Talsday, Ambran 4th, 1247 DE
Three bleak and rainy days have passed since the party set out from Kelderhaag in Gelben, Land of the Silver Bear, hired by the caravan master Lambrecht to escort a caravan of six wagons to the city of Palanost in Andara. So far, the trip has been uneventful, traveling mainly through Gelben's southern farmlands, and the only exitement was having to show papers to the gelbenese soldiers at Fort Seuderwald.
After Fort Seuderwald, the farms became fewer and the road in between them longer, until there were no more farms, only wilderness. The terrain became hilly and rugged and the road became more winding. That was the day before yesterday. Yesterday, farms began appearing again, and the caravan reached Amsel, the last gelbenese town before Andara, and stopped for the night at Amsel Arms Inn.
You remember Lambrecht's words that evening: "The last part of the journey will be more dangerous, as the road will go through the Brinwood. Brinwood's notorious for its beasts and bandits. I suggest you get a good night's rest, as everyone needs to be at their sharpest for the rest of the journey."
Today you reached the Brinwood, the large forest separating Gelben from Andara. The trees arch over the road, creating a tunnel of brown and green. Sunlight seeps through the canopy, but the sky above can't be seen. Ferns grow tall in between the trees and moss-covered rocks, and the forest gives off a wet earthy smell. Water drips from the large leaves above, though it is no longer raining, and it is eerily quiet aside from the creaking wagon wheels and the occasional bird chirping.
It was afternoon when you entered the Brinwood, and you have been traveling for a few hours when you enter a large glade in the forest with a campsite which have seen a lot of use, evident by the lack of grass on the large patch of ground where the campsite is. There are tree-trunk benches around two fireplaces and two wooden shelters. A small creek flows through the southern part of the glade. A large menhir stands in the middle of the glade.
"Galwan's Glade," Lambrecht announces. "We will camp here for the night."
The sky is both dark grey and blazing orange, as the sun is slowly setting and dusk is approaching.
Drozak will set what little gear he has down and begin setting up camp.
He will take 10 on his survival check for a total of 14.
The hulking Hrusk slowly approaches Drozak. He doesn't seem to see any need to remove his heavy chainmail links to sleep... "Help Hrusk please?" He mutters in a thick, guttural voice devoid of intelligence but not, perhaps, without a hint of childlike charm. "Hrusk tough, but night cold, and Hrusk not good with... complicated... things." Hrusk says, holding up a couple of twigs entirely unsuited to firestarting...
Survival (untrained)
"The night wont be as cold as it is violent." a tall woman says walking over to the Ogren and the Arthaeel, her tone absent warning, threat, or any emotion at all for that matter. She stops close to the Ogren and gently takes the sticks from his hands taking a moment to close his hand into a fist when it is empty. She stares for almost an eternity at the twigs before speaking again, "You shouldn't worry about these." she says just before tossing them over her shoulder. Her eyes fix a stare towards the Arthaeel prepping his camp.
"I'm sorry Drozak," she starts plainly, "I meant no harm. I swear I will make it up to you."
.
An average height, slender attractive woman walks over to camp with some measure of grace, carrying dried laves and bark.
Lets get this fire started Frinds, before night falls up us
"Don't worry Hrusk, we will handle the camp. Why don't you check to make sure that there aren't any surprises waiting nearby?"
He turns to Aralu, "Perhaps you and Niusha can get the fire going while I arrange the camp?"
"T'ank you," Hrusk half-bows, before lumbering off with surprising grace, to make a swift assessment of the surroundings...
Perception
"I, uh" Hrusk gutters. "Forest has many trees in it. I think its a good place to camp here. There's space between the trees."
"Consider it done." Aralu says, looking back to the ogren before turning to lend Niusha assistance.
"He is still angry with me." Aralu confides to Niusha. "What do you think Niusha? Are you as insightful as you are beautiful..." Aralu doesn't wait for a response as she leaves to gather more suitable wood to burn from around the glade, humming to herself.
As the others busy themselves with getting a fire going, Iruaka begins immediately scaling trees, and leaping between them gracefully, doing his best to get a look in each direction, for anything that might be a danger. 'Is this what life has come to?' He thinks to himself, leaping from one tree to another with ease. The past several days had been easy.
Really the worst part of the job was that everyone insisted on traveling during the day. Iruaka wasn't sure that he could ever get used to that, and took as many watches as he could, while still being able to get some sleep. He suspected that his desire to stay up all night seemed suspicious, but hardly cared. He said he would protect the caravan, he had done so, that was what mattered.
Glancing down at the camp, Iruaka can not fathom why Lambrecht would want to camp here. It was open and exposed, and the fact that others used it frequently meant only that it was a known spot. If there were truly bandits around, surely they would come here, where others rested and felt safe.
Iruaka gently rakes his blades against a tree, ensuring that they were sharp. 'That will not happen.' He insists. Looking down at the others gathering around the fire, they seem like children somehow, with their teasing and games. He had not gotten to know any of them, more concerned with how useful they were in a fight than why they joined up. Still, it might be beneficial to have their trust, especially if battle was indeed going to befall them.
Gathering up several decent branches, Iruaka carries them over to the group. He says nothing, but regards the others with his golden eyes, cocking his head at them as he does so. After a few seconds, he places the pile of branches down on the ground.
.
Rhanviel assists the others with the paltry task of finding firewood. It had been an odd past few weeks, and Rhanviel was detached.
This was far from what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to learn the secrets of the Myst from that promising Faun, not making a camp for silly townies.
But in order to learn, he needed money.
Myrn curse me! How long must I muddle with the menial before the demon can be cast out!? This is disgusting. Demeaning.
Certainly irritated, he tries to make the most of it. He had never been to this wood before, and new woods were always more welcoming than the towns he had been to.
The wood understood him. He was of them, and they were of him.
As the blazing orange red disappears and the sky gradually darkens, you set up camp and get the fires going. Some of Lambrecht's men begin to cook stew. Others fetch water for the horses from the small creek which flows through the glade. When the stew is ready everyone gathers by the fireplaces. Lambrecht stands up.
"Tomorrow will be the last day of the journey. It has been a pleasure to travel with you all, even though the weather has been dreadful. There's ale for everyone in the barrel. Don't get too drunk, as we are in a dangerous place, and we need to be prepared for the worst. Don't be too scared either. Remember we have guards like these to protect us." He nods in the direction of Hrusk. "If anything happens I'm sure they'll be more than capable of dealing with the situation." He lifts his tin cup. "Here's to Oghludar."
Oghludar (God of Travel)
Titles: The Rover, The Walking Man, Lord of the
Roads, The Tailwind.
Symbol: A walking man with a walking stick wearing a
brown hooded cape and sturdy boots.
Alignment: Chaotic Good.
Domains: Travel, Exploration, Rivers, Wind.
Oghludar is the god of travel and exploration, and he is
a god who is often favored by adventurers. He is also
the god of rivers and wind, as rivers and wind
constantly travel. Roadside shrines dedicated to
Oghludar are scattered all over Myrndur and it is
common for anyone who is about to travel to pray to
Oghludar for a safe trip.
A few hours pass with eating, drinking and talking around the fireplaces until almost everyone has turned in for the night.
Darkness has fallen upon Galwan's Glade in the Brinwood where the caravan is camped, and the forest has come alive with sound, as its nocturnal inhabitants has awakened. The beautiful deep blue night sky is clear and full of stars, and Sibilune shines brightly, illuminating the glade in a blue light. The treeline is pitch black.
Iruaka, you are on guard duty. A couple of hours has passed since the others went to bed, when you see five dark humanoid silhouettes move across the glade toward the camp in a slow awkward gait. They make weird unintelligible guttural gibbering and moaning sounds. The horses are clearly unsettled, snorting loudly and stomping their feet.
"Shamblers!" Lambrecht exclaims, apparently awake and standing next to you with a loaded crossbow aimed in the direction of the silhouettes. "Wake up, everyone! Prepare for battle!"
As the things come closer, you are able to discern their features. They have pale white skin and their clothes are torn. Their eyes are blank and their mouths are unnaturally wide open, and they give off a rotten stench.
As Lambrecht compels all to arms, Willowburn begins to shake from inside Rhanviel's pocket, and he is summoned to the fray. Shamblers weren't the worst thing in Myrndur, and while with the Lions Rhanviel had seen far more horrid things walk. However, they could wreak ruin if left unchecked.
He rises, stretches, and prepares for anything.
Rhanviel helps the others get up, making sure none would be left to the demise that slumber brings when in these situations, and says to his co-workers:
"These ones... They know how to dance, but they can get clingy. If they ask you to Ball, I'd implore you to refuse. Aim for the necks."
With that, Rhanviel begins to nonchalantly carve runes into the air before him, summoning the Myst to the employ of his will...
Aralu finds herself, after a time, observing the menhir in the center of the glade, her eyes flickering as she tries to visualize the myst in and around it.
What tales large rock sings, deaf ears keep harmony blind, secrets lost in time.
There is writing on the menhir in andaran and gelbenese:
"In this glade, Galwan of Palanar, man of reknown,
slew Ilikatha, the dragon of bone,
On his head a crown was placed,
and in his honor this stone was raised."
You rest up against the stone, until you are awakened by Lambrecht yelling "Wake up, everyone! Prepare for battle!" and you see five shamblers 50 feet from you.
You get a batch of each. You know that Orndrath's Stool are used for healing remedies, but you lack the skill and knowledge (Craft Alchemy 1 rank) to concoct such a remedy.
Burning Hands has a range of 15 feet. The shamblers are still 70 feet away, but you can hold your spell. Myst is dense so casting time will be 1d2+1 (1d2 + spell level) actions. Do you want to proceed? You could move 30 feet toward the shamblers, and then start casting...
Aralu draws her weapons in the blink of an eye as she speeds to Rhanviel's side. She readies to attack the first pale shambler that is close enough.
Rhanviel moves forward 20 feet, beginning to chant words of an older age, crushing a nib of charcoal between his fingers. His breathing becomes heavy as he traces lines in the gravel with his feet, crushing the charcoal dust.
There's nothing wrong with Hrusk's instincts, under threat. In moments, he's rolled to his feet, greataxe in hand... but Rhanviel's well-meant warning goes over his head, and he lunges forward to the Lhurenathi's side. He'll strike the moment one of the shamblers closes with his new friend...
Greataxe damage
Initiative
Drozak will wait until after the shaman has cast his spell then charge one of the shamblers, preferably one that was hit by the spell but didn't die. He will power attack.
charge
Niusha awakens with a startle.
I'll let them rush in no point in getting into the frey yet.
Niusha begins to sing, Tiny Bubbles in my beer, makes me happy and full of cheer
Seeing the Shamblers still some distance away, Iruaka narrows his eyes, watching the others prepare to run towards them. Shaking his head, he thought to himself how risky that kind of thing was, and how much better it might be not to play their game. Scaling a tree, he began to leap across, getting close to them while still keeping a safe distance.
Rhanviel You move toward the shamblers, chanting as you go. You are drawing the Myst to you, preparing to cast burning hands
Aralu You quickly move to Rhanviel's side and stand ready to attack the first shamblers who comes into range.
Iruaka you move through the trees on the right side of the undead, and get behind them. You are 40 feet away from them.
Hrusk You move next to Rhanvie and Aralu, prepared for the incoming shamblers.
Niusha Your song inspires everyone with courage.
Next
The shamblers move toward you. The nearest one comes within range of Hrusk, who swings his massive axe and cleaves the pale rotten thing right through the middle. It falls to the ground in two halves.
Aralu, you swing your scimitar at the next shambler and it connects as a clean hit.
Rhanviel, you release Burning Hands.
Drozak, you charge the charred shambler who is still standing after Rhanviel seared it with his magic. You chop off its head with your elven curved blade.
Two shamblers are still standing 20 feet from the main group, 40 feet from Iruaka.
Everyone, except for Rhanviel and Drozak may act.
[Edit: Forgot Lambrecht]
Lambrecht fires his crossbow dealing
"Hrusk!" I snarl, lunging forward, meaning to cleave the shambler clean in twain...
Attack , damage
...but the blow goes wild, leaving the shambler unwounded. "Huh?" Hrusk glances back, wondering where his target has gotten to...
Aralu spins past Hrusk just as his swing goes wide. The shambler stumbled at the last moment out of Hrusk's way,
;
but unluckily into Aralu's perfect strike, her blade cutting through the undead abonimation cleanly.
Aralu's scimitar leaves a large gaping wound from the shambler's neck across its torso, and all its purple intestines pops out and dangles from the massive wound. The shambler staggers for a bit and then falls in a pool of its own black blood.
Niusha continues to sing while nocking an arrow and taking aim at the wounded shambler.
Her arrow whizzes well over the shambler but luckily she avoids hitting either of her comrades.
"Whoa! Did you see that?! Aralu cheers, as she takes more pride in the mess she made of the shambler, than of the flashy strike.
"Rarrrr!" The last shambler attacks Aralu
She dodges it nimbly.
Lambrecht shoots another bolt with his crossbow and it hits the last shambler in the face. A crossbow bolt is now protruding from its cheek.
Everyone may act.
"There you are!" Hrusk beams - and slashes the shambler again with his greataxe...
Attack , damage
The owlman hurries up on the shambler from behind, causing it to turn its head. When it turns it head back around, it lets out a confused "Wahh!" a second before Hrusk's greataxe lops its head off its body. Its head goes flying and black blood squirts from its neck as it falls to the ground.
The shamblers are defeated.
Lambrecht walks up next to you.
"Damn shamblers! They come out from nowhere and are damn hard to kill. You sure made short work out of them though. Good work! Now I suggest you get back to sleep. We have a long day's journey ahead of us tomorrow."
Aralu holsters her sword but keeps her kukri out to help pick through the shamblers remains, scavenging their corpses for valuables or perhaps anything of interest; or least starts to before realizing nothing could possibly be worth the smell and the risk of disease. Aralu instead moves her bedroll to someplace upwind of the shambler corpses and tries her best to return to rest, at least until her turn to take a watch comes.
The rest of the night is uneventful.
Mirror, deep in the forest of Lhurien. People in traditional lhurienathi dresses are running. Your people. Some are screaming. Some are holding on to their children. Tiny winged demons with backwards curled ram horns fly among them, tearing at them with their claws. Tents are burning.
There's fighting. Lhurienathi warriors and druids, some in wolf-form, some in humanoid form, are fighting to hold back a throng of emaciated figures looking like horned human skeletons smothered within bone-tight dark red or black hides of slimy leather.
A large demon with batlike wings, a massive horned head and fire spurting from its flesh, armed with a fiery whip and a huge sword, makes its way through its lesser kin. It swings its sword, wiping away several lhurienathi warriors, before it grabs a druid by the neck and holds him up.
"Your pathetic pool of water will become red with the blood of your tribe!" A large ball of white magical energy hits the demon, and he drops the druid. The caster, a woman with long silvery hair, red facial paint and a feather headdress. A warrior at her side grabs her arm. "We must retreat, Tharanya!" She wrests herself free of his grasp. "No! We must stay and fight!"
The demon's fiery gaze fixates on the lhurienathi woman, and stomps toward her. She draws the myst around her, creating a magical shield.
"Hahahaha! Your pathetic magic won't help you. This forest land of yours will be devastated in the name of Rhevagaath - the Flaming Death!" He lashes his whip at the woman, causing the magical shield to dissipate with the crackle of the whiplash. He lashes his whip again and it catches Tharanya's leg, making her fall.
"Rhevagaath will be pleased when he bathes in a lake of your people's blood! Hahahaha!" You become Tharanya and feel her pain as the balor's sword cuts through her flesh, and then you awake, gasping for air and sweating heavily, wondering if the vivid nightmare you just had was merely a dream, or a vision...
Vodensday, Ambran 5th, 1247 DE
Everyone is awakened early in the morning. The morning fog lies like a blanket over the glade, and Lambrecht's men are preparing the wagons and horses.
"Time to rise. There is pottage on the kettle over the fireplace. We'll move out as soon as you've got something to eat."
Drozak spends the first half hour after he gets up practicing with his blade, going through a series of blocks and slashes repeatedly, varying his footwork and speed with each new iteration.
Once his drills are complete he approaches the rest of the group, "anyone care to spar for a round or two? Drills only help one's technique so much."
While he awaits an answer he will grab a quick bite to eat and a drink from his waterskin.
"Hrusk would be glad to spar," Hrusk gravels. "Hrusk would like to work up hunger before breakfast." Hrusk glances down at the huge axe in his hand. "Hrusk not want to hurt little friend. Hrusk will borrow this," Hrusk says, nodding to the cook even as he selects a robust, if plain, cast-iron skillet that might be used to fry meat, had the caravan chanced upon any for dinner...
Aralu is mostly quiet in the morning hours. She binds her hair in a tail before setting to the task of eating her morning portion of ration. As she eats she examines a curved blade, its blade jagged and toothy from ages of use and neglect.
And then for a time, watches Hrusk and Drozak spar in the early morning light.
As the sun hits his anxious brow, Rhanviel feels his hand gripped tightly around the neck of Willowburn. As he comes to grips with the state of reality, he notices his hold on the rabbit, and lets go immediately. Regardless of whether there are those within proximity of him, he utters a furious and desparate prayer to Sibilune, sowing tears into his cupped hands as he speaks.
"Tanrıça bu sefil karşı kulları GÜÇ hibe! Yeryüzünde onun kanını donduracak, ve kutsal ahşap onu kurtulmak ... Oğlun, ızdırap içinde anne! Çocuklarınız ADET vardır!"
He tries to compose himself and hide his tears as he prepares for the day, petting his rabbit as if to apologize to it. He eats the meager porridge and with a sigh lets go of the vision, letting it stir further his drive to find the power needed to vanquish Rhevagaath 'the damned'.
Iruaka looks down in surprise as the group takes out the Shamblers with little trouble. 'Perhaps we have underestimated them.' He thinks, continuing to contemplate their abilities long into the night.
The morning sun is met with cold disdain from Iruaka, and it has barely more than risen before he has his hood up, blocking himself as much as he can from its bright rays. He watches the others go about their morning routines, dreading travel during the day, and thinking that this is by far the worst part of being a bodyguard.
With a yawn Niusha wakes up.
Good morning everyone. Hope everyone got some sleep after last nights excitement.
After grabing some porridge, Niusha is slightly disturbed by Rhanvien's furious prayer but is unable to understand a word he has spoken.
When everyone has eaten, the caravan sets out, westward through the forest.
It is around noon when you suddenly hear a horn blowing in the woods to your right. A rope is stretched across the road in front of you and dirty-looking bandits with green paint on their faces appear on both sides of the road, armed with short swords, shortspears, axes and bows. Some are wearing leather armor. Some are wearing hide armor. Some are just wearing ragged clothes. You count a dozen, six on each side of the road. A muscular man with a large brown beard and long brown hair with feathers in it, and half his face painted green steps forward. He is clad in a chain shirt and a bear skin and he wields a large hatchet and a round wooden shield adorned with feathers.
"We are the Brinwood Brethren! Give up ye goods and ye lives will be spared!"
"let us say this comes to blows, we have about even numbers as you. Even if you come out ahead I estimate that at least half your men will be dead or close to it. How do you like your chances of survival with half your men dead, several injured to take care of and large caravan gone missing in your territory. And if you lose I will personally see that every surviving member of your band is swinging from a branch before this day ends. Step aside or face the consequences."
Diplomacy
While he is talking Drozak manoeuvres himself into a position where he can charge the bandit leader. His curved blade is still sheathed.
"HA! Look at thee!" The bandit leader exclaims with his raspy voice. "Typical aratheël! All high and mighty. When it comes down to it, ye as weak as a wee lass. While I'm letting my lads have at it with ye pretty women, I'll be pissing on ye corpse!" His men laugh maniacally until he knocks on his shield with his axe.
"Don't think we're scared of ye. We're used to dealing with Flamefalcons. Real mercenaries. The type ye employer couldn't afford, from the looks of it. Ye look like a bunch of circus freaks! Now I'll give ye one last chance. Hand over the cargo, and we won't kill ye."
"Marauders. Rapists. Savages. I'm glad you're not afraid Brinwood Brethren, because I look forward to bleeding every last one of you. Cargo be damned, the Aratheël's attempt to reason with you was the last noble kindness you'll ever know. My kind of kindness promises death to scum like yourself. Now, only question is who dies first?" Aralu says flatly as she pulls her faceguard down and shifts her feet into the dirt kicking up a plume of earthy smoke.
"So be it!" The bandit leader lifts his axe and points it in the direction of Aralu. "Brethren - ATTACK!"
Initiative
Drozak will draw his blade as he charges the bandit leader, power attacking.
for dmg
Aralu sprints toward the leader knowing his defeat will weaken the bandits' resolve. She springs through the air to land next to him and then spins behind him to set him up for flanking with Drozak's charge.
Aralu's steel sings as it flashes from her sheaths.
Niusha draws her a bow and and takes a shot at the leader if there is a clear shot.
As the lhurienathi sees each faction dash towards each other with steel and hate, he whispers a prayer to his Goddess for favor and aid.