Mangroves of the Desert (Inactive)

Game Master Herkymr the Silly

Shadara draws reading a shot to hit the creature whose wings were just shredded and is hit by an unseen force. She turns toward the direction of the attack and is momentarily shocked to see the creature there. That moment is enough that she is not able to attack before flames leap up around her. She reflexively begins to cover her face before she realizes that the flames are not touching her. She feels a quick pressure as the bubble pops as she is still unable to hear. The creature turns its attention to the side and Shadara takes that opportunity to draw, sight in, and breathe drawing power thru her to feed the bow. She notices that the amount is a little less than she had been able to do earlier and only registers the fatigue in the back of her mind. She releases the arrow draws, breathes and releases again at the creature. She sight narrowing in on just that creature.

As Shadara fires at the creature, Quinten touches the wooden dog that hangs around his neck. Brown Dog, forgive me.

A mangy dog appears a few feet away from the frog-scorpion. Though it knows that Quinten expects it to die, the dog leaps at the creature, trying to sink its teeth into its air-filled cheeks. The bite connects, but the demon's flesh proves surprisingly tough.

Attack roll: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Damn! I don't think that accomplished much. Let's hope it at least distracts the demon.

With a lunge the creature turns on brown dog and bites him.

As Mang flings the frog upward, Brown Dog lets go and backs away. When it lands, he pounces, ignoring the blood streaming down his side. But the aftershocks from Mang's attack force him to focus as much on balance as his enemy, and his bite falls short.

Ismela flickers in Quinten's peripheral vision. I must be running out of power.

The teacher holds Risnel high and speaks, drawing on the bard's experience and his circlet to give his voice uncanny urgency. Strike fast and true! We need to finish this. Hopefully, that will give Shadara the nudge she needs to draw on her reserves.

The sounds of battle have returned to Shardara's ears as she hears Quinten's call. She continues her steady pace firing off the last two normal arrows in her quiver at the froggy creature.

Shuriel, am I getting tired, I seem to be drawing less power into the shots. Also does it matter which type of arrow I use to focus the energy.

One of the bow wielders is down and no longer lending strength to us. Your choice of projectiles did matter to sight the storm itself, however these spawn that ride the storm are of flesh and weapons that pierce are preferable. Focus on the creatures as there is nothing you can do for he wielder at this time. Do not use pure energy unless you have no other option, you must train first or you risk great harm to yourself and the others around you.

The frog behemoth attacks the brown dog again lashing out with its tongue.

Seeing Mang exhausted, Quinten touches his left hand to the dog that hangs around his neck and pours power into it. The figurine's manifestation lunges at the frog, biting deep and pulling away some of its flesh. Blood continues to leak from the dog's sides, but he seems unaware of the pain and danger he's in.

As his summon fights, Quinten reaches out to the ring on his left hand and pictures Fifth Port's groves. A circle of leaves swirls around the frog's head, hopefully blinding him while leaving the party unimpeded.

Keep firing, young lady. I'm afraid providing distractions is all I can do.

Having exhausted the stock of regular arrows Shadara reaches to another part of her quiver and starts drawing off her stock of flight arrows. She notices that her cadence has slowed down a little more than she would have expected for the number of arrows fired.

she looses an arrow
Shuriel I am beginning to weaken, I cannot keep the pace up for much longer. Am I taking too much energy that I am not allowing the others to use theirs, Can I give energy back to the other bows so that we all may continue the fight. Mang is not looking good.

she looses an arrow
You truely are a wonder child, we see much of your mother in you. Not many would ask to give up the power and strength we provide to help the other bows and wielders in the fight. Now is not the time for that. Focus on your task, in time your strength will be suficient to lend to others.

Teacher, she calls out without much thought, is there anything you can do for Mang, he seems to be struggling with the cost of his bow.

Quinten frowns as he looks at Mang. So, even the man of stone can grow weary. I don't have any way to restore his energy directly, but perhaps if I use the right words...

Warrior, you cannot fall! You'll have no chance of revenge if this storm takes us, and the woman you've sworn to cure will die.

You're the student of a man who split mountains. Don't let a mere storm stop you.

As he speaks, the teacher pours energy into the coin. Ismela stops flickering, and her scales once again gleam. It's a waste of energy to manifest her fully, but perhaps if I push myself, Mang will push himself as well.

Upon hearing quinten's words, Mang mumbles a few words and waves his hand. Whatever it is he does he appears to look better than before.

The frog now moving rapidly towards you, takes one huge leap and lands on the suli crushng him to the ground. With meat filled snarls he begins to rip the merchant apart eating him as he goes.

Quinten watches the frog tear into the suli. It's ignoring Brown Dog. Are we really that little a threat?

No. If it was prioritizing threads, it'd go after Shadara. Perhaps it instinctively targets bow wielders. If so, there's a chance that it, like the storm itself, can draw power from us. We need to kill it quickly, before it grows too strong.

Shadara, get that creature's attention! It's likely drawing power from Graghhh.

As he speaks, the teacher holds Risnel high. Wind begins to swirl around the creature, blowing sand into its eyes. Let's hope these small winds are enough to keep it from attacking Shadara when her arrow strikes home.

Brown Dog leaps after the frog, still ignoring his wounds.

Shadara staggers back a step as the monstrosity lands on the Suli. She steadies herself as she speeds up the rhythm from years of practice with the bow.

I need to do something to really affect this creature, I am close enough

In that moment of steadying she changes her aim to focus on the eye she can see on this side. Lightning quick she fires three arrows directly at the eye.

The concussive blast tosses her hair and all goes silent again but the buzzing.

You idiot, Tarntani always warned me to judge distance. Oh well nothing to do now anyway

Th creature outlined in magic crumples on the body of the trader and as it crumples,the storm around you dissipates then disappears as if it were a hesitation before a lightning strike. THe carcas glitters and burns all at once.

Shadara looks away as the carcass burns. As she scans the area she finally sees the body of Graggh minus the head. She suddenly feels the exhaustion of the fight and the power that she was drawing for strength leave her. She slumps to the ground a bit dazed. Still only hearing the buzzing in her head. Everything looks strange to her eyes in this eerie state and she starts to feel a crushing sadness set upon her.

No child, you were not ready for that much power. Without practice and familiarity, the power can hollow you out from inside until you have no hope or joy. Remember you wielded a great power today, Shuriel says in Shadara's mind. The Symbol on her head flares into a bright glow.

I will not always be able to do this but this battle did not drain us completely. You handled this battle well, we are surprised at how much you could channel, you will become one of the strongest wielders we have seen. Shadara feels warmth and hope flow into her on a warm current of energy that washes down from her head to her feet. The light from her sigil fades as the warmth reaches her feet. She folds her legs under her and adopts a pose of meditation after scanning the area.

Brown Dog and Ismela vanish as soon as the storm is gone, for Quinten's reserves are too depleted to keep them there. The teacher surveys the battlefield with a scowl. We won. I suppose that's an accomplishment given how little experience or warning most of us had, but Graghhh and the merchant are dead. If we could barely survive a storm with their aid, I have no desire to fight another.

Risnel speaks inside his mind. You must grow stronger. I won't stop you from setting me aside if that is your desire, but your half-sister will never give up her mother's bow, and the storms will find her as long as she carries it. Will you leave her and Mang to fight alone?

The teacher looks at the wary warrior, recalling his strikes against the assassins the Scorpions sent after Davin, and shakes his head. He smiles at Shadara. I'm impressed you can stay so calm after our brush with death. I'm sure you've got some thinking to do. So do I, but now isn't the time for lengthy reflections, or as much as we need it, rest. We banished a storm in sight of a caravan that likely contains at least a few bounty hunters or scholars who will think this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet a Sentinel. We need to collect the bows, bury the dead and move.

Quinten turns to the painted dwarf. Are you alright?

she shruggs now calm. I guess we are now she tries to sound confident but a tremor emerges in her words. She walks over to the frog creature and looks at it. I wonder, if... she digs out a knife and witha thrust and twist out pops something from the frogish forehead. I had heard rumors of these creatures. I just had never believed I would see one. she tosses a ball of sorts to quinten keep it it is solid gold and was a focus for the creatures powers.

Eyes still partially open she studies her companions. Without being able to hear she watches for a moment Mang tend to Sharp Talon, and she notices for the first time his compassion and love for the animal. The movement of the dwarf catches her eye and she watches as the object is removed from the head of the carcass. She watches the conversation with Quinten and realizes that he might not know she is deaf.

Quinten, I am temporarily deaf. My last shots were too close to the creature. Sign would be best for a while.

Now that she has his attention she signs to him, remembering to sign a little slower so that he doesn't struggle.

We should police the fallen and clear the area quickly.
Mang and Strong Talon can scout the area while the three of us work.
We must make sure to locate and recover the bows from the fallen as we will need them to recruit others.

Quinten fumbles the ball, then picks it up, wiping off the sand and studying it. Interesting! When we get a moment, please tell me what else you know of the creatures. For now, would you mind checking the area for other demons' spheres? I'd ask you to help with our corpses, but you're already rattled, and I don't trust the merchant's weapons. They might try to force you to fight, as they did him.

As Shadara signs, Quinten nods and replies in sign, A wise course. I'll get the merchant. Can you do the shadow man? His bow didn't like you before, but it should be calmer now.

Mang, could you and Strong Talon keep watch as Shadara and I take care of the dead?

Mang nods in assent and after a moment staring into strong talons eyes, the bird flies off.
THe painted dwarf moves over to the immobilized charge. after a few moments she says No changes here.

Shadara moves over to the body of the suli with the burn carcass of the frog like creature still smoldering on top of it. She finds a leg that is free, pulls out rope and ties it on. She lets out several feet and then puts the rope over her shoulder and walks away from the mess dragging the body out and away from the burnt and messy carcass. At first the carcass drags along with the body. It catches on a patch of grass and the body slips out from under it. She pulls the body several more feet away before stopping.
As she examines the body she notices that while most of the body and clothes show signs of burning the cloak and boots do not seem to be singed at all. As she touches the boots she feels her sigil warm. She strips off the boots and then proceeds with the same test with the cloak. Once she has removed these two pieces she carries them another 10 feet from the body and sets them down. She then returns to the body and touches the ring. She senses a coldness in the ring but her sigil does not react.

Shuriel, Is this part of the Bow? If not what is it?

Be careful of the ring child. Something about it is not right. It however is not part of the Bow pairing.

Should I leave the ring?

Take the ring child but let no part of it touch your skin even for a moment, There is a hunger in the ring.

At the advice, Shadara puts on her gloves from her pack and then carefully removes the ring from the Suli's finger and places it on the ground. She then pulls a small coin purse from the suli's waist and dumps out the coins. She places the ring in the pouch and ties it shut. She then ties it to the outside of her pack. She turns back to the small pile of coins. She counts them and picks them up, putting them in her money pouch. Thirty pieces of silver, doesn't really seem like it was worth it now does it my friend. She returns to the cloak and boots and puts them in her backpack.

Shadara quickly digs a shallow grave and rolls the body in. She then covers the body with the dirt and rock. As she finishes she looks up to see where the others are and is happy to see that they are almost completed as well.

Quinten walks over to Graghhh's body. As he looks for the scarab, his eyes return again and again to the empty space above the neck. Not sure how long he can be around the body, the teacher looks away and spots the scarab crawling toward the caravan. Trying to hold his breath, he retrieves the glass bottle from Graghhh's backpack, runs after the scarab, and cages it.

The scarab immediately begins digging under the jar. Quinten sighs.

I assume you're looking for a new host. You might find someone worthy among the caravan, but you're more likely to bond with someone too weak to face a storm as calmly as Graghhh did. I did not know him well, but after a life in service to capricious masters, he had guts few possess.

If you did find someone equally worthy, you'd then need to fight the storms alone, track us down, or stumble on another group of bow wielders. It would be far wiser to let us recruit someone who understands what bonding with you involves and has the courage, desire and skill to face the storms.

The scarab looks at Quinten, then stops struggling. Quinten scoops the creature up and caps the jar.

With his speach reminding him how much he owes the miner from the plane of shadow, the teacher scowls and returns to the body to look through Graghhh's belongs. In addition to checking for signs of other bows, he looks for letters, guild signets, pictures, or any other evidence that Graghhh has friends in Fifth Port who should be notified of his death. Finding none, the teacher steps away from the body. I didn't spend enough time with you to say whether there is anything among your belongings we should respect, so I will bury you with everything except the bow. Rest well, friend.

Quinten touches the brown dog that hangs around his neck. Below the surface, earth elementals begin to work, parting the sand and allowing the fetchling's body to sink into it.

Quinten looks at Shadara, Mang and the painted dwarf. We've done what we can. Let's start moving toward the oracle.

Quinten looks at the painted dwarf. You know where the oracle is, right?

"I know where he was yes. Ill take you there and then we will see what we can learn. she states and then waiting no longer heaes the body of your charge on to her shoulder and starts off.

As the group moves off behind the painted dwarf, Shadara realizes that she has put the finger that touched the ring in her mouth. The point where contact was made is bothering her. She cannot quite place the sensation but it is something akin to a faint itching and burning.

No child, we protected you but it took the last of our strength. We need to go to sleep for a while and recharge. Try not to need us for the next couple of days while we regain our strength.

As Quinten follows the painted dwarf, his vision begins to blur. He asks Risnel to tell him a story, but the bard is silent. Perhaps he, too, needs rest.

We're too close to the caravan to stop. I should be watching for danger, but if I don't do something to keep myself awake, I'll collapse.

Shadara, would you mind telling me about your mother? I'm curious how much she resembles Mom. Does she fit Dad's type?

well, originally I did not know much about my mother. I knew that she was good at alchemy and died giving birth to me. She had a bow and necklace that she wanted to hand down to me and my people held onto them until I was mature enough to have them. I have trained on this bow for over 40 years. It wasn't until recently that I found out that she was no where close to who I envisioned her to be.

Shadara pauses speaking as a small struggle shows on her face. After a moment her face relaxes and she continues letting the words pour out as if a weight is being lifted as she speaks.

I am descended of a Sentinel, one who held the position of Hand of the Oracle, and Title of Maldetrin. She conversed with dragons, sat in judgement of disputes, and would meet out justice as needed. From what I was told she was the best Hand they had. She also was not known for following the rules and was censured twice as she was not supposed to have children. I am her second, not her first. My gift from her, a sacred StormBow that I have used for so long and never before fathomed the power it has or why I was always better with this bow over any other.

She sighs and begins again a little quieter. I don't know how to feel about these revelations. I am in disbelief that I am the child of a Sentinel, proud for the service she provided, scared that I will never be able to live up to the memory of her that others have, and sad that I cannot discuss her life and adventures with her. I want to know more about her and at the same time never hear about her from anyone ever again for fear that each story will place her on a higher pedestal that I cannot measure up to.

She gets closer to Quinten and speaks lower so the sound does not travel to Mang who is walking ahead of them. I have enough trouble trying to talk to Mang without feeling like he is going to run me over, which further proves that I cannot live up to the image of her.

She straightens up realizing and in her exhaustion she was rambling and letting her internal struggles gain voice. Forgive me, I am tired. I should not have concerned you with my private thoughts.
What about you, tell me more about your father.

There's no need to apologize for sharing your concerns. To be honest, I can relate to many of them. When he was younger, Dad participated in and eventually led expeditions to ancient ruins. The journals and artifacts he helped recover have given Fifth Port insight into how our ancestors practiced everything from farming and pottery to swordplay and magic.

When I was six or seven, people would often ask if I planned to follow in his footsteps. But though I have a sharp memory and a quick mind, I am no Davin Gladwell. My reflexes and vision are too poor for me to swing a sword or shoot a bow with any skill, and I never had the patience to learn the arcane magic that came so easily to him.

Instead of venturing out into the wilds, as he did, I decided to dedicate my life to a career he only adopted when age and family obligations made travel impractical: teaching. I used to feel ashamed of that decision, for it meant I would share others' discoveries rather than making my own.

But unlike you, I had the chance to see my parents' flaws. My father is a remarkable man, but I know that he traveled not to better the world, but because he had an insatiable curiosity and a need for the adrenaline rush that comes with danger. For similar reasons, he taught in the Burrows, a place where a man with any shred of wealth must be on guard.

I've also seen the price Dad paid for his success. On many of his expeditions, including the ones he led, he lost friends. 20 years later, he still wonders why he survived when they did not. There are days that even minor mistakes, like misspelling a word or making a wrong turn, leave him feeling inadequate and unworthy.

Dad's humanity shows in less tragic ways. Perhaps because he spent so much of his youth eating jerky and dried fruit, he is an awful cook. He tries to use magic to mask that, but there's a reason I picked up a pan at an early age.

Yet if Dad had died before I was born, I'd only hear of his accomplishments, not his struggles. When people reflect on those who have passed, especially when they're speaking to children, they generally do so to honor them and to inspire hard work, strong morals, and good behavior. They might slip in a few comments about the person's quirks, but they're often lighthearted and subdued.

Historians also tend to cut out the less interesting parts of peoples' lives. For every successful expedition my dad led, he had two that accomplished little. It took time for him to learn how to distinguish between exaggerated tales and true opportunities, or to appreciate and adequately prepare for the challenges that different environments and cultures presented.

I do not think you should measure yourself against the image of your mother. I'm sure that she too made mistakes, had doubts, and needed time to learn archery and the art of leadership. Accept your own mistakes and doubts, and take pride in your accomplishments. You've convinced a mighty warrior and a cautious scholar to follow you, stood up to sadistic and powerful creatures, and beaten a storm that has claimed the lives of people who grew up knowing what they would face and had decades of experience.

Thank you for your kind words. I have no idea who my father is. For the longest time I did not realize that I had one or even what role they play in the family unit. Once I understood I just assumed for some time that Tartani was my father. Come to think of it that was an odd conversation when he had to explain that he was not my father. I have always thought that he held a special place in his heart for mom.

I wanted to ask you something. You talk about your Dad a lot but I don't remember you talking at all about your mom. I know that I am exhausted but this conversation is helping me to continue moving.

Quinten frowns as Shadara mentions never knowing her father. I know who your father is, but that's not my secret to share. Besides, what would admitting that Dad sired you accomplish other than making you hate him, and perhaps by extension, me?

Quinten's frown fades as Shadara asks about his mother. Mom is a linguist. When she was younger, she negotiated deals and wrote contracts for the Copperhead Conglomerate, a merchant's guild that will sell anything to anyone as long as the price is right. When she realized how ruthless they were, she stayed on long enough to save up some money, then went looking for another job.

At the recommendation of one of the Conglomerate's more respectable members, the Triumvirate hired her to translate Fifth Port's records. They hoped to mine the city's past for stories that would reinforce their authority and cast the city's ever-growing population of storm refugees–and the crowding and rationing that resulted–in a positive light.

Mom's good with words, smart, and beautiful. Dad won't admit it, but she was a fantastic propagandist.

And for the most part, she was a good mother. Like Dad, she's a woman who lives to work rather than works to live, which meant I was often left with a governess. But when Mom was home, she would listen to the details of my day and indulge my desire to play soldier.

Yet if I did something wrong, she'd look at me and make a dry observation or a sarcastic comment that left me feeling like a slug. I feared her tongue more than any whip.

As I grew older and become more involved with teaching, she became a rarer and rarer sight. I now suspect that she was gathering information and recruiting allies for the Sentinels. Perhaps she hoped to do enough that I would not need to inherit her title or Dad's power.

But here we are. The Scorpions invaded my home, stealing everything in the house Dad, Mom and I shared save the bronze circlet I now wear and the love letters hidden next to it. I think the attack angered my parents as much as it angered me. They work even more now, and I suspect that they're more ruthless than they once were. I just wish they'd work in concert. It pains me to see them living in separate worlds, with Dad translating something he won't share and Mom politicking.

Tell me about Tartani. Was he a good parent?

Tarntani was a close to a father as I can think of. However I do not think of him as a father. To me he is more of a Sensei. He never showed love the way a father would to a child. I saw other children with their parents and wanted that interaction but Tarntani would caution me to not waste time on those emotions. He would have me refocus by training.

I realized that he was always protecting me as a father even while trying to hide that fact from me.

You travel and talk as you move getting several miles beyond the fight of the day. Mang sets a brisk pace but not strenuous overall. The Painted one is becoming tired from her burden but continues on with out complaint. After several hours of travel you find a small clearing with a spring.

The clearing has a canopy of tree branches interwoven over head that will provide shade from the sun and protection should the rare rains arrive.
It is about 3-4 wagon lengths diameter with the sprong setting at the back corner. The Painted one stumbles in and sets her charge gently yet abruptly on the ground. with the muttered You can stand guard guys. she falls asleep almost immediately.
Mang calls in strongtalon to rest in the canopy and swiftly builds a warm yet small fire.
He sits and begins meditation making it clear he is in no mood to talk.

Quinten listens as Shadara describes Tarntani. He sounds like a hard but kind man. I hope he survived the attack on your people.

When the sky darkens, Quinten goes silent so he can focus on navigating the at-times uneven terrain. When the party arrives in the clearing, he says, If you don't mind, I'd like to take the last watch. I'm afraid I didn't put enough magic into my glasses this morning to see well at night.

Go ahead and rest, I can take first watch with Mang. Thank you for the conversation earlier, it has made the travel easier.

With that she moves over to the edge of the canopy near a tree and sits down. She starts going about the ritual of cleaning and maintaining her weapons as she scans the surrounding area.

It was my pleasure. Talking helped me keep going.

Quinten removes his tent from his pack and frowns at it. The tent collapses twice before he manages to set it up properly.

Once the tent is ready, Quinten lays down with his clothes still on, the wooden dog around his neck, and the circlet and glasses resting on his pack only a few inches away. He is so exhausted that for once, he falls asleep almost instantly.