Dungeon Master S's "Giantslayer" AP (Inactive)

Game Master Chris Marsh

Vael's magic works wonders on the hippogriff. Countless small wounds and sore close and heal, but the beast is still badly malnourished. It'll take some time for it to regain its strength.

For now though, its head lifts up a bit. Currently has 12 CON damage.

"Hamilton." Raen's voice cuts clear and strong through the quiet. She gestures at the hippogriff. "You have skill with such beasts."

Handle Animal check might be helpful? Vael might have Lesser Restoration prepared.

"I could do more, but not until I'm sure it won't try to eat me."
I have a lesser restoration available

This is a magical beast with some intelligence?

What do Hippogriffs eat? Knowledge/Nature:1d20 + 15 ⇒ (4) + 15 = 19

Ham approaches the cages making noises somewhere between a trill and a whinny, clickhing his tongue and punctuating it with words in Old Druidic, which Ham doesn't speak but knows a couple of the old words of power that aid in conversing with animals.

Animal Empathy:1d20 + 11 ⇒ (3) + 11 = 14

Did I get one of those Charima headbands? Score doesn't include that.

If I get no agreeable response, Ham will search for some rodents. Rats, mice, voles maybe. That may take some time

Survival: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (9) + 21 = 30 (Favored Terrain dungeons)

Magical beasts, but have the intelligence of horses, no more.

Hippogriffs prefer mammalian prey, yet they graze after every meal of flesh to aid their digestion.

Hamilton struggles to find anything good to eat, but does eventually find some frozen meat used to feed the frost giants. It's the best he can do. The creature is too weak to struggle anyway.

The magical beast seems to take something of a liking to the roughrider.

Despite being a magical beast, rearing an training a hippogriff requires a DC 18 Handle Animal check, and roughly two weeks.

Whistle Pig heads over and checks the secret door. It opens without a fuss. It's small, tiny by giant standards. Within is a simple iron chest. Behind it, hanging on the wall is a map.

checking the door for traps: 1d20 + 25 ⇒ (13) + 25 = 38
If not trapped he checks the door for sounds:
checking for sound: 1d20 + 25 ⇒ (3) + 25 = 28
WP tries to pick the lock:
DD: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (3) + 21 = 24
DD: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (17) + 21 = 38
DD: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (3) + 21 = 24
DD: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (8) + 21 = 29
DD: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (1) + 21 = 22

Within is a kings ransom in treasure!

It's a large map covering a lot of area. It indicates a dormant volcano in the southern Mindspin Mountains, labeled “Ashpeak” in Giant, along with the names “Tytarian and Quivixia” and the words “elite training academy.” Accompanying the map are two lists of giant names. One list is designated “Advance to Elite Training,” and includes a scrawled note that reads: “The athach’s graduation is not an option.” The second list is titled “Competency Course Passed—Need Reassignment.”

Raen recounts the magical properties of each item to the Giantslayers, with no small amount of awe in her voice. These are potent weapons.

She also studies the map, and particularly ponders the names Tytarian and Quivixia.

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 24 ⇒ (4) + 24 = 28
Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 27 ⇒ (18) + 27 = 45

Do I recognize either name? Quivixia, at least, sounds like a dragon name, so I included Arcana.

How long are the lists of names? Is one much longer than the other? Do I recognize any names?

Lastly, Raen reminds her companions that there is one room yet uncleansed to the south.

Raen doesn't recognize the names, but she does recognize that the morphemes in the names are Joten in origin.

The lists are hard to read, but the elite training list is much shorter. There are perhaps two dozen names on the elite list, and many score on the competency list. There are some names with tick marks next to them.

The party sends Whistle Pig to scout the remaining parts of the tomb. The walls of these passageways are rougher than the stonework in other areas. The ground is dirty, dusty, and bone-chillingly cold. Giant-sized skulls protrude in clusters from the walls, where they have been mortared into place. Words are chiseled into the rock walls near these clusters, some in short phrases, others merely listing names.

Whistle Pig also finds that there's a secret back door here to get into the Queen's throne room.

For exploring the entirety of the Ice Queen's tomb, each hero of Trunau earns 3,200 XP.

Raen takes it upon herself to perform a brief investigation of the labyrinth, surveying the first several clusters and chiseled text.

Linguistics: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (20) + 22 = 42 Any sense to be made here? Simply a mausoleum?

Indeed, that's all it is. The writing is either a simple nameplate, or a short resume of deeds.

What is an athach? Ushyle asks, while lending a hand hauling the trove out of its hidey hole.

Raen joins the others in evacuating the valuable relics from Skirklata's tomb into the snowy quiet of abandoned Skirkgaard. Vael gets a message to Vedin, who joins their makeshift camp some hours later, and Whistle Pig kindly retrieves Raen's iron spike of safe passage from the catacombs. Hamilton cautiously leads the famished hippogriff out and spends some time communing with the beast in the weak warmth of the sun.

While they wait for Vedin, Raen brings Doxon along to return to the Tomb. Using their combined magics to work stone, the pair collapse first the entrance to Skirklata's bier, then labyrinth of fallen frost giants, and finally the mass grave of frozen men and women from nearby villages. The dwarf says a quiet prayer over the freshly buried dead.

Raen works late into the night, as is her custom, weaving ocular magics into a pair of lenses for Ushyle. In the morning, she makes her preparations, eschewing several of her accustomed spells in favor of several teleportation spells -- and still yet more spells to transmute rock to mud and shape stone.

Before the others rise, she enters the Tomb once more, alone. Stepping before the accursed threshold of the Black Door, she thunders an arcane challenge to Skirklata's erstwhile throne room. The ceiling, of unworked stone only moments before, crumbles and buries yesterday's battlefield in ruin. The Varisian retreats a step, then collapses the archway of the Black Door itself, sealing off the throne room forever.

She picks her way back to the dawn. On her way, she expends spell after spell to collapse first the hidden catacomb entrances, then the great forbidding vault entrance to the entire Tomb itself. The deep grinding rumble echoes off the distant mountains like an avalanche -- and waking her companions, who she turns to greet at the break of the day.

After breakfast, Raen gathers the first group to return to Trunau -- Vael (with a merged Tulia), Doxon, and Whistle Pig -- and has each lay a hand on her shoulder.

*POP*

Teleport: 1d100 ⇒ 71 ON TARGET

*POP*

The quarter arrive safely atop Trunau's high hill. Raen nods to the three, trusting them to make their arrival known to Halgra and Othdan, and casts her spell again.

*POP*

Teleport: 1d100 ⇒ 59 ON TARGET

*POP*

Scarcely gone a moment, Raen returns to Skirkgaard. She gathers Ushyle and Vedin, leaving Hamilton and his new charge for the moment. She casts her spell again.

*POP*

Teleport: 1d100 ⇒ 14 ON TARGET

*POP*

The three land safely in Trunau again, and the first three are still nearby, having hardly had a chance to move. Once again, Raen swiftly disappears...

*POP*

Teleport: 1d100 ⇒ 90 ON TARGET

*POP*

Raen reappears in the snowy village once more. "Last one," she smiles wearily to the roughrider. "Is your charge calm for the moment? This may be disconcerting." The Varisian lays a careful hand on the hippogriff's gaunt flank, while Hamilton touches her arm...

*POP*

Teleport: 1d100 ⇒ 28 ON TARGET

*POP*

And, at last, the Giantslayers are reunited again in Trunau. Home.

In the last three months, Trunau has come along nicely. It's citizens are not descended from timid people, and their work ethic is outstanding. Occasionally one can spot an errant arrowhead, or slash mark in a post.

Patrol Sargent Omast Frum is sober and on the job.

All in all, you'd never know that this peace and prosperity is threatened by the Storm Tyrant.

During the down time its impossible to resist looking at the map that hangs upstairs. It's got a pin in it. The pin rests on the location of the Elite camp, which now is your best idea for where the Storm Tyrant's capital flies. It's only 300 miles south. Giant legs could close that distance in just a few days...

Ushyle looks at his rebuilt hometown with some pride. Nice work done here, he thinks to himself. Some sturdy walls and fortifications now, giving us a chance to stand against considerable foes.

Them, he corrects himself. Giving THEM a chance. Not us. We have not been here. This sobering fact gives him some pause as he stares at Trunau from atop Bloodmarch Hill, remaining in place even after Raen arrives with Hamilton and his new pet. The decision to take the fight to the giants was a sound one tactically, he knew; he'd been over it enough times in his head to be sure of that. Cutting off the head is always the best way to stop the snake.

He turns to peer over his right shoulder at the rocky outline of Skull Hill to the north. Certainly the threat of the orc hordes never truly ebbed, though they'd been quiet for a few years now.

Turning back to Trunau, his eyes scan the new barricades and palisades, drawing some satisfaction that any such orc raid would cost the offending tribe dearly.

Lost in his own thoughts, he is startled when he realizes Whistle Pig has been talking to him for several seconds now.

...keep standing out here or are we going to go have a drink or three? the exasperated halfling asks.

Ushyle gives his friend a smile. Sorry, little one, he says, taking a step towards town. A drink or three might be nice, yes.

Ham first sees to the hippogriff, a large female with somewhat rare palomino stock. Her head and wings are darker, with golden brown plumage. Her rear feet have white, sock like bands, and her tail is stark white. The talons are shiny black razors, and her yellow eyes, the expected focus and unblinking eyes of a predator, are still unsettling and looking at them too long forces you all to quell the urge to run.

Ham is quiet during the return trip, and the first few days home, spending time with the animal, and learning about her. He makes regular use of The Green's ritual to Speak With Animals to learn about her, and befriend her. They find a measure of solace in each other, as both are grieving. The downtime gives Hamilton time to finish grieving for Applejack.

The hippogriff morns for her mate. The pair were captured together and hung in cages. Skirkatla took sick pleasure in watching the animals slowly die of starvation and dehydration. It seems, with no more life of her own, Skirkatla could only find a pulse by destroying beautiful things.

Gamemaster, do you wish to interject some character play here?

Ham chews on a problem for a time, wanting to bond with the animal--to perform the rights to entwine them--but not wanting to do it without her consent.

Our previous lives are over, in many ways. My partner and I died on this quest, this quest that is putting my life on hold. I cannot live again until it is complete. To finish this, I ask your help. I offer you a pact. I can train you in the arts of war. Together we'll complete this quest. In doing so, we will hunt Skirkatla's masters and punish those that killed your partner. I offer you purpose and power and friendship.

The magical beast regards Hamilton and Hamilton laughs a little. She's smart, but honor and quests and justice are abstract. But the hippogriff sits and lowers her head. Purpose and power are things she knows. He feels her assent, even if he can't hear it.

It'll be hard work for us both. But I think we can do it., he says aloud. The hippogriff lets out something between an eagle's call and a whinny, a high sound that ends in a small amount of vibrato.

Ham takes out his bag, and starts laying out stones and a low chant. A day later he emerges and returns home to sleep. The next day, he begins his work with Samantha.

Handle Animal:1d20+15 take 10=25... Ham spends six weeks of his downtime training for Combat Riding.

At first the hippogriff, now "Samantha" does not live up to her namesake. She's withdrawn and skittish. It takes some time, but Ham's slow and calm approach slowly wins her over.

As the roughrider gets to know her, she simultaneously slowly returns to health. Plucked and broken feathers are replaced. Matted fur regains its shine.

She's a beautiful hippogriff, with the body the color of sandstone, and feathers as white as the frigid desert where she was found.

----

Then one day she flies off. Ham is sad and frustrated at first, though he recognizes the selfishness of the emotion. He's done well by the majestic creature.

Eventually though, she comes back with a rabbit. The meal is obviously too small for her. It's quite clearly a gift to her new master.

Narrative post in the near future.

"Ushyle," Raen calls softly as the half-elf turns towards the Killin' Ground with Whistle Pig. The half-elf turns, surprised to be addressed by the Varisian directly. She reaches into a pocket and produces a pair of spectacles, deep violet in hue, bound together by thin golden frames. She hands them to Ushyle. "These will help you see, where no light shines to guide you. As... as before."

The mage looks carefully at her friend, her expression inscrutable. Her friend has changed, certainly, but still the same. Still shy, still hard on himself... but still resolute, too. Still steadfast. Still true. Ushyle makes a small noise of shock as Raen give a gentle embrace. "Welcome home," she adds before flying off to find Othdan.

* * *

Raen finds Othdan at home, where everything is more or less in order. She does a bit of tidying up and reviews the accounts thoroughly, but the youngster has done quite well in managing things while the Giantslayers were away. She gives Othdan a substantial bonus -- 88 crowns and 2 silvers, more than half his salary during their absence -- and deposits the remaining earnings in Trunau's Countinghouse. (600 gp is available for Capital generation for additions to the House.)

Raen finds Vael, who, as the better storyteller, was designated to provide a report to Halgra. The pair tally the Giantslayers' unclaimed treasure and, the sum being far beyond the capacity of Trunau's markets, make arrangements to travel to Korvosa the next day.

Afterwards, she says hello to a few folks in town, especially Agrit and Sara, and heads to the Killin' Ground for a pot of tea. But she finds herself anxious, cold, and distant in these interactions and fails to enjoy her time with company. After a short while she takes her leave and wanders up to the Flame of the Fallen to sit quietly in reflection there. Even this is too close to the bustle of the town for her, however, and she flies up to find a more lonely perch among the mountaintops beyond Bloodmarch Hill. Still, what solace she feels there remains slight.

* * *

The next morning she joins Vael in the Commons, the dwarf bearing the Giant Bag of Holding filled with unwanted splendors. Raen casts her well-practiced spell, and the pair reappear a moment later in Varisia.

Korvosa's markets are busy, and they need only a little time to exchange their loot for gold and a great deal of magical crafting supplies. Raen stops in a few wizard's shops to look for some simple spells, and takes much of the day to copy them into her own spellbook. She also sends a note up to the castle before she and Vael return home:

* * *

On the following morning, Raen finds Doxon and offers to transport him to the Forge of Minderhal, so as to reforge the great weapon Deathdealer into a more suitable instrument for his purpose. Finding the blacksmith ready to depart, she takes the precaution to cast mirror image on herself and invisibility sphere over the pair before departing.

The Forge of Minderhal is warm as ever, but quiet and still. Raen conjures a magical sensor and sends it floating, invisibly, around the stone giants' fortress. Nothing stirs within. Working with Doxon, she reshapes the stone archways around the forge, sealing all but one of them, on which she places a mental alarm spell.

Sufficiently satisfied that their position is safe and secure, the two begin their work at the Forge. In short order, Doxon's work is finished, and Raen begins her own. She finds that the Forge's power is potent, acting as a heavy anchor for the belt she has laid across it, seeming to draw her magic into the leather like gravity. All she has to do is bind it. She is rather pleased that the task is complete even before the setting of the sun, and she and Doxon are returned safely home in time for dinner.

* * *

For the next several days, Raen secludes herself in the repository, refining the magic of headband. Eventually satisfied that she can do no more, she lays plans for the daunting task ahead.

The next morning, she rises in the pre-dawn gloom and prepares her spells amid the snores of her comrades. Before any have woken, she conjures her teleportation magic and is whisked back to Skirgaard, now an empty village of broken buildings and snowdrifts framed against the rising sun.

She takes to the air and heads south. For hours on hours she flies, until a great, dormant volcano, rising some 7000 feet into the air, comes into sight. Ashpeak.

In the waning sunlight, she casts a glamer over herself and searches for a clearing in the wooded foothills of the mountain. She finds one where a campsite would be suitable. She sits in its center, studying it carefully, getting to know its appearance, its feel, its smell. Then she conjures another spell and returns home.

* * *

The next day, she returns to the Forge of Minderhal, where she takes the same precautions as before and forges a new magical belt, much like her own, for Vael. She weaves scenes of life -- laughter, camaraderie, tenderness -- into the chasing. Then, back in Trunau, Raen spends several days working Whistle Pig's belt. Here, she weaves symbols of luck into the chasing instead.

Once that work has been finished, Raen returns to the foothills of Ashpeak. The spell goes awry at first, and she arrives a little worse for the wear, but eventually relocates her clearing and studies it again. Then, taking precautions with illusion and divination magic, she begins the slow process of scouting the great mountain and surrounding lands. When the sun sets, she returns home to Trunau.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, Raen throws herself ever deeper into her work, eschewing all but minimally courteous contact with most everyone, and even trying to seclude herself from her own thoughts. She alternates between trips to the Forge, crafting in the repository at home, and -- ever conscious of the map hanging ominously in her head -- returning to Ashpeak to scout and study. Over this time, the Varisian completes a great many items, including a buffering cap for Ushyle fashioned as a bouquet of roses, a pair of winged boots for the half elf, and a sturdy backpack and some talismans for Vael. Many of the Giantslayers' existing kit also undergoes magical enhancements, from arms to armors to cloaks.

Eventually, Raen feels satisfied that she knows Ashpeak's terrain well enough. She has mapped out the giants' villages and camps dotting the foothills, and identified three massive caverns, each of which is irregularly patrolled, through which the Elite Training Camp must lie.

She sends word around to the others that they should be ready to depart in two days. "It is time."

Will post last two days ASAP.

In the morning, Raen again rises in the pre-dawn gloom, when only Trunau's sleepy sentinels give life to the dying night. She quietly makes her daily preparations and intones a handful of necessary spells. She gathers a few items collected over the past weeks and squirrels them away in her bag, which she shoulders out the door and into the warming summer air.

She walks silently to the crest of Bloodmarch Hill, out to where the Hopespring cascades into the pool below. She knows this place is not right, not for what she is about to do, but she feels grounded in the chance to look out over the town where she has made her home. She knows, too, that a cavern lurks beneath her feet, secreted away inside the very hill, where this whole journey began.

The golden hue now lining the eastern clouds heralds an end of her contemplation. She reaches for a familiar magic, and a soft noise of crashing air briefly disturbs Trunau's quiet.

The Varisian reappears, once again, in Skirgaard. Ever a place of death, the encampment is being slowly swallowed by the late summer snows high up in the Mindspin Mountains. Only the shrine to Thremyr seems to have retained any dominance over the unfinished winter.

The shrine's defiance irks Raen. A surge of hatred rushes through her, breathing hot life into a desire to wipe Skirgaard clean once and for all. To put an end to this place of evil and inhumanity. To destroy the last physical vestiges of the place where three of her loved ones were slain. She readies her magic and strides towards the shrine, plowing deep furrows in the snow.

Pink hues on the clouds beyond, due east, clamor for her attention, and she stops mid-stride. The anger, quick as it came, gives way. This was not what she came here to do. She glances to her left, to the frost drakes' lairs, to remind herself of her purpose.

She takes to the air and sets off for the tallest nearby peak, far above the shattered village. The air is cooler here, so high in the mountains, and the gentle wind feels soothing on her skin. Reaching the summit, she fashions a seat out of the meager, windswept snows, and sits to await the rising of the sun. She unslings her satchel and lays it on the ground, drawing from within several items and arraying them before her:

A freshly cut rose.

An old pair of riding boots.

A wooden mug.

A blacksmith's hammer.

A horse brush.

A falconer's gauntlet.

She waits. The whole valley below, a field of white studded by crops of rock and evergreens, is steadily bathed in a growing light. Calm eludes her; the anticipation of what she is about to do, what she is about to permit, grates at her typically patient demeanor. The pinks turn to red. And then...

Blinding light bursts from the notch between mountains a dozen miles yonder. With it, at last, Raen releases her iron grip on the cage where her emotions dwell. They creep out, slowly at first, an uncertain and confused jumble in their long confinement. But, soon enough, they come in a flood.

A thousand unfinished thoughts contend for her concentration. For every hurt, a hundred reproofs of what she could have done, what she should have done. For every sorrow, a hundred faults. For every death, a hundred desperate and forlorn hopes. For every resurrection, a hundred sequestered reliefs. For every funeral, an unforgivable failure.

Raen wipes away the first few tears, one by one. Within moments, though, her sorrow is too overwhelming to be brushed aside. Warm, salty tears run in rivulets down her face to plunge deep into the scattered snow. And Raen, wracked by thundering sobs, bellows her anguished grieving into the great emptiness of her lonely eyrie. The sun climbs steadily into the sky.

Ushyle. The half-orc still rests in her mind. Without conscious effort, she runs through a dozen ways she might return him what he lost. Yet she knows her magic is not up to the task, and deeper down she knows, too, that that very want is selfish, wrong. She returns to her grief.

Hamilton. Ever eager, ever brash. Dependable. Devoted. Dead. How could she have been so foolish? And so unjust, in not paying the price herself?

Vael. The protector, the salve for all their hurts. How could she have been so foolish, not once, but twice? He who took on such pain, in every battle, he too paid so great a price, instead of her.

Doxon. Living iron. Quiet, steady, and potent. Cut down like wheat, because of her hubris. And she to live?

Applejack. Ever faithful, a steed of courage. Faced giant, faced dragon. Faced death. Her ashes lie scattered somewhere far below. Her hooves will never again clatter along Trunau's narrow streets.

Whistle Pig. A rascal, to be sure, but so innocent and pure. What right had she to bring him such sorrow? And Cleo, poor Cleo. Broken, disfigured, buried. Never to set wing to wind again.

Raen struggles with her truest feeling, helplessness. For all her power, what is done cannot be undone. What is gone cannot be returned. What is lost cannot be reclaimed. There is only acceptance.

At length, the sun sets. Around her, the landscape is turned to rust-gold and then to darkness. Raen stays at her vigil. The weeping has slowed, but she will brave the frigid night, alone, to wash away her grief and, finally, atone.

The night is clear. Her vantage accords her a rich view of Desna's Tapestry. The stars are calming, chaotic but orderly in their own way. Their dance across the sky is a reminder that her journey continues, and that she must be ready. She will be ready. Her friends still need her, and she must not fail them again.

When morning comes again, she fashions her perch into a small igloo, in which she steals a couple hours' rest. The makeshift dwelling also serves as a cairn of sorts for her gathered mementos, here to rest above the killing grounds. She unfolds her spellbook and begins the familiar work of preparing for the day. Then, with one final look at the jagged mountainsides and Skirgaard far below, Raen returns home to find a pot of tea.

Tulia finds that, at least initially, Vael is very busy in Trunau. When he goes to meet with Halgra she let's him be about his business, instead staying home.

The decor of the dwarf's room is simple. A bookshelf and worn chair occupy the space of one wall, and a single bed and nightstand are on the opposite wall. It's tidy, yet not too austere. Somehow, Tulia finds comfort in this. She flits down to the bed, folds her winds and lies down. Closing her eyes, she casts her spirit from her body in silent communion. She seeks out her patron deity.

After ten minutes, she connects with the presence of Desna. It's tenuous, and brief, so she speaks quickly. "Mother Moon, I implore you to impart your knowledge. Answer me these six questions to that I may continue to serve you right."

"Our group needs rest before we continue our search for the Storm Tyrant. Can we afford, say 8 weeks of delay and preparation before departing for Ashpeak?"

She continues. "Are Tytarian and Quivixia to the Storm Tyrant?"

Kicking herself at how vague the question is, she tries to be more specific. "Are Tytarian and Quivixia at Ashpeak? Can we find the location of the Storm Tyrant at Ashpeak? Do Tytarian or Quivixia know how to find the Storm Tyrant?"

With one last question available, she hesitates a second. Though seemingly asleep, Tulia's cheeks turn red. "Does Vael Oakfist love me?"

"Our group needs rest before we continue our search for the Storm Tyrant. Can we afford, say 8 weeks of delay and preparation before departing for Ashpeak?"
YES

"Are Tytarian and Quivixia to the Storm Tyrant?"
UNCLEAR

"Are Tytarian and Quivixia at Ashpeak?
YES

Can we find the location of the Storm Tyrant at Ashpeak?
YES

Do Tytarian or Quivixia know how to find the Storm Tyrant?"
YES

"Does Vael Oakfist love me?"
YES

WEEK 1
Arriving back in Trunau launches Vael into a whirlwind of activity. He drops his gear off at their group home, but takes the magical Sapling Rod before leaving right away.

When he steps outside he stabs the rod into the earth. The magic seems to take hold, so he says, "I'll be back for you," and then heads off to see Halgra.

His meeting with the Chief Defender of Trunau is a happy one, though one filled with questions. After being grilled on the tactical situation Halgra asks why he's the only one she's seeing. He responds, "It's been a tough last few days. Half of us have nearly been judged by Pharasma, only to be called back for this cause, for Trunau. Give the others some space, they'll come around."

Returning to their home, Vael quickly speaks with Othdan and checks on the progress of his brewery. Satisfied that the boy is following the instructions well, but needing a few small corrections, he steps back out and sees the sapling rod has formed into a small apple tree. And it bears fruit! He picks the 2d4 ⇒ (2, 1) = 3 apples from it and gives one to Othdan. "Remove the skin, pulp it till it's mush, and add that into the brew. A little bit of magical refreshment will do wonders, I think. Oh, and keep the seeds. I'm going to want them."

He brings the remaining two apples to Hamilton, handing them to the roughrider and saying, "Feed these to the hippogriff. It'll help speed the recovery."

The rest of the day is spent in the brewery, working a potion supply that will serve the group Brew Potion (Remove Blindness/Deafness, Remove Disease). The rest of week he spends in his brewery, or seeing and being seen at the Killin' Grounds.

At the end of the week, he meets with Doxon specifically to restore some of the vitality back to the warpriest, then does the same for himself Cast Restoration twice to remove negative levels

WEEK 2
Taking comfort in the simple task of maintaining the brewery, Vael digs into the work. It's especially easy given that Tulia has been giving him odd looks of late.

Mid-week he takes a break though, stepping outside of the town. Pulling the newly acquired marble figurine from a pocket, he studies the magic within it. It takes him a bit to identify the lettering inscribed as Vudrani, with a single word on the surface. "Vaneeksharuni. I wonder what that-"

The word seems to trigger the magical item, and swirling sandstorm spews forth from the figurine. Moments later it forms into a large, marble-white version of a real elephant! The creature looks down on Vael, eyes docile a demeanor obedient.

Nervous, he reaches out and places a hand on the trunk of the beast. "Amazing. You're the first creature to not feel repelled by me. May I-"

Sensing the shaman's intent, the elephant's trunk grabs hold of the dwarf, lifts him off the ground, and places him on its back. Beaming a smile, Vael pats the elephant's back. "Thank you. This is wonderful. You are wonderful."

At the end of the week he meets again with Doxon to restore vitality to his friend. Cast Restoration to remove a negative level

WEEK 3
Having put most everything he needs to do in motion, Vael goes to find Raen. Unable to find the elusive wizard, he opts for a more magical means of communication. After ten minutes of chanting he opens a mental pathway to send a message. "Going to Janderhoff. Will return in a couple weeks. Tulia tells me she communed with Desna. We have six weeks. Will be in touch."

The trip to the sky citadel is taken at a leasurely pace, with a mix of him flying with Tulia or riding on the back of Vaneeksharuni. He dismisses the elephant upon reaching the gates, and makes his way into the city. Although he has family in the city, he recalls just how 'welcome' he is.

WEEK 4
With several jugs of ale in his pack, Vael navigates the streets to pay a visit to the Nargrymkin siblings! After a gentle knock on the door he's ushered into their abode.

The reception is warm, and good food is plentiful. Sharp cheeses, nutty breads, and thick steaks are served up by Umlo. Vael is surprised at how adept a cook he is. Ingrahild plies him for tales of battle, and after many drinks that take them need into the night the whole story is told. "Torag be praised, by the end of this Doxon Greyforge will be a name as famous as your ancestor Nargrym Steelhand. We will see this through, and I will make sure you hear the end of this story. If not by me, by one of us."

Tulia, for whatever reason, seems frosty in her demeanor with Ingrahild.

WEEK 5
The week begins with a departure from Janderhoff. The two take a leisurely pace, flying most of the way.

During one night while the two sit around a campfire Tulia says, "Would you be willing to use some magic on me? I know you can channel the forms of fey creatures. I... I want to know what it's like to be taller."

Vael blinks a bit, but nods. "What form would you like to take?"

"A nymph." she replies, then quickly adds, "It's just to try. I'm just-"

"No need to explain. I'll prepare my spiritual connection tomorrow."

The next day, for about ten minutes, the azata walks the ground as a delicate figure with long ears tapering to points above her head. Though clearly attractive, the form lacks the blinding beauty of a real nymph. Simply walking about on such unusually long legs is disconcerting and, near the end of the experiment Tulia stumbles and falls. At first concerned, Vael relaxes as gales of laughter erupt from the temporary nymph. "Remind me to not do this again, please? This is a lot more complicated than I ever expected."

WEEK 6 to WEEK 8
The last few weeks before Raen's summons are tense. The molars in the shaman's mouth feel like they're jangling together, and the sensitivity makes him resort to a mostly liquid diet of soups and, of course, various beers. Tulia hovers about, helping as best she can with his work in the brewery.

But both know this time of peace is drawing to a close. And when Raen suggests they depart in 2 days, Tulia nods. With a new haversack created for him by the wizard, Vael gets his affairs in order and gets ready to depart.

Having put most everything he needs to do in motion, Vael goes to find Raen. Unable to find the elusive wizard, he opts for a more magical means of communication. After ten minutes of chanting he opens a mental pathway to send a message. "Going to Janderhoff. Will return in a couple weeks. Tulia tells me she communed with Desna. We have six weeks. Will be in touch."

Raen's reply is succinct. "Acknowledged. Will locate you if situation alters. Safe travels."

Raen's gift leaves Ushyle speechless, and her surprise embrace flushed in his face, which mercifully — so much smarter than he — she notices, and swiftly departs. His mind whirls with a hundred questions, each of which he is too slow to ask, and probably just as well. Words often failed him anyway.

With Whistle Pig in tow, the pair return to the Ramblehouse for drinks, nostalgia, and, as it happens, a chance to be lauded by their fellow Trunauans. The halfling relishes this; the half-elf, not so much. He shares a drink, but as soon as he is able he slips away back into the relative quiet of the rest of Trunau.

After a quick visit to the Countinghouse to settle accounts (this pays for the crafting from Raen) and a warm hello to Lessie, Ushyle moves on to another familiar haunt, the Sanctuary, and his old arkadesh Katrezra. The old man's eyes twinkle as they share a traditional orc greeting, signifying the elder's acknowledgement of the younger's demonstration of being a warrior.
Someday I will kill you, dalikanlah! Katrezra says mirthfully.
Perhaps, ichtyar, Ushyle replies with a grin, but today is not that day!
The pair embrace and head to the orc's chambers to speak, where Droja awaits them both.

Eventually the topic drifts to Ushyle's difficulty in the tomb of Skirkatla. What has the visit of the dove taught you, arayidje? Katrezra asks, his smile betraying his "visit" to the half-elf's dreams while Droja chuckles softly behind him. She interjects then: It happens again as it happened before.

Ushyle cannot even be surprised — of course the dream was a vision from Katrezra. To...to learn to use all at my disposal, Ushyle says slowly.
And?
...to prepare.

The two seers nod in unison, and Katrezra repeats Droja's words in a different order. And if it has happened before, it can happen again. Ushyle knows the multiple meanings of the words: not just his blindness, but the killing blow dealt him before. And to Doxon. And to Ham.

The three fall silent a moment, then Ushyle addresses Droja directly. Can you teach me to adapt to being sightless?

Retraining Ushyle's Extra Bane feat to Blind-Fight. 550 gp and 5 days.

Doxon spends his first day back in Trunau cleaning and prepping the forge for work. He's eager to take some time to reaffirm his devotion to Torag through some simple, honest labor. With his preparations complete, he packs his pack for the quick trip to Minderhal.

He rises early and is ready as soon as Raen beckons him for their excursion. Still amazed at the ease with which Raen is able to manipulate space to ease their travel, Doxon wastes no time and follows Raen's lead in securing the Forge. He works quickly, with Agrimmosh and Torag's blessing, to bring Deathdealer down to size. He practices with the new weapon, trying to familiarize himself with it, while Raen conducts her crafting.

Back in Trunau the next day, Doxon seeks out <insert warrior name here> for help in mastering the nuances of battle with his new sword. Together they practice until Doxon is satisfied that he can wield it with Agrimmosh to slice and smash all who stand against him.

5 days, 550gp, Weapon Focus: Pick -> Shortsword

Doxon spends the next week working at his forge. The rhythmic and steady work eases his mind and body, allowing himself the chance to refocus his determination and his faith.

Wanting to put Deathdealer through its paces, Doxon wanders off into the mountains for the next several weeks, losing himself amongst the peaks and ravines, hunting and being hunted. He returns to Trunau slightly feral, his hair wild and unkempt; sweat, mud, dirt, and blood cover most of his body. He tromps back into town without a word to anyone he passes, oblivious to the gawking and disgust. He enters his forge where he strips off all of his gear and walks bare into the house, directly to one of the baths to clean. Once cleansed, he returns to the forge to clean and prep his armor, weapons, and gear for the travel ahead. Once he's satisfied that he is ready for the coming excursion, he sets about closing down the forge.

With all of that completed, Doxon spend the next few days in rest and with good food and beer, knowing that the life of an adventurer on the road can be filled with rough nights and dry rations.

Agrit steps into the Killin' Ground and looks out over the battered tables. Shes spot her quarry seated at the far end, facing the tied tent-flap that serves as a door. A pot of tea steams upon her table, a small iron cup in her hand. The dwarf crosses the room.

"Hello, Agrit," Raen smiles at her old mentor. "What brings you by?"

The dwarf responds by reaching into a pocket of her colorful pressed robe. She draws a thin wand of yew from within and places it on the table. Raen glances at it briefly, then back at Agrit with an arched eyebrow.

"One o' the lads picked that up a couple weeks back. Most like to be more useful in your hands than sittin' in my shop."

Raen nods and sets down her cup on the far side of the table. She snaps her fingers and a second cup appears in front of her. "Tea?"

Agrit grins and points at the teapot, which begins whistling anew. She pulls up a chair.

Spending 2 points of Fame to acquire a wand of true strike.

Ushyle spends a fortnight working with Droja, trying to learn what she will teach. As the days go by, his mistakes gradually lessen.

Droja's guidance is not kindly like Katrezra's, more like the memories of his life before coming to Trunau. The memories are not pleasant, and Ushyle's mood is dark; even the amiable Whistle Pig chooses to avoid him during the evenings.

After half a month, he decides to leave the Sanctuary behind him, sad to leave the kinship of Katrezra but suspecting that Droja's presence will soon harden him into someone he does not care to know — he already knows more than he cares to about his new companion.

That night, he seeks out the halfling, who watches him sit at his table warily. I am going into The Skittermounds, he says matter-of-factly, draining a cup with his friend. I will be back in a month's time.

You are searching, Whistle Pig observes. What do you seek to find?

Insight, Ushyle replies, and to apply what I have sacrificed of myself to learn.

False Life: 1d10 + 10 ⇒ (10) + 10 = 20
Teleports: 3d100 ⇒ (83, 58, 51) = 192

"Ready?" Raen asks, descending from the clouds above Trunau to meet the others gathered atop Bloodmarch Hill. Hamilton is fiddling with the straps on his saddle while Whistle Pig scarfs down a second breakfast.

The Varisian gathers the other three and has them link hands. Vael frowns at the mage. "Where ya takin' us? Skirgaard first, then hike?"

"Oh, that will not be necessary," Raen replies with a faint smile. "I know what I am about."

*POP*

The four reappear in a small clearing in a conifer wood. Ahead, a great mountain ascends into the clouds. "Ashpeak," Raen points. "Wait here."

*POP*

Back in Trunau...

...the Giantslayers gathered in the shadow of the mountain, Raen asks them to hold a minute. "Gather 'round for a moment," she adds. She produces a map from her pocket and rolls it out on the ground. "The mountainside is littered with giant villages and hamlets. We should have no trouble avoiding them if we are careful. There are three large caverns on the upper slopes -- here, here, and here. I expect that the training camp can be found within one or another. I suggest we try this one first."

She rolls up the map and stows it. Ushyle, turned to look at the mountain, can feel the woman's eyes on him, so he turns back to find her looking him up and down. "Now that just will not do," the Varisian smiles mischievously, wagging her finger back and forth. "We simply cannot have you fighting giants with that haircut!"

Confused, the half-elf reaches for his hair, which feels normal. "In fact," the mage continues, glancing around. "None of you look fit to storm a giant camp! Let me see what I can do."

As words of protest ascend from the throats of her companions, words of arcane power pour from her own. She snaps her fingers.

Small gasps of surprise echo about her. Instead of a motley crew of Trunau's citizens, six (or seven) towering fire giants now stand in the clearing. Each is heavily armed and armored, bearing fine weapons and thick plate. One, where Hamilton sat, is mounted on a giant dire boar. The stench of giant-flesh fills the clearing.

"That is better," the giant where Raen stood says in a deep, gruff, giant voice. "Shall we ascend?"

Cast Veil. I will concentrate on the spell for as long as possible, after which it will persist for 11 hours and 30 seconds. DC 26 Will to disbelieve, if interacted with.

Pig’s ears perk up at the mention of beer. He looks at Ushyle with a huge grin on his face,”We haven’t had a proper pint in weeks. Let’s go shall we?”

The elf and the halfling walk off together to the Killin’ Field. After more than three beers, he’s not sure how many. He lost count after three. It was nice to forget about the weight of what they had done over the past few weeks and what still left to do, when the group was done in Trunau. He thoroughly enjoyed sitting at his old table, in his old seat, watching the people on the town that was home enjoying themselves. Doing exactly what WP was doing. Ignoring the weight of the world and just enjoying life.

Before the night really gets started, and the strikingly plump halfling, Jillian, starts dancing on tables, a bone deep tiredness strikes him. ”When was the last time we slept, Ush?”
Ushyle ponders for a moment and shrugs his shoulders, and takes a long draw from his pint. Pig tries to continue to enjoy the evening but he just can’t shake the fatigue. Yawning makes it really hard to sing drinking song after all. Pig takes the first distraction in the room to slip out the side door and head home.

Once home, Pig flops on his bed in a heap. He is asleep almost before his body hits the bed. The next morning WP wakes up with a cotton mouth and sore. By the dust ring he left on the bed, he didn’t move at all. ” Hmmm, right. I need a bath….” As the halfing waits for his coffee to finish doing it’s glorious magic by the fireplace, he starts to make himself a bath. He grabs a large vat out of the back of Vael’s brewery and proceeds to fill it with water. Pig also repurposed some copper pipe from an abandoned stil on the outskirts of town, he’d return it later if it was missed. Within an hour he had fashioned wood fired heated bath! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMjpWlgcK-M ) He sipped his coffee and waited for the temperature to rise. As it got to the point where it was ALMOST too hot, he stripped down and slipped into the hot water. He just sat for a moment, letting the heat penetrate his body. They heat was a nice change from the cold he had battled in the giant camp. His brain snapped back to the fight with the wurms. Those damned wurms and their awful frozen breath… They killed Ham, they killed little Clio. The heat of the water rushes to the halflings face and tears begin to flow down his cheeks. He takes his hands to wipe his face and nose. His hands are calloused and grimmy, so much so that his nose is streaked with mud and grease from his hands. In between his sobs and snorts, Pig starts to wash. He starts at his toes and works his way up. It felt good to be clean again. As he washed, he finally got to his hands. The dirt under his nails could be used to fertilize a flower bed! ”That’s why you wash your hair, at least that’s what Mum used to say.” and with that he gets to work on his longer than usual hair. And.. sure enough… clean hands! Well mostly anyway. There’s a bunch of grime around Raen’s new ring. He takes the gold band off and let’s it drop into the water and sink with a twist and turn, ending it’s journey with a light ping as it hits the bottom. He then reaches for the other ring {b]”What sound will you make you ‘Other ring’ I never really knew what you were anyway…”[/b] He tugs it to clean the rest of his hands off and it doesn’t budge. Darned ring must be too small. He gets a better grip on it and pulls again. ”Must be the heat of the bath…” he takes the soap and lathers up his finger and tries again with no luck. Stumped, his gold ring out of the bath and puts it back on. He’ll try to remove the ring later.

Over the next few days Pig tries everything to remove the ring: cold water, grease, even the really odd string trick his uncle Bilbo taught him ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGGwX2lY4rc) and nothing even budged it. With nothing else to do, He went to find Raen.

When Pig finally finds the mage he asks,[b]” What’s up with this ring you gave me? I can’t get it off.”[b]

[color=red]Giantslayer[/color]
CAPVT V: Anvil of Fire

That which hath come before:

Early summer, the southwestern reaches of the Hold of Belkzen, ten score and four days since the Hopeknife Ceremony

1d100 ⇒ 69

Using the maps and documents from Skirkatla’s cenotaph you've learned that Ashpeak sits high in the Mindspin Mountains over 100 miles south of Skirgaard, and that the entrance is located on the western side of the mountain at the base. Though it would take over 12 days to hike through the mountains to the entrance of Ashpeak from the ruins of Skirgaard, Raen has scouted a spot to teleport you.

While the clearing itself seems quiet Raen quickly hushes everyone. The mountain is surrounded by hundreds of giants. You take a moment to look up, way up. Ashpeak is a squat, ugly dormant volcano, broad at the base with a jagged crown of stone surrounding its crater. Ashpeak stands over 7,000 feet tall, and little vegetation grows on the mountainside above 5,000 feet. The base of the mountain is temperate and the surrounding valleys and hills where you stand now are heavily forested.

Raen has scouted the mountain itself. She assures you that it's well guarded. The good news is that she's located a way in. The bad news is that it's not going to be easy.

She points to a massive pit in the side of the mountain gives way to a shallow cave. It wouldn't stand out except for the fact that the cave entrance is blocked by a massive iron portcullis.

When Pig finally finds the mage he asks,” What’s up with this ring you gave me? I can’t get it off.”

The Ring of Invisibility is silver, by the by.

Raen looks at the halfling contemplatively. "Curious." She points at Whistle Pig's bulging waistcoat. "Perhaps a diet would help. You were a mite slimmer in Skirgaard. And who can blame you, with Vael's conjured sustenance your only nourishment?"

She closes her spellbook and stows it in her pack. "I must be off. Think about skipping your second breakfast for a few days."

*POP*

"I have NOT gained weight you silly mage. you tell me what this ring does,,,*POP*,,,'

WP is now totally annoyed.

At Ashpeak:

Now that the giantslayers are well disguised, giant-Raen leads the company uphill towards the nearest of the three caves. She follows her map to be sure of the way, since her mind is largely occupied with refining the details conjured by her spell.

Raen leads the disguised party up the short bit of slope. There she points out the pit which leads to the gated entrance. The cavern ceiling is roughly 20 feet high. Within the tunnel, two continual flame spells (spaced 20 and 40 feet from the portcullis) provide light. The spells’ light streams out of the pit and is easily visible.

On the far side of the portcullis are a pair of giants led by a third. The giants have short stumpy legs and powerful, muscular arms. Their hair and beard seem to be made of fire!

As the party approaches, they stand staring, and expectantly, but say nothing.

Giant-Raen suppresses a frown. The fire giants appear to be expecting some sort of pass code. Ah well. She approaches the portcullis. "Here for training. This the place?" she calls out in a giant's voice, speaking Giantish.

At Ashpeak:

Now that the giantslayers are well disguised, giant-Raen leads the company uphill towards the nearest of the three caves. She follows her map to be sure of the way, since her mind is largely occupied with refining the details conjured by her spell.

Pig gets a funny look on his face and he quips,"Will this one come off?"

Pig gets a funny look on his face and he quips,"Will this one come off?"

Raen does not turn around. "The disguise? Yes. The ugliness? Well..."

She keeps marching.

WP, stunned, doesn't say a thing. He is too hurt. those words... why did she say that? She's a friend isn't she? wounded. Pig fall into line automatically.

"You're a dumb lot, aren't you."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

"No dumber than the Grendelsek and her brood, hah!" Vael says in Giant, trying to make light of the tense situation as he looks at the others.

Diplomacy (if needed): 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (4) + 15 = 19

The giants look at each other, "Who?" They each grab a piece of volcanic rock the size of a man and stare at the party of giants (you) on the other side of the portcullis.

The Sense Motive DC 20 from post 7438 is still available to anyone.

WP, stunned, doesn't say a thing. He is too hurt. those words... why did she say that? She's a friend isn't she? wounded. Pig fall into line automatically.

After a brief feeling of fleeting victory, Raen comes to regret her barb. Nevertheless she decides not to let the halfling know it, and keeps her face steady and her marching forward. Best to let Whistle Pig know that this is not a suitable line of inquiry...

* * *

Take 10 Sense Motive: 10 + 11 = 21

Yep, as suspected. Hmm...

Giant-Raen sighs. "The athach's graduation is not an option," she grumbles in Giantish, and pauses for a long moment.

"Is that so? She sent you all the way here and didn't give you the bloody password? Seems to me like we got a pack of deserters looking for a bit of spending loot before they run away if you ask me!"

The two giants on your side heft massive blades, while the giant on the far side holds on tighter to the rock at his side.

"You know what we do with deserters, right?"

Enemy: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (17) - 2 = 15
Raen: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Ushyle: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
Vael: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Whistle Pig: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Doxon: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Hamilton: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Round 1:
Whistle Pig: Go
Ushyle: Go
Giants: TBD
Vael: TBD
Raen: TBD
Doxon: TBD
Hamilton: TBD

Flashback

On the day Whistle Pig expects Ushyle to return, he sits at the Ramblehouse waiting for the half-elf to arrive.

He waits in vain that night, and the next, and the next.

It is more than a week later when Ushyle finally appears back at the Ramblehouse in Trunau. He is greeted warmly by the halfling, and the friends embrace. Whistle Pig draws back almost at once; the hug is wooden, almost forced. What has happened?

Much, little one, Ushyle says with a genuine smile, and he seems to relax a bit. Sometimes our past reappears, it seems. In part, to see if we have learned the lessons it tried to teach. The half-elf's smile fades somewhat, and it occurs to Whistle Pig that his friend looks sad quite suddenly. And some lessons require more than one time to learn.

The pair talk long into the evening, Whistle Pig carefully avoiding talk of Ushyle's foray into the Skittermounds. Something on that quest has changed in his friend, though exactly what is elusive.

When the heroes reassemble for the march to Ashpeak — one Raen makes shorter with her magic — he is mostly back to himself, but preoccupied. Even Raen's playfulness before her illusion does not rouse him from his introspection for long.
End flashback

Ushyle watches Raen try to get past the guards, fully expectant that her quick mind will get them through. When things turn hostile, he is surprised...but not that surprised. In a trice he takes the measure of each giant and springs to action, Milani's Thorn all but springing to his hands.

Milani's Thorn, Power Attack/Furious Focus, studied target/Seething Hatred, hunter's blessing, charge

attack: 1d20 + 16 + 3 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 16 + 3 + 2 + 2 = 29
dmg: 2d6 + 19 + 6 ⇒ (2, 6) + 19 + 6 = 33

Ushyle's blade cuts deep, eliciting a howl from the giant, but not even coming close to felling him.

Round 1:
Whistle Pig: Go
Ushyle: Hit
Giants: TBD
Vael: TBD
Raen: TBD
Doxon: TBD
Hamilton: TBD

seeing the talking isn't working, WP tries to take guard down before he can raise the alarm:
PBS is not active for the attacks, deadly aim, large target precise shot, Rapid shot
1st attack
attack: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (16) + 19 = 35
1d6 + 17 ⇒ (1) + 17 = 18
2nd attack
attack: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (7) + 19 = 26
1d6 + 17 ⇒ (4) + 17 = 21
3rd attack
attack: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (14) + 14 = 28
1d6 + 17 ⇒ (3) + 17 = 20
4th attack
attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11
1d6 + 17 ⇒ (6) + 17 = 23

Whistle Pig doubles up on Ushyle's target. Three stones strike true, but these giants are considerably more hale than their frozen cousins.

These giants move with purpose. The sergeant behind the portcullis advances and immediately goes after Hamilton with a boulder. It turns to a burning ember in his hand!.

Rock v. Hamilton: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12 MISS

The other two close on their respective attackers! Ushyle's foe uses a massive greatsword!
Overhead: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (6) + 21 = 27 for DMG: 3d6 + 15 ⇒ (6, 5, 4) + 15 = 30
Foreswing: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (15) + 16 = 31 for DMG: 3d6 + 15 ⇒ (3, 3, 3) + 15 = 24
Backswing: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (8) + 11 = 19 MISS

Whistle Pig finds a blade bearing down on him!
Overhead: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (10) + 21 = 31 for DMG: 3d6 + 15 ⇒ (1, 4, 4) + 15 = 24

Round 1:
Whistle Pig: Hits
Ushyle: Hit
Giants: ATK
Vael: Go
Raen: Go
Doxon: Go
Hamilton: Go

"Unfortunate," Raen grimaces quietly. She dismisses her illusion and ascends into the air (25 feet up). Grasping the rod at her waist, she causes a mass of sticky strands to erupt within the cavern, engulfing the sergeant.

Quickened Web. DC 22 Reflex or be grappled.

Daily Greater False Life: 2d10 + 11 ⇒ (4, 2) + 11 = 17

Vael groans as the now familiar pain begins to flow into his body as it heals Ushyle and Whistle Pig. 5hp to them, -10hp to Vael

He steps forward, calling upon his shamanic powers to pull the slinger out of trouble. Heaven's Leap on Whistle Pig