Nightflier's New Beginings Game Thread

Game Master nightflier

A long road snakes through the ancient forest. Wheels clatter on the worn stones and horses neigh from time to time, but those are only sounds that can be heard while the caravan lumbers towards the City of Zobeck. The woods are dark and foreboding and the trees seem to be far more ancient than possible, almost as if they were old when the gods were still young.

The caravan numbers fourteen cars, all brightly painted and pulled by heavy and sturdy draft horses. All except the the first one, which are pulled by a pair of albino minotaurs. They are silent for the most part, except grunts and huffs from time to time - and the loud squelchy sounds when they eat.

Karivs from the Gvozdenzuba family travel in those cars, working as diviners and petty merchants in the cities and villages that the caravan passes through on its yearly circle around the Crossroads region of Midgard.

Karivs are friendly, as they tend to be, and they accept those who wish to travel with them, for safety's sake of for convenience. All are friendly, that is, except for the family head, Baba Svetlana, who never leaves her car, so the non-Kariv in the caravan have never seen her.

The forest is still in the grips of winter. Although the spring is almost there and the New Year celebration, the snow can still be seen under the boughs of the ancient oaks that follow the road.

As the non-Kariv walk behind the wagons, unnatural stillness of the woods seems oppressive to them almost to the point of making them feel uncomfortable and wary.

One of the fellow-travelers is undaunted by that. A bard, one would think, since he wears bright clothes, has a multicolored plume in his hat and a seven-string gypsy guitar on his back.

The man is jovial and merry, and since he was the last to join the caravan, yesterday evening, in the principality of Morgau, he seeks to make friends with the other non-Kariv.

So the first thing in the morning, when the caravan breaks camp, the bard approaches the others and with a broad sweep of his hand he bows, declaring: "Well met, fellow travelers! I am Rinaldo the Minstrel, Rinaldo the Bard, Rinaldo the Magnificent! Pray tell me, what are your names and from where do you hail, so that I may include your worthy names in the chanson of my life!"

Thaneirziah yawns and stretches out her body, feeling the dampness in the air moving onto her joints stiffening them noticeably as she works the liquid into her living armor, making sure the pointed thorns maintained their sharpness. So much for this fiendish blood in my veins warding off the cold...I must be getting old. This has been a long journey for me. I trust Zobeck proves to hold what I seek...

The cheerful greeting from the minstrel brings a grimace to her face, thoughts of slicing his throat in two briefly flashing on her face. She does give the man a smile, albeit a little forced. "Surely you remember me...Ahhh you are just joined the caravan. Forgive me, I am known as Thaneirziah, late of Bemmea."

The big dragonkin slowly turns his head to the bard. "No you may not, friendlyman." He then growls out a rumbling sigh and looks at the horizon.

"I am Rok Daudagr." the masked man said. "Doctor, by trade, though I assume you had guessed that."

He was covered from head to toe in a long hooded coat, gloves and a plague mask, making it impossible to tell the manor of person beneath. He was just under six feet tall and had a voice that sounded scratchy and surprisingly deep. His diction was precise and a bit clipped. He leaned on a hooked spear and watched the bard from behind the smoked goggles of his mask.

"I traveled here from the northlands, but I tend to go where my trade is needed."

Arak, dark of skin and pleasant of mien is dressed in simple robes that speak of a much warmer clime. A grandiose gauntlet of draconic design and attendant harness infer some... violent... occupation.

Having been picked up on the far side of Morgau wandering bereft and not exactly caparisoned for the cold, Arak has...warmed to the community of the non-Kariv. He has gravitated to the thorny woman and the masked physick, perhaps from an interest in eldritch power.

Arak smiles as the draconic makes clear a desire for solitude. The petty noble in him has seen, and seen through musicians auch as Rinaldo before. Still...

"Arak-haro. From the Southlands."

Having left her home in Perunalia to gain experience of the world and further her skills, Tiadora found the multitude of different individuals she encountered so far to be fascinating.

The minstrel was......colorful, frivolous and self important but she supposed that was to be expected of a man. Especially an entertainer, which is what she assumed he must be.

"I am Tiadora Kalevra, daughter of Anjel Kalevra of the Sephaya palace guard. Well met." she says extending a hand. The tall athletic woman was dressed in dark leathers accented with deep scarlet her dark hair, tanned skin and chiseled features, creating a strong, dangerously beautiful profile.

Rinaldo looks at each of you in turn, lifting his blond eyebrow. "Well! You seem to be gathered from all corners of Midgard! And what brings you to Zobeck, especially in this time of troubles?"

Arak shrugs.

"It seemed prudent to head out of Morgau...and Zobeck is so famous - my uncle...he spoke of it many times."

Arak pauses for a second, scanning the horizon before continuing.

"I find the lands here strange and new, and what better city to find information and to learn than the heart of the Crossroads..."

Arak pauses again.

"And you Rinaldo? Why are you headed to Zobeck? What makes you think this time is more troubled than any other?"

"Zobeck is a place where the bold can strike it rich...make their mark on the land. Few cities offer such opportunities." Thaneirziah adds in reply, her curiosity piques by the bard's words. "Yes, what troubles do you speak of, Rinaldo?"

"Trouble brings me, eyebrowman. The Voice of the Distant Stars put me on this path."

Eyebrowman! I love it! :)

"You haven't heard? When we were in Morgau? It seems that the Lord Mayor of Zobeck decided to retire. He was under pressure by some newcomers to the city, some say nefarious cultists! Noble courts of Morgau were buzzing with talk! They say that those people are lead by a person called The Undying and his second in command is called The Ladykiller. I don't know about you, but they sound like proper villains to me!" Then, he shrugs. "As for me, am I not Rinaldo the Magnificent?! The greatest minstrel alive! The wandering bard, the poet of those that are noble of spirit? I must go where inspiration takes me, you see. And where the greatest fun is to be had. And right now, that is Zobeck! But I assure you, right now Zobeck is no place for those not knowledgeable in the ways of the world! Be wary!"

"The Undying. Hmm. Interesting," the doctor rumbled behind his mask. "What else have you heard, minstril?"

"Ladykiller? You say there are nefarious individuals loose in the city, yet you refer to it as the place where there is the most fun to be had?" Tiadora asks incredulously. "Are you daft?"

"Milady Tiadora - fun to watch and record? For an entertainer? Crises and chaos is their meat and drink."

Arak smiles again. "Is this not so Rinaldo? Or do you plan to take an active part in this performance?"

"It is all well and good to enjoy such performances, yet long years have taught me great opportunities...and profit...can arise from such chaos. We just need to seize it when it appears!" Thaneirziah eagerly nods, a look of excitement in her eyes.

"Why would someone put a slayer of women as second in charge? Such an act is cowardice at the least and if the females are of childbearing age, may harken an early end of times. Such a duo should be stopped before they do too much damage."

"Ah, friend Vasek, they are not a duo. As far as I've heard, there are at least five of the cult leaders. It is said that those two that I've mentioned are some sort of priests or religious persons, but the tales tell of two villains of arcane inclination, prone to torture. One of them has been known to kill cats for fun's sake. What kind of a twisted mind is that, I ask of you!"

He stops for a second to pull his guitar into his arms and tune a string. "I am only the observer of the deeds of others, friend Arak. The only active part I plan to take is composing a ballad."

Saying that, he draws a thumb over all seven strings of his guitar.

Arak' eyebrows raise in consideration, though it is unclear whether he considers the jongleur's strumming or the import of his words.

"Two adherents of the gods, two arcanists. Whether the same two, or separate it matters not for now. We are no strangers to cults and cultists in the Southlands, though the torture of cats is supremely frowned upon. Why, many divinities might command the respect of cults. Are such things uncommon hereabouts?"

"And who is the new Mayor to be?"

"I know it not. I had some dealings with the previous one, so I may visit him to ask him the same question."

"I see." Thaneirziah twirls a stray lock of hair absentmindedly, "The situation is in chaos at the moment, so caution is advised...at least until we get a lay of the land. Still finding a job should not be too difficult. You look like competent souls, so I propose an alliance, temporary of course. Else we get swept away on the waves!"

"Ah, friend Vasek..."

"Trickery! How did you learn my name? Was it the thing you did with your eyebrow? Speak Talkative Human!"

"Apparently your fame precedes you?" the masked doctor chuckled. It sounded like an amused cough.

Tiadora silently takes in the exchanges. This was a very odd group of people.

"But I'm not famous. No one outside my unit knows me. Maybe another dragonkin soldier named Vasek is famous here. Anyway, I agree with the almost dragon lady. If trouble is a brew maybe safety in numbers."

Thaneirziah squints up at the sky as movement catches her attention. "Look up there! That golden winged eagle is headed right for us! I think it is big enough to carry off a horse! Let's hope that is all it wants!"

Arak looks skyward.

"Hmm. Are such large birds predatory? If so, perhaps we should warn the caravan."

The young man looks for a Kariv to warn.

You follow the last car of the caravan on foot,but there are a lot of Gypsies around you, talking and laughing. They are mostly younger people.

Instinct born of countless drills and training sessions take effect, as Tiadora's bow slips into her hand even as others are still raising their heads to look skyward, an arrow drawn from her quiver in the other though not yet fitted to the bowstring.

"If we can see it from here, probably about ten minutes out, it must be huge. We should warn them so that at the very least the horses aren't frightened."

Vasek watches the bird approach then turns to doctor. "Long-nosed masked man, you seem to be a maker of good decisions, what do you suggest we do about the bird? I'm inclined to wait and see what it does first, but that stern looking woman with a bow seems alarmed."

Vasek points at Arak and says, "That man seems alarmed too. Maybe there is something to this bird?" He draws a javelin, rests it on his shoulder, then points at the eagle and strides forward towards it shouting:

Large bird! Do not come any closer if you mean this caravan harm. It will not end well for you!"

Influence to demoralize 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20

Not alarmed, just not stupid

While the others prepare for the impending battle, Thaneirziah reaches out with her arcane senses to determine where the nearest ley line passes above the group.

Nightflier, what roll do I need to make here?

While the others prepare for the impending battle, Thaneirziah reaches out with her arcane senses to determine where the nearest ley line passes above the group.

Nightflier, what roll do I need to make here?

Spellcraft, although you need specific feats to use ley lines.

Dragon-man roars, and other travelers and Kariv take note of his warning. Horses start to neigh and the minotaurs pulling the first car suddenly stop and reach behind them to take hold of large double-headed axes.

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

Arak-haro stares in consternation at the equine beasts, but he understands little.

"There is still time to prepare some kind of defensive perimeter!?!" the young man suggests, half in question. Arak clearly hopes for someone to take charge.

"The old, the children - we must protect them if this creature imperils us!"

How far out is it?

Still almost 10 minutes out. One post per person equals one round, so you have more than enough time to prepare yourself or try other actions.

A round is six seconds so that's pretty much 100 rounds.

A young Kariv jumps from the last wagon and runs to the back of the caravan, obviously trying to find all the children and gather them to safety.

"We are in the middle of the forest and the trees have us hemmed in. The wagons can not pass into the forest, and even if they could, Old Margreeve may take affront. Please, everyone who can help in defending the caravan, at least until sun sets, you will have the eternal gratitude of Kariv!"

Thaneirziah gazes up at the flying beast headed towards them, unsheathing her shortbow and readying an arrow whilst casting a spell cloaking her in the shadows (Cast Shadows Blessing on herself: In normal light, the recipient gains a +2 morale bonus on Stealth checks and imposes a 10% miss chance on other creatures that attack the recipient, as the spell provides a lesser form of concealment. In dim light, the recipient gains a +4 morale bonus on Stealth checks and increases the miss chance from concealment with respect to him to 30%.)

"We can use the trees to our advantage here! The eagle cannot hover in place due to its size so we take cover behind the trees and under the wagons, picking at it as it flies low! As it makes its pass we loose our arrows at it, hopefully enough to drive it away!" She exclaims to the Kariv. "Gather whatever ranged weapons you have while getting the children under the wagons. They will be safest there!" She turns to the uncertain doctor and gives him a wink, "I am not sure, is that a defensive perimeter? I never studied warfare!"

Vasek smiles a large, wide toothy grin at Than, "That is a good plan." He then lopes along to the front (I'm assuming that is the direction of the bird.) shouting for the non fighters to hide. When he passes by the young Karin, he askes. "Who is Old Margreeve and why should we care if it takes affront? We should get the women and children into whatever hiding places we can."

He then, after receiving and answer, stands in the middle of the road between the caravan and eagle, javelin at the ready.

Climbing atop one of the wagons to gain a better vantage point, Tiadora keeps her eyes locked on the approaching bird, preparing herself to take the opening shot.

"I will take the opening shot while it is still some distance off. If you have a ranged weapon, ready it and wait for my signal!" Tiadora calls out, her training taking over. She wasn't surprised by the chaos considering that the caravan seemed to be run by men. She would have expected some elder matron to be in charge overall.

When the eagle is 400ft away she will cast True Strike. She'll fire on the next round. With my range increment that should put my shot at +6 +20 -2

...at five minute mark.

Thaneirziah squints up into the sky watching the approaching eagle get closer and closer. Her eyes widen as more details of the flying beast become apparent. "That's no eagle!" She cries out. "If I am not mistaken that is in fact a large griffin! I have never heard of one with golden feathers on its head before!"

Arak continues to aid those who would make safe behind or under the wagons. At Thaneirziah's call Arak frowns.

"Do they breathe fire? Or...anything?"

Arak has no Nature or Lore ranks...

Knowledge (Lore): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

"I don't see any fire so clearly it breathes air like the rest of us." Vasek maintains his position.

Arak smiles at the dragonkin.

"Uh...I meant to say, do they...expel a gout of flame such as...um... [looks at Vasek's stare, realises he may be out of his...anyone's depth, breathes and swallows] dragons are apparently wont to do. In stories."

Seeing his conversational and cultural hole deepening before him at an astonishing rate Arak maneuvers masterfully.

"Never mind. Let's just make sure it doesn't kill us!"

Vasek smiles a toothy grin at Arak, "Ah yeas, dragons, they breathe air too. And sometimes, instead of breathing out stale breaths, they can exhale a flammable mist that ignites into gouts of flame. I am very familiar with that. I certainly hope that this griffon does not do that. Otherwise this whole caravan, including us, would be burned alive very quickly without much hope of a respectable defense."