. More recently, the Councilors of the great city of Zobeck, the Cantonal Chiefs of the Ironcrag's, and Queen Dorytta of Madgar have all reached an uneasy peace with the forest. Leaving it to its own while the forest allows the Great Norther Road to exist. Even the Blood Lords of Morgau and Doresh abide by this unwritten rule to leave the forest be, although even in this the undead continue to press and push the boundaries ever back.

PLaces of rest and safety can be found within the confines of the old forest, they are few and far between. Your band of hardy souls already makes for one such outpost. Any who travel to any extent know the following. Whether they believe it to be fact, myth, or simple campside stories to keep children from wandering too far at night is for each to decide. First, the forest is a living beast. An entity in and of itself. When in doubt show respect. Second, fire is the enemy of the Margreve, use it wisely and sparingly. Third, the Margreve watches and judges. What one reaps one sows.


As the new found wanderer warms and recovers, introductions are made, stories told, and questionable legal credentials shared. Eventually talk turns back to the trouble of the odd weather. Gunnar and Luthael both scour their memories to recall any kind of similar events. Afterall, the occasional early set of storms isn't unheard of, especially near the Cloudwall's.

Now there was the Great Blow of '57. That blew roofs off many a hovel in Zobeck and buried the Great Northern Road in up to seven feet of snow in less than two days time. Then there was the Great Freeze of '43. The Weather Wizard's Society claimed the streak of subzero temperatures was a freak accident caused by a refrigeration spell gone horribly wrong. Of course, few could forget the Great Storm of '25. More than six inches of ice coated the central nations. From Zobeck to Vidim and as far south as southern Magdar snow and ice blanketed the land. All apparently because someone sneaked in and stole Old Boreas' favorite pair of diamond encrusted slippers. Slowed by the storm wiped up by the angry god, the thief was caught by a squad of Frost Giant Justicars just south of Gifrvagga. The culprit made a fine set of new slippers.

Then, of course, one couldn't forget the Great Blizzard of '19. Records indicate that doozy of an early autumn blast was caused by Sir Reginald Vanderbotham the Second, Baronet of Lower Marbury of Easter Allain. Being a spoiled and rather unimaginative child, Sir Reginald conjured the storm through a djinn rather irresponsibly gifted to the child by his dotting mother. Young Reginal ordered his overly powerful servant to ruin his sister's birthday party. Unfortunately, as is so often the case, the boy's wish ran amok a bit more than expected and in fact caused the harbor in Barsella to freeze solid for nearly two weeks costing the city millions in lost trade revenue. Young Reginald was grounded for a full month following the incident.

Luthael recalls the hearing of the Great White Out of '45. This unholy storm that nearly cancelled the Midwinter Celebrations from Courlandia to Thorn was apparently the result of Father Flanagan at the Storm Court of Perunalia. Having imbibed just a bit too much of the storm gods holy whiskey, the good father took a tumbled down the stairs on his way to bed. As he fell head over teakettle, he prayed for deliverance from Perun. However, the drunken prayer was a bit garbled and instead of falling like a feather upon a pillow, he called up weather to bury a willow. Strong drink has since been banned by the Temple of Perun.

As the two continue deliberating the various Great Storms and their causes, they come to two conclusions. First, these kinds of storms happen much more frequently than anyone ever really realized. Second, most historians are terribly lazy and unimaginative when it comes to naming unusual winter weather phenomenon. Third, the village of Levoca in the Eastern Margreve is approximately a week's travel due south. This is determined through studious examination of various maps, journals, and calculations based on the stars at this time of year. And because one of the villagers, Miss Marta Merridale has a second cousin who married a pig farmer from Levoca and she had to travel there for the wedding.


While Gunnar and Ingryd scout the area for a suitable campsite, Arianna does her best to provide some additional comfort to the freezing priestess. The signs of cold exposure are clear and unmistakable, but fortunately treatable with a little warmth. Nothing a warm fire and some hot broth wouldn't resolve, the elf determines although at the moment neither are immediately available.

Spiraling out from the others further and further, Gunnar finds what he initially considers a suitable camp site nestled among some rocks to shelter from the wind and provide some cover in case of attack. But when Ingryd looks the spot over she shakes her head. A few cautious steps down into the central site and the reason makes itself abundantly clear as her boot breaks through a layer of thin ice and plunges into a shallow pool. The depth isn't much. Just a couple of inches, but enough to make camping there quite unpleasant.

The two continue the search. Finally, Ingryd spots another site. This one beneath a thick grove of cedar and hemlock. The ground is soft with decades of fallen needles. Only a little snow, easily swept away, covers the ground. And a little further effort reveals a few fallen branches still reasonably dry despite the storm.

With a campsite found it is just a matter of effort and time to get everyone sheltered and a fire going. Between the various magical and mundane shelters all are able to spend a reasonably comfortable night of rest, warmth, and relaxation.

The next morning is born cold and gray once again. The snow heavy clouds thick and dark. Even before a warm morning beverage is brewed snow is falling and the wind groans through the rattling limbs of the secluded forest camp.

Several of the villagers look on. Concern and confusion writ across their peasant hardened features. Eventually one of the older men speaks up.

"Tisn't right this weather." He says, shaking his head at the falling snow. "Too early. Much too early in the year for such a storm. Why the apples were barely in and the wheat just gone to the mills." He makes a quick sign against evil. "Maybe a little snow or ice, but should be mostly rain. Not this, this blizzard. Mighty unnatural weather, I'd say." The nods of several of the other villagers agree with the man's suspicion as they too make various signs or mumble prayers of protection.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Gunnar, Luthael, and Dekatron go tumbling down the slope. The first two manage to survive the fall and subsequent burial without too much trouble. Even before the echoes of the avalanche fade away into the hills more fire magic flares to life and snow bursts outward on a wave of steam and mist.

For Dekatron, the experience of dying in an avalanche leaves a lasting scar as the celestial is whisked back to his home realm. The entire incident in the snow was simply embarrassing. First, that terrible leap into nothing but a pile of snow. Then slipping on the ice like some just out of the womb kitten. Confidence shaken, the big cat decided to spend the next several decades curled up in his favorite corner where the sun always beamed its warmth and completely forget about adventures and adventurers. Especially buxom, greedy halflings.

Meanwhile, back in Midgard, as one being does his best to forget, two others appear to remember each other all too well. Scramsax holds a knife on the newly discovered, semi-thawed prisoner of the fae. Questions are asked. Bearkin fur is cleaned. So far few are willing to intervene in whatever little drama seems destined to play out between halfing and frozen priestess of Thor.


At the beginning of the encounter everyone was strung out along the narrow path making their way across the slope. Ingryd, with her critical perception role, was at the back of the group and able to spot the ambush. Gunnar was up front with Scramsax.

The Snow Terror was further away from the wall and toward the trees, so was at least another move (remember it is all difficult terrain) further from those at the front of the line, closer to Ingryd at the rear. So Scramsax and Gunnar arrived at the wall at about the same time, but that was still 30' from the Snow Terror. No way to 'grab' for Ingryd, who also would have had full cover at that point. I misread your original post thinking you were just then trying to blast as many pixies as possible because you couldn't get both the snowman and the pixies in one shot. My apologies on the misread.

As for the burning hands, again, the snow terror is too far away and there is a wall of fire in between.

Sorry all, I guess the little encounter ended up being a lot more confusing than I anticipated.


Inside the snow terror, Ingryd snaps her jaws once again. This time her teeth sink into something solid. With a gurgled growl the bearkin tugs, rips, shakes, and otherwise shreds whatever bit of demonic innards that tastes curiously like chicken. Suddenly realizing it may have tried to digest the undigestable, the snowman coughs once, twice, and finally heaves a massive third time spewwing forth a slime soaked bearkin barbarian still smoldering from her swim in acidic juices.

Moments later lightning and fire converge upon the demon vaporizing it in an instant. All that is left behind is the jaunty top hat and scarf which go flying off into the wind.

The remainder of the pixies find themselves caught in the furious flood that is now washing down the slope. Their finely crafted snow fort now nothing more than a raging cascade of water thanks to the insta-summer provided by Luthael and Gunnar. Their screams echo back as they tumble and slide into the depths of the valley.

Across the slope, the remaining snow terror and pixies flee the suddenly catastrophe. The old witch's wrath could be weathered. Utter destruction in fire and avalanche were another matter entirely. And so they run. And really none too soon. For moments later, a great sheet of snow and ice breaks loose from the upper portion of the hillside and comes rumbling down. The avalanche sweeps along the entire length of the slope gathering anything and everything in its path into its tumbling mass as it careens downward to the bottom of the valley.

Fortunately, thanks to Arianna's warning and urging, all of the villagers manage to make it safely back to more stable ground. Only Scramsax, Gunnar, and Luthael risk getting caught up in the raging avalanche.

WIS(Perception) DC14:
As the air clears and the snow settles following the avalanche, you notice the glimmer of something shiny tucked in the snow beneath the trees near where the Snow Terror met its fate. Looking closer you spot an armored figure apparently frozen within a block of ice. A finely crafted holy symbol of Thor hangs from her neck. The look frozen upon her face is one of surprise and self recrimination at having landed in such a state.

Combat over.

Scramsax, Gunnar, and Luthael: DEX Save vs DC12. On a fail take 6d6 ⇒ (3, 2, 1, 6, 4, 6) = 22 falling/crushing damage and become restrained as you are buried in snow at the bottom of the slope. No damage or condition on a success.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Scramsax: Uncanny Dodge would apply because you could see your attacker. Evasion does not. It wasn't an AOE attack or save for half damage.


From inside the demonic snowman, Ingryd's jaws snap widely at anything they can find to snap at. At first she manages to bite down on...something...that feels and tastes...fleshy. Which is both satisfying and disgusting to even the iron stomached bearkin. Perhaps the overly salty and foul taste of the snow terror's innards is what causes her momentary bout of madness. Or maybe she just needs to not stick her tongue out when fighting. Regardless of the actual cause, her jaws slam down on her own pink tongue causing a mighty roar of pain and self directed cursing as she can already feel her tongue swelling. The digestive acid that continues to burn and eat at her flesh is also quite an irritation.

Meanwhile on the outside...

Scramsax crawls out of her halfling shaped snow cave and rejoins Gunnar and Dekatron atop the rapidly melting snow wall. The sudden feel of slush beneath his paws completely disrupts the big cat's concentration as it pounces upon the nearest snowball tossing fae. Landing head first into a small pile of snow there is an embarrassing moment when only the big cat's hind legs and twitching tail can be seen. Seconds latter he erupts out of the snow with a yowl of irritated frustration, eyes gleaming for a tasty fae morsel to sink his teeth into.

The cat's predicament and rage momentarily overwhelm Scramsax and her initial dagger thrust at the bobbing and weaving fae misses wildly. But there are some instincts and natural abilities that are simply unfazed by outside influences. They simply happen. Such is the thief's ability to acquire random things from random folk. And so the rule is proven once again, when poison is left dripping into the melting snow, Scramsax's other hand comes away with a brace of tiny knives. Useful as toothpicks or a well balanced set of darts.

On the halflings opposite side, Gunnar mutters a few arcane syllables and unleashes more fire upon the ice loving fae and their rapidly diminishing snow fort. Several of the little scoundrels are caught in the flames causing them to duck and dive aside to extinguish their burning clothes and hair.

From a bit further back Arianna continue to punch arrow shaped holes into the snow terror. Two more steel tipped shafts plunge into the creature sending chunks of snow flying away.

The snowman somehow senses a disturbance in the aether just as Luthael finishes uttering the final word of his holy prayer. Instinct and self preservation cause the snowman to slither aside at just the right moment avoiding the worst of the fire and holy damage. Even so, much of its right side instantly melts away leaving it with a disturbingly asymmetrical look. Faced with fire from the sky and in front, the creature begins a rapid retreat toward the trees, its roughly bearkin shaped belly rolling along on the snowy surface.

The wall of flames quickly incinerate two of the pixies. Nothing but delicate gray ash remains to drift through the winter air. The others all find themselves slipping and sliding to avoid the flames, then rolling in the melting snow to put them out. All begin to look on with more than a little panic a several wide cracks suddenly burst into life along the entire length of snow wall, up slope and down. The entire snow covered hillside suddenly lurches as the stream of water pouring from beneath the wall of fire becomes more of a raging waterfall. More snowmelt pours away as the heat from Gunnar's spell carves a large chunk from that section of the dwindling wall. Pixies scatter every direction. A few even break away from the farther wall, worried about the stability of their own section of the slope.

Trying to clarify the 'layout'...

Trees--ST(Ing)---C/2px--(WoF)--6px(Snow Wall)/G/Sc/L--A---------(Snowwall)---?px----ST--Trees

The distance from Arianna to the next snow wall is 120'. Initially all but Ingryd were half way across that distance. Because of her crit perception Ingryd was able to spot and run to reach the first snowterror which was well beyond the wall and closer to the trees, so even further from the rest of the party. No one else in the party has had time to get back to the first wall and beyond it on foot. So everyone is on the opposite side of the wall of fire from the snowterror, commander and 2 regular pixies.

The first snow terror is 10' from the tree line and stable ground. Arianna who stayed with the villagers is also 10' from the tree line (just further down slope) and stable ground. Everyone else is 30' from the tree line and stable ground.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

Ingryd Acid Damage: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 5, 6) = 22

Burning Hands targets: 1d4 ⇒ 4

Snowterror DEX Save vs DC18 Flame Strike: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Pixie 3 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Pixie 4 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Pixie 5 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
Pixie 6 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Pixie 7 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Pixie 8 DEX save vs DC18 WoF: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

Snowterror: 62/127
Pixie Commander: 34/45
Pixie 1: 25/25
Pixie 2: 25/25

Pixie 3: 7/25
Pixie 4: 7/25
Pixie 5: 0/25
Pixie 6: 0/25
Pixie 7: 13/25
Pixie 8: 13/25


Luthael: Sorry, I misunderstood what you were trying to do. I thought you were separating the two forts. Let me see. Both the snowmen are actually outside of their respective forts. Initially a little further back from each one.

The first one moved forward and would basically be on the PC side of the first snow fort now, although we will retcon that so he is forced to stay on the otherside and moving around your wall of fire. So he would be say 40' from Arianna and behind the wall of fire.

So you put it down the middle of the first snow fort. That separates the snowman and the three 'slingshot' pixies from the others lining the wall. That would be upslope from everyone as the fort was placed upslope from the trail. Do you want it closer to the pixies on the wall (and Gunnar) or closer to the other group? I'll make saves for which ever group if needed when I post next time.


Ingryd simply disappears between the oddly elongated and overly widened jaws of the demonic snowman. Gunnar races to try and make a last minute grab for Ingryd, but the distance is too far. Unable to reach the bearkin barbarian, the dwarf finishes scaling the snow wall ready to unleash the power of Thor upon the icy pixies. Stepping atop the wide crenellation just moments ahead of Scramsax, both dwarf and halfling find themselves overlooking a wide dugout with fae snow-throwers to either side. But what truly grabs their attention is the trio near the back half of the dugout. Two hold a massive snowball, easily the size of either dwarf or halfling, cradled at the end of a thick, overstretched rubber band. The mass quivers in anticipation of release as the third pixie, sporting a jaunty tricorn hat complete with hummingbird feather, points at the halfling.

"FIRE!" Hollers the tiny battery commander.

TWANG!!

The snap of the band is heard all across the battlefield along with the whistle of the high velocity snowboulder. It slams directly into Scramsax's midsection expelling air from her lungs and her body from the top of the wall as she goes flying backward several feet and landing with a soft *whump* into several feet of deep snow.

With a curse Gunnar unleashes a barrage of lightning upon the chilly fae. Unfortunately, the little folk are clever and constantly on the move making it hard to line up a shot on any single group at one time. And so instead the wizard elects to simply teach the now laughing battery commander a lesson. His eyes crackle and blaze as they turn upon the foul fae and his feathered hat. Lightning streaks forth.

"Eeep!" Squeaks the little hooligan as he dives aside just barely quick enough to avoid the worst of the electrical blast, although his hat now smolders atop his slightly charred head and a side of his blue face is tinted red with the glow of electrical burns.

Moments later a wall of fire appears midway between the two forts, cutting off any supporting fire from the opposite band of bandits. Snow steams and melts in rapid quantities. A small rivulet of water trickles from beneath the wall along the slope. The trickle quickly becomes a stream that starts to dig away at even more of the snow in the center of the hillside.

Her ploy to negotiate foiled by a bears rage and previous bargains, Arianna quickly unleashes a nasty barrage of arrows upon the Ingryd swallowing snowman. The first shaft sinks strikes the third tier mass causing some harm, but little effect. The second hits higher, plucking a wooden stick arm right off the middle section and sending it spinning somewhere into the trees beyond. The one-armed bandit howls its demonic fury at its unlimbing and turns its eldritch gaze upon the bow wielding elf. Sliding down slope like some bizarre upright snake slithering back and forth, the leering snowterror moves toward Arianna.

Their walls quickly under direct assault, the remaining pixies concentrate their fire on the lone hero currently maintaining a foothold upon their fort. Snowballs splat and hiss and splork on, around, over, and under the wizard. Finally one sharp-eyed fae gets sneaks a shot around the burning shield and watches a his snowball hits with a satisfying *thump* upon Gunnar's brow.

"Reload!" Shouts the smoldering commander, as the other two pixies hurry to grab the thick band and start stretching it back again.

Scramsax: Take 21 points of bludgeoning and cold damage. You are knocked back 20' and must make a DEX save vs DC15 or be prone and restrained in the snow. No effect on a success. If you want to roll an attack for Dekatron, go ahead. There are six pixies scattered along the wall that he could reach this round. The other three are about 15' further back.

Gunnar: Take 6 points bludgeoning and 4 points cold damage from one hit. (I believe a 25 hits, if not, then no damage.)

Ingryd: You can bite. All attacks are at disadvantage due to the restrained condition.

The first snowman moves from its spot at the edge of the trees and is now 30' from Arianna.

Party is up.

DM Rolls:

Target: Odd=Gunnar/Even=Scramsax: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Readied Snowsling Attack vs Scramsax: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Damage: 4d6 + 4 ⇒ (5, 3, 4, 5) + 4 = 21

Gunnar Lightning, # in blast line: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Pixie DEX vs DC17: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 2 + (3) = 8
Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 2 + (6) = 11
Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + 2 + (5) = 8
Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (4) + 2 + (3) = 9
Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + 2 + (5) = 8
Pixie Snowball Attack vs Gunnar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (4) + 2 + (4) = 10

Snowterror: 74/127
Pixie Commander: 34/45
Pixie 1: 25/25
Pixie 2: 25/25

Pixie 3: 25/25
Pixie 4: 25/25
Pixie 5: 25/25
Pixie 6: 25/25
Pixie 7: 25/25
Pixie 8: 25/25


Villagers shout and scramble for cover as Scramsax, Gunnar and Arianna all bellow warnings. The fear of fae creatures giving even more energy to the villager's efforts, for everyone knows the dangers of crossing such beings.

Being the closest and having the advantage of actually spotting the hidden sprites and their forts of snow and ice, Ingryd charges. No stranger to such slippery conditions, the bearkin races up the slope. Having concluded that the snowman decked out in red and green was no mere wintertime sculpture, she sends her flaming maul whistling toward the thing's midsection. Her assumption is proven correct as the snowman suddenly slips aside from the bearkin's first blow in a blur of frosty footwork. Growling with rage, the bearkin quickly adjusts her aim and this time snow hisses, melts, and splatters when the flaming hammer connects with a satisfying *thwump* into the icy mass.

"Ooof!" Is the clever demonic response. Before it can conjure a more suitably villainous reply, Arianna's voice rings out across the snow covered slope.

For a moment all comes to a quick standstill. Ingryd's flaming hammer whips wildly in the wind. A fiery partner to Gunnar's now crackling shield of fire and the growing holy fire coursing through Luthael's fingers ready to form a wall or other heat churning counter to the snow and ice. Scramsax churns through the snow while a dozen small arms momentarily relax, icy cold ammunition held in check.

"Passage is not for sale." Shouts a tiny voice from the nearest fort.

"None may pass." Shouts another.

"The way is closed." Relays a third.

"No getting in, no getting out." Says a fourth.

"By order of She Who Must Be Obeyed!" All say in unison.

Completely ignoring the temporary armistice, the demonic snowman lunges forward, its mouth suddenly opening wide to reveal a maw filled with blunt teeth and dripping with wretched green saliva that hisses and steam with each plip-plop drop. The snow terror's mouth opens wide, wide, wider and snatches up the growling bearkin. Acid hisses and burns as the wide coal black teeth crunch. In a moment, the demonic snowman threatens to gulp down the surprised bearkin in one great bite.

"Uh oh!" Says the first frosty sprite flipping a snowball from one hand to another.

"Too late now." Nods a second.

"That will surely leave a mark." Tsks a third.

"Another to add to our collection." Claps a fourth, her tiny eyes looking to the dwarf and halfling with a collectors fanatical greed.

Luthael tries to locate the other position spotted by the others, but the sight of Ingryd suddenly engulfed by the snowman is just too much of a distraction and the prophet is unable to make out the hidden fort on the opposite side of the snowy hillside.

Ingryd: Take 15 bludgeoning plus 10 acid damage. Also make a DEX save vs DC15. On a fail you are swallowed and become blinded and restrained.

Party is up.

GM rolls:

Bite Attack vs Ingryd: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16
Damage: 3d6 + 4 + 4d6 ⇒ (5, 5, 1) + 4 + (1, 3, 4, 2) = 25


Arianna: Yes, that is basically what has happened. Although, upon a little more reflection, you suspect they are just as much set up to ambush unlucky travelers as much as against each other.


Ingryd:
You quickly spot the rabbit tracks leading out from under a nearby bush and across the open slope. A good sized hind, perfect to fill the pot a feed several of those under your care. But as your gaze tracks the hoppity trail, you find yourself frowning. You've hunted plenty of rabbits in your time. You swivel back to the bush quickly taking in all of the other nearby snow shrouded shrubs, trees, and hollows that would make perfect places for a rabbit to bolt to verses the wide open slope. Either that rabbit is, or more likely was, one of the dumbest rabbit's you've ever encountered or something else is going on.

This suspicion proves itself true as you stop a wait for several long moments. Your heartbeat slows, the wind whistles in your ears ruffling your fur. Unconcerned Scramsax keeps moving along the trail uttering more...Scramsax talk. Your nostrils twitch. Something there. Snowy dust devils swirl and dance along the slope. The peculiar scent comes and goes.

By the third time you recognize the sweet scent of daisies and honeysuckle. The smell is unmistakable. But also impossible. For neither flower could possibly be alive and blooming under this blanket of snow. Then it pops into your head. Fae! They almost always smell of flowers and honey and sweet things. An ever dubious trait given so many are bearers of misery and heartbreak.

Gunner and Lutheal follow the halfling along the trail. Alerted to what you might be seeking, your eyes once again follow the rabbit tracks. Oddly, they seem to go further than before. Then you spot them. A pair of icy blue sprites stamping the snow with a big wooden rabbit foot. They giggle and laugh as they go, hidden within one of the twisting funnels of snow. With keen eyes you catch a glimpse of a half dozen more tucked behind a small wall of snow near the other end of the trail where it leaves the slope and reenters the forest. Quickly you snap your gaze back over to this side of the slope.

Sure enough no more than thirty feet away you find several others behind another short bank of snow. They appear to be armed with a full arsenal of thick, icy snowballs. Hidden just beyond the wall and behind a screen of trees you even catch a glimpse of a tall snowman, slightly listing to one side, its jagged, crooked grin and coal eyes staring coldly at Arianna as she quietly follows the others onto the open slope. Its green and red checked scarf flips softly in the blowing wind.

Again flipping back to the other bank, you spot a back in the shadows a second snowman. Similar to the first, but this one wearing an icy blue and yellow checkered scarf and stares back in the direction of the oncoming halfling, dwarf, human, and elf.

Pondering the value of the need for constant vigilance so often portrayed among the various adventuring societies and tavern groups encountered by Scramsax over the years, the halfling continues along the trail and out onto the open slope. His philosophical question of much more interest than the rather dull, consistent snow covered landscape.

She is followed closely by Gunnar, Luthael, Arianna and several of the villagers. Elf, dwarf, and prophet all discussing where to take the homeless villagers and the best way to get there.

Only Ingryd pauses for a moment at the edge of the wide open area where the wind blows and snow swirls. For several long moments the bearkin's wide head swivels back and forth, her nose working the wind. Suddenly her eyes widen, her mouth opens to shout a warning. But a heartbeat before she can utter any sound, a loud *SPLAT* echoes through the air as a thick snowball hits Arianna right in the side of the head.

WIS(Perception) vs DC12:
Jerking your head back along your trail, you quickly spot the little glacier skinned fae ducking behind a low wall of snow. Several companions glare at the fellow, their scowls indicating that most wanted to wait a little longer before unleashing their icy ambush. Still the momentary set back is quickly forgotten as they each grab a round of ammunition from the pile and get ready to send several more projectiles in your general direction. Lurking just beyond the little snow fort, you spot their mascot. A three tiered snowman whose main adornment is a red and green checked scarf that flutters in the cold winter wind.

The fort looms just along the tree line thirty feet upslope from the trail at the end where Ingryd and the other villagers still stand.

WIS(Perception) vs DC19:
The snowball hitting with a chilling thump alerts you to possible danger. At first you see nothing but snow and trees. Then looking ahead, you spot the built up wall of snow made to look like a natural feature of the land. And the small fae giggling and laughing wickedly as a half dozen little arms prepare to send an icy barrage your direction. Just beyond the snow fort, you can see their mascot, a blue and yellow checkered scarf wearing snowman grinning at you with unblinking eyes of coal. The fort appears to block the far end of the trail just as it enters the trees again.

It is 120' from one edge of the slope to the opposite edge. All terrain is difficult due to the deep snow. Ingryd and 6 of the villagers are still at the edge of the northern tree line. Scramsax, Gunnar, Luthael and Arianna along with six of the villagers are stretched out along the slope with Scramsax in the lead at 40' out.

Arianna take 6 bludgeoning damage plus 1 cold damage.

Party is up.

GM Rolls:

Target: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Snowball at Arianna: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Damage: 1d4 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (4) + 2 + (1) = 7

Group 1 hide: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19
Group 2 hide: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12


As the party debates the relative merits of running from or toward the dwarven ship, it disappears back into the snow heavy clouds. It's course taking it for sure to the ruined von Florien manor. Luthael eventually ends the debate coming to the same conclusion as the others. If the guild enforcers wanted to track the party down, they probably could given how quickly they've shown up. How, and perhaps more importantly, why they are snooping about the forlorn countryside is both easier and more difficult to answer as Scramsax spills the beans on how the ale geyser came to inhabit the chaos priestesses lair.

So the group sets out once again. This time a bit better equipped thanks to the brightly colored gear painted by halfling the previous night. More than a few finding it unfortunate that persimmon and chartreuse were the two colors with the fullest pots. Still even eye-twistingly ugly fur coats are welcome when the temperatures drop below freezing.

And so go another two days of cold weather traveling as the ragtag group of heroes and villagers make their way out of the foothills of the Cloudwall Mountains.

Midway through the third day, the trail crosses along a wide stretch of hillside now covered in a two feet of snow. Puffs of snow are kicked up by the blowing wind all along the smooth slope creating eerie twisting, dancers of snow.

WIS(Perception) DC28:
Gazing out across that open slope you get an uneasy feeling. That little gurgle in your gut that you've learned to trust over these last several months, years, of adventuring. Something lurks out there on the slippery slope. Waiting. Perhaps hunting.

DM Rolls:

Stealth: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28


As everyone tries to catch a glimpse of the distant flying ship, Scramsax does his best to see if it matches that of the nefarious Inquisition of Khors. Fortunately, even from this great distance the halfling's eyes can see this vessel is nothing like that terrible flying monstrosity. First, it is much smaller. A quarter of the size, perhaps even a little less. Second, it doesn't appear to have the same bulbous look created by the caged fae that powered the other ship. Instead a constant flow of smoke and steam boil from a single stack near the center of the ship while churning paddlewheels of thick cloth provide steering and additional momentum.

It is Luthael and Arianna who notice the pair of flags flying at the top of the slightly sternward pitched mast. The first is the black and yellow checked shield of Bundhausen, one of the largest cantons of the Ironcrags. The red wheels and bull and griffon marking each quadrant of the shield, standing out in the gray sky. The second is a more familiar to most tavern goers of Midgard, and causes perhaps just a moment of concern. For it is the barrel and stein in front of crossed stalks of barley and wheat. The Ironcrags Brewers Guild. Of real concern is that the usual symbols are placed upon a field of unusual black rather than the much more common green.

INT(History) DC12:
Typically the Brewers Guild icons sit upon a field of green representing the gifts of the land and farm fields that result it is favorite product. The black field is only used by the Regulatory and Enforcement Arm of the Guild. Under most circumstances, not a group of dwarves any tavern keeper or wholesale distributor would want to meet.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Gunnar:
You spend the evening pouring over the handful of maps you've acquired over the course of your journey. Few offer any useful insights as they do not note all of the various small villages and settlements that come and go in these wild regions. In talking with a few of the villagers, you realize that Blandezig was one of the only villages in the area. The obvious result of long years under the influence of the insatiable hunger of the Blood Kingdoms.

One of your maps does note a couple of small settlements further to the south and west. Just within the borders of the Margreave Forest. Levoca Village is the closest, but still a good weeks hike away. A little longer with the recent snowfall. Further south by a few more days travel would be Wheldon Village.

You note that anything closer to the north or west falls under the influence of the Blood Kingdoms. A place none of the villagers wish to settle ever again.


Between the efforts of Gunnar, Luthael, Scramsax and Dekatron everyone is eventually made comfortable and fed for the night. The skinny deer hauled in by the leopard makes for a welcome addition of flavor and meat to the somewhat bland but nutritious offerings provided by Khors. And although not quite as warm and certainly not nearly as fashionable as advertised, the blankets and warmer clothing crafted by Scramsax and her magical paints provide just enough to keep the villagers warm and able to travel.

Outside of Gunnar's stone shelter, the wind howls and snow falls. Occasionally a distant howl or roar can be heard carrying on the wind. Something on the hunt despite, or perhaps because of, the storm. Much to everyone's relief whatever owns that deep, mournful call doesn't disturb the sheltered little camp of homeless wanderers. It's calls instead drift off to the northwest.

By morning, the fire is little more than lukewarm coals, the pile of gathered wood down to the last few sticks. Clouds of breath fill the shelter while stepping outside is stepping into another world. One lacking color. A thick, deep blanket of snow covers the land while gray clouds shroud the sky. The wind has slowed, but what breeze does drift through the air is cold and smells of more snow to come. The Old Man of the North has decided winter will arrive early this year.

WIS(Survival) DC13:
You take the time to measure the depth of fallen snow. A little over a foot in a single night. Listening to the wind, feeling the cold, watching the clouds continue to slowly drift over the now hidden mountains, you are certain more snow is one the way. Looking east, you see a few distant breaks in the cloud cover and guess that if you can climb out of the foothills and back onto the western edge of the Rothenian Plain, the amount of snow will ease a little. Although you doubt the cold will relent until the storm truly passes. And no matter which direction you set out in, travel will be slower.

INT(Arcana) DC15:
The thought of shortening the journey and perhaps enjoying the relative comforts of the usually snow free shadow realms sends you in search of a possible entry point to the magical roads. Letting your mind drift outward from camp, you do sense a distant ley line off to the southeast. A minor road. Farther on toward the south and east, you can just touch upon the much larger road known as Grandmother's Walk. While a good forty or fifty miles to the west is the winding path somewhat ominously named the Black Road on most ley line atlases and maps.

But the truly puzzling thing that grabs your attention is that all of the nearby roads, both large and small feel odd. It is nothing too obvious or harmful. More like something swimming deep in a pond causing ripples to rumple and otherwise smooth surface. Or the way a little too much of Ingryd's sweet meade can muddle your head or gut the next morning. Not a full blown hangover, but just a little fuzzy. That is how the shadow paths feel. Fuzzy and stirred by the storm or some other unknown force.

Regardless of this unusual sense, even the closest road is still a two day slog through the snow and perhaps by the time you reach the small path, the anomaly will have passed.

WIS(Perception) DC20:
While out upon your morning constitutional, you hear a strange noise droning out of the sky. A first glance reveals nothing but dense clouds. Then glancing back to the west toward the manor and the general direction of fallen Blandezig you spot the distant dark shape of a dwarven flying ship. To far and blocked by clouds to get much detail, but as you watch the smaller, scout-sized ship for several minutes you'd guess it was conducting some kind of search in the general vicinity of the area you and your companions left behind just a day ago.


Luthael: The place was less specific, it just needs to be an altar dedicated to Khors. You all know of two for sure. The one at Katrina's temple near Nargenstal and the one in Luthael's parents hometown, the name of which is escaping me at the moment.

The time was more specific, the Summer Solstice, longest day of the year, when Khors influence is at its highest point of the year. So you've got some time to burn because it is now early winter. So about seven months.

Now, to make things a little more interesting, you could try doing it before the Solstice. You asked the spirit how to destroy the sword. What it said will work for sure. However, that doesn't mean that there might not be other ways the spirit didn't know or share. Or that the ritual wouldn't work if you tried on another day of the year.


Gunnar: Looking at the DMG the Carpet of Flying is a Very Rare wonderous item. So to craft one, it looks like it would require a minimum 11th level PC plus 50,000gp worth of materials.

On another note, I was looking back through things and you all did find a couple of vials of Fire Giant Blood. It was on one of the batches of ghouls you defeated a while back. So you do have all of the basic components for the ritual.

Of course, if you still want to adventure up into the Northlands, that is totally fine, but you don't have to.


INT(History) DC10:
As you discuss the route north with your comrades, there is mention of a town called Lengrove. The name immediately sets off alarm bells deep within your mind. Why? At first you aren't certain. And then you begin to recall the most recent sets of maps and atlas of the region viewed when last you were in a more civilized town.

Castle Lengrove. Is no town at all. It is the home and fortress of Lady Darvulia, the Voivodina of Cloudwall and Keeper of the Gate Subterranean, who holds command of the mountains under authority from King Lucan or Morgau. The Lady maintains closer ties with the Ghoul Imperium than any other noble of the surface Blood Kingdoms. And her castle stands guard over the Great Necropolis, a sprawling series of ancient tombs built into the mountainside to house the remains of members of the noble families of Morgau in the years before the duchy fell to Lucan’s machinations. The sepulchers and vaults have long since been emptied of their original contents, but the inhabitants of the mountains still use them to inter their dead.

A network of catacombs inhabited by ghouls, darakhul, and dissimortuum riddles the earth beneath the Necropolis. One of the larger tunnels serves as the main entrance to the Ghoul Imperium, leading to undercity of Fretlock. Most nights, a sinister market gathers among the tombs
in which strange derro corpses, necromantic supplies, and rare fungal goods from the realms below are traded for blood, flesh, and slaves from the surface. According to the account you read, business is booming.

Surely such a place would not be safe for your recently rescued villagers, you, or your companions given all of your recent endeavors against the Imperium.

You all set out a hour or so following Arianna's return. With little but death, misery and destruction to return to in Blandezig, all of the former villagers choose to accompany their rescuers back into the more populated realms of Courlandia. Eventually a general course north and avoiding the fallen village is agreed upon.

All through the day the wind continues to blow. Cold, bone chilling gusts dropping directly off the mountains from the northwest. The air smells of snow and ice. Clouds move in slowly building a looming wall against the peaks before they begin to cross the Cloudwalls. White topped with dark gray underbellies, the clouds soon block out the afternoon sun causing the chilly but still comfortable temperature to drop fast into the realms of cold.

Once it is time to start looking for a reasonable spot to camp the first snowflakes begin to fall from the sky and the lightly clad former prisoners shiver and worriedly gather firewood before huddling close to absorb as much heat as possible from the flickering orange flames.


Okay. So it looks like you all are heading back north. For those interested in an approximate location of Blandezig on the Midgard Map, it is in the empty region south of Lengrove, north of the River Brocken and a little bit east of the letter 'S' in Cloudwall Mountains. Too bad the interactive map doesn't have a lat/long feature. :)

Anyway, it is about 450 - 550 miles back north to Nargenstal. So about a month's time.

If there is anything else you wish to do during this downtime period go ahead and post it. Otherwise, I hope to get the journey north underway with a post tomorrow. Also if there are any specific stopping/resting/exploring places you'd like to stop at on the way, now is a good time to note them. That way I don't just blow past them in the narrative.

1 to 50 of 4,789 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | next > last >>